[color=004b80][b]Briefing Hangar - Peoria Airport – Illinois - Aerial Elements of the West Coast Brotherhoods Expeditionary Force against the Cult[/b][/color]

“Damn, this is some tasty cake.”

A hum of agreement met the statement of Lance-Airman Stevens as freshly baked Victoria sponges and purified water were devoured and drank respectively. The setting for this positively picnic-esque meal was a simple one, a gaggle of officers stood huddled in various little circles inside one of the spare hangars of Preoria Airport. Having landed at Preoria as the advance element for the West Coast’s Expeditionary Force against the Cult, they’d been able to grab a single night of shut eye after an exhausting day of flying, followed by all hands pitching in for set up, and now, they could prepare for the task ahead of them.

Before the task though, came the briefing, and before the pre-briefing, age old traditions were to be observed. In this case, the soldiers quickly espied a buffet table set out for them, and promptly set about devouring the pre-briefing snacks before the CO and his entourage could arrive and hog it all for themselves. Such was the way of the world in military circles, grabbing good food and eating before others could. 

“We should probably take some iodine tablets with them really, looking out from the transports I’m not sure if the land has been properly tilled and treated. The grain for the flour was probably harvested in some fallout dusted field in Iowa. If you get any lumps on your tongue, they’re probably cancer from the latent radiation from these.”

This remark caused the members of one of these military circles to all look at the outspoken member of the group who had made the remark, that of Scribe Antonio Orsatti, the deputy medical officer for the air-wing. The look on the faces of these soldiers, and their thoughts, were shortly summed up by the reply of Lance-Airman Bryant.

“Can’t you just let us eat the cake in peace Antonio? Without another one of your observations on how this or that causes cancer?”

Raising his fork, Antonio prepared to hold forth on the dangers of a subject he knew all to well from years of preparing a magisterial thesis on the matter. His lecture, which would have undoubtedly revolutionised the thinking of the group of soldiers surrounding him was interrupted by the warning cry of the unlucky sentry who drew the short straw, and thus was on lookout for the CO.

“Carter incoming!”

With a speed and swiftness, perhaps even outpacing the speeds some of the aircraft could reach, the room snapped into activity, divesting themselves of incriminating evidence such as forks and plates and cakes. As well as quickly checking appearances, and arranging themselves into a more orderly grouping rather than just a gaggle of soldiers lazing about. A mere moment after the last soldier had moved to their place, the door slammed open and in strode Lance-Commander Carter with a militantly purposeful march.

“Ten-hut!”

The command was called and a responding crack was the reply as dozens of feet snapped to the position of attention.

“At ease people.”

Jumping up onto a platform prepared for this briefing, Carter drew out and extended a pointer, and lazily wafted it over the map behind him. A giant map of the North America, with the current borders of all of its known geopolitical entities plotted out upon in. In a vast swathe of black covering a significant portion of the map was where Carter gestured.

“Here, is where our enemy lies. A vast, wild horde of savages. A theocratic entity known by a number of names, but to us, simply The Cult. This cult, radiates out from Pittsburgh, a hive of scum and villainy the likes of which is unmatched anywhere else in the North America. Through a shockingly successful campaign, they have poured their forces into the midwestern region.”

The pointer struck the map with a snap, calling attention to the scattered dashes of colour within the western reaches of the cult, before dragging it across to Indianapolis as he spoke.

“Through a policy of infiltration and quite frankly, blitzkrieg, the Cult has reduced what was once the Republic of Detroit, to a few pitiful holdouts. They then moved west, to Indianapolis where, as well all well know, victory was secured by the allied forces of Barnaky’s brotherhood and by Caesar’s Legion. As these forces recuperate from a hard-fought battle, ready to undertake a grand campaign unseen since before the days of the Great war, it will fall, or rather, rise to us, to keep up the pressure upon this breed of miserable and misbegotten bastards.”

In a swift succession of strikes, targets were tapped by Carter.

“Columbus, Springfield, Louisville, Lexington, Toledo, Sandusky, Canton, Youngstown. These will be hit in the next six days. All of them, multiple targets to be struck multiple times. We will rain fire and fury upon the hideouts of these theocratic thugs and let them know that there is no place, no dark and dank crevice which they can crawl into to attempt to escape the might and reach of the Western Brotherhood and this Continental League that has been assembled against it.”

Finally, the pointer gently came to rest on a final site.

“And then on the seventh day, we will not rest like god did oh-so lazily, no in our biblical ambitions, we will raze Pittsburgh to the ground. We will muster our full aerial force, and flatten the heart of this Cult. We will reduce their monolith to mere rubble, our arsenal shall be emptied against them, and they will be wrought to nought but dust.”

The pointer snapped shut, and Carters eyes bored into the watching eyes of those watching.

“Any questions?”