M2T2
M2T2
May 16th, 2180; USS Chicago, docked at Space Station Bifrost Bridge, Alexandria Sector
At 1700 hours the members of the "Easy Eights" came together in the large central hanger bay of the Chicago, and Captain Ramirez gave them a short and sweet speach, mostly emphasizing 'get the job done and don't be a hero'.
He also passed out the primary weapons assignments; special equipment assignments and available secondary weapons for the Strike Team.*
This done; Hansen and Alante got to work on Prepping the Dropship while the others did last minute field cleanings of thier weapons and equipment checks and then everyone was in thier Cryo Chambers by 2200 hours that night for the 6 day trip to Forge...
(OOC) *Please see new thread for the Weapons and Equipment assignments; also, please check the XP/Learning Roll Thread for status of possible updated skills or to let me know which skill you'd like to try to improve/gain.
At 1700 hours the members of the "Easy Eights" came together in the large central hanger bay of the Chicago, and Captain Ramirez gave them a short and sweet speach, mostly emphasizing 'get the job done and don't be a hero'.
He also passed out the primary weapons assignments; special equipment assignments and available secondary weapons for the Strike Team.*
This done; Hansen and Alante got to work on Prepping the Dropship while the others did last minute field cleanings of thier weapons and equipment checks and then everyone was in thier Cryo Chambers by 2200 hours that night for the 6 day trip to Forge...
(OOC) *Please see new thread for the Weapons and Equipment assignments; also, please check the XP/Learning Roll Thread for status of possible updated skills or to let me know which skill you'd like to try to improve/gain.
Re: M2T2
Get the job done and don't be a hero. Yep, I think I can manage that. Obi thought to himself as the good Captain Ramirez finished his speech. The platoon milled around the Hanger Deck, breaking off into little groups discussing their individual roles and weapon assignments, while the flight crew moved over to UD4 dropship which sat in the middle of the deck and began giving the craft a once over. Obi saw the new marine, the other Aussie standing a little apart from the rest of the platoon. Walking over to him, the other marine looked up at his approach.
"G'day mate, welcome aboard, I'm Mike O'Brien, Obi for short." Obi said as he offered his hand in greeting.
<tag PVT Dunn>
"G'day mate, welcome aboard, I'm Mike O'Brien, Obi for short." Obi said as he offered his hand in greeting.
<tag PVT Dunn>
CPL Mike "Obi" O'Brien
Communications Operator
Communications Operator
Re: M2T2
Morse followed his usual routine upon the briefing coming to its end. He grabbed the canteen from his side, drank the alcoholic drink within, and then went over and grabbed his M41A-E2 and placed it on a small cart. He pushed it along the deck, preparing to disassemble it.
As he scooted by he noticed O'brien trying to give an introductory to the new prick who was already causing ripples in the water. And Morse wasn't one to take things lightly.
"Careful O'brien, it aint healthy to talk to assholes." Morse said placing emphasis on the last part as he rolled his cart by them.
He found a good place and began disassembling it, piece by piece. "Your a superior, God willin' this friendly-fuck up won't kill ya for clickin on the wrong frequency while on com." Morse said.
< Tag Obi
His back was back was turned, but his ears were open and waiting for the clunking of boots on the deck to come after him. He was not happy about having a psychotic murderer on with them, especially one who made a threat against his life. Bitter resentment was something Morse tended to keep often on a variety of subjects, especially this.
As he scooted by he noticed O'brien trying to give an introductory to the new prick who was already causing ripples in the water. And Morse wasn't one to take things lightly.
"Careful O'brien, it aint healthy to talk to assholes." Morse said placing emphasis on the last part as he rolled his cart by them.
He found a good place and began disassembling it, piece by piece. "Your a superior, God willin' this friendly-fuck up won't kill ya for clickin on the wrong frequency while on com." Morse said.
< Tag Obi
His back was back was turned, but his ears were open and waiting for the clunking of boots on the deck to come after him. He was not happy about having a psychotic murderer on with them, especially one who made a threat against his life. Bitter resentment was something Morse tended to keep often on a variety of subjects, especially this.
Re: M2T2
Billy Lone Bear did not care for the dreams he had in hypersleep. They were not like ordinary dreams, flickering across the viewscreen of his mind, but elongated and distorted things that took strange shape and lingered too long.
If he dreamed of his new comrades he didn't recognize them. Hypersleep made faces strange and he'd only learned a few names by listening in and not by talking with anyone. For him there were only the bizarre forms of unnatural slumber, forms that might be human or might not.
Billy was conscious of a wet, dripping noise and uncomfortable heat. Shapes moved and rearranged themselves, black on black. His dream-self reached for the medicine pouch he wore around his neck along with his dog tags. With the pouch between his fingers he could dispel the evil vision and restore light. For a while.
Again and again the dark, chitinous murderers of sleep came to him and again and again he pushed them back. But clearly the spirits were attempting to tell him something that he must know, though he was not disposed to hear their message.
If he dreamed of his new comrades he didn't recognize them. Hypersleep made faces strange and he'd only learned a few names by listening in and not by talking with anyone. For him there were only the bizarre forms of unnatural slumber, forms that might be human or might not.
Billy was conscious of a wet, dripping noise and uncomfortable heat. Shapes moved and rearranged themselves, black on black. His dream-self reached for the medicine pouch he wore around his neck along with his dog tags. With the pouch between his fingers he could dispel the evil vision and restore light. For a while.
