"I'm sorry, you need what now?" The incredulous look on the Quartermaster's face was all to familiar to Lucas by now, and he simply rolled his eyes and repeated his request. "I need two crates of C-grade, eighteen inches by three-quarters inch carbon steel rods. Nobody else makes them right, so I tool my own bolts for my crossbow... And before you ask, yes I'm serious." The other man simply blinked at him, sparing a glance at the collapsed metal contraption hanging from Lucas' belt, before shaking his head and turning back to the stock room to find the metal.<br/><br/>Lucas sighed quietly to himself, annoyed that it always ended up being a point of conversation when he needed to resupply. When the ambush hit there had been no time to get to his stock of bolts from his storage locker before he had to evac. Not to mention the mass of yammering, hulking orcs that had been in the way. Even fighting their way to the escape pods had resulted in the near decimation of the 109th, only four of them had made it out. Lucas held no illusions about the gung-ho "never retreat, never surrender" mentality that his father espoused in his old war stories, but it still ate at him that the unit had let themselves get hit from behind while escaping.<br/><br/>It was a sad waste of life, to be sure, but he wouldn't be losing too much sleep over the slain soldiers, having only met them two weeks prior upon his transfer. That practical attitude was probably what got him back into the reassignment pool so quickly, and that suited him just fine. It was boring enough most of the time being an NCO, not that he minded the pay-grade, but being between units just made things all the more tedious. 'You can only clean and check weapons so many times, after all,' he thought sourly to himself.<br/><br/>His musings were interrupted by the heavy thud of two crates being set down on the counter. "Here, two boxes, fifty pounds each, you realize? Nobody but engineers ever ask for this stuff anyway, since it's heavy as all Hell. You really use that thing, huh?" Lucas shrugged and signed for the material, "Yeah, punches right through the sides of their armor if you aim right. Plus you'd be surprised how much it confuses 'em having these coming out from the hail of lead, heh."<br/><br/>"Corporal Jordan, you are a difficult man to track down. You've got a message from Lieutenant Mathews." Suddenly grinning at the familiar voice, Lucas turned to face the young Indian woman addressing him. "Private Malhotra, I already told you to call me Archer, do I have to make it an order? You never did give me an answer on sharing that shower, y'know." To his disappointment, the dark beauty seemed to ignore him as she handed him a large envelope. "With all due respect, Sir, your comfort wouldn't be much help after losing my unit. I appreciate the offer, but no." With that she turned on her heel and strode briskly away.<br/><br/>"Wow, straight-faced and everything. Tough luck, Corporal." Lucas snorted at the Quartermaster's comment and shook his head as he flipped open the file he had been given, "Yeah, well, there goes my perfect record... 206th Mobile, huh? Report to Lieutenant Joseph Warren... Geez "immediately" is it? " With another sigh, he stuffed the paper back into the folder, put it on to p of the crates, and picked them up with a grunt of effort as he headed off to his next assignment.<br/>~<br/><br/>After walking what felt like the full length of the ship, Lucas finally found the hall where his new LT apparently had set up shop for the time being. Adjusting his grip on the handles which felt like they were cutting into his hands, he wished again that there had been time to stow them away first. Since the crates took both arms to hold he lightly kicked the door with the toe of his boot. Despite his attempt at being gentle, though, it was enough to pop the door open, making him wince slightly. Trying to recover from the unflattering entrance, he stood as straight as he could, crates be damned. "Uh, sorry about that. Corporal Lucas Jordan. I've been told to report to you for a transfer. Er, I'd hand you the papers, but I was told to come straight over, so I didn't have a chance to put this down... Sir, Ma'am." He resisted the urge to shrug, taking note that these two gave off the impression that any insubordination would be met with more than a write up. A refreshing change of pace, but one he would have to remind himself to be careful of.<br/>