[h1]Auclairé[/h1]
[h2]Deparmon fo Tumerrié[/h2]
[h3]Camuleis[/h3]

	Gulls cries were the first major sound in the port as the men began to move at the navy pier of the southern port town. Tucked back in a bay, split by a narrow river the naval and civilian port as Camuleis was by no means a major institution or significant naval center. But it was also by no means particularly small. Housing both the local command for the Guaârde fo Coât – the coast guard – and the Armee Màrine – the military marine – it would have been, if half the infrastructure were not military be large enough to be a significant commercial port. That would be too if there was any commercial reason for it to be used as such.

	As it largely stood, the civilian and military uses of the port was divided by almost half a kilometer's worth of open water and a large yellow brick and plaster surface wall that had to have at least been raised during the years of the Revolution. Its ramparts capped by a roof that was less for safety and more for decoration, a sheet of eloquent moss-covered red ceramic shingles. For its utilitarian purpose, it helped to shield the parked yachts, speed boats, pontoons, small fishing boats, and other civilian-use craft from the larger wakes of the military's docked armaments and the base's own garrison.

	While the sun was only a bare suggestion on the horizon, the rosy fingers of dawn slinking back to give way to the golden sheet of morning, the silver white glow of the base-side lights still shown in the waking light as the garrison at the base rolled into action. Of particular focus in the operations on shore was the large, mid-sized warship tied down at birth, its massive arm-width mooring lines groaning at the shifting weight of the bobbing warship as a bridge was extended to its deck and loading craned spun to life to begin the process of outfitting it for its coming mission.

	Pallets packed tightly with boxes of ammunition, rations, and spare equipment were hoisted up into the air to be lowered down with a gentle thud on the gray deck of the warship. Attending sailors in their dark navy-blue pants sans-culottes, bright orange helmets, and puffy sleeved cotton shirts worked around the loaded pallets, thrusting jacks into them and hauling them off to cargo lifts. On the bridge the active crew boarded, with their rifles secured at their backs with their personal bags and heavy duffel bag in one hand. With a raise of the hand, they tipped their wide-brimmed hats to an on deck officer who saluted them as they stepped onboard.

	“What's the details on the mission?” asked an officer, standing over a table. The table itself was a large computer monitor showing a map of the area south of the capital and cutting off just below the extant colonial provinces. Several stacked napkins on the side of the screen protected it from a coffee cup steaming on the edge.

	The conference room was sparse, save for the broad windows that looked out at the loaded scene outside the office. The open shutters letting in the cool morning ocean air, with its smell of salt and oil and the sounds of the harbor outside. The shouting of men, beeping of machines, and the slow steady alarm of the lifts and cranes in use being let into the briefing.

	“The missing vessel last checked in on its radio 28 hours after leaving port,” a commanding sailor said, “At the coordinates of 100 South, 300 West. It was a commercial freighter, so everyone saw it leave port. Its disappearance at sea fits a pattern of disappearance from pirate-related activity from Donsiclia.

	“Donsiclia, which is still recovering from a major civil war following a coup has not had the resources or time apparently to ever crack down. Because of the tentative instability of the government, crime has been rampant and its been difficult. As such, it's particularly understandable.”

	“Commander Delecoix, if I didn't know better I would say you're sympathetic.” a third officer said, laughing before he drank a cup of warm tea.

	The three men in the room were officers in the navy. As such they had foregone the ruffled sleeved white shirt of the common mariner. They wore long coats instead, fastened tightly across the chests with silver or gold buttons. They were so blue as to be almost black, and the white collars that rose from the shoulders held the men's necks tight. The collars too came to a single lapel, that folded left across the breast, where the badges of rank were pinned.

	Commander Delecoix cut a tall figure with broad shoulders. His wide thoughtful brow gave him a brutish demeanor that hid his empathetic intelligence. Both his complexion and his eyes were a light brown. “It's important to understand.” he said briskly, “We're not dealing with a race of barbarians, like the Yahupois or many of the others out west.”

	“Might it be associated with them, now that you've raised that question?” asked the officer drinking tea. He was a boyish looking man, with a round chin and bright wild eyes. He smiled openly at the suggestion. Excited almost if so, but more smirking at the joke the thought was.

	“Captain Gilliard.” Delecoix groaned, “No, it is not. I in fact don't see any particular reason to venture any further west than Zandor. Though should it turn out to be the case I would expect you to report back and let the international office handle it.” he said in a groan.

