March 29th, 2288 Macmillan 1200L
The vertibird was heading directly northeast from the downtown district, mindful to dodge the larger packs of mutants still retreating south. Macmillan still getting over his eyebrows being singed as the aircraft had taken off, was hanging onto the bird's troop rail, watching below as the other Verti came up alongside. The wastelander, Nora was her name, was across from doing the same, scanning the ground below before looking up at the opposing bird. He gave a nod across the space between them, noticing some of his team inhabited the troop bay of the other aircraft as both headed straight for the Boston airport. She returned the greeting, eyes widening as she began to scream something. Luckily his Peltors picked up the crew chief seconds before impact.
"Oh fuck, fuck incoming missile! Right side, right side!"
Macmillan had just a moment to grab something inside the aircraft when he spotted the glow at the last second. A MANPAD, a distinct MANPAD used and constructed by one country in the world. Something he had used plenty of times in downing Chinese aircraft all across Southeast Asia. A Stinger, and as if time itself suddenly stopped, he noted the place it had come from by its long wispy tail. Impact.
The missile worked by following the heat signature of an aircraft engine, placing itself directly next to that engine, and detonating in a shower of metal fragments meant to cripple said aircraft. Even if the pilot had deployed flares in time it would not have made a difference as the distance between the launch site and the aircraft was less than two hundred meters. Both craft had been parallel as they flew through the skyscrapers of downtown, and it was upon passing one of these skyscrapers which he noted had a great view of their former position, that the missile gunner had decided to let one off. The missile struck the right engine, ripping it from its housing and sending the aircraft nose down toward the ground. They were maybe one hundred up, maybe he noted as time moved slower than normal.
The crew chief was held in by his monkey tail, the passengers like himself having done the same upon getting inside as per usual protocol. This saved their lives he would later note as the aircraft slammed into a highway overpass passing through the city, careening off The occupants were thrown about in a thousand ways possible as the fuselage sheered sparks across concrete and asphalt. Bouncing off the overpass the aircraft was sent further into the ground, beginning to come apart as it rolled across one of the lower streets before finally coming to rest alongside an old bus. Macmillan and half his team were left in a blood-covered mess in the troop compartment, he could already tell some limbs were broken and possibly dead by how the bodies had come to lay.
The crew chief was dead, that was a fact he noted as a piece of metal jutting out of the former aviator's helmet, that metal being the barrel of the M2 he had been manning moments ago. Two of his team were also dead, one having his head missing while the other's chest had been ripped open by something passing inside the compartment. That left himself, three others, and maybe the pilots. He noted all this as he groaned and pleaded for his body to work, pawing for his weapon as he pulled himself up from the pile. The aircraft had come to a stop slightly canted, the open bay door to the sky he could already hear movement outside and possibly voices. No matter, he would kill them too if they fucked with any more of his team, he'd kill the whole damn this city for this and it wouldn't have been the first time.
"Who's up?"
He whispered amongst the still-dying engines of the aircraft.
"Taylor up."
One coughed.
"Jackson up."
His echo responded before spitting blood.
"Menendez up but fucked up."
His leg was broken, crushed under the mount for the M2.
Checking his mag, he made sure a fat twenty-rounder looked back at him before he maneuvered his way past the broken pathway to the cockpit and into the pilot's nest. The pilots were half dead he noted as one of them rolled his head back to see the newcomer to their den. His black uniform was ripped in places, his flight vest having been torn in the crash. He gave one last sigh before Macmillan noted his expiration. The other was fumbling with her leg, grabbing at the limb currently jammed into the crushed control board keeping her down. With a humph, he decided it would be best the help the people who had just moments ago pulled his team out of a hot zone.
"Let me help Pilot."
Noticing the newcomer, the aviator helmet gave a nod as he put his rifle down and pulled on the wrecked control station. With a great huff, he pulled the metal component up, releasing her stuck leg and setting it back down. The radio to his right began to speak with a very worried voice on the other end.
"Ember one, ember one this is ember two! Ember one Ember two respond over!"
The pilot was in no state to respond, as she was currently still trying to remove her flight helmet so Macmillan grabbed the hand mic.
"Ember one is down with multiple casualties. Haven't checked the surroundings yet will send updates when available over."
With that, he left the pilot to remove herself from the crushed pilot's nest, moved back through the tunnel to the troop compartment, and found his men. Two were up, readying weapons already while the third tied up a splint to his leg. He was bleeding from a cut below his helmet he noted as he moved for the opening. Pressing his muzzle over the lip first, he slowly brought himself up and the weapon down, mindful to hold his fire and not create possible hostilities in this shithole.
Were those, mobsters? With what looked like testicles for skin? Every moment he was in this godforsaken city was another moment of pure amazement as he noted they carried fucking Tommy guns of all things too. A couple of M4s or M16s here and there. Centered in the middle of this growing crowd of testicle men and various gangster-looking types was a unique specimen. A testicle man in a red revolutionary wear coat with a brown Tricorn hat. Mr. Tricorn had a bullhorn, handed to him by a red-headed female carrying a SAW as more of the same mobster-type goons converged on the downed aircraft. It looked as if they'd crash-landed inside some kind of market setup on a cleared city street, with stalls of goods and burning food surrounding them. At the end of the street was a massive wooden wall with a clearly vertibird-shaped hole in it.
