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| - It never ceased to surprise Lanette Rankin how quickly the combat engineers could create a firebase from a bare field, all they did was send in the ‘Dozy’ Scorpions with their bulldozer blades to quickly dig out the required positions. With that done, they had Albatrosses drop in the prefabricated structures, dig ‘em in abit and voila, a rather basic but functional firebase ready for moving into. Of course, it wasn’t fully a firebase until they actually moved in the artillery, the communications, the ammunition… Sure, everything was there and on site, but that didn’t mean it was all in the right place. The bundles of 105mm shells scattered around the artillery pieces being emplaced weren’t serving as weaponry at that moment, but they did serve rather well as seating for Lanette and the pair of marines with her. They didn’t seem to care about the fact that they were seated upon several hundred pounds of high explosives, nor did the occasional forklift passing by or a Pelican settling down mere metres away bother them. The ‘loadie’ waving them off did though, his wave losing all but a single finger as they disappeared off around the corner of a prefab storage bunker. Not surprisingly, their small group was non-com lead, a sergeant with a lighter in her hand and the other patting down every pocket she had. The other marine in the group shared a lack of distinguishing rank pin upon their shoulder and an M6C in their holster, seemingly the only thing they didn’t share with Lanette was skin colour or gender. Once the sarge had finished searching each of her pockets extensively, she turned to her companions with a frown upon her dark skinned face. “Got any fags?” She asked, holding up the disposable lighter for a moment to clarify her request. The result was a pair of blank stares before the subject was clarified by an empty packet of ‘Star Lights – Filtered’, produced from a pocket by her free hand. “Y’know, cigarettes?” This second attempt resulted in a more substantial result, the private beside Lanette producing his packet of cigs and passing one over to the sergeant. “Thanks Brian, dieing for a damn fag after the transit, you would think they could put up with abit of smoke aboard a ship when you have a damn fusion reactor aboard, wouldn’t you?” She lamented, cutting a rant in the making short before having her first cigarette in months. Brian nodded, tucking his packet away while he listened to her waffle on about smoke and space travel, waiting for her to light up before he replied. “‘Tis fine Minie, you just owe me one another time, you’ve usually got a full pack and a half with ya anyway, ‘aven’t you?” Lanette remained silent, shaking her head at the two smokers, filling their lungs with tar and the same stuff which choked you to death in a fire wasn’t exactly the smartest idea in the world, although fighting the Covenant didn’t exactly add onto your life expectancy either. ‘Minie’ (Minerva Thompkins to use her full name) rolled her eyes upon spotting Lanette’s head rocking from side to side in disapproval at their pastime. “Lan, just because you don’t like it-” Brian cut in before either of the two women decided to leap into a debate about cancer, ethics, second hand smoke or whatever the hell was on their minds which was even remotely linked to the subject. “Both of ya just shut it, it’s our choice to smoke, we don’t force you to breathe it, so keep your nose out, it’s better than snorting plasma anyway.” Instead of fueling the argument yet again, Minerva just took a drag from her cigarette, the subject of the Covenant moving her onto more urgent thoughts than a possibility of death by lung cancer. “What do you two think ‘bout the briefing we ‘ad earlier?” She asked a few seconds later, breaking the silence Brian had created; it was Lanette who spoke up next. “I don’t like it, we’re riding tanks into a covenant secured city with nothing but the armour on our backs and a smidge of fire support. Why are we retaking the city? Why aren’t we hitting it with some form of orbital bombardment? Why haven’t the Covenant glassed the place yet? It doesn’t add up.” Brian chuckled, toying with the flap upon his holster before Minerva’s hand flicked it away and he pitched in with his opinion. “They want something the Covies have, that’s all. They bomb it, they lose it. We get shot, we bleed for it… Makes me wish we had some bleedin’ APCs, the armour won’t last us forever, but we will get in there without being shot, won’t we?” A quiet nod from Lanette confirmed his opinion, although her eyes were focused upon Minerva’s cigarette clamped between the fingers of her left hand. Ignoring Lanette’s glare, the sergeant took a final draw upon the cigarette before throwing it to the ground and stamping it out, no-one would notice abit of ash in a base under construction. “Well, we can’t change any of that now, can we, privates?” Her use of ranks instead of familiar names told them that their break was just about over, and it was time to get to the worst part of war, some said waiting was the worst… Tell that to the poor bugger with his guts burnt out by plasma. “We’ve spent enough time jabbering, now we’d better kit up and get ready for the attack. The Leftenant will want us preparing by half past at least, and we all know how much he loves anyone being late.” A pair of silent nods and a muttered reply were the only words needed before they turned out from their small cluster, and began making their way off to regroup with the rest of platoon Striker-Two.
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