This was most definitely not standard operating procedure, although it was what Brad was trained for. Special operations, reconnaissance. In and out. Better than driving around a desert in a humvee, even if the thing was practically his pride and joy. No, this is infinitely better, being able to do what he was trained to do -- being able to utilize his skillset and not wait around for four hours for a fucking translator.
Except, he has no idea what he's after this time, and he's without the rest of his squad, and that already makes him a little uncomfortable. He'd be fine with it if it was completely solo work, even, but when he has to work with an unknown factor, he'd prefer having at least one other person he knows he can rely on.
This unknown factor comes in a red-headed, female flavour. Sort of femme fatale, which makes a smile pull at the corners of Brad's mouth, but he manages to fight it off. He hasn't said much to her yet. They only rendezvoused ten minutes ago, in a dingy hangar where they're supposed to wait for... something. Not knowing frustrates him, but that's how it is sometimes. Some things are just on a need-to-know-basis.
He crouches behind a set of crates, padded knees resting against cement as he waits. It's quiet out here. Whatever they're waiting for, Brad's sure they'll hear it from a mile away. There's nothing else around but sand and dust and the occasional sound of a raptor soaring past, after all.
Brad clicks his tongue, eyeing off his companion. She's sexy, almost appallingly so. Maybe that's why Nate saw fit to assign this job to him -- because the other marines behave like fucking animals at the slightest suggestion of the fairer kind. Retards probably wouldn't be able to keep it in their pants long enough to focus on their mission.
"Am I going to find out what we're here for?" He leans his head back against the crate, closing his eyes for a few seconds before he opens them again, looking at her expectantly.
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Except, he has no idea what he's after this time, and he's without the rest of his squad, and that already makes him a little uncomfortable. He'd be fine with it if it was completely solo work, even, but when he has to work with an unknown factor, he'd prefer having at least one other person he knows he can rely on.
This unknown factor comes in a red-headed, female flavour. Sort of femme fatale, which makes a smile pull at the corners of Brad's mouth, but he manages to fight it off. He hasn't said much to her yet. They only rendezvoused ten minutes ago, in a dingy hangar where they're supposed to wait for... something. Not knowing frustrates him, but that's how it is sometimes. Some things are just on a need-to-know-basis.
He crouches behind a set of crates, padded knees resting against cement as he waits. It's quiet out here. Whatever they're waiting for, Brad's sure they'll hear it from a mile away. There's nothing else around but sand and dust and the occasional sound of a raptor soaring past, after all.
Brad clicks his tongue, eyeing off his companion. She's sexy, almost appallingly so. Maybe that's why Nate saw fit to assign this job to him -- because the other marines behave like fucking animals at the slightest suggestion of the fairer kind. Retards probably wouldn't be able to keep it in their pants long enough to focus on their mission.
"Am I going to find out what we're here for?" He leans his head back against the crate, closing his eyes for a few seconds before he opens them again, looking at her expectantly.