The Marshall loaned Gideon a rifle; they didn't know what they were going into. He had some magazines stuffed into the pockets of his smock, to feed the thing if necessary. It was the [url=http://www.collezionareexordinanza.it/uploads/source/FAL%20PNG/image2%20copia.jpg]old RM-63 type[/url], a heavier battle rifle that was a good design for a tough climate with an adjustable gas system. No frills, and Gideon didn't particularly worry about that; iron sights were just fine. It was heavy, and two generations older than the current issue, but it had solidity to it. 

The Marshalls didn't want to go in; they left that to the well-trained WARDEN types. "That's y'all's specialty. It's dangerous, take this," he'd drawled.

He'd been riding on the truck bed into the Mist, keeping eyes on his sector. The Mist and the wreckage, presumably the deaths, would have strange consequences for the unwary. 

The Mist was dangerous, but it was a two way thing, in Gideon's experience. They'd had training on operating in it and it was always dangerous, always tinged with a real danger. WARDEN training was no picnic, with a washout, burnout and training accident rate that was kept a state secret to the outside, but the Mist training was always the worst. It seemed like people went gibbering mad or were physically destroyed in the Mist more than anywhere. He drifted into the crater, easing himself down with the surefootedness of someone used to navigating rough terrain. He kept his head on a swivel, moving slowly, stopping to look, and then moving again. You didn't make assumptions in the Mist.

Things floated in the air due to the suspension of gravity, including bits of flotsam, jetsam and Vangar troops. It was a disturbing hellscape; he brushed one of these zones and felt himself being lifted up before he jinked out of it and into normal gravity again. He signaled by hand for the others to know to avoid that spot.

He kept himself calm mentally by counting steps, to make sure that they had an exact path right back to the truck as necessary, by knowing just where it was. You couldn't rely on navigational aids, even a compass, in these situations. He didn't particularly need to enhance his night vision with a spell, something he'd devised when the trainers, particularly Master Sergeant Rask, made sure to sabotage equipment they were using on training missions, because there was enough torchlight all around.

He glided forward, avoiding the more formed looking pockets of the stuff, and keeping an eye out for anything that looked like embers and fire, making his way around those spots. But he moved forward, his face set. He noted the debris to himself, [i]this thing suffered a catastrophic failure or was deliberately destroyed by a weapon or sabotage. Too thoroughly blown up.[/i] Airships were designed to get down if something went wrong. They had emergency systems for the purpose. Rarely, since the very earliest days, did you have a zeppelin or something go down in some sort of pillar of fire. The next thing he noted was, [i]this isn't some Vangar warship sneaking in the long way and trying to bombard a target on a surprise attack.[/i] Combat airships were notoriously spartan, all excess devoted to armor and weapons. This didn't feel right.

He took a knee alongside Setzer, with his rifle cradled against his chest, barrel down, and grunted for the purpose of the comms spell, "Vangar Class A's, Imperial Royal Guard flash on the shoulder there. This guy was dressed for a party and they guard the Skymnings." He grunted. These were clues, but he wasn't committed to an answer beyond what they had in front of them. 

"Look there," he pointed, "Greifskreuz. Griffon's Cross," he amended for those who didn't speak Vangar, noting the red and gold ribbon around the neck, with a sapphire blue and white pendant. Setzer moved on while Gideon did what any good recon-trained fellow might do. He checked the man's pockets for ID, "Captain Gerhard Rekks. Imperial Royal Guard," he reported.

When Setzer started to move toward the pod, Gideon shifted to cover the approach. It wasn't that the rifle was up, it was just reassuring weight in his hands. He was disciplined. Instead, he picked a good spot and kept his eyes peeled. This was still a rescue mission, but it was getting spooky, fast. These were Vangar military, on Rassvet soil. There were a number of reasons why well dressed Vangars in a fancy airship might be in Rassvet. But even if these were the enemy, it didn't look like anyone was in any condition to present a danger. And the Mist didn't care what flag you wore on your lapel.

"Survivors of what, though?" Gideon asked quietly, to be heard by the other members of Barghest.