Post by jacksonrichter on Jun 18, 2012 20:41:38 GMT -5
Faction: Republic Military
Department: Special Operations
Rank: Sergeant First Class
Special Operations Engineer Sergeant
Call Sign: Cowboy
Name: Jackson Richter
Race: Human
Age: 29
Height: 6'1
Weight: 185lbs
Birth place: Coruscant
Appearance:
Jackson has grey eyes and light brown hair, which, as per military standards, is kept high-and-tight, with the sides buzzed and faded into from the slightly longer hair on top.
Richter has narrow eyebrows and thick eyelashes, with a button nose that would be straight if not for the two crooked breaks in the bridge - both of which leave his nose a little offset to the right. His lips are full and his chin is cleft, with a strong-but-narrow jawline. Typically, when he's in the field, such idle pleasantries as appearance are overlooked, resulting in him usually retaining a beard.
The fair-skinned Jackson is fairly muscular, with a physique that hovers between "athletic" and "bulky". His is not a shape of vanity, but rather honed through years of extensive military training and combat.
He has no tattoos but plenty of scars. Most are insignificant, though a few draw immediate attention to themself. There's a vertical scar at the corner of his upper lip from the time it was split in a bar fight, as well as his clearly-broken-and-rebroken-nose. His left eyebrow has a knick where hair no longer grows as a result of it being split wide open. Most of his knuckles have small sections of raised scar tissue from where they've been cut and re-cut, and his right triceps feature a two square inch patch of rough burn tissue. Likewise, his right pectoral has a large star-like scar from where his armor was penetrated by a blaster bolt. Last, but not least, his back has three massive and jagged scars running from his right shoulder-blade to his left hip.
The tall, muscular human typically prefers a downplayed style of fashion when opportunity affords he choose his attire. An example of his typical look would be a form-fitting black t-shirt tucked into navy or beige cargo pants, with slip-on leather boots and a leather jacket if the situation necessitates overwear.
Being a "lifer", as it's often called, gives him little time to dress how he chooses. Instead, he's either wearing the fatigues of field duty or the dress blues of formal wear; both of which are standard for the military, save for his various ribbons and medals at his left breast (when wearing formal attire).
When he's in the field, this Engineer wears environment-appropriate camouflaged light armor. As Special Operations, Richter's duties typically don't involve much direct firefighting, and usually fall more on the stealthy and unconventional side of combat. As such, his armor is designed to protect against small arms fire, but won't withstand much of an assault. Its make-up is a combination of quarter-inch plating on the chest, back, shoulders, triceps, forearms, hips, and thighs, and a mesh-weave body suit, as well as knee-pads and elbow pads.
Jackson's responsibilities as Special Operations often fall under Non-Official Cover, as espionage is often involved. Because of this, his field armor and uniform are devoid of any insignia or emblem, so as to give the Republic plausible deniability.
Personality:
Jackson's personality is dominated by dualities. He's a Special Operator, and one of the elite soldiers in the Republic's military. He is capable of the extreme focus and honed demeanor necessary to complete his responsibilities. Sometimes, sound protocol dictates that he spend hours without speaking or making noise, which he can complete without issue, and yet, them moment speaking is allowed, he'll be the first to make a wry or even immature joke or statement.
Being a joker is both a coping mechanism and a way to maintain morale for him. He knows to stop before crossing the line into annoyance, and is a reliable soldier, so amongst his peers his attitude is usually tolerated. His apparent light-heartedness can be seen as patronizing or irritating to those that don't know him, though.
When it comes to comrades, Richter's dedication and loyalty are absolute. Part of his elite training has thoroughly coded him to be loyal to the Republic and his fellow soldiers. After over a decade of military experience, he's come to accept and thrive in his position as a senior soldier and often-times a leader, as well, so he does his best in both capacities. Despite his capabilities as a leader, though, he is just fine being "just another soldier" in the squad.
As stated, his dedication to the Republic and to the military is absolute. It's how he defines himself. There is no Jackson Richter outside of the military. There is no civilian life for him to go to; no woman waiting for him at the starport, no family to write home to. He has no problem living solely for what has transcended simply being a career. Being SpecOps is a lifestyle for him. He'll live and die as a soldier.
That's not to say he doesn't have fun when the opportunity presents itself. He likes to have his cake, and eat it, too. When he does get to go on Leave, he usually finds a seedy cantina or starport, where he can find a rough woman and cheap beer. He fashions himself as something of a cowboy in that sense, and he's alright with that.
