Mission 2 Turn 3: The March

[Corporal Hicks]

Date: June 23, 2189
Location: Surface of Capua, Nembus System, Andromeda Cluster
Mission time: 00:00:00

Sergeant Major Sykes saw Morse bristle and stand up. He stood up and put a hand on Morse’s shoulder to still him and looked at Lieutenant Nelson. “That sort of thing is counter-productive, Sir.” Nelson nodded. “I’ll speak to him about it.”
“Thank you, Sir. One more thing Sir, do I have your permission to make a couple of field promotions?” asked Sykes.
“Whatever you feel is necessary, Sergeant Major.”
Sykes turned to Morse. “Sergeant Morse, for outstanding commitment and initiative in the field I promote you to Staff Sergeant, to be confirmed or denied upon return to Gateway. I want you and Perez to work together, but there needs to be somebody to make the final call.”
<Tag Morse/Perez>

Some of the marines started to help with the unloading, but Sergeant Major Sykes soon exited the command tent and ordered them all to go to sleep. Four small tents were assigned to the marines, so they had to sleep four or five to a tent, packed in fairly close with sleeping bags or whatever they could scrounge together. Most of them were asleep within minutes, being filthy, bitten, and exhausted from a long march.
<Tag Everyone>

Sixtus Quinn was lucky enough to have a sleeping bag, and he was practically asleep when his head hit the pack. But about twenty minutes later he woke startled to feel Private Isabel Orozco putting her arm around him and pressing up close. She was still wearing the fatigue jacket he’d loaned her, and she was without a sleeping bag.
<Tag Quinn>

At Oh-five-hundred hours they were all awakened by Sergeant Major Sykes, who himself had bags under his eyes as he went from tent to tent. “Rise and shine, ladies and gents! Time for a beautiful new day! We’ve got some coffee for you outside. Move your asses!” He had to give Corporal Pushkin a few extra kicks to wake the giant bear of a Russian, but soon everyone was outside and eating a delightful breakfast of MREs. The aroma of coffee helped to wake them, as a pot was cooking on a small campfire. Most of them knew how fanatical Danny Sykes was about his coffee. They wondered how many days they would get this luxury before it all ran out. The thought occurred to some that it may be the last cup of joe they would ever drink.
<Tag Everyone>

Sykes spoke to Morse and Perez away from the others. “Okay, here’s the new roster I put together. I’m taking the other half to go look for the vehicle bay. They are sending a Naval detachment with each of us, sounds like you guys get that pretty Lieutenant from the briefing last night. You lucky assholes,” he said with a grin. “I don’t think they’ll cause you too much trouble, Lieutenant Nelson said he’d give us autonomy. But remember, a Navy Lieutenant is equivalent to a Major or something like that.”
<Tag Morse/Perez>

“Oh, I almost forgot,” said Sykes, “Paulson, get over here!” He stood up as the marine hustled over to him. “Private First Class Paulson, I am promoting you to Lance Corporal for showing initiative in the field. That will be confirmed or denied upon return to Gateway. Congratulations Lance Corporal.” He extended his hand with a smile.
<Tag Eyeball>

(OOC: Mission 2 roster is posted in the Rosters and Equipment section. If you aren't on it, speak to me!)

[taimdala]

"Ahhhh, Nectar of the Gods. Spasiba." Dmitri gave Paulson a nod as he got his cup of joe.

Make it last, Dmitri thought morosely. Who knows when we'll get more. Still, things could be worse. Just wait. It will be. Day's still young. Plenty of time for it to go into the shitter.

Dmitri could hustle in the morning as needed, be ready to kick ass and all that, but there was nothing to say he had to do it in a good mood.

[Morse]

A promotion to staff sergeant was not necessarily what Morse had been expecting when they'd crash landed... he was more in the category of assuming death may have been imminent. Instead he had additional authority... and likely no additional pay when they reviewed his record. He highly doubted that this was going to be the moment when he was going to get most of his career buried some great heroic accomplishments. Brass tended to have longer memories then the average human as they only took the advice of a record on file and not the word of mouth.

Still he did not dispute, but did not keep his hopes set on keeping the position upon return to home station. He'd probably get hit back down, but retain some degree of the authority... the corps liked taking from Morse all they could and giving him only so much in return. Additional duties was the primary return... pay bumps not so much.

