Memo to the Boss Headcount 40 gangers (Loyal to you boss) 36 Military (mostly rear [s]eclion[/s] [s]eclelon[/s] rearguard and engineer types. Three shouting sergeants among them. A Medic too.) 24 Airship crew (tech-heads and mechanics. No officers) 135 laborers and worker -types. 15 children 250 Total Got a few more girls than men. Got a bunch of walking wounded with only bandages to patch them up. All in all, no worse than the lot we had on the streets. And we're certainly better stocked. Got plenty of canned food, boots, jackets, and guns. Still doing counts on the stuff. But its a literal ton of canned food boss. - Roland * * * * * * * Victor looked away from the accumulated pile of short reports on his impromptu desk made of three empty crates to look out his tent and the small camp that quickly cropped up within hours after the crash. The few tents they had were allocated to the wounded and children while everyone with two free hands made trips back and forth from the airship to haul crates out of the wreck, each crate adding to their chances of survival that much more. Most of it was food, crates filled with cans of preserved foodstuffs that would last a thousand people for a year. Or 250 for four years if the seals held in this humid weather. A few crates filled with canned coffee and tea were also a welcome addition, although they lacked any utensils to boil the stuff properly, damnit. Furthermore, other crates held outdoor adventurer clothing, providing both some measure of comfort and uniformity to the camp, although Hawthorne valued the supply of thick military boots more than the jackets. And above all else, they had plenty of rifles, shotguns, pistols, and ammunition. While keeping the gunpowder dry in these conditions was going to be a hellish task at best, those guns would save his people if nothing else would. But what they didn't have was water or shelter. The river was some distance away, and there were precious few canteens and buckets amongst the survivors to haul water back. Victor was considering moving the camp directly to the river, but they knew too little about their surroundings despite sending out scout patrols to risk a large-scale movement at this time. Furthermore, they had very little to actually build with. They had exactly a dozen axes of dubious quality, and all of them were being worked heavily around the clock to cut trees and branches into impromptu hovels. But they were too small and too few to be real housing, and he doubted they would hold up under moderate rain, let alone a storm islands like these were supposedly known to have. Furthermore, they still needed to keep watch on the carrier. No one knew if any infected got out into the wilderness, and the wreck still wasn't completely clear. But nobody wanted to risk going back inside its tangled decks to clear it out the hard way. So a dozen men with guns kept watch over the ongoing salvage efforts. Scratching out a priority list of orders, Victor briefly wondered why everyone was so accepting of his authority. The military sergeants glared at him, but were the first to organize patrols and regularly report in on headcounts and supplies. The civilians were scared, but leapt to work when he ordered crews to haul crates, get water, cut trees and branches, and harvest berries found nearby. And his own men and women, the crew that held with him since the outbreak, well they were hanging on his every word as usual. He wasn't leading because of fear or rank or authority. He was leading by dint of being willing to lead. It was an unusual scenario to him, one his wasn't sure would keep up for long. "Water, we need to get more water." He said, voicing his thoughts as he scribbled out a note to Roland before whistling for his trusty runner-boy to come forward. "Jake, take this to Roland and then tell the lumber-workers to focus on making more buckets or some other water container. If anyone has ideas on how to get more water, listen and tell me. Got it kid?" Jake nodded silently as he took up the note. "Good, hop to it." Good kid. Loyal ever since Victor pulled him from street urchin into a courier. And one of the few Victor felt he could rely upon if things got worse, which they were likely to. "Alright, what's next?" * * * * * * * @So Bored "So then I tell him, thats not ale your drinking." "I don't get it." "Yeah, your jokes are never good Lente." "Oh fuck you both." A trio of men walked through the jungle wearing outdoors jackets and with carbine muskets in hand, prowling the jungle looking for anything, particularly water and any means to carry it back to basecamp. So far no luck and the trio were instead taking advantage of their peaceful surroundings to have a nice stroll. Relatively peaceful that is, as Carter found the continual stream of bad jokes from Lente to be really grinding on his nerves. "Okay, let me try another one. A midget, a courtesan, and a whore walk into a bar-" "Shh!" Carter cut him off, waving both of his companions down to the ground. "Shut up! Listen, I hear footsteps." The march of army boots in unison. Army men. Whispering out a quick plan, Lente and the other civilian guy ducked into a bunch of brushes to hide while Carter pulled out a heavy magnum revolver to use instead of his one-shot carbine as he shifted to an alternate position to try and get some elevation on these newcomers, deciding on climbing a tree to get a heads-up on how many they were dealing with. Only to get a real good look at a platoon of armed soldiers stomping along. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea, but Carter was committed now on his treebranch perch. "Ho there soldiers! What be the march for?"