Carswell is midway through his refresher course in M2HB heavy machine gun operation when the airwaves spring in to life. "OK man, we're good, I got it." he says to Kabua. He has operated a Ma Deuce before, actually put some lead downrange during a familiarization session conducted by the State Guard up in Little Rock when he had first volunteered for the Governor's Task Force. 'Just in case' someone had said.

Climbing down out of the JLTV's turret the medic walks over to where people are beginning to gather. He doesn't run but he's not exactly idling either as he joins the others who are monitoring the situation on the other side of the river. Just in case.

Then

Saul's reassurances seem to mollify Seeger. The MSG officer pouts a little, showcasing the hurt apparently caused by the indirect aspersions, but lets the matter go without further protest, even promising to put a spotter team in the water during the barge salvage operation. Saul takes his leave without incident, and Watkins ferries him back to the Arkansas side, apologizing profusely for the radio protocol flub on the way.

---

Now

Saul's second attempt at gentle, avuncular persuasion meets with more stonewalling. He changes tack, adopts the stern, knowing, no-bullshit demeanor of a veteran cop. It works. Maggie breaks down in tears.

"It was Simon," she blurts out, sobbing. Saul dials it back. He's a dad now, reassuring the scared teenager. After a few more tears and a couple of ASDF-issue tissues (a rarity in 2030), she elaborates. Simon is a friend, maybe more, 16 years old, a local. "His place got cleaned out. A couple folks said they saw the Mississippi soldiers in a boat during the storm, breaking into houses. After, a few people walked across the bridge to ask for their stuff back. The soldiers called his mom a bitch. Threatened her- his whole family, if they didn't drop it and leave. He was fucking pissed. I tried to talk him out of it, but he wouldn't listen. Please. He was only trying to... I don't know. I don't think he was trying to hurt anybody. He's really a good guy." Wiping the tears from her reddened cheeks, she asks, "What are you going to do to him?"

-
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:53, Sat 17 Nov 2018.

"A word, Saul?" Lauren says quietly after Maggie has finished talking. The Air Force Captain has questions for the teenager, but she doesn't want to interject herself directly into the conversation. She's not the one that's building the relationship here.

Once she's steered Mr Noble a few steps away from Maggie, Cao expresses her thoughts. "I'm happy to buy this Simon being the gunman that took a few pot shots at Seeger's troops." She begins. After all, it sounded like a plausible explanation. "That being the case I'm sure we'd all like to resolve this without causing too much distress." In her mind he had fired on United States military personnel, as such was legally an insurgent, could be taken into Federal - i.e. her - custody but Lauren had no appetite for where that particular course of action might eventually lead. Besides, in Arkansas the lines between the Federal Government in Colorado Springs - she didn't think of it as the Military Government, for in her eyes it was the legitimate Government of the United States, it just so happened to consist of Generals and Admirals - and the State Government were more blurred than they were in some other locations. "Maybe Mr Guillory could work out the details. I'm happy to turn him over to civilian custody."

She looks over at Maggie, runs a hand through her dark hair, pulled, as usual, into a tight bun. Her helmet was attached to a free MLBE loop on her plate carrier vest. "But I'm struggling to think that the kid has gone to grounds in the woods and set up a road block so that he can ambush traffic." It isn't impossible. But it strikes her as unlikely. "In which case there's still someone else out there." Or the fallen tree was genuine happenstance, one that had set them back by hours.

Lauren pauses, thinking aloud for a moment. "The Mississippi troops say they haven't stolen anything. If there is another group in the woods maybe they're the thieves." She shrugs. "Just a thought."

"For now can you ask Maggie if Simon is hiding in the woods? If she says he is I may need to revise my tacplan. Maybe she can come with us, try and persuade him to give himself up. But if she says he's not in the woods then we have another problem on our hands." Or she's lying of course.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:09, Sat 17 Nov 2018.

"It's possible," Saul says as he leans heavily back on a folding metal table, chewing on Cao's words. "But those guys are covering something.  Maybe it's just they've been through the wringer with accusations and who knows what.  I'm not buying that quite yet.  They are willing to play nice-nice, so for now I suggest we go along with that route.  At least until after the salvage op.  It buys us more time to figure out what's going on around here." 

A weathered hand comes up and rubs the stubble starting to grow back on his cheeks this late in the day. "Maggie's a good kid, so I'll take her at her word that Simon is all right.  I'll want to chat with him as well.  We should probably try to round up his mom when we get back to get some verification of all of this.  I want to know who saw the Mississippi folks in the water during the floods."  Frankly, if the Jefferson Davis Brigade did what Maggie says they did, I don't blame the kid for taking a pot shot.

