Do you know something, because I do. I know dozens of quotes for the perfect occasion. That's what I'm getting at. So please, leave a review…

Chapter 2: Capital


"In modern war…..You die like a dog for no good reason"

-Ernest Hemingway


The Australis drifted through space, silent and resolute. The word it kept, order, was truly hanging in the air, as the stars shone cold and remote, just like the love of god.

One could look upon the ship, and easily see the stenciled letters that read Australis, and see the power the ship commanded.

A ship of war, the guns that hung pointed out into the blue, ready to be turned on in the heat of battle, to rain down death and destruction upon worlds that dared stand against the United States Colonial Marines.

A reminder of how the balance that hung could be kept inside. Looking around, one saw lockers with doors swaying. Guns and ammo hanging from racks.

Machines appeared ready to do tasks, lying dormant, waiting for signs of life. The dropships waited in the bay, waiting on either the landing struts, or the holding racks that waited above the dropship bay doors.

However, in the Hibernacula, the 14 crewmembers slept, peacefully and cold, waiting for the computer to wake them up, so that they may rain down the Company/Government's destruction with their cold efficiency.

The computer knew this, and upon reaching a section of it's course, proceeded to boot up.

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

…..

[start waking]

Standard

N. Van Hold

L. Pelinski

M. Edwards

D. Sussex

V. Rosenblatt

S. D'Amcio

I. Egorov

C. Warren

Q. Falloway

R. Henley

T. Grimes

B. Dyer

A. Yost

J. Jiminez

The names were listed off rapid-fire by the computer, as it began jumpstarting bodily functions, and readying consciousness to the passengers.

Slowly and surely, the hibernacula began to warm up…

Nathan

He felt the sensation of the lights turning on from beyond his eyelids, and slowly began to stir.

He rather enjoyed sleep, and figured that it wasn't so bad being under. He really had been enjoying the strange dream he had.

Unfortunately, the computers put you wide awake, and so, he opened his eyes.

He stared right at the pod to the left, the one which Pelinski was occupying. He could see her start to get up.

"Hey Nate, you gonna stare at me all morning?" she joked, getting back on her feet.

He knew that he should start to get up and ready, or else he'd hear Dyer start to rant.

He removed his electrodes, and stood up from the deck.

He saw Dyer stand up, and circle around them.

"Alright, fall in people." Dyer began "First assembly's in 20 people, shag it."

Nathan started to walk mechanically to his locker, feeling the cold breeze as he was in his shorts.

In Cryo, you couldn't wear a ton of clothing. The machines had to have as much of you visible as possible for it to truly work.

He passed Jiminez, the locker neighbor he had. Jiminez was short, and thin. He was a typical Puerto Rican man, with short thick black hair, dark skin, and brown eyes.

"Hey Dutch, you look like I feel man." Jiminez complained, calling Nathan by his call-sign.

Van Hold was a long name to say in the headset, so they assigned him the call-sign of 'Dutch'. It'd been that way since his first drop, back when he was a lowly Private.

It was one of those things that seemed to be the norm.

Nathan simply kept getting dressed, donning his fatigues. The dark camouflage gear was the usual shades of green and black.

Fully clothed, he started to make his way to the mess hall. Hopefully it wouldn't be too long.

Grabbing a tray, he walked up to the food processing machines. He placed the tray under the chute, and pressed SERVE.

The machine lit up, making whirring sounds, before depositing a red and yellow mess onto the tray.

A further look and examination showed the yellow mess as spaghetti and meatballs.

He picked up the tray, and went over to the silverware dispenser. He chose the usual plastic fork, and found a seat at the table.

"So what's this supposed to be?" Rosenblatt asked, looking up from her food.

"It's supposed to be pasta" D'Amcio replied, laughing her ass off. "Eat it, it's good for you."

"Good for you my ass." Rosenblatt called "Stuff isn't even fit for the dogs."

"Can't wait to do some flyin' soon," Falloway cheered "Any op like this is always good on the wings."

