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Halo: Militia (RP)


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"If you can discern anything from my talks, Recruit Jones, the fact that a written test being the least of your concerns should probably be paramount. So don't worry your illiterate brain about it."

 

Another recruit spoke out. "So... Out in the outer territories, we don't get too much news. What are the Covenant species?"

 

Gabe shifted his weight at the question and folded his arms, glancing at the recruit before plainly answering, "We'll get to that."

 

There was a moment of time he had to glance at Geza with a weary expression, to which the Sergeant simply shook his head. Without much more care for group speaking, he proceded on with the lecture.

 

"Tactics, strategy, gameplan--these terms are all things you probably take for granted right now, whether it's in a ball game or a chess session. A lot of you might think you're fit for a leadership position. Without naming names," he said with a glance toward Jacob, "some have even directly asked me to place them as a squad leader for field training ops. Allow me to be frank: yesterday was your first day in the outfit, the first hardest day of your life. You can not expect me to entrust you to anything past the role of holding an empty rifle as of now.

 

"Without further adeu, let's go over what you guys will have to worry about for the rest of your careers until you prove to be better. First up," he clicked his remote, killing the lights and engaging a slideshow on the smart screen behind him, "suppression fire. The screen shoewd a cartoonized set of blue Marine silhouettes and a series of red arrows lining from their weapons toward identical red silhouettes hunkered behind a rough representation of a trench.

 

 

"Ideally, and kind of focused fire coming out of your unit will be when you have your targets dead to rights, out in the open, where dusting them off your territory is a sure possibility. Most Covenant you face will require combined riflemen to take down efficiently as it is. Most, if any, of your Covenant kills will happen this way as they have a habit of fighting in the open. However, they have been known to understand the proper value of cover, thus suppression is valid. Suppressing fire is where your whole element--squad, platoon, fireteam, et cetra--opens fire in the enemy's general direction, targeting movement or anything that looks suspicious enough to keep their heads below cover and dissuade them from moving.

 

"If done properly," he clicked his remote, changing the image to a far-view, revealing two more sets of Marine icons moving in wide arches around their enemy's cover, "this should give you a number of advantages. The first being a lack of first-hand visual contact for your enemy. If they don't have the nerves to look, they won't be able to see you. The second advantage; if they can't see you, they won't know where you are. This should give you the room to flank their position and cut them down on your terms. Flanking requires paths, however. There's what flanks are: paths that lead you around the thick of a fight--back doors of kinds. Any respectable tactician should know to cover these flanks. Hopefully, you'll be working with Marines or Army when you finally get into a real fight, so you won't have to worry about the heavy lifting, but in the event that you're alone, let's talk about tipping the scales with deterrence. Everyone still with me so far?"

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"A simple no would have been fine..." D.J. muttered.

 

He sat back and settled in for the lecture.

 

After the entire talk on suppression fire, Gabe asked if everyone was with him.

 

"Like throwin' jabs to set up the hook." D.J. nodded.

Edited by D-38 Boss
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Jacob noticed the glare that had no doubt been meant for him. He hasn't intended to sound cocky, just volunteering. He shook it off, the holos were interesting. He never knew the aliens had shields; his parents had stopped him from watching the Planetary News broadcasts. He had effectively been censored. He had only seen the little ones. He vaguely remembered them being called 'Grunts' somewhere, and multiple cartoons in newspapers had been drawn to depict ten as a comedy figure.

 

He continued to be transfixed by the picture on the table.

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Looking once at Jones, Gabe exchanged a glance with Geza once more. The Sergeant had a brow raised, a slight nod subtitled in for reassurance: They're catching on.

 

"Good metaphor," Kawolski said, bringing his attention back to the class.

 

Dwyer crossed his leg as the Staff Sergeant continued his lecture, resting an elbow on the knee as he leaned across to Jones. "I think you just saved yourself another thousand push-ups."

 

"Dwyer, repeat what I just said."

 

A chill crawled through Sam's skin. He wanted to be quick on his feet and appropriate a half-accurate response, but it came out simply as, "I didn't hear you, Staff Sergeant."

