Chapter 3

"Allen? Hey, little old Allen! Wake up you daft muppet!"

Lance Corporal jackson Allen felt someone give him a whack on the leg with the butt of a rifle, waking him up from a pleasant bit of rest. He'd taken what time he could get before deployment to New Uruk, so he fell asleep in a chair in a drop ship a few hours before the insertion. Shaking his head to try to get his eyesight back on track, he looked up to the one who woke him up in such a...direct manner.

"Come on Marsh, what gives? Can't a guy get a few minutes of rest before he's likely to get offed?" Jackson says with sarcasm. The man he's speaking to is DarkRanger First Class Marshall Logan, a corpsman of the UEN Navy assigned to Indigo. Essentially, he's the medic. He's a man in his late 20s, mostly just called "Marsh" by his team mates. Jackson met him after being reassigned.

"A few minutes? You've been asleep for four Fucking hours! And in my seat on top of that!"

Jackson eyes widened. He quickly picked up his helmet and put it on, checking the time on the heads up display.

"Oh. Damn." he says slightly miffed at himself. Wait...if he's being woken up now, that means...

A pair of armored footsteps can be heard walking up the ramp before another, more commanding voice rises. "Well, did Sleeping Beauty finally get woken up by her dashing prince, Allen?"

This voice belongs to none other than Sergeant Major Dusty. An intimidating country man, made so by 37 years of experience in the UEN Colonial Marine Corps, and having fought in eight wars. If allen had to describe him best, it would be hard but fair.

Allen quickly Rises up, hitting his fist on the right side of his chestplate in the typical UEN military salute. "Yes sir Sergeant Major! I was just getting a bit of shut eye before we have to get underway...sir." he replies. Not many people or things can legitimately intimidate Allen, but the Sergeant Major is one of them. Makes his previous and now very deceased sergeant seem like a puppy.

"I'm sure you were." he says, a slight grumble in his deep, raspy voice. Yelling orders over heavy gunfire for so many years can take its toll on your vocal cords. "Well, since you're up and at 'em now, get out of Marsh's seat and in your own. The company is about to drop."

Allen nods, still a bit groggy. He moves over by one seat, letting Marsh take his assigned seat. A dozen more footsteps can be heard walking up the ramp as the remaining members of the unit embark and find their seats in the drop ship. The Sergeant Major taking a seat in the middle of aisle of the troop bay.

He pushes a button on the side of his chair. "Alright, everyone's set. We're good to go when we're green." he says, obviously speaking to the pilot of the drop ship.

"Good to hear my boys are all ready to go! I was getting bored up in this lonely cockpit." A woman's voice came through the speaker. "Hello passengers, this your pilot, callsign FireFly speaking. I will be delivering you into the warm and comfortable hell of New Uruk. Please remember "keep the Aisle clean and food Trays up"

'I swear, every single drop ship pilot talks like that.' thought Allen.

She wasn't totally innacurate though. New Uruk is mostly a hot desert like planet, dotted with oasis'. The climate wasn't too inhospitable, but certainly wasn't comfortable for most people.

A green light flickers on overhead. The back ramp retracts as the hatch closes and seals the drop ship closed. They feel a lurch as a crane arm grabs the ship and moves it in position, ready to detach and fly down to the planet below. All the marines in the ship check their gear, making sure everything is in order.

"15 seconds to release." says FireFly over the drop ship intercom.

Allen grabs his rifle from the magnetic strip next to his seat. He checks the magazine, seeing it fully loaded with 6.8mm tungsten rounds. Perfect for punching through ROM power armor.

"10 seconds to release."

He pulls the combat knife from the sheath attached to his armored boot. Razor sharp with a serrated edge, with a dura-steel blade. A good knife can save your life in a pinch, and Allen knows that from experience.

"5 seconds to release."

Lastly, he looks over the heads up display of his helmet. Vital signs in the clear. Power armor systems all showing green. All the magazines for his rifle and sidearm on his person are showing fully loaded. Aside from missing dinner due to his power nap, he was good to go.

"Engines primed, stabilizers on. And...release!"