Nathan rolled his eyes at this. Falloway was their dropship pilot. The man was short, only about 5'11, and always had his head freshly shaved. Usually he would wear his pilot's shades, yet at first assembly, he let his hazel eyes show through. The man was pale as a ghost though.

"Mind if I sit here?" a female voice asked from behind.

Nathan turned and noticed that Standard was right behind him. Standard was tall and thin, with dark-red hair usually kept in either a ponytail or a bun. This time, she wore in the former. Her green eyes literally lit up, a bright digital green. She was wearing her usual skin-tight jumpsuit, this one shaded dark blue.

"Sure." He replied, moving over to the left.

Standard took a seat, and set her tray down. Procedure was usually for everyone to take a tray. However, as a first-grader could tell you, androids don't eat.

Instead of offering it to anybody, Standard simply poured the contents of her tray onto his.

"You dream anything?" Standard asked.

"If I did," He sighed "Don't remember it." He never got why Standard always asked him about dreams.

"So when are we arriving?" Dyer asked, turning to Standard.

"About 5 hours." Standard replied "Typical cruising speed."

"Good to know." Dyer replied.
Nathan finished the second helping of food.

Turning to left side, he noticed Grimes was smoking. The man was dirty-blonde, 6'0, and had blue eyes. He also appeared to be in his mid-40's. That appearance was a blatant lie. He was really only 29. He simply smoked a pack a day.

"You should really slow down." Nathan commented, coughing from the second-hand smoke. "Those things'll kill you when you're 30."

"Bug off Dutch." Grimes replied, gravelly voice practically growling. He then proceeded to cough his deep smoker's cough.

He wondered how a heavy smoker like Ted Grimes managed to become a marine. It was amazing that he could even run without stopping to catch his breath every 7 seconds.

"Alright people," A commanding voice announced from the back.

Everyone turned around, and spotted Yost standing at the door "Breakfast's over in 10. Further briefing is in 15." She paused "As you were."

Later…

Everyone currently was waiting in the dropship bay. All of the equipment was there, waiting. Everything from the Viper Missiles, the Terrace Power-Loader, to the Piper Dropship Mark VII, and finally at the APC.

Warren was counting in binary using his fingers, Henley was cleaning his glasses, Sussex and Egorov were practicing close-quarters combat, and Grimes was smoking, as usual.

Nathan was doing diaphragmic breathing, a simple stress relieving exercise. Not that he had much to be stressed over, it was simply a way to pass the time.

"Officer on deck!" Dyer shouted, walking up.

Everyone immediately stood at attention, saluting, as Dyer walked with Yost to the crowd.

"As, you, were" She replied in her typical drill-sergeant manner.

Everyone immediately relaxed.

"As you all have been informed, our destination is VF-132." She began "3 days before we left, the colony's Pulse-Transmitter stopped. This acts as a switch telling us it's operational. It never goes off. We're not sure what the cause of this is, but similar events happened on LV-426, or Archeron. We believe a Xenomorph infestation has broken out." She paused "We drop at 1100 hours. I want tactical database assimilation at 1000, and combat readying at 1050. This thing needs to be smooth and by the numbers, do I make myself clear."

"Ma'am yes ma'am!" the marines shouted in unison.

Nathan checked his watch. 950 hours, or 9:30 AM. He might as well take another moment before heading to assemble reports.

Moment over quickly, he decided to head to the computer terminal.

Mission Status: Active Combat Drop

Time: 1050 Hours

Nathan looked at the clock, before turning back to his locker. His Ready-Room locker.

This locker was his true one any day. Is armor was here, as were the ordinance. There was nothing like the combat drop to keep you in the game.

He put his armor on, locking all of the straps to everything.

His chestplate had Rock 'n' Roll stenciled, with a cross-gun above. He loved that bit of military slang. That was on his left-kidney area. On his chest, he had cross-swords over a knight.

The rest of his armor was normal standard issue, with the only other piece of text saying Van Hold in black stencil paint at the top.

On his helmet, he put Standard Issue Dutch on it, with the Pontiac Fire-Bird emblem above.

