[center][color=8dc73f]Ruben Verislav[/color]
[color=8dc73f]Level[/color]: 2 [3/20]
[color=8dc73f]Day/Time[/color]: Day Three - Evening
[color=8dc73f]Location[/color]: Forest of Skyrim to Stormcloak Fortress - Ulfric's Tent
[color=8dc73f]Tag[/color]: [@Holy Soldier][@Lugubrious][@Zarkun][@DracoLunaris]
[color=8dc73f]Word Count[/color]: 737
[/center]

Content with the now fully fleshed-out plan, and having been dismissed for the night, Ruben stood to his feet and dusted the debris from his kneepads. The others meandered off to find a place to rest, with Piper holding back to offer a few more suggestions. The mention of food caught his attention and Ruben realized it had been a considerable amount of time since he had a proper meal. A deep growl beneath his body armor confirmed his suspicion. Now that the adrenaline was gone and the brainstorming was done, he needed to refuel. Unfortunately, Ulfric had been telling the truth about his rations; specifically, that there were not many. Ruben feared to tell the leader how much he could eat at one time. The massive Russian could stomach enough food for three people with little effort. He contented himself to eat only as much as he could carry in one hand, using the second to hold a wooden mug. 

He stepped out of the tent and took a deep breath of the night air. The frigid breeze and bright sky reminded him of the Siberian landscape he was raised on. Far from major metropolitan areas and power stations, the night sky was a familiar sight, though the stars are constellations here were very different. He wondered for a moment what his nation looked like now. The aliens had invaded on a global level, and, though he had never been dispatched to Russia, they were just as much at risk as any other country. Hopefully they were still contributing to the XCOM program. More than that, hopefully they still existed. His immediate family had passed years ago, but his home had endured. He doubted he would ever see it again, but it didn't trouble him; Ruben knew what he was getting himself into when he signed up. Or so he had thought. It didn't seem as if anyone was truly prepared for an extraterrestrial war.

Speaking of extraterrestrials...

Ruben sat himself down on a heavy log, laid his food out beside him neatly, and removed the foreign weapon from the slot on his back to properly examine it. It was definitely a rifle, in terms of length at least, but as for how it functioned? He flipped it in his hands, impressed by the lightness of the weapon, and wrapped his hand around the grip and frowned. It was horribly uncomfortable. The stock didn't rest smoothly against his shoulder, and there were no proper optics mounted to the top. Perhaps it was the size of his hands or the shape of his body armor. Either way, he wouldn't be using it in combat anytime soon. Perhaps Vahlen could turn it into something more practical. He visualized the firepower of the laser weapon in the form of a battle rifle and nodded to himself. It would turn the tide of the war back home.

That would have to wait. Ruben re-examined the map in his mind as he ate. He had forgotten to factor in his smoke grenade and was now wondering where it could be used effectively. It was easily visible and would give away his position, so it would need to either be used before the battle as a distraction or during a firefight as cover. The smoke reduced the accuracy of any enemies firing into it or surrounded by it without affecting the aim of allies. Combined with sprint, it would allow him to get nearly anywhere without being harmed. He was still holding onto the hope that he was not the only medic and that someone with healing capabilities, maybe even healing magic if that existed, was on hand. Otherwise, he would only be able to save one life. Who would he pick? The question followed him as he returned to the tent and removed his body armor, identifying a less rock-hard place to lie down. Ideally, he would have orders, but it sounded as though the Boss was going to be separate from him on the mission. His team would take priority, but all of them would be on the other side of the field fighting the "small one." What happened if Ulfric told him to save the life of one of his men, only to need it later to save a team member?

Orders are orders. That was the rule. But, for the first time, it didn't sit well with him.