The Trench

---Barracks---

"Goddammit!"

Corporal Laughlin, who'd stood the night watch, had all but fallen out of her rack when the GQ alarms had started blazing. She'd been dreaming of somewhere warm. With trees. And a color other than white. And maybe a few guys with haircuts that werent high and tight. So she wasnt in the best of moods upon having her little vacation interrupted, and groused appropriately to her bunkmates as she struggled into her boots.

"Old man picks a hell of a day for a drill, dont he?!"

"God please no 'boots and uts' in the snow. I just know I'm going to end up with frostbite. Again." Someone else joins in on the time-honored tradition of Bitching.

It gets shut down quickly, though, when a sargent sticks his head in the door to howl at them to move their asses. This wasnt a drill. There were Covenant confirmed, and comming in loaded for a fight. That set the room on fire, and Marines scramble into their gear and out of the door. Laughlin whistled appreciatively and, once her armor was kitted up, pushed asside the footlocker beneath her bed to retreive something from behind it. Her rifle and pistol, secured to her comm gear backpack. Another female glares accusingly, and Laughling can only grin stupidly and shrug.

"Too tired to hit the armory last night. I was gonna wait until you were all out before I slipped it back in there.. Guess it's a good thing this isnt a drill, right?" She laughs as she ratches the straps of the pack on tight, seeing the familiar datastream across her HUD as the comm gear winds through its powerup. Chatter instantly fills her headset until she filters out her squad and the command freq, moving her ass out the door and into the bitter cold.

---Yard/Trenches---

Everyone is running; the sort of controlled chaos that only the military can operate in. Laughlin dodges a crowd of eggheads heading for the interior and all but slides on her ass down the icy ramp into the trenches. She remembered the detail to dig these bastards. She, along with every other junior marine, had cursed the Major's name unto five generations as they'd chipped, scraped, and blasted their way through the permafrost. And now they just might save her ass. Grudgingly, she takes back her share of the curses as she pulls her snowmask up over her mouth and nose in an attempt to maintain the warmth of the barracks as long as possible.

Down the way, the Hellbringer CO is giving a particularly motivating speach and Laughlin cant help but snicker. Hurhur. Flamers. The jokes were endless and wrote themselves.

Apparently one of her squadmates was thinking the same thing, because he grins the same retarded grin back at her and joins her in supressed mirth before they cough themselves back into 'Serious Buisness' mode and re-check the condition of their rifles. All down the line, other grunts to do the same, and the trenches echo quietly with the rattle and click of metal and men prepared for war.

Always with the drilling and the range time and the 'oorah' this and 'covenant bastards' that. Twice, Laughlin had been close to combat, but had never actually seen it. Now that it was looming closer in the snow, she found herself wishing for just a few more of those damned drills. Maybe one more time at the fuckin' range. Maybe her combat luck would hold and the Covenant would, inexplicably, turn away. Third time was the charm, right?

The thought sets off another bout of nervous snickerfits, and she probably cuts a helluva sight hunkered down in her armor, shoulders shaking in silent laughter.

She was hesitant at first, but Val soon darted off towards the Armory behind Shane. The alarm was a sudden rude awakening compared with the somewhat quiet day it had been only moments ago. Still, she had a job to do. Unlike her companions, her main role was to heal and to care, not practice with her weaponry. Not that she didn't know how to fire a gun, just that she had better healing hands than death-dealing fingers. Still. She was a soldier, and a soldier is called upon to fight, with no complaints, and no hesitation.

In the armory, she quickly grabbed her weapons and the accompanying ammunition. A DMR and an Assault Rifle, a fine accompaniment to the SMG she always carried with her. She jammed a clip into the DMR and ripped back the firing pin, slamming the first round into place. Now she was ready, she weaved between the soldiers likewise rushing to arm up and quickly made her way to the trenches, behind Corporal Jack and his squad of Hellbringers. Lucky. She arrived just in time to hear his alpha male bravado, but she couldn't fault the man for it. They were Marines, he was a soldier in command of soldiers. The Bravado was to be expected, even encouraged.

Fight through blood, through guts, through plasma and through fire, and win Glory. Perhaps she was old-fashioned. She enjoyed the war speeches of old, regal things, speaking of courage, of glory, of winning the day and forging stories to be told to the next generations. Heh. A woman with the codename Valkyrie with delusions of grandeur. How... Quaint. Well, if it was glory she wanted, she was bound to find it in the trenches. She was a combat medic, there to aid those who needed it the most. Something told her that the area that was going to be hit the hardest was the trenches.