To say he's a womanizer is an understatement. While he certainly knows compassion, and he can treat women well and even as individuals, most times he's not looking for anything serious, and just wants a long night of relaxation while he has time off.
Skills:
Psionic Resistance, Woodcraft, Wilderness Survival, Battlefield First Aid, Camouflage, Improvised Tools, Crackshot, Demolitions, Construction, Mines, Reconnaissance, Piloting, Space Jumping
Gear:
Attributes:
Physical Strength: 6
Intelligence: 5
Speed: 6
Leadership: 7
Unarmed: 5
Melee Weapons: 5
Ranged Weapons: 6
Bio:
Jackson Richter was born in 3630BBY to two human parents on Coruscant. Both of his parents had enlisted in their youth; his father was in the Republic Army as heavy demolitions and his mother was military police in the Republic Navy.
Long before Jackson was born, while his father was serving in the Army, his grandmother appealed to the Coruscant senator to bar her son, Jackson's father, from seeing combat. As an only child, if he were to die, their lineage would never be passed on. Regarding the controversy of single children being killed in war, Jackson's father was shipped to a small moon not far from Coruscant, where the odds of battle were slim-to-none. Instead of being heavy demolitions, as a trained rifleman, he was instead stuck guarding an outpost on base. Jackson's father grew irate with his circumstances, and intentionally got himself discharged from the Army. He returned to his home in the lower levels of Coruscant, where he met Jackson's soon-to-be-Mother. She, too, had just returned from a stint in the military, though she received an honorable discharge.
One thing led to another and Jackson was born. He was raised with an income bracket just above poverty, as his parents were working-class, but lived a relatively healthy and normal life. As a child he was involved in sports, though he was never the star athlete or the best, or the captain.
His parents instilled into him a sense of morals, values, and principals that focused around integrity, working hard, and an entitlement only to what one earned. While most of the children around him had fantasies about being diplomats, pirates, or Jedi!, Jackson only dreamed of being military. During his primary education years, when the young Richter was asked what it was he wanted to be, his answer was consistent from year to year: Army.
As the boy grew into a strong young man, he learned more and more about what the military did, what it had to offer, and what he could do. His parents both supported him, and sponsored his enlistment at the age of seventeen - right out of high school.
Jackson enlisted into the Army as a combat engineer. His responsibilities included piloting small land-based vehicles and machinery, demolitions and construction, as well as general infantry responsibilities. He was trained on a Core planet before being stationed on one of the Navy's many starships.
The galaxy was in a time of "peace", and yet there was strife throughout. Most of it was local; crimelords or warring factions, the occasional revolt or civil unrest. Jackson saw action in campaigns across the galaxy, where he was hardened from an idealistic teenager to a grizzled young man. His skills were developed but ultimately mundane. A combat engineer built starpads, bunkers, roads, and outposts, or demolished them as necessary. He gained valuable knowledge and experience with mines and explosives, and saw his share of blaster combat with indigenous forces, but was unhappy with the relative disdain the Republic/Navy had for the Army. Funds and support were both low, leaving the Republic Army as often nothing more than ragtag forces.
Hoping for something more, Richter applied for Special Operations, a seperate and elite branch of the Republic military. His role would be a combination of elite soldier and engineer, and intelligence agent.
The training was grueling, with sections taking place on Republic planets across the galaxy. He trained in the extreme heat of Tattooine, the tundras of Hoth, and the mountains and jungles of Iridonia. Jackson was often stationed within part of the fleet between training phases, and even had to partake in Navy-exclusive boarding, piloting, and hijack-defense courses. His personal favorite, even to this day, is space jumping.
Space jumping is an ultra-high-altitude-low-opening form of parachute-based infiltration; in this case, a small ship brings a squad of SpecOps to a planet's Exosphere. The squad, in environment suits and helmets, then free-fall from the ship down into the planet's lower atmosphere.
After a grueling year training, Jackson was promoted to Special Operations Engineer Sergeant. As one of the Republic's elite, he would be expected to infiltrate any planet, any organization, any environment, complete his objective, whether it be destroying a specific location or target, assassinating a high-profile enemy to put an end to civil unrest, aid indigenous rebels to further the Republic's cause, or what-have-you. To prevent political backlash, Jackson's unit were Non-Official Covers. They had no political ties to the Republic or any local government, and any knowledge of their existance would be denied by such bodies. Likewise, they were trained extensively to Survive, Evade, Resist, and Escape any enemy forces.
