"Well," said James as he stood back up, "I think we should wrap this little meeting up, eh sarge?" The marksman picked his rifle off the ground and looked at his squad leader. "I'd really like to get home before we run out of ammo." He placed his hood back over his head and began to stuff his magazines in the proper pouches. One for each thigh, three on his chest rig.<br/><br/>He looked at his squad mates before focusing on those who looked as though they were not ready to leave, as this place seemed to be more favorable then whatever lie in wait out there. "Aw c'mon boys, you can't pussy out now. I don't know about ya'll, but I'd like to go home where we<span style="font-style: italic">aren't</span>terrorized by angels or wolf-man or whatever the fuck else we encounter."<br/><br/>"And besides," He hesitated to chamber a round into his rifle, "I've got an itching to kill s'more freaks."