The police work actually feels good.  Digging around and trying to solve a problem instead of just sitting on his hands.  "Let's hold off on trying to figure out whose custody he belongs to until we get him back in.  I don't know what we can pin on him and what we can hope to get out of the process in any case.  He might just be scared and hiding.  Or, as you say, he's going all Wolverines out there on his own."  Experienced eyes go back over Maggie who is sitting in a chair sniffling and staring at her hands.  Breaking the girl down is kind of reminiscent of kicking a puppy.  "I think she'll help us.  It'll be good for her, and good for the town to see how carefully we're willing to handle this."

Saul coughs softly to announce his return and hands Maggie another tissue and a cup of water.  "All right Miss Maggie," he starts, leaning back in a chair next to hers after moving it from across the table.  "So we need to find Simon and bring him in so we can talk to him.  And we need to do it safely.  I don't see a whole lot of jails around here and nobody got hurt, so I think we can smooth this thing over, but to do that, we have to put all the pieces of this puzzle together.  And right now, there's a lot of pieces.

"You're a tough girl.  I can see that.  And you're doing the right thing here.  What I need you to do now is just to continue what you're doing and be brave.  This is a momentum thing and you're already on the right path.  I need, I'm asking you, please, to come out with us and help us talk to Simon.  Lead us to where he is if you can.  Let him know we're not interested in hurting him.  He doesn't know us, and if he sees Cao over there coming at him in the dark, somebody's liable to get hurt.  And we don't need anybody to get hurt."  Saul doesn't go in for the pat on the shoulder.  He squares himself up a bit and talks to Maggie like an adult.  "So Miss Maggie, what do you say.  Are you willing to help us and help Simon?"


This message was last edited by the GM at 05:32, Sat 17 Nov 2018.

Instantly, Maggie appears to regret divulging the identity of the shooter. She starts sobbing again. Saul continues with the gentle approach, with disappointing results. She cries so hard that she starts shaking, nearly to the point of hyperventilating. "Maggie!", Saul says suddenly, forcefully. "That's enough. Take some deep breaths and tell me where Simon is." For whatever reason, Maggie responds better to the gruff cop than the understanding father figure. She stops sobbing, gets her breathing under control. This takes a couple of minutes. "Go on." Saul prompts, firmly.

"He took off right after you got here. On his [motor] bike. Said he was going to stay with a friend in Back Gate 'til y'all left. That's everything I know." Her shoulders sag, chin sinks to her chest- she won't make eye contact- a posture of defeat.

A glance at the map shows that the hamlet of Back Gate is a little over three miles south of Pendleton. When asked if Simon might be hiding out in the woods northeast of town, Maggie pretty emphatically claims that he's not. "No, I saw him leave. He didn't go that way. Besides, he's not really into camping- not alone, at least."

The investigation continues. The Sierras learn the identity of one of the eye-witnesses to the MSG looting- an older man, mid-to-late 60s. He's questioned. He claims that he was up in his attic on the last day of the storm, prepping it to shelter family in the event that the flood waters continued to rise. He heard a boat motor, looked out of a louvered ventilation window, saw a small boat puttering around in the flooded quarter of town. He counted two or three men in the boat, wearing camo- couldn't see much else because the rain was still coming down pretty hard then. He didn't have a very wide field of view from the narrow attic vantage either, so that's really all he saw. He heard the boat engine off an on for at least a half-an-hour. But after the storm passed the houses near where he'd seen the boat were found to be missing various items left behind when their occupants evacuated. He's pretty sure it isn't a coincidence.

Simon's mother confirms Maggie's story. She, Simon, and a couple of others crossed the bridge and asked for their (allegedly) stolen items back. The MSG men didn't take it very well, cussed them out, made a veiled threat to the effect of, "You better shut your fuckin' mouth and walk on back across this bridge right this second, or you're gonna wish to God you did." She denies that Simon would ever shoot at anybody, let alone armed soldiers. She claims not to know where he is, but confirms that he has a friend in Back Gate. Everyone that Sierra speaks to that's attempted to cross the bridge since the current MSG contingent settled in at the checkpoint confirms that they've been charged a toll, and weren't allowed to pass without paying.

No one knows anything about someone hiding out in the woods between Pendleton and the dam.

