Lieutenant Amos angrily ran through his preflight checks. The stims he'd just injected into his thigh didn't help his attitude one bit either. He had skipped out on the briefing halfway through to get his ship ready early, and self-medicate. Once his diagnostics were complete, he continued to fiddle with the seal on his face mask as an increasingly bothersome itch had started to develop on his nose. 
	[i]Fucking Vaccies and their bullshit atmo-suits[/i], he thought.
 	
	He had in fact just been transferred to the [i]Tyrant[/i] from his previous posting in the bush. Amos had been what the "Vac Heads" referred to as a "Ground Hog". He was used to flying in atmosphere in support of Stormtrooper operations on the ground. Smoking savages from the heavens was his forte, not this bullshit in vacuum. He double checked the concealed blaster pistol he kept in his flight suit and the folding vibroblade he kept on his harness, useless to him in vacuum, but he felt naked without the tools of his previous trade.

	[i]I've seen things you people wouldn't believe. Corpses on fire off the shoulder of Orion. I watched C-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhauser gate...[/i]now he was stuck in the proverbial meat grinder.

	 Amos hailed his new wingman, "Marick this is Lieutenant Amos, I believe we're saddled together for the rodeo tonight."