Chapter 2

A few hours later, everyone was busy in the drop ship hanger, preparing for their grand entrance back on Earth. The hulking, steel power loaders (the heroes of Ripley's last encounter with an alien queen) whined mechanically as they clanked around, transferring heavy crates of ammunition to the ship, ready to be hauled on board. The strong smell of petrol and oil filled everyone's noses and the occasional spray of sparks could be seen, issuing from various places around the hulking machines as welding took place. Gorman was in charge of loading the APC ("Armored Personnel Carrier") onto the ship and was backing the bulky, armor plated vehicle very slowly backwards up the drop ship ramp. Hicks was walking behind it, signaling to Gorman as he went, to make sure the APC didn't damage any part of the ship's interior.

Bishop was overlooking proceedings and was about to warn someone, slightly too late, of an imminent catastrophe. He could see private Spunkmire, steering his enormous, black and yellow power loader, attempting to stack a box of ammo on a none-too-stable stack of another two and Vasquez (who was ticking a check list with her back to him) oblivious. The next block on the stack was added and, almost immediately, began to sway ominously. It tipped slowly and began its descent.

"Look out!" Bishop yelled. Unfortunately, at that point in time, he was at the other end of the hanger and Vasquez, her ears filled with the loud, echoing clanks and groans of the surrounding machines, didn't hear him. With a shake, the stack of crates gave way and toppled towards the distracted Vasquez. Bishop's breath caught as the whole lot fell to the ground with a heart stopping clatter and pulse rifles and flame throwers spun in all directions over the metal floor of the hanger. Spunkmire, his hand over his mouth, seemed immobilized by what had just happened. The hanger went silent except for the hum of the machines. Bishop, Ripley and half the other marines ran to find out Vasquez's fate. For a second there was nothing. Everyone exchanged worried glances, fearing the worst but after a few moments Vasquez's furious face popped up from about three or four feet behind the wreckage and yelled,

"Who in the hell did that!" She stared around furiously and caught sight of Private Spunkmire, still sitting, stunned, in his power loader. "Right!" She snarled threateningly, cracking her knuckles. Protected, though he was, by the metal bars of the power loader, Spunkmire went the colour of two-day-old porridge as Vasquez got to her feet with fire in her dark eyes. "You're dog meat, man!" She yelled. She leapt nimbly over the mess of split crates and escapee pulse rifles and flung herself straight at Spunkmire like a rabid stoat.

Cue next appearance from Corporal Hicks. He threw out an arm, catching Vasquez round the middle, swinging her round mid-flight, and bringing her crashing to the floor. Vasquez struggled but Hicks leant an arm on her throat, holding her still.

"Fuck you! Let me at him, man!" She choked. She grabbed the Corporal's forearm, trying to wrestle it off her. She kicked her legs wildly, trying to land a hit on Hicks but it was hopeless. He was as merciless as a police dog trainer with a particularly unruly rottweiler. All Vasquez could do was glare furiously up at him from the floor and hiss, "Bastard."

"We have a job here, Private!" Hicks spat. "We leave at 0900 so get the fuck back in line and get your job done! I don't want anymore shit from you!" He turned to shout over his shoulder "That goes for all of you assholes! Move it!" After a second or two (more to give Spunkmire the chance to get away than anything else) Hicks slowly removed his arm from Vasquez's throat and allowed her to get up. With a couple of gestures at the corporal's back, as Hudson had done, Vasquez furiously stomped back to her original spot and, retrieving her checklist from among the mess, continued working. A thought occurred to her. At least she and Hudson could agree on something; Hicks was an asshole.

Apone had watched this from a point over by the drop ship they'd be using and smirked, chewing the end of his cigar. All those alien bastards had to do was look at Vasquez funny and she'd wipe them out single handed.

"Quite the hellcat 'aint she?" said a drawling, Texan voice from somewhere near Apone's right ear. The sergeant turned to see Private Hudson grinning at him. Why was it that, no matter where the sergeant was, Hudson was always close by to ruin his good mood?

"You get yo' ass back to work, Hudson or I'll be obligated to use the end of my badass army boot to get it there for ya."

Having prepared the drop ship for their little field trip, the marines were getting suited up back in the locker room. As always, Drake and Vasquez were to be the carriers of the smart guns. For six-foot two Drake it wasn't too much of a struggle to carry but the smart gun was about the same size as Vasquez who was considerably smaller. Despite this, she strapped it onto herself and practiced a few maneuvers anyway.

All of the marines had added their little marks, doodles, insignias and jokes to their armor and weaponry. Vasquez's breastplate bore the words "El riesgo siempre vive". When asked what it meant the reply had been "The risk always lives". It was a line from a Spanish poem and was Vasquez's way of reminding herself that there was always danger around, no matter how well you think you may have won. No words truer after their last dealings with the xenomorphs. They were like rats. No matter how many you kill there's always more hidden away, waiting.

Vasquez's gun bore the word "Adios" and Drake's displayed "My bitch" in white paint. Vasquez looked down at this and grinned. Seeing this, Drake laughed and licked the side of the gun, rolling his eyes in mock ecstasy. Vasquez started to laugh so he built it up, ending with actually dry humping the gun, slapping the barrel, Vasquez killing herself with laughter.

"Wanna lose your dick?" Hudson asked, sarcastically as he walked past.

"Wanna lose your face?" Drake replied, without missing a beat and aiming "his bitch" in Hudson's direction. Hudson just snorted.

