<span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: georgia;">Lieutenant Shvedova watched the freestanding terminal in front of her, listening to the sound of boots filing into the <em>USS Cargadores</em>’s dropship hangar. She’d had three strong coffees and the hypersleep fug still hadn’t completely worn off. She was almost thankful for the state of anxiety that these men and women had kept her in almost constantly since they’d assembled for the trip.<br/><br/>She lifted her gaze to the marines assembling before her. She would have thought that soldiers who had been through the ringer like these had would have more respect for each other. The squabbling and fighting could only be put down to PTSD to a certain extent, but every single one of them had been signed off by medical. It seemed prudent that they’d been assigned Cpl. Harris - a more qualified medic that an outfit such as this would normally justify. <br/><br/>But there were some understandably fragile egos in this squad, as a result of the fact that it was made up of the survivors of two other squads that had been decimated in separate battle incidents. A little extra care might well be necessary.<br/><br/>Nevertheless, the sight of the squad gave Shvedova a momentary optimism. These were skilled and seasoned men and women. If they kept their shit together, they could handle anything.<br/><br/>She waited until they were settled and Sgt Brekke was stood at her side. She then waited a moment longer until all their eyes were on her, standing in the shadow of the Cheyenne UD-4L dropship they would be packing themselves into in less than an hour.<br/><br/>“Marines,” she said, her voice carrying a weight of authority despite her diminutive stature. “Hopefully you’ve had a chance to read the briefing on file, but it’s been a quick turnaround and I know how it is. So here is the situation.”<br/><br/>She rotated the terminal screen in front of her to show a rendering of a planet that looked like a moss-green marble with a roiling stormy surface.<br/><br/>“We’ll be dropping onto LV-186,” Shvedova continued. “It’s one of Weyland-Yutani’s longer-lived science projects and a well established colony. The colony itself is a facility called Almayer. It’s an amphibious research facility housing one hundred and eighteen souls: a mixture of Weyland-Yutani science officers and colonial staff.<br/><br/>“Seventeen days ago, Almayer were set to receive cargo from a Heliades Class science vessel, the <em>USCSS Doramin</em>. The <em>Doramin</em> suffered an unknown catastrophic failure shortly after atmospheric entry and crashed into Almayer.”<br/><br/>The marines in front of her looked at each other with a blend of winces and smirks. They were right in what they were thinking - the situation was not good.<br/><br/>“Almayer is sinking,” Shvedova went on, raising her voice slightly to recover the squad’s attention. “Current information is that only a dozen or so people have been lost, all of them shortly after the initial impact. Our mission is to extract the remaining colonists and Weyland-Yutani science staff.”<br/><br/>As Shvedova paused, a ripple of frowns and discontent came over the men.<br/><br/>“Wait,” said Private Lawson, raising his hand. “Extraction? Did they really need to send Colonial Marines to facilitate an extraction?”<br/><br/>Private Lindahl scoffed loudly. “What’s the matter Lawson? Sound like too much heavy lifting?”<br/><br/>Lawson’s dark face grew even darker. “Screw you, Lindahl. The fuck you know about heavy lifting? I would trust you to lift my dick out of my shorts.”<br/><br/>Shvedova sensed a spike in tension and interjected quickly. “The situation on Almayer is stable, but potentially dangerous. The colonists are spooked and we need to put on a show of confidence. The dropships have been modified to maximize passenger space, meaning we’ll be light on ordinance but, since this is a combat drop only in name, that shouldn’t be an issue.”<br/><br/>“So that’s all?” Corporal MacCartan said. She was one of the cooler heads in the squad, and Shvedova was grateful for her tone.<br/><br/>“Not quite,” Shvedova said. “There is an additional objective. Squad 1, under Sergeant Brekke, will be coordinating the evacuation of the facility. Squad 2, lead by Corporal MacCartan, are to retrieve the cargo on board the <em>Doramin</em>. All we know about the objective cargo is that it’s sealed up tight, safe to handle and that we needn’t worry our pretty heads about what’s inside.”<br/><br/>Private Zabinka - the dropship pilot - turned to Lindahl and sniggered. “It’s definitely the company’s shit, then.”<br/><br/>Shvedova raised her voice slightly again. “The <em>Doramin</em> is currently submerged, along with the western sector of Almayer. It won’t be easy to get to, but we’ll find a way.”<br/><br/>Lindahl clapped his hands and shrugged. “So I guess we can just leave our guns behind and keep our hands free for all those grateful colonists, huh?”<br/><br/>“Yeah right,” Lawson goaded. “This is bullshit. I should have known we’d be on some pussy mission when they joined us up with your pussy outfit, Lindahl.”<br/><br/>Lawson had barely finished his words before Lindahl had launched himself off the bench and thrown the first punch. Immediately, four other month leapt up and into the fray, some trying to pull men apart, some lashing out with fists.<br/><br/>Lt Shvedova gulped and gaped for a moment. She opened her mouth to say something, but immediately realised that none of these men had known her more than a few weeks. There was someone else who was better known and trusted…at least to half of the squad.<br/><br/>“Sgt. Brekke,” she said, turning and looking up at the men who was head and shoulders taller than her. “Handle this, and do it quickly.”</span></span>