Again and again the dark, chitinous murderers of sleep came to him and again and again he pushed them back. But clearly the spirits were attempting to tell him something that he must know, though he was not disposed to hear their message.
- Darkblade Bug
- Master Gunnery Sergeant
- Posts: 389
- Joined: Sat Aug 04, 2007 9:30 am
- Location: Aus-farkin-tralia, mate.
Re: M2T2
***DOWNTIME: THE ARMOURY***
He made his way down the corridor towards the armoury - while the other marines got some rest for the mission ahead, Sam Dunn intended to spend his downtime gearing up. With the amount of preparation required to make a M56D Smartgun ready for combat, along with the other rituals that he needed to do to mentally prepare himself for facing the creatures that had taken his friends, he was going to need a few hours. The rhythmic clunk of his combat boots against the steel floor grating formed a beat for the war music that had started to play in his head - killing time was coming soon.
He reached the hangar bay of the Chicago, where the loadmaster and ground crew were hard at work getting the large frigate prepared for a combat mission. He nodded respectfully to them - being an ex-pilot, he knew just how hard the ground crew worked to make sure that the troops had everything they needed. He quickly identified the loadmaster and walked over to him - a burly man with an ugly series of scars, a patch over his right eye, and greying hair. He'd probably been a marine or pilot back in his day, and now was serving the Corps as best he could. Sam could respect that.
He made his way carefully across the large hangar - keeping out of the way of the ground crew - and slipped quietly inside the ship. The Conestoga classes were a lot more high-tech than anything he'd had access to back in the SAS, and he was suitably impressed by how much technology they'd packed into such a small parcel. He quickly made his way to where he knew the armoury was, and was very pleased to find that it was fully stocked and ready for him. Good. He closed the door behind him, wishing not to be disturbed, and began his work.
He already knew that he would be told to use a M56D for the mission - being the only qualified Smartgunner on the strike team all but guaranteed it. He found the ammuniton storage, and lined up 300 M250 10x28mm Caseless Rounds on the large gunsmithing table that dominated the center of the room. Bigger and more powerful than the M309 round that went into the Pulse Rifle, they also had the feature of a selectable fuse setting. He didn't need to do it manually though, the gun took care of that when each round was loaded into the chamber. He then separated the rounds into 12 groups of 25. Then he got out his engraving tool from his shirt pocket and got to work.
On the first 25 rounds, he engraved, as neatly as he could, "Lt. Ken Harry. KIA Operation "Acid Reign." He remembered Lt Harry - a kid with no experience at all, like most junior officers...but he had the rare quality of recognizing that he didn't know shit, and actually asking the veteran members for their input and advice. He cared more about the people under his command than his delusions of glory and grandeur. That made him a rare man, a good man. Once who had gotten them out of many a sticky situation alive. His democratic leadership style hadn't seen him through the mining tunnels of Epsilon Facility, though. They'd taken him when he'd led 2nd Squad in to rescue Kawalski and the Doc.
Next batch. "Sergeant Jack Dunn. KIA Operation 'Acid Reign'." Dad had always been a hell of a bloke, the kind of man who always knew what to say to inspire the team to do their very best, and pick them up when they fell. He'd been the heart and soul of the Platoon, the man who kept them going no matter what happened. He'd been a good commander, a good father, a good comrade and a good friend. He was getting close to retirement age when the orders for Acid Reign got down. In the end, he just wasn't as quick as he had once been - he killed the bug that got the drop on him...but he hadn't gotten away in time to avoid the acid blood.
One by one, he etched the names of each and every member of his old platoon into the rounds before him, so that each dead marine had 25 bullets to their name. The last 25 bore his name - for he had also been listed as KIA during Acid Reign, only to be rebuilt bit by bit thanks to the money of the Corporates. They weren't about to let the valuable combat experience he'd gained go to waste, and they'd wasted no time telling him that he was an investment - and that he'd better pay off. He sighed to himself. As long as he made sure that every single one of those bullets with his comrades names on them found their mark, he could die knowing he'd balanced the scales. He was going to take the honour roll that his ammo now contained and violently insert it into the bugs, the mercs, anyone that stood in his way.
Next, he grabbed two empty drum magazines, and on each he engraved the names of each squad. The first drum also got Harry and Jack, whilst the second one got his name and that of his old copilot, Jarred Ethers. The process took him well over an hour, but by the time he was finished, he had two fully loaded drums of ammunition, each holding 150 rounds, that had strengthened his resolve and prepared him for the hell ahead. He knew he was not going to die until both ammo drums were empty, and he wasn't going to waste ammo. He couldn't let his friends die unavenged. He wouldn't. No way.
Next, he tracked down where the crew had stored his personal M56D Smartgun. Smartguns were notoriously unreliable things, and notoriously unique. Lots of them had their little problems, their glitches. It was rare when you found one that you meshed with so perfectly that it completely overcame the technical issues the weapon had. When you found 'your match', Smartgunner lore said to never let go of your weapon - keep it forever. Sam had tested out dozens before he'd found his match. It had once been jet-black, but now its surface was bone-white, every available bit of space sporting the painted visage of a skull. It was a bone-weapon. A dead weapon. A reaper's tool of destruction and misery.
That was the name of his weapon. Misery.
