Seeing nothing left to do, Donovan edged towards the door. Though everything was laid out, he could have afforded one or two extra compulsive examinations of his gear. His carbine could afford to be fine-tuned to perfection, ensuring the smallest possibilities of a jam would be wiped from the slate. The last thing he needed in the coming mission was to have to take time out to clear his weapon whilst the air around him was full of death. He'd done it before - no weapon was infallible - and the process was one that had always struck him as being deeply, intensely unsettling. No man he'd seen could calmly sit and, ignoring the fire around him, ease his weapon back into a ready state without a care in the world - no, it was always a desperate frantic process, clawing for survival just as effectively as diving for cover and ducking into the most compact size possible, all of which he made an effort to include in his more-or-less-instinctual battlefield habits. Some could see his wariness as cowardice or nervousness, he saw it as being reasonable - there was no sense risking one's neck when defenceless and without a working weapon. Get down, get one's shit together, and get back in the fight.<br/><br/>Turning slightly as he made for the door, he reflected upon his choice of uniform. The gear he'd organised was no different than any other - ballistic armour, fatigues, a helmet - all standard-issue, all somewhat worn. Nothing in the corps was factory-fresh unless worn and used by a novice, and nobody wished to appear unskilled and unprepared for what they were about to receive. The recon boys had it light - his company might have been ostensibly light infantry, set for the skirmish line rather than the balls-out firepower of the Guards or of an armoured division, but he wasn't a sniper. He wasn't even a marksman - he was a pointman, possibly the least desirable position one might have when facing an enemy that could atomise its targets with ease. His armour was light, designed for mobility and protection from bumps and bruises rather than actual battle damage. In a way, it made sense - with the kinds of things the Greys wielded, there was no point in trying to use gear that could stop it. The best, as far as he was concerned, was just what he had - polymers and ceramics, reinforced against shrapnel and the environment itself, without losing him the mobility he'd need to survive.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>