"Attention Brotherhood aircraft! This is a no-parking zone! Due to your carelessness and inability to respect the one and only law of good neighbor, it falls upon me as governor of this great city to inform you that you have broken the law! So come out with those hands high and weapons down or well, we'll shoot yah."
"Fucking shit."
Macmillan sighed as he looked at maybe a hundred or so guns pointed and surrounding the downed wreck. Hell, he even spotted one or two of the mutants in honest-to-god suits carrying M60s, what in the goddam fuck had befallen this great nation.
"You have one minute to comply, or I am throwing a Nuka grenade in there and watching you burn!"
The brotherhood pilot had managed to make her way from the cabin to the crew compartment, hand held to her side he noted a .45 pistol held tightly in the other.
"I will not surrender to these fucking mongrels. They're basically fuckings raiders in suits, ill eat a bullet before I bore that shame in the name of the Brotherhood."
She said beneath her flight helmet. Well, shit. Peeking back over the lip he saw the Hat man now jokingly juggling a Nuka grenade, something meant for taking out tanks at one point in its life. How he got it, fuck knows.
"Well, if we're going to shoot out way out of here im going to need grenades and a fuck lot of them."
His team Grenadier, Jaqs was dead. Not wanting to look at the man now missing head he unclipped the grenade bandolier held around the former Special Forces soldier's waist before draping the belt over the edge of the bay. Six M67 frags, two Willy petes, and seven concussion grenades. It'd cause one hell of a situation and give them a chance to escape this wreck with their lives. They would have to come back for his men's bodies later, the living more important than the dead at the moment.
"Pilot, what's your name?"
The pilot took off her helmet, blood dripping from a gash across her forehead as she responded.
"Williams sir. Lancer Williams."
"Know how to use an M4 or something like an M4?"
"Course sir."
Picking up Jaq's Mk18, he thrust the weapon into her hands.
"That man served with me for five years before the war, killed plenty of communists, and now mutants, Don't let him down."
She nodded warily as she took mags from Jaq's vest.
"Alright, everyone ready."
Getting four nods he pulled the pins on two of the concussion grenades, careful to keep the spoons.
"On three im throwing these over, followed by a wave of frags. Once that's done, we rush for the hole created by the bird and get the fuck out of there. Rog?"
Four nods.
"Alright, one, two-"
A sound like the ripping of fabric mixed with the slight taste of electricity in the air, alongside something he could only describe as "other." Then the screaming began. Over the crackle of flames, he heard the Tri corn scream out into the bullhorn.
"Institue!"
Then shooting, a lot of shooting, from both laser and ballistic-based weapons. Blue bolts of energy began to fly over the opening, followed by what sounded like hundreds of rounds being exchanged in a matter of seconds, seeing no reason not to Macmillan tossed the concussion grenades. As he chucked both over, he heard something he would never forget, some inhuman, something mechanical and not like a bot for the first time.
"Incoming rear, priority target rear."
Boom, boom went the grenades followed by the double-packed frags he chucked outside. Each going off seconds after another, he swore he saw what looked like a metal arm fly past.
"Alright diamond formation, let's go!"
He said gripping the panel and pushing himself out and around. His feet hit the asphalt and his weapon flew up in a second as his mind attempted to comprehend just what he saw as the rest of his team fell behind him.
White metal men, a dirty white but still white beneath all the grime with yellow glowing eyes. Here and there amongst the white troopers were long trench-coated types that looked human, he guessed to be officers who were ordering the hundred or so bots forward into the mess of mobsters on the other side. Backing this up were two power armored troopers, encased in a bull-shaped suit of armor these heavier types carried miniguns with belt-fed weapons linked to backpacks, ripping away at the now retreating mobsters. And now standing behind this company-sized formation was his five-man team wide-eyed and hair-triggered, having just thrown four grenades at said formation. He could only give one order.
"Run!"
He looked for the closest possible escape into what was possibly a motel of some kind, The door having been blown open by the crash he spotted two civilians eyeing the battle outside as he rushed for the door.
"Holy shit!"
He heard one of his guys sound off behind him as a thousand blue bolts of energy chased the haphazard fireteam inside. The doors behind them simply ceased to exist as massive chunks were disintegrated under the blast, the civilians having rushed away by this point deeper into the building. His eyes scanned everywhere, looking for an exit sign that hopefully still existed in this shithole.
"Target priority inside the hotel, secure and disable."
He heard from outside the front doors. Turning around he tossed another frag quickly outside before finally finding the emergency exit sign pointing to the back of the building.
"Stay close!"
