A S A T R A/EP. 1 - Leaving the Nest (MilPostApoc; IC/Open))

[Cylarn]

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OOC

EPISODE 1 - LEAVING THE NEST

---

0650
FORT TIVOLA MOTOR POOL
TIVOLA CITY, FORMER ALOCASIA

0700 for the rally up. 0800 for the departure.

A bright orange sun rose over the rocky hills and sandy dunes of the Great Asatran desert. However, the haze of morning clouds - and distant smoke - cast the brightness of the sun in a dull light. Within the walls and street corners of Tivola City, many parts were still darkened. Few street lamps burned these days - power had to be conserved for the important places. Few lights shone through the windows. Fort Tivola's motor pool was a place that got dark fast due to the buildings and garages and bays that surrounded it. If it weren't for the four massive spotlights overhead, it would certainly still be dark.

The mechanics were up by 0600 and the "yard" of the motor pool - a large asphalt area in front of the garages - was abuzz with activity. Soldiers and civilians were talking, moving, working. At the center of the yard were five vehicles parked in a row, one by one. Men and women in fatigues were moving back and forth, carrying crates of various sizes to the vehicles. A number of them, dressed in dirty coveralls, worked over and under the engines and wheels and undercarriages of the vehicles to ensure that everything was working for the coming journey. Some crates were loaded onto two of the three heavy transport trucks; other crates and cases were unpacked, their contents carefully placed into any one of the waiting vehicles. Of the five vehicles, three were green heavy transport trucks - the Alestrian-made T100. Each one was different than the last. One of the T100s had a canvas cover over its bed, barbed wire strung along the frame of the bed. Another was built like a roving castle; a steel box enclosed the bed, its top adorned with a short layer of sandbags and set with two machine guns. Barbed wire was strung along the top, and each window for the cab - from the doors to the windshield - were covered with cage-like steel bars. The third truck, on the other hand, bore the caged windows of the other two trucks - but nothing else similar. Instead of a proper bed, this truck had a single large fuel tank. Beside of the gun truck was an A500 4x4 colored in arid greens and browns and beige, with its bed bearing a large 105mm recoilless rifle. The door of the passenger side was removed to fit a skeleton door and a single Type 60 LSW mounted on a swivel setup for the passenger to use. Its windows were, again, covered with the same cage coverings adorned on the T100s. The final vehicle, last in the row beside the tanker, was probably the most well-armed of the group: a T4 armored car, colored in drab olive.

Another vehicle entered the bay - a tan A500 with a matching hard top moving at a slow speed as it approached the row of vehicles. Few of the workers paid any attention to the approaching vehicle when it pulled up beside the camouflaged A500, except for a group of men in coveralls who motioned to the vehicle and talked amongst themselves as they inspected the six wheels and tires of the gun truck. The door of the A500 opened, and Bracco climbed out slowly. He was tired, evident in his slow movement and squinting eyes as he walked over to the vehicle that would be his for the duration of the mission. Bracco shivered, even beneath the olive green fleece-lined jacket he wore over his blouse, and stuck his ungloved hands inside. Instead of a beret, Bracco wore his black watch cap to keep away the waning chill of the desert night. Today's the fuckin' day. He stared for a moment at the vehicle and pondered the coming days that would be spent on the road. My ass is gonna hurt. I haven't done a long ride in five years, and this one is gonna be the longest drive I've ever had. Cross-colony bullshit. Bracco was no stranger to mechanized operations; after all, he was the OiC for the gun truck crews that scrambled to intercept the supplies parachuted in by JRASQC. However, the operation at hand - the operation which had no name at the present - was drastically different than anything he had led before. The council over Tivola - the "Garrison Government" - was sending him, some sixteen souls, and hundreds of gallons of petrol to Maxima in the hopes of forming an alliance. An alliance for what? Building a nation? Fat-fucking chance. Bracco didn't quite like the odds; the convoy was to travel some five-hundred miles, at the very least, through the wastes of the Great Asatran Desert and the Outer Ring to reach the formerly Crionian city of Maxima. Bracco helped to plan the route, and it wasn't going to be a straight shot. The route to Maxima involved them traveling north to Ulyex as their first stop. From there, they would leave at dawn to hopefully cross through the Blood Rocks before nightfall and seek shelter at the supposedly abandoned firebase of Buralys. After that - cross the Demarc in a day and reach Maxima before the sun went down. Bracco hated the route, but it was the only one that followed any existing roads. They didn't even know of the condition of the roads past the Blood Rocks; how long would it take the convoy to navigate crumbling roads chocked full of abandoned or destroyed vehicles? What would happen if a vehicle busted a tire? There were far too many unknowns.

Bracco turned back to his A500 and approached the open door. First, he grabbed his webbing vest and a Type 58 that sat on the seat and loaded them into the camouflaged vehicle. There was a locking rack for his rifle in the center, so he seated the rifle in it and locked it in place. The webbing was left to rest on the driver's seat. He went back and fetched out a single rucksack - his spare clothes, food, spare ammunition, and other necessaries - and placed the rucksack in the back of the vehicle behind his seat. He made sure to fasten it to the seat so that it didn't roll around. Lastly, he fetched his submachine gun, putting it in the seat with his vest. Bracco gave one last look-over of his vehicle for anything that he might have forgotten. Satisfied that he had the entirety of his gear for the long haul, he prepared to climb back into his A500 when a mechanic, a burly red-haired, balding man in stained coveralls, approached him, giving a toothless smile.

"'Ey Cap," the mechanic - one of the senior mechanics on site - greeted him. Baldas was older than Bracco, probably in his early fifties. His skin was leathery, almost red, and his face was creased with lines and crow's feet. Despite his weathered appearance and his ambient stench of liquor, cigarette smoke, and various solvents and oil, the man had a jovial smile and attitude that rubbed off on others. Baldas drew a torn and crinkled soft pack of cigarettes from his pocket.

Bracco gave a nod to the man. Salutes were not all too common these days. "Baldas. You got a thermos somewhere?"

Baldas shook his head and placed a hand-rolled cigarette between his lips. The older mechanic shook his head and lit the cigarette with a flip lighter. "Nah, nah, Cap. Coffee's in the office - with the General."

Hikaskes. The General himself was on site, waiting in the office that Baldas held court in. If Baldas is mentioning that the General is in there, then the General wants to see me.

"Well, it would be unwise to keep the General waiting," Bracco replied.

Baldas exhaled a cloud of cigarette smoke. "Yeah, yeah. Say - can I use your truck? Need to run over to the other side of the base and grab another can of ammo for the 105."

"Help yourself. Hell, you can keep an eye on her - and Jako - while I am gone."

The default smile that Baldas routinely wore grew even wider. "Sure thing. Where's the pooch?"

"The bordello. I've got Lupo and the other girls watching him for now."

"Right, right. I'll pick him up later today," Baldas replied, moving over to the driver's side of the A500. Bracco moved out of his way as the big man climbed inside, giving the commando a wave before throwing the 4x4 into gear.

With that, Bracco walked away from the assembly area in the yard and started towards one of the buildings nearby. His eyes focused on the large glass window by the door to the building, where the shades were pulled up. He saw the faint light of a desk lamp inside, and the silhouette of a man sitting on, not at, the desk inside. Bracco opened the door and walked inside, shutting the door behind him. The interior of the building was dark, but he turned to his left to see light coming through an interior window. That was where the office was; the door was already open. Bracco entered the office to see General Hikaskes sitting on top of the desk, sipping from a cup of coffee.

