Times like this, Ingrid confused her. On one hand, that was exactly something Marit would expect Ingrid to say. But on the other hand, how could someone with her experience be this… naive? If Marit’s view of their profession was incomplete due to inexperience, she’d call Ingrid’s [i]skewed[/i] by romanticism. That being said, Marit would have agreed for once. ‘Don’t be a barbarian. Speak softly but carry a big stick.’ who could find a flaw in that thinking, besides the Crimson Fists, the NPDRE, the Heavenly Sword… Fuck, almost everybody on this saltbowl. But if they fought with gloves on while everyone else was swinging crowbars, all they would achieve is get their faces smashed in. Fuck that noise. Even if they didn’t use it, the [i]threat[/i] of it was what counted. That was perhaps the best weapon they had. If they deployed it, it lost effectiveness because everyone would know where it was. If they used it, everyone would know they no longer had one. But as long as it was hidden away, the bad guys would be left guessing. Always unsure. Always unbalanced. Sure, a nuke painted a target on their back, but that had been there for a while now so who cares?

In the end, what Ingrid or herself thought didn’t matter. The opinion that mattered was the Colonel’s, which fortunately aligned with Marit’s view of the problem. ‘Don’t be a barbarian…’ And now that they had their big stick, all they had to do was to beat everyone else into submission, preferably without using said stick, so the soft speaking may commence. Preferably in the form of “Fuck this place, we’re leaving.” Still, she was glad that sort of decision making didn’t lay on her shoulders.

But for now, she had time to kill. She could sleep later, be fresh for the scouting party. In the meantime, she set out to find Reya or Ingrid so she could get an idea of what to expect in the city, at least the part they have been to.