	“So what sort of support can we expect to receive?” the other officer at the table asked. He leaned off of the screen and crossed his hands behind his back.

	“Well intelligence is working on the ground to find any leads. If anyone might no of anyone and where they would go. The international office is trying to get the Donsiclimon government to throw us mercy and give us some chivalry. There hasn't been any updates to it when I received the mission report, so I doubt anything had changed. Either way, I will be forwarding any change in information to you on your hunt, Captain Gaspar.”

	Captain – First Captain – Gaspar nodded. Tall, almost to the point of competing with Delecoix for height he was a thin reflective sort. He turned his eyes – light green, silvery and distant and seemingly aloof – back down to the table and looked down at it. “Right,” he began, reaching into his pocket for a tablet-like device. He captured control of the map and began, “To clarify with you, commander. What we have is a ship lost at these coordinates...” the map zoomed in to crop closer to the area in question. Leaving the coast in view and context a dot  was placed far off the northern shore of Donsiclia, that stretch of land between the southern reach of  Auclairé proper at the Deparmon fo Verde-Sümd and of the extant Deparmon Colonia Sain Sumogne.

	From here the details of the coast were clearer, defined. The various bays, harbor, outcroppings, and mouths of the small rivers and streams that poured in from Donsiclia's rocky inland. “What sort of history do we have in any of the towns here?” Gaspar asked.

	“It varies.” Delecoix answered him. “We have confirmed a few for pirate activity. In such cases we were able to scare them up. But this depends on how readily they can be identified. As always we need permission to actually enter and last the alert was given they were making headway on it. We are expecting a green light to enter by the time you arrive. I would advise you milk out the journey by some twenty-four hours just in case.”

	“Understood.” Gaspar said.

	“Oh, how I wish for the coup days of shelling them, no matter whose waters were whose.” Gilliard said, Gaspar's subordinate. He spoke in reference to the international response of the Donsicilian coup-turned revolution. The regional governments had banded together to attempt to coordinate a response to the abuses of the then government against its own people, and of certain revolutionary groups targeting the nation's minorities.

	“This isn't then.” Delecoix told him, with a stern heavy tone.

	“I know.” said Gilliard.

	“So at the end of the day, we're not getting a lot of information?” asked Gaspar

	“No, that's all up to you to find out, or for someone else. At the end of the day you're roll is to simply locate the ship physically, arrest or eliminate the pirates if need be, and bring the ship and its crew home. Supporting work will be done more-or-less third party and you'll be appraised of any changes.

	“I've asked to outfit you with some equipment, if I may.” Delecoix began, he had his own tablet. Gaspar let him have control. The map was removed and a blue print render was brought out.

	“You have on board in your equipment three new SW4 reconnaissance drones.” the commander said. On the screen an image of a rudimentary-looking airplane was projected. Its statistical specifications listed alongside he began to more-or-less recount them, “With a range of close to sixty kilometers, it can subsist on battery power for nine hours of constant flight. It broadcasts video feed at 4k resolution and can zoom in on a grapefruit at sea at 2200 meters. Its flight ceiling is 48 kilometers, and at two-and a half meters long and six wide it is small enough to appear on radar like a seabird. At 60 kilograms, most of the sailors in your crew should be able to care it.

	“Its water tight and buoyant, if need be it can be launched from a catapult on deck or in the water. It can be controlled through broadcast to your usual consoles, or even handled through a VR headset by its pilot.”

	“Impressive. Are we going to have anything else?”

	“If you ever need to go online I've signed off a couple LOVs for you and your men. Same as always, boat them onto shore and drive around.” Delecoix said, “That's it.

	“I've sent additional mission details to your email as well. This contains the target ship's designation and crew roster including names and photos. You'll be able to read up on the specification of the ship and its history. As you go, both you make sure to read it and use it if you feel anything is necessary in your ship briefing. Now, good luck, captains.”

	The two stood straight, and gave their commander a slight bow. There was little need for ceremonial formality between them. With that, the briefing had come to a close and they headed out for their ship.

	“I'll be honest.” Gilliard began, “I'm not excited for the mission. But I like the thought of those drones.”

	“Have you re-certified for remote surveillance?” asked Gaspar.

	“I'm sure I am. I'll have a look at the operations manual when we get on deck.”