---

Jon Hikaskes was not an impressive-looking man at sixty-five years. He was short with a growing paunch - as much of a paunch as one could have in Asatra - and his face was crinkled with stress lines. The hair on his head was gone, leaving a freckled bald head that was covered by a worn crush-style peaked cap. Hikaskes wore the frogskin camouflage uniform of the Alestrian Army, his sleeves rolled up to the elbow and revealing a pair of toned, muscular forearms. Hikaskes watched Bracco with his sharp light blue eyes, and took a sip of his coffee.

"Morning, Captain," he said, his voice neutral but tired-sounding, as if Hikaskes wasn't used to being awake this early.

Bracco snatched the watch cap from his head and sat down in a leather rolling office chair across from the General. "Morning, sir."

"There's been a slight change of plans, Captain."

Bracco was halfway in the middle of producing a pack of cigarettes from his pocket when he witnessed the General tossing a pack of cigarettes at him. Bracco caught them just before they landed in his lap, his right hand now holding what appeared to be a pristine hard pack of smokes. The younger man paused before responding, instead choosing to study the gift he just received. Montalbano Classic Golds. The white and gold pack was still wrapped in plastic wrapping; never opened, produced in a factory in Galmorla. Before the war, Montalbano Classics were the most numerous cigarette in Diaketha; in present-day Asatra, an unopened pack was about as rare as a ride out of Asatra. Bracco peeled the wrapping and opened the pack of cigarettes, producing a single, pristine white cigarette with a brown filter. Bracco placed the cigarette in his mouth - and hesitated in lighting it as he began to connect the dots. If I am getting a gift from Jon Hikaskes, that's because he is about to tell me some news that I am not going to react well to. That was how Hikaskes functioned with Bracco; give something good along with bad news. Five years back, when Hikaskes shot down Bracco's suggestion about evacuating Tivola by convoy, the general gave Bracco the opportunity to call his family. Bracco was getting the same vibe; that Hikaskes was about to piss him off. While Bracco lit his cigarette, Hikaskes talked.

"I assume you know about the...'volunteers' you'll be taking with you, correct?"

Bracco puffed on the cigarette, and exhaled. "Yep. A handful of regulars from here, that Crionian bird-woman, the nerd cook, and Doc Mreste. What about 'em, sir?"

"There's one more coming along. Astruc Berendon. You know him; or rather, know of him."

Bracco gave the general a confused look. Astruc Berendon? Who the fuck is that? Bracco took another drag. "Astruc Berendon...oh yeah, Astruc. Remind me: who the fuck is Astruc Berendon?"

General Hikaskes paused for a moment, as if silently deciding how he should tell the former commando that the "Red Ghost" would be coming along - and that the same man would be taking on a leadership role within the convoy. "The Red Ghost. The Grey Pandit. He's a tribal from the Paras in the Outer Ring."

It was Bracco's turn to pause. The Red Ghost. During the war, Bracco and Astruc hunted one another for two weeks when 1 Commando was sent to assist the Jungle Rifles in bringing the Paras to heel. Suffice it to say, the Paras were not brought to heel. Captured Paras gloated about Berendon - the Red Ghost. The Jungle Rifles were terrified of the man, who was known to snipe a man - or woman - the instant he or she emerged from cover. Bracco's team hunted the Red Ghost for weeks, and they were in turn hunted by the Red Ghost. On two separate occasions, Bracco was certain that he had killed the Red Ghost, through mortar bombardment and air strikes. He even found a pristine red beret near a charred corpse, and proudly took the corpse back to Fort Jaguar as proof that he had killed the Red Ghost. Yet, while he and Colonel Ravalia gloated over the corpse, Berendon took the opportunity to shoot two men on the wall of Fort Jaguar.

How the fuck is the Red Ghost not fucking dead by this point?

"General...the Red Ghost?" Bracco gave a nervous chuckle. "How do you know-"

Hikaskes cut him off. "Captain Berendon will share the responsibility of leadership with you, and likewise, you will share it with him - for as long as the convoy is on the road."

"Why?" Bracco was seething, yet doing a remarkably good job at keeping his anger buried inside. He was ignoring the cigarette, keeping his hands low as the tobacco slowly burned away. Bracco was turning red, scowling at the floor. Hikaskes stared at him, and knew that Bracco would not say anything directly in front of him to question his decision.

"Why? For one, I spoke to him directly. He impressed me, Captain, and I know his war record about as well as I know you. The man kept those Paras alive in the jungle; he is a tried and true combat leader, like you and I. The road to Maxima is going to be dangerous - the Demarc, jungle, Blood Rocks. We need the best of the best to get this oil to Maxima. The Crionians know him, trust him. We're gonna need someone like him when you all get to Maxima, someone to be the on-the-ground negotiator and get them to enter in on this whole idea we have. I can't say whether or not Maxima is holding onto the war, but if they are, I don't think that you - an Alestrian Commando officer - would be able to sway them in our favor."

Bracco stood up, staring at his commanding officer. "Is that all, sir?"

Hikaskes's face hardened. "No, that is not all. You and Captain Berendon are going to speak to one another before you leave. He's been briefed on his responsibilities, and you know yours. It will be on the two of you to work together and lead that convoy."

The general reached into his leg pocket, pulling out a single, folded sheet of paper enclosed in an envelope and sealed with wax. "You are to give this to the person in charge at Maxima. It will lay out our terms for trade. It is not to be opened until you hand it to them."

---

0705

The sun was much higher in the sky, enough to break through the haze of clouds and smoke in a tangible way. Bracco was seated on the hood of the camouflaged A500 smoking a Montalbano, watching as the regulars began to march in. The Tivolan troops - evenly divided in numbers between men and women - were clad in old, worn, mismatched uniform items. The appearances were inconsistent; about half of the twelve soldiers were wearing helmets, some had their helmets attached to their packs, and the remainder didn't even have helmets. Six of them carried Type 58s, two carried LSWs, and four lugged the 58CM or a Type 48. The soldiers stood in front of the vehicles in a formation four wide and three deep, standing at ease as they waited for orders. They talked amongst themselves, sharing cigarettes, looking nervous. Bracco looked down at his watch. The regulars are mostly here; now all we need are the others.

Bracco slid off the front of the A500 and approached the formation. The eyes of the assembled soldiers centered on him.

"Go ahead and get your kit put up," he said. You should already have your vehicle assignments, so get your shit stowed. We shove off at 08."

The soldiers nodded and left their assembly area, heading to the vehicles. Bracco turned back to the A500 and climbed inside the driver's seat. With the door open and his left leg propped up through the open window, Bracco enjoyed the rest of his cigarette as he waited. The taste of a freshly-opened pack of continental cigarettes was the only thing he could enjoy, however. Bracco held out little hope for his Crionian cohort. How the fuck did this guy even get into Tivola? Sure, there were plenty of Crionians living in Tivola. Most were the remnants of the 5th Armored, who as POWs, fought to protect Tivola from a Wendigo attack after their own armored assault was crushed. But Astruc was a Para. Bracco never expected his wartime hatred of the Paras to come back. He hadn't seen a Para in five years, hadn't thought much about them since the Jungle Campaign. But here was one now - and Bracco was expected to swallow his pride and lead jointly with the baddest Para of the bunch.

