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Author Topic: Reveille  (Read 22217 times)
BEB0P
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« on: September 22, 2012, 07:18:15 AM »

'Run. Just run.'

In the midst of an already crumbling battlefield, Deamon sprinted for his life. All around him was death. Humans, Covenant, everyone was fighting and dying. Nearby a civilian mother knelt under a pile of debris with her child. Looming over them was a massive alien warrior wielding a glowing two-pronged blade of plasma. An Elite, as the UNSC referred to them as. Deamon's heroic instincts kicked in, and he made a B-Line for the mother and her child just as the Elite raised its weapon. But as the soldier of the UNSC ran, the further away it seemed. He tried to shout, but to no avail. What about firing his weapon? Deamon brought up his MA37 assault rifle. No use. At this range his weapon would be no more efficient than a pea shooter. Suddenly another Elite flanked him.

Deamon let out a frightened gasp as his world was sent off balance. He had a small frame, but was as sturdy as the next seasoned Marine. His breathing echoed inside of his helmet as he staggered for a solid footing and blinked a few times to clear his vision. Okay, good. But where was the mother and... Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no. The first Elite stood over the corpses of both the mother and the child, seemingly smiling.

The ODST screamed and charged at the Elite, despite being unarmed. Obviously no match for the hulking creature of war, its kick sent Deamon down once more. This time he was certain death was ready for him, and its reaper an alien wielding a pale white blade. But then there was a scream. A faint one, but enough for Deamon to hear. The voice, that of a woman's, shouted his name. It was Rachel. She was in danger, and there was nothing Deamon could do to save her. Life began to fade from his body as his gaze shifted over the Elite's shoulder. A glassing beam neared them. Closer.

And closer...

And closer...

"Deamon!"


* * * * * * *

UNSCDF Halcyon-class Cruiser, Pillar of Autumn
0050 HOURS, September 19, 2552(Military Calender)
Unknown location, Unknown system


"Aah!"

'Thud.'

Deamon awoke to find himself on the cold steel floor of his cabin. He let out a hoarse cough and groaned in pain. "What the- Why...?" he rubbed sleep from his eyes and glanced around the dark room. His bunk mate wasn't here.

'Right,' He thought to himself. 'Jeffreys was in cryo sleep right now.' As were about two thirds of the Autumn's crew. All non-essential personnel were put into cry-stasis during the random jump from Reach. "Fuck..." Reach. The UNSC's last stronghold defending Earth had now fallen. What was left to keep the Covenant occupied? All they had to do now is to take a look at where they haven't yet been.

A knock at the door startled Deamon and brought him back into focus. "Sergeant? You there?"
Deamon sighed. "Yeah. I'm here." he said as he rose. The cabin door slid open silently revealing a female naval crewman.
She saluted and continued. "Sir, you're needed in the armoury on deck seven. Further orders from there. Covenant's still tailing us."
"I'm guessing Cortana's expecting borders?"
The naval crewman nodded. "Very much so."
"Alright, I'll be there in ten."

The door slid closed again and Deamon put on his standard fatigues. His armour would be in the armoury. He caught himself at the door and quickly retrieved a picture of a young woman. Rachel, as it were. He brushed the photo with the back of his fingers and smiled fondly. When satisfied, he raced to the armoury on deck seven.

* * * * * * *

It seemed like the entirety of the Pillar of Autumn's personnel was in the armoury. Deamon didn't waste anytime to equip his battle-worn jet-black Orbital Drop Shock Trooper armour and side-armed an M7 sub machine gun and selected an MA5B assault rifle as his primary armament. Shouldering the weapon, Deamon carried his helmet around as his squad was to be assembled.
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« Reply #1 on: September 22, 2012, 03:43:17 PM »

Along the wall of one of the Pillar of Autumns many infirmaries, a two-way radio was positioned on top of a desk. Its speaker was pointed towards a woman who was standing in the center of the room. She wasn't the only occupant, there was a doctor and three nurses also scattered throughout, tending to wounded soldiers just brought out of cryo.

"But Covenant are coming, we need to gear up!"

The voice coming from the radio was of a male approximately 30-40 years old. He was talking to Amelia-Lee Verve, a UNSC field medic who volunteered to remain in the infirmary to lend an extra hand. She was in the process of clamping a wounded soldiers femoral artery. He had a Brute spiker round through his thigh, which Amelia took the chance on removing. She did anticipate the ruptured artery, but not how long it would take to locate and clamp. Having already lost a lot of blood prior, he just continued to lose more and more.

"I need another set of hands over here!"

A male nurse promptly arrived and applied pressure to the wound.

