Near Axarite, Baxter | Day 1
Andrew was irascible. He hadn't slept hardly at all the previous night, fueled as he was by caffeine and adrenaline. Long before dawn, the order had come straight from the top, as it happened- above even the Major General. Rumor had it that the government had sent the communique directly. Now, Finn was not directly answerable to the highest-ranking man on Baxter, but he had received no indication that he was to do otherwise, so he kept his head down, swallowed his pride, and meekly complied. After a two-hour truck journey in the pre-dawn glow of the desert, his battalion had finally arrived. One truck had been crippled by a mine, forcing the survivors to compress themselves into the remaining vehicle. Piling out and forming up loosely, the 17th Scout Brigade was admittedly not much to look at, as they had dusty, unassuming plainclothes denim on over their uniforms and armor. Shouldering his rifle, Finn set off over the plains at an easy lope, continuing towards the hills outside the city. His men would follow. Now all that was left was to scout the damn place and get the hell back before the General had their heads on a platter. . .