Meanwhile, Anderson instructs Murray and Watkins in the operation of the Raven drone. Each woman successfully completes a brief training flight. Kabua starts prepping the unit's dinner. Zo, his young assistant, and Deputy Grisham walk halfway across the bridge to take a closer look at the job site. Guillory and Skillins tag along, in case the MSG boys show up and butt in, and to get a better feel for the Gouldites. Zo seems confident that Serena can lift the I-beams and other construction materials out of the barge, but he's not sure if he has enough tow cable to reach into the hold (if he does, it's just barely)- an extension of some sort is probably going to be necessary. He suggests that a log or section of wooden telephone poll be strapped to the guard rail to act as a buffer against friction damage to the cable (or rail), since the wrecker's crane probably can't extend much past the rail line. Zo is a little frustrated that work won't start until the next day. He wasn't planning on spending the night in Pendleton. Grisham shoots that idea down right away. "We ain't stayin' the night- Chief won't have it. We'll come back in the morning. You're still payin' for our time [today] and gas, though."

The sun will be setting in just a few hours.


Your Turn.

-
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:27, Sat 17 Nov 2018.

Lauren doubts that Maggie is lying. Which means that they do have another problem on their hands. It also means that her plan doesn't need to be changed. The foot patrol will go in first, covertly, then Razorback will follow overtly. The idea that these men may be the ones responsible for the thefts from town is firming up in her mind. Maybe they're connected to the Mississippi Guard troops, but she suspects not. More likely the townspeople saw some men in camo, put two and two together and got five. That doesn't mean that Seeger's men aren't running some sort of shakedown at the bridge - she's beginning to think that's a given - but she doesn't think they're the ones that came across on a boat.

Which leaves the question of who is in the woods. She hasn't totally ruled out escaped cons, but thinks it's highly unlikely. Military deserters? Maybe. Or some sort of Militia or Survivalist group. After all, military issue camp fatigues were easy enough to come by before the War. You could even buy them on eBay. The question was whether they had any military level training. So before they set out Lauren went round each member of her team, both Sierra One and Sierra Two, made sure they all got the same message. Don't take any chances.

Scott returns from liaising with Zo and Grisham, keeping a tight lid on his frustration.  Grisham's presence has had a chilling effect on the wrecker operator and even the brief unescorted moments of the ostensible deputy's bio breaks haven't provided much opportunity to start gently extracting information from Zo.  That only heightens his belief that something unsavory is happening with Gould's power structure, but he still lacks enough evidence (or even eyewitness testimony, unreliable as it is) to do a damn thing about it.  The only bright spot is that, despite both parties' unwillingness to stay overnight, Zo at least has turned his mind to the salvage operation and has provided a few refinements to the plan without pushing any of Xandra's buttons.

The briefing from Cao and Saul does nothing to improve his mood.  He listens to Saul recount the take from his interrogation of Maggie and the subsequent interviews.  When the elder Noble is done, Scott realizes he's fiddling with his holster's retention hood and forces himself to stop, folding his hands across his armor's mag pouches.

"So there's a sliding scale of shitbag, and we have a fairly strong consensus that the Mississippi boys are at least on the low end of it," he comments at length.  "Also, they have the skill set to cross the river in flood conditions.  'Marty used to work on the river, few years back,'" he quotes back at Cao from her earlier briefing after making initial contact.  "On the other hand, if we have an unknown third party out here, I'd like to know if they're stirring shit for lack of productive work, or if they're actively trying to provoke an interstate incident."  He looks at Cao. "Keeping our people safe stays top priority, but I suggest that we break out whatever we have left in the way of less-lethal options and try to take our sniper in talking condition if we can."

Lauren nods. "I've already issued our entire stock of flash bangs, so everyone in Sierra One will have at least one. And if we can get close enough I can take a shot with this." A gloved hand lightly pats the M26 Taser that sits snugly in a non issue multi cam MLBE holster attached to her plate carrier vest.

After dinner- a surprisingly delightful concoction the manifestly talented Specialist Kabua whipped together from party stores- the foot patrol heads into the woods.

Piloting the drone at night is a lot more challenging than doing so under the light of the sun was. In the pale white light of the nearly full moon, almost every visual frame of reference is ambiguous or obscured, save for the broad strip of black water that is the Arkansas River, glimmering with reflected moonlight. Infrared isn't much better. Only with the thermal imager can Murray find her companions, but it's not easy to keep them in frame as she orbits. Any time she moves the drone out of sight of their glowing signatures, she has trouble orienting herself, so it often takes her several seconds to find them again. It's a frustrating experience.

