Hackett reached up and grabbed the young co-pilots arm in a flash, clearly catching her by surprise as she jumped and nearly hit her head on the the low hanging emergency flares stacked above Hackett's head. Immediately Hackett released her iron grip on the co-pilots forearm and sat back against the aircraft. "<strong>Sorry...</strong>" Hackett responded, typically in her line of work people didn't wake someone up by touching, they used radios. Hackett had perfected the 'combat sleep' practice to a fine line. Sleeping on the battlefield was impossible, gunfire and artillery were just the obvious issues, but you also had local insects, stealthy would-be attackers and any one of thousands of possibilities leading to your life ending sooner than expected. So, sleep became a subjective term, closing your eyes and drifting off to unconsciousness was a good way to get killed, so the idea became you closed your eyes and were perfectly aware of everything. The dull, ominous hiss of an incoming mortar shell to the snap of a bullet zipping over your head, and the crack of a branch in an area where you knew friendly forces weren't going to be. Anna knew everything and nothing of what was going on around her, only her training allowed her mind to understand what she was hearing and smelling without being aware of it. She just thought danger and knew she had to wake up.<br/><br/>Stiffly, Hackett sat up and groaned as her back tensed. She glanced at the co-pilot as she tapped her wrist, and Hackett saw her watch. She cast a glance down at her own watch and caught her altimeter first, it said 30,000 feet. "<strong>We 2 hours out?</strong>" Hackett asked, flipping up her visor and rubbing her eyes then standing up quietly.<br/><br/>"<em>Yeah, 2 hours from the DZ, clear skies and good visibility.</em>" The co-pilot replied as she retreated to the cockpit.<br/><br/>Anna couldn't help but stand and bend over, stretching out her stiff and sore back muscles from the long sleep. But none the less, despite the pain in her back and legs, she felt great. 12 hours of good, hard combat sleep did wonders to a tired mind, she felt like she'd slept for days and was ready to go. She didn't know if anyone else was awake or had slept, she really didn't care. Instead, Hackett quickly unzipped and removed several clips closing a frontal pouch down at her waist, and yanked out a black laptop. She sat back down on the seat she'd slept in, and put the laptop on her lap, opening the small computer up and glancing it over. The screen was slightly tinted, it didn't give off much light but it was pretty easy to read. The screen was quite big, almost 19 inches, but it all was compact and low bright lighting. The laptop hissed as it turned on, of course Hackett couldn't hear it over her own heartbeat let alone the plane engines, but she could feel the vibration and knew from past experience this little sucker was cranky when not used in a while. Like a secretary, Hackett went to work and pecked away at the keyboard, her gloves making it a bit awkward but she'd worked under worse conditions. A few images came up, including an update to her orders and a small, overly useless intelligence update about the expected drop weather. Clear and fine, the worst possible jumping conditions. If Hackett had her way, it'd be raining and the storm of the century howling outside, where everything from the mice to the infected would stay the hell inside or topple over and roll. But, if she ever had her way, she wouldn't be dragging civilians around the newest addition to her list of shitholes in the world.