1ST SQUAD SYNTHETIC HITAGI "SENJO" SENJOGAHARA. MEGATECH CHASSIS #23711-H/F-34. CPU LAWS-ANDREWS TYPE 17C #2112 -<br/><br/>- IN THE WRECKED DROPSHIP<br/><br/>The transit from the USS Johannesburg was unremarkable. Unremarkable that is, for me, an artificial person. While around me the marines were all rigidly holding onto the restraining straps and the contents of their stomachs, and cursing, I sat motionless, both arms raised and gripping the safety stirrups of the crew bench above my head in a relaxed gesture. I remained silent. My body shifted from side to side with the turbulence but my face remained blank. I looked neither to right nor left and shared no comments with the pumped up soldiers around me.<br/><br/>When the pilot called a hot El-Zee my attention shifted to the secured drums of the UA-571-C sentry guns for which I was responsible. They remained harnessed in their straps, the ammunition cases in their hold-all that could be carried back-pack style strapped in above them. I watched the gun drums and measured the Gee-forces as the dropship swung and turned. We pulled four point six three two Gee in one bank. With a mass of one hundred and thirty pounds the zylon fabric strapping would tolerate a sustained five Gee force and momentary forces up to six point five Gee. The guns and their ammo were secure.<br/><br/>While around me the marines sweated and waited and worried and the noises of combat outside grew louder, I quietly calculated equipment securing harness Gee-forces. My mind is at home with calculations.<br/><br/>The dropship rattled and flew erratically with a hit and the pilot crash-landed us among dense jungle. I observed green whipping past the side door porthole opposite me. No sooner did the craft come to rest and the smaller less secure items within the crewspace stop rolling around did I punch the release catch on my chest harness and move immediately forwards to the cabin, up four steps and pushed through the access hatch.<br/><br/>The pilots cabin was not there. No part of it was left. I was standing on a broken shard of carbon fibre floor panel and all around me was dense moist greenery. The heat and water content of the air hit me with a sudden rush of information. Thirty six degrees Celcius. Eighty three percent humidity. One thousand two hundred and twelve metres altitude above calculated datum. A large diameter tree branch which I calculated to be the cause of the trauma to the cabin lay across the space where the cockpit had been and heavy red smears informed me of all I needed to know.<br/><br/>I stepped back down into the crewspace and compensated my balance on the decking, walking uphill across the ship towards the leftenant's desk. Further down towards the ramp Seargant O'Shay was speaking, the tones of his voice evidencing mild panic and concern.<br/><br/><div class="quoteheader"><div class="topslice_quote">Quote</div></div><blockquote class="bbc_standard_quote">"... GIZMO! Damn it! Snap out of it!"</blockquote><div class="quotefooter"><div class="botslice_quote"></div></div>The sergeant waved his hands before Private Law's eyes. The rest of the squad were moving fast, stowing gear and moving to the ramp to secure a perimeter. I needed to check the leftenant only to stop a metre from his seat. The strike on the craft during the landing had punched a hole the diameter of a baseball through the armoured wall of the cabin. Whatever piece of debris or spent projectile had made the hole had contacted fractions of a second later with Leftenant Rastenburg's head. His combat helmet had provided insufficient protection. The right upper rear quadrant of his skull was missing. Blood clotted and flowed from the wound down his side and back. I pressed two fingers to his neck and confirmed by measurement what the visual signs made almost certain. He was dead, his hands still gripped the landing restraints, he had died instantly.<br/><br/><div class="quoteheader"><div class="topslice_quote">Quote</div></div><blockquote class="bbc_standard_quote">"1st Squad! Talk to me!"</blockquote><div class="quotefooter"><div class="botslice_quote"></div></div><strong>"Here,"</strong>I replied, loudly enough to be heard, but with non-agitated tonal values in my voice.<strong>"Our pilot is dead. Damage sustained during the landing has rendered the dropship inoperative. The leftenant is dead. Sergeant, you are in command."</strong><br/><br/>I moved back down the spine of the vessel to unstrap and collect the sentry guns, slinging my pulse rifle over my shoulder as I worked.<br/><br/>(http://i279.photobucket.com/albums/kk137/HaibaneR/Senjo-10.jpg)