Under the trees, it's oppressively muggy. The air is thick and still, heavy with the loamy smell of damp earth and leaf litter. The earth underfoot is soft, and sometimes squishy. The undergrowth is thick in places, necessitating numerous minor course corrections, and the team's disembodied aerial guide (Murray) is having a hard time giving accurate directions. Hordes of unseen insects produce a constant, high-pitched cacophony of sound that surrounds the interuding humans. Mosquitos search for openings in the patrollers' clothing, homing in on exposed flesh like tiny guided munitions. Enough moonlight reaches the forest floor for the teams' NVGs to amplify, but, in particularly thick patches, contrast is diminished, reducing effective visual range to under 30m. Where there's less overhead cover, contrast and range are significantly greater.

Sweat flows, drenching the patrollers, but failing to cool them perceptably. It's slow going. Along hard-packed trails, and keeping a relatively brisk pace, this would be an hour-long hike. The dismounts have been in the woods for over two hours.

Searching ahead of the foot patrol, Murray spots the mysterious heat signature, more or less where Anderson told her to expect it, south of the pale line of track cutting through the forest in a straight line towards the dam, not too far past where the wide path bends away from the riverside. The glow is about 120m ahead of the patrol, on their current course and heading (moving roughly east-northeast). Once informed of this, Cao slows the patrol, trading speed for stealth. The team moves deliberately, cautiously, senses alert for any sign of danger. They hear nothing but the white-noise sounds of a rural southern summer night, but a certain musky odor sometimes stands out above the pervasive smell of damp earth and plant life. According to Murray, they should be on top of the heat source soon. Cao changes the formation to a skirmish line, leads the advance. The target is less about 30m dead ahead. Under a patch of thick underbrush rising from the slightly uneven forest floor, Cao sees a hint movement, small, furry bodies wriggle for a second, then become still. It's not what she expected to see, so it takes a few moments for the image to register: it's some sort of... nest. She signals the others, points at the midden. Now that they're looking directly at it, Carissa and Kabua notice the nest, but Anderson sees only a low mound of forest debris.

Murray doesn't spot the new heat signature until it's almost right on top of the patrol- under 30m. It's coming at them from behind, moving fast. At its current speed, it will be on top of them in two or three seconds. The Sierra's hear the rustle of brush behind them, the snap of a twig. Compared to the noisy but lulling ambient auditory backdrop, this new sound is like an approaching freight train.


Your Turn.

-
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:21, Wed 21 Nov 2018.

Adrenaline surges through Carissa.  Not “we’re headed into combat” adrenaline, but “oh, we are truly fucked” adrenaline.  She’s grown up in Arkansas.  Spent time in the woods hunting and exploring.  And if what is coming up behind them is a dip-shit with a gun, she’ll eat her helmet.  There is, after all, a reason the football team mascot is the Razorback.  It’s because boar the size of fucking cows live in these woods.  Bad tempered, evil things with tusks.  And the patrol is standing next to a nest, so that’s probably really bad.

Carissa spins in place, towards the noise flicking the selector switch on her rifle to burst.  If this is a boar, this could be pointless, she thinks.  Small rounds.  Still, maybe she’ll hit a leg.  Her eyes track down, looking for a four legged creature instead of one with two.  If it’s a man, she’ll take her chances.  Stealth protocol goes out the window.  She’s seen the wounds these things can inflict and she’s pretty sure she’d rather take the chances of getting shot in the chest than getting gored in the thigh.  Finger tightening on the trigger she looks for the target.

Carissa
M4 SOPMOD with IR laser 30/30 6 mags remaining
NVGs
If it’s a boar, she’ll yell “boar!” and shoot it, diving out of the way after one burst if possible.
Human, she’ll go armed melee with a rifle butt swing
This message was last edited by the player at 16:12, Tue 20 Nov 2018.

Xandra's frustration is staying in check only because she feels like she's starting to get a feel for the degree of finesse the Raven requires.  Its flight dynamics are nothing like the S-76s and JetRangers in which she got occasional stick time over the Gulf.  She can feel the beginnings of a nicotine headache and is about to offer the controls to Watkins when she spots the new hotspot in the corner of the thermal imager.  Suddenly, she needs three hands to work the Raven and the radio simultaneously.  Comms protocol goes out the window.  "Fucking goddammit.  Behind you, guys, coming in fast!"