[Zenik]

7:00 AM, Fort Tivola Motor Pool,
Tivola City.


Philippo had woken up early and, after gathering his few things from the communal sleeping area where he resided, dressing up in his old uniform and checking if he had everything he needed for the voyage, he left his place, heading towards to the Motor Pool.

Without access to a personal vehicle or someone with one to give him a ride, Philippo had started walking quickly: the depot was about 30-40 minutes from where he was staying, and at 7 AM there would be a meeting before the departure, which was scheduled for 8 AM. Philippo was used to waking up early, partly out of a hard-to-die habit, partly because over time it was becoming increasingly difficult for him to sleep for more than 5-6 hours, especially after the war and after what had happened with the Abbandon.

While walking with his gear and his weapons, he witnessed the sun rising upon the city, with the warmth of the sun slowly descending on the earth, preparing to replace the freezing cold that characterized the night.

While walking towards the Motor Pool, Philippo reflected on his choice to volunteer for the convoy : it was indeed true that the road for Porto Maxima was a long one, and not particular safe either, but on the other hand the bonuses that the Garrison government had offered to anyone that volunteered for the expediction were worth the danger; and, for Philippo, it didn't matter much : Since the Abbandon, he seemed to have lost that spark, continuing to live for nothing more but plain automation, and if the expediction resulted in a failure, at least it would grant him freedom from this mortal plane.

After 40 minutes of walking he reached the entrance to the Motor Pool, he was stopped by two guards asking him for identification

" I'm Philippo Ralmos, I've volunteered for the expediction to Port Maxima, here's my identification papers " he said to the guards, who, after briefly controlling the documents, let him through.

He arrived where the personnel assigned to the convoy had gathered, and where the expection commander, Captain Bracco Aenglius, was waiting the other expediction members.

He saluted Bracco and introduced himself :

" Philippo Ralmos to report, Sir " as he made the distinct military salute, waiting for Bracco to respond

[Cawn]

6:30 AM
Arraste wakes up, to his dismay. For he has to wake up from his slumber earlier at 6:30 AM rather than 7:00 AM as they have to be assembled by 7 AM. Regardless, he wakes up and starts preparing his belongings to be carried, he had specifically brought an atlas and 3 books, one on the Diakethian language, one on a collection of briefings regarding the war and another on the formation of states, the 3 things that caught his eye, his old radio, the one he got a few years prior and really liked the jingles and his source of news.

He is 15 to 20 minutes away from the motor pool, so he could afford to groom his hair and wash his face. Regardless, while walking for the next 20 minutes, he was clumsily holding all his belongings and looked distracted while he was thinking about his experiences in Tivola, and whether all this could have been avoided had WENDIGO not been executed. He then concluded that it was what happened, better to think about the future than what already happened.

7 AM
By the time he had reached the camp, he experienced a surge of energy, saw how clumsily he was holding and how tired he felt and that he thought he looked like, and thought: “I can not have an appearance like this, especially to the general”. He thus started to more firmly hold his bags to be less clumsy and to look more like a professional he is rather than a fatigued person.

Once he had finished refreshing, he then went to the guards and briefly stated, for he is not one to give many details, usually being more reserved and only elaborating when needed: “I am Arraste, I have volunteered for the expedition, here are the identity documents.”

Once he handed over the documents, the guards let him through, and then he saw the column of 11 soldiers who looked irregular, many had a helmet, some, including him did not. Not one to stand out, he joined the column and listened to Bracco and nodded. He thought that the expedition was risky, but the bonuses were worth just as much as the risks, and besides, he had always been enthusiastic about a potential expedition to meet with other entities like Maxima. For he was not happy that most of Asatra was inhabited only by Wendigos and savages with only enclaves of peace and he still had hope left, enough for him to think that the expedition is a good idea.

He then introduced himself “Arraste, to report.” And saluted to Bracco.

7:10 AM
Now that he had introduced himself, it was time to head to his vehicles, he had been assigned to a T100 heavy transport vehicle, the second one that looked like what some described as a roving castle, steel box enclosed the bed and there were sandbags and a machine gun. He thus went into the vehicle, calmly waiting for the rest to come. He didn’t think much, for he was examining the interior of his assigned vehicle.

[Vonston]

Fort Tivola Motor Pool,
Tivola City

Lucian had woken up around 6:40 AM, since he had slept at work that night to spend less time on the commute towards the Motor Pool, which was nearby his workplace. As a mechanic of the Logistics Office of the Tivola Garrison, Lucian had access to the Motor Pool, as the few armored vehicles still in service needed manteinance to be kept in service, and Lucian had the skills needed for that.

One of the main motivations he volunteered was the necessity of a mechanic for the expediction, and his role and skillset were fundamental to the convoy, and the Garrison would probably offer more bonuses to anyone who volunteered for the role. And Lucian needed those bonuses : he wanted to move in with Ludo, one of the girls at the Brothel and current situationship of Lucian, and to do that he needed the bonuses

In the morning, he quickly gathered his things, weapons and gear, took a photo of him and Ludo with him, in remembrance of her in this long adventure, and went in for the Motor Pool.

He was recognized by the guards at the entrance and was let in, ready to meet the rest of the team.

He reached the expediction commander and presented himself " Morning Sir, Lucian Calaris at report and ready, Sir " he said

[Cylarn]

He saluted Bracco and introduced himself

Bracco looked to the man wearing the garb of a colonial police officer, and kept his expression flat. The ex-commando didn't care for salutes; they were soldiers, but the salute became a formal relic of the past. The men and women that Bracco commanded in the scavenging missions never saluted him, nor did anyone else. The salute gave way to nods, which Bracco gave to Philippo instead of returning the salute. He had interacted with Philippo once or twice, usually when heading out of the city or heading back in.

"Carry on, Ralmos," Bracco replied, giving the cop a faint smile. "Find a vehicle of your choice, stow your shit, and await further."

And saluted to Bracco.

Bracco replied with a slighter wince, and a nod. Arraste was one of the few actual Asatrans in Tivola, a Crionian conscript who simply wandered in one day and never left. He's a cook, I think. Bracco noted where Arraste had come from; he was standing in the loose formation beforehand, and had walked up from the vehicles after he likely stowed his gear. Arraste wasn't carrying his pack or rifle.

"Carry on, Arraste. Is your gear situated? Which vehicle are you in?"

" Morning Sir, Lucian Calaris at report and ready, Sir " he said

Before Arraste or Philippo could depart, Lucian presented. And while Lucian did not salute, he sandwiched his words. Sandwiched, like a first-year cadet would sandwich every statement and every greeting to a senior cadet, officer, or any actual soldier. This made Bracco visibly wince hard out of annoyance. Lucian wasn't even a bad guy, if a little too formal. His "girlfriend," Lupo, was someone Bracco considered to be a friend. Most of the hookers who worked at the local brothel were his friends, after all. Lucian and Alvarez were the mechanics for Tivola - damn good mechanics at that.

"Guys," Bracco said, pausing for a moment as he took on an informal tone. "Y'all don't need to be overly formal with me. We're gonna be on the road for a couple days. Calling me sir is okay, just...don't salute. Don't sandwich your sirs. We're all cool here."

Bracco made eye contact with Lucian. "You're gonna be in the T4. If you see Alvarez before I do, tell her she's gonna be the commander in that vehicle. Find a grunt or a volunteer to ride with y'all as the third in there."