He found his combat harness and strapped himself in. He opened up the front ballistic plate to check that the tracking and targeting processor and inbuilt communications system were undamaged. Everything looked to be in order, but he wouldn't know for sure until he switched the whole weapons system on. He closed it up. Like his Smartgun, the armoured breastplate had an undercoat of black - but instead of skulls, a realistic representation of a ribcage with a bleeding heart was painted on. He still enjoyed painting - he'd done so ever since he was a kid.
Next, he attached the stabilizer arm to the mounting on his hip, and plugged the leads into the harness - where it connected to the radio and tracking processor. He then plugged his HMS into the system - and the HUD that was already superimposed on his vision lit up with new data - a comms channel, a red box and a series of warnings saying 'Unable to detect M56D Smartgun unit'. Of course - he wasn't plugged into Misery just yet, he still had a couple of things to do. First, he plugged in a DV9 Lithium battery to the gun - this would power most of the systems. It would have powered all of them, but he had a secondary battery fixed to his HMS - a custom mod, since he relied on the damn thing to see out of his bad eye.
Finally, he plugged the weapon in. First, he plugged the other end of the battery to the stabilizer arm - immediately, the LED counter on his weapon showed '000' in red digits. He heard a faintly audible whine as the system powered up. Next, he linked the weapon to the stabilizer arm with the other cables - now, the HMS sprang to life. Targeting and ranging data appeared, along with remaining ammunition (this was in red and flashing, showing he was out of ammo), and the other warning lights disappeared.
Now the thing was powered up, he had one thing left to do. He located a Motion Tracker, and clipped it onto his belt, in the empty space between a large ammo pouch and a smaller canteen pouch. He then grabbed a lead from one of his pockets, and plugged it into a small socket in the tracker - the other end went into his gun harness. He switched the tracker on...and on his HUD, a transparent image of a motion tracker screen appeared in the bottom-right corner. No movement within its range of 25m - though the dense walls probably had something to do with that - he found that trackers worked best in open ground.
He slipped the second drum mag into his ammo pouch, and he clipped the other one into his weapon. The red flashing ammo icon on his HUD disappeared, replaced with a green '150'. He was fully loaded. He pulled back the cocking handle and let it go, loading a round into the chamber. If he let the thing load itself, the first round was all but guaranteed to jam. Screw that. He knew the weapon was on safe - he'd checked that before he'd loaded it, and set the ammo selector to 'delay' which meant the round wouldn't explode until it penetrated the target - vital against armoured mercs and Xenomorphs.
He knew he only had fifteen or so minutes until it was time to head out to the hangar to listen to the boss make his speech, so he strapped on the rest of his armour (this consisted only of a pair of greaves), and packed the rest of his gear. Okay. He was combat ready. He knew it would be six days before mission start, but he wanted to be sure everything was working perfectly - and it was. Plus, he needed to get his head into the right frame of mind. If he was going to be killing and surviving...he needed to feel ready for war.
Okay, time to head out. He turned, opened the armoury door, and stalked out, towards where he knew that the other marines were. He made sure to clip his weapon against the harness, so the barrel was pointing straight down towards the ground - weapon control was important. He ejected the ammo drum, then cocked the weapon to eject the one bullet from the chamber, and re-loaded it into the mag before slipping that one into his other ammo pouch. Weapon unloaded and safed, he was ready to hear the boss ramble.
***1700 HOURS***
Okay, so it wasn't a ramble after all. In fact, the speech was brief and to the point - just the way he liked them. He moved a bit away from the team after the talking stopped, so that he could observe the goings on from a safe distance. His arms crossed over his chest, he waited for them to finish up and board the ship - he absolutely hated cryo, and he looked forward to getting it over and done with. Bloody cryo sickness. Bloody freezer burn. Bloody hell. It was only six days - he was damn tempted to just stay up and paint the dropship, if the crew had no problem with it. Hell, he'd don a suit and paint the whole ship's hull if it meant getting out of cryosleep.
He was musing on the heresies of being frozen alive when one of the soldiers, the other Australian, walked up to him an extended a hand. Well, he hadn't expected that - after his little tantrum, he'd been hoping the marines would keep their distance. It'd be a lot easier on him if they weren't nice o him. He didn't want to care about them. He didn't want to hurt when they died. Still, he wasn't about to just brush off the one bloke who had the balls to go and talk to the new psycho - courage was something to be rewarded, after all.
"Dunn. Sam Dunn. Back when my friends were still alive, they used to just call me 'Dunny' for short." His smile wavered and his voice cracked a little as he corrected himself - all the people who had known his nickname were dead now. Gone. In a mission just like this one. It took a moment for it to sink in, before he forced the pain deep down and slammed the lid on it. In truth, he'd started the nickname himself - just self-deprecating enough to be funny without being serious, a reference to the fact that he used to talk a lot of shit. It came with the job description of platoon comedian.
"As for how good it is to meet you...if we both get out of this one alive, I'll consider it a bloody good omen. I'll do my best to make sure that we both do." He said, his tone light. He didn't really consider the possibility of them both surviving - he knew none of them were coming out alive, but after what Dugan had told him, he decided to try to keep morale in mind. If he crushed the hopes of the group with depressing talk, then they'd probably give up and die easily. Better to let them have their hope, so that they died well.