On the back of the helmet, he put Ultimate Badass Crossing.

He took a moment to admire himself in his locker mirror, before shutting it.

"Two issue?" he asked Henley, the armory head. Henley was medium build, with black hair, and appeared Caucasian, however, his eyes had slight slant to them, like he had a bit of Asian in him.

"Flame and Pulse." Henley replied in his usual one-liner. He then handed Nathan a flamethrower.

Nathan took a moment to put on the strap to it. The thing shouldn't get in the way this time.

"Pulse Rifle" Henley sighed, handing Nathan the standard issue work-horse gun.

"Thanks." Nathan sighed.
He saw everyone else practically ready.

"Alright people, we're on the docks!" Dyer shouted, running in "Let's go people!"

Nathan smiled, before running out, ready for combat. He took one last moment to pack his personal piece of hardware, a pump-action shotgun he called "Joan"

Standard

She had two jobs on board the Australis. They were ship pilot, and APC driver.

She smiled as she opened the door, and entered. She went to the driver's seat, and began to ready the vehicle.

The APC was armored, with a boxy frame. On the left front, there was the only window to the driver's side. On the right at the front was the turret. On the back top was the artillery gun, which sat on a rail, able to be moved to behind. The sliding door was on the front.

She keyed the door to shut automatically, a new feature to the vehicle, before driving up to the squad.

Nathan

He stood at attention with Jiminez and Sussex at his side, the two wielding their SMART guns.

The SMART gun was one of the best pieces of weaponry available. It was an automatic weapon, slung on a lever attached to the back. It was designed to be intelligent, acquiring targets automatically. It was capable of slicing a person in two with a stream of bullets.

Nathan always felt so humble next to those pieces of hardware. Unfortunately, he wasn't qualified to operate it.

Sussex stood stoic, green eyes staring straight from the gaunt frame, bald head looking like a skull.

The man was skin and bones, no doubt about it. He was strong though, capable of benching 250 without breaking a sweat.

Nathan forgot what it was that made Sussex so thin, he remembered it was a metabolism disorder.

"Absolute badasses" Dyer shouted, stepping forward as the APC pulled up. Their Sergeant proceeded to roll open the door, making a sound like a horn, before saying "Let's pack 'em in!"

Nathan went in, running to his seat, taking no moment to waste. Sitting in his usual spot, he glanced at his watch 1075 or 10:45 AM.

He lowered the straps. He saw Sussex and Jiminez take a moment to place their rifles along the ceiling, standard procedure for dropping with SMART guns.

He sat next to Pelinski. Pelinski was short, and had her brown hair cut back really short. Her Blue eyes were always looking around, taking in everything.

"Gonna fall asleep on us again?" He asked, turning to the Corpsman.

"I don't know." She replied "Why do you care?"
"You always fall asleep during a drop," He began "And I always have to wake you up."

"Bite me." She replied, turning to her pack, making sure the medical kit was still there.

"Yo Dutch!" Egorov called. "You're out first."

"Thanks." He replied to the pale Russian. He looked like he never saw any sun, and his cold ice-blue eyes, always sent chills down your spine. He had his light-brown hair spiked, at least under his helmet.

He could feel the APC move, sheer power rolling. Within a matter of minutes, they'd be in Falloway and D'Amcio's care, in the bay of the dropship.

D'Amcio

She took her spot at the gun chair on the left. This chair was where you shot from on the Dropship. She knew all of the buttons and what their loadout was. All she needed was permission to fire.

She looked to Falloway, wondering what went on in that man's head. The pilot was crazy, and always obsessed with flying.

"We're on" Yost announced over the com.

"Let's fly." Falloway sighed, running startup. "Closing APC load doors."

The servos whined from underneath.

"Preparing to drop on my mark." Falloway sigh-spoke, his usual demeanor happy.

"Weapons primed," she announced.

"We fly in three…two….one…." Falloway counted "Mark."

He pressed a switch, and the dropship fell through the bay doors.