USCMRPG

Things happened fast in this outfit! thought Terence to himself. He had fallen in with Corporal Dirk and the rest of second squad after grabbing his issued gear, as well as much extra ammo and grenades as he could carry comfortably, and listened up as Colson asked the Corporal what the game plan was once they hit dirt. Well it would be some kind of ice or something on Pluto but he wasn't a geologist.

<Tag Second Squad>

Mark had grabbed his gear and headed directly for loading. His usual pistol was already strapped to his leg – that was the easy part. The technical gear in the backpack was the hard part. He wanted it in a particular way that required making more than a couple of minor adjustments to both the gear and the backpack. Thankfully he wasn't making it up on the go like the first time - He'd worked the whole thing out back on during their down time on Ekylprillion – even took time to write it down.

So by the time Sam walked in Mark had his reader propped up with the instructions open, his backpack between his knees, and the rest of his gear strewn around on a table next to him alongside a handful of extra wires, bands, repair patches, and even string and thread. He paused what he was doing momentarily to listen to his squad leader's instructions.

"Um, does that mean I should go get a rifle, ma'am?" Mark replied looking up, his tone indicating he was half-joking.

<Tag Sam>
<Tag 1st>

Current Equip:
[Light Armor – 15]
WY 88 Pistol – 3
Extra Ammo – 1
Motion Tracker – 3
Light & Comm – 1
Electronic Lockpicks – 1
Tablet/Datapad – 1
2 Grenades (frag) – 2
2 Grenades (Flash) – 2
Multitool – 1
Backpack – 2 (
* Intelligence Unit – 12
* Field Radio – 8
* Position Tracker – 1
* Portable Computer – 5

Morse wrote:
Dirk had ordered them to load up for protracted engagement, and noted that there were hostages. Morse couldn’t help but blink at the typical futility of the situation. ”Hostages?” Morse echoed, moving next to Dirk shaking his head. ”They grabbed the wrong platoon.” Dirk would know as well as Morse did that they were not typical for that sort of thing, but there was nothing to do about it. ”I’m bringin’ the peace-pipe” Morse said, regarding his M5 Rocket Launcher. ”Just in case.”

< Tag Dirk

Dirk laughed for a moment at Morse's comment. It was very true that the platoon didn't have the best track record at keeping civilians alive. Hell, they could hardly keep the new LTs alive long enough to learn their names.

"No, I guess not. Lets make an extra effort to keep at least some of the civis alive" He joked back
<Tag Morse>

Whisky wrote:
"So boss," Colson said getting Dirks attention, "What's the game plan for when we hit the ground?" He hated going in blind, although you think he'd be used to it now. However what he hated worse was not having a clear sense of purpose once the ball started rolling.

<Tag Dirk

Not sure yet. We'll try to keep a tactical diamond. Move that way when we can. Go to a staggered column when it gets too tight. Just keep your eyes open and be ready for a fight. This is officially a rescue mission, but I don't want to lose a single man in second squad."
<Tag Colson>

At the assertion that Colson was a mechanic, not a medic, Morse had to shake his head trying to recall. He had remembered that the man had some medical background, similar to that of which Morse had when he left boot camp. But his holding of a designated squad medic had completely slipped passed Morse’s mind. He assumed that must have happened in the time that he was away, but he could not know for sure. And if there was a change like that, he wondered what else he might have missed.

”That’s why I bring a cane.” Morse said, tapping on the M-5 Rocket launcher that he kept strapped to his back. Not exactly the most ideal weapon for use on operations such as they were going on, but Morse had gotten tired of coming in unprepared for specific outcomes. The large weapon was of course too large and unwieldy to be used for support, but the joke would work all the same.

When Dirk noted the plan, Morse did not see it as anything new. The only real question that there was about any of it, was who would take point and would be in the rear. And of course who the new guy was. As always ‘The Dead Shots’ were cycling through their fourth wheel slot, and Morse had no idea who he was, let alone what his skill sets were.

”So who’s takin’ point.” Morse asked with a raised eyebrow. ”You, me, or Coleslaw?” Morse considered. Then he cocked his head towards Terrance. ”Less you wanna get the new meat bloodin’ early.” Morse’s accent made it difficult to know if he meant to get Terrance ‘bleeding’ or if he spoke correctly and meant him to be ‘blooding.’ Either way, Morse wanted to know who would be where.

