The Marines have landed and have the situation well in hand...

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hns194
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Post by hns194 » Thu, 22. Nov 12, 11:30

“After the battle?” The reporter questioned.

“I awoke in a hospital room on Luna, about a week later.” Replied Easton. “Had a fantastic view of Earthrise every time it came around. That was the only upside. A piece of debris, Terran or 'Nid, I don't know, but it breached my suit on both legs beneath the knee. Luckily, our suits had that nifty auto tourniquet system. Everything below my knees were amputated and sealed off.” Continued the aging veteran, absent mindedly massaging his left knee.

“Do you miss your calves?” Asked the reporter sincerely.

“You mean do I miss feeling like i've been shot every time I knocked them against something?” Replied Easton in a gruff manner. “Hell no, now I smash my leg on a table leg, no pun intended, I don't feel a thing, don't have to worry about stubbing a toe anymore either. It's damn near the best thing that's ever happened to me.” Said Easton with a grin on his face. “Also keeps the grandkids in line too.” Added Easton with a half smirk, and a wink to his daughter sitting in the corner.

With a slight chuckle the reported fired off another question. “How long did it take for you to recover?”

“About three months for all the medical shenannigens, and then another six months of physical therapy.” Easton answered with a small grimace at the mention of physical therapy.

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Post by hns194 » Sat, 24. Nov 12, 08:42

“So you're all healed up, have your prosthetics working well for you, where do you go next?” Summed up the reporter.

“Well, I put in my request to return to a fleet unit, particularly one headed into the Commonwealth. That was denied. The billeting board recommended I take a medical discharge, and sit it out the fight in my living room.” Easton answered dryly.

“You were not going have any of that though were you?”

“They made it sound pretty cushy, I almost took them up on it. Ultimately though, my survivor's guilt kicked in. I asked the board for a letter of recommendation to the Sato Naval Academy.” Replied Easton, casually rubbing the stubble on his wrinkled chin.

“SNA? That's the most prestigious naval academy in Terran space, even the ATF takes the officers they produce. No offense to you, Mr. Easton, but that had to be some recommendation letter they got.”

“I suspect it was mostly pity, Saturn survivors got a lot of that.”

“So Lance Corporal Easton just became, Midshipman Easton, what was your major?”

“Ship warfare, with a two sub-majors in anti-fighter/point defense, and boarding operations.”

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Post by hns194 » Mon, 18. Feb 13, 08:03

*deleted*
Last edited by hns194 on Sat, 15. Jun 13, 04:11, edited 1 time in total.

hns194
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Post by hns194 » Mon, 18. Feb 13, 08:35

The hangar bay was crowded. A kilometer of polished titanium filled with people, equipment, ships, all going someplace at once. It was like this throughout the whole complex. Armstrong Naval Hospital, the finest medical care in the Sol system. Happily located in it's rightful spot, The Sea of Tranquilty.

A distinct hunchbacked ship squatted in the distance, Personnel Shuttle Sierra-59, my ride to SNA. I expected them to send a scout fighter, or a supply ship, not a scabbard, more pity from the admiralty most likely. On the bright side, it would be a lot cushier than a cramped cockpit, or sitting on a crate. Aiming myself in the direction of the shuttle, I began my precarious waddle to the hunchback of space. I still wasn't capable of moving very efficiently with my prosthetics. Twenty minutes later, with much relief came upon the boarding ramp, in my excitement to get aboard I placed too much weight on my left foot, and began a speedy descent that would rival that of a drop pod's.

A muscular arm came out of nowhere and promptly latched itself under my outstretched left arm, and locked around my back. A calm voice entered my hearing.

“Whoa there Marine, we gotcha.”

Another muscular arm locked around me from the right, and we began to ascend the ramp.

89James89
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Post by 89James89 » Mon, 18. Feb 13, 11:17

Really immersive writing here. Very much looking forward to more.

Cheers

James

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Post by Ferenczy66 » Mon, 18. Feb 13, 18:28

Excellent story....looking forward to more.

- "Doc" India 3/1

hns194
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Post by hns194 » Wed, 20. Feb 13, 07:03

The two men set me down in a plush seat, I gave a heavy sigh, and finally got a good look at my rescuers. Both were about 6' 2”, one white, blonde haired,and blue eyed, square jaw, and a dashing haircut straight off a 1950's greaser. The other was the color of chocolate, brown eyes, nearly black, and dark haired, rounded face, and shaved a sparkling bald atop his head.

