Mazigh sat in front of the tactical screens showing the terrain of the region as last shown before the whole debacle with the sensors net started. The matter had made communication difficult, especially between the vehicles out in the field, and Mazigh felt very uncomfortable in the cool, air conditioned confines of the mobile HQ. Still, Captain Hart's transmission broke through the gentle thrum of sensor equipment and soft lights, distorted though it was: Mazigh was to make sure the flanks of the lance were secure, and to see that as much data was collected by the UAVs in advance of their approach as possible.

"Affirmative," was all he said when the orders came in. He immediately turned on his seat to face the tech officer sitting to his right. "Miles," he said quickly, "direct the deployment of our drones. I don't want a single square meter left unsurveyed before the big boys get there. Brauer," he added, looking to the communications officer next, "I want to know the moment anything anomalous is spotted in the AO."

"Aye, sir," said Sergeant Brauer, reaching up to clutch her headset. "Nothing to report thus far."

"I know," muttered Mazigh with a sigh, reaching for his coffee as he swiveled about in his seat. He stared at the map of the Pitt Basin, frowning as he sipped from his mug. The coffee was perhaps too sweet in his mouth: two teaspoons of sugar and coconut creamer would do that, but Mazigh didn't have any notions of black coffee being more masculine. The coconut flavor relaxed him, anyway, and helped him focus. It always had.

The map before him was marked with blue diamonds and circles indicating the recon lance and the vehicles out afield. Mazigh's men were still arrayed in their patrol formation: trailing behind the lance with the Condors in front, the Plainsmen in the back and the drone carrier in the middle. The remaining vehicles were far from the area of operations, arrayed around the Daimyo Mazigh sat in.

Mazigh set his warm mug of coffee down, stroked his beard, then made a few quick marks on the map with a little black pen. Green lines formed on the holographic screen immediately. "This is HQ," he began in his deep, serious voice. "Hex 1 and 2, navigate these coordinates." He made another quick series of dashes on the map before continuing. "Hex 3 and 4, follow these nav points around the southern perimeter of the Basin. All units: proceed with caution and maintain pace with the recon lance. Relay any and all new data to HQ. HQ out."

"You're acting like something's going to bite us," laughed Warrant Officer Miles, turning his head to face Mazigh. "I don't think there's anything waiting out there to surprise us."

"That's the thing about surprises," Mazigh rumbled, his thick eyebrows folding down as he regarded the tech officer. "They're unexpected. Treat this operation with the same seriousness you would if you were in the Succession War again."

Miles frowned, then turned back and started tapping at his display with his black pen, relaying his own orders to the drone carrier. Miles focused on his own screen. It was standard operating procedure, really: one Condor and one Plainsman were now on each flank of the recon lance, fanned out enough that there would be advance warning for the mechs if weapons fire were to occur on the flanks. The vehicles were fast enough to quickly redeploy to cover the Rifleman's rear, too, in case anything came from behind.

That last thought made Mazigh pause. "Miles," he said, "deploy one UAV drone behind Johan, facing the rear, two hundred and fifty meters back. Just in case."

Miles shook his head, but relayed the orders. As drones began appearing on the screen, Mazigh picked up his coffee and took another sip. At the very least, the operation would be a good exercise in moving in formation.