"He needs a transfusion," Amelia grunted, struggling to move half her hand and a clamping tool inside the wound, "Blood type A Positive."

The nurse replied immediately, "We're out."

Amelia said nothing after that. One of the most common blood types and they were out of it. The nurse may have well said 'Everyone's going to die.' Now she could do only pray to find the artery and clamp it in time.

"Is this guy sedated?" The nurse asked, after first noticing the trooper wasn't connected to any monitors and then noticing a lack of movement.

Amelia replied, "No-" Then she realized he had been awfully quiet for the last several minutes. "-Shit!"

The patient had gone into shock and fainted. The heart was failing to pump what little blood he had left. The nurse took his pulse while Amelia withdrew from the wound. Hardly any blood was flowing out, and the pulse was shortening.   

She flung her head down and growled. "God damnnit..."

"We can put him on oxygen?"

"No," Amelia said in frustration and anger, "Why prolong it..." She reached over to his neck and lifted up the dog tags. "Private Charles Ndiaye, Orbital Drop Shock Trooper; dead o-one hundred hours." She wiped the sweat from her forehead, leaving a bloody splotch. "Sorry you had to go, but be thankful it was this way."

She gave the nurse a nod of appreciation and then turned away back to the radio. Picking it up, she turned down the volume and replied. "Yeah, right, ok... what?"

"Damn it, Amelia, the Covenant followed us through slipspace; you gotta get out of that infirmary,"

She sighed and shook her head, "They won't give us a break, will they?"

"Meet me at the armoury, we need to gear up and you will need to be assigned to a squad,"    

"They need me here."

"You're a soldier, remember? Not a doctor. Get here, now. Deck 7. Out."

Amelia threw the radio down and turned back around to face the room. She had got the attention of those who could spare it. "I'm sorry, I have to go."

"We understand," replied the head doctor, "Listen, if you get the chance, remind some of the boys we're down here, alright? Wouldn't want the Covenant jumping us defenceless." The doctor laughed off his request like a joke, but Amelia knew he was truly serious and even scared.

"I'll come down here myself," she nodded, reequipping the same gear she wore during the battle of Reach. Standard harness with two minor differences, a large red cross on the chest plate and back of helmet, and extra pockets she needed to stitch herself. She then threw a dufflebag with supplies over her shoulder and left the infirmary.

Her forearms, forehead and lower chest still covered in blood.   


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Spartan-777
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« Reply #2 on: September 22, 2012, 08:47:47 PM »

The lieutenant moved down the corridor at a brisk walk. He wore a loose fitting flight jacket and carried a sophisticated-looking helmet in the crook of his arm. The stencil along the back of it identified him as Charlie 13.

The halls were buzzing with activity, with everyone gearing up in preparation of whatever was to come. Marcus reached down once again, letting his fingers brush against the heavy chrome M6D magnum on his hip. He had a feeling he would need it sooner, rather than later.
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« Reply #3 on: September 23, 2012, 06:36:28 AM »

Dom groggily made his way through the halls of the Autumn.   He hadn't been released from the cyrobay too long ago.  He coughed some of the film from his lungs, nasty shit this is why he hated cyro.
Reach was still fresh on his mind, especially since he got seperated from his squad, well everyone but Donald his CO.  Donald was the CO of Metal Team since he had enlisted and was placed in it.  Hell Donald was the only reason he was here now, in more than one way.   Donald was the one suggested they put him into the marines instead of throwing him in jail to straighten out his eighteen year old delinquent ass, and Donald just saved his ass on Reach.

"Do you think they are alright?" asked Dom uneasy. The fate of his squad mates was eating away at him since they violently got separated.


"I'm sure they're fine, managed to get off Reach somehow like we did.   I'm sure Cassy, Tom, and Paul
are fine, Serenity too.   Incase you haven't realized we have our own problems to worry about right now.   We can worry about a Metal Team reunion once we get our asses out of this bloody mess" replied Donald.  The Veteran Scottsman smoked a cigar.   

"Yeah you're right, we probably got the shit end of the deal.  Watch those bastards be back at The Junkyard on guard duty or on some beach planet full of hot chicks".   

"That's the spirit lad, now come on let's get to the armory on deck seven and get our gear before the covenant arrive.   Our fatigues won't do much against plasma, and we both only have a clip in our side arms.  We're shit out of luck if we run into the Covenant".   