“Captain Cole Suther, this is my co-pilot Lieutenant Jackson Damok.” Said the blonde haired man. I struggled to stand and salute, but a calm nod and a wave of the hand put me back at rest. “My call sign is Ary, Damok's is Choc.” Continued Suther.

“Lance Corp- I mean Midshipman Cope Easton.” I replied. “If you don't mind me asking sir, I understand Choc, he looks like chocolate, but I don't get Ary?” I questioned, somewhat confused.

“Aryans, the supposed master race, they're supposed to be blonde haired, and blue eyed.” Replied Suther. I gave a nod in affirmation, then opened my mouth for another curiosity.

“Those sound like incredibly racist sir, I would expect it out of Marines, but not Navy pilots.”

“Thats because we're Marine pilots.” Chimed in Darmok with a surprisingly higher pitched voice than what I was expecting.

“Makes sense.” I replied with a knowing smile, glad to be in the presence of fellow Marines.

“If you don't mind me asking sirs, but why set aside a whole scabbard for me?”

“Because this isn't just a taxi run, it's a reunion cruise Lance Corporal.” A familiar figure stepped out of a open hatch to my right. I shot to my feet in an instant, rendered the best salute I could muster. Not everyday you come chest to face with the Commandant of the USC Marines. He was a short man. Three other figures stepped out behind him, I knew them instantly, my fireteam, my boys.

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Post by hns194 » Thu, 13. Jun 13, 08:03

“Pilots, get us underway.” The Commandant spoke in a gruff voice. After my moment of overwhelming emotions, I gathered myself back to a reasonable state and managed to choke out a few smartass questions.

“Am I seeing ghosts here, sir?” I questioned the Commandant.

“Yes, and no, Lance Corporal.” You can imagine the look of confusion I gave him, prompting an
explanation. “PFC Wallace, Pvt. Ramanev, and Pvt. Socileta, were officially listed as KIA after the
Battle of Saturn.” Even more confusion face, this time directed at my Marines, they gave me their best
shit eating grin. The Commandant wasn't finished though. “And as of 0937 this morning you died of a stroke stemming from complications with your prosthetics.” The shit eating grins grew bigger. Deciding this was all too surreal, the only solution that made sense was that I had passed out in the seat after my physical exertions and this was all just a hokey dream. To test this theory out, I promptly suggested to the “Commandant”, that he should attempt intercourse with himself, and gave him a rather lewd hand gesture, while also making rancid sexual comments about his mother. My theory was wrong, the Commandant's backhand tanned my face so hard, I swear to you there's still a hand print there today.

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Post by Poseidon » Thu, 13. Jun 13, 22:48

Good read so far. :)

hns194
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Post by hns194 » Sat, 15. Jun 13, 05:55

“Sorry sir, thought I was dreaming sir.” I said after regaining my bearings.

“Get your head squared away, Marine.” The Commandant barked.

“Sir.” I spoke up. “Why are we all listed KIA, if we're clearly alive?”

“I give you my word, it won't last long.” The Commandant stood up and moved to gaze idly out of a porthole. “Easton, Wallace, Ramanev, Socileta.” He stared each of us in the eyes as our name came up, I had a feeling he was about to drop something big on us. “You Marines, and a handful of others are going to fire the first shots of our counter-strike.” Determination etched across his face, he continued. “Several ships and stations were boarded at Saturn, in total we believe around one hundred twenty USC personnel were spirited away in the midst of the fighting. Among them Admiral Harry Toshiko, CO of 2nd Fleet. Also, sensor logs recovered from the USC-Pacifica showed twenty three Marine transponders aboard a Deimos class frigate that undocked from the logistics station right before its destruction.

“I saw that.” I spoke up urgently, memories flashing.

“Saw what Lance Corporal?”

“The frigate, I saw it moving off from the station when I was in freefall. It looked like it was heading towards one of their bigger ships, a Zeus I think. If you check my helmet cam, maybe you can identify one of the ships.”

“Good thinking, Easton.” The Commandant moved to the intercom system. “Dimok!”

“Sir?” Dimok answered in a deep baritone.

“Get me a channel to Navy Intel. And put it on the vid screen down here.”

“Aye aye, sir.” A few moments later the vid screen came alive with the face of a brunette receptionist. “Office of Naval Intelligence, how may I direct your call?”

