The makeshift conversation was abruptly interrupted as the turbulence ratched up to 11 and Thomas shoved the MOBA back into one of the deep pockets on his thermal suit. As the loudspeaker clicked on to reassure them they were less than 3k out from their destination he was gripped with a sense of impending danger. It was a familiar feeling, the kind you got when there were insurgents hiding just out of sight on the road ahead or when your foot was about an inch away from setting of an IED. Thomas gritted his teeth and looked around the room with a renewed sense of urgency; he didn't know whether he was looking for weapons, supplies, or just a safe place to hunker down, he only knew that he needed it soon and he wasn't finding it.<br/><br/>Kinkaide leaped to his feet and raced toward the far end of the cubicle as the heat blossomed over him; a large cargo net covered the wall and held the few crates of MREs and water rations steady. His feet left the floor as the plane went into its dive and he fell the last few feet toward the net. Most of the equipment in the cubicle was fortunately bolted down or otherwise secured, and the last thing Thomas wanted to be was unsecured himself. He snapped the safety harnesses attached to his suit onto the cargo net and held on for hell or high water just as the engine's roar fell away and the whole damn room went into total freefall.<br/><br/>Thomas could hear the loose metal bolts holding the cot in place shriek in protest as the metal frame warped under the centrifugal force of the freefall until they snapped and the bed flew back and forth in the middle of the cubicle. It slammed against the walls again and again, often missing Kinkaide's head by mere feet. The screaming rush of air blowing past outside began to dim and he realized impact was coming soon.<em>'I wish I spoke German,'</em>Kinkaide thought as the ground raced up to meet them.<em>'Maybe then I'd have the vocabulary required to describe just how enormously fucked I am...'</em>