When the call to wake up came Morse bounced up aggressively as he typically did. The fastest he rolled up the more momentum he could build right away. Boots were on, armor strapped, and weapon was locked expediently. He was now acting Platoon Sergeant, and though the platoon was not very large, it came with additional naval hands. He was not sure how useful they would be, but hands were hands. He was less then anxious to have the naval officer with them, which Sykes seemed to think was a benefit. But even he knew that having an officer as an attachement could make awkward issues in the chain of command.

But the marines were his, and the operations were the marine's. There would be no issue in showing that was clear.

"It aint gonna be no problem so long as they can carry crates n' keep down when we gotta shoot shit." Morse responded to Sykes. He then looked to Paulson after the promotion was handed. It gave Morse the feeling that they may not make it off the rock. "Congrats." Morse offered to Paulson, but that was all he really had for him on the front of that promotion... Morse himself had been a Lance Corporal a long time... it wasn't a fun place to be.

Morse then moved around to address the platoon as it was in preparation for the mission.

"Form up, horseshoe here. We gotta get to movin'. Morse called, and seeing the group he gave the instructions in the simple way he did in those days. "We're goin' to go get supplies so we don' wind up bein' dead out here in the next four days. Were walkin' through trees n' there's all sorts a shit out here we just don't know. So we're stayin' strapped and tactical in case any of its dumb enough to try to sniff at us in a way that'll piss me off. Line a march is simple, Perez, Pushkin, and Barayev, yall are at the head. Push track a way forward, Perez shred anything you don't like. Paulson you watch the rear. Giosso, Quinn, Preacher, keep towards the middle so we can find ya and throw you where we need you... The rest of you Spacers.... keep in between and your eyes around. If any a you see shit you make it known, and get ready for runnin' and gunnin. Dumb shit happens on ground combat, make sure none of that dumb shit is you. If you got questions, I don't got answers. Don't go no where without no one with you. Now load up, march order, n' lets roll"

<Tag Anyone

[eyeball]

Paulson was mid sip of coffee when he heard the most terrible thing he had in his career so far
"paulson your promoted" this was not good, his eyes went wide wide with what he wasn't sure. Morse offered congratulations as they formed up ready to move out but he at least had the decency to look skeptical about the whole idea.
"thanks i think" was Paulsons automatic response before finishing his coffee and joining the rear
he checked his gear adding the two functioning tear gas grenades he had found, they might scare off more of those lizards even if they would have otherwise limited functions.

[BarbarianMathematics]

Corporal Nikolai Pushkin had slept deeply, only interrupted once or twice by the swishing of a sleeping bag next to him. One of the marines must have had trouble getting to sleep. He was half asleep himself, but the bag seemed stuffed unusually full for one marine. The next time that he became conscious, he noticed a military boot kicking him in the lower back rather hard. He got to his feet, still very groggy, and made his way out of the tent. He took his own coffee cup gratefully and nodded to Dimitri. “Privet,” he said. Continuing in his native Russian, he mentioned, “I think somebody had trouble getting to sleep. I noticed something was amiss in the night, but I could not put my hand upon it.” He sipped the coffee, his face blank in his typical way.
<Tag Taimdala>

He opened his 24-hour emergency ration, noticing oddly enough he got beef stroganoff again. “Beef stroganoff again?” he said in a troubled voice. He had been hoping to at least get beef goulash or anything to break the streak of beef stroganoff. Instead he chose the breakfast burrito portion and ate it ravenously. He still felt hungry afterwards, but he begrudgingly packed the stroganoff into his rucksack for later.
<Tag Anyone>

Once breakfast was over, he started forming up with the others. His stomach was still growling and he couldn’t help but think about finding something better to eat on the march, maybe even going after any wild game they came across. Glancing at Barayev and Perez, he said, “I cannot help but think about finding some better food on the march, maybe even going after exotic meat we might find.”
<Tag Taimdala/JuanPerez>

Line a march is simple, Perez, Pushkin, and Barayev, yall are at the head. Push track a way forward, Perez shred anything you don't like.

Pushkin was surprised to hear this, as a ComTech he wasn’t used to taking point or scouting ahead of the unit. He knew the consequences of questioning a superior rank from personal experience. “If you think that is good, Staff Sergeant, I will do it.” He was trying to subtly hint to Morse that he had made the wrong choice of his point-man.
<Tag Morse>

[JuanPerez]

“Sergeant Morse, for outstanding commitment and initiative in the field I promote you to Staff Sergeant, to be confirmed or denied upon return to Gateway. I want you and Perez to work together, but there needs to be somebody to make the final call.”