Jackson's promotion to SpecOps couldn't have come at a better time. The year was 3602BBY - only months before the Sith would make their first public move in decades. Dantooine, Mygeeto, Mon Calamari, Mandalore, Condord Dawn, and Shogun... all planets assaulted and forcefully taken from the Republic, which meant a war with two fronts; the Sith Empire and the Mandalorians. To make matters worse, the Chancellor was assassinated... As a man of the military, the loss of the planets and the assassination of their leader was felt on a personal level; not just as a travesty but as a failure of the military and an insult to that which was decent.
With the Sith Order taking over the Empire, Jackson and the rest of the Republic military looked to the Jedi to contribute. Instead, they saw an abject failure, no, refusal on the Jedi's behalf. The Jedi had been a neutral party that was out of sight and out of mind for Jackson. They hadn't been needed for generations. Good thing, too, according to the increasingly bitter and cynical Jackson, because the second they were, they turned their backs.
With the Sith and Mandalorians striking up an alliance and reclaiming planet after planet on their way through the different rims, Jackson's unit was deployed across the galaxy in what were constantly uphill and losing efforts. Even when they completed their missions, it made little difference, as the Sith and Mandalorians were a powerful, united foe, with the power of the Force on their side.
As a practical man with little faith, Jackson has already forgotten the "hope" of the Jedi, who, in his opinion, only operate to serve their own agenda. Instead, he's increasing his training as much as possible now that the Republic has consolidated its forces in the Core. Whatever efforts it extends next, Jackson and his elite unit will there, ready to deploy.
Password: Bylgia
RP Sample:
Jackson Richter clamped his pressurized helmet into the mesh at his throat and secured the seal. The entire cargo chamber of their small shuttle was already pressurized with pure oxygen to remove all of the nitrogen in their blood. It was a long and uncomfortable process, but it was necessary and Jackson had long since grown accustomed to it. When you move these altitudes and speeds, even a single breath of regular air would provide enough nitrogen in your blood to kill you.
He drummed his armor-clad fingers on his thighs before yawning, which fogged up his mic'd visor.
"Really? Yawning? At a time like this?" Vector's flabbergasted voice chimed in through the bud in Jackson's ear.
"Don't tell me you're suprised, Vector Man. Cowboy's always cool. Why don't you go back to checking your slugs?"
"I checked 'em and double-checked 'em. They're all good."
Jackson smiled. "And yet every drop you check again. It's almost like you're nervous."
Jackson, or Cowboy, according to his call sign, and his squad-mate Rain, the large, dark-skinned human that sat across from him, both started laughing as Vector, their Chiss squad-mate began cursing them. Jackson slid his slugthrower over his shoulder before loading all of his ballistics into the pressurized compartments of his armor.
Slugthrowers used ballistics instead of energy, so the pressure and heat of high-altitudes could detonate them prematurely. Cowboy's grin faded as he recalled the time that lesson was embedded in his skull, when he saw a squad-mate with an unsecure slug detonate during entry. They never found him, but that's probably because there wasn't much left to find. The slugs they used were highly combustable, and many of them were explosive.
"Red light's on, boys. Time to go."
Cowboy was joined by Vector and Rain as he approached the tailgate of the shuttle. There was a chirp signifying the doors were ready. Cowboy looked to his teammates, who were giving him the thumbs-up. With that, he punched the red button that activated the hydraulics. The cargo doors shot open and the three were sucked out into the exosphere of Haruun Kal!
Jackson pinned his arms against his body while also bringing his ankles together.
"Worst part of these jumps..." Jackson said, even as his sweat dripped from his face to his visor.
"The frakkin' heat!!"
Descending through a planet's atmosphere had the adverse effect of generating an extreme amount of friction. If it weren't the insulation of their suits, they'd be cooked alive inside their armor. Even though it was stable, and ultimately safe, it sure did get hot...
When they reached their target altitudes Jackson joined Rain and Vector. The three had opened up their forms and were falling close to each other.
"Time to pull."
Jackson lowered his knees while keeping his chest and shoulders high. The resulting aerodynamics pushed him away from his squad-mates, who were doing the same. Once they were at a safe distance, Jackson pulled his chute, releasing the black canopy into the sky above him. Not every mission began as intense as this one, but those that did never got any easier. Cowboy groaned.