“Marine liaison officer, please.”

“One moment please.” The vid screen turned to static for moment before resolving into the face of a very bored looking man in his service uniform.

“Colonel Pesci here, how can-holy shit! I mean, uh, General Pace sir, what can I do for you sir?” I had to suppress a chuckle when the colonel became flustered.

“I need you to go over some helmet cam footage for me and identify a bug carrier and frigate for me.”

“Who's helmet cam sir?” The colonel asked, pulling out a notepad and preparing to scribble.

“Lance Corporal, Copeland Dean Easton, Echo Company, 2nd Battalion, 28th Marines, 5th MarDiv.”

“I'll get right on it sir.” The vid screen winked out.

“Now for your mission gentleman. You and several other Marines listed like you are going in to get our people back. We've made contact with a Paranid resistance movement, they're going to help you locate and rescue our people.” The intercom crackled to life. Dimok's baritone came through.

“USC-John H. Glenn twenty five klicks out, moving to dock.” Minutes later the usual clangs of clamps sounded through the hull, and the airlock opened. Dimok and Suther came down from the cockpit to see us off. The Commandant moved to stand by the airlock, and give us his parting words.

“This your stop Jarheads. Every Marine would give an arm and leg to be on this op, hell, Easton already gave us both his legs.” Said the Commandant with a smirk. “And remember just because you're part of the 28th, doesn't mean you have to go around raising flags on every mountaintop you see.” More humor. His face hardened into the expression all commanders have when they send their boys into harm's way. “Godspeed gentleman, bring our people home.”

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Post by Scott C. » Sun, 16. Jun 13, 05:39

Nice!

Thanks for the read so far.
Cheers,
Scott

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Poseidon
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Post by Poseidon » Wed, 19. Jun 13, 03:07

Thanks for the chapter. I'm enjoying this more than I expected. :-) It's sad we know he lives through it... unless there's a twist. Is he really a Xenon Cyborg?

Either way, good writing.

hns194
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Post by hns194 » Sat, 3. Aug 13, 08:14

*Sorry for the lack of updates, its harvest time in my little town, and county fair is also coming up next week, so regular updates probably won't start again until the end of the month.

“This sounds just a tad far fetched Mr. Easton.” The reporter calmly stated.

“You're telling me sonny, I was a double amputee that just got drafted for an op that those Naval Special Warfare boys should've been doing.” He responded gruffly, while gazing longingly out the porthole at the rusted curve of Mars's atmosphere. “Desperate times called for desperate measures, or some crap like that.” Easton added, while producing a can of chewing tobacco from his shirt pocket.

“That stuff will kill you, you know.” The reporter said with a disgusted look.

Easton, in response, picked up a framed picture of his younger self in dress blues, and pointed to the to baby blue ribbon with five stars pinned to his uniform jacket.

*For those who don't know, the ribbon I am alluding to is the ribbon for the Congressional Medal Of Honor.

hns194
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Post by hns194 » Sat, 30. Nov 13, 05:33

The Glenn's flight deck was crowded with the gleaming hulls of interceptors, scouts, and heavy fighters, a small detachment of new M3+ fighter bombers were clustered in a far corner. The John Glenn was a Tepukei class support frigate, usually designated for salvage duties or being jeep carriers, even had a flattop flight deck on both sides. The Glenn could dock several freighters, fighters, and one capital class ship, this made it a perfect staging point for our rescue.

“Welcome aboard, gentleman.” A young ensign greeted us, we snapped to as best we could with a crisp salute, which was immediately returned. “Follow me, i'll show you to the barracks.” A short elevator ride down, and we arrived in enlisted country. The ensign said his goodbyes and left us to get reacquainted with a staple of grunt life, the squadbay. Several Marines sat around an old flatscreen watching only god knows what. Dim conversation, sprinkled with loud expletives and several threats involving boots and butts, provided a background din to the numerous card games, and other activities. It was good to be home, a huddle of men in a corner to my right caught my attention. They looked different somehow, the same but different all the same. A passing corpsman saw the look of concentration on my face and explained to me that those gents were from Aldrin.

With a small wave of his hand, the reporter politely declined the offer of tobacco Easton had granted him. “So you had never encountered anybody from The Lost Colony before that day?” Reporter questioned. “Nope, well actually, I saw the delegates on the news on Reunion Day when I was a tyke, but besides that I'd never seen, or heard one before.”

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