Powers snapped into action upon receipt of orders, saluting and passing the paper over to the next witch before running to the open hangar. She'd shove her bag over to her tent later. The ride to the airbase was certainly "eventful", and reaffirmed Power's own concerns about putting her faith in someone else's driving. She hated being a passenger. Next time, she was wearing her striker to base so she'd at least have a gun. In the hecticness of the ride here, she hadn't had a chance to get to know her new sisters in arms yet either. Another failing she'd have to make up for after this inspection. Maybe over a stack of sandwiches? Food was always a good way to open up a closed bunch.

Sliding in front of her familiar Hellcat land striker, Powers started giving it a once-over seeing as the base mechanics hadn't gotten to it yet. Even if they had, she always did her own maintenance checks. Especially for some of the little tweaks she made to it for comfort.

[i]Treads: clear
Radiator: check.
Binoculars: check
Goggles and filter mask: check
Cannon firing block: check.
Electrical vertical-stabilizer cannon-assist: check.
Ammo Stock: 5 MHVAP Rounds in gun mag, 15 HE in left hip ammo drum, 15 AP in right hip ammo drum. Top up ammo at supply depot ASAP.
Sandwich grill: dirty. Wipe, then grease after inspection for snack time.[/i]

Taking a cloth to wipe off some of the sand off a tread gear before clambering up the Striker bay to hop in leg-first to the tank destroyer chassis, she then gentlely picked her cannon off the waiting rack as she was waiting for her Striker's engine to warm up from its cold start as it started to draw upon her magic for fuel and make her lion ears and tail come into existance. Come to think of it, she needed to top up on fuel herself. A little fumbling through a shirt pocket produced a paper-wrapped pair of triangle sandwiches she made just for the occasion in case she needed a top-up.

Munching away on one of the still slightly warm melted cheese and spam concoctions (she wasn't able to find proper ham in the last base) with one hand as the other slung her trusty 76mm and ammo drum clips over her shoulder and on hip pouches, Powers began to gently skii over the sandy ground over to the designated assembly line to assume ready combat stance as ordered, and awaiting the rest of the unit to arrive. If it weren't for the obvious snacking, one would think she was a Karlslander in her precision of action.