Department: Special Operations
Rank: Sergeant First Class
Special Operations Engineer Sergeant
Call Sign: Cowboy
Name: Jackson Richter
Race: Human
Age: 29
Height: 6'1
Weight: 185lbs
Birth place: Coruscant
Appearance:
Jackson has grey eyes and light brown hair, which, as per military standards, is kept high-and-tight, with the sides buzzed and faded into from the slightly longer hair on top.
Richter has narrow eyebrows and thick eyelashes, with a button nose that would be straight if not for the two crooked breaks in the bridge - both of which leave his nose a little offset to the right. His lips are full and his chin is cleft, with a strong-but-narrow jawline. Typically, when he's in the field, such idle pleasantries as appearance are overlooked, resulting in him usually retaining a beard.
The fair-skinned Jackson is fairly muscular, with a physique that hovers between "athletic" and "bulky". His is not a shape of vanity, but rather honed through years of extensive military training and combat.
He has no tattoos but plenty of scars. Most are insignificant, though a few draw immediate attention to themself. There's a vertical scar at the corner of his upper lip from the time it was split in a bar fight, as well as his clearly-broken-and-rebroken-nose. His left eyebrow has a knick where hair no longer grows as a result of it being split wide open. Most of his knuckles have small sections of raised scar tissue from where they've been cut and re-cut, and his right triceps feature a two square inch patch of rough burn tissue. Likewise, his right pectoral has a large star-like scar from where his armor was penetrated by a blaster bolt. Last, but not least, his back has three massive and jagged scars running from his right shoulder-blade to his left hip.
The tall, muscular human typically prefers a downplayed style of fashion when opportunity affords he choose his attire. An example of his typical look would be a form-fitting black t-shirt tucked into navy or beige cargo pants, with slip-on leather boots and a leather jacket if the situation necessitates overwear.
Being a "lifer", as it's often called, gives him little time to dress how he chooses. Instead, he's either wearing the fatigues of field duty or the dress blues of formal wear; both of which are standard for the military, save for his various ribbons and medals at his left breast (when wearing formal attire).
When he's in the field, this Engineer wears environment-appropriate camouflaged light armor. As Special Operations, Richter's duties typically don't involve much direct firefighting, and usually fall more on the stealthy and unconventional side of combat. As such, his armor is designed to protect against small arms fire, but won't withstand much of an assault. Its make-up is a combination of quarter-inch plating on the chest, back, shoulders, triceps, forearms, hips, and thighs, and a mesh-weave body suit, as well as knee-pads and elbow pads.
Jackson's responsibilities as Special Operations often fall under Non-Official Cover, as espionage is often involved. Because of this, his field armor and uniform are devoid of any insignia or emblem, so as to give the Republic plausible deniability.
Personality:
Jackson's personality is dominated by dualities. He's a Special Operator, and one of the elite soldiers in the Republic's military. He is capable of the extreme focus and honed demeanor necessary to complete his responsibilities. Sometimes, sound protocol dictates that he spend hours without speaking or making noise, which he can complete without issue, and yet, them moment speaking is allowed, he'll be the first to make a wry or even immature joke or statement.
Being a joker is both a coping mechanism and a way to maintain morale for him. He knows to stop before crossing the line into annoyance, and is a reliable soldier, so amongst his peers his attitude is usually tolerated. His apparent light-heartedness can be seen as patronizing or irritating to those that don't know him, though.
When it comes to comrades, Richter's dedication and loyalty are absolute. Part of his elite training has thoroughly coded him to be loyal to the Republic and his fellow soldiers. After over a decade of military experience, he's come to accept and thrive in his position as a senior soldier and often-times a leader, as well, so he does his best in both capacities. Despite his capabilities as a leader, though, he is just fine being "just another soldier" in the squad.
As stated, his dedication to the Republic and to the military is absolute. It's how he defines himself. There is no Jackson Richter outside of the military. There is no civilian life for him to go to; no woman waiting for him at the starport, no family to write home to. He has no problem living solely for what has transcended simply being a career. Being SpecOps is a lifestyle for him. He'll live and die as a soldier.
That's not to say he doesn't have fun when the opportunity presents itself. He likes to have his cake, and eat it, too. When he does get to go on Leave, he usually finds a seedy cantina or starport, where he can find a rough woman and cheap beer. He fashions himself as something of a cowboy in that sense, and he's alright with that.
To say he's a womanizer is an understatement. While he certainly knows compassion, and he can treat women well and even as individuals, most times he's not looking for anything serious, and just wants a long night of relaxation while he has time off.
