<strong>PFC Nortan 'Gizmo' Law</strong><br/><br/>Deployment. At last, they were in the red and speeding their way to their objective. The time for chuckles and chatter was over, for now. Keeping his game face on, Gizmo fumbled around his belt, strapped into the seat snugly to keep him from flying all over the compartment, and pulled out that picture, that one photograph of four faces from the past. He stared at it, his view of the mix of teenagers and kids bouncing around with him in a blur of motion, but it did not impair his vision much to make his intention any more difficult. With every sortie, he had made sure that he looked at this photograph at least once, as a reminder of why he was out here, why he did what he did and why had to make it back in one piece.<br/><br/>From right to left. Raymond, 20, Chelsea, 19, Jasper, 15, and Sheryl, 21, all when the picture was taken. The four remaining siblings of his family, enjoying a BBQ. This picture was a vacation photo, taken when they last went to the beach together, at least 8 years ago. He remembered those times vividly. He had only just managed to take leave from the academy to bring them over to the late Aunt Sally's summer beach house back home. The beat of the blazing sun, the soft white sand, the gentle blue sea, the cool clean air, the laughter, the games. All good memories compared to the bad dreams he always had. Every now and then, those days came back to him but those times were always so rare whenever he closed his eyes to sleep. He felt like he could smile a lot more if he just looked at this picture and imagined what life could have been like before the army. He could have just led a good life by getting a good paying job instead of committing himself to computers all day. That way, he could have spared his siblings from the pain when their eldest brother had to be drafted into the Corps, their only bread maker ever since father died. Nonetheless, Ray and Sheryl were done with college by now and probably had stable jobs to keep the family going. Coupled with the hazard pay he always sends home, they should be fine on their own. The Laws were never a family to give up easily, a resolve born from years of hardship and survival.<br/><br/><em>Take care of yourselves, kids.... Brother Gizzy's got a job to do....</em><br/><br/>Tucking it back into his belt, he settled himself back into his seat, grabbing onto the rails to steady himself from rocking around too much. Unlike some of the other marines, he was relatively smaller than most of the men. He was even shorter than Senjo by a head. It didn't help his ego much to be 5'6" but it had its advantages. Small means smaller target, making it much easier for him to do what needs to be done. His attention turned to the all the equipment stowed away in all the racks and hatches. They were suited and armed to the teeth, as usual. Every sortie was like this, stuffed to the brim full of guns and ammunition. Each weapon had their own characteristics. Each weapon personalized to the needs and wants of every marine present. For Gizmo, the M33 shotgun was what he was stuck with, which he customized with a home made muzzle recoil suppressor, made from an altered smartgun muzzle. Instead of the loud bang one would normally get, his gun barked like a mangy dog with as minimum flash and kick back as feasibly possible for the frame. He did not have the strength or the accuracy to handle a standard issue M41A pulse rifle. Not that he could not handle it at all, only unable to handle it properly. He always had problems with recoil with most weapons, the kicking of the thing digs hard into his shoulder even after bracing, spreading his aim all over the place, which could 'endanger the lives of his squadmates' according to the record. It was a wound this marine had to live with in ridicule, constantly having salt poured all over it at random times. This was why he was not a valuable asset in a fight. It was only his skills as a techie and demo man that made him shine. He knew the others realized that so he tried his best to stick close to them, for them give him a bit of support while he worked his magic hands. He remembered that time when he stuck close to Rome, working on opening a door while he mowed down quite few terrorists with that 'Sexy Beast' of his. For that op, he owed the man his life, which he returned in kind by shutting down and emergency clamping an elevator that was dropping down on top of him. Another time, Reaper and Widow were covering him from incoming fire while he worked on closing a bulkhead door. Took a stray bullet but they pulled through. He even made sure the corridor stayed closed with a few well placed explosives in a corridor, sealing off that angle of approach easy. Another time, he worked with Yui saturating a room with det charges and her flamethrower. So many other times, he had stuck with someone or two.<br/><br/>Speaking of which, he checked for his trusty high explosive devices he was responsible for. He found them where he stowed them, the fist sized cuboid charges tucked into his combat belt, cleaned and ready to be primed for their one time use. All he needed was to pull the pin, flip the switch under the hood and confirm the detonation with a push of a button on the detonator, or set a timer if the situation called for it. He had enough of them to turn a bunker inside out, only being a few pounds each. Waterproof, electrical fuse, dry or sticky suction deployment, high explosive/incendiary capability by swapping out the charges. Each can be diffused with a push of a button or if you had a lot of skill, manually. Wasteful use was not recommended, as he knew that what he had would be in limited supply. It wasn't often that he could make IEDs on the field as replacements. They took way too much time.<br/><br/>It was comforting to know that they at least would have a bit of backup. The anxiety of them going first would have been dulled out some if only he knew what they were up against...