[Zenik]

7:00 AM, Fort Tivola Motor Pool,
Tivola City

" Understood " He said to Bracco, and, while he was about to choose a truck to put his stuff, other two members of the expediction arrived : One was a Crionian, working as a cook in the Tivola canteen, and the other was one of the mechanics.

Philippo had seen the cook during lunchtime a pair of times, but couldn't remember his name before the guy said it outloud to Bracco; nevertheless, he seemed to be an okay choice for the expediction, even though he didn't know him that much well.

" At least we won't be eating like shit during the travel " He thought without saying it outloud, while instead fixing his sight on the other fellow.

Philippo didn't know the second man, but the fact that he was a mechanic made him really valuable : If something were to happen to the vehicles in the wild, at least there was someone capable of fixing the mess. Once Bracco told him and the others to be less formal, Philippo took his leave for a moment to choose his vehicle, the T100 with a sheet covering the trunk and the barbed wire, put his things in it and go back to the others to introduce himself

" Name's Philippo, yours ? " he said to the other two

[Great Confederacy of Commonwealth States]

A quarter to seven in the morning
Kroton Bank Building
Tivola City

As the first light of the sun disk rose above the copper hills, the voices began to sound.

“Oh come, Dawn, thou Light of Lights, and Open; Welcome, Glory! Glory!”

The singing, if it could be called that, was more akin to a monotone wail, a constant pitch arising from fifteen throats and forming together in a metallic hum. It was otherworldly, discordant, it grated to the bone, and it made Boggiona Mreste think of nowhere but home. The smell emanating from the bowl in front of her, of burning rice and incense and fruits and egg, was the same as it had been when she was just a little girl. There were thousands then, waiting quietly on the Great Hill for the sun to pierce the Twilight Veil, to allow the dawn spirits to enter the world. Boggiona wafted the scent from the terracotta bowl into her face and into the air; a ward against the evil spirits that would attempt to enter the World together with the good. The doctor prayed for her patient Luciane, who was expected to give birth any day now. She prayed for a good spirit to find its way and to grant the infant a good life, and for protection against any that would imbue him with malice and greed.

The sun had risen halfway above the Copper Hills. Boggiona, having rendered all her prayers for the day, thought it strange that this whole ceremony felt so homely to her. The last time before the war she had participated in the Dawn Guard in earnest, she had been a teenager. Sure, she had joined friends now and again, if they had an early morning appointment and they were having coffee afterwards. During the war, there had been little time, and Alestria never cared much for the superstitions of their colony, even if she had been interested. But religion and tradition had always seemed too quaint for her, too performative, too far away from her reality of blood tests and ferritin levels and cotton swabs and prescription opioids. Superstition and her task, even if she saw it as a holy task, did not go together.

The last of the sun disk detached itself from the morning haze above the Copper Hills. The Twilight Veil closed again, and the singing abruptly stopped. The head priestess turned around and silently signalled it was time to eat. Boggiona replaced the bowl with charred foodstuff with a new, clean one, and started filling it from the number of small cups and plates sitting around her prayer mat. She had some yellow rice, some sweet sauce, some beans, a hard cake, and semi-fermented berries wrapped in leaves. It was not much; before the war, she would have had the choice of cheeses and yoghurts, fresh breads, sausages both warm and cold, and all numbers of sweets. But they had to work with what they had.

The fifteen mouths only started talking again when they had come down from the top of the old Kroton Building, as they were rinsing their cups and plates in a large communal tub. Everyone had their own sets, collected over the years from gifts and bequeathments, often stretching back many generations. Each generation would then add their own, creating an eclectic mix of vessels that told a story, which they could share during their rinsing. Many of the bowls were old and worn, but many also had chipped enamel plates and cups, of the kind that had flooded the Asatran market after the First War and during the Second.

“When are you leaving again, Giona?” asked one of the older men. He had been a shepherd, and was rinsing out a cup made out of an old sheep’s bell that his great-grandfather had made while trapped by a blizzard.

“We’re heading out in an hour or so,” she answered. It was hurtful for a community of only fifteen to lose even a single soul. Their diaspora, if you can be called a diaspora in your homeland, was small in Tivola, and the number that wanted to actively participate in the Rites was even smaller. The crisis that had turned many to religion had turned many more away. The water that drowns the musk deer gives life to the catfish.

“How long will you be gone?” asked a younger woman. She could not have been older than ten during the war, but she had a set more befitting an ancient. She had asked it the past three days.

“I don’t know, love,” said Boggiona. “Perhaps I’ll come back with the convoy, perhaps there is work in Maxima for me to do.”

“But you will come back?”

Boggiona smiled a kind smile. “I promise,” she lied. All promises were lies, these days. An attempt would be made, but there were larger powers at work in the world than the will and abilities of mortals. She hugged the others goodbye, said the last ‘see you laters’ (far more easy than the more likely ‘farewells’), picked up her duffel bag and rifle and headed down to Fort Tivola.

Tivola itself was a ghost town. Its centre had once been busy, when the oil had created local wealth, imported food was widely available and Alestrians drove in from the suburbs every day to do their shopping. Nowadays, large parts of the city lacked running water and electricity. The electric trams sat abandoned, some turned into barricades when first the Crionians and then the wendigo’s had attempted to enter the city. She crossed about a dozen points where she had been near the front line, with either bonesaw or rifle in hand. Twice she met Asatrans sitting around, still having their breakfast, and she had to kindly refuse when they offered her to join them. The scarcer food got, the more likely Asatrans were willing to share.

As she was wearing her white coat with the Red Chalice emblazoned on it, and because she was a common sight at the compound, she was waved through the gates with ease. The motor pool of the fort was an absolute cacophony. There was something about the coming of an expedition that seemed to worry mechanics; they had had weeks to prepare at least, but most of them probably had had sleepless nights, and everywhere, bolts were additionally tightened, additional armour plate was put up, and fuel lines were checked and double-checked. Only when Boggiona saw all of this happen did she feel nervous for the first time. For weeks, this day had only been a mark on her calendar, but the smell of gasoline and the rumblings of engines made it all the more real. As she saw mechanics do the final checks on engine blocks, she herself considered if she was maybe under-prepared.

There was little time to think about that. Boggiona spotted one truck with an assortment of hangers-on collected around the driver’s portion. Upon closer inspection, she saw Bracco Aeglius, the commander of the convoy, seated behind the wheel. She had seen him a few times; scavenging missions were not without danger. She had lost her last tetanus shot on one of his women. Without words, she waved by way of reporting her presence, and by pointing signalled that she would try to find herself a place in one of the trucks. As she walked away, she had to do a double take. A colonial police officer, wearing his old uniform, was standing next to Aeglius’ truck. She remembered that uniform all too well. Local Asatran police dealt with traffic infractions, you only dealt with the colonial police if you had rubbed someone powerful the wrong way. The fact that this guy was still wearing that uniform told her enough about what kind of man that was. She decided that she would stay well clear of him in the future.

[Cawn]

He saluted Bracco and introduced himself

Bracco looked to the man wearing the garb of a colonial police officer, and kept his expression flat. The ex-commando didn't care for salutes; they were soldiers, but the salute became a formal relic of the past. The men and women that Bracco commanded in the scavenging missions never saluted him, nor did anyone else. The salute gave way to nods, which Bracco gave to Philippo instead of returning the salute. He had interacted with Philippo once or twice, usually when heading out of the city or heading back in.

