Lance Corporal Kovacs had checked his gear a few times as he had packed. Backpack - checked. Lasgun - clean and ready. He also had been given more live explosives than in training. Kovacs had two anti-personnel claymores, two frag grenades, about ten blocks of plastic explosive, wire cutters and wire. Everything was in place and in order. The grenades and the lasgun's powerpacks were at hand. He also had a knife on his hip, and his bayonet was strapped to his leg. One couldn't have enough bladed weapons at hand. Lasgun was a great weapon, but in a pitched close quarters, a knife might come handy.

Kovacs didn't feel scared, but almost [i]excited[/i]. He hadn't slept much last night, but he hadn't been sleepy. Although he might see Vosmarth never again, he trusted his squad and platoon. Sergeant Bishal seemed tough, but fair soldier. He had, apparently, grown up in the dry deserts of Vosmarth. An unforgiving place to be born and live, but the desert didn't leave much space for weakness, either. [i]Perhaps we'll make it alright in the end[/i], Kovacs thought.

Kovacs' combat vest, helmet and flak jacket were, overall, in good order and still in one piece. [color=lightcoral]"Kovacs' all good"[/color], he said. [color=lightcoral] "Just point what to blow up!"[/color]