Big Iron

Steve had spent the last few days mulling over the end of the campaign. He spent hours trawling through every WARNO, every AAR and individual report he could get his hands on. It didn't make sense - they'd only been a few feet behind the bison when it exploded but nobody had saw the mine. "I suppose," he thought "It doesn't matter now. Innies are routed, they'll lose control of the islands on their own even without us there to stop them."

With a deep sigh he set off to the ships armoury - it had come through the grape vine that there was something special in store for Phobos - or was it Praetorian-2, now? He'd have to check when he arrived. 

Upon reaching the armoury - Steve noted the piles of white UBACS dotted around the room, being diligently organised by the crew - one of whom, upon seeing the PFC enter, tossed a set his way. "Fantastic looking stuff, eh Marine? You fellas planning on blinding the innies to death?" He could hear the joking in his words, but it wasn't so easy to tell if it was well meaning or not over the distant rumble of the Monsoons engines and the chatter of the other marines in the bay.

The armourer grinned toothily - well, what teeth he had anyway. It was easy to imagine that in his line of work accidents were all too common, but he spoke with the utmost clarity to ensure there was no confusion "Kilo 3-2, let me check here..." he flipped through some pages on a pad and his grin widened even further "Another upgrade I see, Marine! Not often I get to dole these things out to individual troops, usually got them plastered to a tripod for built up fortifications... but this seems to be a special case for a couple of you. What on Reach are you getting up to down there?". Steve waved the comment off dismissively "Ach, same as always. Doing our best to land more shots than we take.". This comment apparently earned him a laugh and a pat on the shoulder, a brief acknowledgement that he'd be a moment... then the 'upgrade' being slapped down on the table in front of him. Five feet long, weighing in at almost eleven kilograms, the marine was met with the sight of his new companion - the M247 GPMG. The armourer was right, these were usually reserved for static emplacements... but the Captain had been sending the 19th on some near fantastical endeavours, so it made sense that he'd need the extra firepower. He lugged it off of the counter and slung it over his shoulder - unloaded this thing weighed almost as much as his entire suit of combat armour - but he traipsed it over to the range anyway, where the attendant had already prepared a box of ammunition bigger than his head! 

He stopped for a moment to admire this machine - 7.62x51mm rounds, plenty of rail space, a bipod almost as thick as his arm... there was time for that later, so for now he drew back the charging handle with a satisfying clunk, put his cheek on the rest and squeezed the trigger.

It was love at first sight.