[b][u][color=lightgreen][h2]Masher[/h2][/color][/u][/b]
[quote=Sam Hughes, 1914] [color=gold]My boy, the aeroplane is the invention of the devil . . . and will never play any part in such a serious business as the defence of the nation![/color][/quote]
[indent]Art jerked to alertness when the Osprey lurched, clutching his rifle. He’d been on patrols before in a Cormorant or a Griffon, but not so frequently that he’d ever gotten fully comfortable hurtling through the sky at high speeds. The RCAF guys used to laugh and laugh at him, before finally relenting and giving him a barf bag. Even Wendell had barely kept from losing his friggin’ mind watching as he struggled to deal with the experience of flying. 

“I see why you never tried for Air Force,” Wendell wryly remarked when they finally touched down back at the base in Borden. 

God he missed Wendell now. Still his old spotter was probably faring well enough, no doubt a new Ranger would already be working with him on some SovOps. [/indent]

[color=white]“Estimated ten minutes out from destination.”[/color]

[indent]Art took a deep breath and sighed. He was ready for some action, after all this smoke and mirrors around the things that he had seen in Afghanistan. I mean, he was a fan of sci-fi novels, movies, even a couple video games now and again. This, he decided, was truly and utterly the weirdest patrol he would probably ever go on. Nobody was saying the word, not even the Commander, Damirón, would say the word, as he gave them the formal mission briefing. Art could tell they were all thinking it. 

“Alien.” You didn’t quite want to believe it, but if you said it aloud that somehow made it seem more real. He cast an eye at his fellow operators. He hadn’t gotten too much time to break ice, find out who the Wendells were. Wendell always made you feel welcome whether it was on patrol or on base. Sure, if an op called for it he could be no nonsense, but you always understood he was just giving you the same respect he afforded everything when it came to being a Ranger. Of course, by that same token he had yet to figure out if there were any Jeans. Sorry, [i]Colonel Mckenny.[/i] What a prick that guy was. 

If there were any Jeans, he sure hoped they stuck clear of the firing range when he was practicing. He never missed where he was aiming, and he couldn’t guarantee he wouldn’t look in their direction if they did manage to intrude on his target practice.[/indent]

[color=white] “Go ahead now and equip them.”[/color]

[indent]Art produced the webcam he’d been handed at Alpha Sentinel from a hip pouch. It was sleek, expensive-looking, and made a gentle beep when he fitted the band around his helmet. That one piece of kit alone told Art he wasn’t playing for the Canucks any longer. The CAF were great, charming, and all around solid guys and gals. He would never say anything to imply otherwise. Of course, they were also cheap as hell. This camera probably cost more than it took to outfit a single ranger.[/indent]

[color=white]“Eight minutes out, going into hover.” [/color]

[indent]The Osprey decelerated and even over the general ear-numbing din of an operational tiltrotor aircraft, Art could make out the sound of the jets changing into helicopter rotors. As the rest of his squadron donned webcams, and he scanned their faces through visors and helmets and other gear, he was struck by the impression that he might very well be the youngest operator in attendance. There was every possibility that he might be the least experienced, and that the others backgrounds trumped his own categorically. He couldn't help but let out a bemused comment over the designated channel as the Osprey hurtled onward to their destination.[/indent]

[color=lightgreen]So I'm told they brought me on because I'm the best shot in this hemisphere. What about the rest of you? Some of you are old enough to be desk jockeys, by the look of you. What sort of shitholes were you dragged out of to end up in the loading bay of this lovely bird?[/color]