[color=7b8973][h3]SPC "Mikey" Rangel[/h3][hr][b]BRP [i]Jose Rizal[/i] - 12/25/2022, 5:03, UTC+8[/b][/color][hr]Mikey stood near the back of the crowd. Her arms were folded; a pair of sunglasses sat atop her head, revealing the dark circles under her eyes. Those eyes were focused on the tactical map--specifically on the estimate strength of the Chinese forces.

[color=7b8973][i]You heard the Admiral, Mikey. Forget about "the war"--if those troops and their supplies land in Lubao, that... what happened at the refugee camp is going to happen again, and again.[/i][/color] Mikey shuddered a bit--she hoped no one else noticed.

As the post-briefing chatter started up, she checked her watch. 5:03. Still almost twelve hours until Christmas in California. Mikey had been instructed when she was deployed that she wasn't allowed to call her family for the duration; she wondered if many of the postcards she had sent had made it back.

She hoped at least some had.

Mikey reached up, absentmindedly fiddling with her sunglasses. [color=7b8973]"Well,"[/color] she finally said, [color=7b8973]"question one: do we have a plan to get aboard the [i]Guangdong[/i] yet?"[/color] She pointed at the map, tracing the distance between the two fleets on the battle plan. [color=7b8973]"They're going to have, like, at least six ships of dudes there who want us to not do that, and I don't think asking nicely is going to work."[/color]