[center][b]Ready Room[/b][/center]

Off to the side of the infantry common areas, separate, was a different sort of country. It was a smaller area, furthest from the lifts and sitting in the curves of the Keep's bulkheads, packed with equipment and people eternally out of uniform in the strictest sense. There was no Alderaanian blue and white, but rather an array of different clothing types, though at the moment they were wearing a primarily sand-colored pattern that blended in with the terrain of Anaxes. The place was neat, but it was tight-packed with the addition of work benches and a small table to conference around, indicative of a place where the troopers kept to themselves.

SpecForces came in off the U-wings exhausted but not overly damaged because the scope of their engagement was measured carefully and perhaps cold-bloodedly. There was no way they could have started blasting on Anaxes and done anything except vainly sacrifice themselves. So they sat tight, called in airstrikes and engaged only as needed to disengage as a whole.

As a result, they came in with scrapes, burns, a little shrapnel from when a blaster bolt hit ferrocrete was natural, as were the aches, pains and incidental bruises that came with the job they did. They set down equipment with a groan after the whole thing was through and found their way to the inevitable post-battle needs, drink, food, hitting the refreshers. He needed steam, heat and the other things he used to keep the dull aches and pains down to a manageable level. Their space in the Keep was a overrun with triple bunks and hammocks. It was home base, even if it felt like they were meat in a can, wedged up against the bulkheads the way they were between equipment storage and racks. Packs and load bearing equipment were shed with simultaneous thumps and boots were pulled off with groans of ecstasy. It seemed like the air circulation was overloaded all at once with the amount of human and alien swamp-foot smells that assaulted the room, but everyone's noses were used to it.

That was the grind of the war, fight after fight. Besk knew to keep his guys in their space and away from the Infantry; they'd lost a lot out there and tempers would flare naturally. 

So he gave orders to keep them busy, "Make sure the equipment gets repaired, assessed and replaced if necessary. Stow it. There's Alderaanian wine on this ship and I'll make sure some gets down here, but stay away from the troopers until they've gotten it out of their systems." He had that raspy voice with that distinctively Mando accent; Jango trained his batch personally and they'd adopted his speech patterns out of a desperate gambit for some sort of identity and human contact. 

The post-battle was the ugly stuff; they had a terminal there to load all their data into, and making sense of that was a bear, but necessary. Intel didn't let them know of the extra forces they ran into, but it was also a risk that you ran in any war. The enemy was good or they were lucky and they showed up to shoot your tail off. He'd seen it happen so many times to clones, whom he had a genetic connection to, that he'd gotten somewhat philosophical about the whole thing, though the numbing was just that -- it wasn't a true healing, just a matter of getting used to those emotional wounds and carrying on with the parts of the job one could control. 

[hr]

[center][b]Briefing room[/b][/center]

"Simple" he'd said to them. Besk looked down at the plan. Point A to Point B was to get the ships in the hangar and figure out a means to disable the weapons with the network spike at a terminal. Point B to C was to hold that hangar and potentially take control of other points within the ship.

"Not a lot of time to requisition equipment and if this goes wrong, even a skeleton crew of scrubs on a Venator is a lot to take on." Chakaar was 20 beings, not that much next to the losses they'd just taken at Anaxes, but they'd just been told to come off an op and get back into one the next day with minimal rest and a lot of planning to do. On the way out of the briefing, he sent a text by PDA to Bens and Ves, the other two Specforce officers; [Tell the boys to put down their drinks and get as much rack time as they can once they get their weapons maint done, they're throwing us back into it. We've got a lot of planning to do.]