USCMRPG

Planet: Pluto
Location: Earth Prime Space
Date: November 3, 2188
Mission Time: 0000

It is often questioned as to whether people dream in Hypersleep. It was a question that Pope, the android assigned to the Marines of the Easy Eights couldn't answer since he obviously didn't dream when he was placed in the chambers. But proximity alarms had gone off and awakened the crew of the USS Defiant and Pope. He prepared the new Lieutenants office in the section of the lower decks that was given to the Marines. Lieutenant Maria Gruber, was a small woman in stature but she kept herself in tip top shape and had qualified for Sniper. She was a no nonsense leader and had survived 15 combat drops against the Secessionist and other Colonial Uprisings. When she was given command of the Easy Eights she transferred in one of her own Sergeants from the 22nd Brigade. Sergeant Yakov Abdulav, was a tall man, and whip thin. His eyes were a glistening sky-blue and he was as bald as the day he was born but wore a goatee. His face was lined with both age and care. What made him stand out was that he was a compassionate man and he took each Marine under his care as if they were his own children.

The Lieutenant expected to be awakened exactly one hour prior to the remainder of her team and expected the Sergeant to join her no more than thirty minutes later. She wanted to read the current information concerning the locations and then wanted to refresh or develop new plans based on the new information. When she settled at her desk a piping hot cup of Joe was steaming on her left hand side and the latest Intel was fresh from the presses.

Mission Time: 0100.

Pope waited patiently as the machinery began the process of awaking the Marines. Sgt. Abdulav, stood at parade rest as he prepared to meet his new platoon mates. He had gone over their dossiers and was looking forward to meet them face to face. He had vaguely heard of them within the Marine Grapevine and was proud to be taking charge of them. His one concern at this point would be Lance Corporal Morse, this was to be his first mission since loosing his leg. Only time would tell if he was still the man that he was rumored to be. The first lid was beginning to rise so he began to walk towards the chamber. His footsteps echoed hollowly in the large chamber.

Tag Easy Eights

PLUTO.

When Sal had heard that they'd be attached to the Pluto base, his brain had gone into a cranial lock down. He had been virtually catatonic for the briefing, and as far as the rest of the Easy Eights could tell, the news had hit his mute button.

He wanted to scream, but he'd forgotten he had a mouth.

The cold had helped. The cold of the deep cyrosleep had stilled the storm in his brain. It had let him reset. Now, as his brain started to thaw and he began to wake. He willed himself to a waking state. He heard the roof of the pod slide away as he stirred, and began to peel away the various attachments that monitored his vitals.

He swung his legs off the cryobed and rolled his shoulders, he swore under his breath. Pluto. Fuckin. Pluto.

"I wonder if they remember me?" He mused. "I hope not." He stood and did a series of joint flexes to shake off the cold. He saw a Sergeant walk in from the control room and he shifted to at attention posture.

All things considered Terence was enjoying his first taste of real action. Sure he was new to the squad, he had heard some stuff about the Easy Eights but he hadn't really paid much attention to it, but none of the folks in his platoon had given much crap and going into the cyro-chambers wasn't much of a hardship.

Waking up though was a bit of a hassle. It felt like he'd just woken up with the worst hangover ever, and an extreme desire to take a whizz didn't help matters either. He came out of the cyro-tube like a zombie, his body barely functioning to his mental commands.

He could see the other tubes opening up and could make out a figure with Sergeant chevrons standing watching the awakening marines. Seeing another marine saluting the Sergeant, Terence figured it was best to do the same, and snapped a salute as sharp as he could while still trying to regain his bearings. He smacked himself in the face but he was hoping nobody had seen that.

Eric Roberts stirred in his cryo-tube. He was dreaming of swimming, but not in a defined pool or body of water. He was struggling to stay afloat and nothing he did seemed to make much difference. Suddenly he squeezed his eyes shut as if a bright light was in them. He began to sink into the water, then the image faded away. He lay still for some time, trying to understand where he was or what was happening. Eventually he opened his eyes just a slit because of the bright light. Slowly he remembered where he was and why. His head ached and he still felt like he was rocking in the waves.

Roberts sat up and hung his legs out the side of the tube. He inhaled deeply and then began to have a fit of coughing. It always seemed to happen when he woke from cryo-sleep. The blurry images in front of his eyes became more defined, and he saw Corporal Samantha Hill in the tube next to his. "You're a sight for sore eyes, ma'am," he said mischievously. He chuckled to himself, which caused another fit of coughing.
<Tag Samantha>

Roberts finally got to his feet and quickly saluted the new Sergeant. He was more concerned with getting to his locker and putting more clothes on. He was freezing.

