0600 Hours Somewhere in the Mediterranean Sea, Off the coast of Egypt HMS Eagle The HMS Eagle was a fine Aircraft carrier, an Audacious-Class Aircraft Carrier operated by the Royal Navy. On the deck, sat a number of helicopters and planes, ranging from Douglas Skyraiders, Hawker Sea Hawks and Westland Whirlwind helicopters, which would bring most of the Royal Marines on this carrier to the fight. While perhaps the Royal Navy was more used to deploying amphibious task forces by the waves, today would be different. Since Korea, the idea of the Royal Marines entering battle from the sea would change- they'd come from the air, or at least this part of 40 Commando would. The early morning sun had wiped out any sea fog, and it was all stations go, as far as the Fleet Air Arm had considered. And this was the mere surface- inside, was most of "Forty", or 40 Commando itself, the detatchment of Royal Marines from the 3rd Commando Brigade. In particular, apart from the storage of Westland Wyvern CAS aircraft, the area had become a large staging area for the airmobile forces of 40 Commando. A various set of netting, and armories were set up in the large aircraft bay, surprisingly less filled than usual. The Med was still as a pond today, and the sun was basking out, though this being the late autumn, it wasn't as hot as it could get. There was a hubub of supplies, squads arming up and general movement, as a few squads at a time, they moved out from their armories and briefings to the deck, to board up into helicopters or standby for tasking. The place was a hive, to say the least- the Invasion was already underway, since the 16th Airborne Brigade had touched down at El Cap Airfield, and despite losses, essentially captured the middle of the Suez Canal. They now had to liberate Port Said, and that meant effectively storming the place. They were up against militants and the Egyptian Army according to Colonel Harris, the head of 40 Commando- and in the whole scheme of things, that meant that the enemy was nowhere near their standard. Total air dominance had been established, the Egyptian Navy practically didn't exist and therefore was not a threat to the Royal Navy, and the Egyptians were so poorly armed with British Colonial weaponry and any other foraged kit, that it would be like fighting Zulus all over again, Andrew thought to himself. Andrew sat on a ammunition crate inside that cargo bay, looking at his watch. They were meant to be here, the section he now had inherited and had brought over from Cyprus, they were a minute late now; and that was enough. They were leaving in twenty, so whatever introductions were going to be made, were going to have to come fast. He sat under a netting that was placed up inside, the cold steel at his boots and a Sterling on his lap, magazine unloaded for obvious safety reasons. This wasn't a weapon you kept loaded when you didn't want to shoot, it was that simple, even on the Mk4. The Section was meant to be here, and then, one man of a few came. They'd rallied up probably in the mess, but even so, this wasn't on. The young man, Daniel, wore his uniform with uncertainty almost, as he approached Andrew. "Captain Mackenzie? I heard I'm with you." Daniel said, in a weakened voice, as Andrew laughed. "They gave me a bloody boy, seriously. You fucking refer to me as Captain, they drill that into your head at Basic or I will fucking drill it into you with a fucking knife, right fucking here. What's your name, lad?" Andrew barked back, the Anglicized Scots accent as sharp as the Trench Knife at his hip, the older Marine's uniform looking tattered and worn, but still just as neat in some way or form. Swearing from the Scotsman sounded like he'd already plunged a dagger into his heart. "Private Parsons, Captain. I didn't mean..." He simply said, as Andrew nodded, looking him over, as he stood, currently unarmed, Daniel cut off entirely by Andrew's loud and overbearing voice. "Cunting hell, I am actually going to trip over your umbilical cord, you look like you've barely fucking gone through puberty. National Service? Or just trying to impress some slag?" Andrew asked, knowing full well where he was going. "Yes, Sir; I'm a National Serviceman." Daniel replied, gulping, as Andrew shook his head. "Well, I've got my work cut out. You aren't a shitting serviceman, you ain't even fucking the West Country's best tribute at a National Serviceman. Right, you grab the L7A1 I've been penciled with in the squad, you're lugging that thing. If I saw, you wanted an MG. You now have the most advanced weapon that we have in our arsenal. Well done." Andrew simply said to Daniel, as he nodded, walking past, scared somewhat of Andrew already. This wasn't good, no matter what way he said it. Just as Daniel's hands were grabbing the GPMG, Andrew turned his head and looked over, Daniel aware that you didn't ignore his stare without inducing something. "Don't fuck this up, Parsons. I'll have your fucking head on a pike by the hour if you don't fire that thing as God intended. I know your type. Keep it in mind." He said, harshly at the end, as Daniel adjusted his beret, aware that Andrew wasn't taking any prisoners, as he looked down to the notes he'd made, on the Section composition. "And it turns out we have a lass as a fucking nurse, some bloody Currymaker, a pair of Northern Irish twats, another pair of fucking children and a couple of old farts who look like they could be in a retirement home. Brilliant. Just, fucking, brilliant. The cream of the fucking Royal Marines, the most elite that Great Britain offers and we've got that. Jesus." Andrew said to himself, as he took a few magazines from the crate behind him, lumbering up in his chest rig, the long range radio housed in a Bergen by his feet, for later communications. Fact was, Andrew wanted to go and take some names, and he didn't want to miss his helicopter, or else there would be hell and paperwork to pay. Hell was fine, the paperwork the RN would want filled out could find it's way down someone's esophagus if Andrew knew it came to it. (NOTE TO ALL- the racism and sexism is going to be pretty bad from Andrew, as I may have forwarned. It is IC, and will not transfer over. Andrew's pissed-offness can stem from little things- the very slight delay being enough.)

