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4/27/2025, 4:39:46 AM
You doubt a request for guns and ammo would have gone without a hitch, and you don’t press your luck now. A shot from a looted carbine will kill just a surely as one from a standard issue Company rifle, provided the wear and tear on either doesn’t cause it to jam at the last second. You slink back to rear of as the chorus of other requisition requests, or demands as some of the less cool-headed officers or NCOs have their turn, continue to fill up the room.
“Very good, Snake Eyes-sama.”
“Thank you, Crane.”
“You did not even have to look down at your prompts.”
You scrunch the small piece of paper with the words GHOSTHEM FIX NOW scrawled over it into the small of your pants pocket. It’s a to-do list, not a prompt.
“Shut up, Crane.”
“Very good, Snake Eyes-gunso.
With that smidge of insubordination from your trusted Second and best friend moderately curbed, for the next five minutes at least, you turn your attention back to the LT’s briefing.
“As most of us know the enemy has escalated their cleanse-and-contain strategy with the full-time deployment of their Titans. Two are confirmed to be operating in the immediate vicinity, we have reports of a third, or possibly a pair, also working their way in from the opposite sectors.”
Grim silence from the room. That is a lot of firepower heading in one direction. Your direction. The LT continues, as if reporting on the movement of an enemy column of infantry not proverbial machine gods of war.
“We knew this was coming, especially when the Savis refrained from risking orbital bombardment. But it does advance our schedule. Our latest estimate gives us four to five weeks on the outside before the main rebel base is compromised, either through direct discovery or by process of elimination. Less if the Imperial recon elements uncover our position beforehand.”
Disconcerted murmurs shuffle universally across the briefing room regardless of rank or experience. It’s one thing to know that the hostiles are closing in, another to have a cold hard figure in front of you setting a deadline before the noose is tightened.
There’s a few mutterings in the upper ranks apprehensive of that estimate, but you simply cross your arms and lean back as they voice their second guesses. It’s all in your report after repeated engagements on several fronts this month. It’s not exactly just your report either, each Cradler vet and other experienced guerillas in the Company gave their input just to make sure you weren’t lowballing or highballing the countdown. Crane even corrected all the spelling errors.
[2/4]
“Very good, Snake Eyes-sama.”
“Thank you, Crane.”
“You did not even have to look down at your prompts.”
You scrunch the small piece of paper with the words GHOSTHEM FIX NOW scrawled over it into the small of your pants pocket. It’s a to-do list, not a prompt.
“Shut up, Crane.”
“Very good, Snake Eyes-gunso.
With that smidge of insubordination from your trusted Second and best friend moderately curbed, for the next five minutes at least, you turn your attention back to the LT’s briefing.
“As most of us know the enemy has escalated their cleanse-and-contain strategy with the full-time deployment of their Titans. Two are confirmed to be operating in the immediate vicinity, we have reports of a third, or possibly a pair, also working their way in from the opposite sectors.”
Grim silence from the room. That is a lot of firepower heading in one direction. Your direction. The LT continues, as if reporting on the movement of an enemy column of infantry not proverbial machine gods of war.
“We knew this was coming, especially when the Savis refrained from risking orbital bombardment. But it does advance our schedule. Our latest estimate gives us four to five weeks on the outside before the main rebel base is compromised, either through direct discovery or by process of elimination. Less if the Imperial recon elements uncover our position beforehand.”
Disconcerted murmurs shuffle universally across the briefing room regardless of rank or experience. It’s one thing to know that the hostiles are closing in, another to have a cold hard figure in front of you setting a deadline before the noose is tightened.
There’s a few mutterings in the upper ranks apprehensive of that estimate, but you simply cross your arms and lean back as they voice their second guesses. It’s all in your report after repeated engagements on several fronts this month. It’s not exactly just your report either, each Cradler vet and other experienced guerillas in the Company gave their input just to make sure you weren’t lowballing or highballing the countdown. Crane even corrected all the spelling errors.
[2/4]
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