[h1]Paris Beurra[/h1]


Incoherent yelling and bitching came from the front part of the wreckage behind the pilot's cockpit; the hole created was partially blocked by a large metal object, a shield with an arm attached to it. In hand was a pistol, that some parts looked incredibly shiny and new, but others looked like they had just been burned, and possibly part of an explosion that had happened several feet from where it's the owner was sitting. With a good pull of the armored suit and some good old fashioned suit strength, the arm and shield were free and able to be used again.

Stepping from a small portion of the wreckage was a large armor suit with an angry, furious man inside it. Not just from the crash but because something had happened in the crash, and possibly before the crash. The blast had done something very annoying, aside from killing one of the only humans within a thirty-foot radius, break his new toy. He had just gotten that thing as an early welcoming gift from his new employers. 

"What in the everlasting fucking bullshit is this!" replied the angry noncom as he found himself in the wreckage of a crashed transportation flyer. His new shiny pistol broken, it's gas tube has broken open, and its energy distributer shattered. "I just got this damn thing, and now's it's broken. In the name of the fucking heavens, whoever broke my new damn..." 

He was cut off by an ear-piercing screech of static in his ear, as someone had broken through, and then a voice came over the net. It was more or less a warning with the ambiance of a solid warzone inside it. 

"Hey, can ya hear me? Who the hell knew we were gonna be landing here? And wait, by here do ya mean where we crashed or where we were supposed to fuc-k..." the static had gone back to static as he was midway through trying to interrupt the man to get some answers. Instead, he was interrupted by the static and something far more immediate to the noncom and anyone else who had survived the landing. 

Above him, he watched as the metaphorical rockets' red glared above him, mortars. Several thoughts were going into his head, one to duck into the foliage for cover, two to duck back into the shuttle for cover, or three to duck into the shuttle and put his shield up. 
All are likely to be good answers; foliage would help with the incoming enemies that, to him, with the standard-setting of his helmet, looked like tiny shadows moving in the distance. 

"If you can hear me, get into cover!" his voice would echo out, he didn't remember if he saw anyone or thing in the wreckage as he was coming out.

Without much thought, he would jump towards the wreckage and pull himself and his shield under it as an added protection. This was his choice; he would hope that there were others nearby still alive it as it would likely be the safest place to hunker down before the fighting started. Maybe once everything goes up in mortar fire.