"Of course I'm gonna bitch about rations. A happy soldier is a bitching soldier. When they're huddled in small groups with glassy eyes, that's when you know somethings wrong," Wes said as he took another sip of the coffee. "And hell yeah, I remember Haffuk. Hafffkuh. That planet."
Wes chuckled before continuing. "That was some crazy shit, then. Didn't we set up a temporary base inside a restaurant? Best hamburgers I ever had, that place. And then we had those daily food runs, looting houses for fuckin' cereal and ramen." Of course, as soon as Wes began to go for another sip, the whole ship buckled from the impact of a large explosion, the coffee mug splashing all over Wes. "Fackin' god damn it. What the hell?" Wes cried as his face turned into a grimace, the front portion of his wife beater now brown and steaming. He grabbed the bottom of his shirt and wiped his own face. "I liked this damn shirt."
As the 'BRACE FOR DISMOUNT' roared over the speakers, Wes cursed and grabbed onto the heavy crate he was next to. Shit went flying, but fortunately anything weighing more than fifty kilos was good. As their good leader spoke into his earphone, Wes spoke up again. "You think its aliens?" he asked with a heaping platter of sarcasm to his voice, wiggling his fingers to get the point across.
Of course, it was just the plain old Coalition come to play in their sandbox. It was a good thing the seventh liked to share its toys. Wes simply nodded as Tagg explained the whole situation. They were to mount up, ASAP. Wes was just finally glad to get back into the action. While leave was fun and all, there was shit to do on board. He preferred to spend his time fighting instead of simply sleeping like he normally did.
Climbing the ladder, he gave a quick nod to Tark who nodded back, giving a thumbs up to signal that Disposal was ready to go. As he climbed, mechanical arms descended and began attaching the GAW onto Disposal's right arm. The only thing he was pissed about was that it would be a space mission. He hated space missions. No matter how many trials he did, no matter how many missions, he always got sicker than an old dog. There was just something about space that almost made him barf. It didn't stop him from doing his job, but that didn't mean he had to enjoy it. Disposal wasn't too great in space either, it had design more suited for ground, but it did its job.
He scraped the trash out of the way as he sat down in the cockpit, "Hello. My name is RALF and welcome to the B15-7 MK.II Heavy Class MAS," called off through the speakers for the millionth time as screens and lights came on. He gripped the controls, flexing them for a moment before hearing a call off signal. "Brick is good to kick ass," he said as others said their own.
As Tagg finished his little speech, he grunted as an elevator brought him a little present. A Capital-Wrecker. The bomb was about as tall as a man, and fatter than a cow. Disposal's left hand descended to grab the bomb by its handle, bringing it up to the magnetic holder that was on its back. "Aye, aye," Wes said. "But why am I the one with the bomb? I swear its gonna blow up on me. Explosives and me don't fit well, boss."