I wrote this a little over a year ago for a fanfiction contest.  It's pretty rought since I wrote it mostly from 10pm right to the deadline at 2am.  I had orginally meant for it to be much longer, but I ran out of time and had to cut it off.  Also I had to split it up into sections since I couldn't post it here all at once.  Anyway here it is:

Necessary Costs

Lance Corporal Collin Miller was trying not to think about the upcoming mission. There was about half an hour until the drop and he had too many other things to think about, most importantly at the moment he had to clean his S2 AM rifle. He looked around the almost empty armory. There were three other marines there, and it was no coincidence that all of them were snipers. It was a common joke among the UNSC forces that snipers loved their rifles more than they did their family and friends. Collin smiled. It was almost true.

“Hey Collin, what do you think about the mission?”

Damn it. Collin scowled and wiped a greasy hand on his pants as he turned to look at the short man who had just walked in. “I was trying to take my mind off it. The last thing I need to think about right now is a pointless suicide mission.”

“I thought you were into the whole ‘I’d rather die in a fight than in my bed’ thing. In fact that’s an exact quote I believe. Here’s your big chance to prove it.” Jordon smiled. He loved arguing about things even if he agreed with them. Jordon was about five and a half feet tall and was well built, bordering on looking like a professional weightlifter. That along with his dark skin contrasted sharply with Collin. Collin was six-two and had a wiry build.

“I would. But this mission is just stupid. When I buy it I want it to be for a reason, not because the brass thinks the public needs a moral boost.”

“Hey, I hear you.” Jordon walked over to one of the gun cabinets and pulled out one of the new BR55, or “battle”, rifles. He inspected the weapon, a look approval upon his face. “But I doubt this is just a photo op with guns. They try not to let us know, but it’s pretty obvious that we’re getting spread thin. If the rumors that Reach fell are true, I doubt they’d tie up this many resources on a raid like this.” He replaced the rifle and walked over to his personal locker. He opened it and pulled out his MA5B assault rifle and started to inspect it to make sure it was ready.

“That makes sense,” Collin said slowly, “especially since they’re sending down an ONI team with us.”

Jordon was about to respond, but instead said, “Look I’d love to finish this conversation with you, but we really need to hurry. We drop back into real space in fifteen minutes and drop in twenty.” He grabbed the rest of his gear and left. Collin finished putting his rifle back together and then grabbed his other gear from his locker. He always carried a M6D pistol along with his rifle and plenty of ammo for both weapons, plus several combat knives. Collin was already in most of his armor, clad in the dark blacks and grays of an Orbital Drop Shock Trooper, or ODST. He put on his helmet and stowed his gear, then raced to “Hell’s waiting room”. The long room was full of Helljumpers; most of whom were either talking loudly or checking each other’s gear. Collin found his spotter; a medium sized woman named Kelly, next his drop capsule. She was having a heated debate with several other soldiers about the Spartan project that Collin was about to jump into when someone shouted “Officer on deck!”

Everyone suddenly snapped to attention and silently turned to the door. Major Zachariah walked in the room, followed closely by Lieutenants Hollander and Pierce. Zachariah nodded at the assembled marines. He smiled, distorting the long pale scar that ran from the top of his ear down to his jaw, making him look anything but friendly. That scar was the object of much rumor, mostly among the new members of the unit. Theories ranged from it being a present from a fight with a Spartan; to he got it shaving. Collin knew the truth; anyone who had made three drops with the battalion was informed. During his first drop with the ODSTs he had taken on an elite with an energy sword. He blew off the spit-chin’s head, but not before it got a swing in.