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| - “Get your heads down!” came the shout of Gunnery Sergeant John Burns as he threw himself behind a concrete barricade. The air crackled as blue plasma bolts streaked overhead. One of them slammed into the chest of a young private, causing him to cry out and fall into the mud on his back. The Medic, Lance Corporal Romeo Juarez, quickly appeared by his side and began the process of applying bio-foam beneath the Private's armor. “Command we have wounded down here, where the hell is that air support?” the Sergeant asked into his comm. A few of the nearby marines stood behind the barricade and returned fire at the Covenant forces with their MA5s. The high pitched wails of dying Grunts drowned out the noise for a brief moment, but this was quickly replaced by the sounds of battle again. “Time on target, sixty seconds.” Immediately, John produced a flare. He slammed the bottom of it into the barricade and gave it a short toss, hoping that the pilots would be able to spot the flickering red light. A roar filled the air, causing the marines to duck behind the barricade for cover. Two pair of AV-14 Hornets soared overhead. The lead pair unleashed barrage after barrage of missiles into the Covenant while the follow up pair tore apart any survivors with their chain guns. Bringing up his shotgun, John racked a shell into the chamber and braced his back against the barricade. “Give 'em hell, Marines!” he shouted. “Ooh-Ra!” As one, they came up and over the barricade like their ancestors had done during the First World War. There was little of anything left alive for the next three blocks, but the marines didn't care. They advanced, killing any survivors they came across with little to no remorse. The sky was a burnt orange, and glowing embers rained down like snow. Sounds of fighting from elsewhere in the city echoed off of the buildings around. One of the Marines, a young recruit who had arrived less then a week ago, stepped in the blue blood and entrails of a grunt that had been shredded by the bombing run. “Ah damnit, I just stepped in blue dog shit,” he complained, attempting to scrape some of the gore off on the street. “Quit your belly aching, Marine. The Seventh steps in the blue shit like men, not little bitches,” John snapped, stepping up onto the chest of an Elite and prodding the creature's open pincer mouth with the barrel of his shotgun. “Listen to the Gunny, Rookie. The old man's been in the business since you were in diapers,” said Romeo. The Lance Corporal was supporting the wounded trooper he had treated in case the bio-foam didn't take. “You calling me old, Juarez?” John asked, stepping down from his perch on the Elite and continuing to study the bodies of the Covenant for any signs of life. “Na, Gunny. Just admiring your valued time to the Corps.” “I wouldn't make a habit outa that. Next time you call me old I'll feed you to a Bravo Kilo, you hear me Marine?” “Aye Gunny.” The sound of tank treads filled the air, causing the marines to look back over their shoulders. An M808B Scorpion Tank was rolling up the street behind them, brushing aside the ruined concrete barricades with ease. “We're headed to Odin Square to support the Ninth, you fellas need a ride?” called the gunner. “As long as your offering trooper,” came John's reply. The Marines quickly piled onto the tank, sitting either on the edge above the treads or resting on the main body next to the turret. Many of them were taking this moment to relax, as they had been on their feet for hours. “So how long have you been in it, Gunny?” asked the Private that had stepped into the grunt gore. “Since right before TRIBUCHET got started, on Paradise Falls.” Corporal John “Johnny” Burns threw down a playing card, a ten of spades, on top of the small line of cards before him. Next to him sat Private 1st Class Thomas Baker, the man who the stack of cards belonged to. “God dammit!” shouted Tom, throwing the stack of cards into the air. John ignored this as he turned to the next person in line, Lance Corporal Selena Torrez. With a flick of her wrist, Torrez had the Corporal pass over and continue on to the next person. They quickly rushed to hold the cards to the crate they sat on as a UH-144 Falcon passed overhead. Dust was kicked up by the wind from the rotters. They all wore the standard UNSC Marine BDUs, as they had the possibility of being shipped out soon. However they all lacked their helmets, which sat on the ground next to them or on the crate to try and block some the wind from reaching the cards. Camp Dawson was situated on a stretch of arid plains, not far from the small city of Gori. It was one of only three locations on the planet's surface that maintained a UNSC presence. Paradise Falls, like many of the other Outer Colonies, was a hotspot for Insurrectionist activity. In this case, the UNSC was struggling to retake the planet after being forced off world two years earlier. The Seventh Marine Battalion, First division, the unit that John and his friends were apart of was amongst the first UNSC forces to be on the planet. None of them had expected to be sent to this hellhole of a planet, but nevertheless they were here. The Corporal was no stranger to Insurrectionist activity. His homeworld, Harvest, had its own share of trouble. In fact, he had expected to be stationed on Harvest when he got out of boot camp. Yet here he was, dealing a game of blackjack on Paradise Falls and waiting to ship out on the next convoy. “Tie, dealer takes the pot,” he said, setting down the cards and pulling a small assortment of ammunition, cash, and rations into his corner. “Alright, grab your gear and head to the 'Hogs,” said Sergeant Daniel Rollins as he walked through the area. “We shipping out Sarge?” “The Tenth Armored is moving in to take Gori from the west. Sixth and Seventh Marines are sending in troops from the south to back them up, Reinforcements will be brought in via VTOL if we run into any resistance.” As if to prove the Sergeant right, four Falcons passed overhead, heading in the direction of the city. They climbed into the back of a transport variant of a Warthog, all of them holding an MA5. The vehicle they were in was lining up to be the fourth vehicle in a line of seven, plus two regular Warthogs to provide some armament to the convoy. “I always hated these things in boot. They were bullet magnets during the simulations,” said Thomas. John kicked him in the kneecap as he took a seat across from him and set to sliding on his helmet. “Shut the hell up, Baker. You probably just jinxed us and now we're gonna get our asses shot off by some Innies,” he replied. With a bump, the convoy began to roll out and head for the city. The roads on Paradise Falls were “bumpy” at best. Due to the rising conflict between the local Insurrection and UNSC forces, no one had bothered to build, much less maintain the roads. Dust clouds from the tanks could easily be seen, giving the Marines a view of the tanks as they flanked the city. Overhead, a pair of Hornets roared past, releasing missiles as they went on a bombing run. The plumbs of fire could easily be seen as they rose over the city. “Well, its always reassuring when the fly-boys start to bomb the place were gonna be,” muttered a Marine that sat in the rear. “Lock and load people. If they're bombing the city that means early insertion has already encountered heavy resistance,” said Sergeant Rollings from the front passenger seat of the transport. John slid a magazine into his MA5 and worked the action, watching as the ammo count read a nice clear 32. Taking a breath, he said a silent short prayer and readied himself for the coming fight.
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