The next morning saw Marcus rise without trepidation towards the day's task. He was eager to do the job he was capable of doing, and he was looking forward to getting his hands on anything the Methuselah had to offer. He rose with the beeping of his timepiece, and rolled out of his bunk. As per usual, Penske was long gone when he awoke. He pulled on a jumpsuit, this one with sleeves unlike his usual attire, and sat down at his workstation. It was 0600, and he had time to go over his weapon before he went to go get coffee. His weapon, a standard issued Kione G55, was a short bullpup rifle that fired a 4.75x30mm caseless cartridge. Because the rounds they fired were caseless, they required no ejection port, and thus one less place for sand to get into the rifle. Even so, because of the constant sandstorms, the rifles were nigh-indestructable from sand, mud, or other abrasives. The biggest weakness of the G55 was overheating. Marcus had been trained to fire in short bursts, or select single fire, and if the barrel began to glow, he had been trained to swap to a sidearm.

Marcus did not own a sidearm.

He worked to break down his rifle, clean it as he had been trained, and once he was content that the rifle was operational, he slung it over his shoulder and walked to the galley. Finnegan cracked a smile at Marcus' approach.

"Ah, good morning Mr. Rhyne. Sleep well?" It was early for the galley, and the place was empty.

"Yes, pretty well, thanks," Marcus said politely, "and you?" Finnegan's toothy grin widened ever so slightly more. He was a sucker for good manners.

"I slept well myself, thank you for asking," he responded. "The usual?" Marcus nodded, and Finn poured his usual coffee, with two sweetener cubes and no dairy, as was Marcus' custom. As the older cook handed him his coffee, Marcus realized he had had time the day before to work on Finn's garbage disposal, but had failed to remember it.

"Finn, I'm sorry, I -" The cook raised his hand, interrupting him.

"If you're apologizing about the garbage disposal, don't worry about it. Penske said she'd work on it today while you're gone. You have more important things to worry about now. And hey - good luck today, my friend. Dangerous critters and such out there." Marcus nodded and walked away, and despite what Finn said, he felt bad about forgetting about the broken part. He knew his job today was important, and if the oil impeller wasn't retrieved from the Methuselah, it could endager the Enoch, but he felt bad that Penske had to pick up his workload.

Working aft, the young engineer soon forgot about Penske, Finn, and the garbage disposal, as he entered the hold. He walked over to Gretel, he sat waiting for him. The suit was pressurised, but the "armor" was thin - designed to take physical impacts from warehouse accidents only, if that. He opened up the front of the suit, which allowed him egress, and he slotted his rifle into a compartment to the side of what could be considered the "seat." He hopped in, sliding his arms into the "sleeves" of the suit, and began the startup sequence one more time, rechecking oil levels and batteries. Once Marcus saw everything was up to his satisfaction, he concluded the test by racking a .50 caliber round into the heavy rifle on his left arm. An ancient design, the .50 wasn't caseless like his more modern G55, but it could be fired almost indefinitely without fear of overheating, ammo permitting. Hopefully I'll never have to use it, Marcus thought to himself.

Marcus opened the hatch on Gretel to see a the friendly face of Manny Locke walking into the hold. Marcus hopped out and greeted his friend, who walked over to him. He, too, had a coffee in one hand, and his own rifle was slung over his shoulder, though it was a slightly different model of Kione rifle that Marcus wasn't familiar with. It was a model that all of the marines aboard the Enoch posessed, and Marcus figured it was better for extended trips out into the dunes and wastes.

"Good morning, Marcus. Gretel ready to go, I imagine?" Locke asked Marcus. The young engineer nodded.

"Ready and armed. She'll be capable of anything we'll need from her today, I hope." Locke nodded, looking at the large exosuit.

"I know you'll take care of us," Locke said with a chuckle, "especially if those natters are still slumming around, the fucking bastards." Locke spat to the side in disgust. Marcus nodded, knowing he didn't know anywhere near as much as Locke did when it came to the planet's wildlife, or how dangerous life outside the armored hull of the Enoch could be.