<Tag Obi>
"Getting jealous are we, Morse? Aw, sorry babe, you know I love you the most." He teased back, looking for all the worlds to be honestly shocked and hurt. He managed to keep the expression for about three seconds, before breaking into a never-before-seen grin.
"But I shouldn't be talking to you. It ain't healthy." He added, turning to O'brien with a conspiratorial grin. When Morse added the comment about killing Obi for using the wrong channel, Dunny turned to face him, a contrite expression on his face.
"You're insinuating I'd cheat? Shame on you, Morse - you know I'd never kill any marine but you!" He then burst into a chuckle, shaking his head and leaning against a nearby wall. Goading the marine was far too easy - and he was more than willing to make gay jokes against himself if they dragged Morse down to his level - after all, he could take a joke. The question was, could Morse? He wondered to himself if the marine would pass the little test he'd devised for him. Sam looked forward to the retort that he new was coming.
<Tag Morse>
He made his way down the corridor towards the armoury - while the other marines got some rest for the mission ahead, Sam Dunn intended to spend his downtime gearing up. With the amount of preparation required to make a M56D Smartgun ready for combat, along with the other rituals that he needed to do to mentally prepare himself for facing the creatures that had taken his friends, he was going to need a few hours. The rhythmic clunk of his combat boots against the steel floor grating formed a beat for the war music that had started to play in his head - killing time was coming soon.
He reached the hangar bay of the Chicago, where the loadmaster and ground crew were hard at work getting the large frigate prepared for a combat mission. He nodded respectfully to them - being an ex-pilot, he knew just how hard the ground crew worked to make sure that the troops had everything they needed. He quickly identified the loadmaster and walked over to him - a burly man with an ugly series of scars, a patch over his right eye, and greying hair. He'd probably been a marine or pilot back in his day, and now was serving the Corps as best he could. Sam could respect that.
He made his way carefully across the large hangar - keeping out of the way of the ground crew - and slipped quietly inside the ship. The Conestoga classes were a lot more high-tech than anything he'd had access to back in the SAS, and he was suitably impressed by how much technology they'd packed into such a small parcel. He quickly made his way to where he knew the armoury was, and was very pleased to find that it was fully stocked and ready for him. Good. He closed the door behind him, wishing not to be disturbed, and began his work.
He already knew that he would be told to use a M56D for the mission - being the only qualified Smartgunner on the strike team all but guaranteed it. He found the ammuniton storage, and lined up 300 M250 10x28mm Caseless Rounds on the large gunsmithing table that dominated the center of the room. Bigger and more powerful than the M309 round that went into the Pulse Rifle, they also had the feature of a selectable fuse setting. He didn't need to do it manually though, the gun took care of that when each round was loaded into the chamber. He then separated the rounds into 12 groups of 25. Then he got out his engraving tool from his shirt pocket and got to work.
On the first 25 rounds, he engraved, as neatly as he could, "Lt. Ken Harry. KIA Operation "Acid Reign." He remembered Lt Harry - a kid with no experience at all, like most junior officers...but he had the rare quality of recognizing that he didn't know shit, and actually asking the veteran members for their input and advice. He cared more about the people under his command than his delusions of glory and grandeur. That made him a rare man, a good man. Once who had gotten them out of many a sticky situation alive. His democratic leadership style hadn't seen him through the mining tunnels of Epsilon Facility, though. They'd taken him when he'd led 2nd Squad in to rescue Kawalski and the Doc.
Next batch. "Sergeant Jack Dunn. KIA Operation 'Acid Reign'." Dad had always been a hell of a bloke, the kind of man who always knew what to say to inspire the team to do their very best, and pick them up when they fell. He'd been the heart and soul of the Platoon, the man who kept them going no matter what happened. He'd been a good commander, a good father, a good comrade and a good friend. He was getting close to retirement age when the orders for Acid Reign got down. In the end, he just wasn't as quick as he had once been - he killed the bug that got the drop on him...but he hadn't gotten away in time to avoid the acid blood.
One by one, he etched the names of each and every member of his old platoon into the rounds before him, so that each dead marine had 25 bullets to their name. The last 25 bore his name - for he had also been listed as KIA during Acid Reign, only to be rebuilt bit by bit thanks to the money of the Corporates. They weren't about to let the valuable combat experience he'd gained go to waste, and they'd wasted no time telling him that he was an investment - and that he'd better pay off. He sighed to himself. As long as he made sure that every single one of those bullets with his comrades names on them found their mark, he could die knowing he'd balanced the scales. He was going to take the honour roll that his ammo now contained and violently insert it into the bugs, the mercs, anyone that stood in his way.
Next, he grabbed two empty drum magazines, and on each he engraved the names of each squad. The first drum also got Harry and Jack, whilst the second one got his name and that of his old copilot, Jarred Ethers. The process took him well over an hour, but by the time he was finished, he had two fully loaded drums of ammunition, each holding 150 rounds, that had strengthened his resolve and prepared him for the hell ahead. He knew he was not going to die until both ammo drums were empty, and he wasn't going to waste ammo. He couldn't let his friends die unavenged. He wouldn't. No way.
Next, he tracked down where the crew had stored his personal M56D Smartgun. Smartguns were notoriously unreliable things, and notoriously unique. Lots of them had their little problems, their glitches. It was rare when you found one that you meshed with so perfectly that it completely overcame the technical issues the weapon had. When you found 'your match', Smartgunner lore said to never let go of your weapon - keep it forever. Sam had tested out dozens before he'd found his match. It had once been jet-black, but now its surface was bone-white, every available bit of space sporting the painted visage of a skull. It was a bone-weapon. A dead weapon. A reaper's tool of destruction and misery.