Perez congratulated Morse to the promotion and deep inside, he was somewhat glad, that the burden of command laid now on the shoulders of Sykes and Morse. After that, they went to sleep. He set his inner clock to oh-four-thirty. He woke up in time, dressed, shaved, drank coffee, readied his gear and ate. Pushkin, the russian ComTech, complained about the food and suggested to hunt for meat ...

"Nobody touches nothing on this planet, Corporal. We don't know, what effects it has on our metabolism. Maybe you would shite yourself to death, and i am not inclined to find out, got it?"
<Tag Pushkin, Taimdala>

Sykes spoke to Morse and Perez away from the others. “Okay, here’s the new roster I put together. I’m taking the other half to go look for the vehicle bay. They are sending a Naval detachment with each of us, sounds like you guys get that pretty Lieutenant from the briefing last night. You lucky assholes,” he said with a grin. “I don’t think they’ll cause you too much trouble, Lieutenant Nelson said he’d give us autonomy. But remember, a Navy Lieutenant is equivalent to a Major or something like that.”

"Well, if she is as smart as cute, she will let Morse and me do our job." ... he replied
<Tag Sykes, Morse>

After Morse assembled the troopers and gave out orders, he readied the smartgun equipment, assembled Pushkin and Barayev, took point and started the marching ...

"Pushkin to the left, Barayev to the right, keep your eyes open and stay frosty"
<Tag Pushkin, Taimdala>

[pants]

"Form up, horseshoe here. We gotta get to movin'. Morse called, and seeing the group he gave the instructions in the simple way he did in those days. "We're goin' to go get supplies so we don' wind up bein' dead out here in the next four days. Were walkin' through trees n' there's all sorts a shit out here we just don't know. So we're stayin' strapped and tactical in case any of its dumb enough to try to sniff at us in a way that'll piss me off. Line a march is simple, Perez, Pushkin, and Barayev, yall are at the head. Push track a way forward, Perez shred anything you don't like. Paulson you watch the rear. Giosso, Quinn, Preacher, keep towards the middle so we can find ya and throw you where we need you... The rest of you Spacers.... keep in between and your eyes around. If any a you see shit you make it known, and get ready for runnin' and gunnin. Dumb shit happens on ground combat, make sure none of that dumb shit is you. If you got questions, I don't got answers. Don't go no where without no one with you. Now load up, march order, n' lets roll"

<Tag Anyone

Lieutenant Davenport quickly organized the accompanying Naval unit, using a mixture of verbal motivation and physical help to get her small attachment in ship shape. She vaguely remembered the basic combat training she had been put through during officer training but was happy to have the Marines running the show.

Once the Naval unit was ready she replied to Morse.

"We'll stay in the middle and keep watch."

<Tag Morse>

[Corporal Hicks]

Sergeant Major Sykes nodded to the men who were going south. "Stay frosty, be alert, I'll meet you back here this afternoon." With that he joined his own platoon and began to go north.
<Tag Everyone>

The marines moved out into the bush. It didn't take long to remind them how unpleasant this planet was. The stinging plants, boggy ground, and hideous giant insects bore in upon their minds constantly. A half hour passed but it seemed to be much longer. Lance Corporal Giosso managed the map with his intelligence unit. They heard wild sounds in the jungle around them. By now there was a little more light but it was still before dawn.

A few of the marines recognized the second in command of the Naval forces. It was the man who had chewed out Dimitri Barayev the previous evening. They now put a name to the face, Master Chief DeJesus. It was pretty obvious from his intensity that he was a hard-horse of a petty officer. He repeatedly rebuked the lower ranking Naval crewmen, but so far he hadn't started any trouble with the marine detachment. "Let's go, Fernandez! Fucking slow ass," he cursed at Petty Officer Fernandez.
<Tag Javier Fernandez>

[CarbebthePoncho]

Fernandez woke up that day with the realization that he wasn't sure who to follow now that he was back with fellow crewman, or for that matter where he even belonged. He only recognized Singh on this entire planet, and the officer that rebuked Dmitri just seemed like an asshole.

For some reason seeing that Morse was leading the expedition that he was reporting to gave him some amount of comfort, regardless that he had never met his direct officer Davenport. And Sykes cursing his name definitely set a fire under his ass. It seemed to help him make even a partial decision for loyalty.

Fernandez marched into action passing by Dmitri with a pat on the shoulder, having overheard his under the breath comments he pieced together something to say to the marine.

