Transmission Authorization Code:
D965ZB-01
Covenant Requesting Secure Link…
Weyland-Yutani Protocol Sequence Initiated. Commence transmission:
. . .
I come to you with an olive branch…
Chapter 1
"Rise and shine!" The gruff voice startled them from their induced sleep. "Come on, get up! Feet on the deck, let's go!" This was simultaneously the best and worst alarm clock one could have, particularly in this outfit.
Sergeant Troy Mercer opened his eyes and let out a long, pained groan. He sat up slowly, twisting his neck from side to side. Each twist gave him several good pops, eliciting more groans and grunt. He hated cryo sleep.
"Come on, up and at 'em. Y'all got your beauty rest." The voice barked again. Mercer didn't have to look to know that the man barking at them, their First Sergeant, was already chomping on a stogie as he marched up and down the line of cryo pod. It was the first inspection of many to ensure that the Marines were all awake and weren't suffering from any post-cryo related ailments.
"Just five more minutes, Top." The Marine in the pod beside Mercer groaned. Mercer looked over his shoulder to see Lance Corporal David Dwyer sitting up.
"Get your ass up, Dwyer" First Sergeant Alfonso Apone smiled around his half-smoked cigar. He'd smoked the first half before they'd gone under. He would continue to chomp the remains until they were all up and combat ready. It was one of his traditions. "Platoon Sergeants, on me!" Apone commanded. The Marine in the pod beside Dwyer shook his head as he swung his legs over the side of his pod. His out-of-regs light brown hair was spiked up in every direction, thanks to an extreme case of bed head.
"I should've gone to prison." Private First Class Chris Dawes said. He started to say something, but it devolved into a coughing fit. Being a chain smoker didn't agree with cryo sleep.
"You look like hell, Dawes." Dwyer said with a wry smile.
"And you look like you enjoy this crap, lifer." Dawes shot right back between coughs. Mercer closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. He was about to say something when another voice started yelling.
"Alright I&S, let's go. On your feet!" Another Marines yelled. "Come on, let's get it. Another beautiful day in the Corps. Oohrah!" Hearing this particular voice elicited groans and curses up and down the line of Marines.
"Are you kidding me?" Lance Corporal James Walker said from his position a few pods down the line from Mercer. "Not even awake five minutes and he's already starting with his nonsense?"
"Ooh-rah!" Dawes said mockingly, mimicking the speech patterns of the Intelligence and Support Platoon Sergeant. "Give me a break. That dude should have never been recruited. And I'm the convict. Agh!" He barked out. "Friggin' cold floors." Dawes grumbled as he hopped from foot to foot towards his locker. Mercer couldn't help but smirk as he watched his disgruntled Marine walk away.
"He always this peachy when he wakes up?" The Marine in the pod to Mercer's left asked. Mercer looked over to Sergeant Joe Eberwein.
"He's like this any time he's awake." Mercer replied. "Unless he's winning at poker. Then he's all smiles and jokes." Eberwein just nodded, staring at where Dawes had disappeared around the corner of a locker bank.
"First Platoon squad leaders, on me!" Another voice called from down the line of pods.
Mercer grunted as he stood, stretching his arms above his head to get some more pops out of his back. The twenty-six-year-old sounded like a bag of popcorn whenever he woke from cryo. After finding his flip-flops to protect him from the frigid metal decking underfoot, he started down the row of pods towards where his platoon leadership was waiting.
Gunnery Sergeant Hal Morris and Second Lieutenant David Fick, First Platoon's Platoon Sergeant and Commander respectively, looked over their three squad leaders. Gunny Morris, lovingly referred to as 'Pops' by those who'd served under him long enough to rate calling him that, was a forty-seven-year-old veteran whose military service was longer than most of his troops had been alive. He was the oldest of the 'Old Heads', the group of Marines that had been in their country's respective Marine units prior to being recruited into the Colonial Marines.
Lieutenant Fick happened to be one of those Marines whose lifespan was shorter than Pop's career. The twenty-four-year-old Platoon Commander was still fresh out of Officer Candidate School, having only been with the platoon for about a year. In that year, he'd proven himself as a capable combat leader, but still had a lot of learning to do.
Fortunately for the baby-faced Lieutenant, Pops ran a tight ship. He'd made it known to his new Lieutenant that if the way things were worked, then they weren't going to change. If Fick didn't like that, he could find another platoon to lead. But the Lieutenant had stayed the course, braving countless hours of dealing with the crazed debauchery of his platoon while absorbing as much information as he could from Pops and the other seasoned leaders. After the first few months, the Marines backed off with the foolishness. Fick had survived the gauntlet, and Pops had grown to respect the man.
Mercer and Eberwein approached, nodding to the other squad leader, Staff Sergeant Michael Laraquente. Pops had already lit a cigarette, and was puffing on the cowboy killer while Fick scrolled down the screen of a multiunit.
"Hey, Pops." Mercer said. The Platoon Sergeant took a drag from his cigarette and nodded to the younger Marine.
"Glad to see you woke up. Heard you old timers have a tendency to go while you're under ice." Laraquente said with a smirk. Pops took another, longer drag as he stared, unblinking, towards Laraquente. Then he plucked the cigarette out of his mouth and blew a long line of smoke into the Staff Sergeant's face.
"What?" Pops said, a smile breaking out beneath his gray push-broom mustache. "And miss your Latin ass prancing around shirtless and all oiled up? Not a chance." Laraquente, Mercer, and Pops laughed. Eberwein chuckled, still too new to really get in on what was obviously an inside joke.
"Morning, guys." Fick said. "Here's what's going on." He had to speak up now that the cryo bay was filling with banter, laughter, and other noises indicating the rest of the Company was awake and on their feet. Mercer noted that Fick looked rough. The Lieutenant's puffy eyes and pale lips gave away the fact that his body still hadn't gotten used to cryo sleep yet. "The Captain wants a full Company muster at ten-hundred ship's time. It's currently…" Fick looked down at his watch. "Zero-seven-ten. Have your squads cleaned up and in fatigues in the hangar at zero-eight-thirty."
"Check?" Pops said."
"Rog'." The three squad leaders responded. With that, they turned to gather their Marines. Once the three sergeants were out of earshot, Pops turned to Fick.
"Did my walkthrough when we woke up. We've got twenty-two Marines up and moving around, including us." The Platoon Sergeant relayed.
"Roger that. Thanks, Pops." Fick said.
"Any word on our actual mission here, Dave?" Pops asked. It still caught Fick off guard whenever the elderly Platoon Sergeant used his first name. It was a courtesy shown only to officers who'd proven their worth in his eyes, and was never done in front of other Marines.
"Nothing yet, but I'll let you know as soon as I hear something." Fick replied.
"Roger that. Let me know when you need me." Pops said. With that, the older man turned on a heel and started towards his own locker. He needed a shower.