Cole sauntered through the crowded mess hall, looking for a place to sit. After letting his gaze drift back and forth across the motley collection of ship's crew, he finally found that the only place he was going to be able to plant himself was at the end of a table half-filled with chortling marines.

With a potentially suicidal shrug he swaggered over. ""Wow, and I thought leather necks only ate what they killed - and raw at that. How's that cooked, processed chow working out for you, boys? New experience?"

He cast an impish grin at the collection of jar heads as he slid onto the bench and sat his tray down.