The ensuing preparations were, as Rick had expected, chaotic. If he'd ever wondered why some of the more troublemaking marines had been given a place on the team -- he hadn't, for the most part, because he'd seen their files -- or were given such lax regulations, the ensuing bustle made it clear; each and every one of them knew exactly what they were doing. Even as the camaraderie continued, watching the marines prep their weaponry was like watching a finely oiled machine work without issue.

As the head of the unit -- well, save Gregory, who hadn't done much other than give textbook orders or posture -- Deanna was managing each of them, cool and calm under pressure, acting like a natural leader even with the most difficult of her men. She successfully reoriented herself quickly, giving order after order with barely a second's examination. "I don't care if you are short, Merle, get it done. I want this loading dock sealed, now, Michonne! How many more, Glenn?"

"Last one."

"Good, take it away." And that was all it took for him to move yet another dangerous-looking warhead towards the ship and load it in.

The bustle was chaotic, but it was a good kind of chaotic, the kind that gives you something to focus on so that you don't drown in your own thoughts. It was for this reason that Rick found himself walking over to Deanna as she stood with Dixon, hands clenched as he prayed that she wouldn't hate his guts. She was speaking as she walked up. "-you check number three?"

Rick had interrupted before he realized that he should probably let Dixon answer, but, by then, it was too late and he carried on. "Hey, uh, sorry to break in… There anything I can do to help?"

Deanna shrugged. "Where do you think you'll fit in?"

Rick nodded towards an empty loader, much like the one Glenn was using. "Well, I can drive a loader. Class 2 rating."

Deanna turned to Dixon, who shrugged. Evidently, that was enough of a testimony that she nodded. "Be my guest."

Rick nodded and stepped backwards before turning and walking to the loader. The controls and straps were all familiar -- after all, he'd spent hours working at the docks -- and buckling himself in was the work of a few seconds. Before long, the machine was started up and ready to go, a crate pinned in its arms as he turned and looked back. "Where do you want it?"

Deanna looked two parts delighted, one part surprised as she smiled a wide grin -- the first Rick had seen her give -- and turned back to look at Dixon. For his part, his face held no trace of surprise as he gave Rick a single, silent nod. He wasn't smiling, but the sign of respect was gratifying; if nothing else, at least one person on the team didn't think Rick was a lunatic. With a flick of her wrist, Deanna indicated another room -- "Bay twelve, please." -- before walking off, picking up her earlier conversation with Dixon as she did.

The next hours kept Rick busy, and his arms and legs were aching by the time he'd finished his tasks; even with the hydraulic support systems of the loader, the effort of controlling the machine -- which tended to overshoot the mark on each motion -- had taken a lot out of him, especially after months of bedrest for his gunshot wound. He was glad when the marines stopped loading the ships and began looking after their own weaponry, leaving him and Shane side-by-side to watch Maggie and Glenn start up the ship.

Shouting from behind caught Rick's attention and he turned to see Deanna leading the troops, figures pounding past him as they moved. The fluidness of the marines was once again impressive, each person moving as an individual cog in the larger machine as they ran onboard the dropship. He and Shane followed right after, finding their own seats and securing the bar to pin them in place. It felt like on the roller coasters Rick had ridden as a child, and he felt a familiar spike of anticipation as the lock clicked into place.

Basic checks went on around them, mainly consisting of Merle ensuring the lap bars were in place. The air was charged, thick with a sense of danger and adrenaline as Maggie piloted the ship out of Alexandria's bay. Rick took a couple of deep breaths to steady himself, and he could feel that his hands were shaking slightly, so he tried to distract himself by once again watching the marines.

Dixon was watching him from across the way -- was Rick imagining things or was there a bit of concern there? -- as he settled back, leaning easily against the wall of the dropship. He could hear Maggie's voice over the ship's speaker, counting down the drop in her familiar accent, and Merle shouted out overtop it. "We're on an elevator to hell, boys, going down!"

