Chapter One: Salvaged Sigma-7 0800 Hours, Morning, Summer on Earth, 2553 Lieutenant Riley was sifting through the ruins of what used to be a small UNSC outpost, it was a bright day for a planet that had been partially glassed. It was early morning and he was alone with only another man behind him, his platoon sergeant, whom he only ever addressed as Connor. He was a good man, but had seen too much of war, and too much of death. His face was sullen and he never smiled, and never had a reason to smile. Riley couldn't really say anything, because just on his last deployment he'd lost two entire squads and was left with half of his platoon, they were replaced faster than the FTL drive could even begin to say 'hi'. Though it wasn't done without 'condolences' from his SO. (Senior Officer) [i]That bit on FTL Drives made no sense at all, but I could honestly care less[/i] Riley, Lieutenant Riley of the 431st Rifles Battalion, 1st Rifle Company, 3rd Platoon heaved a massive piece of concrete debris off of what looked like a cupboard and he grunted with surprise, the surprise was not how amazing the dresser was, or how rare that wood was, but it was more so to find a dresser almost completely intact in a rubble composed almost entirely of burned and charred black concrete, it was half-covered by another piece of debris and the dresser was virtually undamaged by the one that landed on top of it but it had not landed [i]right[/i] on top because it was supported by the debris piece that currently lay on the dresser he realized after studying it more than just stealing a glance. He wondered how it even still held the shape of a dresser, and wasn't just a useless pile of scrap-wood for a blunderbuss, [i]if[/i] they had to resort to that technology that was, though the dresser itself was built out of a durable material, military grade and standard-issue although, it should not have survived, so perfectly, well not so much perfectly as intact. This place used to be a Marine Outpost and Lieutenant Riley was an Officer, almost green but more like a yellowing sort of green. Like he was dying slowly or something, that was a pessimistic way to put it, but the description of what kind of grass he was, was accurate, more than even he knew. [i]My job is to find any evidence of what happened to this outpost as valuable information may have been captured by the Covenant or insurgents not dawdle and think about how important or tough this dresser is, or why you haven't been mowed or watered yet[/i] [i]And now you're scolding yourself? Don't you feel intellectual? [/i] Riley jammed his fingers in between second and the final piece of concrete and dresser, the texture of wood and Concrete was a rough and smooth, cold and warmer mixture. He managed to get a good grip upon it, although as he was about to pull upwards on the concrete debris and heave-ho with effort, he was stopped by a quick double-pat on his shoulder, just like how they'd signal when ready to breach and clear. "Relax lieutenant, I'll help you out. Don't need a sore back on the field." The Platoon Sergeant stated and got into position, Connor was right, it was his job to help the Lieutenant and even 'take over' for him in a dire circumstance, in which he died, also 'trained' yes 'trained' to take a bullet for the Lieutenant, Connor stood right beside Riley and his hands gripped the Concrete as though it were almost the same as a grunt's neck. Connor never took things lightly, not even if his wife was giving him a harmless kiss on the cheek or lips, he'd mostly likely ask why and who she was cheating on him with. It was normal for him well, for a soldier anyways, coming back from the field and seeing every situation as a threat could be rather hard on a man. "One, two [i]Three[/i]" They both said in unison and put strain on the word as they lifted on three, the debris groaned and scrated at the surface of the dresser and against another fallen piece of concrete. Riley pushed as hard as he could then and then they both 'threw' the piece of debris out of the way, coming upon an opened and beaten up dresser with two drawers missing. No, they weren't missing, they were just smashed in and at the bottom. He opened one of them that hadn't been smashed by the explosion or the falling debris and then pulled a small leather-covered book. From the dresser with a cracked frame. He had no idea why that was the first thing he had pulled from what seemed like hell, compared to all the other 'normal' stuff, but maybe he was just expecting to find a watch, dog-tags or something less filled with memory or meaning to himself as selfish as that was, he instead took the book of all things the book that would change how he thought and commanded for the rest of his career. Its title was rather catchy, and it had a small piece of writing on it. "If you read this, then I'm probably dead." Was all the note had said, and Riley immediately flipped open the front page and was drawn by its story as though it were a death trap and intentional placed specifically for him. It would be highly coincidental and scary if it had been. [i]The tragic story of Lance Corporal C. Free If you are reading this, than I am honest to god hoping that you don't mind terrible writing abilities, but I will be writing how my deployment goes, from beginning to end, Alpha to Omega. My Omega anyways. Though, I can't say I hope you stick with it because in the end, the main character always dies or has something bad happen to him in these stories but unfortunately in this circumstance, I'm not a character and this isn't fiction, it's non-fiction. Which isn't too fun oh and if you get the urge to burn this, please don't. As it might contain vital information in some respects read through the entire story to understand, and please, if I do die. Then don't cry. The story the story begins with my first deployment, where I am contacted and told to keep my mouth shut for the rest of my career when spoken to, seeing as how I did and didn't tell anyone aside from you 'great reader' about this I didn't break an order, and I still didn't, because I'm dead and was sent on another suicide run. Whatever, just read the story man. It was bright, approximately 0800 hours and the year was 2549[/i] [i]The Beginning[/i] Caleb's armor was brand-spanking new, fatigues were clean and the boots were shiny and new. He sat straight across from the two authoritative figures in the Platoon, in a Pelican VTOL, armed with ANVIL missiles and a Vulcan Chin-gun, Powerful close air support and useful gunship Heavily armored for hot deployments, and the pilots were always like mom. [i]so the CO for my first deployment was just as green as me, that is honest-to-god disheartening in my opinion but I had to deal with it and so did the rest of the guys. I don't even know the name for this place Ephirus-3 or Something, I could care less honest to god.[/i] As the Lieutenant in front of me spoke to the Platoon Sergeant who was not green because the Sergeant himself seemed to have the armor-scars, missing paint and facial scars and emotions to show it, Caleb would be stupid to think he was just a green grunt. He couldn't place his name on the face but Caleb would remember it at one point and he simply grunted. "Sirs what's our plan of attack?" Caleb asked them suddenly, they were inside a Pelican with a closed bay door so the concept of loud engines from a fighter jet can be discarded because this is a VTOL and it has a door that closes as well as near-whisper quiet Thrusters that propel the Pelican itself forward, backward, up, sideways and in some extreme 'we require immediate evasive manoeuvres' cases it does a barrel roll. He looked at his PC and then at the PS, before grunting. They both looked at him immediately, probably discussing who he was or what the plan was. "Get your feet on the ground, take cover and try not to die." The Lieutenant said immediately and nodded. [Edited on 07.21.2012 8:25 PM PDT]