"Carry on, Ralmos," Bracco replied, giving the cop a faint smile. "Find a vehicle of your choice, stow your shit, and await further."

And saluted to Bracco.

Bracco replied with a slighter wince, and a nod. Arraste was one of the few actual Asatrans in Tivola, a Crionian conscript who simply wandered in one day and never left. He's a cook, I think. Bracco noted where Arraste had come from; he was standing in the loose formation beforehand, and had walked up from the vehicles after he likely stowed his gear. Arraste wasn't carrying his pack or rifle.

"Carry on, Arraste. Is your gear situated? Which vehicle are you in?"

" Morning Sir, Lucian Calaris at report and ready, Sir " he said

Before Arraste or Philippo could depart, Lucian presented. And while Lucian did not salute, he sandwiched his words. Sandwiched, like a first-year cadet would sandwich every statement and every greeting to a senior cadet, officer, or any actual soldier. This made Bracco visibly wince hard out of annoyance. Lucian wasn't even a bad guy, if a little too formal. His "girlfriend," Lupo, was someone Bracco considered to be a friend. Most of the hookers who worked at the local brothel were his friends, after all. Lucian and Alvarez were the mechanics for Tivola - damn good mechanics at that.

"Guys," Bracco said, pausing for a moment as he took on an informal tone. "Y'all don't need to be overly formal with me. We're gonna be on the road for a couple days. Calling me sir is okay, just...don't salute. Don't sandwich your sirs. We're all cool here."

Arraste was a bit surprised thinking about how his former superiors expected this greeting, but suppressed his face after a bit of twitching and stated “It’s out of habit, alright.” And then was seeing his gear for his bag. To his surprise it did not seem to be in the bag, or really, anywhere, much to his dismay. He thought that he dropped it while he was walking towards the motor pool. He then recalled however that he had two bags that he had carried; he had presumably left his rifle at home.

He was silently standing, looking as if he was simply searching; while his mind was racing to find an explanation as to how he could lose his rifle. He then realised that he had to say something about it. He suppressed his emotions, and turned around and calmly told the general “I have likely left my rifle back at home, may I go back?”

[Vonston]

Fort Tivola Motor Pool,
Tivola City

After meeting with Bracco and the other expediction members, or at least the ones who were there, Lucian and the two other men were reprimanded by Bracco, who was urging them to be less formal with him and the others. Lucian still had memories of his time in the Air Force, and it was quite difficult to shake old habits; furthermore, Bracco had told him to tell the other mechanic, Alvarez, that he and she would be in T4, and that they needed to get a third man.

" Alright, I'll tell her if I see her before you " He said to Bracco while preparing to fix his gear on the truck, before returning to the group with the others.

He arrived just in time for getting to know eachother time, with the man with a colonial police uniform said his name, waiting for a answer.

" Nice to meet you Philippo, my name's Lucian " he said in a cordial way " What brought you to the convoy ? " he then asked him.

While the three were talking, another member to the convoy : she was wearing a uniform of the Red Chalice and had medical equipment with her, making it clear that she was the expediction medic.

[Cylarn]

Bracco frowned at Arraste, eyes narrowing and his face forming into an intense scowl. Saluting and pervasive formalities were apparently "out of habit," but forgetting your weapon while preparing to go outside the wire? What kind of Father-damned habits do you have? For any soldier, gear accountability was next to godliness. To not have your gear was a condemnation of yourself before your teammates, your superiors, and most of all, yourself. How can you be mission-effective if you forgot your rifle. Bracco sat there for a moment, scowling silently at the cook. He blinked once and refocused his eyes at Arraste. He didn't even see Boggiona waving and pointing.

"You forgot your rifle," Bracco said matter-of-factly, putting his leg down as he climbed from the vehicle. He stood in front of Arraste, staring at him. He did not raise his voice, he did not scream. Aside from the single blink, his eyes did not flutter or move from Arraste.

"You forgot your rifle." Bracco took a hard drag from his cigarette and tossed it to the ground.

"Run," he said, bluntly and calmly, hiding his anger. The tension, the aggression in his voice was calm, not loud, but just as menacing as a shouting rant. "Run your ass - by the All-Father, do not walk - back to your hole, and bring your rifle back here to me."

[Reverend Norv]

When Bracco looked up from Arraste, he saw that he was being watched by a man he did not recognize; and Bracco knew that this man was the Red Ghost.

In some ways, after all, Astruc Berendon looked like a Para. Splinter-camo smock; faded maroon beret; various pouches and patches of homemade leather. A sniper rifle was cradled in the crook of one arm. But in other ways, he was an unexpected sight. He did not look feral. He did not look tribal. He was taller than Bracco, but thinner, and clean-shaven, and below the sweatband of his beret the sides of his head were shaved to the skin. He had a big forehead and a big nose and wide-set pale blue eyes that held the chilly gaze of a disappointed professor.

He also had a child with him. Or a youth, at any rate - twelve, thirteen, fourteen. She had a round solemn face with a native Asatran's grey eyes and pitch-black hair, and she wore an old splinter-camo smock that covered her down to her knees. She had tucked each hand into the opposite sleeve, as if she were a nun and the smock were her robe. But a Model 59 rifle was slung over one of her shoulders, and she wore her own red beret with an unusual flash: it looked like an old brass pendant of a rising or setting sun.

When Bracco looked up, both man and girl met his gaze. Then the child looked away, and cocked her head a bit as she studied Boggiona Mreste instead; her round face held an expression of frank curiosity. Astruc's gaze stayed on Bracco: not hostile, not even wary, just very calm and steady.

The Red Ghost slung his sniper rifle - shrugged it up onto one shoulder - and walked quickly across the motor pool. He gave Philippo and Lucian an appraising look; it was brief, barely a second, as if that glance told Astruc Berendon everything he needed to know. Then he stopped in front of Bracco and extended his right hand. It was done with frank solemnity: with no effort to break the tension of the moment, or minimize the significance of the offered handshake. Astruc's hand was narrower than Bracco's, with longer fingers, and it felt like leather stretched over piano wire.

"Captain Aeglius, " the Para said formally. "I presume." His voice was a firm baritone, deeper than one would expect from that blade-like body. He had that very particular Crionian accent, clipped and drawling at the same time, familiar from every villain on pre-war Alestrian television: dueling scars, monocles, plans for world domination.

Now, Astruc inclined his head slightly as if to indicate himself. "Captain Berendon." He clicked his heels; his boots had been resoled with soft homemade leather, and they made not a sound. "How do you do."

Then, as if at a cocktail party, Astruc turned and extended a hand toward the girl behind him. "Lissandra Soler," he added. "My daughter."

The girl quit staring at Boggiona, and turned to Bracco. "Pleased to meet you," she said tonelessly; she did not take her hands out of her sleeves. Her accent was native Asatran, and one good look at her face revealed a complete lack of family resemblance to Astruc.

The Red Ghost watched Bracco carefully: looking for a reaction. Not trying to hid the fact that he was looking, either. Then Astruc smiled thinly, and offered the first attempt at an icebreaker: he raised his eyebrows, and said: "General Hikaskes informs me that we are going to be building a nation together."