The dropship plummeted. Rick felt the all-too-familiar drop as his stomach seemed to rise into his throat, leaning back against the metal in an attempt to get comfortable even as he accepted it would be impossible. Merle was shouting again, voice loud as he whooped, but everyone else was silent. Rick opened his eyes partway through, looking around at the others to calm his nausea.

Gregory looked like he was about to lose his lunch, too, so Rick asked, "So, uh, Lieutenant. How many drops is this for you?"

He looked almost nervous as he responded, stuttering out, "T-thirty-eight." Then, nearly an afterthought, he added, "Simulated."

Rosita chimed in, then. "How many combat drops?"

"Uh, t-two. Counting this one." He turned back as though anticipating the reactions of the others, the look shared between Rosita and Abraham, Abraham's muttered "Shit", Merle's chuckle and "Oh, man… The loo's a rookie.", the look of skepticism Rick shared with Shane. Rick watched the others at the same time, looking for reactions from each marine, and they all held the same trademarks: scorn, skepticism, annoyance.

Rick looked over at Dixon in the hopes of getting his own reaction, stopping short as he realized that the man was asleep. Dead-to-the-world asleep. Asleep despite the insane G-force pushing down on them, despite the turbulence, despite the shouting and conversations. Rick looked around at the others, but no one seemed particularly concerned about it. Merle even looked straight at his brother, snorted quietly, then turned away again.

Andrea even continued their banter, ignoring it. "I'm telling you, I've got a bad feeling about this drop."

Morgan snorted. "You always say that, Andrea. You always say, 'I've got a bad feeling about this drop.'"

Andrea rolled her eyes. "Alright, well… I'll call your folks when we get back without you."

Gregory ran a check on the cameras and vitals, which, save for an issue with Abraham's camera, were in perfect working order. Merle, meanwhile, had stood up, speaking animatedly to the entire dropship. "Check it out, all you pansies, I am the ultimate badass. State of the badass art." A few muffled agreements went up, but he kept speaking as he walked down the length of the ship. "You do not wanna fuck with me. Check. It. Out!"

His eyes caught on Rick, then, and he walked closer, fiddling with his seat. "Hey, Officer Friendly, don't worry. Me and my squad of ultimate badasses will protect ya. Look at this… Independently targeting particle-beam phalanx… Fry half a city with this sweetheart." He kept moving, indicating each piece of weaponry. "We got tactical missiles, phase-plasma pulse-rifles, RPGs… we got sonic-electronic ball breakers!" Rick looked over at Dixon, surprised to see that he was still asleep despite Merle's monologue, before Merle began again. "We got nukes. We got knives, sharp sticks-"

He might have kept going, but Deanna stopped him with a quiet, "Knock it off, Merle. Everyone else, get your gear. Two minutes." She turned away, then looked back and added, "Somebody wake up Dixon."

They all got up, then, disregarding the shaking of the dropship as they shifted around. Maggie and Glenn were still talking up front, voices coming over the intercom, something about an issue finding the beacon, but the issue was resolved. Rick looked over at the camera instead of focusing on it, eyeing the structure outside. "That the atmosphere processor?"

Shane nodded. "Yup, that's it, man. Pretty awesome tech, ya ask me. Fully automated, too, company-made."

Gregory was at the monitors, too, looking annoyed at the side-conversation. "Okay, Marsha… Take us in low over the main-colony complex. Storm shutters are sealed, no visible activity… Alright, hold at forty with a slow circle of the complex."

"Roger." The radio crackled again as she added, "And the name's Maggie." Gregory looked unconcerned.

Rick looked closer at the monitor, pointing parts out to Shane. "Structure seems intact… No visible lighting, though."

Gregory ignored the conversation again. "Okay, Margaret, set down on the landing grid. Immediate dust-off on my clear, then stay on station."

Maggie's voice broke over the intercom again. "Down and clear."

Deanna nodded, seizing control. "Ten seconds. Look sharp. I want a nice, clean dispersal this time." The time passed quickly, and it wasn't long before she was shouting again. "Let's go! Head out!" With that, the marines filed out, jumping into the rain outside and leaving the car suddenly feeling much more empty.