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Halo: Militia (RP)


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Kyro shoved a thumb in the ODST's direction, "Exactly my point, they know they're better. Overconfidence can be a major problem. It dulls the senses yahknow. They're already expecting this to be a turkey-shoot with no return fire. You can see that much in the way they're over there having a nonchalant confab." Under his shades, Kyro rubbed his right eye which still had not recovered from the earlier treatment of pepper spray.

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"And what exactly are you basing this on, 'Professor'?" D.J. made quotes with his fingers. "They're confident, because they know they could take us in a fight. And they're right."

 

All in all, they needed some form of plan.

 

"If you're so sure this could work, I'll give it a shot, but the first sign that this is going south, I'm pulling my squad out, and making a break for the base."

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[i didn't really know if we were picking our own men, but yeah... :)]

 

Shields had been chosen to be squad leader. Instead of overdoing a reaction, he stepped forward a little dumbly, turning to the other recruits as his fellow squad leaders were called out. He scratched his chin, trying to suppress the grin that would have formed otherwise. He looked to Mickey, nodding next to him. He joined Shields, standing behind him, rifle to the floor.

 

"Er, Grec, Aves, Basic, erm... Dwyer?" Shields called a few names that he knew didn't belong to ********. He called out eight more, so that each member of the squad, minus him, would have a buddy to work with. He was a big fan of that system, having someone you can really work with and get to know well: a brother in arms. He knew he could count on Mickey, but he wanted to follow the three four-man fireteams, plus a squad leader, tactic. He was used to that when he played in the CombatSims.

 

To his right, the other three nominated leaders were bickering about something to do with Professors? Huh? Shields shrugged it off and ushered his troops into a double-file line.

 

"Find someone to partner up with - you'll probably be with them till after we finish training, so choose someone you're not gonna throttle in the field." he mentioned, putting his helmet on and fastening the strap. He made sure it was tight enough for it to stay on, but not so much as to cut off the blood supply to his neck and chin.

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Recruit Jason B. Aves

The recruit exhaled gratefully.  He eagerly jogged over to Shields as his name was called and formed up all the way to the right in the first flank.  Bending at the waist, Aves leaned forward to get an idea for who would be in his squad.  Content, he straightened back up and looked forward, tensing and relaxing his grip on his MA5 nervously.  He knew making a good impression would set him up for success, but at the same time he loathed the idea of looking like a suck up.  He realized that, being on the far right of his row, he was in a leadership spot and dwelt in his own internal conflict for a few moments. 

 

Heck, what would it hurt...

 

He cleared his throat to rid himself of the knot that had developed and spoke, chocking on his words as his tongue seemingly shriveled up within his mouth.

 

"Recruit Sh-Shields, Recruit Aves requesting..."

 

He swallowed once more.

 

"...requesting command of a-a fireteam."

 

Stupid stupid stupid...  How are you supposed to lead a fireteam if you can't even mutter a sentence without freezing...  Get your composure back or else they're going to laugh in your face...

 

With a deep breath, he stood tall and puffed his chest out a little to attempt to look more confident.  He adjusted his grip on his rifle and locked his eyes to the front.

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[sorry for the delay. I was orginally waiting for other squad leaders to post, but what does it matter? :) Also, if anyone else feels like joining the squad, feel free to do so. Know that, when you choose, the other squad leaders might end up with no members. That'd suck!]

 

Shields, his squad now formed, looked down at his rifle. He reached for the display button on the MA5, pressing it down to bring up the blue ammo counter and compass. Whilst he still preferred the iron sights, the display looked pretty cool, and would be useful for when his magazine began to run dry. In CombatSim, he found it very inconvenient having to reload mid-firefight, when he had thought he had more rounds in the mag.

 

"Recruit Sh-Shields, Recruit Aves requesting, requesting command of a-a fireteam."

 

"Fireteams," Shields looked up from the two cyan zeroes on the display, towards Aves' face. "It's good you know the structure. I'll decide once you've all buddied up."

 

Mickey exhaled slightly at that. He turned to one of the recruits who looked as he did: a little shy, a little awkward, though pretty tough-looking. Mickey was about to introduce himself and another NPC showed up, barging in front of him and taking the other NPC as his partner. Obviously, both Mickey and the ignorant arse had noticed the guy's performance with the BR55; the guy looked to be a decent shot.

 

"***hole." Mickey muttered to himself, looking dumbly at the other recruits trying to find partners.

