Richard rubs his eyes. Now that the initial excitement of procuring new combat equipment has worn off, fatigue oozes back into the fibers of his existence, his stomach growling. loving hell, I need to take care of myself.
He walks absentmindedly down the hall before realizing that he doesn't know where anything is. A single window stood to his right. Behind his reflection, the world outside is almost pitch black, save for the lights dotting the tarmac.
A finger taps his shoulder. Richard turns around to find it belongs to a GTO airman who happens to be passing by.
"You lost?"
Richard nods and asks where the mess hall is. The airman gives directions before returning to his own business. A few corridors and corners later, Richard finds himself in line. What few people are in it are served almost immediately, a clear sign that the meal of the hour is everyone's favorite item: Kitchen slop.
Richard sets his platter down onto a table carefully before dropping his ass onto the seat. Too tired and too hungry to protest, he unconsciously scoops the food into his mouth.
Poll