Purge of Doubt [Slow]

The UNSC Sarajevo, a Stalwart-class Frigate under the command of Lt Commander Gavin Law fell out of slipspace just outside the furthest reach of Geosynchronous orbit. Purphorous was just labouring behind Redoubt at this point, although the moon could be seen lipping around one side of the planet from this view. It had puzzled LCMR Law how this satellite was physically much larger than the planet it orbited, he had his theories on the relative densities of Purphorous and Redoubt but that wasn't what he was here for. He was just delivering reinforcements. . .

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The cryo-bay was filled with a sudden burst of frozen air and the noise of machinery moving heavy metal against metal. A soft thud hit the metal next, followed by a short fit of coughing. Lucy stood as naked as the day she was born on the metal deck, a hand extended over her mouth as she forced down the surfactant in her throat. The other raised up to the camera watching the cryo-bay, a raised thumb indicating to the A.I. that had awaken her she was fit and healthy.

"Urrrgh. . ." she grumbled to herself and the dozen or so other people in the cryo-bay, all still 'on ice' so to speak. "I hate cryo-chambers. . ." she continued as she hastily left the cryo-chamber for the adjacent shower room. Her hands found their way onto the control panel, where she tapped in a desired temperature and turned it on. Water quickly filled the air, covering her in a cascade of cold refreshing moisture.

After her cold shower she hastily left for the outfitting room, drying herself with a loose towel along the way. She always preferred to wake up before the other marines and SPARTANs. It was a personal preference she had and, commander of the vessel willing, she would wake up before the others and be fully ready to help them up. She also didn't like waking up naked with the group and unlike most people with this preference, she suffered harsh freezer burns from even just undergarments. She was trained to ignore the pain, of course, and her body would quickly fix the damage. . . She just saw little point in unnecessary suffering. Once dry she got into her under-suit and jumped into the machine that would outfit her in her MJOLNIR armour. Mere minutes later, she stepped out fully outfitted in the thick armour and her footsteps were no longer soft and wet, but hard and metallic.

She went over to her assigned equipment locker, all that was inside being an A.I. datachip and her datapad. She grabbed both, slotting the datachip into the back of her helmet and holding the data pad before her eyes. A flash of orange came up in the bottom right of her mostly blank HUD, a voice came to life and a face came with it. A woman's face, light orange in coloration and quite pretty with long hair and curved features. "Had a nice sleep, SPARTAN Allenson?"
"You know how much I hate it, Sonya. Don't make me repeat myself." she couldn't help but smile as she spoke, she'd grown attached to Sonya over the years and it was always nice to hear her.
"Of course, Lucy. I'll run some system checks on the MJOLNIR. Your weapons have already been transferred to the hanger bay. There's a light meal waiting for you up in the mess I believe. You know where I'll be if you need me." the animated orange facial display in the bottoms left of her HUD faded away, being replaced by a live orbital view of the planet Redoubt, which quickly transferred from HUD to Datapad screen.
"Thanks Sonya. See you soon."

Lucy left the outfitting room, her footsteps echoing along the corridor. She followed the sound of coughing through the next door and opened it to find a collection of Marines and the far more muscular SPARTAN waking from their own sleeps. "Good morning, Marines, SPARTAN. The time now is 13:28 Universal Standard Time. There's a light meal waiting for you up in the mess for those of you who just aren't satisfied by the nutrient mix slithering down your throat right now. Suit up, get some food in your stomachs and meet in the Hanger bay in. . ." Lucy paused, waiting for Sonya to bring up how long until they were deployed on Redoubt. "One and half hours. That's 15:00 on, the, dot. We don't like tardiness in the UNSC!" the last part of her sentence was directed to the fresh-blood Marine Fireteam being deployed alongside the other SPARTAN in the group. One of them was still coughing chunks of the surfactant onto the floor. She moved over to him, giving him a soft slap on the back to help him out. "Don't worry kid, you'll get used to it eventually."

Lucy didn't spend long with the others and exited the cryo-bay in the direction towards the mess hall. The Datapad in her hand was still lit up with the image of Redoubt, which grew closer as the UNSC Sarajevo drifted towards it. As she entered she grabbed a tray, procured her meal from the self-serve counter and sat down at one of the long tables. She unclasped her helmet, placing it with a heavy thud on the table and begun feeding herself the 'Constance Ham', 'Scrambled Moa Eggs' and the more Earthy 'Toast'. With her other arm she flicked through the information available on Redoubt with her Datapad. Notable (dangerous) native species were few and far between. She found it interesting that the planet was tidally locked, a rarity she had discovered throughout the galaxy. Even more interesting was the moon, which itself was physically larger than the planet yet also apparently rich in mineable minerals.