"What a Mu-dak." He said gesturing to DeJesus, "No rest for hours after walking through mud and lizard bodies, and he expects us to help him move without beer?"
<tag Taimdala>

[taimdala]

((OOC: I have a lot of catching up to do, guys. Here's everything for this turn. Will post in Turn 4 in a minute.))

He took his own coffee cup gratefully and nodded to Dimitri. “Privet,” he said. Continuing in his native Russian, he mentioned, “I think somebody had trouble getting to sleep. I noticed something was amiss in the night, but I could not put my hand upon it.” He sipped the coffee, his face blank in his typical way.
<Tag Taimdala>

Dmitri up-nodded at Pushkin, sipped his coffee and though he did offer the other Russian a smile, he kept his mouth shut. He wasn't much of a conversationalist in the morning, preferring to let the caffeine wake him up and oil the gears in his head. Oksana had understood that about him and left him alone until he felt sufficiently sapient to tackle the day. Her absence was a background ache that he had slowly come to live with, like a cracked tooth that refused to worsen to the point of extraction. One could learn to live with it but it was still a miserable thing to endure.

“Beef stroganoff again?” he said in a troubled voice. He had been hoping to at least get beef goulash or anything to break the streak of beef stroganoff. Instead he chose the breakfast burrito portion and ate it ravenously. He still felt hungry afterwards, but he begrudgingly packed the stroganoff into his rucksack for later.
<Tag Anyone>

Overhearing this, Dmitri pulled an MRE at random from his own dwindling supply, snuck a peek at the label, and slid it back again without comment. Like Pushkin, Dmitri's perpetual repeat was Chicken Parmesan and Dmitri was getting sick of it. If they had time later, he'd swap it for one of Puskin's Stroganoffs.

Glancing at Barayev and Perez, he said, “I cannot help but think about finding some better food on the march, maybe even going after exotic meat we might find.”
<Tag Taimdala/JuanPerez>

"Nobody touches nothing on this planet, Corporal. We don't know, what effects it has on our metabolism. Maybe you would shite yourself to death, and i am not inclined to find out, got it?"
<Tag Pushkin, Taimdala>

Dmitri had to agree with Perez. On Eklyprillion, he had seen smart and strong men reduced to mewling, fetal morsels of flesh from eating the wrong thing. Autopsies later revealed just how deadly the most innocuous-looking thing could be on an alien planet. Dmitri had learned that lesson early. Of course, being married a xenobiologist gave him an inside track on those unfortunate souls' suffering and deaths. It was something he was keen to avoid for himself and his fellow Marines. So he finally broke his silence, leaned over to Pushkin, and murmured his support of Perez's warning.

"Perez is right. Not a good idea," Dmitri gave his coffee mug a single hard shake to get the last drops clear and stowed it in his fanny pack. "Take it from my wi—Just from experience, friend. Eat nothing 'til you can get the labwork done on it first. Do you see any White Coats around here?" He cast a pointed look at the assembled camp where there clearly were none and tried not to imagine Oksana in her lab coat, frowning at result printouts or standing over a specimen, probe and scalpel in hand. "Stick to the rations. Dying in battle is a decent death for a Marine. Dying from eating alien shit? Not so much." Dumbass, he didn't say, but his tone kinda did it for him. There was no heat in it, though, more like a snarky ribbing between friends.

Line a march is simple, Perez, Pushkin, and Barayev, yall are at the head. Push track a way forward, Perez shred anything you don't like.

Pushkin was surprised to hear this, as a ComTech he wasn’t used to taking point or scouting ahead of the unit. He knew the consequences of questioning a superior rank from personal experience. “If you think that is good, Staff Sergeant, I will do it.” He was trying to subtly hint to Morse that he had made the wrong choice of his point-man.
<Tag Morse>

"Let's go." Dmitri swatted Puskin's bicep. "Spa Day is over."

After Morse assembled the troopers and gave out orders, he readied the smartgun equipment, assembled Pushkin and Barayev, took point and started the marching ...

"Pushkin to the left, Barayev to the right, keep your eyes open and stay frosty"
<Tag Pushkin, Taimdala>

"Yes, sir," Dmitri said smartly. No matter his dislike of mornings and morning marches, he respected the chain of command. He fell into place as ordered and looked left to check Pushkin. He couldn't help getting in one last brotherly dig at the man.

"Don't worry, Kolya. I'll make sure you stay beautiful for the girls back home."

