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by Morse » Tue Aug 10, 2010 7:13 pm
Morse stepped off of the APC and into ‘Camp Castle’. This wasn’t exactly what he had expected. Typically they wait into orbit after a job was done, and sat on the ship while waiting for their assorted times to fit into cryo. But if there was one benefit to having a ground emplacement, it’s that certain things were just better, namely the food. Not the Morse had ever given a shit about the quality of the food. He had learned to enjoy the pasty imitations. What he wasn’t the biggest fan of was sharing the facilities with the multitude, which were undoubtedly the current occupants of this camp. However this was one thing he had no say in, so he didn’t care.
He heard Obi’s accent of the island of prisoners, and he snatched up all the words immediately. He hadn’t eaten much before they left for the mission, but what he wanted more was a drink. That could be dealt momentarily.
”Oh fuck ya.” Morse said in a somewhat exasperated sense. With his M41A-E2 stored away on the APC with the rest of his heavy combat gear, he was free to move finally, and that felt good. ”Maybe they’re up’n stuffin’ free desert fer birthdays.” Morse said, remembering that it was his birthday again. Sure didn’t feel like, or look like, or sound like it, but that’s what happened with age.
< Tag Obi
As he started walking, he heard another Australian accent, only he knew there was only one of those in the platoon. He turned around to see someone he had never seen before coming up behind them. He was a bit skeptical as to exactly who this person was, but he remembered that she came in on the same airship they just dropped in. She must have been part of the supporting group which showed up later.
”Well, well. Who’s the new meat? Aint never seen you before, and I got one a them photographical memories.” Morse said. He was lying. He had one of the worst memories when it came to names and numbers, but not a lot of people in the platoon knew that so he would be fine with that.
< Tag Casey
He reached into his pocket and picket out his flask. As always it was filled to the top with ‘homebrew’. The hard dirt scent which came from the opening was harsh on the senses, but that didn’t stop Morse from taking a slug off top. That’s what he needed. Now it felt like his birthday.