For the next hour she idly browsed through the information on Redoubt, why she was here and some basic military history of the Marine Fireteam she would be working with and what was available on the SPARTAN she was working with (which was, as usual, sparse). It all added up to being a boring couple of months on some backwater planet until NAVCOM realised the planet wasn't under any threat and Lucy was moved somewhere else. The Marines and other SPARTAN all filed it after awhile, including several of the ships crew and military garrison. She made little contact, even with the Fireteam that would soon be serving with her. After her hour was up she wound her way towards the hanger. Two D79H-TC Pelicans were being prepped for launch and their maintenance crews were running over final checks. Just to the right lay a rack of weaponry, most standard UNSC apparel but amongst the norm was a light blue rifle that seemed to reflect the artificial light of the hanger bay much more than the others. With a smile, Lucy went over and grabbed her favourite weapon and the accompanying DMR she had requisitioned. Both mag-locked securely to her back, allowing her hands freedom to grab her pistol, which she quickly holstered, and two large cases of munitions. One of the cases contained the equipment required to upkeep and refill her rifle and repair the heat sink.

Lucy approached the crew working on the Pelican, "Mind if I jump in the back?", she inquired.

The crew looked at each other for a moment, one final shrugged and they all turned to face her. "Don't see why not, figure a SPARTAN won't mess around with anything and ruin the flight plan."

She smiled, although the crew couldn't see it from under her mask. "Of course not, anyway I know how to fly these things. If I happen to take it out for a spin I promise to being it back in one piece." The humour was apparant in her voice but the crew either found her joke unfavourable or weren't expecting a SPARTAN to crack a joke let alone a conversation. Lucy shrugged slightly, hopping up the ramp at the back of the Pelican and choosing her spot at the closest end of the rank of chairs. She placed the two cases down next to her and mag-locked her two weapons into the rack that accompanied her seat.

Then she just waited for everyone else, watching the Pelican crew perform their maintenance. "All systems are fine, if you hadn't guessed, Lucy." Sonya sharply interrupted.

Sergeant Max Fitzpatrick woke up in a frozen hell.

Or at least that's what he thought it was as the Cryo tank opened up, but he swiftly calmed down upon realizing that no, he was not hell, he was just waking up from his favorite method of transportation in the Corps...Cryo Sleep. Max grunted, coming out of the metallic container and glancing around upon seeing other Marines around.

"Just a few more minutes Mama..." He grumbled to himself, chuckling a wheezy chuckle that drew the attention of the nearby marines. The newer and fresher Marines of his second fireteam were staring at him with wide eyes, and he gave them a glare. "Stop gawking dirtbags and get moving before I gouge out your eyeballs." He warned them, a bit harshly perhaps, and then the walking freak (Lucy) walked in and told them what to do. Max glanced at his Marines and bellowed, "Well? You heard the lady! Get your shit together and meet up at the Pelican! You've got an hour and a half to clean yourselves up to look all presentable for the walking tank of a lady that's our Superior, and to eat! Get your asses into gear Marines!"

He then took his own advice, heading into the showers and starting to clean himself off. Minutes later, he was dressed and in the messhall, ordering himself some plain toast, some Moa Eggs, and all the rest, he'd start to wolf it down. Infact, he was eating a rather large amount of food, and he chuckled at the Green Marines looks. "You kids should eat as much as you can while you can. Never know when the Innies will decide this is a nice place as any to attack-" He emphasized his point by stabbing his eggs with his fork, chewing on them.

"I don't want any of you getting sloppy just because we're on Garrison duty. We've got a job here, and we're going to get it done? That clear?" He eyed them, and the green ones seated nearby nodded. He didn't bother to ask the first Fire-team. The Veterans. They knew their jobs, and knew them well.

After his little speech, he headed out of the mess hall and left to get his gear.

He'd grab his assault rifle, the clips, and some other items and sat down. He'd begin oiling each individual round of ammunition and placing it in the clip that would be slid into his M5. He did this gingerly, and carefully, humming a tune to himself as he did so. He was now wearing standard issue Marine armor, and a cap was fitted tightly onto his head, concealing his dullish brown hair, but not the blue eyes, or the hard, seen it all face.

So went by his hour, and after that was done, he'd head onto the Pelican, sitting down with his Assault rifle held across his lap, he'd actually pat the weapon almost fondly.

