Chapter 2: Gunnery Sergeant Noah “Bulldog” Rhodes

Noah stood near the equipment racks, running his hands along the rifle’s sleek casing. The matte finish felt unfamiliar compared to the standard-issue gear he’d carried for years. This new model, built specifically for zero-G environments, was lighter, smoother—and, in his opinion, far too delicate.

He gave it a skeptical look. Fancy doesn’t mean functional.

Nearby, engineers buzzed around the launch bay like ants, their voices blending into a constant hum of activity. Noah’s eyes flicked toward the mission clock: T-minus one hour, forty-five minutes. He exhaled through his nose, rolling his shoulders. The weight of his gear felt heavier than usual—maybe it was just in his head, or maybe it was the quiet hum of anticipation tightening his muscles. He'd been on plenty of missions, but something about this one felt different. He exhaled slowly, setting the rifle down to check its battery pack. Everything about this mission was high-tech, experimental, and, as far as he was concerned, untested. The thought made his jaw tighten.

“Gunny, how’s it looking over there?”

Adrienne’s voice cut through the background noise. Noah turned to see her standing a few yards away, her posture as rigid as always.

“Locked and loaded, ma’am,” he replied, holding up the rifle. “But between you and me, I’d rather have an old M4. At least I know what to expect when it jams.”

Adrienne’s lips twitched into the faintest of smiles. “You’re not planning on jamming it, are you?”

“Not on purpose,” he said, shrugging. “But if Mars decides to throw a fight our way, I’d rather not be holding the experimental paperweight.”

Adrienne nodded, crossing her arms as she glanced over the equipment. "I’ll take your word for it. Just make sure everything’s squared away before we lift off." Her fingers tapped lightly against her elbow, a small but telling gesture of her constant vigilance.

“Always do, Captain.”

---

Satisfied with the rifle, Noah moved toward the drone station. Corporal Sarai “Echo” Hernandez was hunched over a malfunctioning loading drone, her brow furrowed as she struggled with the controls.

“Need help babysitting that clunker, Echo?” he called, his voice carrying over the din.

Sarai glanced up, rolling her eyes. “It’s not a clunker. It’s a precision-engineered piece of equipment… that apparently doesn’t take orders.”

Noah chuckled, stepping closer. “Sounds like some recruits I’ve trained. What’s the issue?”

“It’s stuck in manual override,” she muttered, pressing a few buttons on the console. The drone’s servos whined in protest. “Won’t load the cargo bay properly. Techs are saying it’s a firmware bug, but they’re too swamped to fix it.”

Noah crouched beside her, inspecting the drone. The metallic casing was scuffed, and one of its mechanical arms twitched erratically, as if caught in an unseen struggle. Its diagnostic lights blinked in an inconsistent pattern, casting faint red glows on the nearby console. The whirring of its servos was uneven, punctuated by occasional stutters that suggested its circuits were struggling to process commands. “You tried kicking it?”

“That was step one,” Sarai deadpanned.

He grinned. “Good. Means you’ve got the right instincts.”

She gave a reluctant smile as he reached for a tool. A few twists and adjustments later, the drone’s lights flickered, and it emitted a cheerful chirp before resuming its task.

“There you go,” Noah said, standing up and dusting off his hands. “Just needed the Bulldog touch.”

Sarai shook her head, but there was a hint of amusement in her eyes. “Thanks, Gunny. You’re not completely useless.”

“Don’t spread that around,” he replied, heading back to the equipment racks. “Got a reputation to maintain.”

---

As the clock ticked down to T-minus one hour, Noah felt the familiar pre-mission tension settle in his chest. It wasn’t fear—it was anticipation, the sharp edge that came before stepping into the unknown. He’d been in combat zones, disaster relief operations, and high-stakes drills. Each time, it was the same: the waiting was the hardest part.

He glanced out of the massive bay doors, where the shuttle’s sleek frame was framed against the predawn sky. The stars were still visible, faint but steady, and the horizon glowed with the first hints of daylight.

“Damn, that’s a sight.”

Noah turned to see Gabe leaning against a support beam, staring out at the view. The younger man’s face was lit with a mix of awe and trepidation.

“Gets you every time, doesn’t it?” Noah said, crossing his arms.

Gabe nodded. “Yeah. Just thinking about how small we are, you know? And how far we’re about to go.”

Noah clapped a hand on his shoulder. “We’re Marines, Li. Doesn’t matter how far we go. We’ll get the job done.”

The younger man smiled, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “Yeah. You’re right.”

Noah gave him a firm pat before heading toward the shuttle’s open hatch. Inside, the rest of the team was beginning to gather, running through their final checks. Adrienne’s voice carried above the low hum of the systems as she gave instructions, her tone steady and commanding.

“This is it,” Noah thought, strapping himself into his designated seat. The vibration of the shuttle’s systems hummed through the metal frame beneath him, a tangible reminder of what was to come.

He glanced at the others, their faces illuminated by the glow of their consoles. Adrienne was focused, her eyes scanning the displays in front of her. Aurora double-checked her tablet, muttering under her breath. Gabe’s fingers danced over the comm panel, and Sarai adjusted the strap on her helmet with practiced ease.

Noah leaned back, letting the weight of the moment settle in. A mixture of confidence and unease churned in his gut—he knew they were ready, but there was always that sliver of doubt before a mission. The anticipation was like static in the air, tingling at the edge of his senses. He took a slow breath, steadying himself. Whatever lay ahead, they would handle it together. They were a good team. They’d trained hard, prepared for every scenario. And if the unexpected happened—as it always did—they’d adapt. That was what Marines did.

The intercom crackled to life.

“T-minus thirty minutes to liftoff. All personnel, prepare for final launch sequence.”

Noah tightened his harness, a small grin tugging at his lips. His mind flicked between the mission ahead and the people beside him—his team, his responsibility. He trusted them, but there was always that nagging voice in the back of his mind, reminding him that space had a way of turning the simplest plans into chaos. Still, they were Marines. They’d get the job done. “All right, Bulldog,” he muttered to himself. “Time to make history.”