The JLTV is technically better-suited to the current mission but Scott's subconscious is telling him that he's just a visitor in the light armored vehicle and he should wander back to his cruiser (never mind that his cruiser is about twenty years away in the wrong direction).  Unable to see the Raven feed or the contact team, he's reduced to standing outside the truck and staring at the surrounding humid darkness.  Against all good practice, he's carrying his Beretta with a round of birdshot chambered and another two in the tube before the usual buckshot, in the vague hope that a good hit with the #8 pellets might stun someone long enough for the team to subdue them.  His chest rig is still set up for AR support, though, and the rifle is resting in the JLTV's passenger-side footwell.

At Xandra's radio call, he presses up against the JLTV's corner and orients on the approximate direction of the patrol.  He can be in the vehicle in a handful of seconds if they need to move, but right now his best option seems to be to stay off the radio and see if they flush someone.

Anderson shifted a few meters to the side of the team to get a clear field of fire.  He then took a knee and lifted the M249 up to his shoulder, as he focused on the mound ahead of them, which Cao had pointed out.  After switching off the safety, he was ready to light the area up on the Captain's orders.  That's when the loud sounds to the groups rear caught his attention.  Anderson pivoted, switching from right knee town to left knee down as he swung the M249's barrel around as he turned to face the new oncoming threat, careful to ensure that no friendlies were in his new, rear facing field of fire.

The point of suppressive fire was to degrade the performance of an enemy force below the level needed to fulfill its mission.  It was achieved by threatening casualties to the individuals that exposed themselves to it.  Whatever was approaching behind them, would now face that threat as Cole opened up using his belt fed weapon system's full rate of fire in two long bursts.

Cole Anderson
Moving 3 meters right to the team to establish a clear field of fire.  Then turning 180 degrees to face the new threat.
M249 PIP SAW [100/100]
2x10-round bursts toward the rear attacker.

Lauren shifts her attention away from the lair that's in front of her, shifting her focus to what's behind them as she hears whatever it is barrelling its way towards them through the forest. The northern California native has no personal experience with the wildlife of rural Arkansas. But she's heard stories.

Her carbine, already at a low ready position comes up to her shoulder, the barrel swivelling in what she thinks is the direction that the inbound threat is approaching from, her finger poised on the trigger, although she will wait to try and get a visual before she opens fire. If, as she suspects, their attacker is of the four legged variety she'll squeeze off a short burst at it, opting for volume over precision. If it does turn out to be two legged he - or she - will be yelled at to get on their knees and get their hands in the air.

Lauren
NVG's on
Attempting to get visual on target. If target is animal will open fire with 1 x 3 round burst. If target is human will order target to surrender
M4A1 (30/30)

Carswell slowly swings the barrel of the M2 towards the forest when the JLTV rolls up to the roadblock, aiming the heavy machine gun in what he thinks is the approximate direction of the heat source that is lurking within, although he makes sure to keep the barrel elevated skywards for now. Indiscriminate gunfire into the woods while their patrol is on the ground doesn't seem like a particularly smart move. Instead, the medic / stand in machine gunner limits himself to watching the forest for any sign of movement that might be visible without NVG's.


Carswell
No NVG's / Heavy Gun WeaponLight currently off
Observing
M2HB (105/105*)

*I can't find a number for how many rounds the M2 is loaded with so I'm presuming it's a full belt

Almost as one, the four foot patrollers spin around, weapons at the ready. Their adversary is a blur, but time seems to slow down, revealing a startling amount of detail. The beast bursting from the sparse undergrowth  is the stuff of nightmares- squat- about waist-height compared to the tallest of the dismounts- powerfully built, fur crest brisling between muscular shoulders, blunt nose, nostrils agape, tusk-like canines protruding from a gaping mouth. All of this visual input is received and processed in under two-and-a-half seconds, prompting nervous responses that occupy the grey area between reflexive and voluntary.

Noble, Anderson, and Cao all open fire in concert, Kabua a beat behind, turning the peaceful country night into a bizarre outdoor disco with a quartet of strobing muzzle flashes. Misses kick up little fountains of earth and leaf litter; puffs of dust erupt along the beast's hairy length- multiple hits- but it keeps coming, heading straight at Carissa. She sidesteps to her right, barely avoiding its desperate bite as it brushes by her left leg. The razorback takes a few more strides past the human interlopers before collapsing and skidding to a halt on the forest floor, about halfway between the Sierras and the animal's presumed nest. Lying on its side, the feral hog thrashes violently a few times, perhaps trying to get back to its feet. The wounded animal quickly seems to accept the futility of these exertions, lying relatively still, save for the occasional twitch or wiggle. The Sierras can hear its gasps above their own nervous breathing- grunting, labored. And something else, maybe- a soft, plaintive squealing coming from the thick undergrowth towards which, a few seconds before, they'd been advancing.

