Rites of Passage: Into the Frying Pan
Posted By: Elitehunter676<brent_winfield@yahoo.com>
Date: 7 January 2005, 9:30 PM
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After recieving our orders we marched to a large dusty tent that was surrounded by a four foot wall of sandbags. As a darkly tanned corpral called out names, each man stepped into the tent. Inside, a corpral with a huge black mustache handed me an MA5B assault rifle, five magazines, and two bandoliers of ammuntion. One of the men got a rifle with a huge plasma burn on the stock. When they gave the same guy a helmet with a plasma burn across the side of it, he nearly came unraveled.
Twenty minutes later we were herded into a waiting Pelican dropship for a short flight to a town called Darrisville, it was a small town, one of the many suberbs on the outskirts of Liberty City, and according to our knowledge, one of the only ones left standing after the Covenant attack. The flight would have been more comfortable, if not for the cramped space and rifles sticking in my ear. One guy said we were taking the long way, around the moutains and such to avoid potshots by Covenant anti-aircraft weapons. I wanted to be mentally ready for being shot at, but there was a fine line between ready and panic.
Darrisville was the base camp for the Fifth Marines, that is, those that weren't already in Liberty. It didn't look like a dangerous place, aside from some of the buildings that were pock marked with bullet holes and plasma burns, it looked fairly civilized. Large stone and wooden houses with shingled roofs and air conditioning.
Sandbag bunkers dotted the town and everything was colored beige from the dust of tanks and vehicles rolling through the dirt streets. I soon found out that the civilized part of Darrisville belonged to the officers and pilots. The infantry area was all tents, large box-like things made of a canvas material, all with zipper flap doors hanging wide open to catch what little breeze there was. Damn brass and flyboys anyway.
Darrisville sat fifteen miles from Liberty city. Just a quick ride north on the lone, paved road would take me to Liberty. Another little longer ride in the opposite direction would take me back to Trenact.
We were taken to a large tent where an old, crusty looking master gunnery sergeant with a giant silver handlebar mustache screamed, "Attention!" The chattering tent went silent.
"I am Master Gunnery Sergeant O'Connel. I will help you in your indoctrination on the Fifth Marine Regiment." The old sergeant gave his great mustache a slow proud twirl and turned to a large blackboard behind him. "This is the most decorated regiment in the UNSC Marine Corps." He spoke as he wrote "UNSC Recomindation" at the top of the blackboard. "Some of you may remember hearing about this in boot camp. The Fifth Marines are the only Regiment allowed to wear anything but standard issue, you are allowed were this pin on your dress uniform, he gestured toward the words on the blackboard. The Fifth Marines fought in South America during the Rainforest Wars and on Mars during the Martion Campaign both against Kolsolvic. We have also fought in every major ground engagement against the Covenant since Harvest."
He put his hands on his hips, standing with his boots more than shoulder width apart. He beamed with pride as he stuck out his barrel-shaped chest. "We have the highest kill ratio on Draco 3 so far. The Colonel does not intend for that to change.
Thoughts of all kinds scrambled through my mind like a blender. I felt scared and excited and lonely at the same instant, but mostly excited. I couldn't wait to write a letter home and tell everyone all about it. I didn't know a bloody thing about it yet, but I knew I had to keep a few girls worried to make sure I got a lot of mail.
After the indoctrination, we were led to a small firing range where we got a chance to make sure our weapons worked, a small item I hadn't given thought to. A sunburned sergeant began shouting. "The first ten in colum spread out facing the targets at the ready position. Feet spread! Rifles at the ready! Move it! Count off!"
"Nine!" I shouted as my turn came to jog into a position facing ten large black-and-white bull's-eyes staked to the side of a fifty-foot long by ten-foot tall mound of dirt. The targets looked about one hundred meters away, just inside the barbed-wire perimeter surrounding Darrisville.
"Lock and load!" I checked my magazine and flicked my rifle off safety. "Step two of the prone position! Drop to the knees holding rifle securely! Drop to your stomach breaking your fall with the butt of the rifle!" I dropped to my stomach and took aim at the bull's-eye straight ahead.
"Aim and fire!" shouted the sergeant, and I did. Nothing! I squeezed the trigger again. My weapon sent out a harmless click amidst the continuous firing from the other nine rifles. My stomach churned as I looked past the targets to the unfriendly moutains beyond.
The sergeant quickly found me a rifle that worked, but the broken firing pin left me with serious doughts. "Check your boots," my stomach said.
Now that my confidence was thoroughly shaken we were led back to a large row of dusty tents. A voice shouted to get in formation so we did. An M12 TC (Troop Carrier) drove by with a full load of Marines, covering us with a solid layer of dust. The men in the warthog howled with laughter at us. Some shouted friendly insults about our new uniforms and clean boots. We stuck out like big green thumbs. Every person we'd seen so far was dressed in Marine battle utilites, armour, combat boots etc.
The men in the truck looked hard. Their uniforms and armour were tattered and torn. The men hadn't shaved in a long time, their skin was dark from the Draco 3 sun, and they looked lean and mean like Marines are supposed to look. We looked like fat, happy kids, clean-shaven, with side-walled haircuts and spit-shined stateside boots. But I had a feeling that all that would change.
I hope everyone enjoyed this one as well.
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