 

"Do you need to see the medic?"

 

"Negative, Staff Sergeant."

 

"Then check whatever malfunction you're having and pay attention. I'm only going over this once and then you're on your own."

 

"Understood."

 

"Deterrence," Gabe continued, pulling standard issue stun grenade from his thigh pocket, "is any application of force meant to do just that: deter further action from the opposing force. You've already experienced first-hand the effects of the flashbang. Your twenty seconds to the ready line was just an example of how well you can delay an opponent's efficiency for a preemptive strike. This can also be done with several other devices; M9 Dual Purpose grenades, for example, are best when dealing with Covenant infantry. If one species in their ranks doesn't have shields, then they'll have armor no doubt. So unless you're confident in your aim, don't flank expecting flashbangs to work every time. You're UNSC warfighters, not SWAT officers."

 

Without warning, he underhand tossed the device at the outlying recruit at the edge of the first row. "Pass that around. If the recruit beside you is asleep, put it in their hands and keep their thumb on the primer. It's better than a cup of coffee."

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Geza pinching the bridge of his nose. No, Sergeant, he thought to himself. I didn't stop using that trick.

 

"Let's recap. Suppression is feeling your enemy out, keeping them where you want them. Flanking is the uppercut that should put your enemy out for good. Easier said than done. Even with an effective maneuver, your firefights can last minutes to an hour. Thus, why you carry specialized equipment to soften your targets. But again, you may never have to do this if you're attached to Marine platoons. Make no mistake, we're kicking your asses into shape, but as far as formal military goes, Militiamen are just the backup.

 

"That doesn't mean you should be any less effective in the field. By the end of your training, I expect you to operate as well as, if not better, than any UNSC outfit. And for that to happen, you need to know what you're up against."

 

Clicking the remote behind his back, Gabe looked over the group as the display changed, now showing an image of a Sangheili Minor, adourned in their traditional blue armor. The image was artificially made, portraying the alien in a rather empowering stance with an plasma-based weapon in one hand and a more natural combat stance. The object wasn't to demonize it, but to make it relatable, at least Gabe hoped. The second they started to blindly hate the Covenant he knew they would treat this like a game.

 

"Questions...so far."

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Grec glanced down at the standard-issue stun grenade lying in his hands, turning it over momentarily before passing it along. He'd honestly expected it to be...well, he couldn't quite determine if it was heavier than he'd expected or if he'd expected it to be a bit lighter, he was going back and forth in his head over the whole thing.

 

Then again, he'd never held a stun grenade in his life, so he didn't exactly have any comparisons available. 

 

Suppressing and flanking, considering this was the kindergarten of military training at this point, it wasn't exactly the definitive article on the subject. Shoot at the baddies, keep their heads down, soften them with fragmentation grenades and stuns, and then flank and finish.

 

He didn't label himself a tactical genius on any account, but he'd picked up a fair chunk of that by playing video games and watching movies.

 

And then, blue alligator on legs. 

 

"Questions...so far."

 

What's the correct military response to this? Nod your head and grin? "Yeah, we're fightin' aliens, kickass," was that the standard operating procedure? Hell, it seemed like everyone collectively was having this little battle since the whole room went deathly silent almost as soon as the slide switched. Seriously, even that ghetto-banger dude.

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Kyro stared blankly across the room. He still was wondering when his right eye would recover from the double dose of pepper spray. The weirdly shaped creature that appeared on the projector seemed even more evil with the red glow his inflamed left eye gave it, but still he couldn't see at all out of his right, a problem which manifested itself in the form of someone shoving an object into his hand which he promptly dropped, causing it to roll down the floor towards the front of the room. An object which looked much like a stun grenade...

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D.J. looked at the image on the screen.

 

"Damn... you should need a license for that much Ugly..." He muttered.

 

The strange object in his hand looked foreign, but it was unmistakably a weapon of some sort. D.J. raised his hand.

 

"What kind of weapon is that? I ain't seen anything like it..."