C. Noble -3 rounds; Anderson -10 rounds; Cao -3 rounds; Kabua -3 rounds (all 5.56mm)

The vehicle-based team, manning the dismounts' attackers' namesake, hear the brief fusillade, the sharp edge of the gunshots softened by the vegetation and humid air. They're alert, ready for an ambush, although said doesn't materialize.

Murray watches this all unfold on her drone operator's monitor. She adjusts the Raven's orbit to increase her sight picture. No additional heat signatures are visible in the vicinity.


Your Turn.

-
This message was last edited by the GM at 06:02, Thu 22 Nov 2018.

"Shit," Carissa exhales nervously. The farmgirl, recovers for the near miss drive-by-tusking and walks over to the wounded animal.  With a precision based on anatomy, she places the barrel of her rifle against the dying animal's side, right behind the foreleg and a little towards the center.  Her finger twitches twice, blasting two rounds through the beast's heart and putting it out of whatever pain its brain is still capable of dealing with.

"Long walk for dinner," she says, voice still shaking a little.  The boar meat isn't great.  Oily and gamey, but here in the apocalypse it's protein and that can't go to waste.  Even if it's just to feed the other animals.  "Must be the den," she adds, pointing at the source of the mewling sounds.  "If we leave'em they're predator bait.  If we take the piglets, maybe the locals can use'em."

With stealth out of the picture for the immediate future, Carissa takes a satisfying ten seconds to slap the shit out of a few mosquitoes that have been buzzing around her neck particularly persistently for the last ten minutes.
This message was last edited by the GM at 05:31, Thu 22 Nov 2018.

Xandra flinches as the screen erupts in gunfire, followed a second later by the distance-delayed noise of the shots.  "Shit," she says, unconsciously echoing Carissa.  She gives it a minute to ensure nothing else is sneaking up on the team.  "Um.  Hey, Chevelle, I was gonna say before that happened... you wanna tap in?  My eyes are starting to cross."

She hands off the controller, stands up and arches her back, then freezes as a thought strikes her.  "Shit.  Hey, guys, if that was all just swine, our shooter's still out there."

"Uh, yeah. Ok," Chevelle replies, somewhat reluctantly. If the sun were still shining, it'd probably be a different story, but right now, in the dark of night, she's nervous as hell, afraid of fucking up and losing one of the team's biggest assets.



Chevelle's almost completely absorbed in taking over flight ops- it takes Murray's comment a few seconds to register, a few more for her to formulate and deliver a response. Once she's relatively confident that the drone is not in imminent danger of crashing, she says, "I thought the shooter was a local kid, laying low in another town south of here."

-
This message was last edited by the player at 05:59, Thu 22 Nov 2018.

Sudden terror has been replaced by the euphoria of survival. The young Marshalese-American looks down at the dead sow- a 400-pounder, at least- and smiles.

"I know some killer pork recipes."

-
This message was last edited by the player at 20:13, Fri 23 Nov 2018.

Lauren lowers the barrel of her carbine slightly, her heart rate gradually returning to something more resembling normal as her left hand shifts from her weapon's foregrip to her radio. "Sexton, Falcon. We've just had an encounter with the local wildlife. Situation under control. Break." The frustration is probably evident in her voice. The situation does appear to be under control. But if there are any people hiding out nearby they must now be aware that the JLTV isn't the only interloper. If there are any people out here. It is entirely possible that they have just wasted a day chasing down a heat signature that turned out to be a den of wild pigs. That's a day that could have been spent working on the bridge.

The pause before she continues speaking is slightly longer for it has just occurred to her that she has no idea what Xandra's radio call sign is. If she even has one. "Murray, are you seeing anything else out here? Over." When the response is in the negative, Cao acknowledges. With no heat signature to guide them they've nothing to bear down on. They could spend all night searching these woods and not find anybody. Maybe there's no one here to find.  "Keep looking. Let me know if you find anything. Out."

