Father Fletch
SOC-12
His boots scrunched in the sandy soil of Aleif as he stepped off the back deck of the G-Carrier. Looking around, details that were fuzzy or hidden by the smoke sprung into sharp relief. He recognized the melted flesh/burnt metal/ozone smell that told him a high energy weapon had been in use recently.
“Over here Sergeant.”
She was still very green, but he and the men followed the Star and Cutlass on her collar, not the woman in the crisp Combat Environment Suit; not yet at least. If she made it through this duty assignment and didn’t get too many of them killed, at least not without covering them with glory and bonus pay, they might even begin to respect the sophont inside the gear.
“You see where that vehicle is disabled on the hillside, Sergeant? I want you to take a fire team up there, police the area for weapons and then set up an OP.”
Nodding his salute, he set off to grab the 2nd team, they needed watching.
The ridge line above the landing site gave him a better view, under the smoke, but at a remove that allowed the analytical part of his tactical brain to turn the carnage in the valley into a 3-D reproduction, uploadable later for replay, to be critiqued by those who had not been here. Here where the screams and dust and pounding of blood in your temple would make the simple tasks hard and the complex, worthy only of demigods.
“Over here Sergeant.”
She was still very green, but he and the men followed the Star and Cutlass on her collar, not the woman in the crisp Combat Environment Suit; not yet at least. If she made it through this duty assignment and didn’t get too many of them killed, at least not without covering them with glory and bonus pay, they might even begin to respect the sophont inside the gear.
“You see where that vehicle is disabled on the hillside, Sergeant? I want you to take a fire team up there, police the area for weapons and then set up an OP.”
Nodding his salute, he set off to grab the 2nd team, they needed watching.
The ridge line above the landing site gave him a better view, under the smoke, but at a remove that allowed the analytical part of his tactical brain to turn the carnage in the valley into a 3-D reproduction, uploadable later for replay, to be critiqued by those who had not been here. Here where the screams and dust and pounding of blood in your temple would make the simple tasks hard and the complex, worthy only of demigods.