[center][color=lightblue][h2]PFC Kane O'Connor[/h2][/color][/center]

[color=lightblue]"Son of a [I]bitch[/I]."[/color]

Callum had approached him earlier with the news. Enemy advance party, twenty men, heading in from the north. Defensive positions. For him, that meant the small watchtower at the right of the camp. He had gobbled down his breakfast and rushed straight to his bunk to gear up.

Right now he was finishing up his ECHS donning. The enemy could be at their very door and he wouldn't be ready. As he slipped on his helmet, the automated systems within turned themselves on and synced with the rest of his suit. A quick diagnostics check followed; his arm blade extended and stowed itself, then his lenses cycled through all their vision modes, before returning to regular vision.

Kane grabbed his pistol from his locker, stuffed it into his holster, and snagged his rifle as he took off running. He vaulted halfway up the short ladder to the watchtower and climbed the rest of the way up, situating himself facing the north entrance. He sat his rifle's bipod on the rim of the tower wall, then patched himself into the crew's shared comms network.

[color=lightblue]"O'Connor here. I'm in overwatch at the tower."[/color]