This wasn't Aidan's first rodeo. He awoke from cryo as if he'd just been sleeping, right up until he instinctively tried to yawn--at which point he proceeded to choke on the bronchial surfactant, reflexively lean forward to try and force himself to cough it up, bash his head on the pod's transparent door, and then gracelessly fall out as the ship AI opened his pod. At least he managed to catch himself before he knocked himself unconscious, and he'd anticipated dropping to the deck to cough out the mucus-flavored crap in his lungs anyway. So he did.

"Lance Corporal Murphy," a voice emanated from the pod behind him - nary a hint of amusement in her voice, though Aidan was well aware she'd seen his little tumble. "Good morning. Your record indicates you normally awaken from cryo sleep rather quickly; I took the liberty of opening your pod assuming you'd be ready to step out. I apologize for any discomfort."

He briefly mumbled something that could have passed for thanks as the Sergeant started barking orders: hour and a half, presentable, food. Got it. At least he wasn't suffering from any freezer burn for once; just freezer bruises. Aidan stood, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, staggered to the showers before he went to dress and eat. The water was almost scalding, and he emerged a moment later quite red--clearly to the amusement of a fellow Marine, who cracked a poor joke along the lines of "Hey, you match your hair." Aidan ignored the man, moving to shave away what little stubble he'd gone into the cryo tube with. He didn't bother with shaving cream; he rarely ever did. A blade and hot water was plenty for him, if a bit archaic by modern standards.

That done, the lance corporal strode purposefully to his locker and fished out a set of undergarments, olive drab fatigues, a set of dog tags, and boots. Slipping into his uniform, he set off for the mess hall with the next goal on his list in mind. The shipboard breakfast food wasn't bad; it beat the hell out of MREs, in fact, so Aidan grabbed as much as he could get away with - mostly bacon and eggs. He wasn't much of a toast guy, but a slice or two never hurt anyone, so he fit a piece into his mouth as he moved to take a seat. All business, Aidan ate as fast as he could before leaving for the armory. He'd have to stock up, and chances were good he'd hate himself for it - but nobody else could ever remember to carry everything, so it was his job.

He recognized his BDU primarily from the Lance Corporal insignia and MURPHY nametag across the right side of his chest, but the knife sheath at the left shoulder certainly helped. He shrugged into the chestplate, slipped his gloves into his left pocket, strapped the leg protectors over his shins and knees, clipped helmet to chestplate, and called that good enough. He donned a web harness, too, added a couple of ammunition pouches, and then loaded up. He took a rucksack full of most of his gear; stowed a few grenades in a pouch; slipped a knife into his sheath; grabbed his ammo, grabbed his guns, went through the motions. He slung the SAW unloaded behind his left arm; the empty SMG, he slipped into a holster on his right thigh. All in all, it probably took him an hour to gear up compared to twenty minutes to shower, dress, and chow down.

Aidan was definitely a bit overloaded, but there were worse things to be - and not carrying MREs lightened his load a little bit, but having both a full ruck and a medical kit weighed him down more than a little. It was definitely a good thing he'd eaten as much as he had; humping this much gear for any distance was going to weigh him down quite a bit.

He made it to the hangar, though, surprisingly without tripping or overbalancing, and took a seat aboard one of the Pelicans next to the only other Marine he spotted - Sergeant Fitzpatrick. "Mornin', Sarge," Aidan said almost cheerfully as he took a seat, shfiting his SAW to allow him to do so. He set it stock-down between his feet, leaning back slightly and catching the rucksack on the seat backing to take some of the load off. This deployment wasn't going to be fun, if being the local gear mule and weapons specialist was any indication.

Allenson sat watching the two marines file in, the first was from Fireteam Autumn and she recognised him as Sgt. Fitzpatrick from the briefs. He sat down without so much a glance or grunt in her direction so she didn't give him any in return. The next one to arrive was also from Autumn, she recognised the face but the name only came to her as she read over his armour. Again this one paid her no attention so she opted to remain the silent SPARTAN. She kept her head down, her silvered visor guarding her gaze. She was surprised just how much this recent Marine was carrying, it was almost pack-mulish, even then he was wielding an LMG atop it all. She knew a few Marines who wielded the M739 but they always suffered heavily from the recoil, something a SPARTAN and all their augments can handle easily.

Four more Marines filed in next, the three privates of Fireteam Bloodmoon followed their Sgt like sheep behind a shepherd. They all sat down towards the front of the Pelican, shuffling past the Marines and Lucy as they went, where a pair of them begun idly chatting about some sport or another, Lucy couldn't quite tell if it was a Human or Alien but it all sounded foreign to her. She'd become quite detached from Humanity, it seemed. The other SPARTAN followed afterwards and sat quietly in the corner. Typical.

