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[color=39b54a][i]S.U.B.J.E.C.T:[/i][/color] Sergeant Anan Ihejirika

[color=39b54a][i]VITALS:[/i][/color] [color=ed1c24]||||||||||||||||||||[/color] 100%

[color=39b54a][i]REGISTERED INJURIES:[/i][/color] N/A

[color=39b54a][i]WEAPON SYSTEM:[/i][/color] M19A78 98MM Multi-Purpose Thermal Launcher

[color=39b54a][i]AMMUNITION COUNT:[/i][/color] 00 / 00

[color=39b54a][i]REGISTERED INVENTORY:[/i][/color] N/A

[color=39b54a][i]GPS LOCATION:[/i][/color] Marine Armoury, Convergence of Destiny.

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Escaping Warrant Officer O'Henessey's macho bull shit was my first victory of the day. Sometimes, there was only so much of that man I could take. He was a good soldier, that was a given, and a finer leader of marines? None that I'd ever seen, but that didn't make it any easier for a vet like me to put up with his incessant bravado. 

I laid my Multi-Purpose Thermal Launcher across my metal-clad lap, inspecting it with my obsessive compulsion for perfection. In war, God was a soldier's best friend, but just in case, it was always handy to ensure your weapon was at its best. Especially, my weapon. A blockage in the chamber at the wrong time, could mean the difference between destroying enemy armour, or the enemy armour destroying us. 

Thinking back to O'Heneseey, I felt bad dismissing his macho demeanour. Perhaps the eyes of God were on me, no? I mean, it wasn't like he hadn't earned the right. He was brave enough, that much was true, and certainly crazy enough. There was just something about the way he approached people, something belittling, as if his hide would protect him from a rifle round more than ours would. Arrogance? Maybe. Hardened soldiers had a way of believing themselves above anyone who had served a day less than them, even when in most cases, they themselves were shot and killed by an irregular - like the rebels - who possessed idealism in place of advanced combat training. 

I swore to myself then, that if I was ever in charge of a unit, I'd run it the way the Lord would agree with. Firm but fair, without the patronising bravado. My men would know that I was just that, a man, and they would come to see my actions as heroic, as opposed to individual segments of my self-reinforced legacy. 

My forehead cracked against the barrel of my launcher, partly to test for any shakiness in the weapon's grips and tubing, but partly to stop me from hammering my C.O. He was a good man, and I was a good soldier. Nice and simple, like Moses and Gershom, a Godly affair all told. 

And besides, at least his yelling and emasculating of the new guys allowed me to slip away to tend my baby. 

I kissed the barrel of my launcher, its chrome plating cold on my lips. 

Standing from the bench, I holstered the launcher over my back, where it latched and was held in place. It was time to go and reacquaint myself with my C.O, and see what exactly it was we were heading into. Though as I put one plated foot forwards, clanking on the metal work beneath me, my head felt a rush of dizziness. 

It was the lights. They always impaired me after a cryosleep, but not right away. It'd creep up on me, sometimes minutes, sometimes hours after I'd woken up. Docs said it was something to do with my inner ear, but I didn't care so long as it was a passing thing. 

I left the armoury, after letting the nausea pass, and exited through the hissing doors. The corridor beyond was starting to buzz with groggy ensigns and nervous marines-- speaking of which, one happened to be a few feet away, looking lost. His insignia denoted his rank as a Private, though I didn't recognise the man. A rush of shame for this too, because us black folks had to stick together. 

[@TheRealCrow] [b]"Over here, brother,"[/b] I said with heavily accented English. [b]"Get tooled up and get good to go, we not long off entering shit storm, yes?"[/b]