Snippet #1311066

Another of the assembled soldiers was Corporal Jericho Cross, already in his ODST BDU's, his helmet sitting beside him on the bench that he had taken up sitting on, rather than already firmly planted onto his head. He was running what seemed like the thousandth equipment check on all his gear. He was running through his helmet's diagnostics, wrapping up the checks on the polarization in the visor lens, and satisfied with that, he mentally sighed. Soldiers always found time to kill, but even so, he was going to go stir crazy if he didn't get in a pod and drop soon. Training could only take up so much time in a day, and he had been regular in that. He was ready for the combat drop, but it seemed the drop hadn't been ready for him. So when it was finally time to suit up, he had taken to it with a relish, and to appearances, eager to return to the battle. He wasn't, Cross couldn't name one soldier who wanted to return to the battlefield, at least not one he had run into during his career as an ODST. He held himself with a reserved confidence, running his hand around the interior of the helmet, feeling for anything abnormal, already knowing there wouldn't be anything.

Marching orders were he was serving under not one, but two Spartans and that Arbiter elite. The elite was important, if the reports were to be believed, and Spartans always dragged all sorts of wild rumors and stories with them. Almost as much as they were bound to attract fire, if the marines that had indeed served with Spartans were to be believed. He was more comfortable with the fact that there were fellow ODST's heading in with him, that would make things easier. Spartans and Elites were all fine and well, but he would take a good ODST at his back over a Spartan or elite any day, and there was no such thing as a bad ODST. You either knew your job, or you were dead.

So when the Spartan walked in, one of them, he stood up, the man would outrank him, it was practically impossible for it to work otherwise. Helmet was under his left arm, right arm saluted. Clean, professional, and his neutral face gave nothing away thus far. Reputations and stories were nice and all, but until he saw them in action, he wouldn't give the Spartans or this Arbiter more respect then was demanded by their rank. Let them earn it, his opinions on the two groups were already well founded.