Val had managed to end up beside a man with a thick Australian drawl. "Whatta day for a bloodbath, 'ey?" Despite herself, Valerie found herself laughing at the morbid joke and nodded with the man. "Personally, I'd prefer a hot shower. We take what we get, I suppose," she added, pointing her DMR downrange and waited, patiently, for the orders to fire.

An eternal optimist, even to the end.

"Lets go! I want all you dug in those trenches on the double!" any soldier here knew that Dalton was not fucking around when he then said, "Keep your heads down and your mouths shut! Don't you dare let them draw first blood or I'll have your corpse courtmartialed for insubordinance, you hear!" Conway could feel a small pain in his throat from shouting the same orders repeatedly to make sure everyone of his men got the idea through their skulls. While his twisted brows would have normally made his intimidation factor skyrocket, the blush he had sorta contradicted this. He was by no means drunk, only having a few beers with his CO wouldn't do that, but for a reason he was unsure of, blood rushed to his face after a couple of drinks. It annoyed him, which is why he never drank unless he was sure he wasn't needed; like today.

At the current moment, the Captain was not fully prepped for combat having went straightaway towards the trenches to give his men orders. His men came first, though anyone would know that. After all, no right commanding officer could bear to see his men die before him, and most definetly not because he was busy saving himself.

A small smile made itself apparent on his face as his men set themselves up. Now that that was done, they just needed to wait until they were given the order to fire before they could pop their heads out and start picking the covenant bastards off. His men seemed excited, as they should be. Dalton was, and he knew everyone here was just the same. Too much time was wasted in this cold, snow-bound dump. Never anything but meaningless scouting and boredom for everyone and now? Now there was shit to shoot, a morale booster.

Of course, the Captain wasn't aware that their morale would drop dramatically. But listening to his troops' comments just before the battle, the middle-aged war veteran couldn't possibly predict such a thing. He thought these aliens picked the wrong base to fuck with, and honestly

they did.

"You'd best be covered in blue when you take that shower, Corporal." he kept his small smile on his face. One could see he was eager for the lead and plasma to fill the air. He stood within the ranks of his men. While it would be wiser to go equip himself with a larger weapon, a sidearm would work for now. He could always make use of dropped weapons, his soldier would essentially be killing after they've gave their lives that way.

"You'd best be covered in blue when you take that shower, Corporal."

Laughlin grins a sly, shit-eating grin down at Greyson and Val, "I see Cap'n drank his 'Oorah Juice' this morning."

Ducking her head back against the wall to avoid being immediately pinned as the resident voice of sass, the Corporal lifts a hand to the side of her helmet.

"Sniper nest spotted a Ghost."

Thank God for small distractions. She knew because the rig on her back, antennae bouncing over her shoulder, was a powerful sum'gun. She could listen in on pretty much anything that wasnt a secure ONI channel, and even then, if she had the right encryption codes... And she usually did listen, nosy radio bug that she was. But I digress. She makes her report not a handful of seconds before the muffled noise of a distant Ghost explosion wafts on the wind through the blizzard.

"Woops. Scratch that, no Ghost."

Shrugging, Laughlin lets her rifle hang by its sling and pops her gloved knuckles in a habitual motion. As if on cue, the scrambling of turrets has her duck her head before the loud chatter of persistant chaingun fire unleashes Hell itself on the approching Covenant vehicles. But this time it wasnt so safely distant as over the radio. The sporradic return fire of the Ghosts makes white plasma arc distantly overhead, and the blood leaves her face as it begins to sink in that, this time, no ammount of wit or luck ducking punishment would be able to pull her ass out of what was to come.

"Dalton, your boys up for good times? Cause I think these little bastards aim to introduce themselves to your rifles. Infantry..... prepare to engage."

She didnt need to repeat the message. That one would've been piped directly to the Captain's helmet. But that didnt mean that she didnt hear it, too. She settles her rifle back into her hands, looking up at the snow-covered rim of the trench and the distinct wailing moan of Covenant engines.

"Aw, hell..."

Greyson heard the reports coming steadily in on the radio strapped the Corporal's back. His hands shaking as he remained still with his LMG ready, not firing when the mountable turrets brought a malestorm of fire, lead, and stray plasma explosions down on the incoming Ghosts. It really was spectacular to see, the flashes of blue highlighted by purple, red, white, and yellow. Making a fire show. Grunts squealing in chaos as the Ghosts were blasted apart. He had never seen anything of the like...

