[h2]Second Platoon Common Area, Deck 4[/h2]
[hr]
Ibus tossed and turned in his cot as a knock came at his door. In his still half-asleep daze, he caught a glimpse of his watch: 0335. He rose, and listened as Senior Sergeant Upard began to speak. "Lieutenant, are you awake?" Came the muffled voice from behind the door.

"Aye." Enunciated Trad, making to press himself up to stand. He does so, and makes for the door. He presses a few keys on the door's console, and the lock clicks, the door sliding open with a whirr.

Krok was already dressed, wearing his usual NCO fatigues, and met the Lieutenant with a nod of greeting. Ibus returned the nod, and made to get past him. His next move was into the head, where he applied the various hygienic supplies at his disposal, shaved the stubble that had grown, and got dressed into his junior officer fatigues.

To the mess he went next, though he was less than hungry. His troops expressed greetings and Trad returned them, as he looked around. Section leaders sat with their squads, and Senior Sergeant Upard was tailing him. Ibus walked by a mess table and swiped a stack of hardtack, opting to munch on it as thoughts about the coming operation raced through his head.

The minutes dragged on and the Lieutenant could not help but stare at his datapad as he bit off small bites from the ever-so-salty and almost molar-breaking hard bread crackers. Next thing he knew, 0430 came along. He took a swig from his canteen and made way to the common area proper.

His quarters was his next destination, and once inside he threw on the signature black jacket and fastened the webbing and rigger's belt, both loaded with gear, over it all. Next he made to wield his A280, sliding a magazine of ionised gas into the magazine well. He slung the weapon and met his group in the common area.

The neat stacked tripods of weapons were now gone, and it was 0445. The common area saw all four sections in formation, and the fourth section leader approached him. Traj Brigg. Stood at a tall 6'4", compared to Ibus' 5'9".

"Section Four is ready to depart and join the Sapper Platoon, sir." Stated Brigg.

"Do so." Replied Trad. "And make sure their Second Section double times it here."

Traj nodded and departed with a salute, which Ibus returned. Brigg formed his section and they filed off in an orderly manner. Five minutes passed and the sappers joined the platoon. As they formed and greeted the rest of the platoon, they were off.

"Second Platoon, forward march!" Exclaimed Senior Sergeant Upard, and so the sections did. Each made the trek in their respective directions to the airlocks.

[h2]1st Section Entry Point, 0500 hours.[/h2]
[hr]
Ibus stood adjacent to the leader of the section, Turk Joul. Krok accompanied him, and stood rigid and stalwart, waiting for the order. Though, Trad was not as up in high confidence as his second in command, though sported a noteworthy posture. Spine straight, eyes forward.

The same could not be said for the troops. Some sported eager expressions, fidgeting and mumbling loudly, but many had expressions of stress. Some were pale as ghosts, anticipating the coming battle.

"Comms check." Ibus murmured into his radio as he depressed the push-to-talk. A response prompted him to nod with satisfaction and stow the radio. Tightly still he gripped his A280. Thoughts still coursed through his head about the outcome of the battle.

Either way, Second Platoon was ready.