The briefing had taken only twenty minuets, and Paul hadn't payed much attention to it. He was too busy trying to fight back the nausea from the thought of exactly going into combat, to be shot at, to be wanted dead by another man. His mind raced with thoughts of what could go wrong; he kept thinking of what might happen to him. His attention was snapped from his inner horrors by the seventy five or so troops standing up, singling the end of the brief.
As he stood up , he viewed the under strength company with a curious glance. What was defined as the combat workhorse of the Galactic Union army was the Combat Company. It consisted of exactly one hundred men, broken down into a command detachment of six, composed of one Captain, Two Lieutenants, and three Sergeants which served as a sort of executive bodyguard for the officers, one to each. The command served as the directors of a company's worth of men, their responsibilities included fire direction, snooper calls, keeping the higher ups informed of the situation, and upon occasion running around like hogs on ice. Also attached to the company were two, two man teams labeled as "direct target interdiction support teams", informally known as Snipers, responsibilities included long range fire, deep-deployment recon, and being generally scary. Then there was the meat and potatoes of the company, the three combat platoons.
A combat platoon was a nasty creature, built of thirty men who would like nothing more than to rain on your parade. Within the platoon there were three squads of ten men, further divided into fire-teams of five men, armed with four G36 Rifles, and a 21E support gun. The infantrymen of Dog Company were regarded as the nastiest sons-of-bitches ever to slap iron in the fourth quadrant of Titan. Some of the members had been around so long they remember the battle of Grendsla, some had been around so long they remember first being deployed to Titan three years ago.
As the company filed out of the briefing room, inevitably back to the green canvas tent to gather there gear, Paul noticed a group of men standing off to the side, specifically, five men and one woman all wearing civilian clothes with tactical vests over them. They were using a holographic map display to plan something, an operation perhaps. Just as Paul left the building, he noticed the shortened barrels on the rifles, signaling members of the Titan Special Operation Unit.
The return to the tent was uneventful, once inside, the men began gathering their gear, loading rifles, and making sure they were well prepared for the storm that was about to come. Paul checked his own gear, paying special attention to the amount of ammunition he was bringing and the condition of his rifle. During his packing he noticed that the Lutenet had entered the room and announced that they would be departing in about half an hour, and that they should finish packing there gear and prepare for departure. Paul started rooting through his things, stashed in various locations. He packed ruck with his gas-mask, sleeping gear, night jacket, and other extraordinarily heavy things when Animal came over.
"Weeping Christ on the crucifix, the fuck you packing' all that shit for Paul, your going into combat, not camping." Paul looked up to Animal, who had a look on his face of both understanding, and genuine curiosity. Paul wondered if Animal had been around so long, he had forgotten what it was like to be new to the game.
"Listen Paul, I can give you a good piece of advice. You see Norton next to you." Animal pointed to a man with brown hair, now almost blonde from the scorching sun.
"Norton over there has been around for a long time, now he ain't much for talking, but you pay attention to what he does, and I promise you will learn a hell of a lot." Paul looked at the man, looked at his gear. He had nothing but the bare minimum on him, his weapons, his ammunition, about two quarts of water, his Kevlar armor, and his head gear.
Paul filed suit, totally abandoning the notion of bringing his pack. He filled two canteens with water, put on his ammo belt with his grenades, knife, and his own little first-aid kit, he donned his Kevlar, stuffed with more ammunition, and his helmet. He noticed the amazing lightness in his gear, far less than what he expected. Then without warning, he vomited.
While cleaning himself up, Animal spoke from behind him.
"Hey Paul, wana get laid?" Still bent over, and heaving a little his face contorted in a look of "What in the hell?" Paul stood up and whirled to look at Animal.
"Uh… thank you for the offer Seargent, but I have a girlfr-." Before he could finish his sentence, Animal laid two belts of 7.62mm ammo for his 21E.
"Carry that for me, will ya kid." Animal spoke, punching Paul in the shoulder, with a humongous grin on his face, obviously amused by his own little joke.
People began to notice that people we're leaving the tent, heading outside presumably to the Skimmers. Animal swung his massive weapon over his shoulder, and looked to Paul.
"Well, common the ships aren't gona' wait all day." Animal turned and made for the door, Paul ran after him, only to run into the equivalent of a brick wall as Animal stopped abruptly in front of him.
"You uh… You forget something…?" Animal asked. Paul checked over himself with both hands… he had his grenades, his pistol, his ammunition.
"Fuck me, my Rifle!" He yelled to himself, he ran back to his cot and grabbed his G36. He ran back to Animal, the belts of ammo around his neck clanging. He looked up at Animal, who had that grin on his face again. He apparently found Paul's antics quite amusing.
"Your gona need that slick…" Animal said, through a boisterous laugh.
They left the tent, and walked for the skimmers, Paul noticed the rest of the Battalion assembling to board skimmers, He hadn't realized that it was such a large operation, well over a thousand men had to be going into the City. Paul's company filed into the Skimmer, the cool interior being a refreshing change from the sweltering outdoor sun, from which Paul was sweating even though he had been exposed to it for little over five minuets. After every one had gotten packed in, the Skimmer made a dead life, and shot off for Apollo City.