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Halo: Militia


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#21
DireWolf

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[There we go i apologies if im not good at this sorta shit i suppose i will just pick it up as we go along. wing it as it would be]

Name: Mathew simmons
Age: 18
Physical Appearance: Height- Around 5,8 or 9. quite slim with dark hair and blue eyes
Rank: Recruit
Uniform: Olive Drab Battle Dress Uniform
Birthplace: New Alexandria
Personality: Arrogant thick skinned and stubborn
Background:Came from a middles class family mother passed away when he was a child. Got involved in a lot of fighting and violence between 16 and 17. Father was an ex solider and he wants to follow in his footsteps and fight for his planet.
Skills: Good knowlage of the UNSC's weapons and minor hand to hand combat training learned from his father and from the street
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#22
Dr. Slade

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"Staff Sergeant, the recruit wishes to ask what additional specialized training, will be offered." Calhoun's voice didn't waver, and he kept his demanor calm. He'd been chewed out worse befoe, and likely would even worse still, in the time to come.

The remark didn't phaze him. DI's were meant to be tough, and a fair few still send holocards, to his father every year. But there was definitely an edge to this one.

If we get into combat, i want this guy running the show. he thought
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#23
The Oro

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Gabe bit the side of his mouth for a moment but to no avail; he had been holding back his smile for too long now. "I'd tell you but that's all part of the fun. My fun at least. What I will tell you is your first objective here."

He studied the recruits over for a pair of candidates. "You," he called out, pointing to Franco, then another recruit, Josten, "and you--right-face and stand next to eachother. Everyone else, form two lines behind them!" He then pointed to Calhoun. "You volunteered to follow at the rear--make sure no one falls behind, because so help me God if I see you or anyone else lagging, I will PT you all 'til tomorrow morning."

As the recruits made formation, Gabe lead way to the front. "Since you're all already in uniform, and it's pretty nice warm day, I don't suppose you all mind going for a four mile run to your new summer home." His whistle blared three times: a signal that essentially meant "move your asses."

"Two line cadence! Double time! Let's go! Left! Left! Left--right--left!"

He followed next to the middle of the line. Four miles wasn't nearly as bad as KWOL could have given his recruits. Back in OQT he had to do an 8 mile with his platoon along a country highway on Harvest overnight. Whether they made stops or not didn't matter so long as each man was accounted for before sunrise. That was a one-way, flat leveled road though. The recruits had it easy for the first mile, after that they would have to hike up about two and a half miles of dirt road and brush to get to their destination: an older, less adequate training barrack than the ones in Javelin Base.

There was more reason for this than drilling the recruits' discipline. With the near inevitable threat of a Covenant invasion, UNSC was pressing to advance the training of all enlistees, thus having to provide more food, shelter, and advisers. Javelin was running out of room and initially didn't have anywhere to put the new Marines. The barrack up north would have to do for now. It was meant to be decommissioned and used for orbital defense target practice, but Kawolski saw one last use in it. Besides, if the Staff Sergeant was being asked for quick results, then he'd rather not give his recruits the "luxury" of a cozy and uniform base just yet.

Gabe caught up with the two Marines leading the cadence just as they left the front gate of the base. "Uphill both ways from here! Constant pace! Don't you dare slow down!" He then fell back, jogging half-way up the line again to keep check on all of the recruits. He began shouting out one of the most basic Marine Corps chants to start off with, heartily yelling out each line for the recruits to repeat.

"When I die, please bury me deep!
Put an MA5 down at my feet!
Don't cry for me, don't shed a tear!
Just pack my box with PT gear!
One early morning, 'bout zero-five!
The ground will shake, there'll be lightning in the sky!
Don't you worry, don't come undone!
That's my my ghost on a PT run!"

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#24
Dr. Slade

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"Yes sir!" barked Jonas.

He fell into a run at the rear, next to two recruits, one a pudgy fellow with glasses and the other a thin fellow with blonde hair,

"Gentlemen how are we doing?"

The thin recruit, Hawkins [according to his nametag] replied

"How do you think, clueless?"

Jonas sighed, "You'll get that one, but not anything else" and sped up, only to have the recruit with glasses catch up with him. the tag read dickinson, and he said

"Filthy mouthbreather picked on me the whole ride up"

Jonas just laughed, noticing the change in terrain, "He'll get his in the end."

"And if not?"