[Zenik]

7:10 AM,Fort Tivola Motor Pool,
Tivola City

" I volunteered myself because of the bonuses that the Garrison is offering : they're a too good offer to be refused and I took the bait " He answered back to Lucian, then asking him the same thing back

While the two of them were speaking, the cook was being reprimanded by Bracco for forgetting his rifle at home, and intimated him to start running to his home and recover his rifle immediately : not even the most incompetent militiaman in Tivola would have been capable of forgetting his rifle before an important mission like this, and the fact that the Cook had had this serious fault did not give him much hope in him.

" Idiot " He muttered between himself in regards of the cook, but soon his attention was soon moved to three other people.

The first was the expediction medic; an Asatran woman with a Red Chalice uniform that arrived some minutes before the cook was reprimanded by Bracco, and the other two were surely a surprise :

A man and a little girl; the man had a Crionian accent and was well-groomed, and carried with himslef a camo jacket, a bordeaux beret, although a little bit faded in color, and a sniper rifle; the girl was ethnically Asatran like the medic.

The man quickly introduced himself as Astruc Berendon, and the little girl as Lissandra, his daughter.

" So you're a Para, impressive " He said to the new man, " I've heard many stories of you guys by many servicemen and policemen that had the misfortune of fighting the Paras, how did you end up here in Tivola anyway ? "

[Cawn]

7:20 AM

As soon as he heard the word "Run", he ran with a bit of a scurry look; his eyes twitching. He wished to say something, but didn't since it was clear what his mistake was and the obvious scowl of the officer. As he left the building; He sprinted far and wide, reminding him of his days in the openness before reaching Tivola, characterized by frantic desperation and sprinting.

Regardless, it didn't take much time, for he was sprinting and not carrying anything. He reached his home in about 10 minutes and got his gun and pack. He would just have to return back again, returning by at least 7:20 AM. Once he returned back, he watched the tension in the air between the Pandit, and the officer. Then, he stated "Aegilus, I have gotten my weaponry and pack." While waiting for permission to leave.

[Cylarn]

Bracco followed Arraste with his eyes as the alarmed cook sprinted away - until he saw the predatory creature that was observing him. The realization immediately set in as he observed the taller man - and his shorter female companion - standing in the background. His eyes sighted the red berets. Paras, and not just any Paras. Bracco had no guesses as to who the female Para was; the girl was young, possibly too young to have fought in the war. She carried a bullpup rifle, which was an advanced, curious weapon for any survivor in Asatra. Bracco gave her less thought than he did for the male, as the pair approached him. He didn't need an introduction from the man; this was Astruc - the one and only "Red Beret." For whatever reason, Bracco couldn't shake the animosity he felt for Astruc.

The Crionians were upon him in an instant. Astruc held out his bony right hand to shake Bracco's; the tan youth was staring off at something else. Bracco felt as if Hikaskes was watching the entire exchange. He grasped Astruc's hand and felt the Crionian constrict his grip around the man as if he were a jungle flytrap. Bracco's more muscular hand flexed and fought back in the grip. He introduced himself, and the girl - who did not make any attempt to show a pleasant demeanor - gave a simple greeting upon being introduced by her "father."

Bracco stayed silent, burned by Astruc's gaze. Both men were reading each other, staring into each other as if they were predatory cats. Bracco stayed silent, letting Astruc do the talking - at first. Finally, Astruc said that Hikaskes had mentioned the prospect of nation-building. At this, Bracco cracked a smile, which.was followed up by a laugh.

"Building a nation, he said?" Bracco injected an obvious taste of incredulity in his voice. "We've gotta get through the desert and jungle, and keep several hundred gallons of oil intact. With all due respect, 'nation-building' pales in comparison to running the supplies - at least for now. You'll ride in the A500, Captain. Your 'daughter' may ride where she pleases."

7:20 AM

As soon as he heard the word "Run", he ran with a bit of a scurry look; his eyes twitching. He wished to say something, but didn't since it was clear what his mistake was and the obvious scowl of the officer. As he left the building; He sprinted far and wide, reminding him of his days in the openness before reaching Tivola, characterized by frantic desperation and sprinting.

Regardless, it didn't take much time, for he was sprinting and not carrying anything. He reached his home in about 10 minutes and got his gun and pack. He would just have to return back again, returning by at least 7:20 AM. Once he returned back, he watched the tension in the air between the Pandit, and the officer. Then, he stated "Aegilus, I have gotten my weaponry and pack." While waiting for permission to leave.

"Carry on," was all Bracco said. What else can be said? He's caught on to the disapproval. Bracco didn't even lift an eye or turn his head to Arraste; his attention was firmly upon the Para. Other soldiers were attempting to talk to Astruc - particularly Philippo - and were oblivious to the tension gathering between the two men. Bracco did not address it, simply waiting for Astruc to speak.

[Rupudska]

06:25
Tivolia City
Disc 01 Track 02

At precisely 6:20 in the morning, the turquoise clock radio (which I'd traded for) on my desk came to life with the gentle sound of an acoustic guitar. I not-so-gently slammed my hand against the volume dial, gripped it, then twisted it all the way down. The alarm button was broken, and would not have done anything no matter how hard I slapped it.

I stretched with a groan, still horizontal, before sitting up and allowing the radio to continue to perform its function. It was a foreign song, neither Crionian nor Alestrian, and I wondered briefly how the hell the radio jockey got his hands on a foreign language 45 in good enough quality to use for radio.

I yawned. It wasn't really important, and I had very important things to do today, followed by several weeks, perhaps more, of having more important things to concern myself with.

Brushing my teeth came first, and while I thanked the All-Father that being a mechanic made me important enough that the Tivola city government thought me worthy of running water, I did wish either he or the quarantiners could send a little more toothpaste. But the hospital needed it most, and the truly well-off got the rest, so I made do with baking soda mixed with saltwater. I had never even heard of doing such a thing before being stuck here. Then a shower, with a bar of soap that was supposed to be unscented but wasn't. It was also coarse and grainy, which was supposed to help it clean better. All it did was push it fully into unpleasant.

{Suck it up, your grace,} I thought to myself. {You're as likely to sprout fins and swim out of this hellhole as find a working shower with soap more than once on this trip. They sure as hell aren't going to provide water for cleaning.}

After a minute more than usual for thoroughness's sake, I was done. My 'towel' was an old bath rug, and my 'bathrobe' was a coat someone had stitched other bath rugs into the inside. I made myself breakfast (Powdered eggs, leftover rice, and stale bread baked into something approximating a quiche with a side of ersatz-coffee that tasted like bunker crude), dressed, gathered my personal toolbox and backpack (both of which I had packed the night before), and headed out the door.

Paused right at the entrance, and turned back.

My helmet in its Technicolor splendour was not fully visible from the door, due to being in a green sack. It wasn't much good for stopping bullets, and without its air mask or air tanks it was worthless for high-altitude flight. I'd bumped my head in it several times on the way down, when I-

I shook my head. It was a purely sentimental item, like the lighter with its need for fluid compared to the far cheaper matchbooks, but it was mine, dammit. If my apartment wasn't picked clean by the end of the week I'd be shocked.

{You always said you'd prefer to die with your helmet on, back in the Air Force, after your first kill...}

I grabbed the helmet in its camo bonnet, clipping both to my waist as I walked the familiar route to the motor pool.

I arrived right as Arraste bolted trhough with rifle in hand, gingerly sidestepping by some longforgotten pilot instinct, though the rifle did clang against my toolbox.