Skills:
Psionic Resistance, Woodcraft, Wilderness Survival, Battlefield First Aid, Camouflage, Improvised Tools, Crackshot, Demolitions, Construction, Mines, Reconnaissance, Piloting, Space Jumping
Gear:
- Light Armor
- Slugthrower Rifle w/ Suppressor
- Slugthrower Carbine w/ Suppressor
- Cortosis-Weave Knife
- Stealth Field Generator (Belt)
- Frag Mines
- Slicing Set
- Explosive Charges
- Field MedPak
- (Additional gear varies according to individual mission)
Attributes:
Physical Strength: 6
Intelligence: 5
Speed: 6
Leadership: 7
Unarmed: 5
Melee Weapons: 5
Ranged Weapons: 6
Bio:
Jackson Richter was born in 3630BBY to two human parents on Coruscant. Both of his parents had enlisted in their youth; his father was in the Republic Army as heavy demolitions and his mother was military police in the Republic Navy.
Long before Jackson was born, while his father was serving in the Army, his grandmother appealed to the Coruscant senator to bar her son, Jackson's father, from seeing combat. As an only child, if he were to die, their lineage would never be passed on. Regarding the controversy of single children being killed in war, Jackson's father was shipped to a small moon not far from Coruscant, where the odds of battle were slim-to-none. Instead of being heavy demolitions, as a trained rifleman, he was instead stuck guarding an outpost on base. Jackson's father grew irate with his circumstances, and intentionally got himself discharged from the Army. He returned to his home in the lower levels of Coruscant, where he met Jackson's soon-to-be-Mother. She, too, had just returned from a stint in the military, though she received an honorable discharge.
One thing led to another and Jackson was born. He was raised with an income bracket just above poverty, as his parents were working-class, but lived a relatively healthy and normal life. As a child he was involved in sports, though he was never the star athlete or the best, or the captain.
His parents instilled into him a sense of morals, values, and principals that focused around integrity, working hard, and an entitlement only to what one earned. While most of the children around him had fantasies about being diplomats, pirates, or Jedi!, Jackson only dreamed of being military. During his primary education years, when the young Richter was asked what it was he wanted to be, his answer was consistent from year to year: Army.
As the boy grew into a strong young man, he learned more and more about what the military did, what it had to offer, and what he could do. His parents both supported him, and sponsored his enlistment at the age of seventeen - right out of high school.
Jackson enlisted into the Army as a combat engineer. His responsibilities included piloting small land-based vehicles and machinery, demolitions and construction, as well as general infantry responsibilities. He was trained on a Core planet before being stationed on one of the Navy's many starships.
The galaxy was in a time of "peace", and yet there was strife throughout. Most of it was local; crimelords or warring factions, the occasional revolt or civil unrest. Jackson saw action in campaigns across the galaxy, where he was hardened from an idealistic teenager to a grizzled young man. His skills were developed but ultimately mundane. A combat engineer built starpads, bunkers, roads, and outposts, or demolished them as necessary. He gained valuable knowledge and experience with mines and explosives, and saw his share of blaster combat with indigenous forces, but was unhappy with the relative disdain the Republic/Navy had for the Army. Funds and support were both low, leaving the Republic Army as often nothing more than ragtag forces.
Hoping for something more, Richter applied for Special Operations, a seperate and elite branch of the Republic military. His role would be a combination of elite soldier and engineer, and intelligence agent.
The training was grueling, with sections taking place on Republic planets across the galaxy. He trained in the extreme heat of Tattooine, the tundras of Hoth, and the mountains and jungles of Iridonia. Jackson was often stationed within part of the fleet between training phases, and even had to partake in Navy-exclusive boarding, piloting, and hijack-defense courses. His personal favorite, even to this day, is space jumping.
Space jumping is an ultra-high-altitude-low-opening form of parachute-based infiltration; in this case, a small ship brings a squad of SpecOps to a planet's Exosphere. The squad, in environment suits and helmets, then free-fall from the ship down into the planet's lower atmosphere.
After a grueling year training, Jackson was promoted to Special Operations Engineer Sergeant. As one of the Republic's elite, he would be expected to infiltrate any planet, any organization, any environment, complete his objective, whether it be destroying a specific location or target, assassinating a high-profile enemy to put an end to civil unrest, aid indigenous rebels to further the Republic's cause, or what-have-you. To prevent political backlash, Jackson's unit were Non-Official Covers. They had no political ties to the Republic or any local government, and any knowledge of their existance would be denied by such bodies. Likewise, they were trained extensively to Survive, Evade, Resist, and Escape any enemy forces.