"I popped in here guessing you were here checking up on Gretel; if you're done, we can head to the airlock to begin gearing up." Locke began to turn towards the hold blastdoor with a waving gesture, and Marcus followed suit. Locke looked out for Marcus, though he did that for everybody. Every person on the Enoch had a story of some sort in which Manuel Locke had done them a favor or helped them out in some way, and Marcus Rhyne was no exception. When Marcus began first serving on the Enoch two years ago, within a week of first setting aboard the venerable tank, he had accidentally tripped on a raised grating in the galley, spilling his stew and all over Elon Phillips, a workman. Next to spilling food on Commander Wyatt, there was nobody worse to offend, as Phillips had a reputation for being a hothead, a bully, and an overall asshole. Some people behind closed doors even called him a thieving snake, though they never were able to prove anything. Covered in stew, Phillips, who was tall and moderately strong, instantly flew into a rage and began pummelling Marcus, who had tried to defend himself, but was no match for the larger man. Marcus had fought before, and won a couple times growing up, but Phillips was brutal, ruthless, and relentless. Marcus was about to experience the beating of his life when Locke walked in, saw the commotion, and before five seconds had passed, put Phillips on his ass. Calmed out of his rage from beating Locke gave him in such a short time, he walked out of the galley. Since then, Locke and Marcus were good friends, and Marcus worked hard to stay as far away from Phillips as possible. Marcus was a gearhead first and foremost, and Phillips had a fighting spirit that the young engineer wasn't interested in facing.

The two walked into the airlock antechamber to see an unfamiliar figure sitting on one of the benches, leaning over. The figure raised her head, and Marcus realized he didn't know her. He was momentarily confused before he realized this must be Kee McCullagh, the marine from the Methuselah whom Locke had aided. Her hair was short, and looked to be in her early 30's. Perhaps some other time she would have been attractive, but her eyes and cheeks were sunken and dark. She had a haunted look on her face that startled Marcus. She's seen things, Marcus thought.

"Good morning, Kee. I didn't think you'd be up and about so soon. Here to see us off?" Locke said to her. Marcus felt the question was almost accusatory. Apparently he didn't know she was going to be here either. The young woman shook her head in the negative.

"No, I'm going with you," she said, standing up. Her voice was gruff and hoarse. Locke put his hands on his hips.

"Did Dr. Thaler clear you for duty?" he asked. Her sunken eyes bored a hole into Locke's.

"Dr. Thaler isn't my doctor," she responded.

"Indeed I am not," said a voice from behind Marcus. The young engineer stood to the side as Doctor Gustav Thaler walked into the antechamber.

"However, your doctor is dead, from what you've said, putting your health firmly in my hands." Doctor Thaler cleaned his glasses on a corner of his lab coat. Marcus winced at the doctor's words. Thaler had a reputation for not mincing words, and it seemed to be true. He was short, with tanned skin, which was rare for someone serving on Harmattan, seeing that the sun was almost never out long enough to acquire a tan. He had sandy blond hair, and he was in his late 40's. Behind Thaler, Captain Typhon walked into the room. I should have checked Gretel one more time, Marcus thought to himself, as he stood at attention at the officer's appearance.

"Marine McCullagh, please return to the medbay. You're still too injured to leave the Enoch," the captain said. Kee simply shook her head.

"I feel much better, and I won't exert myself. The stitches are holding just fine, and I can bring bandages along with me. The simple fact is, with all due respect ma'am, that I'm attending this expedition." Marine McCullagh stood ramrod straight at Typhon entering. The room was silent, as talking back to Typhon was beyond unheard of on the Enoch. Thaler stood apathetically, his hands in his labcoat pockets. Locke stood at attention to the side of the antechamber, facing the opposite wall without looking at either party. The silence stood for several prolonged moments, before Typhon finally spoke again.

