[@Jbcool] "Yeah, that I am. You're Sarge... Fuckin'... Wait, I know this." He paused for a second. Ex-Praetorian, no shit. "Sarge Kinsey, 11th Praetorians." He matched his fellow NCO eye-to-eye, fingers playing over his meltagun. "They also say tha' tha Warhawks will receive reinforcements." He barked a laugh. "Ain't that happen all the time." He smirked. "An' I think you an' I both know that we're either gonna get through this battle the same as the last ones, or we're gonna 'ave our luck run out and get a gun..." He made a finger pistol and placed it to his head. "Eh, shame. You'd look practically dashin'." Understanding when a Harakoni Warhark was using sarcasm was not difficult. They used it like it was a bludgeon. Clearly, he didn't mean it. Yawning a little bit, he felt a judder go through the lander, but it was nothing new to him. "Ya think any of us are gonna make it? I reckon..." He looked around. "I reckon that this entire lander of folk's gonna be dead before the end of the year. You and me included. Only question is how many of the bastards we get to take out with us." Leaning back, he clipped his gasmask on. "Maybe even tha 'ssigned sentinel as well, but I 'unno. Might make it with the metal box 'e's got surrounding him." He snorted a little bit. Adjusting the mark a little bit, he took a breath through it. Hissing. Alright, he had the fresh stuff. Not that inside it seemed like there would be much issue breathing, but hey, smoke, rubble, dust... All that shit on the battlefield. He didn't want that getting into his lungs. "You got anyone gon' miss ya? Any bastard kids you've 'ad? I'm pretty sure I don't. Too much time fighting tha fuckin' greenies." He shrugged. He had met some girls, almost every soldier did, but he doubted any of them even remembered him, let alone would miss him. Eh, not such a bad thing. They were probably dead, he would be dead, none of it mattered.