High Ground: Windhover

A/N: After a short today, the Gunny is back! Yeah, this is a short chapter...but it's light-hearted and a little something I had fun writing. Hope you enjoy.

Chapter Four:

Boredom

The first night in Trigger Happy had passed without incident. The three Helljumpers had finally managed to get Kyra to fall asleep and were sitting in the kitchen nearby, drinking beer and not saying much of anything. A feeling of despair had washed over everyone, and morale was sinking at what Joseph felt to be a record-breaking pace. They'd been watching the news and it seemed as though the situation was spiralling out of control...and then the news channels all went off the air. That was most definitely a bad omen, but Joseph tried to keep spirits up; they were going to survive, they were going to make it out of there...no matter what. All four of them...at least, that's what he kept telling himself and Jones and Montreal. And so, the three men drank, quietly shared stories and a good laugh or two in between. After Kyra woke up, Joseph left Derrick and Jones to the impromptu arm-wrestling competition they decided to have and sat down beside her on the previous owner's couch. She looked much, much better than before; the bags were gone from under her eyes, and they were no longer bloodshot from exhaustion. After a few moments, she turned to face the Gunny and managed a small smile.

"Sergeant Windhover-"

Windhover cut her off. "Please, call me Joseph. Rank doesn't seem to be too important right now." She nodded.

"Well, Joseph...I wanted to thank you again."

He smiled softly and patted the girl on the shoulder. "No need to thank me, Kyra; honestly. Now, do you know how to use one of these?"

Joseph offered her a civilian issued pistol he had retrieved from the shop downstairs. It was a small caliber weapon, only nine millimeter, but would probably be effective enough at dispatching the undead. Kyra nodded and accepted the weapon. She began looking it over, searching for the weapon's safety and clip release mechanisms, found those rather quickly and slipped it into the front of the waist of her pants. Gunny then handed her a few clips of ammunition that he'd loaded himself and she slipped those away in various pockets on her hoodie and her jeans. She smiled up at him at first, then cocked her head to the side. For a moment, Kyra just sort of...watched Joseph and he just sort of...watched her right back. This went on for a few awkward minutes before Kyra spoke.

"I don't know a lot about you," she said, then gestured to the other two men, "or them. So...tell me."

Her comment caught Joseph a bit off guard; that wasn't exactly what he was expecting to hear, but he quickly regained his composure and nodded slowly. He cast a sideways glance at his two friends, who were still in their heated arm wrestling competition and glaring at one another like they were mortal enemies, and then focused back on Kyra. Joseph exhaled a breath and slouched on the couch a bit as he scratched his head, trying to figure out where to start. What better than to do what he knew best? Himself. That's where Joseph Adam Windhover would begin.

"Well," he started, "I'm Joseph Windhover. My friends call me Joe or Joey. I joined the Corps when I was seventeen- Jesus!" he exclaimed, rubbing his face. The other three survivors looked up at the Gunny with questioning expressions. "I'm fuckin' thirty years old! Christ in Heaven, I'm ancient." Joseph let out an exasperated sigh at his own age and the others laughed at him as he shook his head. Had it really been thirteen years since he'd joined the Corps? Thirteen years of fighting and killing and near misses? Thirteen years of his life...gone? Just like that, too. Poof. "Agh, anyway. I was born on Mars, raised there too. I've seen action on about twenty different planets and have collected about a hundred different scars. Won about half a dozen purple hearts and a Bronze Star."

Kyra whistled softly. "How'd you wind up on a shithole like this?"

Joseph smiled softly and cleared his throat. "Well, I uh...kinda slept with my CO's daughter. I, er, was a little drunk." he admitted with a sheepish shrug. "So...I wound up here." Kyra simply laughed softly, covering her mouth with a slender hand to try and muffle the noise.

"Wh-what about those two?" she asked, nodding over toward the other two Marines who had gone from arm wrestling to...swapping licks. Derrick stood sideways, feet spread far apart, with his sleeve rolled up. Jones grinned, rared back and punched Derrick's arm with all his might. The result was a rather loud 'smack' and large red spot on the Corporal's arm that would probably bruise rather handsomely. After that, Jones rolled up his sleeve and assumed the same posture that Corporal Montreal had been standing in before as he wound up to throw a punch. Joseph sighed softly and shook his head; those two were always competing about something. Accuracy down at the range, how many girls they could score, how fast they could run...they were like kids! Another sigh later, Joseph turned back to Kyra.

"That shithead," he said, gesturing to Montreal who had just punched Jones rather hard, "is Derrick Montreal. He's been in my unit for about eight months now. You've been in the Corps for, what, three years, Dee?" Derrick nodded as Jones punched him right in the same spot he had beforehand. "So that puts him at about twenty two. He was born out on one of the rim-worlds...I forget which one...and joined up right after the Covies glassed the ever-living crap out of it. Apparently, he and his folks got aboard the last Pelican out and he joined up right after his feet touched the deck of the cruiser that picked them up. He's been around the block a couple times, too. Two purple hearts, Distinguished Service Medal...good guy." There was another loud smack as Derrick punched Jones in the arm. Hard. This time, Jones gave a shout of "Son of a bitch, that fucking hurts!" and Derrick laughed at him, calling him a wuss among other names.

"Will you two fuckasses knock that shit off? It's annoying!"

"What's the matter Gunny?" asked Montreal as Jones vigorously rubbed his sore arm. "You want in?"

Joseph grunted indignantly and shook his head. Derrick simply shrugged and punched the El-Tee again for kicks, who shot a glare at the Corporal that was so fiece, Windhover was surprised the other man didn't simply disintegrate. After a tense moment, the two men sat back down at the dinner table and Montreal started to fold a piece of paper he'd pulled from his pocket into a small triangle. Paper football. With a shake of his head, Joseph turned his attention back to Kyra.

"Anyway, Jones there is a bit of a mystery. His first name's Marcus, I know that much...but apparently he's fresh out of college. We've only known him a couple weeks. From what I've seen, his record is pretty spotless; thirtieth in his class in college. Apparently the brass figure they had enough bullet sponges out there in the field, so they assigned him here for his first duty. Guess they never counted on this shit, huh?" Joseph cast a glance over at the other two; Derrick had his thumb and index fingers on both hands set up like a field goal, and Jones was holding the tip of the triangular football with his left index finger. He bit down on his tongue and flicked. The little triangle flew through the air, in between Derrick's fingers and smacked him straight in the face. Jones immediately started laughing when Montreal recoiled slightly from the rather miniscule impact of the piece of paper. Gunny rolled his eyes and shook his head, then glanced over to Kyra...who was staring up at the tiled ceiling.

"Err...what are you doing?" he asked, utterly confused.

"Counting." she responded matter-of-factly.

"Counting what?"

"The tiles."

Joseph's jaw dropped and he shook his head very, very slowly. He quietly prayed to God that they would be able to get out of here and get out soon...otherwise, all of them were going to go batshit crazy.