More and more of the marines woke up from the cold slumber. The air was filled with smoke from the cigars, smoked mostly by the officers. Altair himself was a non-smoker, not that he disapproved of it, he himself and his twin-sister have tried smoking at the age of six but due to the young age and no experience in that particular filed, both of them didn’t like it and never had tried it again. Later in medical school the boy had observed the example of lung cancer the smoker’s get and decided that pleasure from smoking, wouldn’t cover the nightmares he saw on those pictures. Driving the troubling thoughts out of his mind, Altair took another bite out of his sandwich, followed by a gulp of his herb tea; or as close as the machine on board the ship could get to the taste of tea. The boy opened his med pack, just as his eyes went through the contents.
Two large wound dressings
Two pressure bandage dressings
Two bandage rolls
Plastic face mask for revival purpose
Scissor with blunt edges to cut open clothes
6 auto-injectors with morphine
This was enough to attend to the minor wounds; anyone seriously injured would be transported to the APC or the drop ship. Those two were equipped with the state of the art medical equipment. Approvingly nodding to himself Altair closed the medical pack, attaching it to his webbing. Taking another gulp from his cap and finishing the last piece of his sandwich Altair looked up just in time to see a marine not older than himself approach. Taking a quick look at the young man, Altair noticed that he was well built and by the way he moved, Altair assumed that the marine took classes in martial arts.
Extending his hand for a handshake Joe greeted the lone medic, “Hi… Altair is it? I’m Joseph Harmon, though most people just call me Joe. The food any good?”
Smiling the boy returned the handshake rising momentarily from his seat. “Indeed I am Altair, Altair Konterran.”
The boy answered formally. “As for the food it depends on your personal taste, as well as standards.” Not feeling quite comfortable, the boy stood up. “Excuse me I have to take care of this.”
With those words the boy took the wrappings of his sandwich and the cup of tea and made his way towards the rubbish dispenser. Finishing the last bits of his tea on the way Altair was glad for an excuse to get away, not quite ready to make friends with the members of his new squad even though deep down he knew that one day he would have to do it.
"Alright Fresh meat when everything's eaten and, maybe, enjoyed. Get your armour dulled - boots too - I don't want light to shine off you giving away our position potentially"
Altair looked at the sergeant who was probably only a year or two older than himself. It felt strange to be bossed around by someone who was so young and for a moment the boy wondered how would Tarik feel about that, taking a mental note to ask his friend a few questions concerning the subject at hand Altair cursed under his breath, momentarily surprised, since he never cursed aloud before because this was another thing he was not allowed to do back at home. The reason behind such an outburst of emotion was the fact that the boy had spent almost a day to try and make his armor all shiny and spotless, and now all his work would be spoiled.
Reemerging another curse he had heard from Tarik, Altair took off his armor, making his way towards the locker. What they tough at boot camp was how to clean your armor and boots and make them all shine and spotless, what they didn’t teach was how to make it all dull and dirty again after you’ve done the first part of the job. Taking a quick look at the contents of his locker the boy found nothing handy that would make his armor dirty or dull, nothing but the boot polish. Hoping that this would do the trick, the boy went through the process of dirtying his armor. After a few minutes the boy examined his work. From being clean and shiny now it resembled, something strange to say the least. The armor was now dark gray almost black, thanks to the polish, and the boy hoped that his superiors would not be too harsh when they see his handy work.
Putting on his black armor, Altair looked at himself in the mirror; he decided that if you didn’t look to closely, the amour appeared to be painted in a solid black color, a more close inspection, revealed the origins of that color. Altair just hoped it wouldn’t rain, since water would almost definitely wash away the boot polish he used. Closing the locker Altair went to look for his old friend, to show off his handy work.