The two increases there pace to a jog as they headed to the Deck Seven Armory.
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Kalahira, mistress of inscrutable depths, I ask forgiveness.
Kalahira, whose waves wear down stone and sand—
Kalahira, wash the sins from this one,
And set him on the distant shore of the infinite spirit.
Kalahira, this one’s heart is pure,
But beset by wickedness and contention.
Guide this one to where the traveler never tires,
The lover never leaves, the hungry never starve.
Guide this one, Kalahira,
And he will be a companion to you as he was to me.

"All life dies, all worlds too, and if there is guarenteed perpetual existence, after that - what does it matter how the end comes?" - Gravemind
BEB0P
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« Reply #4 on: September 23, 2012, 11:00:19 PM »

The armoury was a mess of marines and deck hands. Commissioned Officers were assigning soldiers that weren't already in squads(Particularly the army troopers that were rescued on Reach.). Deamon remained somewhat idle. When a CO looked at him, he pretended to be busy. Although one seemed to notice him, Melloway, a First Lieutenant. The stray ODST first came across Melloway when a Brute Minor nearly crushed him. Not only did Melloway decapitate the Brute, but with Deamon's help they succeeded in commandeering a Covenant vehicle.

"Fancy meeting you again." He said with a grin. "How you feelin'?"
Deamon shrugged. "I feel like hell."
Melloway smirked. "So better than the general populace." He cracked his neck and exhaled. "Okay. You're in charge of a team."
"Right..." He nodded with an unenthusiastic tone in his voice. But then his attention span kicked in and the information sank in. "Wait, what?"
"A team. You're in charge of Fireteam November."
"But I'm a straggler."
"And a Sergeant."
Deamon sighed. "Alright, then. Who's coming with me and what am I doing?"
Melloway grinned. "Love the enthusiasm. You'll be escorting a Bumblebee pilot and-" he turned slightly and called, "Verve!"
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Danny
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« Reply #5 on: September 23, 2012, 11:57:14 PM »

Halfway to the armoury, Amelia had realised her state was less than presentable. She entered the deck seven armoury with a rag dampened with blood. Her hands and forehead were no longer obviously stained, but anyone who paid enough attention would notice the faded remains of Private Ndiaye.

She was immediately greeted by First Lieutenant Melloway, an ODST. He clearly knew Amelia, but for the life of her she couldn't remember his face. She was terrible with faces, but that was actually a blessing in disguise for a medic.

"Lieutenant," she greeted, noticing his rank. "Time to get back to it, right?"
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« Reply #6 on: September 24, 2012, 01:21:23 AM »

"Wonder where they are going to put us Donald, probably going to get reassigned for the time being since our unit broke up on Reach" said Dom.

"I'm not sure, but hopefully together so I can keep an eye on you.  Wouldn't want you getting in trouble or anything lad" said Donald.  "God knows what happen if I wasn't there to keep you in line, maybe being a Gunny will pay off for once, I'll see if I can pull any strings to keep us together".

The two troopers made there way into the armory, nodding to the Lt. and giving him a salute.     






 
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Kalahira, mistress of inscrutable depths, I ask forgiveness.
Kalahira, whose waves wear down stone and sand—
Kalahira, wash the sins from this one,
And set him on the distant shore of the infinite spirit.
Kalahira, this one’s heart is pure,
But beset by wickedness and contention.
Guide this one to where the traveler never tires,
The lover never leaves, the hungry never starve.
Guide this one, Kalahira,
And he will be a companion to you as he was to me.

"All life dies, all worlds too, and if there is guarenteed perpetual existence, after that - what does it matter how the end comes?" - Gravemind
Danny
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« Reply #7 on: September 24, 2012, 01:34:37 AM »

A panicked pilot came thumbling out of a room with his harness loosely fitted. He was supposed to be in the hangar giving his bird a pre-flight check, but was running late. He was struggling to tighten his bootstrap when he suddenly collided with someone out in the hall. The pilot further lost his balance and slammed into the wall, the person he rammed into experiencing something similar.

"Bloody hell," he exclaimed, repositioning his helmet after it was tilted in the slam, "Sorry about that." He pushed off the wall to see who he had met. It was a Bumblebee pilot. Miles. He remembered him from the barracks.

"Oh, never mind," he chuckled, removing the helmet to reveal a well shaven red haired individual, "You can't walk for shit so they stuck ya' in something that can only fly straight!" The pilot laughed, approaching Miles and putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Heh, I'm only yankin' ya. Frederick Holmes, good to see ya. You head to or from the armoury?"     
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« Reply #8 on: September 24, 2012, 01:56:11 AM »

"Yeah, yeah, Sherlock. Try punching into hard vac with nothing but a set of air brakes and reverse thrusters, we'll see who's walking straight."