0600 Hours The HMS Eagle, off the coast of Egypt Jeremy looked once again into the mirror, running his razor along his cheeks, removing any traces of stubble that remained there. His hair had already been trimmed, a short go-over with his small pair of scissors to make sure it was kept at regulation length. He wasn't one to let himself slip, looking like a homeless man conscripted into the Royal Marines. If one didn't look at his uniform that was. Standard khaki fatigues, they were rumpled, covered in stains, patches misplaced in some places. Quite a disgrace really but uniforms weren't an item he cared much for. At least it provided camouflage for where they were going. He thought back to how he had ended up here. He could have chosen a much safer job in the military. A mechanic, radio operator, crew man on a naval ship. Hell, he would have taken being a damned cook over this! Other members of the 40 Commando were scrambling around the ship, preparing to head off into Egypt all because of some imperialistic ambitions. Jeremy was patriotic enough but there were some things he disapproved of, opinions of others be damned. Glancing down at his watch, he realized it was 0555. "Shit, I'm going to be late!" Jeremy yelled. Rushing over to his bed, he threw the uniform on haphazardly, hurriedly securing it before grabbing his kit which had been packed the day before. Rushing through the ship, he saluted officers hastily before barging past them, heading for the cargo bay. Slamming into a bulkhead in his haste, he recovered quickly and opened the portal into the bay. Stepping through hurriedly he spotted Captain Mackenzie and another boy about Jeremy's age, Daniel Parson he thought. Dropping the kit next to a a few ammo crates, Jeremy walked quickly to where Andrew stood. "Captain, Private Jeremy Mills reporting for duty, sir!"

0553 Hours, Military Time Her Majesty's Ship Eagle, Off the Egyptian Shorelines As the waves crashed against the sides of the ship, the noise they created seemed to have a rather disturbing and off-putting rhythm to it, or so it felt to Lewis, as he was tying the long laces of his black leather boots with what seemed to be a religious devotion. It seemed far too quiet around him, except for the sounds of the sea, something the soldier was used to by now. It did occur to him that his attempts to create a good impression, as he had done back as he was leaving for the Korean Peninsula would be wasted were he to report late to his Commanding officer, but he did not quite focus on that then. After finding his boots in a satisfying condition, he raised his head to look around, letting the excess blood flow down from his head, and saw... both surprisingly and unsurprisingly a relatively large amount of people. It was only then that the usual sounds of his brothers in arms hit him, a combination of nervous chattering from the new kids on the block, and the almost nonchalant discourse of the vets, as well as the general sounds of a hurried preparation. He got up from where he had been sitting, and looked down at his uniform, in order to inspect it for any deformities that may have appeared after his previous per-minute checking. It was one of his methods of coping with the stress of the reality that he endured, or so he reasoned it to be, since the minute his boots would hit solid earth, he'd mostly forget about his uniform, and focus on not getting shot in the bloody face by some idiot on the other side. He checked the time, and confident in his ability to reach in time, he began to head for the cargo bay with a walking pace. He sure as hell hoped he wouldn't have to deal with a CO like the first one he had back in Korea, since that buggering man had been the bane of his existence the entirety of the first year of the war. What with all his damned xenophobic tendencies, and the fact that the man had singled him out as the weed of the entire section. Of course, he'd died a heroic death around the time the UN forces started kicking in to push back the North Korean army, saving their anti tank man from getting gutted by some fucko with a sword. With a minute to spare, he'd arrived at the cargo bay, and pushed the portal open, revealing what seemed to be a large conglomeration of ammo crates, people, weapons, miscellaneous parts he could not name, and, most importantly, the man he recognized to be Captain Mackenzie, his current CO. He took a long, deep breath, and made for him. In front of him, he just repeated the protocol that had been drilled into his head for six years. He snapped to attention the second he stopped walking, raised his hand to his forehead in a perfectly formed salute, and barked out "Sir, Lance Corporal Lewis Spencer reporting for duty, sir!" First and last words were sir, and so he felt safe. He had a sudden, and entirely unjustified fear that this deployment was going to be a rather long and difficult one.

