Chapter 6

The locker room was a hive of activity as the Marines finished their personal preparations for the operation. It was a cacophony, with anxious chatter, shit talking, the rasping of Velcro, the snaps of combat webbing, and the clack-clacks of weapons being made ready.

As the Marines readied themselves, Apone walked up and down the banks of lockers. The First Sergeant was already kitted up, and was now doing his pre-drop ritual of gassing his Marines up for battle. It didn't matter if they were going into training, working a humanitarian mission, or getting ready to drop feet-first into an active warzone. Whenever they dropped, he gave them his version of a pep-talk.

"Alright Marines, you know how it is." Apone growled around his cigar as he passed through First Platoon's area. "You know how it is and you know how we do it. We're Marines, we're badasses, and we've got nothing to worry about. You make sure you tell that to your sweethearts and your families. We've got nothing to worry about, which means they've got nothing to worry about."

"Do you even have a family, Top? Or were they vat grown, just like you?" Dawes asked as he pulled the straps his coyote-tan plate carrier vest tight against his torso. "Hard to imagine there's a bunch of little you's running around back home. They your own little fireteam or something?" Apone grinned at this.

"The Corps is my family, Dawes!" The First Sergeant said, plucking his cigar from his mouth and blowing a line of smoke towards the designated marksman. "Why would I need kids when I've got degenerates like you to look after?"

"Aw, Sarge, you know flattery will get you everywhere." Dawes replied, wrapping a bandana around his head before covering it with his helmet.

"Where's your family at, First Sergeant?" Chaffin piped up, looking up from sliding a freshly-loaded magazine into one of the pouches mounted to the front of his armor.

"I told you, Private Chaffin, the Corps is my family." Apone said. "Been serving this beautiful green machine since I was seventeen years old."

"Come on, First Sergeant." Chaffin said incredulously. "You've got to have someone back home, right?"

"Got a younger brother back on Earth. He's also a Marine." Apone said with pride. "I've said it twice, and I'll say it again. The Corps is my family. Every generation of Apones has served in the Marines. From the Banana Wars to Vietnam, Iraq to China, and even the Lunar Insurrection. Apone family's been giving blood to the Corps for over one hundred and twenty years, and we gonna keep giving blood as long as the name's still out there." Chaffin just stared on in awe at the sheer magnitude of the First Sergeant's family military history. Apone chuckled at this and moved on. Mercer waited until Apone was out of earshot before he smacked Chaffin upside the helmet.

"What was that for?" Chaffin asked.

"Because you're a dumb fuckin' boot, that's why." Wilkins said from down the bench.

"Top had a wife and kids. They were killed when a UPP-aligned terrorist cell blew up the station that the First Sergeant's family was on." Mercer explained. "It was what kicked off the Lunar Insurrection."

"When did this happen?" Chaffin asked. "And what's the UPP?"

"Damn, son. Did they not teach you anything in training?" Fulmer piped up.

"The station went up three years ago. Top was given the option to take emergency leave, but he denied it. Our old company commander, Captain O'Malley, almost forced him to go. First Sergeant told O'Malley that he'd have to shoot him to get him off the ship."

"Oh…" Chaffin said.

"And the UPP is the Union of Progressive Peoples." Eberwein said from his squad's area, having overheard the conversation.

"Bunch of freeloading socialist fucks." Dawes said as he double checked he had everything he'd need in his patrol pack. "Asshole's have been trying socialism for over three hundred years. You'd think they'd realize that shit doesn't work." He grunted as he pulled on his pack.

"Since when the hell do you know anything about politics?" Mercer asked. Dawes gave him a crooked grin.

"You're not the only one who went to college, Sarge." Dawes said. With that, their squad's marksman started towards the rack of weapons mounted on the far side of the room. The rest of first squad continued with their preps, and Mercer had to pause when he heard Chaffin humming to himself. The squad leader looked towards the Private, who had a small smile on his face as he continued humming. It took Mercer a few moments before he realized that Chaffin was humming the song from the transmission. Mercer smirked and shook his head at this.

Chaffin was a recruiter's wet dream; young, dumb, and starry-eyed. He'd proudly shared stories with the squad about how he'd been part of his High School's Junior ROTC program, and had even enlisted under the Delayed Entry Program at sixteen, which had him drilling with Reservists one weekend a month. He'd puffed out his chest and told them how he'd even left his Junior Prom early because he'd had drill the next day. Naturally, everyone in the squad laughed and made fun of him. But Chaffin had taken it in stride, toughing out the hazing to prove his place with the more experienced Marines. He was still green as shit, but he was better than some of the other Boots that Mercer had worked with over the years.

Further into the locker room, Apone rounded the corner to see Second Platoon finishing their preparations. Second Platoon's platoon sergeant, Staff Sergeant Nathan Wilks, looked up to see the First Sergeant observing them.