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"It's a grenade. Like what he threw in the hall earlier." Jacob said while listening to the talk. He got a feel for the objects weight, pretending to throw it in different styles. He then passed the grenade on. He noticed the new image.

"Damn... That's, not what I was expecting.." He muttered under his breath as he waited to be taught about the alien.

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"Are you referring to the alien's weapon, or stun grenade that Recruit Kyro so gracefully handled? Speaking thus," Gabe knelt briefly and swept the device from the floor. Straightening out, his eyes locked on Kyro. He approached him calmly with a flat expression, stopping just within arm's reach. "Hold out your hand."

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Gabe calmly placed the grenade into the recruit's hand, taking him at the wrist as he closed the recruit's fingers around the device, finalizing with his thumb clicking the primer in its ready position. "If you take your thumb off of that shiny red button, not only will you you have a lot of pissed off people in this room, but you'll blow yourself up, you'll blow up the person in front of you, and worse yet, you'll survive it. Think you can handle that?"

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Kyro groaned a response, waited for the sergeant to head back to the front of the room, turned to face D.J., and motioned like he was ramming the grenade to his head and committing suicide, before facing back to the front of the room like normal.

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[i'm gonna start wrapping this up soon.]

 

"E for 'Energy,'" Gabe said, nearing the front of the room before turning about again. "Remember that. Most of what the Covenant races use is energy and physics based. Instead of projectiles--with some exception--they use plasma. Instead of combustion engines, they use anti-gravity cores. That weapon," he gestured to the Elite's firearm, "can melt metal and flesh through and through with the ease of only a few shots. In return, ours take little under a magazine to take down one of them."

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"S--t..." D.J. muttered.

 

He didn't understand most of it, but one thing was clear, if you weren't smart about it, these things could make you twice as dead in half the time.

 

It suddenly dawned on him, if he didn't straighten out soon, he'd be one of those "twice as dead."

 

D.J. returned to the lecture with renewed interest.

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Kyro grunted annoyance before waving the flashbang in the direction of the alien like some sort of miniature pointer, noticeably to the dismay of others sitting immediatly around him, "Anyone tested how THEIR weapons work on them instead of unloading clips of our stuff?"

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Geza tensed as he saw Kyro's hand-language. Noting how he maintained his grip, he held back the urge to put him on the spot.

 

Then, Gabe spoke. "We did actually. Their weapons cut their shields down a lot quicker. You know what else we found out? Their weapons are radioactive, and the less time you spend near them, the less money we have to put into treating your cancer." He put his hands at his waist and cocked his head. "I know what you're thinking. Trust me, unless it's absolutely necessary don't use their weapons. Moreso, if you have to use them, don't carry it close to anything important."

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"All things considered, as hellish as this enemy may sound so far, they all have their weaknesses. While you likely won't be in a face to face jam with any of them, it doesn't hurt to know their soft spots...Geza, let's start 'em off with some combat footage."

 

[From here, you can consult your gaming knowledge of Covenant strengths and weaknesses. We're gonna skip lecture to a more relaxed, discussion based moment among recruits. After that will be the first field training op.]

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[Am I too late to join? :D]

 

Name: Taylor DeCello
Age: 24
Physical Appearance: Skinny, tan overcoat due to the time spent in the heat, brown, crew cut, hair, blue eyes, scar on left cheek
Rank: Recruit
Uniform: Olive Drab Battle Dress Uniform
Birthplace: Visegrad
Personality: Well spoken, rushes to decisions, known for speaking back against authority, a lone wolf.
Background: Small time drug dealer, well respected criminal, chose enlistment over death penalty.
Skills: Deceitful, can often evade detection and slip through small spaces, this helped him in his criminal career  .

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Name: Conrad Basic
Age: 21
Physical Appearance: Somewhat short white dude with short brown hair and bland blue eyes. Kinda stocky.
Rank: Recruit
Uniform: Olive Drab Battle Dress Uniform
Birthplace: New Alexandria
Background: Born in the metropolitan middle class, Conrad never aspired to anything other than mediocrity and idealistic dreams. An easy life led him to little success, living as a part time amateur magician in his parents basement without a gig or a show to host, and no money to achieve independence. Unable to hold down any other job in his skill range and without any real direction, as well as the embarrassment caused by living with his parents, Conrad Basic signed on to militia training, to see if it could somehow pull him out of his three year cycle of no achievement.
Skills: He can perform well, and is decent at misdirection due to his career as a bad magician. 