"Hey, watch where you're running," I said without more than a trifling amount of heat to my words. I walked up to the trucks and gave Bracco a half-hearted salute. I didn't know him, but I knew of him, and I knew he wasn't one for formalities anymore. None of us were, except those who had been pretty new to all this when the evacuation happened.

And, okay, fine, some of it was that old pilot prejudice against those unrarified mortals who did their fighting and killing on the ground.

"Felicia Alvarez, reporting in," I said as I fished my papers out of a side pocket in my backpack. "And my identification papers."

[Cawn]

Once he had gotten the permission from the officer; he stowed his gear and then he turned to Philippo once he heard him trying to introduce himself to Astruc, with him being ignored; and then told calmly “Hello, they are talking between each other, bad blood it seems for why they are not even flinching when you say or I say something to them." His demeanor was mostly calm although with a slight tint of tiredness from running just now. He also spoke with a slight Asatran accent, although not as strong as the girl's accent.

[Monfrox]

The days in Tivola were like being in an insane asylum. You would easily go mad if you didn't do something to change up your routine. Faces coming and going, but still doing the same thing day-in and day-out wore people down. Some frequented the brothel, despite the threat of venereal disease. Others took up gambling, or street fights. But for Caelia, she merely accepted just about any posting, tasking, or job that came her way. Of course, for a two meter tall woman covered so well all the time that everyone thought her to be a man, most jobs were heavy lifting. She didn't complain. That's why everyone liked her, or respected her as far as her stature went.

Caelia was creatively nicknamed "The Giant" by locals who saw her. They talked to her, but she didn't talk back. It made her very popular with some folks who just wanted someone to listen, and with soldiers who wanted to skip out on a shitty duty shift. "Find the Giant to set you free," they would joke. Of course, it wasn't all bad. Whether out of pity, respect, or a mixture of both, Caelia was given a room and board by herself. She learned to make her own meals, keep everything clean, and always showed up for the perimeter guard station when needed, all without a single complaint. A feat in its own right, given the prevailing conditions.

It was that exact attitude that got her where she was now. Which was standing outside the armory, receiving more ammunition and personal supplies for her trip out to Maxima. She had been wanting to leave, so she had actually spoke to her officer (who was a bit shocked to hear a woman's voice from The Giant) about leaving the walls. The officer couldn't say no, as the convoy could use all the help it could muster. He sent her down to be issued some special equipment for the journey, just in case. As she wasn't in the same district near the motor pool, her commander was having to loan her out like a few others. But he liked The Giant for her reputation that she had built, and so he wanted to be sure that she would have a better chance to return to pull more shifts that other soldiers were complaining about.

They gave her the Type 38 rifle she'd brought from home. The "hog" gun used on the plantation to shoot feral pigs that would regularly try to tear up the place. They issued her a cartridge belt and a bandolier with enough ammunition to last through an extended two day firefight. They also gave her the Type 44 rocket launcher. It was the insurance policy, as their journey could turn up any manner of things that might need a little extra blast to solve the problem. A satchel was attached to her rucksack that included four extra rockets before she was sent on her way.

Caelia wore her face mask and her boonie hat with the scrim scarf draped over it. The scarf kept bugs out of her face, which was a necessity in the jungle. It also completely distorted her features to any onlookers with how the stitching went. She'd used it extensively to hunt animals while blending in, and to keep herself hidden in the event any of the Crionian raiders that attacked her family made their way here. She walked towards the motor pool, which was across the entire town from where she was. When she arrived, there was already a gathering of others. She walked over to the group and noticed two men staring each other down, one with a young girl standing next to him, a man with a more formal type of uniform, a man with a not-so-formal uniform, a woman in a white coat, and two people carrying tools in similar outfits to each other. Caelia knew none of them.

She approached the two men who were currently shaking hands. The Type 38 rifle was slung over her shoulder. It was an older model not seen in service since self-loading rifles were formally adopted and improved on. It didn't have a scope, or a bayonet. It was furnished with a full-length wooden stock, still looking to be in military configuration. The Type 44 hung from a makeshift strap clenched in her left hand. It was not old. In fact, it was rather new. But she had been trained with it to be able to effectively lob rockets at anything she wished within effective range. Its presence, like hers, was a suggestion of a lot of things in their immediate future. But this is where she was supposed to be, unless there was another convoy mission happening the same day and time.

[Cylarn]

Bracco did not pay Arraste much mind, as he finally had his rifle. However, Alvarez approached them with an almost sarcastic salute and presented her papers. He didn't know Alvarez, didn't drink with her or anything - but she was one of the mechanics. She wasn't "officially with" the other Tivolan mechanics and ran her own shop, but she did a lot of work on the armored vehicles used by the roving teams that went to collect the supply drops. Bracco knew of a bit of her background; Crionian fighter pilot. The Crionian Air Force was more advanced than the Alestrian Air Force, particularly with their fighter wings. Crionian jets used air-to-air guided missiles; those had caused a lot of grief for Alestrian air superiority during the war.

There was no reason to feel any animosity towards Alvarez, in Bracco's mind. That was different to what he felt towards Berendon. The war is over. Get it together. Bracco looked away from Astruc, to Alvarez. He gave her a faint smile.

"I don't need your paperwork," he said. "I've got you heading up the armored car. You've got Calaris with you; find another volunteer if you want."

Almost forgetting that Astruc was in a position of authority, Bracco looked to Astruc and gave a motion to Alvarez.

"Captain Berendon, meet Captain Alvarez." Bracco turned to Alvarez, giving the same motion as before towards Astruc. "Captain Alvarez, Captain Berendon."

-snip-

Bracco looked past Alvarez to see someone else approach. The Giant, carrying a rocket launcher and an old, old Type 38. There weren't a lot of old-model Type 38s around anymore; even before the war, the Type 38 existed in the Army only as a sniper rifle. The model she had was an A1, the old mainstay of the infantry that was actually a "modern" variant of the old Type 14 rifle. Type 38A1s existed only, at least for Bracco, as a ceremonial weapon or cadet's rifle in Alestrian service. However, the Asaatran rebels carried them frequently. Yet, it was a hardy weapon - the trailblazer for the .308 round.

As for the Giant, everyone knew of her but few truly knew her. She hardly spoke to anyone, never seemed to socialize. Asatran, by the look of it. Bracco didn't know where she came from originally, only that she was likely a civilian before the war. She came to Tivola and found herself conscripted into the Tivola Guard Force. By all accounts, she was a reliable soldier who learned how to use heavy weapons from the Tivolan artillery crews. She worked along the two perimeters, and never went on the supply runs. Bracco turned to look at her. Recoilless, gun truck or armored car? It didn't take very long, looking at Caelia to come up with where she would be best suited.

"You're the Giant, right?" Bracco asked, but did not wait for a response. "You're with Captain Berendon, Lissandra, and I in the 4x4."

[Vonston]

Fort Tivola Motor Pool,
Tivola City

" Yeah me too, those bonuses were an offer too good to be passed " Lucian answered to Philippo, and while both of them were conversating, the expediction's party started to grow : apart from the Medic, 4 other people had arrived.

Two were father and daughter, the father was a Crionian, as the accent slipped, and the daughter was ethnically Asatran like the medic and the cook, and Lucian could see that the Crionian was looking like a Paratrooper, which was confirmed by Philippo's words when the man introduced himself and his daughter to the group.