0550 Hours Mediterranean Sea, Egyptian Coast HMS Eagle Alexander Reid stood on the deck of the HMS Eagle - the strap of his rifle slung across his right shoulder. His combat uniform was immaculate, as was the rest of his appearance: his hair cut short to military standards, the beard that he had worn prior to his redeployment now all but gone, replaced instead by smooth skin - which, he was sure, would soon be covered by stubble a few days after being dropped into the thick of it. A green beret sat atop his head, to which was secured a well-polished 40 Commandos pin. A pin for the 36th Ulster Division from the First World War was also secured to his breast pocket, polished just as much - if not even more so - as the pin on his beret. _I’m getting way too old for this shit_, he thought, looking round the improvised staging area that was full of rushing Commandos, Marines and other, regular members of the Royal Navy. Logistics personnel were scurrying around everywhere, many of whom had the fresh faces of those conscripted through the National Service Act. None of those fresh faces would be Northern Irish faces, of course - conscription had never been brought in to effect in Ulster; any Irishman serving in the British Armed Forces was there because he _wanted_ to be, and that made Alex proud. He’d been overseeing the offloading of a number of crates from a helicopter at the request of one of the Logistics Officers, while he had rushed off to search for some missing paperwork. Glancing down at his watch, and seeing the time - 5:55 - Alex was relieved to see the officer rushing back toward him to reassume his command, full of praise and thanks for the Sergeant. Waving it off, the Commando gave him a smart salute and a small smile as he departed to find his section, right hand holding the barrel of the rifle that was swung around his neck. Sergeant Reid arrived on the tail end of his CO’s rant, a small grin on his lips as he watched him deal with the National Service Private from the safety of a few feet away. However, at the arrival of Private Mills, Alexander’s temper was quick to rise to boiling point. “Private!” He barked, approaching the young man with business-like steps, the stripes on his shoulders as well as his general demeanour clearly marking him as a Sergeant. “What in the -fuck- are you wearing?! That’s fucking dis-grace-FUL!” He bellowed the last syllable, -right- in Jeremy’s face. “If we weren’ shippin’ out right now, Private, I’d have you cleanin’ my dickcheese wit’ a fuckin’ toothbrush for the next three months. You’d better get your shit together, son - don’ fuck up - you’re a Commando: Britain is countin’ on you.” As soon as he was done chewing out the young man, Alexander turned his attention to Captain Mackenzie, offering him a smart, practiced salute. “Sergeant Reid, Captain - eager to assist in any way I can.” He spoke in a thick County Down accent, and there was a small grin on his lips as he eyed the Scotsman before him.

