Sergeant Lars Saknussen frowned glumly as he approached the tall tree. He paused underneath it, standing in the last bit of sunlight as the day died. The fumes from the nearby industrial park, mixed with the smoke from the raging forest a few miles to the south, made the sunset particularly impressive as the sun's final rays splayed across the sky. He pulled out on of his ever-present, foul smelling cigars and lit it, taking a deep pull before looking up into the branches of the tree in front of him. Clambering down from the tree, careful not to entangle himself on the strings holding his ejection seat to its parachute, was Sergeant Skwisgaar Faderlos. Skwi leapt the final few feet to the ground and brushed errant leaves, twigs, and charred bits of cooling suit off himself. "Well, I suppose that could have gone worse." Muttered Saknussen, offering Faderlos a cigar. "Worse? Exactly how much worse could it have gone? 'Southpaw' got kicked by a bloody Drac and blew up!" Skwi accepted the cigar. "Well, you're alive, The rest of us are alive, we only lost one mech, and the Snake bastards are running scared." Saknussen shrugged. He gestured back to his Crab CRB-20, 'Clamps'. "At least I made it out all right. I'll count that as a victory." He grinned. "At least we still have your old Clint. Bet you can't wait to get back into your nice comfy ass-groove in the seat of that baby." Saknussen nodded his head back at Clamps. "I'll give you a ride back to base." Lojtnant Kulandinglar stumped over from his Hatchetman, a murderous scowl on his face. "Maybe next time you won't accept some damn stupid honor duel and just let us get on with the battle, hey?" Lance Halberg's voice boomed out over the stand of trees from his Spider's speakers. "Are you lot just going to stand around chatting? Command is going to be waiting for our report." The three exchanged looks, and began to walk back to their mechs.
