“So what’re you in for?” Mendoza glanced over at the other marines, grinning.
The others were mostly still in full kit, armor, helmet and all. The worst would’ve been medevaced or
killed in the field after all. Still, some of them returned his glance with genuine, proper hostility.
“Wouldn’t you wanna know…?” Hamaya grumped somewhat goodnaturedly back, though her constantly
adjusting stance in her seat and large crater in the plating of her M3 reinforced variant was pretty much
all most needed to know. Most of the men and some of the women winced.
"Some jackass decided he could shoot halfblinded, " she muttered. Halfblinded was when there was heavy
electronic warfare in the area, and IFF was spotty. “into a fucking active firefight with low visibility, and with
a FUCKIN SNIPER RIFLE!”
“Ouch. Just a bruise, or…?”
“Quentin, right? Never gonna laugh at a dude getting kicked in the crotch again. Fucking shit… I got lucky,
the 10 by 55 mil round cleaned a tree and then hit me. Kinda wish it hadn’t, then I wouldn’t be here with
you fuckers. Sitting nice and happy on painkillers, yeah?” She grins, then winces.
From across the room, a fairly heavily bandaged, somewhat slight combat lifesaver looks at them. “…sure
that’s not a hairline
fracture in there?”
“Sky and stars, is that you Lopez?” Someone else speaks over the low chattering in the waiting room.
“…buckshot. …some collie sleepers ambushed us.” He sighs, and gestures to his
M4’s vest, also cratered in several places. “Some of them hit here, couple grazed, and then one of them
hit me with… I dunno. A car stopper? I think I cracked something.”
“Oh, shit. Alpha 2-2?” One of the officers sitting in the room glances to him. He just gets a nod in response.
The door thuds open, another one of the combat technicians staggering in. His armor is half missing,
plating cracked and battered. “Sup fuckers?”
Hamaya groans, and fishes out a wrapper to toss at him. “Oh goddamnit, Braliata’s here. Can you either die
or get a better attitude, asshole?”
“…Alright, alright, look, I’m sorry, alright? Just lemme sit down, okay?”
“…yeah, sure, here. What happened to you?” The brownhaired woman pats the seat next to her, wincing as
she shifts in her seat. The other ComTech drops into the chair, doffing his damaged helmet with a grunt,
revealing a surprisingly feminine face, as well as a bandaged scar. The helmet’s mandible plate is pierced
through and the TNR lamp is broken, leaving only the stump.
“…don’t wanna talk about it.”