"Leave it to me."
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#25
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[@Oro: I'm not going to leave, so I wouldn't worry about me not posting, but seriously, this post may as well have been the last two words with what the group's doing at the moment. Chill it.]

Franco half-smiled as he was positioned at the front of the group, and jogged with pleasure and ease. He could run. Running was easy. You just had to hit your pace, and your mind could wander. He felt like a cantering horse, hitting his stride and keeping going.
He heard some light bickering from behind, and ignored it, exhaling as he hit the second incline. He slowed his pace but increased his stride, adjusting himself to make the hill easier while maintaining the same basic speed. He droned out the chant as the staff sergeant dictated it, concentrating more on the cool twilight air than anything else around him. Franco ran.
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#26
Dr. Slade

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Jonas continued up the incline, with a relative ease. pausing, only to check for any recruits who had fallen behind.

He noticed that the trail led through impact craters, and the base at the end was certainly dilapadated.

What's this guy got planned for here? wondered Jonas

breaking into a run, he intended to find out.
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#27
The Oro

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[Lol I know, I'm messin' with ya. I didn't expect you to leave. I just wanted to make sure we're at an even pace.]

As Gabe lead the cadence while the recruits pushed themselves up the top of the hill, their barracks came into view: a old-school, steel and aluminum compound with a chain-link fence, front gate, and two guard towers--the fate of the other two couldn't have been more implied by the shattered bases that once supported the towers. They'll do with one when the time comes, Gabe thought.

"A-a-and halt!"

He raised a hand, slowing the cadence to a stop, taking a few deep breaths in and out, spitting once before blowing his whistle. At the call, two medics from triage sprang into motion from the compound, hopping into an M831, the troop carrying model of the traditional "Warthog" Light Recon Vehicle. Normally he would push a company to wait until they reached the base before getting treatment, but they had had enough as it is. And as much as he didn't want to admit, he could feel a titanium joint shaking loose in his prosthetic leg.

"Bottles up! Drink your water slow! Don't need you all cramping up before you all meet your girls."

He hoped his choice of words would snap up the recruits' attention, though some of them looked as if they could already read between the lines. "From here on out," he began, clearing his throat and spitting yellowish wad of saliva between his boots once more, "you are all part of Asimov Company. And that," he poked a thumb over his shoulder at the compound in the distance, "is your new home. Corpsman Grigsby," he snapped to one of the medics. "How are they looking?"

"Everyone checks out, Staff Sergeant. The worst thing to expect is a few blistered feet."

"Alright. Let's walk it the rest of the way; shake off that glassy bone feeling."

----------------------------------------

Upon entering the raggy, worn down compound, Staff Sergeant Kawolski introduced with a hearty "Home at last!" At that he heard a handful of groans erupt from the company. "What? You don't like the home that the good people of humanity just gave you? You're right, you should all stay the night outside and eat the grubs off of your boots in the morning for breakfast."

The moans and bellyaching soon ceased after that. "Exactly. We all know how cold it gets around here at night, and even I don't have the heart to do that to you. But this will be your new home for a while. It doesn't look like much, but if you treat it with respect then it'll care for you all the same. Besides, it's got the right accommodations every young man needs: hot water, mess hall, living space and best of all..."

Gabe took a pause, approaching three crates off to the side of the courtyard, accompanied by a man in a jet black uniform, Sergeant Geza. The two popped open one of the crates, lifting the lid slowly for the recruits to see. "It's got companionship."

Dropping the lid, the crate revealed two rows of neatly stacked MA5C Assault Rifles. A few recruits smiled, some just exchanged glances, some even had a dumbfounded expression that read "so I take it there are no women?"

Kawolski was satisfied with just that. He removed his cap to wipe the sweat from his brow then pointed to the barracks. "Get cleaned off, put on some fresh BDUs, and assemble back here in ten minutes."
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#28
Dr. Slade

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Jonas took a quick shower, and was lacing his boots, when most recruits had yet to lave the shower. Most were grumbling and laying out the tough guy talk, but he stayed out of it....at least until Recruit Hawkins began loudly talking about the Sergant.

"What do you think happened to his leg?"

Jonas sighed loudly, this wasnt going to end well.

"Excuse me Recruit, but i can't imagine you'd be so tough with the Sergeant on deck."

"What the fuck do you care, Calhoun. all you dumb visegard folk always this nice?"

Jonas as getting more than annoyed, and the next remark, well half, easily sealed the deal.