The third was Alvarez, his buddy on the truck and the other mechanic of the expediction : Lucian quickly excused himself from the group to go talk to her, introducing himself " You're the other mechanic right ? Lucian Calaris, nice to meet you " holding out his hand to her.

The fourth and final one was a mountain of a woman that was known around by the Garrison personnel and civilians as " The Giantess " for her tall build. Lucian did not know much about her apart from her nickname, but was fairly invested into getting to know her

[Zenik]

Once he had gotten the permission from the officer; he stowed his gear and then he turned to Philippo once he heard him trying to introduce himself to Astruc, with him being ignored; and then told calmly “Hello, they are talking between each other, bad blood it seems for why they are not even flinching when you say or I say something to them." His demeanor was mostly calm although with a slight tint of tiredness from running just now. He also spoke with a slight Asatran accent, although not as strong as the girl's accent.

Philippo, being basically unheard nor acknowledged by Astruc, was being recalled back to reality by Arraste's voice, who was telling him that the animosity between the two was the cause of everyone being ignored

" Yeah, it seems you're right " He said while stepping back to focuss himself on Arraste, while taking out his lighter and a sigarette, one of the few he had on him and which he had gathered for the voyage, and light it out.

While smoking it, he then spoke to Arraste " You're the cook right ? Name's Philippo " He said to him while tending his hand to him " What brought you here? Your accent sounds like Asatran, but from what I understand you're from the other side of the border " He added, waiting for an answer from him

[Rupudska]

There was no reason to feel any animosity towards Alvarez, in Bracco's mind. That was different to what he felt towards Berendon. The war is over. Get it together. Bracco looked away from Astruc, to Alvarez. He gave her a faint smile.

"I don't need your paperwork," he said. "I've got you heading up the armored car. You've got Calaris with you; find another volunteer if you want."

"And I brought it in triplicate and everything," I said with a weakly sardonic smile, but I returned the papers to their spot under my shoulder all the same.

"Captain Berendon, meet Captain Alvarez." Bracco turned to Alvarez, giving the same motion as before towards Astruc. "Captain Alvarez, Captain Berendon."

I gave Berendon a light bow on my way to the armored car, but not much else. Captain to captain, I didn't have to salute, but I didn't know enough about the guy, or the Paras in general, to do more than that. I didn't ask nor expect him to return the bow because I doubted anyone stuck out there would even remember Crionia's nobility, let alone care.

The third was Alvarez, his buddy on the truck and the other mechanic of the expediction : Lucian quickly excused himself from the group to go talk to her, introducing himself " You're the other mechanic right ? Lucian Calaris, nice to meet you " holding out his hand to her.

I took Lucian's hand and shook it firmly. "Felicia Alvarez, as you know. At least this organization is smart enough to keep backups for the important support people."

[Vonston]

The third was Alvarez, his buddy on the truck and the other mechanic of the expediction : Lucian quickly excused himself from the group to go talk to her, introducing himself " You're the other mechanic right ? Lucian Calaris, nice to meet you " holding out his hand to her.

I took Lucian's hand and shook it firmly. "Felicia Alvarez, as you know. At least this organization is smart enough to keep backups for the important support people."

" Nice to meet you Felicia " Lucian said as she shook his hand " Yeah I agree with that, I feel better knowing I'm not the only mechanic on the expediction, at least I can get some help from another one who knows the field : Someone would say two brains are better than one " He responded to her in a half-joking half-formal way.

Lucian took a few seconds to analyze his fellow mechanic, and noted that she, like him, had served in the Air Force, albeit on opposing sides during the war, but not that this detail mattered too much to him.

" Fellow Airman, right ? " He asked her, pointing to her uniform " I served too in the Airforce, albeit the Alestrian one, as a mechanic for an helicopter squadron, what was your role back then ?" He asked her, curious to know as much as possible of his new colleague

[Cawn]

Once he had gotten the permission from the officer; he stowed his gear and then he turned to Philippo once he heard him trying to introduce himself to Astruc, with him being ignored; and then told calmly “Hello, they are talking between each other, bad blood it seems for why they are not even flinching when you say or I say something to them." His demeanor was mostly calm although with a slight tint of tiredness from running just now. He also spoke with a slight Asatran accent, although not as strong as the girl's accent.

Philippo, being basically unheard nor acknowledged by Astruc, was being recalled back to reality by Arraste's voice, who was telling him that the animosity between the two was the cause of everyone being ignored

" Yeah, it seems you're right " He said while stepping back to focuss himself on Arraste, while taking out his lighter and a sigarette, one of the few he had on him and which he had gathered for the voyage, and light it out.

While smoking it, he then spoke to Arraste " You're the cook right ? Name's Philippo " He said to him while tending his hand to him " What brought you here? Your accent sounds like Asatran, but from what I understand you're from the other side of the border " He added, waiting for an answer from him

Arraste extended his hand and replied with a calm tone, and yet a hint of relief as if he was reliving it “I was in the Crionian military for the siege of Tivola; it would be odd to say saying that it was better, and yet, it feels like as if it is.” He skipped a beat and then said “What about you? You look like you were a military officer for some reason.”

[Zenik]

Philippo, being basically unheard nor acknowledged by Astruc, was being recalled back to reality by Arraste's voice, who was telling him that the animosity between the two was the cause of everyone being ignored

" Yeah, it seems you're right " He said while stepping back to focuss himself on Arraste, while taking out his lighter and a sigarette, one of the few he had on him and which he had gathered for the voyage, and light it out.

While smoking it, he then spoke to Arraste " You're the cook right ? Name's Philippo " He said to him while tending his hand to him " What brought you here? Your accent sounds like Asatran, but from what I understand you're from the other side of the border " He added, waiting for an answer from him

Arraste extended his hand and replied with a calm tone, and yet a hint of relief as if he was reliving it “I was in the Crionian military for the siege of Tivola; it would be odd to say saying that it was better, and yet, it feels like as if it is.” He skipped a beat and then said “What about you? You look like you were a military officer for some reason.”

" The siege was paradise compaired with this shit " He replied to Arraste, and then answered his question about his past " Military Officer ? I wish man : I would have been sent home if I was an officer, but here I am; in this godforsaken land. " He commented, before giving the actual answer to Arraste

" I was with the Colonial Police during the war, Porto Jarvais Regional Command : arrived here after everything went to shit in Porto Jarvais and the Navy left all of the rest of us to die, and I've remained here eversince " He said

[New Harken]

Fort Tivola Motor Pool

“Aghh! You stupid idiot how the hell do you sleep in on a day like this!?” Was all that rang in Aster’s head as he was bolting it towards the Motor Pool. To say that he was never one to sleep in or even be late was an understatement, but the one time he decided why not get a couple drinks the night before and now he gets here.

Finishing strapping on his helmet as he rushed down towards the Motor Pool he finished wrapping his medical kit around his shoulder.

Finally turning around yet another corner he would start to slow down as he tried to blend in with the rest of the others as he looked around, even now it was still ever so slightly weird that he was part of a unit that was a mix of soldiers who a few years ago were trying to kill each other.

Standing near a wall he would reach into his bag as he took out his pistol as he doubled checked his gun’s barrel and then starts checking his pouches making sure he had everything he needed. Always a man to ensure everything was in working order “Doc” eventually put his pistol back and then started checking his medical supplies. It wouldn’t be too much of a shock if he ended up using quite a bit of his medical supplies.