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(Am I too late?)

Name: Marvin Samuel IV

Age: 19

Physical Appearance: Tall,  Tan, Black hair, Eyes like ice, Has prosthetic right arm.

Rank: Recruit

Uniform: Olive Drab Battle Dress Uniform

Birthplace: New  Alexandria

Background: Born in Metropolitan Middle Class,  Marvin was just like everyone else, At age 1-10 he was just a kid, but when he got to 11 years old, he tried looking for a living, A job he wouldve been inspired to do, Seeing all the marines and spartans made him like war, But his parents didnt allow him to speak to them, or even look at them.But when he was 15 his parents were murdered and his arm was cut off. Because of his traumatic childhood/teenhood, Marvin has signed into Militia Training to put all the trauma and anger into the battlefield.

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Transfixed, Jacob couldn't understand exactly why they were advised not to use them. They were energy weapons, they seemed useful enough on Humans.he raised his hand;

"Why exactly should t we use them. The plasma has been more effective than bullets, from what I've heard?"

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From what D.J. could piece together, the basic energy weapons didn't do more than cause mild burns. It was the weird spiky weapon, and the sword you needed to watch out for.

 

Some of the higher caliber weapons could drop the biggest covies in one shot, provided you put it in the right spot. Other than that, it was a case of unloading until they died.

 

Not D.J.'s kind of fight, he was a heavy hitter. Even in Boxing, he had his quick combos, but he preferred precise, heavy shots to put someone out.

 

The combat footage looked hectic, but almost hypnotic with various bright streaks flying past the camera.

 

"Sarge? Where's this footage from?"

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[ultrace approved. Marine, your guy's bio is a bit cliche, and that prosthetic arm is making me nervous as far as how you plan to operate it in the RP. Do what you gotta do, but I'll be watching. Omega, I'll approve you but understand that your guy might come under a bit of abuse with his criminal background.]

 

Staff Sergeant Kawolski hovered over Jacob. "You seem well informed for a kid with no knowledge of the Covenant," he said flatly before continuing. "As I've said, they are more effective against shields but not Covenant armor, not all alloys either. Scorpion MBTs have taken combined fire for entire skirmishes in the past. In addition, I already said that these weapons can cause serious **** for you down the line with their radiation output. Not all cancer is curable, and guess what causes cancer."

 

 

On the other side of the room, Geza sat at the edge of an empty desk, rewatching the age old footage. It was pieced together from various points of view, at one point it covered his helm-rec--now known as VISR COMM--data, all of which were in the same hostile encounter. At current, the scene was being played out through the perspective of a Militiaman, not unlike the recruits present. General opinion was it probably looked like a video game; Geza agreed. First-Person style view with the weapon ready-up. At the upper right corner was a name: SPC Watkins, Demetrius.

 

"Beta Centauri system. This was one of the more milder invasions."

 

The footage showed Demetrius' vision jerk to the side as a second rifleman formed up beside him at the right shoulder, firing in

short intervals. Between bursts, the man's mouth moved, but as there was no audio what was said could only be speculated on, but judging from the harsh expression on his face it was left to the imagination. After that, Watkins dropped his weapon, a standard MA5B, to a cradled carry and about-faced, engaging in a full sprint towards a set of hangar doors. From it came another four soldiers, black clad in full titanium ceramic armor, faces covered by non-descript visors.

 

By now the scene was rather obvious. The personnel had just seen the last of a civilian evacuation off and were stuck on the ground awaiting their own.

 

"This guy, Specialist Watkins, I knew him. Good guy. He was trying to get into the ODST program a month before this happened. NAVY SPECWAR wasn't feeling generous about accepting applications for a while, that went double for the working class colonials. This was ended up being his ticket to a fast track to recruitment."

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