The transmission concluded, she looks over at Carissa. "If we take the piglets with us are we going to get every razorback for a five mile radius coming after us?" Lauren's experience with animal behaviour doesn't extend much beyond what she's sometimes seen on NatGeo but she does know that some species can be very protective of their young.

The Air Force Captain then turns to Cole Anderson. "Unless the drone picks anything else up we may as well RV with the JLTV and head back to the ville." They wouldn't all fit in the vehicle but at least they could take the road out. As she speaks to the Tech Sergeant she slaps absently at a particularly annoying mosquito.

Xandra nods, realizing it's pointless while Chevelle is focused on the screen.  "Yeah, but I was kind of hoping the heat trace was him so we could lock his ass up and be done.  Knowing he's out there puts an itch between my shoulder blades whenever I'm on the bridge."

Cole nodded in agreement with Cao.  While they hadn't found the hermit who might be living in the woods, the now dead wild boar was a lot of good protein to take back.  It would feed plenty of folks and was a suitable substitute for success in this case.  Also, if there was a uni-bomber wannabe hiding out in the woods, he'd seen be denied this bacon-on-the-hoof, along with her offspring.

"I'm gonna police up this brass really quick," Anderson said as the team started to make preparations to link up with the JLTV.  "Whoever's out there might have heard our weapon fire, but there's no need to give them any more information than that," Anderson said.  If Cole had any paper on him, he might have left a message pinned to a tree inviting the wayward soul to come back into the fold.  But Anderson hadn't seen his notebook since the team left Little Rock.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:57, Thu 22 Nov 2018.

Watkins orbits the area around the foot patrol and the waiting J-LTV looking for additional heat signatures and finding none. Advised of the results, Cao decides to end the mission, having successfully accomplished the primary objective, albeit in an rather unexpected way.

After the shooting site is policed up, the dead razorback sow is dragged to the road and strapped down atop the J-LTV's spare tire. It takes several people to lift it into place- the animal must weigh close to 400 lbs. The piglets- four of them (a fifth is recently dead)- are small, squirmy, probably just a week or two outside the womb. They're not particularly happy about being handled, but there's not much they can do about it but squeal in protest.

+4 piglets; 200lbs. [initial guestimate] uncooked pork meat

In the meantime, Covered by Carswell up in the M2178's turret, Skillins hits the headlights and sets about cutting the fallen tree into more manageable chunks. The chainsaw seems especially loud at night. If and when the vehicle team returns this way, it'll only take a few minutes to clear the path.

Razorback returns to Pendleton, carrying its eponymous cargo of wild pork, the tired dismounts hitching a ride back tankodesantniki-sytle.

Surprising herself somewhat, Watkins successfully brings the Raven drone back to town for a decent nighttime landing. The mix of nervous and elated adrenaline, and staring at a screen for over an hour, keeps her wired awake for several more hours.

Back in town, several teammates have to help Kabua hoist the prize up from a sturdy tree branch so that he can gut and dress it. This he does efficiently, with the expertise of an experienced cook. The team does have a bit of a quandary, though: what to do with the carcass in the absence of effective refrigeration? It's too late to ask around town for a smoker and the team doesn't have nearly enough salt to preserve the meat, but in the humid heat of the summer night, the uncured pork will start to spoil quickly. Cooking the meat will take all night, and only delay the inevitable for a little while.

After a watch schedule is set, the Sierras settle in to their parking-lot camp and try to get some much-needed rest. The piglets sleep next to Carissa, calming from her reassuring warmth. Watkins volunteers to take the first shift. Kabua racks out near the pig, hoping his presence will keep racoons or other nighttime scavengers away from the carcass.

---

Monday, July 15th, 2030
0930 hours
80F, 75% humidity
Wind 5mph out of the southwest


It feels like dawn breaks prematurely. The Sierras rise with the sun and start prepping for the day's tasks. Kabua wakes to a couple of ravens hopping around nearby, investigating the hanging pig. He shoos them away, eliciting a flurry of black feathers and angry caws. Heckle and Jeckle retreat to just outside stone-throwing range, perching watchfully on the bridge railing. They're soon joined by another pair, and buzzards begin a surveilling orbit above the scene.

The Sierras break the fast on fire-roasted pork and chicory coffee (the latter a gift from Grady's Captain Franks). The meat is a bit gamey, but tasty, and not quite as tough as anticipated. Most of Kabua's morning is going to be occupied with cooking the balance of the mean in batches.

