"That's a good point," Hugh replies. "Angel, put the tripwires on sensors and the claymores on command detonation. That'll tell us if someone's coming and we can blow them away if we have to, but it won't shred anyone we don't want to kill."
Angel nods once and hefts up his pack before picking up his rifle. Clearly he wants to get that done before it gets dark because, while he highly values the darkness in terms of cover, its absolutely shit to setting claymores in.
On his way out of camp, he claps the spook on the shoulder.
"Don't worry Davis. Besides, had plenty of sleep Earthside - can keep an eye on them the old fashioned way until we can tell the natives "Never sneak up on Earthmen at night" or whatever your linguists have cooked up. Oh, and I got my own special little recipe cooked up for the outer perimeter."
"What'd you got, Angel?" Davis asks, peeking at Angel's kit bag. "Some kind of spec-ops surprise you cooked up while we were on vacation?"
"Bunch of *actual* explosives. Plus a little field test of something I came up with in Colorado." He points to one of the claymores, which has a white "X" carefully drawn in the upper left-hand corner of the back side. "Paint instead of little bits of metal. Plenty of noise, figure they'll freak the stealth suits out."
"And nice and safe for everyone, except the Khiraba." Davis smiles. "I like it."
"Thats the idea. Worst it'll do to one of the natives is piss them off some, and make them look funny. Figure that's a win."
Davis nods. "Same here. Unless Hugh says otherwise, I figure they're good to go."
Angel nods and trots off toward the Captain. "Sir? Bout that...special project we discussed?"
"You know me," Hugh says, "I approve of a little psychological warfare here and there. But run a second circuit with live ones, I want some boom in case we need it."
Angel nods and sets to his task. With Zaef's help, he rigs sensor tripwires in an outer perimeter interspersed with booby-trapped paint claymores. Then he covers those with command-detonated real claymores and winds the clackers back to camp, where he takes pains to organize each detonator group. It's a fairly lengthy process, but while Angel is securing the camp, Semo and the others are gathering firewood with a little help from Cowboy. Kindling scraped from underneath branches, snapped-off wood from standing dead trees, anything dry enough not to smoke. This too is a lengthy process, but if you need to actually light a fire (for Whiirr's nighttime temperature at your latitude shouldn't drop below 70 degrees), it shouldn't give away your position from a distance.
As it gets darker and the work winds down, the reason for hanging hammocks instead of sleeping on the forest floor becomes obvious. Whiirr's nightlife comes out, and there is a constant whispering shuffling going on under the fallen leaves and through the long fronded undergrowth. Swims slaps at biting parasites from time to time but the fauna seems content to ignore the rest of the team.
---
Noth crept through the jungle, quickly and quietly stalking the group that shot his Quad out of the sky. Despite being a dozen strong and traveling with some sort of wheeled drone, the trail was incredibly hard to follow. This was the fourth time Noth had lost his quarry in the last hour, and he decided that what he needed was rest. After seeing the array of footprints all over their crash site, Noth was certain his quarry was human. Humans were excellent news, because it meant he was not tracking Sheen. Noth began looking for a place to sleep, adjusting his environmental controls to compensate for the nighttime air. He would rest for a few hours, perfectly camouflaged, in a temperature-regulated armored carapace impervious to local fauna, and then he would return to the hunt.
Its not the first night Angel has spent in a Whiirr jungle, although it still doesn't feel like Earth. After a couple hours of shut-eye once the perimeter was set - and regrettably skipping chow in favor of a nutrient bar that tasted mostly of oats - Angel slips into the position he set up to keep an eye on the perimeter with his array of clackers - and hopefully not get eaten by a Whiiren Fire Lizard or something equally silly.
His rifle in hand and knife carefully positioned on his webbing he stares off into the night.
That Cowboy guy seems to know his way around the wilderness, so Semo selects him for the wood-gathering mission along with one other team member.
Turns out to be a good choice as they return with a healthy selection of dry would. Cowboy provides the flame for the first campfire. "Thank you, sir. Cowboy, was it?"
Cowboy nods to Semo as he continues scouting the camp, making sure nobody's hanging their hammocks where they'll catch a wake-up call full of alien python.
Angel's out on watch, and the rest of the team shifts in their hammocks trying to get some sleep, or passes out immediately, or stays awake in twos and threes. Through the handful of gaps in the trees you can see dozens of shooting stars. With no lights from cities or other sources, it's easy spotting the brilliant streaks. It doesn't take long to realize it's debris from the space battle burning up on reentry.
