"You've got to be joking, Boomer. SPARTANS?" Lance Corporal Peter 'Pete' Fisher whined, running a quick diagnostic on his M392 7.62mm DMR which was laid across his lap, the ODST enjoying the cold comfort of staying far away from any threats which might be bearing down on him.
"What do you got against SPARTANS anyway, Pete?" Jose 'Boomer' Ramirez spat, sitting on the edge of the command table in the center of the room, the gathered ODST prepared to be briefed shortly on the situation by their Sergeant, in the meantime, Jose was busy sharpening his knife which he kept mounted on his chestplate.
"Dude, they sent like six of our guys to the hospital, don't trust 'em." Pete replied, slamming a magazine into his freshly cleaned rifle and watched as the ammunition counter shot up to a full '15', smiling, the ODST set the rifle down before moving onto his suppressed Submachine gun which he kept for personal defense at close range.
"That's ancient history, maybe if you pulled your head out of your ass you'd understand that." Boomer said, checking the sharpness of his knife against his thumb, satisfied, he returned it to it's place on his armor before turning to his M90A shotgun.
"I figure anybody who makes my job easier is a good guy in my book," Private Andrews added, jumping into the conversation whilst running a quick check of his radio equipment.
"Shut up, Rookie. No one wants to hear your shit," Fisher shot back, watching the Private stew over his words and scrunch up his features at the insult, the Lance Corporal finding this particularly hilarious broke out laughing.
"Ah, fuck you Pete," Andrews muttered, chucking the empty soda can which was sitting next to him at the team's designated marksman. Instead, the can sailed past and slammed straight into the chestplate of the squad's grenadier, James McKinley O'Brian, commonly called Obi for short.
Looking down at the can which lay at his feet, he joked, "Jeez, didn't know I was hated this much that you guy's were to the point of throwing stuff at me."
"Don't worry about it, O'Brian. At least the Rook can throw frag grenades better then he can throw cans!" Pete added, causing the Private to turn bright red.
The trio of ODST bursting into laughter, the Private quietly turning back to his radio equipment in a pitiful effort to conceal his rosy face which would only bring on more backlash from one of Peter's jokes.
"Easy, boys. No need to piss off the one who gets you all that wonderful air support," the team's resident vehicle specialist said, running the tip of her knife under her fingertips, cool blue eyes sizing up primarily Fisher whom always instigated such cruel joke making.
"Ah, come on Cora, we was just making a couple of jokes. Nothing bad their," Fisher replied, defending his position whilst also delievering a swift jab to Andrews' ribs as he walked past to speak with their female member.
"Oh, really? I beg to differ, you've been giving poor Andrews nothing but flak since he showed up," the Sergeant replied, looking up at him, "Oh, and I'm not Cora to you, it's Sergeant Cabrera. We're on duty right now, Lance Corporal. At least act it."
This statement being followed by much ooohing from the combined force of Boomer and O'Brian, this also being silenced by another glare from the resident female. The door to the briefing room slide open, in striding the team's Sergeant whom had been given their orders presumably by the ship's captain, "Alright people, gather around, we got work to do." All talking hushed itself and the team rounded the table as the Sergeant activated the holographic map, "We've got a Covenant Carrier, as you all know, in our AO. You know what that means, Marines?"
"We gotta take it down," Jose said quietly, pointing his knife at the bulbous craft which was being displayed on the table, "Presumably from inside, where it's weakest."
"Very good, Corporal! It appears that Corporal Ramirez knows how we do things, and we all know how we're getting there. The problem is, bringing enough bomb to deal with our target. Corporal Ramirez, would you be so kind as to present our present for the Covenant?"
"With pleasure, sir." Ramirez replied with a coy grin, clicking the various snaps which held the bomb in it's protective case, the football sized weapon know as a Fury Tactical Nuclear Weapon, or as it was more commonly referred, a Tac-Nuke sitting inside.
"This is our gift to the Covenant, and as you all know, a single Tactical Nuke is powerful enough to decimate a Covenant Carrier. But their's a slight problem-" The Sergeant continued as Ramirez slowly repacked the Tactical Nuke safely inside it's carrying case.
"Getting the thing inside," Cabrera spoke up, tapping softly on her helmet with her fingertips, the red stripe down it's center slightly worn off from lengthy periods of abuse and close encounters, but somehow they'd prevailed, but something told her this wouldn't be quite as easy as before.
"Exactly. That's where our new SPARTAN friends come in," The Sergeant said, glancing back and forth at his team, "They'll be walking us and the bomb in, if we do things right, this'll be a milkrun. Insertion via SOEIV as per usual, and extraction once the bomb has been successfully armed via Pelican dropship. Any questions?"
The ensemble remaining silent, so the Sergeant concluded his briefing with a simple, "Dismissed, we drop in five."
"Gunny? May I have a word with you in private?"
"What is it, Cabrera?"
"Sir, what our odds? I mean-"
"I know exactly what you mean, Sergeant," The Gunnery Sergeant replied, slipping the solid black helmet over his head, once again becoming one of the faceless which tormented the Covenant where they least expected it, "And I'm hoping its better then what my gut is telling me."
The Sergeant watched the Gunnery Sergeant walk away and sighed, so much for the pep talk and words of wisdom she'd expected from the great Williamson she'd heard so much about. Instead, she too placed her own helmet over her head and lowered herself into the cramped pod which would rocket her to the Covenant Carrier below.