[hr][color=goldenrod][h3]Memoirs from an Alien Planet. Day 8, 5 minutes after first contact.[/h3][/color][sup]"You got that one, right? Millionaires and fucking movie stars!" -- Shattah, Daniel.(([@HeySeuss]))[/sup]

K-Ton made a clicking sound with a smirk and a wink that was shrouded by their breathing masks as he threw a thumbs up. [color=goldenrod]"Oh don't you worry about that boss, I got everything!"[/color] he replied with an equally brutal chuckle. The attitude they had was perhaps a bit... morbid, but in this line of work, it helped ease the tension of possibly dying at the hands of four armed aliens god knows how far from home on a planet in distance space with no particular devotion to any cause. 

Either way, the day was just starting, and the call for fresh mags and water was called. Taking a long sip from his camelbak's straw, K-Ton took the time to re-organize the load of his M32 to his typical setup, now that they had a moment to themselves. His rifle sat the way it was before they left- he hadn't fired a single round in the last engagement, opting instead to provide fire with his grenade launcher when necessary. Again, he had the feeling he probably spent more ammunition than necessary on such a small pack, especially with two more platoon sized packs of Salvesh heading their way. 

The heat was gonna turn up again soon- if it wasn't hot enough in this damn jungle, and they had to get themselves ready- last time they ambushed a small scouting element, flat footed and unaware, it was less of a fight and more of mob hit. This time, they were facing greater numbers, and without the advantage of surprise. Still, with relative calmness, he pulled a mag out of his vest and offered it to Shattah.

[color=goldenrod]"Hey boss, I'll trade you,"[/color] he asked, gesturing to a couple of the 40s Danny carried on his vest.