*remembers the original halo opening droppod assault*
'can we leave the drop pod yet? Cramming a battalion into what amounts to a sardine can in space for a month can't be conducive to force morale or health.'
'You'll go through a planetary assault drop whether you like it or not Pvt. Parts!'
'We're up to our ears in smeg, sir. At this rate we'll die of septecimia before we get to the enemy. We'll be launched at the enemy dead in our assault suits like poop-covered projectiles, sir.'
'Sir!? I
work for'a livin, private! Shovel that smeg out the airlock! You have a trench shovel, don't ya?!'
'...it's a drop-pod, sarge. there aren't any airlocks, just explosive bolts.'
'Do I look like I particulary
care, private parts!?'
'No sarge. Can I make a suggestion, sarge?'
'hm? finally using that
jar you call a head eh?'
'We can climb up the fireman poles. I know they were designed so that we can't reach them once we're in, but a battalion of men on a high-protein diet in an enclosed space... we can probably swim up there and make a human ladder to escape.'
oout-standing. Colonel Carp! Give this man a medal! We're a hundred and six million miles from the enemy, we've got half a tank of gas, a full pack of cigarettes, the pod is up to our ears in she-it and we're wearing Powered-Ballistic Boarding-action assault suits. Private Parts!'
'...Let's hit it.'
It looks like Private parts... Was hauling ass. 
