How Harsh Can Winter Be? [Thread Ended]

Well, that was one thing done right, Raz supposed as he ran with Lo and a couple of other UNSC troopers. The Harsh Winter's reactors had been disabled, but that in turn meant two things: one, now the damn thing was falling out of the sky. And as a direct result of that, there was issue number two: they had to find a way off this boat. The first thing he saw would do--and there, as he rounded a corner, was just the thing: an escape pod. As his luck would have had it, however, the bulkheads slid shut just as he was about to drag Lo in with him.

On to plan B, then. It really would have been nice to have been given a tour of the ship or maybe a map or something in his HUD, but there should have been a drop pod bay for the ODSTs somewhere aboard this bu--

Raz could have slapped himself. His borrowed helmet was much more likely to have a map of the ship's layout than the old, vomit-filled one clipped to his hip. A few quick blinks, a depression of a console control with his chin, and he did indeed have a nice little overlay of the Winter's layout filling his vision. "C'mon!" Raz shouted at Lo and his small party, ignoring the occasional witticism from the medic or his AI, the latter of whom he'd noticed didn't seem to do much but complain. "There are some drop pods right near here. We can use those, at least, to get off this thing before it crashes."

Raz shook his head, disoriented all of a sudden - realizing he'd blacked out for the last thirty seconds. He didn't remember descending three decks or cramming into one of the few remaining SOEIV pods with Lo, but it certainly wasn't a comfortable fit. The pod jostled as it aligned with the launch tube, and that was an even more uncomfortable shift within the already cramped quarters. His back pressed against the pod's bulkhead, and Raz realized he wasn't carrying either his carbine or machine gun - he didn't remember dropping those, either.

And then the two of them were in free fall, and Raz was too focused on the sensation of his stomach trying to jump out of his mouth--and avoiding vomiting in a second helmet--to do anything else.

Gannon was alerted by the sudden impact of a SOEIV, and she zoomed in on the location of impact. After a moment of focusing, she saw two SPARTANs get out of the pod. Not the two that were her captors, but most likely two of the SPARTANs aboard the Winter. She got some men to walk over with her and escort them to the Field HQ.

"Prawfera and Boedker, I assume? Commander Gannon. We've set up a makeshift H.Q for the wounded. Best for you to get checked by the Doc."

She escorted them back to the base, and the Doctor took over from there. The defenses of the base were really coming together. Erin sat next to Rasmus and Lo after their checkup, and informed them of their situation.

"It's not good. Sicarius is M.I.A, Major losses, and we think that the Insurrectionist leaders are still alive. We just took the fight to the ground."

Erin sized up Raz for a moment, and then informed him of her decision.

"Lo, you're a medic, look after the men. Rasmus, you're the new XO."

She felt a little light headed, so she dismissed them, and laid down in her bunk, eager for rest.

The landing wasn't quite as rough on Rasmus' innards as launch had been. It was almost reassuring having his boots back on ground. Even if all that meant was that he could puke onto solid earth, Raz was plenty satisfied not having to worry about being blown out of the sky or anything dramatic for a little while. The Insurrectionists were the biggest problem now, and he still wasn't sure how he was going to tackle that - or his noticeably different mental state. But, Raz supposed, he'd cross that bridge when he came to it. The end of his little reverie coincided almost perfectly with Lo's calling out to him; Raz realized with a start he hadn't even noticed the medic climb out of the pod.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine," he replied, staggering out of the pod. He patted himself quickly, taking stock of what gear he hadn't already used or otherwise lost. It was a pretty short list: his M6C/SOCOM, a grand total of one spare magazine, a combat knife, and a smoke grenade. Not exactly what he would have liked to load up with, when it came to tracking down hostiles with heavy armor, heavy weapons, and energy shielding. It would do, though; even if Raz didn't get a chance to load up anytime soon, he still had all his armor's tools once he ran out of bullets.

Raz took a deep breath rolled his shoulders, relieving some of the tension he could feel building up there. Enough uncertainty; it was time to get through the day. "You two alright?" he asked, the question directed towards Lo and his AI - Guillermo, as he recalled. "And how are you on gear, Lo?" Raz inquired after another moment, pulling the pistol off his hip to check the magazine within. It was full: another small relief. He had a total of twenty-four rounds, then, to bounce off the enemy SPARTANs' armor and shields. He hadn't used an M6C/SOCOM against another Spartan before, but he was willing to guess it would take him a bare minimum of a dozen rounds to take out either of them. Not exactly ideal.

A blip appeared on his motion tracker, and Raz turned with the pistol at his side. Lowered, but raised easily enough if need be. He relaxed a little bit when he recognized the IFF tag as reading Lieutenant Commander Gannon. Lieutenant Commander meant superior, and having a superior meant orders. Good.

It was almost a pleasant surprise when the doctor cleared him for combat - but then, he was probably looking for physical ailments like broken bones or internal bleeding, and not mental instability. That was okay, though; Raz could certainly talk his way out of a potentially intensive job like the executive officer position Gannon apparently wanted him to fill.