Jackson's promotion to SpecOps couldn't have come at a better time. The year was 3602BBY - only months before the Sith would make their first public move in decades. Dantooine, Mygeeto, Mon Calamari, Mandalore, Condord Dawn, and Shogun... all planets assaulted and forcefully taken from the Republic, which meant a war with two fronts; the Sith Empire and the Mandalorians. To make matters worse, the Chancellor was assassinated... As a man of the military, the loss of the planets and the assassination of their leader was felt on a personal level; not just as a travesty but as a failure of the military and an insult to that which was decent.
With the Sith Order taking over the Empire, Jackson and the rest of the Republic military looked to the Jedi to contribute. Instead, they saw an abject failure, no, refusal on the Jedi's behalf. The Jedi had been a neutral party that was out of sight and out of mind for Jackson. They hadn't been needed for generations. Good thing, too, according to the increasingly bitter and cynical Jackson, because the second they were, they turned their backs.
With the Sith and Mandalorians striking up an alliance and reclaiming planet after planet on their way through the different rims, Jackson's unit was deployed across the galaxy in what were constantly uphill and losing efforts. Even when they completed their missions, it made little difference, as the Sith and Mandalorians were a powerful, united foe, with the power of the Force on their side.
As a practical man with little faith, Jackson has already forgotten the "hope" of the Jedi, who, in his opinion, only operate to serve their own agenda. Instead, he's increasing his training as much as possible now that the Republic has consolidated its forces in the Core. Whatever efforts it extends next, Jackson and his elite unit will there, ready to deploy.
Password: Bylgia
RP Sample:
Jackson Richter clamped his pressurized helmet into the mesh at his throat and secured the seal. The entire cargo chamber of their small shuttle was already pressurized with pure oxygen to remove all of the nitrogen in their blood. It was a long and uncomfortable process, but it was necessary and Jackson had long since grown accustomed to it. When you move these altitudes and speeds, even a single breath of regular air would provide enough nitrogen in your blood to kill you.
He drummed his armor-clad fingers on his thighs before yawning, which fogged up his mic'd visor.
"Really? Yawning? At a time like this?" Vector's flabbergasted voice chimed in through the bud in Jackson's ear.
"Don't tell me you're suprised, Vector Man. Cowboy's always cool. Why don't you go back to checking your slugs?"
"I checked 'em and double-checked 'em. They're all good."
Jackson smiled. "And yet every drop you check again. It's almost like you're nervous."
Jackson, or Cowboy, according to his call sign, and his squad-mate Rain, the large, dark-skinned human that sat across from him, both started laughing as Vector, their Chiss squad-mate began cursing them. Jackson slid his slugthrower over his shoulder before loading all of his ballistics into the pressurized compartments of his armor.
Slugthrowers used ballistics instead of energy, so the pressure and heat of high-altitudes could detonate them prematurely. Cowboy's grin faded as he recalled the time that lesson was embedded in his skull, when he saw a squad-mate with an unsecure slug detonate during entry. They never found him, but that's probably because there wasn't much left to find. The slugs they used were highly combustable, and many of them were explosive.
"Red light's on, boys. Time to go."
Cowboy was joined by Vector and Rain as he approached the tailgate of the shuttle. There was a chirp signifying the doors were ready. Cowboy looked to his teammates, who were giving him the thumbs-up. With that, he punched the red button that activated the hydraulics. The cargo doors shot open and the three were sucked out into the exosphere of Haruun Kal!
Jackson pinned his arms against his body while also bringing his ankles together.
"Worst part of these jumps..." Jackson said, even as his sweat dripped from his face to his visor.
"The frakkin' heat!!"
Descending through a planet's atmosphere had the adverse effect of generating an extreme amount of friction. If it weren't the insulation of their suits, they'd be cooked alive inside their armor. Even though it was stable, and ultimately safe, it sure did get hot...
When they reached their target altitudes Jackson joined Rain and Vector. The three had opened up their forms and were falling close to each other.
"Time to pull."
Jackson lowered his knees while keeping his chest and shoulders high. The resulting aerodynamics pushed him away from his squad-mates, who were doing the same. Once they were at a safe distance, Jackson pulled his chute, releasing the black canopy into the sky above him. Not every mission began as intense as this one, but those that did never got any easier. Cowboy groaned.