"I don't see the point why we have a crip-"
Unfortunately, recruit Hawkin hadn't any way of knowing, but Jonas was mid swing by that point, and was on the deck before he could finish the sentence.

"I don't know the Sergeants story, but my Grandad lost both his legs in the rainforest wars, and he was twice the soldier youll ever be, even without legs"
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#29
The Oro

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[Think it best that I control a recruit like Hawkins at the moment. Better than just taking on an NPC.]

Hawkins shot up from the cold, concrete floor, head ducked low as he ran shoulder first into Calhoun's abdomen. The recruit carried him a good five feet back before they both fell to the ground, at which point he roughly laid a knee on his opponent's chest and his right fist began throwing punches for the face.
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#30
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Calhoun took a decent hit to the bell when Hawkins began swinging into his face, but caught one of the swings, and twisting down, for good measure, and used the pain, and shock to turn the tables on Hawkins.

He rolled to the side, and staggered to his feet, wiping the blood from his face, and brought his fists up.

"Lets dance."
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#31
The Oro

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Hawkins' knuckles cracked as both of his hands balled into malevolent, hate-filled fists of rage. "Say your prayers, farm boy!"

"Stand down!" Staff Sergeant Kawolski's voice boomed from the entrance, followed by a metallic click of the M6G in his hand as he chambered a round. He had the attention of the whole company now; some of the kids' eyes went plate sized as if they had never seen a gun before. "Both of you!"

He should have been expecting such differences among the recruits shortly after arrival. The problem was that he didn't have the time to think that part over--their field training came first. Otherwise, he'd have sent them back down the hell to Javelin Base and back for their misconduct.

"What kind of highschool bullshit is this? Explain yourselves."
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#32
Dr. Slade

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Jonas snapped to immediate attention, and spoke before Hawkins could;

"Sir, I struck Recruit Hawkins for saying a disrestectful remark concerning....veterans whom are missing limbs, sir. I
accept full responsibility"


He stool rigid, and sweating, the blood from a cut above his eyebow was now running past his eye.
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#33
The Oro

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"You're Goddamn right you accept full responsibility. Your whole bunk was supposed to be outside and lined up for your weapons introduction three minutes ago. That's three minutes that Yovvie the Covvie could have been using to storm your barracks and smite more than half of you. What could you do? Jack shit because you don't have a gun in your hand, Private. Maybe the both of you seemed to forget that we're at war."

Kawolski kicked a footlocker in between the empty space down all of the bunks, setting his boot on top of it. "And if you really have and issue," he untucked his BDU leg out from under the boot, revealing his prosthetic limb, "any day you feel like trying to outrun, out maneuver me, if you much as think for one second that you're better than I am, then remember these words: challenge accepted."

He tucked in his pant leg again and set his foot off of the locker. "If I find out this happens again without my order, then I'll PT you to the brink of insanity. Now move your asses! All of you outside and in formation now! Calhoun wipe that blood off your face. Same for you, Hawkins, and by God I'll teach you to check your mouth otherwise it's my prosthetic foot up your ass."
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#34
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Franco smirked as the ruckus was dealt with by Kawolski. He didn't much like Hawkins, but he knew enough to stay out of infighting. The crack about the leg was unneccesary, but so was Calhoun's reaction.
He watched them pick themselves up and wipe/dust themselves down through his clear, green eyes, and then let them glaze with indifference and slight boredom as he followed the rest of the group outside, and stood mostly to attention in formation, in the middle of the group. He was sure he'd get his fair share of scraps, but he didn't need to mark himself as a troublemaker quite yet.
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#35
The Oro

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[Sorry it took forever to post. My sister's been in town and I had to watch after her kid. Been hectic since. Mi dispiace.]

Kawolski waited until the last of the recruits were out of the barracks before he holstered his M6 and followed along with Sergeant Geza, who shook his head with concern for the new boots. "Tell me you're at least confident about this."

"We'll see. Let's see what they've got first."

As the recruits lines up, he approached one of the crates in front of them and retrieved one of the rifles. In a few quick flashes of motion and series of preparatory clicks, he pulled back the action, confirmed that the chamber was cleared, sighted the weapon toward the sky and pulled the trigger. The satisfying sound of the hammer echoed across the yard.

