Putnam balanced himself along the railing overlooking the mobile suit bay, whistling quietly behind the polarized glass of his normal suit's helmet. His hands white-knuckled the railing, he glanced over the gathered suits, among them his Jesta. Sure, it'd been nearly three years since his last combat sortie, but he'd kept in practice, live fires and all with this new monster of an escort suit. Yet, was this anxiety he was feeling? His expression hardened as he flung himself over, his momentum carrying him towards his suit. Digging in his hard-sole boots on the exterior, he grabbed at the hand-holds on the extended canopy door, staring in towards the MS electronics tech (MET) and Putnam's chosen suit chief, Petty Officer Arstrand, strapped down in the seat, tablet jacked into the instruments console.

[color=steelblue]"We all good here, Mads?"[/color]
[color=gray]"Yeah, you shouldn't have a problem with that APU switch sticking now. All yours, Titch."[/color] The MET spoke up with a thick Dutch accent, pushing off the seat and passing by Putnam with a graceful slide.
[color=steelblue]"Good shit. That's why you're my fuckin' SC, eh?"[/color] He grinned to the tech as he floated off.
[color=gray]"You know it."[/color]

Slipping into the cockpit, Putnam made for the seat. One strap down, another strap down, locked in the three-point clip centered on his sternum. His fingers went to the respective switch consoles on either side of his seat's cushion, a complex startup procedure which ended with the 360-degree monitors flaring to life. Lastly, with a fidget of a dial, Black Thorn's call came in.

[color=steelblue]"Yeah, this is Titch. Final checks showing everything green, taking third in catapult pattern, boss."[/color]

And as he called, his suit's locks disengaged. A clear from the air boss and his cold-gas vernier thrusters carried him to a standstill. He listened in to the comms. Suit one away. Two is on the catapult, suit two is away. His turn. Pressing the appropriate stick forward, his suit stepped up to the catapult shuttle. Two mechanical arms on each side offered the weapons of choice, the Jesta's high-powered beam rifle, matched with an anti-beam treated shield for the opposing arm. The two main thrusters on the Jesta's back flared with blue flame, at full power.

[color=steelblue]"Titch, launching."[/color]

All at once, Putnam was pressed into the back of his seat with great force. His hands stayed glued to the seat-mounted handholds as his suit was flung clear by the catapult. One hundred meters out, two hundred meters out, now three hundred, and his hands drifted down to the controls. He performed a wide angle clearing turn, coming up on the lead suit's left, and eventually then on the left side of their objective, the shuttle.

Thoughts raced in his head as his eyes traced the instruments panel, looking for any sort of Minovsky particle disruption of his sensors. Nothing.

[color=steelblue]"This is Titch, in holding pattern off the port side of objective vessel. Nothing sighted, keeping eyes peeled."[/color]