#wcrspite

@wcrspite

          Taggart laid still in the darkness, propped up against what           was left of a wall, slumped over her M90 as the ash continued           to fall. It had been some time since the fighting had ceased.           How long exactly was unknown to the ODST, as her helmet’s           visor had cracked, and there wasn’t exactly anyone around to           ask. Well, no one alive, that was. The disconcerting quiet pretty           much confirmed that.           Truthfully, there were many people around. Numerous Marine           and Army troopers, multiple civilians, and of course, her own           squad of ODST specialists. Yet Rebecca Taggart remained the           only living soul in sight. The rest were long gone, either killed           in combat, or crushed by collapsing skyscrapers. Bec found           herself to be one of the fortunate ‘lucky’ one, who survived it           all, and was now left to sit, surrounded by bodies, spent           ammunition, and coated in a sticky combination of ash and blood.           Injured, dazed, and not even sure if she was alive or in some           form of strange purgatory, the Sergeant waited. What for?           Well, either death, or help. Though hope for the latter was           quickly fading. Her IFF Transponder had been active since           the night the glassing started, but with such heavy interference,           she was not exactly optimistic a signal would get through. Now,           she had to contend with the idea that she had been left behind           altogether. Frankly, she didn’t blame them. The rest of her squad           was dead, and soon she would be too, as the heavy footsteps           approaching her position loudened even further.            The weary Helljumper barely moved to ready herself, instead           grasping her shotgun with one hand, and dragging it across her           body to an uneasy firing position. The weapon clattered against           her armor as she did so. Her strength had very much faded, but           she was going to try her best to get one last good swing in. Through           the ash she croaked what she believed would be her final words,           voice hoarse and dry, but containing what could very well be the           absolute last of her resolve to fight to the end.           “Bring it on split-chin.”

"General Katona, did you order for me to come? How can I help you, sir?"

It was true. Fives didn't remember how he got here. He did not recognize this planet. If he could contact 501st, it would be much easier. But he couldn't do it. Plus he met a strange person in unfamiliar armor. Looks like he was in trouble.

((Aaaah thank u fellow friendo moot!))

At least that last part was true—Church just had a hard time coming up with good ways to put the lessons he’d learned into words. Without references, anyway.

In a blind panic, he scrambled to extricate himself from her bosom, face beet-red as he fought to regain his composure and frantically dust himself off. “Hah, y-yeah, sure is!” He did his best to suppress the nervous laughter--an attempt to act natural that was failing miserably. “Let’s, uh.... just--hm. Er, th-thanks. For the save, I mean! Not the--well, you know what I mean-”