[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/mb9aQvd.jpeg[/img][h2]Preparations[/h2][/center]
[indent][code]Skogsrå, Gelcastre Woods, 7th Supply Camp_
101st Special Forces Legion. Local Time: 2145_ [/code][/indent][hr]

Getting the 7th Squadron MAS fitted out with laser communicators was relatively quick work. The setup consisted of several laser modules attached to the head and hands of the suits, which the pilots would have to point at each other to send communications. They could also use the MAS's built in external speakers- though there were obvious problems with open communication of that manner. Armor had been refitted as best it could, and weapons were reloaded, the sparse crew of techs available having worked well through the evening to get the 7th Squadron's machines up and running before they deployed.

The requested threat map was also pushed to the pilot's HUDS. Unsurprisingly, the information was neither complete nor 100% accurate- but that was the nature of a constantly shifting battlefield with combat operations currently happening in the area. The relay station itself had a full time guard contingent of a Coalition MAS squadron- though it seemed a few of their number had been pulled out to other tasks- as well as a platoon of infantry and light vehicles. 

As far as the area around the relay itself, the industrial district. Numbers were less precise. The Helldogs were actively engaging a coalition garrison in the Industrial district, and anywhere from 3-5 squadrons of Coalition MAS as well as considerable number of infantry were [i]in[/i] the industrial area itself. Enemy would likely be the most concentrated around the garrison- but it didn't mean they wouldn't have patrols in the area.
 
[color=pink]"No rest for the wicked, huh?"[/color] Sabine complained loudly as she sat on the open lip of her cockpit, currently sucking down a Rip-Gel, alongside a cocktail of 'combat approved' stimulants, [color=pink]"I can already feel the bags forming under my eyes. Ugh."[/color] 

It was clear Sabine was getting her bitching and moaning out of the way while they still were more or less forced to listen to her- their ears would be blessed with silence in the coming hours. The MAS were slowly pulled out of their hidey holes on the backs of truck trailers, and moved into a relative clear space. As the trucks rumbled to a stop, the pilots could climb into their machines and start the slightly awkward task of standing multi-ton war machines up from prone. 

[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/zH4ZTX6.jpeg[/img][h2]Operation: Blackout[/h2][/center]
[indent][code]Skogsrå, Gelcastre, Industrial District Outskirts_
101st Special Forces Legion. Local Time: 2300_ [/code][/indent][hr]

The trek from camp to the city was a long one. The City of Gelcastre was still an active warzone, and while actively maintaining stealth wasn't required for travel, keeping a low profile was important- lest the Coalies figure out something was about to happen. The 7th stuck to the ground, walking or boosting as allowed, the long shadows of the city's smoking towers and buildings shrouding them as night fell. Street lights were sporadic, many having been shut off- or destroyed in the fighting. Instead, most of the way ahead was lit by good old fire: burning cars, buildings, and MAS; the dull orange flames cast flickering and irregular shadows in the night. 

The area outside the industrial district felt particularly desolate, evidence of recent fighting all around them. The remains of a Sentry lay half embedded in a nearby apartment building, arm missing, cockpit blown open and a streak of blood indicating someone was pulled out of the cockpit and into the building itself. A burnt out Fenrir lay face down in the street, sparks and flame flickering out of its back, its rifle having smashed the front of a cornerstore as it fell. If there were living humans about, they wisely made themselves scarce long before the engines of the 7th rumbled through. It wasn't long before they were well and truly in the combat zone- they could tell as their comms began to get more and more spotty.

The multi-spectrum jamming filling the air made it feel like they'd been dunked headfirst into water, every familiar tether of awareness muted into a suffocating hush. Radars flickered and were awash with ghost contacts, and their communication channels began to have more static than anything else. In the relative silence of the blackout, the low hum of their reactors, the hiss of actuators and crunch of metal feet on pavement felt deafeningly loud. Through nightvision and thermal overlays, Gelcastre’s industrial fringe stretched in jagged silhouettes, factories and smokestacks standing like broken teeth against the burning horizon. In the distance, tracer fire stitched the sky where the Helldogs were assaulting the Coalition garrison.

As luck would have it- not all of the Coalie forces were focused on the fight at the garrison. Sabine brought her sparrowhawk to a halt as a pair of lights from a distant side street flickered across their vision. From the way the lights bobbed, it appeared to be a patrol of MAS.