"I think I'll have to pass on that XO position, ma'am, if you don't mind. My current mental state is--isn't conducive to making responsible decisions. Besides which, I wouldn't feel comfortable circumventing the chain of command like that - I'm sure somebody else has me outranked."

'Holy Shit', Jake thought, as he heard the ship's usual low hum fade out and felt the sensation that meant only one thing; the ship was falling. Within minutes, he lost most of his footing and lent against a wall to steady himself and braced for further impact. ODST soldiers and SPARTANs fell and tripped all around him, with random miscellaneous items (mainly guns and debris) sliding across the floor. A quick on-and-off flick of his IFF scanners showed that there were enemies aboard, most likely insurrectionists, but not many. With haste, Jake began a steady crawl he began to move towards the life pods on the nearest side of the ship. By the time he got there, most of them were gone. Jake's rifle was becoming extra weight; extra weight he could afford to jettison. His rifle spun through the air as it hit the end of the nearest hallway.

"Here goes nothing", he mumbled.

Furiously, he opened one of the pods and clambered in. It was a tight fit, but it was going to save his life. The ship was pointing towards Reach now, and as soon as the pod shot away from the ship, he began to feel sick. The nausea only got worse during impact.

The pod hit the ground, slightly buried and leaving a scar in the land. After about twenty minutes in the pod, unconscious, Jake awoke.

"Aww... mayne... what in tarnation..."

The release bolts wooshed upward and, dizzily, he stepped out and switched on his IFF scanner. In the distance, there were several friendlies, but closer to him was a friendly submitting a distress call. Sarge, his AI, finally turned back on at this point.

"Goddamnit, soldier! Don't just stand around, regroup! That's an order!", his AI roared at him

'Damn, how the fuck do I turn you off right now...?' Jake thought

"Yes, Sarge, understood." Jake murmured

"Well, get moving then!"

Jake grabbed his M6C/SOCOM and walked towards the pod on the small hill up ahead that was submitting a distress call. Without haste, Jake knocked on the thick metal and shouted out-loud: "Anyone in there?!"

Jake wasn't sure if he heard a response, the escape pods were made of stern stuff. There wasn't any way to get this open without a plasma torch, so, with no options left, he made his way to group in the distance.

Fifteen minutes later

At this point, Jake turned off the IFF scanner and addressed what was labelled as his superior.

"Lt. Commander Gannon, m'am? Staff Sergeant Bradshaw-Williamson, reporting. We gotta' friendly trapped in his pod a while back up the trail yonder, and I'm gonna' need a blowtorch to get him outta' there, m'am. The release hatch seems to have sustained damage during impact, so 'e ain't gettin' out that way."

Jake made a brief glance towards to other two, Lo and Raz, saying: "Glad to see someone else made it." In order not to appear ignorant, he turned back to Gannon and let her speak...

After a gulling fifteen minutes waiting in the cramped pod Braxton, had finished counting all of his ammo, twice. When a thunderous knocking rang on the pods hatch, startling him so that the bullets that he was now onto polishing fell onto the tiny floor space between his feet. "who the hell is that and why'd it take 'em so long to get here?" he had guessed that it was a friendly as whoever it was had dent shot him yet. the real question was "Lisa what the hell is he saying?" I can't hear a damn word of it". Lisa had not been able to discern what the giant figure had said because " I don't have ears you jackass". It was hard to distinguish through a thick layer of dirt covering the canopy, other than the fact this figure was spartan height, in fact due to that the figure probable belonged to a spartan.

"Is there any way to communicate with him?"

"All the systems are total fried except the emergency beacon and since you neglected to take your helmet with you we cant use that."

"Well is there anything we can do then?"

"Not unless you remembered to take a plasma torch with you"

Sighing, all Braxton could do was place the palm of his hand on his head and shout loudly "Every damn time I forget to pack a giant cutting tool into a tiny pod!"

(outside)

"MUFUFHUF HARAFAHAPH RARTH ARTH"

Sometime later Braxton saw legs of what appeared to either be a a six legged freak of an animal or a rescue group. When the pods door flung of a way into the distance, Braxton was helped up  by a fellow ODST who Braxton was not acquainted with yet. "Thank god you got here. Thought I was gonna rot in there. So what took you guys so fu... SIRS!" he shot up hitting himself hard enough to stagger himself while saluting to the three ranking officers. Noticing Lisa shacking her head in the corner of his HUD he began to walk back to a makeshift HQ with the group listening to the situation but also contemplating why the Lieutenant Commander would help search for a Corporal when he was sure everyone's plate would be full from a ship crashing, but still he was thankful for his rescue. Still, it could have all gone a lot worse for him today.

The Drop

Rathorn had been firing his rifle, trying to cover the Spartans as the Innies kept advancing. His rifle clicked, and his eyes shifted over to the counter on it. The blue screen had lit up, and was flashing two white digits that spelled the end of -that-. 00. Shit. He removed his sidearm from its holster, mind racing to figure out how he was going to get himself out of -this- one, when suddenly...the ship lurched. This threw him from his feet, and he slammed into the deck with an oof, realizing what was about to happen. He let out a silent gesture of pain as he saw the Spartans make a run for it, and began moving to the SOEIVS, crawling at first, then jogging down the cramped hallways of the ship, getting thrown off balance by the occasional shift in the ships positioning.

