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[Round 3] Old Times


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(( Mess Hall, USS Constitution-B ))

:: Devyn sat in his usual position, reading the padd that was on the table in front of him. He'd been thinking lately about going back to Sparta and more about if they would have him back. He thought about home. Home meant a lot of different things to people. He observed those in the ranks of Winter Company and presumed he had quite a good idea what home meant to them.::

:: To Mack Thornell it was at the Dabo table or sat behind a Royal Flush, edging her bets. To Jol Brox it was in the Holodeck, jumping off cliffs. For Dade, he didn't know. The man had never settled and for as long as Devyn had known him, Dade had a bad case of itchy feet. He couldn't sit still for long enough and was always looking for the next best thing.::

:: It had surprised him that the Major had stuck around in once place for long enough to be promoted. ::

:: For Devyn, home was on the battlefield and it always would be. He picked up a knife from the table and spun it around his hands with a delicate ease. Sharp, razor sharp, but he was trained to handle it. The handle went up in the air, he caught it by the blade between his finger and thumb, throwing it back up again.::

(( Flashback, Holodeck 5, Starfleet Marine Corps Training Facility ))

:: They were running, all of them, up Table Mountain in the Holodeck. It was raining, as Devyn could remember; adverse weather conditions toughened the skin and built character. He was on the left of Private Dade Adarnis; a rough cut [...] and on his left was Private Caro Malachi. New recruits and they needed breaking like a horse bucking at the reigns.::

Company: You can have your Engine Yellows, and your Science Blues, But here's a different fighting man, I'll introduce to you. His uniform is unlike,

any you've ever seen, the Borg call him `Devil Dog', His title is `Marine'.

:: Their heavy boots hit into the wet mud and the sound of khakis was deafening. With twenty pounds of weight in their carry sacks, a phaser rifle, two handheld phasers, plasma grenades and a complete of rations they were weighed down to their full. Still, they kept chanting.::

Company: He was trained in Paris Island, the place that God forgot, the sand was fourteen inches deep, and the sun was blazing hot. He awakened up one morning, in front of his rack he'll stand, and in through the doorway walked, a giant of a man.


Company: THE MONEY, SIR!


Company: GLORY, SIR!

:: The rain didn't stop. Aches and pains were but the tip of the iceberg. They'd run for four miles already uphill, with the promise of another six half way up. Shuttlecraft were launching overhead, screaming through the skies. Dade stumbled into Devyn, but the Spartan held him up, getting him back on his feet – the thanks was a pat on the shoulder.::

Company: He turned and faced this young Marine, with eyes as cold as steel, He said, `I am your DI, and this is for real. I'll make your life as miserable, as miserable as I can, and when you finally leave this place; you'll be a fighting man.


Company: OOORA!


Company: OOORA!


Company: OOORA! OOORA!

:: They pushed up the mountain, sweat pouring down their foreheads, mixing with rainwater. Failure was not an option for this Company; they were the best that the Marines could offer in every fibre of their very existence. Destiny kept them there. Captain West ran along side them, his rifle in his hand, gripping the phaser to his chest.::

West: Now gather around you young Marines, and lend me all your ears, and I'll tell you of a few things, we've conquered through the years. We fought at Wolf 359, the land of fire and Hell; we killed all those Borg, and took their space as well.

Company: OOORA!

West: Now you can tell your ladies, and this my Lad is true, to get herself a young `Marine', there's nothing he can't do. He's peeled a million onions, and twice as many spuds, then you'll find him in the slot chutes, a soaking up the suds.

:: A rumble of laughter came from the Company and while maximum effort was being exerted the atmosphere felt lighter.::

West: And when he gets to Heaven, to St. Peter he will tell, Another `Marine' reporting Sir.



:: One more growl of laughter as boots thundered up the hill. The bottom of their khakis were caked in mud, still wet, weighing them down. Another mile and they'd be half way there. They'd done the five, the six was nearly clear. Captain West barked orders with a smile at the leading hand up front and left.::

:: Devyn looked at Dade who had that smug smirk plastered on his face. They were starting out on a career together; hopefully it would be a long one.::

(( Present - Mess Hall, USS Constitution-B ))

:: He still had to teach that chant to the new recruits coming in. The knife spun in the air and Devyn caught it behind his back by the handle. Still got it. He slid it onto the table. There had been times when that was all he had as arms; when he and Dade got out in the field, weaponless in War Games. They'd survived by pure determination.::

:: That hadn't gone. They still had that determination but it wasn't as focused. Devyn made a mental note to bring up that point with Dade and request some joint meditation on the matter, to which he could anticipate the rebuttal from the Marine Major. Major. Now that was a turn up for the books.::

:: He looked over at the group of Marines from 1st Squad kicking back in the Mess and thought back to those days they were doing the same; coming in from that day up the mountain, kicking boots up on the table, covering it with dried mud. Only one thought went through Devyn's head.::

Krtasiai: What a mess.


PNPC MGSgt. Devyn "Spartan" Krtasiai

Marine Gunnery Sergeant

Winter Company

USS Constitution-B

SIMed by

Major Dade Adarnis

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