[i]"Attention on deck!"[/i]

It was only a moment or so after the colonel stepped off that a nearby trooper snapped to attention and offered a proper salute, soon after those around him followed suit in a similar manner. With a dismissive wave of his hand Colonel Morrel returned the action in turn, highly polished boots clicking against the cold, metallic floor of the ship's interior. 

The colonel had always hated space travel. From the feel of zero-g pelican flight to the sick sensation one got when they realized that outside these metallic walls there was nothing offering protection from the vast expanse of limitless death, the Colonel had learned that space flight was and always would be a hazardous business. It was a few moments after the colonel stepped off that his staff followed suit, ten in total, these professional soldiers and intel specialists immediately returned to their previous actions: bombarding him with questions about the upcoming missions and the ships overall readiness.

Having been put in nominal command of the operation Morrel was obliged to answer a fair number of their concerns, though he was always wary to separate possibly restricted information such as their destination and total offensive capabilities. Indeed, most of these staff officers who were ONI themselves were not even aware that there were SPARTANS on board.

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The walk to the CIC passed quickly as the colonel's aids one by one dropped away to resume their jobs at various points throughout the ship. Coming to a halt outside the CIC main hatchway the colonel's boots again came together in a smart manner, clicking softly as the doors slide open to allow him passage inside. [color=0072bc]"Avalon, status update. What's our time on target for departure?"[/color]