Once the last Marines of August jumped in, she stood up to speak to the assembled group. Crewmen shuffled about in the hanger bay behind her, running a final set of launch checks. She started with as much authority in her voice as she could muster in this situation, wishing to sound the part, "Alright August, Bloodmoon, we're going to be setting off any minute now. As you can tell there's been a bit of a mix up, Bloodmoon will be joining us on this ride down to Redoubt as their Pelican is having some technical difficulties. Normally we'd requisition one from planet side but as our communications have been a little on the fritz we can't get a hold of Outpost Beta. Captain informed me it was nothing to worry about, a problem on Redoubt's end." The door to the back of the Pelican begun to shut close, lighting flicked on to illuminate the troop bay. "We'll be settling down at Alpha first, then this bird will head you over to Beta, Bloodmoon." She reached up with a metal hand to grab the hand rail above her seat. With a firmer touch she continued, "Remember to buckle up, all sorta of problems can happen on entry and I'd rather deliver a full set of reinforcements to Redoubt than half of one!"

The Pelican left ground with a shudder, before gently slipping from the bowels of the Sarajevo. Back inside the Pelican Lucy took her place back at her seat, fastening a couple of buckles around her arms and waist. She'd seen Marines, ODSTs and even heard of a few SPARTANs die in crashes that could've otherwise been avoided by buckling up. As the Pelican slipped gently through space, she wondered just why she'd been reassigned to garrison duty. She hadn't received a reason with her orders, and it was strange that she was being pulled out from the thousands of other SPARTANs on garrison duty on more important worlds to get thrown ass-end first at this sodding backwater dump. It didn't even have two cities.

Her thoughts were silenced when the Pelican entered atmosphere. 'Turbulence' used to be a term used by 21st century aircraft passengers as a catch-all for a shaky period of a flight, she had once been told by her flying instructor, what they had experienced back then was nothing compared to the bone-jarring experience of breaking a Pelican through a thick atmosphere with a poor trajectory. This was what they were experiencing right now. The path forced upon by the pilot meant the Pelican was doing quite a harsh descent into the atmosphere, instead of easing smoothly in along the horizon.

Eventually the shaking lessened and Lucy grinned under her helmet at some of the face she could see on the Marines. A couple looked sickly, others were frowning and one was surprisingly grinning. Some crazy guy who she mentally noted never to allow drive. Another twenty or so minutes of flight and she began to hear the slowing of the engines, it was subtle and almost silent but the gentle whirr of a Pelican lowering it's power reminded Lucy of her training. "We're here." Lucy said, quickly unbuckling, standing and grabbing a hold of the bar again. "First stop, Alpha. Fireteam August you're up."

As she finished the Pelican jolted as it hit solid ground. The door quickly opened up to reveal they had landed on a launch strip attached to the side of a UNSC Hanger, the standard of the UNSC Navy emblazoned proudly on its smooth surface. The building itself rose a good few stories above the ground, before sloping backwards at a 50 degree angle into the coniferous forest behind it. Large metal hanger doors were open to greet them a few metres away and Lucy was quick to grab her rifles, maglock them to her back, grab her cases and hop out the back of the Pelican. The sky was lit with a permanent 'sunrise' in the distance that illuminated everything magnificently. She was surprised this large forest had grown here, but quickly gathered that plant life would dominate this planet if it managed to evolve, permanent sunlight was a permanent boon.

Allenson waited for Fireteam August to hop out of the Pelican, then she proceeded to head towards the hanger. She turned around to see the Pelican rise off the metal, scattering dust, dirt and conifer needles across the platform. Clearly this hanger wasn't used often. She turned back to the hanger, looking around for any sign of the other SPARTAN that was supposed to meet them here. With a sigh she gave up and assumed he was running late.

She put her cases down, slipped off her helmet and held it under her arm. The air was crisp and smelt beautiful, the forest gave off this wonderful odour. So wild. So untamed by Humanity. She looked over at the Marines, deciding to make idle chit-chat as best she could. She'd be spending months with these men and woman, "Enjoy the flight, Marines?" she said in quite a friendly manner.

The Sergeant was the last one out of the Pelican, assault rifle slung over his shoulder. His boots clanged against the metal, and he had a typical sour look on his face.