_Some Months ago, At Stone House Barracks_ A grey and brown haired colonel looked over the records of the Marine sitting across from him, "You've come a long way haven't you Sergeant?" The man sitting across from him a Royal Marines Sergeant, the name of Ward printed on his breast nods, "Yes sir, two major conflicts, several small skirmishes, I have come a very long way sir." The Colonel nodded, "World War 2, The France debacle, and Gold Beach, wounded shortly after the landings. Time in training with the Marines, then off to Korea, wounded again there, why'd you not come off the line when you were wounded there?" Ward hrmed, "Didn't want to leave my unit sir. I saw what happened back in The Second, I got taken off the line, and ended up being sent to a whole other unit. Besides the wound in Normandy was worse then the one I took in Korea. Just a ricochet." The Colonel chuckled, "Just a ricochet. You're a tough old sod, I'll give you that. Never approached for promotion beyond sergeant though, why is that?" Ward snorted, "I got passed over sir. Others in my units were more deserving I suppose. That's alright I don't mind." the Colonel nods, "And now thirty eight, getting on in years. How many years do you think you have left in you?" Ward gave a very ungentlemanly snort, "Premission to speak a little more openly sir?" The Colonel nodded and gestured for him to proceed. Ward nodded his thanks, "Sir, I know I'm old, I know I've seen my fair share. I don't think I have more then seven years left in me, and maybe only two more on the field. The military and the marines besides have been my life sir. And I'd rather have somemore action before finding myself behind a desk...sir. No offense, sir." The colonel chuckles and pats his big heavy walnut desk, "None taken son. Well, we'll keep all this in mind. Thanks for coming in son." Ward nods, gets up and salutes. As he's heading out the colonel calls, "See your current commander about a reassignment...that Suez thing that's starting up...might need an old wise hand to help out out there. Dismissed Sergeant." Ward saluted again. ---- **_0600 HMS Eagle, Near Egyptian Coastline_** "Hey, that's a live weapon! Careful!" Ward turned to look at the young Corporal who was hollering at him. Ward hrmed, "Listen son, I outrank you for one, two this here is my safety." The older man raised his right hand and hooked and unhooked his index finger a few times. "Three, I've seen more conflict in my life then you will for awhile yet. So don't tell me what's safe and what's not. But so as not to offend your sensibilities." He swung the rifle up, clicked on the safety and then swung it up and over his right shoulder, then walked off not letting the young man say anything else. He looked quite the hard-case. His jacket is still the same one he got way back when he enlisted with the army. The same fabric, the same colors. It had a variety of mud and blood stains. A throw back to another time well over a decade ago when his generation became warriors rather then children. The rest of his kit, pants, boots, shirt all that were pristine and new, but he was adamant to keep the jacket which held part of his marine insignia. The shirt and vest under that carrying the rest. His kit bag held over his back, with ammo kit at his waist. Aside from the jacket it was all brand new. But they could take his jacket when he was dead and gone He might get flak for that from the Commanding Officer and any other hard asses in the unit, but he's stick by to this no matter what. He arrived on the cargo deck just as the clock turned. Not feeling all that bad about potentially being late, for a muster it ought to be okay. You're never late in the field ever. And as he approached, saw the two older men, smiling a little knowing there is some maturity in the unit, they could hold their own, know what to do, and where to be. What made him wary though is all of the young blood. He remembered being that young, he remembered how green he was, and how he really had to mature and work past the possibility of shedding blood and taking lives. He approached the knot of people, and at first had only eyes for their CO. He dropped his kit bag to the ground at his feet, then clicked his feet together and snapped off a salute, "Sir, Sergeant Felix Ward, Armorer, reporting Captain, sir." He didn't spare a look at the young blood or the other older gents. Just waiting for the return salute from their CO. 0600, right on the dot. Right on time.

**0558 Hours** **Somewhere in the Mediterranean Sea, off the coast of Egypt** **On-board the HMS Eagle** Everything still felt new. She had spent some months in Korea but she never really saw any action save for the day she got noticed. The fame from that day lasted all of three days and then everyone went back to their usual cat-calling, butt-spanking, lustful selves. At least she had gotten her transfer, it was perhaps the only good thing that had happened to her since she enlisted. It was hard enough being inexperienced and surrounded by veterans and hard-asses but being a woman on top of that made her a huge target. It was to be expected she supposed. Most of the men hadn't seen a woman in months and they typically reacted in one of two ways, ecstatic and practically flying out of their pants or insulted that she was permitted to wear the same uniform. Either way it was pretty clear that the Royal Marines was a boys club and she was the oddity. Mandi was already in the area, not wanting to chance being late, and had been going over her medical supplies making sure she had everything necessary. She may not have had a lot of fighting experience but she had spent enough time patching up soldiers to know that painkillers were not as important as disinfectant. Seeing that it was time to muster, she made her way over to her commanding officer, a Captain by the name of Mackenzie. She arrived at 0600 just as a Sergeant Ward was reporting in. She stood next to him and followed suite. She placed her Field Surgeon's Pack (which doubled as her kit bag) at her feet and snapped to a salute. "Sir, Lance Corporal Mandi Page, Medic, Reporting in Sir." She awaited the return salute from her CO and prayed that her punctuality and proper form would at the very least make an impression of competence on the intimidating figure before her.

