Compared to the cool temperatures of Elysium, Virmire was positively roasting. In the thick foliage of the jungle, the cooling breeze of the bay and open sea were utterly consumed by the vegetation around the group, and it was muggy and hot going. Tanya was glad they packed extra water for the observation post, but to get there, they had to lug around a shitload of equipment. In addition to her own rucksack, she carried the two grenade turrets on her back, toting nearly three-quarters of her weight across her body, an exhausting endeavor she’d forgotten how much sucked spiny lizard dick since forced marches in the marines. Still, she didn’t bitch, nor particularly mind that she was carrying a heavier load than even most of the guys; she was tough, and Hazan’s bullshit dibs on being “pointman” was probably just a ruse to get out of doing any substantial lifting. 

When Vellios had asked her if she was going to break her spine in the process, she’d explained that it was simply the bare necessities, the simple bare necessities. Further explaining, she said that they wouldn’t want something that couldn’t be found when they needed it, and that they couldn’t live without it. There as a melodically inclined infliction to the whole idea.

And so, sweating her ass off in the muggy-ass underbrush in a single-file column just ahead of Vellios, who in turn was disguising Hazan’s stupid little tree X’s. The fact they were walking down a somewhat beaten trail as it was, either from others who had make the walk before or animals, didn’t leave much confidence that the markings wouldn’t be seen in their duration in on the operation. A big inviting X was hardly natural, and Tanya caught Vellios’ eye when he finished scratching one of the markings to look like claw marks approvingly. It might be wild country, but it was no place to let one’s guard down. It would be stupid to assume no one else was combing the jungle. These were, after all, paranoid criminals on a border world that wasn’t unfamiliar with skirmishes between rival factions were hardly the kind to take things at face value. The only difference between here and Omega was the scenery was nicer and batarian preachers didn’t draw crowds over their pious opinion that humans are a blight on galactic civilization.

Bunch of wankers.

After what was around two hours, fifteen minutes based on the clicks her omni-tool gave off every quarter hour, Tanya and the others arrived in the designated observation post. Happy to take the weight off of her shoulders, Tanya couldn’t help but admire the view below, which had a surprisingly commanding view of the smuggling camp below while remaining hidden behind foliage. There’d be no fires, and food would have to be cooked with water pouches and thermal cooking strips, just like the good old days in the marines. Tanya’s first order of business was positioning the automatic grenade launchers, which deployed a small tripod and had a programmable console off to the side. Each member of the team had an IFF tag somewhere on their person, and the launcher was programmed to engage man-shaped targets only, and within 20 meters… there was a chance that patrols would miss them entirely if they concealed their operations well enough. 

Both turrets activated and in position, Tanya pulled off her hammock tent from the bottom of her rucksack,  and using the net weave across the surface, began to weave foliage and deadfall through, concealing its profile. Finding a length of trees she hung it half a meter from the ground, securing both ends with ratchet straps. A side pocket had a square piece of fabric that she pulled a chord and tossed into the tent. It quickly inflated and took shape of a pillow. The whole process took ten minutes, if that.

[color=cyan]“So, we should probably plan some scouting missions down to the camp, figure out a path in case we need to get down there, or need to give the others an escape route. The launchers should be able to hit the camp from this range if the fit hits the shan and we need to bug out and cause a bit of chaos.”[/color] She said to the others, taking a water bottle from her pack and drinking from it. It was already piss warm. 

[color=cyan]“So, how’s your body holding together, Vellios?”[/color] she asked, knowing the march must have been brutal with his injuries. Damn turian was too stubborn to stay on the ship, that was for damned sure.