That was the name of his weapon. Misery.
He found his combat harness and strapped himself in. He opened up the front ballistic plate to check that the tracking and targeting processor and inbuilt communications system were undamaged. Everything looked to be in order, but he wouldn't know for sure until he switched the whole weapons system on. He closed it up. Like his Smartgun, the armoured breastplate had an undercoat of black - but instead of skulls, a realistic representation of a ribcage with a bleeding heart was painted on. He still enjoyed painting - he'd done so ever since he was a kid.
Next, he attached the stabilizer arm to the mounting on his hip, and plugged the leads into the harness - where it connected to the radio and tracking processor. He then plugged his HMS into the system - and the HUD that was already superimposed on his vision lit up with new data - a comms channel, a red box and a series of warnings saying 'Unable to detect M56D Smartgun unit'. Of course - he wasn't plugged into Misery just yet, he still had a couple of things to do. First, he plugged in a DV9 Lithium battery to the gun - this would power most of the systems. It would have powered all of them, but he had a secondary battery fixed to his HMS - a custom mod, since he relied on the damn thing to see out of his bad eye.
Finally, he plugged the weapon in. First, he plugged the other end of the battery to the stabilizer arm - immediately, the LED counter on his weapon showed '000' in red digits. He heard a faintly audible whine as the system powered up. Next, he linked the weapon to the stabilizer arm with the other cables - now, the HMS sprang to life. Targeting and ranging data appeared, along with remaining ammunition (this was in red and flashing, showing he was out of ammo), and the other warning lights disappeared.
Now the thing was powered up, he had one thing left to do. He located a Motion Tracker, and clipped it onto his belt, in the empty space between a large ammo pouch and a smaller canteen pouch. He then grabbed a lead from one of his pockets, and plugged it into a small socket in the tracker - the other end went into his gun harness. He switched the tracker on...and on his HUD, a transparent image of a motion tracker screen appeared in the bottom-right corner. No movement within its range of 25m - though the dense walls probably had something to do with that - he found that trackers worked best in open ground.
He slipped the second drum mag into his ammo pouch, and he clipped the other one into his weapon. The red flashing ammo icon on his HUD disappeared, replaced with a green '150'. He was fully loaded. He pulled back the cocking handle and let it go, loading a round into the chamber. If he let the thing load itself, the first round was all but guaranteed to jam. Screw that. He knew the weapon was on safe - he'd checked that before he'd loaded it, and set the ammo selector to 'delay' which meant the round wouldn't explode until it penetrated the target - vital against armoured mercs and Xenomorphs.
He knew he only had fifteen or so minutes until it was time to head out to the hangar to listen to the boss make his speech, so he strapped on the rest of his armour (this consisted only of a pair of greaves), and packed the rest of his gear. Okay. He was combat ready. He knew it would be six days before mission start, but he wanted to be sure everything was working perfectly - and it was. Plus, he needed to get his head into the right frame of mind. If he was going to be killing and surviving...he needed to feel ready for war.
Okay, time to head out. He turned, opened the armoury door, and stalked out, towards where he knew that the other marines were. He made sure to clip his weapon against the harness, so the barrel was pointing straight down towards the ground - weapon control was important. He ejected the ammo drum, then cocked the weapon to eject the one bullet from the chamber, and re-loaded it into the mag before slipping that one into his other ammo pouch. Weapon unloaded and safed, he was ready to hear the boss ramble.
***1700 HOURS***
Okay, so it wasn't a ramble after all. In fact, the speech was brief and to the point - just the way he liked them. He moved a bit away from the team after the talking stopped, so that he could observe the goings on from a safe distance. His arms crossed over his chest, he waited for them to finish up and board the ship - he absolutely hated cryo, and he looked forward to getting it over and done with. Bloody cryo sickness. Bloody freezer burn. Bloody hell. It was only six days - he was damn tempted to just stay up and paint the dropship, if the crew had no problem with it. Hell, he'd don a suit and paint the whole ship's hull if it meant getting out of cryosleep.
He was musing on the heresies of being frozen alive when one of the soldiers, the other Australian, walked up to him an extended a hand. Well, he hadn't expected that - after his little tantrum, he'd been hoping the marines would keep their distance. It'd be a lot easier on him if they weren't nice o him. He didn't want to care about them. He didn't want to hurt when they died. Still, he wasn't about to just brush off the one bloke who had the balls to go and talk to the new psycho - courage was something to be rewarded, after all.
He didn't smile, but he reached out and took the hand, shaking it firmly. He held the man's gaze with his one good eye, and was disappointed to find a small smirk appearing on his own face. Damnit, how dare the bastard be all nice and comradely? It reminded him of his old platoon, of the SAS blokes. They'd had the same friendly attitude. It hadn't done them any good."G'day mate, welcome aboard, I'm Mike O'Brien, Obi for short."