Then came more news. News of light infantry transports. Prowlers. He had read about them and learned how engage them thanks to new anti-armor courses. He prepared his gun, aiming down the sights. The cool metal trigger on his gloved finger, read to fire, as the moan of their engines cut through snowstorm. He knew there was also a medic next to him. That was another priority. He knew a medic would need cover if the foes got up close and brutal, he looked over and whispered. "If they get into the trenches stay near me." And then turned back, calming and steadying his breath as he waited for the order to open fire upon enemy craft. He knew his gun would pack a punch, firing 50 Cal. even a Prowler's armor would be torn into by the heavy, FMJ/AP rounds he had provided with for the weapon.

He just kept on waiting as the second's ticked by, a million to one instances clicking through his brain. He had seen images, accounts, and received warnings if what most Covenant units were capable of doing to a Human, and he did not want to meet the wrong side of one's fist... Or the side of a Brute Shot or Spiker, and the most dreadful though was a Plasma Repeater or a damned Mauler. Grizzly weapons, all meant for one purpose to rend flesh in a brutal, imposing way.

Jack waited as the humming of Covenant vehicles grew closer, which he could surprisingly hear over the blizzard and through his helmet. He looked over his small squad: Private Barnes; Private, First Class Noble; Private Beam; and Lance Corporal Daniels. Each man was raring to go as much as Jack was. He'd drilled these men enough that they all knew better than to disobey orders and so they waited.

"Infantry... prepare to engage." He heard over the built-in radio.

"Get ready boys! Await the command, but be ready for hell to break loose! And get ready to bring hell to the Covenant as well!" The squad straightened immediately and Jack watched as Beam loaded a round into his mounted grenade launcher, which had been apparently forgotten before then.

Just a little bit longer...
-----------------------------------------------
Meanwhile...

"Infantry..... prepare to engage." Shane heard the command and took a deep breath.

Then Dalton gave his prebattle speech to the men: "You heard the Major! Get your asses ready for some fun! I want rifles at the ready and scopes being used effectively. And you'd better not miss, either!" he added. "I want to see that training in action, I want to see accuracy you aren't physically capable of, soldiers! Don't you let me down or I'll make damn sure you do a five laps around the whole base for every wasted bullet, and that means non-fatal injuries!"

Accuracy wasn't guaranteed, but Shane wasn't about to let a war injury put him down. He'd take the running over dying any day. He flipped the safety off, put a round in the chamber, and rested the butt of his battle rifle against his left shoulder, ready to bring it up and fire at any given moment.

Dalton had to admit that as far as first blood's go, Laughlin had one of the more comedic ones. Apparently, Braxx thought so too, as he promised her a round when this was over. It was far from tactful, but a kill is a kill. That meant as far as score goes, it's UNSC: 1, Covenenant: 0 (Excluding the other base). Now if only they could go flawless......

From what Conway gathered, a prowler was downed by them as well, only it took more bullets that necessary to kill the pilot. Waddell was lucky he wasn't part of Dalton's troops right now, or he'd have about fifteen laps or so around the base already. He'd be off to a bad start, so to say.

Dalton heard the occasional sound of gunfire from some of the frontmost of his men trying to get a few shots off on some grunts. He smiled as he saw a couple of them drop lifeless in the snow, but was also moderately disappointed in himself for not arming up before arriving. Well, it was his mistake and he'd have to live with it for the moment.

"All deployments, focus fire on the Prowlers. Take out their pilots when their exposed. Conway, things are going to get a little heavy. Stay frosty and drop 'em as they line up. Carter, the mini-me's are piling up, keep your men on stand-by. I'd like not to give your presence away this early, but I'm trusting you not to jump the gun here. You can question my good judgement later, just keep those torches lit and at the ready."

Now that he was 'officially' allowed to give an order to fire, Dalton didn't hesitate in the least. Once more did he address his troops. "Alright men. Focus on those ugly little mugs of their's and take paced shots. Don't let them near us, or you aren't going to be happy in the least." he paced from the back slowly, as really it was all he could do. The air was now filled with sporadic gunfire, the men who previously held off from firing were now not doing so. Dalton watched the battlefield, and almost felt sorry for one of the grunts who, unfortunately, got caught with a hail of led. It looked just like he had a grenade stuck in his throat and it finally decided to detonate. The prowler it was driving simply slowed to a complete stop, strangely.

*Boom...boomboomboom*

"Eh?" Dalton raised a questioning eyebrow to the sudden appearance of a hornet that let loose a series of missles and then tore up a few prowlers. Conway knew that that had to be a denial of orders, as Braxx would know the importance of keeping their air support's presence hidden. The smile he had from the death of the multiple grunts and prowlers had dropped because he was... unpleased. Yet, Braxx would handle this, and Dalton could focus on his own task at hand. "Osier, remember basic training! Squeeze, don't pull that damn trigger, and fire at a pace!" he reminded a marine who, as far as Dalton could tell, couldn't hit the broadside of a barn if his life depended on it. He kept pulling up.

