- Gottalovec4
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- Noble Legendary Member
About me: I am a vicious wolf of a man.
But really am sweet at heart. =)
5/2/2527
LOCATION: UNSC Firebase VIPER: REACH
A platoon of living killing machines stood in the middle of the parade ground of the Forward Operating Base: VIPER. Each man and woman standing there, chest out at parade rest knew twenty three ways to kill a human, grunt, jackal, or Elite, with their bare hands. They had gone through physical and biological augmentations that would make a SPARTAN-II cringe.
Each Marine was wearing black and gray tiger stripe fatigues with minimal combat gear of matte black elbow and knee pads, black composite gauntlets and combat boots. They each wore a green or black beret: green for squadmate and black for squad leader.
They weren't however, SOG yet. Captain Kyle Everett, stepped forward to do that. He walked calmly to the front of the formation and saluted. 128 heels snapped together and sixty four hands snapped to their owner's heads.
He dropped his salute and bellowed:
"Good MORNING recruits!"
"Good morning sir!" they all replied.
"You are officially SOG Marines, as you know, we don't stand on ceremony, report to your team's DI's to receive your patches and pins, Congratulations."
With that he walked towards his personal Warthog and drove back to his barracks. the formation fell out and Michael met with his team: Team Black, and met with their DI: SSgt Crawler.
He wordlessly handed out the red and black hammer and sword patches of MACV SOG and the identical pins. After he had done this solemn cerimony for all five members he simply said "I'm proud of you boys, you did good."
He then walked away from the group. Maxon took pride in noting that some DIs simply said nothing at all to their teams or outright threw their patches on the ground, as if they were ashamed that they had made it through training.
Michael looked at his team, now with the velcro patches on each of their shoulders and thought how lucky he was to get such good brothers.
Maxon, an inspiring leader.
Ghweber; could take out a tree turkey from a mile away.
Daniels; could wire ten tons of kerosene to go off with a force of a JDAM, or a shaped charge to go off with a whisper.
Claude: Could handle a knife well enough to make a Covie a filette in a few seconds.
Finally, Jacobs. He had joined the squad halfway through training after his suffered an accident with live anti-tank mines. He knew his way around an MA5 to be sure, and was mostly a jack of all trades, but he had patched Michael up after missions again and again.
"Well guys, congratulations." Maxon said putting his hand out, they all put theirs on top as part of a "team spirit" thing.
They all stood in an almost awkward silence.
"So...Lieutenant." Michael said trying to get something going, "Whats it like knowing people have to call you 'sir' now instead of recruit?"
A look of wonder came over his face, for the past months they had lost all rank, they were boots again while training, and while they had been promoted, they were still called "recruit, maggot, worm, and scumbag" by the DIs.
Now, Maxon was a 1st Lieutenant, Peterson was a SSgt, Ghweber and Daniels were Sgts, and Jacobs was a Corporal.
"Wait....we can leave the base now!" Ghweber exclaimed in his gutteral German accent."
Claude was the first to pick up on it, "Lets go drinking!"
Within ten minutes they had hitched a ride with some Army junkies in an M879 and were heading to New Alexandria.
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Michael woke up in his team's barracks the next morning, he was still in his uniform, now crumpled and trampled. His team was strewn about the barracks in a mostly dead state.
"Never again," Michael muttered as his headache began to set in. Knowing full well next leave he would binge like hell.
Maxon sat up from the chair he had been straddling and looked at his chrono.
"Sorry boys, we've got PT in five."
A series of groans was his response.