"Dunn. Sam Dunn. Back when my friends were still alive, they used to just call me 'Dunny' for short." His smile wavered and his voice cracked a little as he corrected himself - all the people who had known his nickname were dead now. Gone. In a mission just like this one. It took a moment for it to sink in, before he forced the pain deep down and slammed the lid on it. In truth, he'd started the nickname himself - just self-deprecating enough to be funny without being serious, a reference to the fact that he used to talk a lot of shit. It came with the job description of platoon comedian.
"As for how good it is to meet you...if we both get out of this one alive, I'll consider it a bloody good omen. I'll do my best to make sure that we both do." He said, his tone light. He didn't really consider the possibility of them both surviving - he knew none of them were coming out alive, but after what Dugan had told him, he decided to try to keep morale in mind. If he crushed the hopes of the group with depressing talk, then they'd probably give up and die easily. Better to let them have their hope, so that they died well.
<Tag Obi>
He heard the comment, and didn't bother suppressing a dry little chuckle, obviously enjoying the comment - especially how petty it was. He shook his head and sighed, tuning his head with a flirtatious wink towards Morse."Careful O'brien, it aint healthy to talk to assholes."
"Getting jealous are we, Morse? Aw, sorry babe, you know I love you the most." He teased back, looking for all the worlds to be honestly shocked and hurt. He managed to keep the expression for about three seconds, before breaking into a never-before-seen grin.
"But I shouldn't be talking to you. It ain't healthy." He added, turning to O'brien with a conspiratorial grin. When Morse added the comment about killing Obi for using the wrong channel, Dunny turned to face him, a contrite expression on his face.
"You're insinuating I'd cheat? Shame on you, Morse - you know I'd never kill any marine but you!" He then burst into a chuckle, shaking his head and leaning against a nearby wall. Goading the marine was far too easy - and he was more than willing to make gay jokes against himself if they dragged Morse down to his level - after all, he could take a joke. The question was, could Morse? He wondered to himself if the marine would pass the little test he'd devised for him. Sam looked forward to the retort that he new was coming.
<Tag Morse>
Re: M2T2
Morse was in no way amused, nor did he find anything, which was said to helping the man’s case. He was already in a great deal of trouble, and there wasn’t any reason for it to be prolonged. Morse actually wanted the man to be brought up for court marshal immediately upon hearing of his history, and reviewing his psych evaluation. He was a bad thing, and Morse would never let it slide.
”Guess what, you piss-fuck meat bag.” Morse said with absolute seriousness, turning around while still taking apart his weapon. ”You fucked up. You let your colors fly and done showed every one a the people here that you aint with us.” Morse set down a piece of the stock, but remained staring at the man. ”I don’t care how funny you think is, cus there’s a few things you aint. And put simple, you aint any more a part this unit then a moth is’s get’s chewed up by recluse’ Morse said making a reference to spiders eating what was in their web.
Morse turned back around and paused a minute, thinking of what was best to say next. But the words were already in his head, it merely took a moment for them to leak into his mouth. ”And the moment this mission is over, I’m havin’ you brought up on charges, Private, of Sections 37-L, and 42-B.” Morse said with emphasis on the mans lower rank, while slapping down another piece of his weapon. ”You aint funny, and sure as hell aint one of us.” Morse finished going right back to work on his weapon.
< Tag Dunn
”Guess what, you piss-fuck meat bag.” Morse said with absolute seriousness, turning around while still taking apart his weapon. ”You fucked up. You let your colors fly and done showed every one a the people here that you aint with us.” Morse set down a piece of the stock, but remained staring at the man. ”I don’t care how funny you think is, cus there’s a few things you aint. And put simple, you aint any more a part this unit then a moth is’s get’s chewed up by recluse’ Morse said making a reference to spiders eating what was in their web.
Morse turned back around and paused a minute, thinking of what was best to say next. But the words were already in his head, it merely took a moment for them to leak into his mouth. ”And the moment this mission is over, I’m havin’ you brought up on charges, Private, of Sections 37-L, and 42-B.” Morse said with emphasis on the mans lower rank, while slapping down another piece of his weapon. ”You aint funny, and sure as hell aint one of us.” Morse finished going right back to work on his weapon.
< Tag Dunn
Re: M2T2
After the short final briefing Simovic decided he'd go check out his weapon loadout he'd decided to go with a Flame Unit in this mission. Previous encounters with the Xenomorphs had shown that they were particularly susceptible to flame units and it also had the secondary effect of causing the aliens acid blood to ignite rather than a back blast that bullets tended to cause. He'd also be taking along an M39 SMG as Fame Units only had enough juice for 3 minutes of continual flame.
As he walked towards armoury he stumbled head long into Dunn's and Morse's argument. He stepped in between the two and spoke his voice raised to a level only years of shouting on a parade ground could forge.
"You two are going to stop this shit right now. We're professional Marines not school children and you need to put your differences behind during this mission as this crap will cost lives if it goes on. I can't afford to lose any of you for this mission and the fire power you two are carrying is critical to this missions success. Take this as your first and final warning any more bickering and I will be putting in a request for the culprit to be transferred come the end of the mission. Do you understand?".
His steely gaze shifted between each of the men as he waited for a response.
<Tag Morse and Dunn>
As he walked towards armoury he stumbled head long into Dunn's and Morse's argument. He stepped in between the two and spoke his voice raised to a level only years of shouting on a parade ground could forge.