Marcus patted the pistol on his hip. "I haven't been to the armory, I already had my sidearm. Is that where you're headed?"
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« Reply #9 on: September 24, 2012, 02:02:27 AM »

Frederick laughed, patting Marcus' shoulder, "Haha, you're all right."

"I'm headed there now," he said, responding to his question. "Come on, you better come with. Shit'll hit the fan in a few minutes, we better see if we can get you something bigger than that peashooter." He gestured with his head to follow and took off. They were relatively close, and it only took a few minutes to make it to the armoury. 
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« Reply #10 on: September 24, 2012, 02:22:02 AM »

The pilot shrugged and trotted off after him. "Fifty caliber. It'll do. Not like we'll be dealing with any long-range combat on the Autumn."
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« Reply #11 on: September 24, 2012, 02:49:16 AM »

Malloway nodded. "That's right, Corpsman. Meet Sergeant Deamon Puskas. Your new boss."
Deamon gave a slight wave and a partial grin. "Good to meet you, Corporal."

Malloway shifted as the final three- no four members of the team filed in. "And there are your final members!" he said to Deamon.
"They just walked in, sir?"
"Sorry, all of the class sluts were taken."
Deamon rolled his eyes. "Alright, then."

An explosion from outside violently rocked the cruiser. Warning signals began to blare from the speakers and Marines and deck crewman were running about to their respective positions. Malloway un-shouldered his assault rifle and nodded to Deamon. "See you soon, Sergeant."

Deamon nodded to him and Malloway soon left with his own team. He turned to the newly formed Fire Team November plus two pilots. "Alright, team. I'm team leader, Sergeant Puskas. Let's move out. We have two pilots to escort."

They lingered in the armoury for another minute, allowing whoever was unarmed to equip themselves to their satisfaction. Once done, they would exit the room and trek down the hallways. Another explosion rocked the ship.

'Be advised, Covenant forces now boarding. I repeat, Covenant forces now boarding. Teams Alpha through Gamma to decks three and four.

"Ah hell..." Deamon groaned. Another explosion. He halted as he turned another corner, revealing a Covenant boarding party comprised of two Minor Elites armed with plasma rifles and a handful of grunts. Deamon immediately sought cover and shouted to his team, "Covenant boarding party! Fire at will, but neglect your explosives!"
« Last Edit: September 24, 2012, 03:26:48 AM by SamuraiBebop105 » Logged


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« Reply #12 on: September 24, 2012, 03:00:20 PM »

Amelia tipped her helmet as a greet/salute, "Likewise Sarge."

Just before the team left the armoury, Frederick armed himself with a M6 and a few extra mags. He overheard the sergeant say they were going to escort both pilots. But he had a feeling that would be a conflict of interest, considering one needed to go one way and the other needed to go another. He decided he'd stick with them as long as they could.

As the group rounded another corner, they came to face a Covenant boarding party. Small enough for them to handle, hopefully.

Amelia took up a position behind a ceiling support beam and readied herself. When the sarge gave the order to open up, she did so.  Peaking around the beam, she let the Covenant taste 60 round magazine furry once again.


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« Reply #13 on: September 25, 2012, 09:13:59 PM »

Gunfire erupted from the hallway, and after briefly poking his head out to see what was going on, Marcus hurried back and pocketed an additional magazine for his M6. So much for reaching his station unharassed.

He readied the weapon, and a ghostly crosshair appeared in his field of vision: a targeting reticle projected by his neural implant, both there and not-quite-there at the same time.

They settled on the nearest target he could acquire. He opened up.
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« Reply #14 on: September 26, 2012, 01:06:41 PM »

Deamon ducked his head for the first bit of the firefight in order to avoid the searing hot plasma produced from the Covenant soldiers' weaponry. He quickly inspected his rifle's magazine and reinserted it. Pulling the charge pin he said, "This is going to be a long day, I can already tell."

The veteran soldier rose and turned his body. His team had already began their focus on the Grunts, so he figured it'd be about time to start on the Elites. Taking aim at the nearest Elite Minor, Deamon depressed the trigger and watched its shields flare. Elites were smart, though, and unlike the Grunts they knew when to take cover. Such as this one did, along with its partner. Deamon quickly observed the battlefield in question. All of the Grunts were disposed of. Now it was just their leaders. "Split-lips are taking cover! Reload and take aim!"

He observed his MA5B's ammunition counter. It had depleted from its full sixty rounds to twenty-nine. "You see even a nose hair, you open up!"

The pair of Elites communicated with each other and turned to unleash a hail of plasma upon November Team. How would the human soldiers respond?
« Last Edit: September 27, 2012, 02:38:27 AM by SamuraiBebop105 » Logged


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