[u][b]AVALANCHE[/b][/u]

Throughout the storm and the hundred mile per hour winds in the depths of the Pacific Ocean, Lachlan thought that it was the most comfortable sleep he had after finishing his tour in Kurdistan. He had sat on his bed in Leceister and thought he’d would sink into it as though it was a cloud of marshmallows. The Osprey was a baby’s crib in comparison to Fallajuah. 

Lachlan rolled his shoulders to shake off the pricking sensations of numbness and looked outside. The black waves outside rolled and slammed against each other, sending up sprays of white froth in the turbulent storm the Osprey was cutting through. It was hardly the kind of weather the Osprey was conditioned for and most veteran pilots would blink twice before stepping into the cockpit. 

Then again, this wasn’t a usual mission.

Aliens. The mere thought of the word alone made him giggle. When he was first debriefed by his superiors on the nature of Minerva Force, he thought they were pulling his leg. Being in the Majesty’s army was a simple concept. Fighting for your country required no thought. Joining a multinational taskforce to fight hostiles of unknown origin was certainly new ground for him. If Lachlan was in the foot of the invaders, he would have wondered why they hadn't brutally slaughtered every head of government. Certainly, if he was in the enemy shoes, he would consider that. Yet, these aliens were not Gurkhas and Gurkhas had never fought aliens. He would be the first. 

Then again, all that mattered was if they bled. 

If they bled, they could be killed.

Satisfied with his musings, Lachlan unsheathed his kuhkri and held it up to eye-level to examine it. The blade glimmered in the dim red light of the bay, the spine curving at an oblique angle. The metal shone dark grey and the width was short at the hilt, growing wider before ending in a wickedly sharp point.Lachlan took out a whetstone from his belt and tilted the blade downwards. His arm began to move up and down against the blade, scraping away against it with mechanical precision. It was more out of habit rather than out of necessity, like how a person chews their nails or gnaws the inside of their cheek during a task. The knife was sharp enough, he was sure of that. 

“ I’d hardly refer to Manchester as a ‘shithole’, yankee," Lachlan said in a calm, steady tone, " but a mission is far more better than being stuck in the reserves all the time.” 

“ But I’d recommend we concentrate on the task ahead,” Lachlan gave the kukri one final stroke before sheathing it.  “ There is no need for this….dick-waving contest as you Westerners call it. We are one unit. We act and focus as one. The sooner we put our egos aside, the sooner we can go back to base and rest up." He looked pointedly at Paladin after he gave his comment. " A little too soon for titles, comrade. Mission control specified that we were to locate the maritime vessel. There is no certainty of a hostile being present."

He adjusted his watch cap, making sure to strap the camera on it before cocking the trigger of the M249 SAW slinged on his shoulder. 

" I, for one, am looking forward to having a nice long drink back at base once this is over."