Mark didn't move as the cryo chamber hissed open. He'd been in enough transits now to figure out that trying to move the instant it opened didn't end well. He'd spent a week with a bruised hip to remind him of that one. Instead he just flexed his fingers and, when he was confident he had control of them, moved them slowly but steadily over to the case stashed next to his pod. He flipped open the case and pulled out the first item, a pair of wrap-around sunglasses. These he carefully put on his head, over his still shut eyes. Next came a small box of pills, then a mini-bottle of water. With his post-cryo activities taken care of, he finally opened his eyes and stood up. A moment later he spotted the Sargent. Like the others he saluted, though it was a slower and more controlled motion.

The kick and whine of the opening cryo tube brought consciousness almost immediately. Not consciousness in the sense of being awake and walking around, but being aware of where one was. The cold air. The dark shroud of ones eyelids. The humming of the systems all around. They battered someone’s senses and penetrated deep into their psyche. They were suddenly aware of just about everything, but their body had no ability to react. A miserable paralysis that persisted for as long as several minutes, where one was left with nothing but their thoughts dwelling on “Why am I here.”

Morse opened his eyes. He inhaled slowly, and lay flat a moment. He could feel the lurching and turning in his stomach. An ever plagued victim of the cryosickness, he knew exactly what he could expect. But in recent times his Cryosickness was easily explained. One needed to remain in fairly good condition before going into cryo. That meant no truly unhealthy food. That meant no heavy medications. That meant no drinking.

But when Morse sat up, he knew exactly why his body felt the way it did. He knew precisely what he’d done before jumping into the cryo tube. And now, countless miles away from the dock they started at, he was feeling the affects of the quantity he was drinking.

Some people took great tragedy in stride. They used it as a way to better themselves. They began to count their blessings and treat each day like it was their last. They found causes and philosophies. They really looked towards the future with bright and open eyes. And in many ways Morse did find his way into some of those categories, but by no means had he gone down the good paths for them.

The fact was Morse had gotten worse. Much worse.

From the day that he had his leg removed there was a fissure forming in his mind. And as each day passed he cut away at it more and more wrapping his mind around his reality.

He had lost a limb for nothing. The planet could have been bombed right away. Instead they decided to put troops on the ground and nuke it anyway. And while many had died, and a great deal of equipment was lost, Morse had to live with constantly knowing that he was officially a casualty once again for a mission that was nothing more then a tactical failure.

He’d gone through months of learning his new piece of equipment. How to balance on it. How to walk without limping. How to keep control of it. It hadn’t been easy. He already did not meet the ideal model of someone to receive such a prosthetic, and his belligerent attitude only made things more difficult.

But of all the things they’d had him do, the head games were the worst. The Corps seemed to consider him a value asset, or lab rat. He couldn’t tell. All he knew was that they wanted to stabilize him. They wanted to keep him functional.

Mandated therapy. Peer group meetings. Reintegration dates. They ran Morse through the works. And while they seemed to have the small success that they wanted the only thing that really seemed to get to him was putting him back on Gunnery Training on Earth.

He’d spent two months once again as an instructor on gunnery weapons and tactics. The autonomy with his new limb helped him get used to having it, and the task helped keep his mind off of it.

But Morse had never truly forgotten what happened. He was not taking the incident any better. Instead he was just displaying the image of external functionality, which was all the Corps wanted. While he yelled orders at new recruits, berated them for their incompetence with the machineguns, and demonstrated his personal prowess with them, in his mind the fissure only got bigger.

Now he was drinking more. Now he was tearing at the fissure even harder. Now he was turning himself into something that even the Corps might consider unfit for duty.

Yet in spite of what was going on on the inside, on the outside, Morse had displayed a similar bitter disposition to what he always had, which was more then enough to get the most important stamp that any Marine could have.

“Fit for Duty”

So now he sat up, seeming the same way he’d always been. But anyone talking to him for great lengths of time. Anyone watching the way he’d drilled the students. Anyone saw how much he drank. They would know that something with Morse was not quite right.

Colson would never be called a fan of Cryosleep. It wasn't that he faired any better on the slow wake up either, it was just he tended not to gripe so verbally about it. The last mission was a bust and now they were shoved into the cold of cryo just to wake up to be sent somewhere even colder. He wasn't impressed.

Either way he dragged himself out of the tube and made his way to the prep area, putting in his false teeth as he went.

Sergeant Abdulov, watched his new unit. His practiced eye drinking in every detail as they struggled to awaken from the affects of being asleep for six months. He was pleased to note that they all moved with fairly quickly. He noticed that L. Cpl. Morse didn't seem to chipper, in fact he looked almost green around the gills.

"Morse, it's another glorious day in the Corp. What seems to be ailing you son? Do you need a little hair of the dog that bit you? I am sure you have a stash somewhere in your locker."
<Tag Morse>

The dreamscape of hypersleep split and started to give way to the bright lights of the pod bay as the metallic whine of the lid opening brought him back to reality. Sitting up he looked around for a moment before coughing and rubbing his eyes. He had never really gotten that sick from hypersleep, not that he liked it, but at least he didn't get sick. Sliding out of the pod he stretched and looked around.