Andrew looked to the whole grouping that began to assemble in front of him, looking over their various heights, ages, and even sex. The Medic was a sight to see, particularly on a ship like this. There were a handful of birds as radio operators, not as soldiers, Andrew thought to himself; this was very different indeed. LCpl Page was going to be a treat, he guessed- so long as she fought, he wouldn't bring it up, but underneath, he knew that she wasn't man enough when fists came to raise. Then there was Sergeants Reid, and Ward. Reid was an experienced man, someone who Andrew had heard vaguely of, whilst the name Ward brought something to mind. Gold Beach, perhaps. Maybe he met a Lincolnshire man by the same name, and it wouldn't have surprised him in the slightest, that he happened to also be armed with the Lee-Enfield he had taken of old. He was a good sniper, if that still was the case in point. Then there was Jeremy, a pale youngster like Daniel, and Lewis. Lewis's slightly tanned face wasn't something that Andrew particularly cared for, but he knew he was of Indian decent, that was for sure. He seemed English enough, but nonetheless, it was an oddity. The section wasn't as bad as when he had first seen it, but Andrew couldn't feel that this wasn't the cream of the cream. This was the shit of the pile. He had to have the diversity, not a whole group of experienced soldiers who had seen bullets, yet were younger than Andrew was. It would be tricky, but Andrew knew that they were still Marines with reason. And he'd keep that up, God help him. They had to somehow be that, right? Daniel fell into line, as Andrew looked over the lot, looking around at each individual like he was mindfucking them in turn, with a different flair, looking almost into their souls as if he had that power. "Attention!" He barked, saluting as he knew they'd already all done, looking at all of them again, from uniforms, to their general appearance. Tidy, neat, clean- the older lads had worn kit, but the younger generations were a tiny bit more scruffy. If Andrew had the chance, he'd ridicule them on it, but there wasn't time. He had a breiefing to cut through, and that was the most important thing. "Right. You're Bravo Section, 2 Company, and you are coming along with me, or so I've been told...and let me make this clear, first things above all. I run this unit, and you are to fall the fuck in line, when I say, how I say. You decide to take initiative that I never let you take, I fillet you. Decide to run? I, or the Platoon Sergeant WILL fillet you into fucking pieces, if I can get myself over to join in then I'll make it as dragged out as possible. You are Royal Marines, somehow, and we are brothers. Never forget that. Your job, and my job, is to get rid of all that stands to kill your friends by your side. Queen and Country are what we say we fight for. But the man by your side, or in Lance Corporal Page's case, the woman by your side, is who you look out for, because they look out for you. You might know each other already, you might not. Always remember that the savages will not care for that. They'll cut your heads off with fucking Scimitars if they get the chance, so you neutralize those sandy bastards. You don't, fucking, falter, don't think or consider that man's life. You tear their internal organs out if the fucking chance comes, because they WILL do the same to you. I guess if you're National Service, then perhaps you don't know that yet. But take it from me. I'll not be responsible if you chose to be a coward and in the moment, that prick that you thought had an existence like yours turns your brain into mush." He said, looking at all of them again, still examining. "Lastly, do not fuck around with me, not just the person next to you. The moment you fucking disobey or decide to become smart with me, and trust me, I will personally make sure that rather than some RMP man, I end up fucking maiming you in your cell. Don't think I don't have the time. I can fucking make it if needs be, to personally make your life hell for as long as it takes you to realize." Andrew said, barking towards the end, in a way that didn't seem desperate. It seemed very justified, scarily enough, an eerie silence following. "Fine then. I've got you all penciled in for your roles in the squad, and your kit is here that Armory brought over; no fucking around with what you have and haven't got, take it and head to the assembly point by the cargo lift, don't moan if you're not Ally ([This](http://www.arrse.co.uk/wiki/Allyness) ) of the week. A helicopter is waiting for us on the deck of the Eagle to lift us into the fight in Port Said. We'll be among the first of the Royal Marines to hit ground, but it won't be a simple affair. We're to clear the Al Gabbal area of town, named after a local Mosque and Cemetery in the area. Resistance is over a battalion's