< Tag All 2nd Squad.

Morse wrote: ”So who’s takin’ point.” Morse asked with a raised eyebrow. ”You, me, or Coleslaw?” Morse considered. Then he cocked his head towards Terrance. ”Less you wanna get the new meat bloodin’ early.”
< Tag All 2nd Squad.

Colson laughed at the comment about he rocket launcher. "Old man Morse's walking stick. I like it." When Morse mentioned the marching order he noticed the new guy for the first time. "Ah yes, a new face. Welcome to the unluckiest squad in the USMC. I'm Colson." holding out his hand.

<Tag 2nd Squad

Terence gripped Colson's offered hand firmly, grinning at his squad mate.

"I'm Terence Dooropener, I swear to god that's my real name! My dads family were dutch or something and changed it when they got to the land of the free and the home of the brave. Good to meet you man, why do you say we are the unluckiest squad in the USMC?"

<Tag Whisky>

Acknowledging Morse's comment Terence replied with a grin "Wind me up, point me towards the enemy and let me loose!"

<Tag Morse & Second Squad>

With a sudden upwards jerking motion the Cheyenne Dropship hit the dense atmosphere of Pluto. The marines were all treated to a teeth rattling descent into Hades, a nickname well earned according to anyone unfortunate enough to have spent time there.

"Lt. Gruber, we will be landing in 15 seconds. There's a five minute delay as the doors close and the atmosphere is switched out," Airman White declared.

"Affirmative! Alright marines lets look frosty. I want First Squad to take point and establish the perimeter once the doors open. Then we play leapfrog until we engage the enemy or meet the locals."

The marines felt the Dropship touchdown and then listened to the ticking of the metal cooling as the engines shut down. Five minutes passed by quickly. The bay door dropped with a hiss of escaping heat producing a foggy atmosphere. The beast that was the Easy Eights had emitted the smoke that precursored the flame that bleached forth from the belly of the dragon.

<Tag Eights>

Roberts sat quietly during the drop. He knew the trick to resisting the turbulence was not to resist it. His body bounced freely in its harness. He shut his eyes briefly and said a prayer in his head. Ever since the Snakefighter incident he had a little more faith.

As the dropship landed he unlatched his harness and stood up. He grabbed his Smart-gun off of the wall and moved to the door. When it opened he took point with his Smart-gun. Just like old times, he thought. As he exited he scanned the room visually as well as with his Smart-gun eye-piece.

(Roll Awareness or Scouting)

Sal stepped off the drop ship and immediately his sense of nostalgia was replaced with disorientation. The landing pad wasn't one he was strictly familiar with. Maybe it had been upgraded in the intervening years, but it still wasn't a settling thought, he was going to be just as lost as anyone else going through here.

"Shit." He whispered.

He swept his rifle across the expanse of the hanger, eyes looking for any movement, or any traps.

<Roll Scouting, Awareness>

The shaking and bouncing in the Dropship never bothered Morse. He kept his eyes fixed forward, for some reason remembering his first drops. He carried a religious text back then. He carried a Med-Kit in those days too. He had nice ideas about doing a part and keeping a the United State's and Earths dominance well intact throughout the stars.

Those days had since been rotted away after the years of deployments, the terrible things he saw, and the worse things he was willing to do. Fusing that with his already known drinking issues, Morse was now a walking death machine. Ammunition strapped to both his legs, and the two largest weapons that the platoon had to offer in his hands and on his back respectively. His new leg did little to assist with weight, but he didn't care. He was used to it by now. These days it was simply a matter of keeping going.

The reality was, he was eager to shoot something. Find something, or someone who he could momentarily vent the rage in him upon them in 5 round bursts of precision 10mm explosive tip rounds.

"Mmmk." Morse said getting up from his seat, and loading the M2-Rocket Launcher to his back. Unusual gear for a hostage rescue, but the Eights had been around long enough to have the foresight to be prepared.

He offloaded with the other in standard battle line, his immense and redecorated M56 Smartgun pointed down range, prepared to obliterate the slightest hint of movement. He held position, as their squad was to advance second after First squad had perimeter for them.

"Fuckin' cold." Morse said, immediately feeling the Plutonian misery that they'd likely be feeling for the next few hours.