After the camp has been set up for the night, security perimeters set up and watches established, there's not much else to do besides sit around in the darkness and listen to the sounds of the forest. Davis sits in his hammock next to Swims as they both swat at the insects in the air and listen to the night, each for their own reasons.
Hugh appears out of the jungle, exchanging a few curt words with Angel and Cowboy. He slings his XM10 beam rifle, walks up to the yet-to-be camp fire and eyes it for a moment. "How's it hanging?" Hugh asks, trying not to crack a smile at his own lame joke.
Davis flicks a large eight-legged flying stick off the screen of his vox, and resumes fiddling with it. "Trying to pick up on any messages from the station or the Sheen, find out how they did." He gives up and sticks the vox back in his gear. "Can't get anything, though. I suppose we'll know soon enough if the Imperials held them off, when the Needleships blow us all to Hell and back."
"If the orbital was not taken, then we would know," Swims interrupts.
"No sense worrying about that now," Hugh says. "We'll see what we can pick up in the morning. I'm more worried about the sons of bitches we didn't kill earlier today. That's got 'driven to revenge' written all over it, if they haven't bled out somewhere."
Swims answers, "Angel would not be setting bombs if you thought they simply died in the forest."
"You move into a new house," Hugh says, "you never know what kinda neighbours you get."
"We made some decent time, though," Davis says. "We're about a day or so out from the village, and once we get there, things should get easier, or at least less difficult. What kind of reception do you think we'll get, Swims-the-Black?"
"Hard to say," the alien responds, idly slapping at another flying parasite. "If there are Wherren there who remember you from your first trip, if the Imperium did not visit undue pain upon the village because of your presence, perhaps it will be easy. I doubt they have been told of the war between Earth and the Imperium, so no tribe should attack us out of hand."
"And if they did come down on them after the last time? Will that work for us, or against us?" Davis asks.
"If you don't mind me saying," Hugh says, "but scaring and intimidating people into helping you isn't a winning strategy. The longer it goes on, the more the resentment builds in the guy you're pushing around. I think the Wherren might not want to deal with us at all and avoid the trouble, but I doubt they'd fight for the Imperium if the Imperium came down hard on them. Now, a mutually beneficial alliance...I'd worry about that one."
"I believe originally the Turai bought the tribe off with weapons?" Swims asks. "So it's possible the administration here may be more sensitive to my people's culture than the Imperium at large."
"We'll have to see. Maybe rolling out the weapons first won't be the best tactic if we want to distance ourselves from the Imperium." Davis scoots a little deeper into the hammock and slaps a fly on his neck. "Just something to keep in mind, I guess."
"Sure, we can lead with the medicine and the teaching stuff. Play the guns as 'You're not screwing over yourself on defense if you side with us', not as the primary good."
Davis nods. "We're here to help, not just trade weapons for their people and freedom. Think they'll respond to that?"
"They'll gladly trade or take your weapons, medicine, and teaching," Swims responds, "but you are asking them to kill their gods. That is an obstacle I do not know how to overcome."
Davis smiles. "Well, we'll start with just questioning their gods, and see where it goes from there. The first time one of the members of the tribe questions an order or don't fall in line, we'll have to see what the Imperial response is and work from there. We're not killing their gods, we're letting the Imperium do that for us."
Hugh smirks. "Never thought I'd put 'deicide' on my resume. Sounds like a challenge."
Davis laughs. "I've already got attempted deicide on my rap sheet, it's not all it's cracked up to be." He leans back into hammock and looks over at Swims. Even though it seems that every biting insect in a mile radius is extremely interested in him, he looks content, happy to be here. "Do they let you come back? To Whirr, after they take you?"
"No, never. Else Whiirr would learn the truth, and the Imperium would be forced to change their relationship. Once you go up, you are isolated, confused, cut off from all you know and reliant on the system for everything. Your focus is on survival, and once you have taken care of that you are already part of their system."
Swims shifts in the hammock. "Paint it how you must, but it is also not such a terrible fate. While I obeyed, I was afforded every luxury. These Wherren here... it embarrasses me to think of how deluded they are, how primitive. They could be so much more."
"And they will be," Hugh says solemnly. "Once we show them the truth." He looks to Davis and cracks a grin. "Sorry, did I steal your line?"
Davis returns the smile. "Hey, I look at it as proof that someone's finally getting the idea," he says. "Everyone back on Narsai, they're so worried about who's getting credit for what and whether or not the distribution of troops and tech is fair, they've lost sight of the fact that there's a whole galaxy out there being oppressed. It's good to see that someone else besides me remembers that."