"You two are going to stop this shit right now. We're professional Marines not school children and you need to put your differences behind during this mission as this crap will cost lives if it goes on. I can't afford to lose any of you for this mission and the fire power you two are carrying is critical to this missions success. Take this as your first and final warning any more bickering and I will be putting in a request for the culprit to be transferred come the end of the mission. Do you understand?".
His steely gaze shifted between each of the men as he waited for a response.
<Tag Morse and Dunn>
Re: M2T2
Morse twisted his head when he heard Dugan yelling. He'd had problems with the Sergeant before, regarding his drinking as well as confrontation with other soldiers before. But typically Morse only got into disputes with things that were legitimately bad for the platoon, or were on their way out soon after. These things didn't actually go through Morse's mind because he was only interested in making sure things functioned right, and every time new elements were introduced bad things happened.
"Sir, no, sir." Morse answered in response to his superiors question. He said dragging his cart with his weapon on it over to the Sergeant. "Could I get a word." Morse requested, almost as though he wasn't asking a question. This was a serious issue, one which the others all seemed to be trying to forget, but Morse never let anything go. That might have been why he had stayed in the platoon for as long as he did.
< Tag Dugan
"Sir, no, sir." Morse answered in response to his superiors question. He said dragging his cart with his weapon on it over to the Sergeant. "Could I get a word." Morse requested, almost as though he wasn't asking a question. This was a serious issue, one which the others all seemed to be trying to forget, but Morse never let anything go. That might have been why he had stayed in the platoon for as long as he did.
< Tag Dugan
Re: M2T2
Obi kept silent and looked back and forth between Morse and Dunn as SSGT Simovic addressed the two marines. Looking at the deck Obi counted down from five as the Staff stormed off. Sighing, Obi looked at both marines.
"Pvt Dunn, while it is nice to see a fellow countrymen out here, military bearing will be adhered to. I personally don't care if you don't like CPL Morse, but by god man, you will respect his rank of CPL in the USCMC as I would imagine the same was in the SASR. This is not open for discussion, understood?" Obi said quietly.
<tag PVT Dunn>
Before Dunn could answer Obi held up his hand to remain silent. Obi looked down, it seemed to both Morse and Dunn that Obi appeared to be weighed down by something. Obi looked up and let out a slow breath, emotion crossed his face that was quickly suppressed, as if a painful memory had emerged that immediately pushed away.
"Don't either of you ever, ever imply that a fellow marine would take out another. I WILL NOT tolerate it at all! We don't need marine's to be second guessing the bloke watching their six. THIS WILL NEVER AGAIN BE BROUGHT UP." Obi said quietly in a cold voice as he met Morse and Dunns' eyes with his own. Nodding to each marine, Obi left them standing there as he headed for the Hanger exit, moving as if the weight of the world was holding him down....
"Pvt Dunn, while it is nice to see a fellow countrymen out here, military bearing will be adhered to. I personally don't care if you don't like CPL Morse, but by god man, you will respect his rank of CPL in the USCMC as I would imagine the same was in the SASR. This is not open for discussion, understood?" Obi said quietly.
<tag PVT Dunn>
Before Dunn could answer Obi held up his hand to remain silent. Obi looked down, it seemed to both Morse and Dunn that Obi appeared to be weighed down by something. Obi looked up and let out a slow breath, emotion crossed his face that was quickly suppressed, as if a painful memory had emerged that immediately pushed away.
"Don't either of you ever, ever imply that a fellow marine would take out another. I WILL NOT tolerate it at all! We don't need marine's to be second guessing the bloke watching their six. THIS WILL NEVER AGAIN BE BROUGHT UP." Obi said quietly in a cold voice as he met Morse and Dunns' eyes with his own. Nodding to each marine, Obi left them standing there as he headed for the Hanger exit, moving as if the weight of the world was holding him down....
CPL Mike "Obi" O'Brien
Communications Operator
Communications Operator
- Dirk Pitt
- First Lieutenant
- Posts: 1294
- Joined: Mon Jun 04, 2007 7:04 pm
- Location: USS Costaguana/ Houston Texas
- Contact:
Re: M2T2
Dirk shook his head as he heard Morse and Dunn go at it again. Before he could say anything Simovic took care of the fight. Damn, the mission wasn't even started and it already was balls up. This would have to be dealt with and fast. Lighting a cigarette he walked to a more secluded part of the hanger bay.
"CPL Quin, PFC Dunn, PVT Lonebear. On me." he shouted above the ruckus
<Tag CPL Quin, PFC Dunn, PVT Lonebear>
"CPL Quin, PFC Dunn, PVT Lonebear. On me." he shouted above the ruckus
<Tag CPL Quin, PFC Dunn, PVT Lonebear>
Re: M2T2
When Morse was waiting for Dugan’s reply he heard O’brien say something from behind him. But as he seemed to get louder, it caught Morse’s attention. It seemed as though O’brien was trying to both of them, but Morse really didn’t care what O’brien had to say, not because he himself had achieved the rank of Corporal before O’brien, but because he was throwing on an even keel, something which simply wasn’t true.
So Morse turned the rest of the way around. ”What do you think is? Morse said with a tone that showed there was something everyone wasn’t seeing. ”I aint implyin’ a fuckin’ thing. I’m statin’ that he threatened to kill me. Morse said, counting off each bit with his fingers. ”Announced he done it before.” He brought up another finger. ”He done threatened every man in this unit, yourself included.” Morse said bringing up the third finger on his hand.
