The routine of filing out of the helicopter and checking-in was a blur of habit and reflex. Look there, stop here, salute, and move. Ask her later and she'd remember only the important details, names not withstanding. Names never came to her well until someone had stood out or stood by for a time. Faces. Faces she remembered and deeds.<br/><br/>Rook pulled herself up on to the back of the truck. The metal boxes and wooden crates were warm and moist from the sweltering jungle sun as was Thompson's hand which was neither ignored nor waved away. It was simply there and something she did not need. She didn't think of herself as a woman needing to prove herself, a gung ho macho woman, or one of the guys. Those sorts of attitudes were trained out of her long ago and underwritten by watching the way Captain Wright had treated those in his command. Lead by example; don't ask or take what you would not do on your own. Eat, sleep, and fight as a team which mean handling the same sort of hardships that everyone else did.<br/><br/>As the humidity seeped into her clothing and equipment, a bead of sweat rolled down her nose and hung at the end. A sparkling jewel in the bright sun. Another dangled off an eyelash, stinging slightly in her eye. Rook only bothered to wipe either one away after counting heads and banging the side of the truck to signal the driver. Dust and dirt kicked up as the back end of the truck dug into the ground, jostling everyone as they crossed over berms and small ditchs worn through the underbrush.