"Yeah right, man. Just try it. See how far that gets ya." He said and walked on by to get to his own locker. Drake was quite a badass, sure, but even he didn't have the balls to shoot a fellow marine, however much he may want to (at least not with the sergeant two lockers away).

"What an asshole." Hudson muttered to himself. He opened his locker and was greeted by an open pair of female legs, bare breasts and a face with blonde hair and full, red lips, mid-gasp. Damn! His poster had fallen down. He picked it up and stuck it back in its original spot on the inside of his locker door (along with two or three smaller pictures of a similar nature). After making sure that his poster was firmly in its proper place, Hudson began to armor up.

In the next aisle of lockers across from Hudson, Hicks was getting himself equipped when Ripley walked up to him. He smiled as she approached. He hadn't had a chance to talk to her since before they'd gone into hyper sleep. Sure, three months only felt like a matter of hours in hyper sleep but, still, she was a welcome sight after a morning of keeping the grunts in line. Especially the brief scrap he'd had with Vasquez.

Ripley leant against the lockers and did her best to return Hick's smile but it was obviously strained. Hicks frowned and pushed his locker door shut.

"Hey, what's the matter?" Hick's asked, after Ripley's failed attempt at smiling. Ripley said just two words and Hicks understood.

"Our daughter." Hick's looked solemn and nodded, without saying a word. He knew who Ripley was referring to; a ten-year old girl by the name of Rebecca Jorden (A.K.A. Newt) whom they'd rescued last time round. She wasn't technically related to either of them but, after the death of her parents and her brother, Newt had no-one left and Ripley and Hicks had taken her under their wings as their daughter. This had been short lived, however, because when the opportunity arrived, Newt had been sent back to Earth and fostered. Newt still kept in touch with Ripley and Hicks and, despite the fact they'd both stayed behind in the corps and only got to see her about once a year, she still viewed them as her parents. It was this fact alone that had kept Ripley fighting for so long. Newt would be about fourteen now.

The aweful realization that she was there, on Earth, once again surrounded by the xenomorphs hit them both. What made it worse was that the state she lived in was New York; the very state that had sent out the SOS distress call. Of course, that could just mean that they'd been informed of the xenomorph infestation from another state and taken it upon themselves to send out the cry for help but, on the flipside, it could mean that New York itself was overrun. Hicks and Ripley stood in worried silence for a moment. Hicks was the first to speak.

"She'll be alright. She survived on LV4-26 alone with no weapons at the age of ten. Trust me. She'll be alright." He said with a reassuring certainty in his voice. Typical Hicks, always the professional, no matter what the situation. Ripley's insides felt like the contents of one of the xenomorph eggs when she thought about the danger that her adopted daughter was in. She swallowed her panic and, silently, nodded. "We'll find her." Hicks continued. "As soon as we get to Earth, we'll find her." Ripley had noticed that Hicks kept repeating himself. He only did that when he was scared and trying not to let it show. He wasn't just trying to convince her. He was also trying to convince himself.

The marines were all lined up in the drop ship hanger beside the APC while Ripley, Gorman and Apone discussed their plan of action and Bishop ran a few final checks on the ship before they set off. Save for Hudson, who was chewing gum, every marine was stock still where he or she stood.

Drake was getting bored of all this standing around. He either wanted to get into that goddamn ship and get started with the ass-kicking or he wanted to be told that this whole, insane, wacked out escapade was cancelled and he could go back to sleep. What he didn't want was to stand here looking like a complete idiot, kicking his heels, waiting for the more important people to decide they wanted to move their asses. He held back the temptation to sigh in frustration and, instead, became very interested in the ceiling as he threw his blonde head back, the chicken bones on his helmet swinging backwards and catching on his right ear.

"Why can't we just get started on this little bug stompin' mission, right?" Hudson said, suddenly, as though reading Drake's thoughts. "I bet they're deciding who to send in first as bait, right, Vas?" He continued, loudly, grinning round his chewing gum (which, incidentally, was not doing much for his breath). Hicks glanced round to glare at him. Seeing this, Vasquez elbowed Hudson sharply in the ribs to shut him up but it was too late.

"Unless you want that first person bait-ball to be you, Hudson, I suggest you shut your ass." Apone said, having heard him.

Hudson (who was rubbing his ribs for the second time that day) shut up, remembering how close he'd come to death by one of these spikey, toothy, penis-headed bastards last time. They'd been fighting off a group of them in a medical unit on LV4-26 and one had come up through the floor, grabbing him by the leg and dragging him downwards. He bore the scars to this day, two deep gouges that would never properly heal. Hicks had come to the rescue, shooting the fucker through the head. Hudson had to grudgingly admit that Hicks had saved his life that day but that didn't stop the corporal from irritating the shit out of him. If anything, he'd become even more unbearable since that event, all puffed up because he'd rescued a fellow recruit. Hudson curled his fingers into the collar of his armor and let his arms hang as he continued his habitual gum-chewing, looking, for all the world, like a brooding teenager.

Eventually, the sergeant turned and snarled at the assembled marines, chewing the end of his cigar.

"Alright, you badass sons of bitches, move it! Each in their place! Let's go, people!"

Author's notes: A relatively short chapter in comparison to the last one. Hopefully you enjoyed it and I'll try to make the next one longer. There may be a little bit of a wait because I'm going to Prague for a week but I'll be working like a demon as soon as I get back.

P.S. Sorry, guys. I messed up. In chapter 1 I'd written that Dietrich was the only other female marine in the corps but I'd forgotten Ferro who is set to appear in Chapter 3. Many apologies.