[center][h3]LTJG ROY KILMER, CALLSIGN [color=ff4136]"COMMIE"[/color][/h3][/center]
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[color=ff4136]"I'm with the big man on this one,"[/color] Kilmer's smooth baritone floated in from the further borders of the glorified shipping container that field ops called a "briefing room", languidly propped against the wall as though an old west gunfighter. Beneath his customary bomber jacket, his arms were folded, but now that he'd had a wash and a chance to lick his self-imposed wounds a little, he was in relatively high spirits again. If only poor Dole could find the same comfort neck deep in the shit— guy could hardly stumble his way through a few sentences of their briefing at a time. If it wouldn't have meant interrupting him and dragging this process out further, Commie'd have cut in and advised him to take a damn breath. The high canopy of the woods and cammy nets were already doing their jobs to keep them concealed from enemy observation— especially when the Coalition had a whole battlegroup right in front of them to worry about first. [color=ff4136]"I vote option one."[/color]

He kicked off the wall, ambling forward to join the round table proper. In truth, his mood had almost soured at the mention of the second task the Comms Officer had pulled— while they had undergone extensive infantry training as part and parcel of Vulture's mild psychosis and the generalist bent the UEE demanded of a broad swath of its' SOF cells, there was no getting around it being a stretch at most polite— They were the 101st... but they were the 7th Airborne. An MAS Squadron, some best and brightest the Empire had to field in that hotly-contested space within combined arms doctrine— one the Coalition still had an undeniable edge within.

There were a thousand illustrious ground pounders, the sons of fighting traditions millennia deep, whose jobs it were to handle concealed infiltration and intelligence gathering. Experts, schooled by centuries of organizational maturation, unparalleled in their fields. People that you built from the ground up to do that, and chiefly that. The guys who would get it done and love doing it.

In his humble opinion, such was [i]literally[/i] beneath them— as they would leave him his kingdom in the sky, he felt it right to in turn leave them their kingdom on earth.

But thankfully, that was the perk of their position— for all that these assignments might get lost and wander onto their desk, they had veto power few units could boast, and he was more than happy to kick that one over to the right guys for the job.

[color=ff4136]"Loosening up their defenses will be tantamount to taking the territory wholesale, with the way the Helldogs handle things, but even [i]if[/i] the Coalies still mount enough resistance to get stuck in after the big caliber AA's scuttled, we'll be further up on tempo— between that and the more lenient bombardment lanes we'll have earned the fleet, it'd ramp up pressure to keep them occupied during the strike on the relay. It'd make for a cleaner op— whether it's us that gets it afterward, or someone we feel generous to. How time-sensitive is the blackout, for the sake of argument?" [/color]