"Top." Wilks said, giving a nod of respect to the older Marine.

"Look at you, Wilks." Apone said with mock affection. "All kitted up, looking like a hard charging Marine!" He gave Wilks a hard slap on the shoulder.

"Learned from the best, Top." Wilks said as he put his helmet on.

Wilks and Apone had met seven years prior, when Wilks had been a buck private and Apone, then Staff-Sergeant Apone, had been his squad leader. The two had gone on countless drops together, and Wilks had even saved the First Sergeant's life on one occasion when they'd found themselves the only survivors of a withering ambush during a routine patrol on some backwater planet in a sector neither of them could remember. If Apone had it his way, Wilks would be replacing him as First Sergeant when it came time for Apone to move on to a Sergeant Major billet.

As Apone continued his walkthrough, he saw that most of the Marines were set. That was, until he rounded the corner and saw the group of I&S Marines. Most of the support Marines were set, with gear in place and packs on their back. For some reason, the five Marines that would be going on the drop were standing at attention in a line. From what he could see, they were being inspected. But for some reason, the Marine inspecting them was in a pair of fresh Multi-Cam fatigues. Apone was about to bark something, but then he saw the red hair.

"Gunnery Sergeant Jones." Apone said. Instead of his usual bark, which inspired fear in new Marines and usually instilled confidence in the veterans, he spoke in a low, even tone. Jones, I&S' platoon sergeant, and leader of their ground detachment, turned around. His ruddy face blanched when he saw the First Sergeant standing there.

"Y…yes, Top?" Jones said. Much like the rest of the company, Apone did everything he could to avoid the pasty Gunnery Sergeant.

"A word, please." Apone said.

"Roger that." Jones said, then turned to the line of his Marines. He'd just been dressing them down for uniform infractions. "Sergeant Mahoney, finish the inspection. I expect a list of infractions and your recommended punishments for said Marines for when we return to the ship. Oorah?"

"Roger, Gunnery Sergeant." Sergeant Matt Mahoney said. It took every ounce of strength not to roll his eyes.

Jones followed Apone to a spot away from everyone else, near the end of the row of cryo pods. While Apone couldn't stand Jones, he wasn't going to violate the time-honored tradition that had been set by the Marines of old. When senior NCOs needed a dressing down, it happened away from the junior enlisted.

"Aw shit. Think he'll cry?" Lance Corporal Brian Early asked from his squad's section of the locker room. Early belonged to Hopkins, and was the squad's second rifleman.

"Fuckin' hope so." Fletcher said as he shrugged on his pack before tapping down the front of his vest to ensure he had everything. Being the gunner assigned to Second Platoon, Fletcher's sole purpose was to lay down the hate with his machine gun when the time came for it. And that meant carrying a lot of ammo. Along with the five bags of linked ammo that he wore on his vest, he carried another two on his sub-belt, and six more in his patrol pack. Along with what would be waiting to be loaded in his MG when he drew it from the armory, that meant he'd be carrying over two thousand rounds of ammunition. Depending on the situation, that could either be way too much ammo, or not enough. Only time would tell.

"Oh boy." Hopkins' other rifleman, Corporal Weston Reed, said with a smile. "Looks like we might even see some waterworks." They all looked to see Jones stalking back towards his squad. The man's face was bright crimson, and he was very clearly fighting back tears. They might have almost felt bad for the man, until the Gunnery Sergeant began screaming at the I&S Marines that would be making the drop with them.

"Oh that's good." Lance Corporal Cassidy Barrie, the squad's medic, said with an eye roll. "Get chewed out for being an asshole, then turn around and be an even bigger asshole to your joes. Someone put him in for a medal." She scoffed as she cinched down her aid bag against her armor. Hopkins watched Jones' performance for a few more minutes before shaking his head.

"Alright Marines!" Apone barked as he started towards the locker room's entrance. "Let's hit it! Get on the ready line! Move it move it move it!" Lockers slammed and boots pounded against the metal decking as the Marines filed towards the front of the room.

They were greeted by the three synths and several Marines from I&S that wouldn't be making the drop. Each of the Marines heading to the planet stopped, listed off their roster number, and waited for one of those staying behind to retrieve that Marine's particular weapon.

All non-specialized Marines would carry the standard-issue M27 Infantry Automatic Rifle, most of which were equipped with a low-powered variable optic and infrared laser device. Squad Designated Marksman carried the M38 Designated Marksman Rifle, which was the DMR variant of the M27. The two snipers assigned to the company, Sergeants Dan Booker and Dan Bach, would carry M110E3 sniper rifles, which were chambered in the heavy 6.5 Creedmoor round. Primary gunners, like Fletcher, would carry either M240L medium machine guns or M249 Squad Automatic Weapons, while the assistant gunners would carry the other. The officers carried the new MA-10 personal defense carbines, which were chambered in 10mm automatic, and every Marine carried the standard nine-millimeter M4 pistol.