"Dr. Thaler, are Marine McCullagh's injuries of an extreme and dangerous variety? Is her life in danger if she leaves the Enoch?" Typhon stood with her arms behind her back. She spoke to Dr. Thaler, but she didn't remove her eyes from McCullagh. Marcus stood behind Typhon, and he couldn't see her face, but he imagined it was the same steely expression she used on the rest of the crew at times like this. Thaler shrugged.

"I mean, everyone's life is in danger if they leave the Enoch, this is Harmattan. She could take one step outside and be eaten by a chuma hiding behind a rock." Thaler shrugged again, looking sleepy.

"Doctor..." Typhon warned him.

"However, she's not likely to perish as long as she brings a staple gun and bandages with her," he responded. Thaler was just about the only individual on the tank that seemed to be oblivious to Typhon's reputation, and nobody knew why. The man seemed to have a deathwish. However, he was a damned good surgeon, and the Enoch needed him. Typhon nodded slowly at Thaler's assessment. She spoke to Locke without turning to him.

"Marine Locke, Marine McCullagh is to join your expedition to the Methuselah, if you permit it. As expedition lead, you have final say. What is your decision?" Locke responded instantly.

"I'd be happy to have Marine McCullagh join us on this expedition, Captain. She's more familiar with the terrain than I am, and if the Methuselah throws us any curveballs, she's the best-equipped to get us past those obstacles." Typhon nodded at Locke's assessment.

"Alright, McCullagh," Typhon said, "you'll get your wish. I hope you don't grow to regret it." Typhon turned to Locke and Rhyne.

"At ease, and please be seated as the rest of the expedition arrives." Thaler left without a word, and the trio sat on the benches at ease. McCullagh sat leaning forward, her head down. Her hair obscured her face. Locke sat next to Marcus, who sat looking into empty space. No words were spoken, even as the rest of the expedition crew filed in. When everyone was accounted for, Typhon repeated her briefing from the day before, perhaps for McCullagh's sake.

"Good morning. As we discussed yesterday, today you will take part in an expedition to the derelict tank Methuselah, which was destroyed by an unkown entity several days ago. Expedition leader Marine Locke will brief you with the rest." With that, Typhon stood to the side as Locke stood up to face his compatriots.

"We are currently parked a little less than two kilometers south-east from the wreckage of the Methuselah. Upon leaving the Enoch, which will patrol in our absence, we will enter a radio silence except amongst close-band. Allow me to be clear: outside of our scheduled checkup times, we will have no communcation with the Enoch." Locke turned stood to the side, and on a screen in the antechamber, a map of the area lit up. Marcus wasn't familiar with the topography of Harmattan, but it looked to be rocky, treacherous terrain. Two glowing orbs on the screen indicated the Methuselah and the Enoch respectively. Deknost raised his hand.

"That is shitty terrain for a tank, sir," Deknost said in his usual thick accent, "what was the Methuselah doing down there?" Locke looked to McCullagh, but she sat as she did earlier, showing no desire to explain what the Methuselah was doing, if she even knew. Locke sighed and looked to Deknost.

"We don't know. Marine McCullagh, the marine from the Methuselah, says she lost contact with her tank several days before she discovered the wreckage. Its last moments are just as unfamiliar to her as they are to us." Locke responded to Deknost, who nodded and seemed satisfied with the answer. Locke continued.

"The radiation, best we can tell, is only slightly higher than background planetary radiation, so we believe that the Methuselah's reactor integrity has not been compromised. That being said, we're still going to work fast to investigate the wreckage, ascertain as much as we can, remove the impeller we need, and get out of there." Marcus and the crewmembers on the bench nodded. Brogers, the marine sitting next to Marcus, spoke up next.

"Is there any indication that the Methuselah's killer is still out there?" she asked. Locke shook his head.

