Nick silently lamented the sandstorms effect on his gear. With the wind so forceful, his burners were all but useless in the coming scuffle. The sand itself was arguably the worst part, since the suit had a lot of open parts for all the little particles to get into. Not to mention he had just oiled the damn thing! If you didn't maintain your gear then it would always fail you. Someone had taught him that once upon a time and failing to adhere had nearly been a high price.
Clogged up with mud and garbage, he had lost the use of his flamethrowers on some backwater planet. If it hadn't been for a dead friends knife, a cigar, and some quick damn thinking, Nick might not have survived. The price of near failure had sunk in to his bones. Stuff like that made you a stronger person in times of war. Experience was the difference between a parade and a funeral march sometimes. 

His hud lit up with his commanding officers voice as she gave instructions for the upcoming shuffle. This was a job for the heavyhitters in this crew for now. A firebat was only good up close or on rare occasions when the universe aligned for a distance shot of some kind, but amidst this damned storm there was little he could do. The tight corridors in that command center were a different story and everyone likely knew it. 

[color=ed1c24]"Can't get a clear aim, Captain. Unless you've got a sidearm you're willing to lend me, ain't much cookin' ta be done on my end."[/color] To accentuate his point a bit more clearly, he tried igniting the pilot light inside of his right torch. As expected, it flared up and died out in a flash. [color=ed1c24]"Opportunity knocks though, might be I could take the plasma to the armor around here."[/color]