"What a Mu-dak." He said gesturing to DeJesus, "No rest for hours after walking through mud and lizard bodies, and he expects us to help him move without beer?"
<tag Taimdala>

That got a sarcastic bark of a laugh out of Dmitri. Yup. This bitch of a morning is shaping up into one bastard of a day, he thought. Dmitri smirked at Fernandez and offered some perspective.

"Don't be such a pussy. Who needs beer when we'll be sucking sweat from our shirts before the day is out? Now that, friend, is a manly drink.
<tag Carbebtheponcho>

[Quinn]

OOC: Holy hell, also need to catch up, stand by.

Sixtus Quinn was lucky enough to have a sleeping bag, and he was practically asleep when his head hit the pack. But about twenty minutes later he woke startled to feel Private Isabel Orozco putting her arm around him and pressing up close. She was still wearing the fatigue jacket he’d loaned her, and she was without a sleeping bag.
<Tag Quinn>

Sixtus, like most Marines, slept heavy and light at the same time. Able to sleep through distant shelling but starting awake at the slightest touch. But when he realized it was Orozco, without sleeping gear, he shifted his sleeping bag to partially cover the two of them (which was preferable, the damn jungle was hot and humid). He then settled back down to sleep. At least they weren’t all shivering in the mountains, like the last damn planet they were on.

At Oh-five-hundred hours they were all awakened by Sergeant Major Sykes, who himself had bags under his eyes as he went from tent to tent. “Rise and shine, ladies and gents! Time for a beautiful new day! We’ve got some coffee for you outside. Move your asses!” He had to give Corporal Pushkin a few extra kicks to wake the giant bear of a Russian, but soon everyone was outside and eating a delightful breakfast of MREs. The aroma of coffee helped to wake them, as a pot was cooking on a small campfire. Most of them knew how fanatical Danny Sykes was about his coffee. They wondered how many days they would get this luxury before it all ran out. The thought occurred to some that it may be the last cup of joe they would ever drink.
<Tag Everyone>

The medic cracked an eye, groaned both internally and externally, and extracted himself from Isabel’s embrace under the sleeping bag. He heard the mention of coffee a few seconds after smelling it’s wonderful aroma, he checked his boots for critters before planting his feet inside. After obtaining his own tiny cup of coffee, he rumbled ”I want everyone to get some water. You’re sweating out all of your moisture, replenish it. You don’t want the silver bullet when you faint.”

When Morse rattled out his instructions, Sixtus gave a silent thumbs up while sipping down more coffee. Staying in the center would be the best position for him to move to any part of the column where he was needed. He shifted back to his “bunk”, slipped his armor on over his skivvy shirt and slung the sniper rifle over his shoulder. It wasn’t what he was used to, but he would get used to it real quick. Better than just his sidearm at least. He joined the column, and moved out with an MRE biscuit in hand.

[BarbarianMathematics]

"Perez is right. Not a good idea," Dmitri gave his coffee mug a single hard shake to get the last drops clear and stowed it in his fanny pack. "Take it from my wi—Just from experience, friend. Eat nothing 'til you can get the labwork done on it first. Do you see any White Coats around here?" He cast a pointed look at the assembled camp where there clearly were none and tried not to imagine Oksana in her lab coat, frowning at result printouts or standing over a specimen, probe and scalpel in hand. "Stick to the rations. Dying in battle is a decent death for a Marine. Dying from eating alien shit? Not so much." Dumbass, he didn't say, but his tone kinda did it for him. There was no heat in it, though, more like a snarky ribbing between friends.

Pushkin chuckled at all the opposition to his idea. "I am thinking of alien meat, not alien shit! I am only thinking if we do not find supply of food, the alternatives."
<Tag Taimdala>

"Let's go." Dmitri swatted Puskin's bicep. "Spa Day is over."

Nikolai looked around as if startled out of his own thoughts for the time being. For a moment in his mind, he had a break from the predicament they all shared.

"Yes, sir," Dmitri said smartly. No matter his dislike of mornings and morning marches, he respected the chain of command. He fell into place as ordered and looked left to check Pushkin. He couldn't help getting in one last brotherly dig at the man.

"Don't worry, Kolya. I'll make sure you stay beautiful for the girls back home."

Corporal Pushkin gave a lopsided grin, responding, "Ah, the women of village are not desirable. It is the Ukraine girls that really knock me out." He laughed internally at the obscure classical music reference which he doubted anyone else would get.
<Tag Taimdala>