“Fuck, I want a cigarette.”<br/><br/>Private First Class Marcus Jones’ voice was little more than a growl as he drifted back into consciousness. Despite having quit smoking over a year before, at the insistence of one exceptionally mean and sadistic recruitment officer, coming out of cryo always brought with it an intense craving. While it wasn’t impossible to find relief on a ship the size of the size of the Mitchum, Marcus knew he was on a short leash. Groan as he might about the rigors of Marine life, he had to admit it was a hell of a lot better than spending the rest of his life locked up on Tartarus.<br/><br/>As he pulled himself from the pod and looked around, Marcus heard the faint murmur of voices from down the line. Tilting his head, he forced his eyes to focus and did so just in time to see the retreating form of the squad’s smart gunner, Gunnery Sergeant Danko, heading off toward the locker room. He made no attempt to hide it as he settled his cool gaze squarely on the woman’s behind.<br/><br/>“Damn nice piece of ass,” He muttered to himself, not particularly caring who heard him. He had joined the Marines to get out of prison, not to make friends. As the Sergeant moved quickly out of view, Marcus glanced around and quickly settled sights on Fields, the squad’s so-called electronics specialist.<br/><br/>With his most debonair grin, he added. “You too, sweetheart.”<br/><br/>Looking down at himself, Marcus grunted.<em>Standard issue boxers, standard issue undershirt, standard issue fabric and standard issue color. No creativity, no imagination. Gotta love the Corps.</em>He thought to himself as he stretched out weeks of cryostatis from his muscles. If it wasn’t for the prison tattoos that covered him nearly from head to toe, Marcus wouldn’t have been distinguishable from any of a thousand Marines.<br/><br/>Without waiting for either a response from Fields, or for anyone else to awaken, Marcus followed the smart gunner’s path out of the stasis room and made for the lockers. He took a quick shower before strapping on his own armor and then headed out to the mess hall. He wanted to make damned sure that he got some chow in him before they made the jump.<br/>***<br/><strong> "Alright I'm bringing her in towards the LZ touch down in T minus 30 seconds. You'll be about 5 clicks from the colony......once you've disembarked I'll fly a holding patter for 3 hours then head back up to the Mitchum for refueling." </strong><br/><br/>Three hours later, Marcus sat in the APC, listening as the pilot’s voice spoke to the squad over the com system. The turbulence had never bothered him, it was more like riding a roller coaster in some amusement park than anything. From the time he was a kid, he’d always had an iron stomach. He’d had to, in order to keep his head level on the streets and then in the slam.<em>This ain’t no scuffle over who controls the block,</em>He thought to himself as he did one last visual inspection on his pulse rifle. First he checked the power pack, making sure that it was fully charged. Then he turned his attention to the under slung grenade launcher and side mounted flame caster which he’d requested be mounted on his weapon. When he was satisfied that everything seemed to be in order he sat back and silently waited for planet fall. He was vaguely aware of Danko’s voice questioning the Sarge and the L.T. about the nature of the mission, and with a slight snort he spoke.<br/><br/>“Does it matter?”<br/>