worth of Egyptian Regulars, with at least the same in Reserves and militia. Poorly armed, but SU-100 and T-34 tanks are in town, so you watch your backs and let our AT deal with it. It's going to be intensive, and while we've got fellow Commandos coming in on boat, and the Centurions as fire support, we'll be up against the wall without armored support for at least half an hour to half the day. We've half bombed the place, but when we get there, stay on your guard. They don't take fucking prisoners. And since we can't wheel them out of the town if they surrender, we can't take them as POWs. You shoot dead anyone with a gun who looks like a threat, anyone that surrenders, them too. They've had enough warning of us; so anyone that even does surrender, we won't have the time and logistics to deal with. It isn't going to be dealt with by some Reservists and neither have we got the supply or time. Keep that in your heads." Andrew ordered, pausing for a breather as he knew it was a lot of information. "Okay. Right...you've got three minutes to kit up, so hurry the fuck up, before you go to the lift. Understood?" He asked, waiting for the simple response that they'd make. "Sir, yes Sir!" Daniel yelled, as Andrew looked them all over, analyzing them, inspecting them. "Good. Dismissed. Apart from you, Page." Andrew replied, as he approached her, walking close up to her, adjusting his Beret as he came within her personal area, almost bursting her bubble entirely as he put his face close. "I don't fucking like you. You should be doing my fucking dishes and taking care of my kids right now if you were my wife. If you have a husband, he's probably fucked off that you aren't. So unless you've been able to do open heart fucking surgery and reattach limbs to people who are half dead, then you ain't a fucking Royal Marines Commando Medic in my eyes. However you got in, I'm pretty buggering sure that it involves oral in some part of your story. Do not get in the way of the big lads, or you'll be fucked up. You stay behind and let the men do the work, you keep your fucking nails clean." He said, brutally and coldly, almost not caring that he was scaring the shit out of her. "Dismissed. Fuck off, lass." He said, coldly almost spitting in his venomous voice, adjusting his sleeves as he took the ammunition for his Sterling, and kitted up, Daniel visibly shaken, as he walked over towards Jeremy, already aware that he was the other young man. "You ready for this then? I mean, this is crazy. Never been in a helicopter before, I heard it's really exiting." He asked, looking over to the other young man, who looked like the squad's AT man. Daniel inspected his GPMG, aware that it felt very high-tech, compared to the older Brens in the section. "I guess I got lucky. Belgian made, I heard they've only got a handful of these about." Daniel said, chuckling as he put the walnut against his shoulder, loading in a box as he pulled the belt out for a moment, before putting it back away, aware he didn't want to load a GPMG aboard an aircraft carrier. He may have been a little regretful that he was here, but he wasn't going to unload into his compatriots by accident, or else Daniel would have been sure of the fact that Andrew would summarily shoot him in the bollocks. He lowered the weapon slightly, the strap around his lower neck holding the weapon loosely apart from his hold over the lugging handle. ---- Within two minutes, Andrew stood by the cargo lift, aware that this was the way up to the flight deck, to get them to their helicopter off the deck and into the fight, wearing his usual Commandos Beret, in it's distinctive and sharp green, alongside the regular uniform he maintained. His face, and beard displayed a certain war-weariness, almost as if he was pissed off from it all. It was his life, but perhaps it was that Glaswegian trait. If you told him he wasn't needed, he'd be pissed. If you told him he was fighting with a Sten again, he'd be pissed, but somehow not too bothered. He didn't have a 1000 yard stare, he had a different aggravation towards life, as if the only thing that really brought his mood up was the fact that they were doing good at killing people, were on track to their objective and nobody was dead or telling him shit that effectively made his job more problematic. When things were good, Andrew just wanted things to run efficiently and with minimal bullshit, or he'd snap. Daniel made his way over, a few boxes in his Bergen, and one mounted on his webbing, wiping some dust off his face as he stood in front of Andrew, aware that the rest were now to come over. "Good? In we get." Andrew said to them all, then looking to the Mariner who stood inside the lift, waiting on Captain Mackenzie's word, aware that the steel cage would get them up to the flight deck; this usually being used for ammunition or weapons loading, rather than