The 151st. They have a good reputation. But... Cowboy? And the attitude. May have to keep an eye on this one to make sure he stays in regs...

"My people have barely discovered agriculture," Swims signs up in response to DeFranco. "They need education more than anything. They are not stupid, just... primitive." The alien colors in confusion for a moment. "They still call particle beam rifles 'lightning', sonic booms are just 'thunder'. Translated texts on metalworking and architecture and science, these are what the Wherren need."

Zaef, taking Angel's advice, brought back a Dr. Pepper as well as a Coke, and tries comparing the taste of the two. The Dr. Pepper is less acrid, more sweet, and has what Zaef guesses to be a fruity taste.

"What about the distribution of troops and the timetable? You want to oversee and guard the creation of a gateway, while talking and trading to the local Wherren and helping to defend the three closest villages if need be, and that would be nearly impossible to do at the same time."

"Lastly, what will happen to the ship after we've landed? I don't want to see a perfectly good vessel get scrapped."
Again.
Zaef raises his Dr.Pepper a little, then takes a deep swig.

admiralducksauce wrote:

"My people have barely discovered agriculture," Swims signs up in response to DeFranco. "They need education more than anything. They are not stupid, just... primitive." The alien colors in confusion for a moment. "They still call particle beam rifles 'lightning', sonic booms are just 'thunder'. Translated texts on metalworking and architecture and science, these are what the Wherren need."

"Then we're going to need some people with more than just an infantry background with us. I can teach anyone how to hold and fire a rifle, set up a skirmish line, and the best place to stab someone should the occasion require it. Sounds like we need grab a couple of folks from Sapper School and Corps of Engineers...People with military discipline but the brains to use it for something other than killing people. People we won't have to worry about following orders and experienced enough to keep their shit together when things get dicey."

"Easy on the i-word," Hugh says, nodding to Zaef. "We're the guys who invented high mobility battlefield tactics. We don't need a big fat obvious garrison at every location, just a quick response time. Keep it nimble and not only will we cover more ground, we'll also make a much harder target."

Davis nods to Hugh. "Coordination will be a challenge, but all of the goals of this mission are interrelated. Training the Whiirr will help with defense, which will help with our relations with them, which will help us get the gateway built. We'll fine-tune our tactics once we're on the ground, but for right now, let's not get bogged down making guesses about what is and isn't impossible. As for the Manta, we'll be hiding the ship from orbital scans and powering it down, but it will be available to us if we need to move quickly or need the firepower."

"Fortunately, we have someone who knows more about Imperial tech than anyone from the Corps of Engineers, and that's Luis Stanhill. He's going to be our personal Engineering Corps on this one, and we have all the manuals and training aids we'll need to get a fundamental school up and running once we hit the ground, just enough to show the natives that what they're seeing from the Imperials isn't magic or the power of the gods, just science that they don't understand yet. More engineers and teachers will be brought in after we have a more secure foothold."

"Not to mention anything built by the Corps of Engineers will, for a long ass time, just get itself beam-gunned back into the stone age. Not having air superiority is inconvenient that way."

Angel shrugs and leans back, eyeing Cowboy, thinking the exact same thing Semo is.

"Any chance we know how penicillin works on our off-world friends? Curing the sick is a nice little anti-miracle, its cheap enough we can give it away like candy, and it won't light up a combat board like a christmas tree - unlike things with Earth-origin electricity or a public works project."

CrazyIvan wrote:

"Not to mention anything built by the Corps of Engineers will, for a long ass time, just get itself beam-gunned back into the stone age. Not having air superiority is inconvenient that way."

Angel shrugs and leans back, eyeing Cowboy, thinking the exact same thing Semo is.

"Any chance we know how penicillin works on our off-world friends? Curing the sick is a nice little anti-miracle, its cheap enough we can give it away like candy, and it won't light up a combat board like a christmas tree - unlike things with Earth-origin electricity or a public works project."

"I think you're missing my point. Your Whirr friend over there seems to think there is value in teaching these people something other than insurrection. And if you want to talk about air superiority in a jungle environment, I'd like to point out that the Viet Cong were quite successful in avoiding our B-52 carpet bombings despite our command of the skies. These sort of wars are won on the ground, not in the air."

"Teaching is fine, but it's too early for public works," Hugh says by way of summary. "Medical treatment, if we can provide it, is also a good idea in my book. As for the air superiority, eh, you're both right, pretty much. You can't beat someone just from the air, they're gonna need grunts to go into the jungle and hunt us down, no doubt about it. Doesn't mean they can't put a hurting on our efforts from on high, though. It's not their air cover and it's not their ground forces in isolation, it's how well they work together that'll dictate how tough they are. Combined arms and all that fine jazz."