Kids these days.

Greyson could swear he heard his heart beating as he hit the dirt from the artillery, chunks of ice and snow and debris feel around him and his legs heaved with pulses of pain. His chest felt like it had been shattered under a Warthogs tire, not that he'd know how that felt. Soon he lifted his head slowly and looked about the area around him, his vision obscured lightly. Felt like a hard tackle during Rugby, he thought. He finally found his Light Machine gun lying among the snow and reached out for it, grasping and dragging it to him. His reflexes returned to normal and he rose to his feet, clambering back into the cover of the Trench wall.

The Lion's lungs heaved as he waited. 3...2...1... He peaked out from behind cover and let loose small malestorm of lead and fire from his weapon. Spraying down a group of advancing Grunts with a loud war-cry. The Aussie had obviously been doing his job, support fire. Because many Grunts hit the deck or were suppressed by the spray of 50. Mag rounds. However, the weapon was soon drained of ammunition. The fire rate heavy. Greyson ducked back behind cover and began slow process of reloading.

However, as he was reloading The Hellbringers stepped up, he turned and watched, yelling in joy and hate for the enemy as they were burned alive in the pit of Naplam these men brought to the field. The battle was really getting started now. He just hoped he'd survive the whole mess.

"GET DOWN!"

It'd been all Laughlin had heared above the din of battle. Her eyes and attention had all been on the ground, increasingly frustrated and worried as the press of Covenant just got closer and closer no matter how many rounds she put into them. In the first few minutes, when they were a comfortable distance away, the Corporal fancied herself quite the veteran, now, having stared down the enemy and popped his ugly face. But then they'd just kept comming, and the bitter panic had crept up into the back of her throat.

Another Marine - she'd never learn who - grabbed the comm gear on her back and bodily pulled her down off the wall as her world suddenly became screaming light and boiling heat.

When the corporal's senses returned, sound was all muffled thuds and ringing. Everything hurt, and it took her a few seconds of blinking up at the blue-gray sky to fully realize what that fuzzy black shape leering down at her was. The Jackal was all but salivating at the trench full of Marines who hadnt immediately made it back to cover, and lifted its rounded pistol menacingly.

And then the heat was back, but this time in the form of Hell's own fire belched from Jack's boys as they howled a vicious reply. The Jackal - or rather the screaming torch that it'd become - fell backwards onto the snowmelt mud and out of sight. Laughlin groaned as she rolled off her pack and onto her stomach, scrambling briefly on her hands and boots to get out from under the line of Hellbringers and back into relative safety.

Sticking a finger in her ear to wiggle it clear of the ringing just makes her yelp with the ice-pick pain it caused, and the glovetip comes away bloody. There are only so many Hellbringers, and the grunts are jumping into the trenches where they can. Laughlin chases her rifle, hanging by its sling, before fumbling it back up to her shoulder and crouching at her corner, shooting at the first shape that's less than 5' tall and not squawking IFF.

She really hoped the Major called for help soon. This wasnt fun anymore

Greyson was in the middle of reloading his SAW as he heard the shout go out for Heavies. The Aussie's brain clicked, he knew this was his calling. He strapped his Heavy LMG onto his chest, the strap backwards to give room for his rocket launcher and ammo. His hands then wrapped themselves around said heavy weapon on his back and pulled it forward and off its magnetic holster. "I need cover fire! I need cover fire! Anti-Armor here!" He shouted out in his drawl, the accent's color making it a tad bit easier to be heard over both his mic and the actual air about them.

As a few marines did as he asked and fended the infantry off about him, he popped from cover and prepared himself. Everything seemed to be going slower as Revenant came into a range, firing and hitting the wall behind them. He could hear his own breathe as he gripped the cold, steel, heavy cylinder on his shoulder. The rocket tube covered in ice and snow. He closed his eyes and then fired one of the explosives toward the vehicle. The rocket buzzed through the air and slammed one of the small artillery vehicles head on, causing a meddly of purple and blue flashed and the screaming of a Brute pilot being disintegrated slowly by a mixture of stray plasma fire and flames from the blast of the needle headed tube of death the human race called a rocket.

The Lion went to fire another rocket before sprays of plasma streaked near him and nearly clipped his head, ducking just in time. One of the two marines next to him not so lucky. He cursed and spat, knowing this position was useless now, he began crawling down the trench, nearing the Captain and Major before sliding into cover and crying out again for more support, the infantry pushing up from place to place making it nearly impossible for him to get another shot out.