Back behind the drone controller, Anderson overflies the vehicle patrol route, discovering a couple more trees lying across the access road to the dam. Like the first, they're probably casualties from the recent storm winds, not man-made obstacles (based on color and lack of foliage, one is clearly deadfall). The thermal imager detects no human-sized heat signatures anywhere along the track, or around the dam.

Watkins chauffeurs Saul back across the bridge to brief the MSG leader on the results of the night patrol (Saul says nothing further about the shooter investigation, though). The envoys present sack of roast pork as evidence of the reported encounter, and a gesture of good will. Seeger accepts the gift gratefully; his air of hurt wariness falls away quickly. Almost cheerfully, he orders his men to start prepping the small boat in anticipation of the day's salvage operation.

Alonzo et al return in the wrecker, arriving right on schedule at 0900 hours. He's eager to begin work. Murray's already on the bridge, rigging her rappelling equipment. Watkins is close by to assist and provide security.

With Skillins behind the wheel, Cao, Anderson, and Carswell set off for the dam. The first fallen tree, pre-cut last night, is quickly removed. They approach the second with caution, Cao and Carwell dismounting under Anderson's watchful eye to clear the immediate area. Skillins cuts the tree in half, then opens a gap between the two segments using Razorback's forward two winch. This process is repeated at the next deadfall, clearing the path to the dam. The team arrives on the west bank of the Arkansas, just north of the hydropower generating station. Skillins slows to allow his passengers to take a closer look at the facility through their various optics.

After Watkins brings Saul and Bourbon Street back, Rios drives the Nobles, Guillory, and Maggie to Back Gate to retrieve Simon the shooter. The teenager guides the Sierra cops to his friend's double-wide trailer, just off State Route 165. Rios pulls off the road about a 110m from the driveway, screened from the trailer by a stand of trees. "He might run if he sees you," Maggie says.


You're Up.

-
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:51, Sat 24 Nov 2018.

"I smell like pig," Carissa says into the occupied space of the vehicle.  Sleeping with baby boar hasn't done much to improve the must of sweat and dirt filling the airspace.

"It's gamey," Saul pipes back at his daughter, smiling without turning his head.

"Thanks dad, just what every girl wants to hear."

"I think you're pretty, too."

"Shut it, old man."  There's a smile in her voice, too.  Saul knows Car doesn't mind the scent.  She likes animals.  Even if their ultimate destiny is to become stew meat.

Saul looks at the double-wide down the road and rubs his chin thoughtfully. "So Miss Maggie, you say our friend Simon is a runner, huh?  That's better than a killer, for sure."  He stares thoughtfully for a few minutes.  "Well, we'll play this really cool.  Try not to spook anyone.  Last thing any of us wants is for anyone, and I mean anyone, to get hurt."  He tries to sound reassuring.

They'll have guns in the trailer, that's for sure.  And he can't let Maggie run up alone, or he'll lose control of the situation.  Last thing he needs is a panicked teenager doing something stupid like taking up a hostage.  "Here's how I see our play.  Car, you step outside and flank around the back of the house in case he takes a runner out the back door.  Far enough distance to chase, not close enough to provoke fire."

"Okay."

"Ms. Rios can stay here with the battle-wagon, ready to move for support, and Miss Maggie and I will stroll up the road and see if Simon will come out for a chat."  Saul turns around and stares Maggie in the face, hard.  The gentle routine hasn't served well until after she's broken, so he plays the professional card here.  "Maggie, I need you to understand this: we're not handing Simon over to the guys on the bridge.  He's not going to jail.  We're not going to punish him.  Scott and I want to talk to him, get his side of what happened, and make sure he doesn't do it again.  We view this as a stupid mistake, but one that didn't result in anyone getting hurt.  That makes this way easier to deal with.  We do need to talk to him, though, and I need you to get him to come out.  I won't be hiding, I'll be standing right next to you."

Saul lets the words bounce around in Maggie's skull for a few minutes and turns to his daughter.  "You got cuffs?

"Yeah," Carissa says, patting her vest. She quickly stows her assault rifle so it will be secured while she is gone and checks the load on her pistol, making sure one is in the chamber.

"You said-," Maggie starts, when she sees the weapon in Carissa's hands.  "You said you wouldn't hurt him."

"Maggie," Saul says with a tone meant to cut off debate, "that doesn't mean we're willing to let him shoot us.  It's protection, nothing more."  He's not sure it gets through, but they're doing this anyway.

"Questions, concerns, comments?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:47, Sat 24 Nov 2018.