He would watch as Ayla, accompanied by two other men, burst into the medical bay carrying a stretcher.
Upon the stretcher lay an individual whose face was hidden behind the polarized visor of his helmet. He wondered why the man was still in his full battle dress uniform, watching as they quickly put him onto one of the operating beds. Just as they closed the curtain he would catch a glance at the injured Marine and what he saw was unnerving to say the least...
The mans chest armour seemed scorched; melted and deformed... What weapon could cause such severe damage?... Worst of all, how could the insurrectionists get such a weapon if it existed?... But Before he could spend much time thinking about it a fourth man would walk through the door, looking straight towards him.
It was Lieutenant Vargas... He was the ships Medical Officer. A man of average build, clean shaven with a uniform that might as well of been sparkling and, as he approached, he would call out...
"Private Jackson!"
The Lieutenants voice boomed throughout the room, bouncing off the walls and causing one of the marines in an adjacent bed to jump awake from his rest. It was a voice to command authority, that was for sure, and Jackson wasn't keen on angering the Lieutenant by keeping him waiting.
"Yes, Sir!"
As Jackson responded, he would brace up in his bed as if mimicking the act of coming to attention. The Lieutenant would inspect him for a second, looking him from head to toe before looking down towards a clipboard that he held firmly in his left hand.
"You're being put back in the field, Private."
Jackson would be taken aback by this. He was going back out? His legs were still pained and he hadn't been given the proper time to heal. This made him wonder what exactly the situation was out there... How badly could the insurrectionists be hitting them if the Lieutenant was willing to put a wounded soldier back out in the field...
"May I enquire as to why, Sir?..."
Jackson questioned, unsure as to the Lieutenant's motives.
"Unless you want to question the Spook's I'd quit asking and get your arse ready, Marine!"
The Spooks?... Jackson thought for a moment. What on Earth were Naval Intelligence doing all the way in the outer colonies? Maybe it had something to do with that Marine... But that didn't explain why they would demand injured soldiers to fight. After all, Naval Intelligence were many things but stupid wasn't one of them... Usually...
But, with the orders coming from them, nobody was going to refuse.
He just hoped that whatever they were planning, it wouldn't get innocent people killed. While the fight against the Insurrection was anything but helping the locals, Spooks had a tendency to get the Insurrectionists significantly more sympathy from the locals than perhaps they over wise would've had...
"What the hell are you waiting for! Move your arse before I move it for you!"
The Lieutenant's voice once more boomed across the room and, not wanting to step on a second landmine, he would quickly jump out of the bed he laid in, letting out a painful grunt as the burning sensation in his legs worsened but he had his orders and began making his way out from the medical bay and into the main hallway.
Once out of the room, he would stop for a moment to look out towards the vast stars.
Usually he enjoyed the sight of distant lights, glimmering against the black background but this time... He couldn't shake the feeling that something was out there. Something big... But perhaps he was being overly dramatic... A side effect of his injury, he thought to himself, as he continued on his way.
...
It had been about an hour since he had visited the armoury.
His armour was tightly fitted and seemed to be bulky. Yet, for some reason he couldn't explain, it felt light and agile... Well, everything except the helmet. He'd never been a fan of the sealed helmets that the Hell Jumpers had been made to wear... It always made him feel somewhat claustrophobic.
But, in the end, it's a helmet that would stop his sorry ass from dying in the vacuum of space.
As he made his way through the ships halls, watching the many Marines and crewmen that passed, one would stand out to him... Another man donning the Hell Jumper armour... Yet, he'd never seen this person aboard before. Were they newly assigned?... Perhaps to fill in for the injured Marine who he saw being brought into the Med Bay?...
No... Naval Command was never so quick to dish out reinforcements... And that wouldn't explain the company this Marine seemed to keep: Captain Valerian, the commander of the naval task force over New Caledonia...
What the hell was going on abord this ship?...