Jackson Cormack - LZ "Strelok", Planet JiangXi Jackson hopped out of the Storm's passenger bay and set foot on the tattered remains of what someone with an IQ lower than their age would call "soil". The matted, dead grass and scattering of decaying plant life painted a bleak and foreboding picture of the coming days ahead.
Lieutenant Cormack of the SCRA was...an interesting man, especially among their ranks. A strong combination of Bretonian and Libertonian laid in his blood, despite his Colonial nationality. His mannerisms were more laid back; he preferred to take things his own way, rather than conform to the standards of a highly efficient military machine. Perhaps he was just stubborn, perhaps he had his reasons. A little over forty with charcoal-grey hair and a mustache out of a Western cops and robbers flick, he looked more like a down-on-his-luck LPI detective than an officer in the Coalition army, but perhaps that was the facade that kept him alive.
His uniform was relatively in check, although his preferred bomber jacket with Coalition squadron patches remained above it; a utility belt clipped to his midsection complemented it nicely, a dark shade of brown against the dark green of his service uniform. As he stepped onto the LZ proper, he grabbed at his equipment, inspecting it quickly:
The first, and most important, his sidearm. The MP 802 "Bishop", a slightly less-than-reliable service pistol used by the Coalition. Chambered in 9x19 millimeter, with a magazine capacity of seventeen rounds. He'd hoped that he had been given hollow point rounds, but he also knew the officers were a bit too cruel to allow any such advantage. Instead, he simply examined the chamber of the weapon, viewing the round loaded inside, before racking it shut and placing it in the holster on his right-hand side. Next, he took a look at the pouches attached to his belt, ensuring the rest of his equipment made it along for the ride - a spare 9x19mm magazine, fully loaded. A geiger counter, however primitive it may be, yet crucial it remained. Two ration bars, presumably little more than protein bars chock full of calories, a canteen - it didn't feel quite filled, probably only halfway - and a knife. It was a standard combat/utility knife, with a hard plastic and rubber handle meeting up to the hilt and a 7-inch long blade, gun-metal gray extending forward, with the bottom end curving up to a very sharp tip. Other than the empty pouches of his belt and the rather empty assault pack strapped onto Cormack's back, he'd no more equipment to check. A paltry list, as far as Cormack was concerned.
Cormack simply let out a deep sigh, adjusted his jacket, chambered a round into his pistol, and stepped off, examining the nearby surroundings. He'd no real wish to join with the other officers - all newbies, he felt. Granted, he was no less of a newcomer to the Coalition, but his time served in the Colonial Military left him with a deep undercurrent of "get off my lawn"-itis. Perhaps though, he'd come to understand this wasn't a job for a loner. Only time would tell.