"Takes all kinds," Hugh says simply, not willing to talk down either Davis's approach or the careful strategizing of the GRHDI brass. "But it is pretty cool being a freedom fighter and actually doing what it says in the job description."
"It's a lot of fun," Davis says. "You should have been with me in Afghanistan, we really raised some Hell there." He slaps another bug, and looks at the red-green stain in his hand. "Jesus, were these things this vicious when you were a kid, Swims-the-Black?"
"I have no idea why they have taken an interest in you, Davis," Swims replies. "Humans should be alien enough for them to ignore."
"Standard insect repellant not doing it for you?" Hugh asks. "Cowboy would probably have you rub down with mud to mask your meat-eating scent, GI Joe, or some other Vietnam crap..." Hugh trails off. "I mean, not that he was actually there, but he just looks the type, you know..."
"Maybe I've just been hanging out with you too much, and they can't tell the difference," Davis jokes, pushing Swims in his hammock. The effort swings his own sling more than the big Wherren's, who chuffles a quiet laugh but says nothing.
Luis finishes rigging his hammock and settles in wearily. He looks around, eyeing the camp setup. He sighs, and turns toward Arketta's hammock.
"So, what happens now?"
"You mean, with us?" she whispers.
"Yeah."
"I don't know what will happen," Arketta answers. "We fight for our lives, and we enjoy the time we have together as much as we can. It is not good to think too far beyond where you are. I learned that the last time I was on this planet."
Luis grunts, "Yeah, I was thinking on how much has changed since then. Last time I was here, we were just having a look around through some alien artifact onto an alien world. And before we were briefed on that, all I knew was that I had been posted to some base that didn't need half the defense we were giving it."
He gestures with a hand, vaguely taking in everything. "Would have thought everything here was something out of a cheesy fiction book."
"Likewise, everything about Earth was a myth for me."
Luis nods. "What were you doing before then anyway? Any big plans other than millitary service? Beyond asking how high when they said jump?"
"Nothing fantastical... wrangle myself a man after my service term much like my mother did, maybe try for a hab on Hedion, although that would have been mostly determined by when I would leave the Turai. Then... I suppose raise a family in blissful ignorance of the brutality the Imperium inflicts on everything around it. What about you?"
"I don't know what I would have done. I joined up because I didn't have anything better to do. Career millitary, maybe. Maybe have snagged a commission at some point, ended up as some officer somewhere. Or maybe retire somewhere, something military-industrial. I really didn't have anything. Was barely even on speaking terms with my folks."
Arketta speaks up again. "And so much has changed for both of us. What do you want to happen now?"
"I'm still not sure, but it's not for lack of options now. All of a sudden, I have people who appreciate me for what I can do and a job to do that's about far more than me. But it's more than that...I don't know, it's like I can earn the future now, instead of just drifting where things go."
Arketta glances up for a moment, and Luis follows her gaze up to the countless tiny shooting stars - debris from the space battle falling back into the planet's gravity well.
"Well, wherever things take us, I would like to face them together," she says.
Luis tracks one of the streaks across the sky before it disappears behind another cluster of trees. "I think I'd like that too. Actually, scratch that. I'm sure I would."
Cowboy's been holding back, mostly to get a read on his new Outfit.
Verrill is a college-boy with grandiose aspirations of being some bullshit John Wayne-type commander. That's ok, every company needs one of those. He's capable and battle-ready, which is better than most he's seen in his twenty years in Uncle Sam's Army.
Semo, a straight-shooter and affable NCO. Got no complaints with him. He follows orders and is willing to shoulder the grunt work when shit needs to get done.
Jury's still out on Davis. Never could trust or identify with the DC-politico types who occasionally venture out in the big, bad world trying to save it. He does talk the talk, hopefully all that bullshit Washington's been feeding him doesn't end up getting the whole team killed.
(walks over the campfire and crouches near Semo, who's been doing his damndest to keep his weapon clean)
"Sarge. We didn't finish that conversation you started. Yeah, Cowboy's my handle. Got it back in Ranger School. Apparently anyone born or has lived in Texas gets that name at some point. To be honest, never really cared for horses or rodeos. I do like shooting stuff, so I guess there's that."
{Wasn't sure of Cowboy's rank previously. Just figured it out from the wiki, so I went back and edited my previous post slightly.}
"Yessir. I know what you mean. I met a guy from Texas once who went by Tex for similar reasons. He was a bit of a fan of rodeos, so I guess he fit the stereotype."
