The mood in the cave was dour, and even Marit was feeling a little down that day. First it was the unrest. Not bad, but hard to police with a BattleMech. While they still had access to the local HPG station, she’d at least been able to keep up with the Sons of Kalev on a regular basis. Knowing all was well back home had at least been a comfort, but now she could only take solace on that front from having remembered to point out that the riots might prevent outgoing communication - either through actions of the rioters, lack of time or deliberate attempts by the government to keep the trouble in house - so no one back home had any reason to take her silence for her death.

Then the local force pulled their power play stunt and casualties went through the roof hatch out of nowhere. Freddie and Lena were especially hard to swallow. A small cynical voice in her head might’ve said the lack of a Golden Boy around was a plus, but being an asshole wasn’t a valid reason to die and a skilled MechWarrior was always good to have, especially in their predicament. But as they say: The show must go on. She could only chalk her own survival and successful escape to luck in the form of being in the right place at the wrong time. When the order came to get out of the city, the lance she’d been assigned to was on the outskirts. They could’ve simply turned around and walked into the woods were it not for a platoon of mechanized infantry and some attached tanks.

The supply situation was another thing eroding the morale like rain on a badly planted field. Food and water were bad enough, but a lack of medical supplies and ammo would be putting a damper on the mood even if they weren’t needed, and though she personally didn’t mind cold all that much yet, a lifetime spent mostly aboard a Buccaneer did her no favors in this situation.

The last straw was the now empty flask of walnut rum in her pocket, having shared the last of its contents with Minhas and Ziska the previous day, the latter for letting her borrow the former for an hour to get Archie’s right elbow actuator working properly after an unfortunate brush against a particularly stubborn building during the desperate flight from Balya Gora.

Marit was jolted out of her musings by the Colonel’s voice calling them to arms. Normally a briefing was a trailer for an event that had the potential to be the end of you, and itself could be anything ranging from a routine to an annoyance and, as she had learned the hard way on multiple occasions, a chance to do some pushups, but now she was just glad something would be happening. The rookie MechWarrior excused herself from the group of technicians and civilians who were moving some boxes and tarps around in an attempt to improve privacy in the bunks and set out toward the ‘Mechbay that held her assigned Archer, the 70 ton machine slumped over as if asleep, looking almost peaceful were it not for the dents and scorch marks in several places. Marit figured she had ten minutes to make sure everything that was supposed to be there was there and how much - well, how [i]little[/i] - ammunition she’d have to work with in the anticipated upcoming outing, ten minutes to get her personal gear ready, thirty minutes to wait out of sight if Reya happened to be near Archie and in a sour mood and was still left with ten to get to the briefing. She ignored the grumbling of her stomach, mustering up an encouraging smile for a few kids as she passed them along the way.

Marit wondered what they would be doing. Gathering intelligence? Getting supplies? Whatever the away team brought back, one thing was almost certain: If successful, they’d bring some hope. They’d complained about their shitty lot in life for long enough, and now the Colonel has decided that the time has come to do something about it

Deeds, not words.