And when the time came he moved up, still ready to kill anything that appeared hostile... or appeared.

< Roll Awareness.

Samantha had NEVER particularly liked drops...the stomach in your throat feeling was never something she enjoyed, but she just shut her eyes and thought of home and did her best to get through it....

Upon landing and hearing the orders, she gave a quick; "Affirmative LT"; and moved her squad out first; her Pulse Rifle up and at the ready, safety off, finger off the trigger...but close by. Seeing Roberts move to take the point, she whispered out; "Eric...fall back and get between Sal and I. Boothe, you're up on point with me....let me know what to expect before we get there if you recognize it...Giosso, you're on the drag....keep that Motion Detector up and running. Look sharp people and remember, we're here to rescue hostages, so put your rounds where they count."

With that, Sam deployed her squad and began the process of moving into and clearing the facility....

<Tag 1st Squad>
<Roll Awareness, Scout...whatever applies>

maxvale76 wrote:Seeing Roberts move to take the point, she whispered out; "Eric...fall back and get between Sal and I. Boothe, you're up on point with me....let me know what to expect before we get there if you recognize it...Giosso, you're on the drag....keep that Motion Detector up and running. Look sharp people and remember, we're here to rescue hostages, so put your rounds where they count."

Roberts heard the order and hesitated. "Copy that," he said quietly. He stopped and let the other two marines pass him. The cold air was irritating but he would tough it out.

Leon disembarked the drop ship, rifle in hand, and took a look at the area. First squad was already on the move sweeping the landing platform military style, he heard their squad leader directing the marines into formation.

"Another shit hole boony rock" he muttered to himself, seeing the all too familiar industrial platforms and machinery.

7 years ago, right when he'd first signed up, Leon would have been stoked to be here. Actual action, a chance to kick ass and shoot pirates. Now, after being bumped to five outfits in 2 years and the shit show of civilian protection operations and boring security detail had left him jaded. He hadn't wanted to move so many times, but it seemed like just plain bad luck, the first two squads had dissolved due to funding issues and poor leadership, the third he'd been bumped by a "self starting" sergeant who was cleaning shop in a push to look like officer material. The last two were mostly his fault, fighting and drinking, not to excess, but with the service record he had, even a little got your COs looking pretty closely.

The civilian ops had left Leon used to lighter weaponry, submarine guns always had a better PR image, the full combat loaded pulse rifle felt heavy and cumbersome. None of the leadership had specified gear requirements so Leon had elected to only take the portable comms gear. He figured he could piggyback off local signals if he needed a longer range broadcast, and shit, no use getting shot trying to carry heavy comms arrays in a firefight.

Leon gritted his teeth against the cold, slapped the magazine of his rifle to make sure it was engaged, and formed up on his squad ready for orders.

<tag 3rd squad>

Dirk sat in the Dropship as it bounced and shook as it entered the ever thickening atmosphere of the small planet. He had never really cared about dropping into combat one way or the other. The closest thing he could equate it to was the old AMTRACS the United States Marine Corps rode into battle. Both were uncomfortable and both took Marines to the most inhospitable places to battle whatever enemy stood against them. The difference is that those Marines could live outside and the USCM Marines would die if they went outside.

Walking down the ramp Dirk put a cigarette in his mouth and lit it. The frozen breath mixed with the smoke trailing behind him in thick, billowing clouds. He didn't like the orders, in so far as his squad wasn't leading the way. He knew that Sam was a hell of a squad leader, he just liked getting into the thick of the fight as soon as he could.

Morse wrote: "Fuckin' cold." Morse said, immediately feeling the Plutonian misery that they'd likely be feeling for the next few hours.

"Really Morse? Pluto is cold?" Dirk said in a sarcastic tone, his cigarette hanging from his lips as he spoke.
<Tag Morse>

Walking over to Sam he slapped the woman on the shoulder. "Stay alert Sam, I've spent too much time watching you get good for you to screw it up on this God forsaken ice ball." He said with a wry smile.

"Ok second. On me." Dirk said, his m41A at the ready, as he looked around for any movement or challenge.
<Tag Second squad>

Falling in on Corporal Pitt, Terence pointed his weapon at potential threats while staying out of the fire arcs of the rest of his squad. He was feeling nervous but nothing that he couldn't keep under control.

He waited patiently for new orders as he scanned for any immediate threats in his area.