"Hay Morse, You got lucky. I had a place here for you on my left arm. That's where I put the ones that are close to me." Dirk joked. In truth he had blamed himself for Morse getting his leg blown off. Lack of information, planning. The operation was FUBAR from the outset but he didn't see it. His lack of respect for the enemy and their capabilities blinded him to the danger.
<Tag Morse>

Quinn was gone. Been transferred out of command, against Dink's wishes. But Dirk was a Sargent, And not an especially liked one by some of the higher ups, so his opinion was not wanted or asked. The funny thing was that with the new LT that the assigned came a new NCOIC. Looking over at the new top it seemed that the man was not the bad sort. He had seen a few of those in his time but he would wait and see.

"Hay Sam." Dirk said over his shoulder as he put an unlit cigarette in his mouth. "What the hell did I do to wake up to you?" He said in a mocking tone.
<Tag Sam>

Samantha Hall woke up out of cryosleep with the same feeling as usual; sadness that she was NOT smelling the ocean of her home colony of New Kingston; which she had not visited in several years now. Still, she shook her head and stretched and had to smile at both Roberts calling her 'ma'am' and Dirk's joke.

Responding to the latter first; she gave her best smile to the Sergeant and replied with; "Because you won the Platoon lottery and got to be in the pod next to the prettiest girl in the unit, Sarge! Of course, seeing as how I'm the ONLY girl in the unit that's not exactly saying much."

Turning to Robets, she gave a fake dramatic sigh and said; "How many times do I have to tell you mon, I WORK for a living just like you; I'm no officer. I'm Sam....or Hall....or 'hey you'....or on formal occasions, 'Corporal'; okay Eric?"; she teased her smartgunner.

Moving over to the locker area; Sam picked out some towels and her duty uniform and moved to the showers; got cleaned up and dressed and feeling a million times better; she went to see if anyone wanted to go hunt down some chow with her....

<Tag Dirk>
<Tag Roberts>
<Tag anyone>

Dirk Pitt wrote:"Hay Sam." Dirk said over his shoulder as he put an unlit cigarette in his mouth. "What the hell did I do to wake up to you?" He said in a mocking tone.

"Apparently we've been good," he said across Sam's cryotube, grinning at his old friend.
<Tag Sam/Dirk>

maxvale76 wrote:Turning to Robets, she gave a fake dramatic sigh and said; "How many times do I have to tell you mon, I WORK for a living just like you; I'm no officer. I'm Sam....or Hall....or 'hey you'....or on formal occasions, 'Corporal'; okay Eric?"; she teased her smartgunner.

"Yes ma'am," he laughed again and hurried away to avoid any retribution from his squad-leader. He tip-toed across the freezing metal floor and made it to his locker. He grabbed some clothes and hurried off to the showers.
<Tag Sam>

After his shower, Eric went with the others to get chow. "Man I could go for a cup a' joe."
<Tag Anyone>

Once the new Sarge had passed to check in on Morse, Sal had shifted and moved to shower up while the rest of the group woke up. It was still a reeling idea. Pluto. Fucking Pluto. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on something anything.

He heard Sam talking with the NCO's and rolled his shoulders. When Eric mentioned coffee, his brain found a segue.

"Don't trust the coffee down on the station. Unless it's improved by leagues since I've been here, it's two steps above unfit for human consumption."

And just like that he opened the kettle of fish for 'you've been here before?' to the rest of the group.

<Tag Eric, et the rest>

MarcusOTerra wrote:"Don't trust the coffee down on the station. Unless it's improved by leagues since I've been here, it's two steps above unfit for human consumption."

And just like that he opened the kettle of fish for 'you've been here before?' to the rest of the group.

Roberts looked over at Sal. "Yo, man, you been here before?" he said, then added "And besides, how is that different from marine coffee?"
<Tag Sal>

maxvale76 wrote: Responding to the latter first; she gave her best smile to the Sergeant and replied with; "Because you won the Platoon lottery and got to be in the pod next to the prettiest girl in the unit, Sarge! Of course, seeing as how I'm the ONLY girl in the unit that's not exactly saying much."
<Tag Dirk>

Dirk smiled back at Sam as he gathered his clothes and headed to the showers. "That's right Sam, you're the best lookin woman in light years." Dirk joked "But you better watch out. The new LT is a woman too. Might be that your title is in jeopardy. "
<Tag Sam>

"Speak for your self Roberts, I don't remember the last time I was good."
<Tag Roberts>

Finishing his shower Dirk once again felt like a human, or at least as human as he ever felt. Walking into the chow hall he grabbed breakfast and a cup of coffee.

Sal shook his head at Eric's claim. "You don't understand. You'll be happy to chug the military grade swill after you smell that stuff."

He dried, dressed, and made for the mess and the food and coffee. Things could be worse, for all Sal knew, noone he'd known was still working on the station. It'd been years. Right? Right. Right.