"Sergeant Holmes reporting, on the way to the armoury." Donovan said briskly into his earpiece, jogging down the hallway towards the room. Suddenly, the lax atmosphere of the ship had exploded into a bustling hive of activity - on the one hand, it showed the greenhorns what haste was like. On the other, it probably meant that at least half of them would be dead by the end of the day. Donovan didn't intend to be one of the fallen, and as he reached the armoury, he had to ease himself in sideways past another marine. "Make it snappy, people! We don't have all day!" He shouted in his best parade-ground voice, urging further haste from the men and women around him.<br/><br/>Donovan's weapons, never too far out of his sight, were already slung at his back, cleaned and primed, but unloaded. He busied himself with collecting the gear he'd need - magazines for his rifle, bandoliers of shells for his shotgun. Grenades for the launcher, alongside several frags and EMPs attached to his webbing. Flares - if they were forced into a rough spot, he wanted to be able to signal. His gear was organised around him being fast and mobile, the equipment arrayed around his light armour with utilitarian precision. As he moved off to the side, he selected a helmet - he never kept one with him. Perhaps it was a fool's errand, but it seemed silly to add on much more than a simple protective cover when facing enemies such as these - the worst that could happen was a concussion, making heavier and reinforced gear useless.<br/><br/>"Report to the lieutenant when you're finished. Suit up, fall in, and get set for a combat drop." He shouted again over the hubbub and the mild panic in the crowd.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>