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Sam ran a hand over the back of his neck, exhaling pure doubt as stood awkwardly by the list of recruits Shields had callen into assembly. There was only one other instance in which he was ever so clueless as to why he was seen as important enough for selection, and that was when he first turned in his enlistment papers. During that short chapter of his life, he had hoped they would turn him down, leave him with no option but to wait on the coming apocalypse, think of his disability as an unwarranted handicap.

 

But, no. The UNSC decided to scrape to bottom, deeming that modern medicine--something he once thought he was a specialist in--would cleanse his impure nearsightedness before having his arm weighed with a rifle, an eight pound piece of machinery that carried more tradition than ammo currently. That was about to change, he knew, as an ammunition crate slithered into view while the Pelican's deployment ramp groaned open.

 

"Step right up," said Geza, causing Dwyer to flinch as he seemingly spoke from nowhere.

 

Not before long, the Sergeant came into view and raised a loosely closed hand, with a red-tipped round jutting out from either side of his middle finger. "You'll be loading these up for this op. Regular seven-six-twos for your MA5 assault rifles. These are training rounds; red paint laced with a tranquilizer to simulate how useless you'll feel when shot. Make no mistake, these are non-lethal, but like anything fired out of a gun, results may vary. Don't f*** up. Dispense it evenly and make it last."

 

"Jesus..." Sam uttered, catching up with Shields. "Would it kill him to smile for a change?"

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Having decided that at least one of the squads might reluctantly participate in his half-baked scheme of taking the ODSTs out of the picture and turning back, Kyro noticed one of the other chosen leaders had decided to completely skip the discussion and had instead rushed to get his pick of the recruits in some sort of almost political campaigning method. Walking past the man he made a point of jabbing his elbow into his back, turning he stated, "Gotta keep your eyes open man," and moved on to start collecting people for his own squad.

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[Quick question, Mike. Are we having some sort of TEAMCOM, using the CH252s, or is it just a few radiomen here and there hefting equipment around?]

 

Sergeant Geza came into view in front of their transport. The ramps all hissed a little, lowering to the ground in what sounded like a chorus of snakes. It was both eery and intimidating, which was probably the point of syncing them all up to drop at the same time.

 

"Step right up. You'll be loading these up for this op. Regular seven-six-twos for your MA5 assault rifles. These are training rounds; red paint laced with a tranquilizer to simulate how useless you'll feel when shot. Make no mistake, these are non-lethal, but like anything fired out of a gun, results may vary. Don't f*** up. Dispense it evenly and make it last."

 

Shields was glad that they were going to be using Tactical Training Rounds. The simulated death was the best part of CombatSim games - he'd heard that, the game it all originated from, Airsoft, had its dead players stand, raise their hand and walk past everyone back to base, or spawn. That sounded like a load of unrealistic crap to him.

 

"Jesus. Would it kill him to smile for a change?"

 

He turned around to face Dwyer, the one who'd made the comment about Geza. Shields smiled, shrugged and looked back to the Sergeant. He looked grizzly as ****, but Oliver guessed he'd been one of the comedians in his squad, back when he'd been deployed.

 

"I guess it probably would. The Staff Sergeant would probably shoot him or something." Oliver grinned at the thought of Kawolski gunning thirty-two TTR rounds into Geza. Then again, it wasn't so funny when he thought of the consequences if he was found talking or thinking about it. He'd probably end up with those thirty-two rounds in his chest.

 

"Gotta keep your eyes open, man."

 

All of a sudden, one of the leaders, Ky-something, jabbed a harsh elbow into his back. Shields frowned angrily, gripping his empty rifle tighter. He didn't raise it, but it made him feel a little more macho. As the cocky little f*** swaggered off, Oliver loosened his grip on the MA37.

 

"The ****?" he muttered. "Great team spirit. Go platoon."

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Kyro was walking past a few men and noticed the one finishing off a bottle of water. As the man prepared to chuck it away, he deliberately made his way past and grabbed the bottle. Turning it in his hand, he thought back to his gang days as he held a clip of the paralyzing ammunition in another hand...

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Recruit Jason B. Aves

"Fireteams.  It's good you know the structure. I'll decide once you've all buddied up."

 

Jason nodded and looked immediately to his left.  The recruit next to him, Dwyer, didn't seem to be picked yet.  He bumped his arm with his elbow to grab his attention and quizzically bobbed his head up to see if he was up for being partners.

 

At the same moment, one of the other squad leaders brushed by and jarred Shields in the ribs.

 

"Gotta keep your eyes open, man."