A dead marine slid past him, still bleeding from multiple gun-shot based injuries, leaving a trail of blood on the floor...walls...and ceiling, based on whatever way the ship tilted. An Innie scrabbling up behind him was hit in the face by the dead man, and went falling back down. Rathorn just kept running, the other ODST's and Marines who had been with him were either dead, or soon to be dead. He finally reached one of the jumping stage areas, and threw himself into one of the few remaining pods.

He breathed heavily, grabbed a spare helmet left in the pod- his, by some miracle, and then pulled it down over his head. His face became concealed by the veil of the visor as it flickered on, and he tapped the clover on the side of his helmet with two fingers- before pulling down the harness in the pod. The pod was released, and Rathorn was thrown into the most gut wrenching experience of his life as the pod shot down at an angle. Instead of falling normally, he found himself thrown about, only secured by the harness. His fingers curled into the grips of the seat, and beneath his gloves he knew he'd be white knuckled. He forced himself to look outside of the pods window, and saw the Winter falling...falling...falling.

The flames licked up the side of his pod, hungry, seeking to consume him perhaps- as he broke through orbit. To his horror, he found that if he looked left now, that the ground was to his left while the sky was to his right.

He closed his eyes, preparing for impact.

The Landing

His eyes opened, slowly. As he awoke, he became aware of the beeping sound coming from within his pod. The screens had all lit up in a bright, haunting shade of red- illuminating the entire interior of the pod in a crimson glow. His breathing was ragged, and he felt as if he had just had a wrestling match with a brute and came out on the wrong end of it. With an effort, he clenched and then unclenched his fingers, stretching and wriggling a bit in the pod as he checked his own body systems to see if everything was in place. He took a deep breath, and then exhaled from within his helmet. He pressed his finger against the helmet, and turned the visor back on- it hid his face effectively, and his H.U.D materialized in his vision.

He pat himself down, examining the H.U.D as he did so to check for injuries. After a few tense moments, he let out a relieved sigh and relaxed in his seat. The blue sky of Reach was beaming down from outside of his pod and he moved one black gauntlet ed hand over to the pod hatches release. His fingers curled around it, and he pulled back on it. The hatch released, getting thrown a bit in the air before slamming down infront of the pod. He began to pull himself out of the pod, glancing around.

He had been extremely lucky. The pod had landed on its back, with the hatch facing towards the sky. Had it done otherwise, he'd have had to wait for someone to find the pod and excavate him from the ground. And that would have required heavy equipment, or a team of spartans at least. He struggled a bit, and then fell out of the pod beside it. He stood back onto his feet, and attempted to regain his sense of balance from sitting down for so long in such an awkward direction. Once that was done, he reached into the pod, grabbing his MA5D, three magazines of ammunition for it, and the other various supplied inside the pod.

Off in the distance, the wreckage of the Harsh Winter lay. He had no idea what had occurred to the others, but knew that if any help was to arrive he should trek back there. On the other hand...he should have a flare of sorts. If he lit it up now, and left it next to his SOEIV, there was a better chance that friendlies would know where he was. He ad no idea whether or not the others had survived, or if the Innies had survived...if he went marching back down there, there was always the chance that he could be shot by a friendly, or an enemy. He pulled back the bolt on the MA5D, and held it so that it rested on his shoulder for a few seconds.

"No use getting shot by my own people..." He grumbled to himself, reaching into the pod and removing said flare. He twisted off the cap, and threw the flare down into the dirt. The red smoke drifted up into the air, an anomaly easily seen even in day time, easily seen by UNSC personnel from the Winter- and on the flip side, any Insurrectionists who might have survived. He sighed, and plopped down behind his SOEIV, double checking his ammo as he prepared to wait for extraction.

Lo searched high and...lo for water from the wreckage of the ship, but could find none, when he asked Gannon if their was water among the clutter and debris of the ship she nodded her head, so he assumed she was looking, she left the camp for some odd reason only after addressing the few of the troops. Lo approached an overturned aluminum casing for some kind of ordnance, upon opening the shell he found nothing inside, but disappointment, after scrounging through the wreckage for several moments he noticed Gannon returning to camp, he tapped her on the shoulder.

"Ma'am you said that you saw water among the wreckage, but I was unable to find any, and I've been all over this rock the troops look like they could really use it, and I've seen no signs of help."

Lo looked down for just a moment pausing from his words he sat their in his own head in quiet reflection, and then began speaking again. "Don't you find it queer that no one has sent help yet? I mean shouldn't someone out their be looking for survivors?"

"Guillermo? You there pal?" Lo waited a few seconds for a response, but then took his helmet off, and began shaking it violently "Guillermo! I need you right now!...Please!"

That common buzz that Lo had come to know rattled back out of the helmet. "Stop shaking me dam-kshshsshh...You Oaf-bzzzzshkshhh."

Lo looked around for anybody to talk to, his lips coiled up into a frown. "Guys I think my AI's busted!"