squads. But in this case, there were a lot of people going up at a time, and the stairs were full of Seamen, something that Andrew wanted to laugh at. It was a Royal Marines thing- they were surrounded by Seamen, and as much as he knew that the joke would catch light if they came back on deck within his Section, he couldn't laugh himself- he had been in the Royal Navy once, after all. Years ago, at least a couple of years after the outbreak of war, aboard a frigate. It had been tough times, but at least now, this was his life. Forty was his life, and it wasn't going to be taken away from him easily. Andrew couldn't say he didn't somehow question how he acted to people. It was the way things just were. Daniel looked around, clutching his L7A1 tightly, the weapon something he knew he felt tense about, but something that he'd already been introduced to before back at home. It was going to be interesting using it, that was for sure, but he had questions on his mind. "Captain, permission to ask about taking prisoners?" Daniel simply said, looking to Andrew, as the lift headed up. "Go ahead, Private." "Do we have to shoot them?" He asked, trembling, as Andrew shook his head. "No, we've got to book them into a fucking hotel. Stupid twat. If you ever went to war, you'll understand. At least those Nazis had the nerve to be respectable POWs, the shit I saw in Oman...fucking civilians denying that they're anything to do with the minefields they put out, and yet they have a crate full of WW1 era mines in their houses. Even in surrendering, they resist, that's your problem, boy. In war, there are only two sides. The Royal Marines Commando, and those twats that will drive a .303 through your skull. And it isn't just me. Colonel Harris personally told me he has no concern that we do what we have to do. So I suggest you think on that." Andrew said, looking to the others, and in particular, turned to his men, his L2A3 neatly in his worn hands. "Okay, Sergeant Ward, Parsons, you are with me as Fireteam "Blue". Sergeant Reid, you take Page, Spencer and Mills, as Fireteam "Red". When needs be, if I can't command, Reid takes command of the unit. You Ulstermen ain't too bad, at least you unfucked your homeland, I'll give you that. Mills, that M20A1 is something we mustered pretty specifically, so you use it to effect when we see heavy armor. Any Jeeps or Light Vehicles, Spencer and Parsons unload on it. I've seen many an AT round be put to no good use on a fucking lorry." Andrew simply said, the lift taking the team up slowly and surely, Andrew's loud voice louder than the mechanism, audible to the team. "As far as I remember, Ward, you were a talent back in the 'War. I heard stuff about you, I'm surprised to still see you fight with that Rifle of yours, after what I heard happened. It's the same thing; Jerry, North Koreans, Egyptians. Parsons, you spot for him if he needs it, and do precisely what he fucking says; you've got younger eyes than our marksman here, and counter-snipers will be rife in town, no doubt." He added, looking to the overall group, as the lift reached the top, the Marine opening the cage as the flight deck beckoned. The open door revealed the sight of a Hawker Sea Hawk thundering past on the deck, as the backblast and the noise of the loud jet engine boomed, as it flew off the deck, taking flight as Daniel looked on in awe. This was incredible, just the experience of being aboard Her Majesty's Ship, Eagle; a jewel in the Royal Navy's crown, that was a fairly cutting edge ship for a cutting edge deployment. Andrew led the way out, as they followed the Mariner that was in the lift, Andrew now able to hear what the man was saying, the clear deck allowing for them to cross. "Your helicopter is over there, Captain Mackenzie, under Flight Lieutenant Nevis. A fellow Scotsman." The Royal Navy seaman said, pointing over as the blue and white helicopter's blades span up, the blades of of the Westland Whirlwind kicking, an unconventional thing. It was wholly un-natural to Andrew, who knew that this wasn't exactly a beast that sustained itself with the laws of gravity. It pummeled the air, rather than cut through it. "Fucking marvelous!" Andrew yelled back at the seaman, looking at the sight of two of the Sea Hawks buzzing past, headed southbound, as well as the sight of various other Royal Navy ships, destroyers and frigates, corvettes and amphibious landing ships making their way to shore. This was an Invasion, alright. "All in!" Andrew yelled, walking towards the side of the helicopter, the open door revealing the seating inside, rudimentary but do-able for this run. It was going to be one hell of a deployment, Andrew thought to himself. And damn, if it wasn't going to be a point proven that Royal Marines made their work plenty. Andrew grabbed a seat close to the front, whilst Daniel was last in, right by the open door.

