Almost unnoticed towards the back of the passenger cabin, curled up and half-asleep, Chaim Abergil raised his hand. The thin Israeli stood up, brushed some dust from his Fire Service uniform, and spoke in accented English. “I don't know much about military strategy, I was only a private in the IDF,” he said without preamble. “I just have a couple things to add.” Abergil pointed at Lorenzo. “Getting powerful floodlights will be easy. Any decent-sized fire brigade will have rigs mounted on trucks with their own power supply. We can borrow some from the locals, and if need be we can ask other cities to lend out equipment. If we keep these floodlight trucks fueled and ready we can rush those quickly to the scene of an incident. So there's a quick, cheap, and practical way to put that plan into action.”

Chaim waved vaguely in the direction of Dirk and Huan. “These gentlemen suggested poison and liquid nitrogen. Those also sound like good ideas, but I want to note we must take serious precautions if we intend to use either of those weapons, especially in a built-up area. God forbid we have to fight this thing inside city limits, we must first drive it out of town or at the very least to a large open space like a park or railyard before we try to use such weapons.” His point made, Chaim said nothing else. He abruptly sat back down in his seat, propped up his feet, and closed his eyes. The plane rocked as it descended, only a few minutes away from landing.

Major Carvalho had been taking notes on a legal pad and nodded, obviously pleased with the brainstorming session. “Alright, so we're going with the theory that it might be some sort of amphibious insect. As far as weapons go we're advancing the ideas of bright lights, liquid nitrogen, and our own Ricin-Sicarius poison cocktail. I think Huan's little mojito recipe has the best chance of killing the thing outright, but as Gordon noted we have to get it to stand still first.” He ticked through the items on the list. “We could also try arming a few Irish aircraft somehow, or asking for British assistance. I don't know if that last one would go over so well, no Irish politician would be willing to put British troops on Irish soil. There was some trouble about that last time. But it's still worth suggesting.”

Carvalho rocked on his feet, nearly losing his balance as the plane's landing gear bounced off the runway. He chuckled sheepishly as he sat down and buckled himself in for the landing. He adjusted the creases of his fatigues, checked his boots, and finally reached into his bag and extracted his light blue United Nations beret, putting it carefully on his shaven head. He wanted to make a good first impression. 

The big plane taxied to a halt on the runway, well away from the main terminal of the Galway airport- their arrival was being kept quiet. The team had to carry their gear down a metal stairway held up to the plane. 

Not that no one was there to meet them, though. A handful of people- bureaucrats, Gardai, and soldiers. All of them answered to one man, a tall and aristocratic man in the uniform of a brigadier general. He was turned out smartly for the occasion in dress uniform, with a perfect regulation tie and gleaming Sam Browne belt. Next to the brigadier, Carvalho felt extremely underdressed in his duty fatigues. As if to compensate, he made his salute especially crisp. The general seemed amused by the gesture. 

“I'm Brigadier Christopher Mahon. We greatly appreciate you coming out on such short notice.” He gestured to some of the enlisted men standing nearby, who eagerly moved forwards and began to assist the team with their gear and luggage. “It's only an hour to sunset, and we expect there to be another attack somewhere along the coast tonight. So please, let's move quickly.” Mahon briskly walked towards waiting cars, still talking in a rapid-fire tone. “We've got laboratory and workshop space available for your personnel at the University, and our military headquarters is at Renmore Barracks just outside town. We're sending out land and air patrols from there tonight, so if you'd like to join one of those you'd be more than welcome. We won't have any naval assistance until tomorrow night- most of the fleet is either involved with peacekeeping efforts or keeping cocaine smugglers from getting into Dublin Harbor. Or, if you prefer, we've booked you rooms at the Radisson downtown if you would like to rest.” Mahon gestured towards the waiting Army sedans. “Just let the drivers know where you'd like to go.”