"A lot of my friends call me Sumo, for obvious reasons, though a few smartalecs who think they're clever have taken to calling me Tutu. S'all the same, really. As for shooting, sounds like that's something we have in common, though I really prefer the hand-to-hand stuff."
Semo and Cowboy continue their talk by the fire. Danny Kang, in stark contrast to the ever-vigilant Angel, has already passed out in his hammock. Eventually the alien night gives way to sleep, and all too soon (what with the 20-hour planetary rotation) the white Whiirr sun creeps down through the canopy.
If you make good time, you should hit the river by midday and be able to follow the bank to the target village. The campsite is a potential concern, however. It'd be hard to conceal the traces of the camp and would take valuable time to attempt to do so. Leaving the campsite as-is saves time and maintains any headstart you might have, assuming of course you are being pursued and those pursuers also require sleep. It would be obvious that a large group camped out in this location, though. Finally, booby-trapping the campsite is quicker but brings up questions of lethal vs. less-lethal, who's actually going to find it, are these resources better spent elsewhere, and so on.
"A lot of my friends call me Sumo, for obvious reasons, though a few smartalecs who think they're clever have taken to calling me Tutu. S'all the same, really. As for shooting, sounds like that's something we have in common, though I really prefer the hand-to-hand stuff."
"Sumo's good enough for me, 'cause as I sure as hell ain't gonna ever try using your last name. I never have too much use for the hand-to-hand stuff, but I do carry if the situation presents itself..."
Cowboy unsheathes a a big fuck-off knife, handing it over to Semo for inspection.
"...Not exactly mil-spec regulation, but then again...neither am I."
Semo in turn shows that he's taken a shine to the Turai short sword, a wicked-sharp blade similar to a gladius or leaf sword. It's ironic that the most straight-laced regulation-following member of the team is the one carrying the alien sword and chatting with the man with the three-week-old beard and the plate carrier filled with custom secret squirrel gear.
---
It's quick work taking down the camp. Most of the time is spent repacking the Claymores, and before the bulk of the mid-morning humid jungle heat comes down like a nasty hot damp blanket the team is on their way. The tree roots get more twisted and tendril-like as you near the river, and although the ATV can handle the terrain, the going is slower than the previous day. Swims passes the time by attempting to identify the various noises that creep through the flora around you. Marmalope. Grawl. Quarlox.
More often than not, he corrects himself or gives up. It's not like anyone else knows what they are, though, so you march on, ever-sweating, ever-cautious, the ATV's engine feeding paranoia at being tracked but also providing a measure of familiarity.
Danny whistles "Hi ho, hi ho, it's off to work we go". He whistles louder when it starts annoying Arketta.
---
Noth didn't like being this far from his Quad, he didn't like the comms restrictions Manus had placed on them, and he definitely didn't like the Expansion guy's plan. Perhaps that was why he was out here following the hostiles' trail, as it were. If he hadn't tracked them from the crash site, hadn't seen them conceal their numbers, Noth would have lost them a dozen times over. He had a headache from trying to track these sons of scrofa and his environmental controls were going to be working overtime if the morning readouts were any indication.
---
Eventually there's a subtle shift in the air, an increase in the constant buzzing of wildlife, and a decidedly new background noise; running water. Zaef takes stock of the team's location once more and sure enough, the river is less than a klick away.
Zaef tosses the vox back to Davis with a "Heads up" and gives him the distance to both the river and the village, then takes a minute to sit down and drink.
"Staying away from the river banks is probably a good idea," Davis says. "No cover, and it's too easy to track us. We should maintain visual range of the river and keep an eye out for any natives. We'll probably find them sooner along the river than in the forest."
"Sounds good to me," Hugh says. "Angel, can you do a river approach and see if there's anything out there in the open? Maybe you'll find Wherren there or...hell, whatever might be interesting. You oughta be able to rejoin us pretty quickly - and if you follow our wake, it'll give us a better idea of how trackable we are."
Pawning off some of his kit onto others to make the river scouting approach more doable, he breaks with the rest of the squad and works his way toward the river.
Semo and Cowboy compare weapons for a while, but it soon becomes time to move out. As usual, the sargeant does his share of the work of tearing down the camp and packing up. He then takes up position again riding shotgun in the ATV.
It's all jungle to him, so Semo is surprised when someone mentions that they are near a river. Go figure. Of course, he leaves the decision-making to those whose job it is. He doesn't need the agravation.
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