Roger was slouched in his seat so far that describing it as sitting could be considered overly charitable. In his mouth was an unlit cigarette, held skyward in between his teeth, with nary a touch of skin. He shifted his jaw and angled the stick of tobacco towards his face, another shift and it pointed away, through the steel of the machine and into the emptiness of space out beyond.

This was the third battle the squad would be engaged in, technically the second if one didn't count that first "training" mission, but only a pendant or a sociopath would suggest that a skirmish with as many casualties as there were wasn't actually a fight. The team had a bit of real experience under their belt now, but if you looked at their track record, the prospects of this mission were not as bright as one might hope. Still, they had more support both in equipment and manpower, so this could be a time to really show their stuff.

All that said, Roger didn't know how to feel. There wasn't the anus-clenching fear and ensuing hyper-focus of the last mission, nor was there the naivete of the initial training mission.  No, he was just normal Roger for once. And as exciting as it was that he'd be part of the first counterstrike against the Cruxi, his mind still contained a healthy amount of doubt that they'd be able to pull off this mission without dying horribly. At the moment he was more bored than anything. Well, he was until they dropped out of warp. Suddenly he shifted in his seat and grabbed the controls.

"Yeager standing by. Ready to roll whenever you are," he called, hands moving all around the cockpit and unlit cigarette still held firmly between his teeth. This battle would be hot and fast if they were to succeed. And maybe he would be able to actually make it through without suicidally ramming into something.