 

When they had started to form up, Aves had heard him off to the side concocting some heinous plan to take out the shock troopers.  Now, he was making enemies with other squads?  His words still lingered in Aves' ears.  Keep your eyes open?  It almost sounded as if he intended to turn against them.  Jason needed to focus on the here and now, though so he dismissed it as daddy issues, wiped the dumbfounded look off of his face, and turned his attention back to Dwyer.

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"Hey, Kyro." D.J. called, jogging to catch up with him. "Hey, I don't doubt that you think this plan'll work, but if it doesn't pan out, I've got your back. Just like old times, huh?"

 

He slung the Assault Rifle onto his back.

 

"If we start losing ground, I'll have my team hold their spot while you retreat, then you do the same. Leapfrog 'til we hit the base, wipe them out, or get wiped out, sound good?"

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With a distracted look on his face he looked up at D.J., "Huh? Oh yeah definetly. Hey, I had a thought. The paint just has to be splashed on someone to take em out right? Remember those freeks way back when who tried to hold up that bank with those IEDs? The ones who ended up splattering themselves on the pavement?"

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[Yeah, the CH252's will have short-wave comms. Squad leaders can set up TEAMCOMMs.]

 

Dwyer shook his head, but smiled at the same time as he watched Geza walk off to the group of ODSTs, who were still loitering around their vehicles, exchanging words. "Guy's definitely got a stick up his ***.  But I guess with fresh batches you kinda have to."

 

Suddenly, he felt a bump at his arm. He turned to tee Aves giving him a nod. It took him a while to figure it out, but Sam eventually caught on that he was offering to work with him on the buddy system. He was about to speak when a hushed thud sounded over his shoulder, and turning to look he caught a glimpse of Kyro brushing by Shields. "Gotta keep your eyes open, man."

 

Sam's brow crinkled with a mix of confusion and wanton distaste. That just happened, he told himself. The guy that had been on some of the thinnest ice in their platoon just tried to make someone with legitimate reason and mindset look like an idiot, or threatened him--Sam couldn't discern from his behavior. Nonetheless, he knew better than to deal with a mindless confrontation, instead looking back to Aves.

 

"Yeah," he uttered, slapping the man's shoulder with a clack. "Yeah why not. Beats taking an odd-man-out from D**k-Cheese Squad over there," he said, jabbing a thumb in Kyro's general direction.

 

He never was one to hold grudges, but Sam sure as hell believed in making life harder for those that deserved it. He had gone through EMS training, three years of college, did honest work before he enlisted, hoping that his service would be better rewarded. Thugs, gangsters, criminals with sentences, people who were there because they "had to be there," hardly felt fair to those in for career or general life guidance. Then again, it wasn't fair that humanity was close to facing extinction.

 

"Man, f*ck life," was all he could say on the matter.

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Taylor seemed to have a burst of confidence, confidence that could get him killed, he twiddled with the rounds in his magazine, and muttered under his breath, "ODSTs eh? Seems fair."

 

As he waited for the order to go, he looked around at the soldiers who stood beside him, some men looked hardened and ready, others... Well, they were greenhorns. Life on the streets really made Taylor tough enough to take **** from anybody, he had to hustle illegal drugs just to pay for his mother's daily food, she didn't care much about Taylor either. Taylor wanted to fight, and the ODSTs were always a childhood dream, not to fight, but to be one, this was close enough.

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Kyro tossed the bottle up a bit as he looked up at D.J., "We might not even have to risk ourselves to take out some of these guys' numbers. We just need some creativity, some explosive, and these," he finished holding up the stun rounds.

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As Marvin stood alone there for a minute, He asked,  "Sir, I know we need to be trained to fight, But are you sure that a bunch of highly trained ODST`s are exactly the right choice? I mean, Yeah they are good soldiers, But I have a good opinion that some of us here may not have good survival skills or tracking."

Edited by The Dumb Marine
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Grec glanced at Kyro - Andrew wasn't a team leader, but he'd sort of wandered up. He took a moment to collect himself before he said, "Uh, not to burst your bubble, but I don't think we're going to be getting explosives. From the looks of things, what we're currently carrying is what we're using," he shrugged slightly, "And even if we had explosives, the Staff Sergeant still hasn't gone over how to safely set that stuff up."

 

And with that little bit of wisdom imparted, Grec started making his way back to the collection of olive-drab and woodland camouflage that was his squadmates. Now reverting to his usual demeanor and behavior, he found himself a quiet corner to hole up in. He was supposed to be grabbing up a buddy for this little walk in the woods, but he didn't exactly recognize anyone from the assembled mass as someone he labeled as his 'friend'. Then again, he'd always been ****ty at making friends. 

