The man stared at the wreck of a suit he had. He saw where most of the joints were some kinda fucked, some had fused together, he saw the welds in the armor where they cut him out of the suit. He sighed as he looked at the thinner internal plates, and musculature of it, he saw that there was a compilation of boxes around it from where parts were being taken from to help fix the suit, but he knew it would be out for a while. He could have dropped in with the lighter inside portion if the internals weren't all kind of something fucked.
Finally, he headed towards his kit table, light, can go in the air. He was ex-military; he had dropped from a perfect plane before. This should be easy to kit for he thought. He opened the lock box and shoved stuff out of it faster than a man with a shovel could dig a hole. He rested himself out a bit and stared down at an AVS kit plate carrier with a red cross patch, blood type marker, and name patch. He smiled at it, he had worn that woodland camo through several desert countries, and it still had spray paint on parts of it. He lifted it up, slapped it a few times to get the dust that was caked on it off, and slipped it onto a table. He pulled out the side bag with the big red cross on it, and pressed his lips together as he went through it. He needed darker colors: brown, two greens, and black; that's what he probably needed. Iceland, right? That's the place with the trees; Greenland was the place with the ice, wait, Newfoundland, wasn't that just Greenland but Canada. Definately the medkit, a bunch of people used to standing in fire now without most of their armor. He'll he's pretty much naked compared to the other heavies, and he stands in front of anything, even tanks or assholes with railguns willingly. Now, he will have to curb that, no stealth, thermal suits, that's a bit of bulk. He would probably wear something over the AVS and thermal suit for some form of extra protection from both weather, and also prying eyes.
Well if they are going in heavy, without the heavy, maybe something else was in store, he thought, camo net would probably be a good cover, but kit wise what would he bring.
Rifle, classic M4A1, sleek kit, ir and vis top laser set up in front of a acog, canter on the right for quick swap, just like the old days. Right hip and high he had his shotgun strapped close and slung, two straps, one with five slugs, and five breeching shells, the rest on both of them were flechette and sabot slugs. Right hip, revolver, left hip, five-seven.
Pants, a dark woodland camo, shirt same, boots, black, avs, spray painted, helmet, dark colored with foliage net. He found another net that had whites on the outside and dark colors on the inside, so he could pick and choose which one he wanted based on whether there was snow or not, and he made sure it hung down past his knees like a great coat, just for nice 'stealth looks' also cause it's probably going to be cold, if not he was going to regret that choice, or just take it off. Satchel has medical supplies, a backpack with more medical supplies and his field surgery bag, and a few foldable stretchers.
He looked for it, and found a law, fire and forget style missile, and that was it, That was his kit for this. Oh, rope, harnesses, two knifes, tourniquet around his neck, jump pack, reserve pack, whatever the fuck that strap thing is. Fuck he had no hydraulics, he slipped his survival kit into his backpack, with wood axe, flint, steel, string, wire, wire cutters, tape. Anything else... He pressed his lips together, pulling out a spam can, putting several more mags into it for his M4, and a few more loads for his shotgun and Five-Seven. He shoved is head into his helmet, then pulled the coat and cover over himself, pulled his M4 into a sleeve, both for that camo effect, but also to keep it warm in the cold. He wish he still had his M&P 2.0 because he knew that worked well in cold environments. Well that was it, he was now set. Everything slung on where it needed to be, and well, he was ready to kick someones ass. Or at least, do something the old way, before these exosuits became a big thing, back when war was civilized, and not full of a bunch of metal machines, that weren't tanks, or planes, or armored vehicles. Ah hell, it was just war, well killing those people over there with whatever ya had. Right now, he felt naked, so naked and cold, he was used to wearing the heaviest stuff, but that needed repairs, and extra armor slapped onto it again. Hell, after he's done with just about anything it's just up armored to the next twelve degrees.
He relaxed his jump kit, and relaxed, "I swear to god if I wasn't hit harder than a fucking truck hitting a deer I could have worn you you sweet fucking annoying bitch." he said staring down at the metal scrap heap. "you are meant to fly." he said with air quotes, "like Buzz Lightyear, falling with style across the sky, built to be a rescue suit... with some teeth... able to save lives," he looked over to the side, "and take them." he whispered.
"Why did that... whoever the fuck in the mech have to use a rail gun, also... why did the sacred oils of the god, WD-40, not prevent you from breaking down after getting hit like that?!" Now he was just being dramatic, as if he was just broken up with by his first girlfriend. "I will be back, and after... I will get you what you need." man he really was struck in that last engagement, he is now talking to his suit. Ah, what could possibly happen with sending a guy who was in a hospital bed the day before into combat? Absolutely nothing when he is used to wearing the Soviet T-55 equivalent of a mech suit?
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