He was tired of these “emotionally driven” attempts at getting in the last word. Dunn had done the same thing in the briefing room, and the simple thing was he didn’t give a damn what O’brien would tolerate. ”I don’t need this shit.” Morse said with extreme bitter sarcasm, as though he couldn't believe what he was hearing. He grabbed his canteen and taking a pretty strong drink from it. He was a bitter person and everyone in the platoon knew it. But he wasn't going wallow around hoping for the best, and he would make sure Dunn sat before a military tribunal once this was all over.
< Tag all
So Morse turned the rest of the way around. ”What do you think is? Morse said with a tone that showed there was something everyone wasn’t seeing. ”I aint implyin’ a fuckin’ thing. I’m statin’ that he threatened to kill me. Morse said, counting off each bit with his fingers. ”Announced he done it before.” He brought up another finger. ”He done threatened every man in this unit, yourself included.” Morse said bringing up the third finger on his hand.
He was tired of these “emotionally driven” attempts at getting in the last word. Dunn had done the same thing in the briefing room, and the simple thing was he didn’t give a damn what O’brien would tolerate. ”I don’t need this shit.” Morse said with extreme bitter sarcasm, as though he couldn't believe what he was hearing. He grabbed his canteen and taking a pretty strong drink from it. He was a bitter person and everyone in the platoon knew it. But he wasn't going wallow around hoping for the best, and he would make sure Dunn sat before a military tribunal once this was all over.
< Tag all
Re: M2T2
"Ok Morse, follow me".Morse wrote:
"Sir, no, sir." Morse answered in response to his superiors question. He said dragging his cart with his weapon on it over to the Sergeant. "Could I get a word." Morse requested, almost as though he wasn't asking a question. This was a serious issue, one which the others all seemed to be trying to forget, but Morse never let anything go. That might have been why he had stayed in the platoon for as long as he did.
< Tag Dugan
Simovic led the man to the NCO crew quarters, as everyone was out gearing up the room was empty.
"Ok what did you want to say"
<Tag Morse>
Re: M2T2
Morse turned after his statement to follow Dugan. There was no reason try to justify himself to the "outback kids". O'brien and Morse tended to get in disagreements during missions anyway, the likeliness of that ending now as a result of him getting one of his own countrymen, wasn't likely to change. But he sure as hell wasn't going to continue with the one eyed wonder that just stumbled into the platoon. He dragged his cart along behind him when Dugan had him follow to the NCO quarters. He didn't feel like leaving it out there, and having to come get it later.
Once inside, Morse grabbed his canteen again, when Dugan spoke.
< Tag Dugan.
Once inside, Morse grabbed his canteen again, when Dugan spoke.
"Alotta things." Morse said pulling his canteen from his mouth. He quickly stumbled to where he wanted to begin. "Sir, this here's a runnin in ways I aint to keen on bein' in, and aint none a the others either. The guys psych profile says he's insane!" Morse said, having reviewed all of it recently. "He done threatened to kill us. What the hell are doin' lettin' him stay here? Or even entertainin' the prospect he's better'n us?" Morse asked. He wanted to continue working on his weapon, but he decided to wait."Ok what did you want to say"
< Tag Dugan.
Re: M2T2
"I've seen his psych evaluation too, but he has got good reason for being a bit disturbed after what he's seen and been through. With regards what he said, if you want you can put in a complaint and it'll be investigated, the likely outcome is that here'll face a charge of some description but not a court martial. After our previous talk he knows how he's expected to behave and if he oversteps that mark I'll personally make sure he's swiftly dealt with. In the mean time I need you to put this altercation to one side until after this mission as I need as many Marines out in the field as I have access to, if we're to pull this mission off with minimal casualties".Morse wrote:
"Alotta things." Morse said pulling his canteen from his mouth. He quickly stumbled to where he wanted to begin. "Sir, this here's a runnin in ways I aint to keen on bein' in, and aint none a the others either. The guys psych profile says he's insane!" Morse said, having reviewed all of it recently. "He done threatened to kill us. What the hell are doin' lettin' him stay here? Or even entertainin' the prospect he's better'n us?" Morse asked. He wanted to continue working on his weapon, but he decided to wait.
< Tag Dugan.
<Tag Morse>
Re: M2T2
As Dugan spoke, Morse began dissecting that argument. Morse was without a doubt one to have verbal debates, and once he got involved with one side, he wasn't likely to change it. And he wasn't one to back off for a great deal of time. "All due respect sir, at the second the mission were pitchin' is over, I'm filin' charges for a prison term. Aint no two ways about it." He said in regards to the central portion of the sergeants statement. "But, sir, reason fer disturbment?" Morse said as though he hadn't taken the line statement seriously. "Sir, we done as much, if'n it aint more'n his ass." Morse spat. "We done run across colonies completely deadified cus' them things. We burned alive what had one ripped out, I done stuck my hand right'n the chest a one of'm poor souls. We went lost 1 outa each 4 what even set foot on that colony with us. And since we done gone runnin' through the sewers chasin' em, we been shot at by people studyin' em. We don't need a nut job from some dead rock island't talks funny and only has one eye as are good guns a second squad." Morse said matter of factly. He was serious about the whole thing, they didn't need him. They could have picked up any veteran smartgunner, with all fingers and two eyes, briefed them, and they'd have been a healthier.
< Tag Dugan
< Tag Dugan