"We require different medicine," Swims-the-Black replies to Angel, "But the idea is sound. The Imperial kits for my species must be based in some part from what grows on Whiirr. And while I do not know the tales of your Viet Cong, the Sheen are supposed to clear the airspace over us."

Swims looks around the room before adding, "I believe the greatest threat we will face will be Wherren who have been so conditioned that they will attack us because we are NOT Imperial. Perhaps out of fear for their own lives should the Turai find they have helped us, or in hopes of some leniency or reward from their false human gods for turning us over to them."

Cowboy scratches his beard.

"So, basically we're out to prove to the Whirr that our magic is better than the Imperium's magic?"

"And after that, to show them how it is not magic," Swims adds.

Dieter wrote:

"I think you're missing my point. Your Whirr friend over there seems to think there is value in teaching these people something other than insurrection. And if you want to talk about air superiority in a jungle environment, I'd like to point out that the Viet Cong were quite successful in avoiding our B-52 carpet bombings despite our command of the skies. These sort of wars are won on the ground, not in the air."

"And you've absolutely missed mine. Namely that there are things that can be taught without pasting a giant 'Target of Opportunity' sign to the local village and waving it in front of the nose of an enemy that doesn't shy away from civilian casualties. And as much as I love our little robot allies, I've sat through one too many Imperial bombardments from a goddamned police cruiser to be entirely confident in the skies."

Angel has a distinctly...tired...expression. "Ignoring that this is all way above my pay grade."

CrazyIvan wrote:

"And you've absolutely missed mine. Namely that there are things that can be taught without pasting a giant 'Target of Opportunity' sign to the local village and waving it in front of the nose of an enemy that doesn't shy away from civilian casualties. And as much as I love our little robot allies, I've sat through one too many Imperial bombardments from a goddamned police cruiser to be entirely confident in the skies."

Angel has a distinctly...tired...expression. "Ignoring that this is all way above my pay grade."

Cowboy thumbs off the dried favela grime still clinging to his watch, checking the time in a bored and patronizing manner.

Ah, the first person in the room who's said anything practical

"Easy there, Specialist...Rivera is it? I've read your CO's combat reports on the Herky Bird ride over to this rock. I have no doubt you know what those Imperium sons o' bitches are capable of. It just that an urban environment is entirely different battle plan to that of jungle combat. Don't sweat this bullshit. Whatever plan some pencil-pusher in Washington's drawn up is going to be shot to hell the minute we get boots on the ground anyway."

*turns to Hugh*

"So...Captain. When do we leave?"

"When the gear is ready," Hugh says. "Unless you wanna go do your first gatejump into the steamy hell of Whirr with nothing but what you're wearing. But God help me, I can't even make that joke in good conscience; hell, you look like the kinda crazy bastard who'd actually do that."

"That might have a profound effect on enemy morale Sir. Course, if you really want to make an impression, I say we overthrow the planet wearing nothin' but a beam gun and a smile."

"Talk about going commando," Arketta quips.

---

After the briefing, Hugh's headed back towards the operations building's exit and the hot breeze that continually blows across the island when he hears the sharp clicks of dress shoes behind him.

"Captain Verrill." Hugh doesn't recognize the soft voice. Turning, he sees a Major quickly catching up to him. The tall man, almost ungainly so, stops short of Hugh. "Captain, I'm Major Cawsworth with the CAG. I've been trying to catch up with you for a couple weeks now. You're a hell of a person to find."

Hugh snaps off a quick salute. "I go where the Army tells me to, Major."

"Well, it'd have been nice if they kept you at Bragg long enough to do this proper. This should've been done weeks ago, but we've been watching you and think you're Delta material. There's nothing you need to do - just go where you're going and get your job done. I'll see the paperwork goes through."

Hugh looks too taken aback to do much of anything. "Thank you, Sir. It's, uh, a great honor." He pauses for a moment, unsure how to proceed given the informality of the procedure. "...I guess I need to sow a new patch onto my Class-As, then."

Cawsworth smiles. "I do happen to have that for you at least." He passes over one of the infamous dagger patches. "We normally like to do this with a little more pomp and circumstance, you know. Sneak into your barracks, tie you up, bag over the head, all that. But this'll have to do until you get back. Welcome to the 1st SFOD."

Hugh takes the patch and looks at it for a moment, then quickly pockets it, stands at attention and does a proper salute.

Cawsworth returns it, then grasps Hugh's shoulder. "You'll do fine Verrill, you've already been leading the way."

