Prescott's speech played over the KR's speakers. Micheal was torn between thinking that it was just more useless propoganda, or an actual, honest to the Gods attempt at raising moral. Regardless, he had a job to do. Micheal was the Squad Medic, which meant two things. Do NOT die, and do NOT let others die. Those were the Golden rules he had lived by ever since he finished Medic Training. Being a Medic wasn't too hard, thanks to the advancement in technology. He had a foam spray that worked as a bandage, a "Needle-Gun" that would shoot needles filled with addrenaline into whatever he shot at. It only had one needle per shot, which meant he had to bitch and moan trying to fit another one on. Technologicaly, it was magnificent. Practicality-wise, it was terrible. But, Micheal did his best not to comlain. After all, he was doing what he loved to do.

When he was told the orders, along with Gamma Squads job, he loaded his Hammerburst. When he found this thing, he instantly replaced the Lancer. The gun was too impractical for his liking. But, that would take too long for him to explain to someone why he doesn't like it, so he usually doesn't. He couldn't help but fidget in his seat as he waited to land. But then, a voice was heard on his private comm link. "Hey Mikey? You ready for this?" Micheal simply laughed to himself. "Of course, Morgan. Damn grubs ain't gettin to me before I get to my friends." Morgan was an old friend of Micheal's, and they both had gone through the same classes of Field training, Medic training, and KR training. They were like brothers to each other.

But then he was told Gamma Squads orders. "Seeders? Damn... No Hammer? Greater damn..." Micheal let out a long sigh.

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Indians: Taking over America one Nickel at a time. (b^-^)b

If at first you don't succeed, then Sky-Diving is not for you.