Ward held his salute stance until Mackenzie saluted back. He silently assumed an at ease position and listened closely to the briefing. He spared a brief look about the group. Wasn't alot of them, but the lot that is there, would be plenty. Just have to trust the command, relay the orders clearly, making sure the kids, and damned were they young, stayed alive. And also make sure he did his job. He could already tell alot of the rest of the squad is outfitted for close to medium range fighting. He'd be the only one with a longer range precision weapon. He'd have to make sure he kept his unit alive against the snipers and marksmen of the other side. As the briefing wrapped up he snapped off a salute, and went to find the rest of his kit. Dropping his small kit duffle bag by the table that held the things that he'd need. Gathering it all up, placing it where he'd be able to reach it quickly and easily, none of the bullshit having to reach into a bergen or a badly out of place kit bag. His stripper clips sliding into the front two pouches of his kit harness, Mill's bombs in the pouches meant for them. He slid his Russian style machete into a blade holster on his left shoulder. Where he could quickly grab it. He tested the quick release holster a few times before locking the machete into place. Lastly he swung the rifle he'd brought with him off his shoulder. It isn't the same one he had been issued when he shipped out to France over a decade ago. But it was the second one he ever got after the first one was lost in the evacuation from France. This one had been tooled up, scuffed, banged, dropped, used as a club, dropped in a river North of Berlin, and actually shot straighter then it did before. He checked the magazine, and removed the five round he had placed in there to keep the gun primed. Slotting them away in an extra pouch in case he had to do some quick loading. In fact he grabbed a few extra loose rounds and filled that extra pouch with them just in case. Smoke grenades, orienteering kit, and a few things he'd need for weapon and kit repairs, just in case on the field. He swung the rifle over his shoulder again and made to head towards the lift. He did stop along the way to search a pile of soda cans by the lift, grabbing the tabs off them and pocketing them. All that done he went off whistling a tune soft. As ready as he could be for what comes. ----- As the lift rose to the deck he stood in the rear of the group as the lift began to rise. And he had to give the boy Daniel a look that spoke volumes, all of them saying, _You are an idiot._ He shook his head murmuring, "Children...What the hell is command thinking sending children here. Even if they are Marines." Ward nodded as the fire teams were split up and he moved a little closer to his team members. Flashing the Captain a quick salute and giving Daniel a half nod. He'd need to see the young guns here prove themselves before he'd give them too much respect. Ward smiled at the Captain nodding, "Sir, you let me worry about the far and deadly. I can still shoot with the best of them. You can count on that sir." He looked to Parsons, turning to look at him face on, "I'm gonna say this now lad. If I ask you for help, you do not finish what you are doing, you drop it as fucking fast as you possibly can, pull up your panties and get to my side faster then you'd fucking squirt your first load in your first lady love. Because if it turns out I do need your help it's alot more important then what ever the fuck you were doing." He clapped the young man on the side of the neck, "Do not let us down. You think the Captain would fuck you up, I'd file off your balls off. I'm an armorer, you know I can." The lift reached the deck. Felix Ward greeted the sound, smell and feel of the water and the ever present drone of a Navy ship and smell of petrol and other things in the air. He looked over to see two helicopters buzz into the distance. And noticed the other one waiting. Their ride most like. He nodded, humping over to the helicopter. He loaded in second to last, as he wanted to be out and ready to combat any long range fire as quickly as he could. no doubt when they put down there'd be loads of long distance fire to take care of. As soon as he's in, he quickly loaded in two full stripper clips into his Lee Four, cocking a round into the chamber, and placed the muzzle squarely on the floor of the helicopter. Off to war again, like going home.

The monster of a Captain kept her after the briefing and came within centimeters of touching her. She was worried that he might try to molest her as an officer had done in the past but instead he explained his disapproval of her being in his unit. It was something she had expected but it didn't change the fact that this man was terrifying. Part of her thanked God that he was her Captain, as the enemy would surely be just as afraid of him as she was. The difference in height made him all the more intimidating. The Captain, who was easily close to two meters tall, towered over her like a giant. She didn't dare make any action to indicate her fear of him as it would probably have prompted more shouting at the very least. Her heart was racing and she held her breath as he continued to make it absolutely clear that she wasn't welcome among his ranks. Finally being dismissed was a blessing as a single tear fell down her cheek when she turned away. She wiped her face clean as she gathered her things and kitted up. When she made it to the lift she made a point to be as far from the Captain as possible. She didn't want to invoke his wrath with her proximity. As the lift rose up to the deck she could see the helicopters that would be carrying all the Royal Marines to battle. Mandi wasn't very knowledgeable when it came to aircraft but she knew enough to understand that helicopters weren't exactly the most well armored of transports and that thought worried her. They would be flying into a combat zone shortly and a few unlucky rounds to this things engine could potentially send then crashing to the earth below at great speed. The order to board was given. As much as she didn't want to Mandi went in second next to Captain Mackenzie, she was instructed by the Captain to stay behind the big boys after all but being so close to him made her shiver. She kept her head down and said a little prayer for everyone. "...though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy Rod and thy Staff shall comfort me..."