"Thank you, Major," Hugh says, stuck on repeating himself. "I, uh...if that's all, Sir, I've got some range time coming up in five."

"No problem. I've got a flight to catch out. Happy hunting."

Angel winks at Arketta, before taking a sip from the water glass sitting at the table.

Angel's comment draws a laugh from the big sargeant. The idea of them all running around naked in the jungle is pretty amusing. A quick glance from the captain and suddenly the smile disappears from his face as he shifts to sit ramrod-straight.

As the briefing draws to a close, Semo rises and heads of to prepare. There is gear to collect, and he needs to let Livia know that he'll be shipping out again soon.

Hugh's in his room, looking at an imperial short-fuckton of gear. Right, he thinks, let's put this together.

First things first: Hugh checks his jungle dress. With body armor going on top, he's got a good excuse to ditch the ACU jacket and go for the Army Combat Shirt - lighter, more comfortable, and it's not like he's going to miss the pockets that'll be covered by his vest most of the time. (He's definitely not going to miss the zipper pushing against his chest.) The ACU uniform pants will do, as will the jungle boots. Fortunately, someone thought ahead and got the team the whole shindig in MultiCam, which should acquit itself well enough for jungle wear.

With his clothes on, Hugh slips the MBAV vest over next. It'll be heavier when the strike plate goes in, and Hugh has to keep that in mind, but for now he adjusts the straps and fittings until everything's nice and snug. He tests the emergency release - yep, comes right off without any major snagging. So far, so good. Next, it's the pouches. Dear God, the pouches! Hugh takes the vest off again and starts fitting. He can replace the bulky SCAR magazine pouches with smaller double-capacity ones for his HK45. He still takes two of the bigger SCAR pouches: it's good form to have some ammo handy for your buddy in case of emergency, and they'll be good for smaller chotchkes as the mission drags on. He fits the HK45 pouches front left and the SCAR pouches front right onto the belt of the vest's harness. Behind the pistol pouches follow knife sheath and canteen pouch; Hugh eyes the standard-issue knife for a moment, then sheathes it and makes a note to take a Leatherman, too. The canteen pouch gets, well, the canteen, and a few small odds and ends (water desinfection tablets and a plastic sheet, mostly) that'll fit. At the very rear, Hugh puts a large utility pouch (Entrenching tool? What's that?) and piles on the useful crap: small first aid kit, extra bandages, the aforementioned Leatherman, and some packets of trail food and beverage powder. Hugh leaves some more room and finally slots in a pouch for his flashlight behind the SCAR pouches. Oh, there's a use for those right there: battery dump! Goggles, flashlight, laser sight: they all eat batteries for breakfast. (Fortunately, at least the XM10's optic will be fed from the weapon itself.) Finally, he rolls up a waterproof rain poncho and stuffs it into the utility pouch.

With the belt done, Hugh works his way up. The HK45, with a threaded barrel, gets its holster attached to the front. Not the quickest draw, but if there's anything Hugh doesn't want, it's weight on his legs in a freaking jungle. Besides, this way, he can use a larger holster that fully covers the weapon and also leaves room for the detachable suppressor. Hugh wistfully looks at the small thread protector screwed onto the muzzle of the pistol, as if to say You're gonna be the first thing I lose in that shithole. Above that, Hugh mounts pouches for radio and binoculars, then fits those. The whole thing is starting to shape up quite nicely at this point, but Hugh's not quite done.

The Plasma Quiver is next - Hugh can't handle it without unfortunate memories of that one summer camp. Heh, coulda used NVGs for that panty raid, he thinks, chuckling to himself. It finds its home vertically across the shoulder mount points of the vest, ready for Hugh's left hand to reach up and draw out the rods. Speaking of the XM10 - Hugh clips on the assault sling and spends a minute getting the length right. (Apparently, using the SCAR buttstock doesn't mean the eggheads tried to keep any of the same dimensions the same as that rifle. Isn't that great?) That done, he clips the combat optic and dual-mode laser sight onto the rifle and gives both a quick check before booting the rifle itself. The whole thing emits the tiniest but still quite ominous hum before the weapon status display glows green. Satisfied for the moment, Hugh shuts it off and lays the rifle aside.

There's still a load of crap on the table. Hugh takes an assault pack and craps about 2/3rds of the remaining gear in there. The rest - mostly spare spare clothes of all sorts - goes into a duffel. As the endcap, Hugh puts the vest on again, shoulders the assault pack, slips on his helmet with headset and mounted NVGs, then slings the XM10 on top of that. It's not a light load by far, and Hugh already dreads what it's going to weigh when he's got actual armor plates in the vest on top of all that.

But that's modern warfare for you.