He held up the weapon briefly with one hand and approached the first recruit at the far left of the line. "This is the MA5C Individual Combat Weapon System. She fires six hundred seven point six-two millimeter rounds per minute from a thirty-two round magazine. Feel the weight." He tossed the weapon to the recruit and jerked his chin toward the rest of the line: Get a feel for it and pass it down.

"This is the standard issue weapon for most Marine riflemen. At three hundred yards you can turn a soft target's head into a shadow of its former self with one round if you're good enough. If that's possible, just imagine what three rounds at point blank will do to the unlucky bastard who decided to challenge her wielder. The reason I decided to start you off with these instead of the Army's training model MA37, is because it's a piece of shit compared to the five-see. Sure; you can go ahead and storm a few city blocks and burn through twenty magazines without ever having to clean the weapon, but it's a hock of metal with a skeletal design, which is more than a recipe for disaster."

He gently ran a hand over the line of rifles still in their case and continued. "With these, you can drag it through muck and mud, batter it against a tree for ten minutes and still be able to shoot a Covenant scout through the skull at long range. Sergeant Geza!"

"Sir!"

"Make sure each one of these jarheads gets a rifle then show 'em how to handle it properly without blowing a toe off. After that, have them fire off a few shots at the range. Let's see what they've got."

"Yes, Staff Sergeant! Alright, take one and assemble at the firing range down the road! Move it! Move it! Stop window shopping, Perez--they're all the same!"
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#36
The Oro

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[Double post LIKE A BOSS.]

Kawolski observed the recruits one by one, individually scoping their targets out with his binoculars as if to imply he distrusted the range computers calls of "Hit" or "Miss." A lot of the recruits seemed to catch on to shooting fairly quick, disproving beginner's luck with repeated instances of satisfactory performance. He had his eyes on Franco ever since he mentioned covert operations training, though his performance with a rifle seemed a bit lacking; not that his round placement was bad, just average. He was almost certain he would test the man's true skill come time for a live fire exercise.

Calhoun, on the other hand, seemed more able at grouping his shots together, almost to a point where the computer couldn't keep up with calling them out. Despite a few outlying shots--placed mere from the center circle--every shot was in the kill zone. It was something to expect of a boy growing up on a Visegrad farm to know how to shoot a rifle.

The Staff Sergeant approached Geza, tucking his data pad beneath one arm. "What've you got?"

The man pointed to Hawkins, then another recruit named Dante. "Just those two really. Hawks seems to know what he's doing, and Dante seems to shy of a guy for the number of rounds he put in the center. You?"

"Calhoun only."

"That's three. We have four Fifty-fives."

"Three will do for now. I'm sure someone will come around down the road." Kawolski then turned about, blew his whistle and called the recruits to regroup. "Fall in! Everyone clear your MA5s and get back to the barracks! Sun's going down, we'll pick up tomorrow. Calhoun, Dante, Hawkin--go with Geza. Franco," he said breaking from the rest, "I want to talk to you for a minute."
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#37
blooddemon8

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Name: John Travis
Age: 19
Physical Appearance: Medium length dark brown hair, 5,7 ,broad shouldered stocky.
Rank: Recruit
Uniform: Olive Drab Battle Dress Uniform
Birthplace: new alexandria
Personality: Quiet ,sticks to himself Has a long temper but can be explosive when angered.
Background: Grew up in the middle class mother died in labor and father was on bed benefits from the military father taught him to be a marksman from age 12 he joined the UNSC at 16 one year after his fathers death.
Skills: Marksman can kill a target at close to 2 clicks.
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#38
The Oro

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[Approved, but 2 klicks is pretty damn far for a young sniper. The farthest recorded sniper kills were somewhere around 2.4km twice by Carlos Hathcock. So, while it's not impossible, it takes more experience than learning how to fire a rifle from the age of 12.]
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#39
blooddemon8

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[Yeah I know but if youve seen halo legends it has been done in the halo universe.]
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#40
The Oro

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[True. Even though I don't want to consider Legends as canon, Babysitter did have some decency and gave O'Brien justice in that shot. Remember, that was a professional shot.]

Geza introduced the three recruits, Calhoun, Hawkins and Dante to their BR55 rifles. He gave them the short, sweet run down of the weapon and how they were designated for the better shooters of a squad. Before seeking out Kawolski, he rechecked the scores of one "John Travis," noticing that his seemed above average. He looked over his file from basic: "High Aptitude in long range capabilities."

He lowered the file. "Travis! Fall in. I need to see you for a minute."
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