"We know nothing. Scans show no tank-like objects, and the storm today seems to be worse than usual. We're going in blind, which is why the Enoch isn't sitting still to wait for us. And let me be clear: if we don't return back to the Enoch, or they don't hear from us for 26 hours, they will leave without us. There will be no search party. The Enoch can't afford to linger. She'll return to Mother Base best she can despite the potential for breaking down, as communication with Intelligence right now is spotty. Any more questions?" Nobody raised their hands or proffered any questions so Locke nodded.

"Alright. We'll gear up here, and head to the hold. Since we're bringing Gretel with us, we're exiting via the rear of the tank." Locke said. With that, the crew hopped into action, grabbing rifles from the antechamber's armory, which was slotted into the wall and unlocked with Typhon's key. They suited up via lockers that were present, and grabbed their helmets, though they didn't put them on quite yet. The suits were made of a thick cloth of some sort, though Marcus knew it had many complex layers to it. Despite this, they weren't necessarily bulky or hard to move around in. The suits were somewhat armored, and pressurized separately from the helmet. Even though Gretel was pressurized, Marcus still needed his suit in case of an emergency, if the exosuit were compromised. When the expedition crew was finally suited up and armed, they marched through the hallways of the Enoch towards the hold. As they marched, they passed other crewmembers that offered good luck and farewells to the expedition crew.

Upon entering the hold, his helmet held under his arm, he saw Commander Wyatt, Lt. Commander Shaw, Penske, and Dr. Thaler waiting for them. The crew stood in a row in front of Commander Wyatt, and saluted, who saluted back. He nodded in approval, and spoke.

"Go in safety, discover what happened to our fallen comrades, and recover what we need to remain fully functional, that we may avenge our lost comrades in arms." With that, the expedition crew set their helmets, and the officers left the hold. Marcus walked over to Gretel, and opened up the front of the exosuit. Penske caught his arm before he slid in.

"Good luck out there, Rhyne," she said with her signature wry smile. Marcus smiled back, and crawled into Gretel. He closed the hatch, slid into position, and activated the suit. With a hiss and a wine, the suit pressurized, and the screens that made up the front of Marcus' vision roared to life. Gretel possessed external viewports, but they were minimal, and provided a very poor view of the outside environment. Instead, the suit had numerous cameras anchored into its hull, which created a detailed wrap-around view of Marcus' surroundings. The cameras afforded the young engineer an almost 220 degree view of the outside world. In case of camera damage, the suit's software would adjust the rest to make up for the loss, even creating visuals that it felt best represented what was supposed to be in view, based on other external sensors.

Marcus checked all of the other systems one last time, though it would be too late for any major checks. Everything semed to be nominal, and Marcus keyed into the expedition crew's radio bandwidth. Instantly, he heard the voice of Locke, who was checking on the status of the other expedition members before the hold door was opened, and the room was depressurized. While the planet of Harmattan had an atmosphere, it was less than humans are comfortable in, and the temperatures could be extreme. So each expedition member double and triple checked their seals, to make sure they would have no issues when the ramp finally lowered. With the seal check completed, the members, having been assigned a number, fell in a single-file line behind Locke, with Marcus bringing up the rear in his Ringlefinch suit. The heavy muffled footsteps of Gretel filled Marcus' ears as he walked into position, towering a good head above even Deknost, the giant. Locke gave the handsignal, and the lights in the hold blinked out. After a brief instance of inky darkness, swirling hazard lights came on, and a warning klaxon rang out. The lights illuminated the hold in an almost nightmarish fashion, and Marcus did his best to swallow any new-found apprehension he had about the expedition.

After a short moment, the giant ramp on the opposite end of the hold hissed, and slowly lowered, opening up the hold to the hostile exterior environment of Harmattan. Sand swirled in, and the expedition crew, Marcus included, were buffeted by the strong winds. Locke walked forward into the sand, where visibility was almost nill, and the rest of the crew slowly followed him. When it was his turn, Marcus also walked forwards, out of the hold, down the ramp, and onto the sands below. The ramp closed behind him, and Marcus was, for the first time in his life, outside on the planet's surface.