"If you're going to vomit, do it now and do it far away from me. All I need is some of you vomiting on someones boots and getting yourself into a fight later at the mess hall with whoever the hell's here. Also, if you puke on -my- boots, I'm going to shove your teeth up your asshole." He growled, giving Aidan a clap on the shoulder.

Fitzpatrick then eyed the Spartan, hearing her question. "Not much to enjoy when you've been doing it for nigh on twenty years ma'am." He replied respectfully, and somewhat formally, keeping her at a distance for now. After all, he had no idea who this walking freak of a woman was -really-, and all he'd need would be her getting them all friendly go daisy, and then

She kills some of my boys sparring or some shit.

Fitzpatrick finished his mental thought grimly, hoping the rest of his fire team would take the signal, glancing at the other two in the team besides Matilda.

Aidan had to admit, he almost felt bad for missing the Spartan at first - though they were rather hard to miss in that armor, it was much easier to do so when you were focused primarily on your heavy rucksack and your sergeant. He heeded her words regardless, however, and took care to strap himself in. Space wasn't his favorite environment to operate in, let alone get bounced around in. Especially not when he was probably carrying enough gear to crush him if he fell hard enough.

He had to launch a quip anyway. "Thanks, ma'am. But, y'know, this ain't my first rodeo," he said, more than a bit sarcastic. There was a place and time for borderline insubordinate behavior, but the occasional witticism prior to launch couldn't hurt too much.

Other than that, the ride down was relatively uneventful - a bit of general sergeant growling, some jostling. It was pretty smooth, though Aidan had to quell his discomfort with orbit-to-ground insertion anyway. He was far and away just better with his boots on the ground, both in terms of comfort level and usefulness.

The trip was over before too long, though, and Aidan was fortunate enough not to have been sucked out of the Pelican into the upper atmosphere. He joined the sudden commotion, adding his boots to the ruckus and his body to the cluster trying to leave the transport.

He answered the Spartan's question with a grunt--not an unfriendly one; more of a distracted one--as he looked around, acquainted himself with his surroundings, settled his weapon in a rest position to try and balance himself. Aidan inhaled - filled his nostrils with the pleasant smells of pine forest, nature, and the more bitter tinges of thruster exhaust and metal. It had been too long, he decided as he turned back to face Sergeant Fitzpatrick and the fireteam and the Spartan and the interior of the base. Too long since he'd been even near a place like this.

Not that he could admit as much. "So what're we doing here, again?"

Noting that her question was only met with one answer, the rest grunts or not even acknowledgement at all, Lucy came to the quick conclusion that these Marines didn't so much care for communicating with a SPARTAN, a typical trait until the SPARTAN in questions ended up saving their squad from certain destruction. Or dieing in the process, posthumous respect was also a commonality.

Lucy heard the roar of the Warthog before it pulled into view, turning to face it as it cruised over the ridge of a bare hill and tore up the dust around the hanger. Their commander for the duration of this assignment, SPARTAN Rico, stepped out of the Hog and his A.I. sounded the call to attention. Lucy instinctively raised her gauntleted hand into a firm Naval salute, keeping her helmet firmly against her side with her free hand. She noted from the way he stopped momentarilly and seemed to converse with his A.I., the way he walked and the 'at ease' he sounded mere moments after his A.I.s outburst that Rico probably didn't like his position here on Redoubt.

At the command Lucy lowered her salute and her shoulders slouched ever so slightly from the attention she had given him. Her hand, dropped to her side, where it found purchase on the plating of her hip armour. She stood obediantly in this position until Rico had finished instructing them on their position. She found it unusual that the engineer from Varuska hadn't simply been called instead of them. But what she found even more alarming, even worrying, was that the UNSC Myriad had been called to inspect and retrieve this 'anomaly'. To Lucy that spelt two thing: The Myriad, an Infinity-class vessel, one of the largest vessels in UNSC service, didn't just go about inspecting anomalies or retrieving unknown artifacts unless said artifacts were dangerous or very important. The second, was that if said artifact was dangerous or important then this 'vacation' would require her to pay plenty of attention for any sign of Innie activity, even Covenant.

She had one question, however, to voice her concerns about this revealed information. She said her words calmly, her voice low and quiet, but through her manner of conversing it could be seen she was still noting Rico as her superior officer. "SPARTAN Allenson, Lucy, sir. I have one question, if I am allowed to voice it. Do you have freedom to disclose why the UNSC Myriad is coming to analyse this anomoly, in lieu of a Corvette, Frigate or even a Cruiser, sir?" She awaited his response, although she hoped that the reasoning behind the Myriad's assignment was that it was merely the closest suitable vessel.