Similar to how the Marines would all be switching over to the Mulit-Cam fatigues following their return to Earth, they would all be refitting. All of the IARs were slated to be replaced with the new Harrington Automatic Rifle, and the long guns would be replaced with the Weyland Storm rifle. The only good thing about their having been on part of a long-term, deep-space deployment was that they hadn't been forced to make the switch over to the new equipment yet. The weapons they carried had been tried and tested on battlefields across many worlds, and the veteran Marines weren't eager to make the switch just yet.

"Move it out move it out move it out!" Apone continued barking as the fifty-two Marines making the drop grabbed their weapons and hustled to the hangar. As they arrived, they 'formed up' in loose lines based on platoon and squad. "Get on the ready line! Let's get some!" Apone shouted. His aggression and motivation was contagious. A good majority of the Marines were now gassed up and ready to go. Feet bounced, hands flexed, and heads bobbed; all in anticipation. This was what they were trained for. This was what they lived for!

"Are you lean?" Apone barked.

"Yeah!" A good portion of the Marines called back.

"Are you mean?" Apone barked back.

"Yeah!" More voices this time.

"What are you?" Apone asked.

"Lean and mean!" The company shouted back.

"What are you?"

"LEAN AND MEAN!" Every Marine yelled.

"WHAT ARE YOU?" Apone shouted as he marched back and forth in front of the formation.

"LEAN AND MEAN!" They roared loud enough that, if there was anyone on the planet, they'd likely heard the Marines shout.

"Alriiiiiiight!" Apone said, grinning around his cigar as he walked down the line, one hand holding his rifle by the pistol grip. "That's what I'm talking about! Green, lean, mean, fighting MARINES!" He paused in front of them. "You ready to get some?"

"Oorah!" They answered.

"You ready to take some?" Apone barked.

"OORAH!"

"Absolute badasses!" Apone said, then turned, pointing to the two Marines at the head of their respective lines. "Mercer, Reagan, lead 'em in!" With that, Mercer took off at a trot towards the waiting dropship that First Platoon would ride down in. Sergeant Billie Reagan, second platoon's first squad leader, did the same for her platoon.

Asses found seats, rifles were secured, and safety bars were lowered as the Marines filed into the dropships. Now that they were all psyched up, there was plenty of friendly jeering, shit-talking, and grab-assing. Hands reached out to paw and squad leaders' groins and asses as they ensured their Marines were secured. Those Marines groping their squad leaders received hard, friendly smacks to the helmets, shoulders, and chests as their squad leaders secured their safety bars and double-checked everyone was set. Even the cherries were feeling it, and weren't afraid to share a smile with each other and the veteran Marines that surrounded them. While they hadn't been tested in combat yet, the air of camaraderie was more than enough to get them just as pumped as the rest of the Marines.

"Oh you gotta be shitting me." Someone said loudly in the belly of second platoon's dropship. All eyes went to the person who'd said something, and then the rear. "You can't make this shit up." Corporal Matt Busch, one of third squad's riflemen, said.

While First and Second Platoon were all set and ready for the drop, the I&S Marines were only just starting towards their dropships. It wasn't the fault of any of the Marines themselves. It was because Jones, for some unknown reason, had formed them up into two squads and was marching them onto the dropships. The three Marines heading into second platoon's dropship were led in by Sergeant Matt Mahoney. His face alone showed that he couldn't believe he'd been given the order to march his guys into the dropship. March his Marines into a combat scenario. This was all set to the background of several Marines singing the classic John Denver song from the transmission they'd watched earlier. Naturally, the song had been started by second platoon's resident corn-fed country boy Marine, Corporal John Jackson,

"Looks like we got lucky." Sergeant Alyssa Bradford, third squad's leader, said as Mahoney passed her. As soon as they crossed the threshold into the dropship, Mahoney's Marines broke their marching cadence and found their seats as soon as possible. "At least he's not riding with us." She smacked Mahoney's leg as he sat down in the seat beside her. Hard.

"Trust me, it's a fucking blessing." Mahoney said as he pulled his safety bar down over his chest. The singing Marines continued the song that was now thoroughly stuck in everyone's head.

"Country roads! Take me hoooome!" More Marines joined in. "To the place, I belooooong!" Bradford rolled her eyes at Mahoney, and he grinned in response. "West Virginiaaaaa!" The two joined in. "Mountain Mommaaaaa! Take me hooooome! Country roooooooads!"

Upon hearing the voices coming from second platoon's dropship, Chaffin's face split into a wide grin.

"Don't." Mercer said.

"Almost heaven, West Virginia!" Chaffin started singing. "Blue Ridge Moun-"

"Chaffin, shut the fuck up!" Several voices barked.