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[Marine...I don't think you're reading me either. This is not a live fire exercise. No one is going to end up dead if parameters are followed. If you actually read my posts you'd know that. If you keep having Marvin speak up like this, he's probably going to get ignored just so that we can keep up the tempo of the RP, which has been sluggish lately.]

 

Dwyer shook his head. "Let's save the talks for when we're transporting, yeah?" he said, as he took a moment to notice the few ODSTs laughing amongst themselves. "I never played any sports, but I know it sucks when the other guys know your gameplan, so shall we?"

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"Yeah, good call." Shields nodded, leading his squad away from the other recruits. He walked over to the first Pelican, climbing up into the blood tray, where the magazines of 7.62x51mm TTR rounds were stored in an olive-drab crate. He helped a couple of Marines up, including Dwyer, then leaving them to help the other recruits up.

 

"Nice." he muttered, picking one up and weighing it in his hands. He'd only ever used the MA3s - he preferred these newer variants. He loaded the magazine into the magazine well of his MA5, following the click with a pull on the charging handle. He then flicked the safety on, placing the rifle down on the seats. Shields began to pick up more magazines, slotting them into the pouches on his body armour.

 

When he had six magazines attached to his rig, he placed his helmet on. It was heavy, a couple of kilos or something, but it felt protective. He looked at the HMD on the orange tactical goggles too, seeing his current amount of ammunition and his bio-readings. There were a few other things he could pull up too, such as a map, a compass, a complete roster of the platoon (that was currently loading because only a few had their helmets on) and mission briefings. 

 

"Guys. Put your helmets on and let it link to your neural lace thing." Shields casually ordered, grinning as his helmet made the connection, bringing up some of his personal details.

 

>>>://WELCOME TO CH252 MODEL 1542977343//

>>>://YOU ARE RECRUIT OLIVER SHIELDS, CONFIRM?//

 

Oliver didn't really know what to do, but he somehow selected the confirm button with his brain. They'd been given a bit of a training course before being flown in, but he'd never got the hang of it. It freaked him out, giving him that headachey feel you get from putting a finger close to the bridge of your nose and focusing on it.

 

His name flickered up on the overall roster, designating him as squad leader of __________. He then saw a few names pop in his squad, and a few in the other squads.

 

"Thing makes my ******* head spin." he complained, sitting down in the middle of the seats on the left.

 

[What is the platoon called, Mike?]

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"Kyro... we're not gonna have explosives... This is an exercise, which I'm pretty sure means blowing your enemies halfway to hell isn't allowed."

 

D.J. Trudged onto the second Pelican, taking the seat nearest to the ramp. He looked over his MA5. The rifle still felt foreign in his hands.

 

"Man... I'd love to get my hands on one of those big a-- sniper rifles..." He wondered aloud.

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[Omega, we're all outside, not in a room. Also, if he muttered something, not many people are gonna hear it, as both Geza and Kawolski walked away. I'm just saying it to give you a chance to edit it in a manner that could warrant a response. Otherwise Taylor's gonna get ignored.]

 

[whoops, sorry about that. I didn't see the post indicating we were outside, I will edit immediately, still what team am I on?]

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Recruit Jason B. Aves

Click.

 

The clip locked in place as Aves prepped his rifle.  Ye racked back the charging handle, allowed it to slide forward on its own, palmed the forward assist, and closed the ejection port dust cover.  This thing fascinated him.  He had always been intrigued by firearms and the awe-inspiring power they wielded over life and death, but had always been too afraid to handle one. Since the start of his training, they had been introduced to the weapon and, in his free time, Jason had devoured the field manual for the weapon.  It had all kinda of redundancy features, safety mechanisms, and a whole suite of electronics.  After a moment of twiddling with the display he had cycled through the default ammo counter/compass display,  an advanced compass with current heading readouts, and a smart link set up interface.  He was a little bummed that they hadn't been issued smart link-capable optics.  All they had were ironsights, but even then they were rated for three hundred meters accurately.

 

"Guys. Put your helmets on and let it link to your neural lace thing."

 

Aves looked over to Shields down from him in the Pelican dropship then complied.  Hes helmet linked with his shooter's glasses and did a quick boot up.  This was one thing he was still getting used to.  He was comfortable with weapons now, but making things happen with his brain?  The concept still made him simultaneously amazed and intimidated.  After a few moments of furrowing his brow in different ways he was successful in confirming his identity.  He would leave the more advanced aspects untouched for now.  A minor wave of nausea was already setting on and he didn't want that to mix with the rumble of the pelican.

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