In a full sprint, they made it through the atrium, through the janitor's closet located on the right side of the building, and to an emergency fire door blocked by some plywood. Macmillan not stopping, rammed his body into the door plus plywood and mashed back into the open air of the city, now on a side street outside of the major fighting. Dozens of civilians met his eyes, most likely the ones from the market, as he crashed through the now-broken emergency exit. He could only imagine what they saw upon seeing him. The bloody, grime-covered camouflaged figure carrying a weapon most of them had never seen, would have been odd, to say the least. And having the black-clad Brotherhood pilot seemingly didn't help he noted as two mobsters among the crowd began to raise weapons to his team.
"Fuck you!"
Two shots and two bodies hit the pavement, creating pure havoc. Everyone who could run as fast as they could and began to clear the street, his team breaking past them as they headed in what he guessed to be North. Faintly, oh so faintly he could hear his radio keying and a voice beginning to play in his comms set.
"Alabama six, Alabama six this is QRF Rattler respond over!"
15 Minutes previous. Abernathy Farm.
"You dam brute, mush I said mush!"
Blake Abernathy pulled harder on the reins as he mushed the one good brahmin he had forward through the muddy fields he called his farm. Twice now the damned thing has decided chucking through the mud was a far superior way of life than mushing the wavy plow through the field once more to make way for the spring crop. The mindless animal was doing it again, plunging one of its noses into the mud to root for some bug or another as Blake could only huff in anger.
From the city, he could hear the distant, very distant reports of automatic weapons fire, coupled with booms here and there of what must have been explosions. Brotherhood Vertibirds had been this way once or twice during the fighting, resupply birds most likely for some of the outposts this far out in the Commonwealth. Brotherhood or not though, it was rather annoying with how much time they were spending out here now, requesting taxes from him and his kin for some of their protection. It wasn't all bad though he thought as he leaned into the plow. They had sent that Knight out here to kill the damned raiders up north.
"Oh, Mary."
He thought aloud as he brushed the pocket watch he had gotten back thanks to the Knights' action. They had done him some good he would have never been able to do himself, so he guessed the tax wasn't too bad.
"But you are starting to piss me off."
He said to the Brahmin still rutting in the mud.
Just then he noted a dull roar approaching from the west. A dull roar approached very quickly and very low he noted as looked off the west squinting. Damn Brotherhood at it again, but usually he could see them by now with how high they flew to ward off any ground fire. This one though sounded like it was right on top of him now, within touching distance as his brain tried to recollect what it was seeing. Damn near treetop level, about a dozen of those flying machines with models he hadn't seen in all the time the Brotherhood had been here. They were over his farm and blasting east in seconds, his eyes catching just snippets as they thundered past the back fields. One thing stood out to his mind though as he saw the rearmost double rotor aircraft blasting away at treetop level. A figure standing on the ramp holding onto the edge of the aircraft had spotted him. Yellow glowing eyes stared into his soul as it slowly became smaller and smaller. A power armored soldier had seen him, and in doing so he saw what had been inscribed on the side of the last aircraft to pass.
UNITED STATES ARMY.
Nora.
"Ember one! Ember one! Respond over!"
Her vertibird had banked hard following the direct hit on Ember one. Heading directly north it circled back around block upon block of high rises looking for Ember One's crash site. Passing over dozens of super mutants heading south, she noted the lack of motorized transport as several looked to the passing bird overhead. Many raised weapons by the time the now erratic aircraft had passed.
"There, right there! Is that good neighbor?!"
Nora looked over the side of the bird, hanging onto the railing as they passed over the wooden walls of the criminal home and toward the glowing stack of black smoke rising from right in the center of it.
"Holy shit Ember hit the bank!"
Circling the place, Nora began to Note the rising tide of suit-clad mobsters quickly storming the crash site with a certain red-clothed ghoul making his appearance.
"Ah fuck, Hancocks got them surrounded!"
Danse was at her side now, his voice filtered through the whirring heli blades as he screamed into a radio built into his helmet.
"Ember one is down inside Goodneigbor, possible AA threat still in the area. Be advised local force moving on the crash site requesting assistance!"
Behind her she saw one of Macmillan's team speaking into the mics attached to his helmet, eyes never leaving the crash site visible to all. Eyes of pure hate streamed out from each of the Green Berets held up in the troop bay, no doubt wishing to be on the ground right now.
She had just looked back to the now surrounded site when in a blue flash of light, those responsible for its downing appeared.
"Synths!"
The crew chief to her right screamed into his mic as he rocked the charging handle of his air-mounted fifty and prepared to lace the crash site.
"Hold Lancer! We have friends down there!"
At least a platoon, maybe half a company in strength had just appeared out of thin air amongst the crowd of mobsters. Power armored units, regular infantry, hell even a couple of corsairs could be seen as they surrounded the crash site in its entirety. Blue light lanced in every direction, striking and killing as the initial haze of their entry dazed off. Mobsters went for cover everywhere, Hancock amongst them she noted as automatic weapons returned fire on the neighborhood's newest intruders.
"Pilot, put us down nearby we have to get to the crash!"
The pilot, frantic at seeing what transpired below began looking for a possible LZ as Nora spotted small objects leap from the stricken craft. Massive explosions went off within a ten-meter radius, Synth and mobster alike flying in pieces as more and more went off. Someone in the crash site was chucking grenades, effectively clearing a path away from the site and there!
She spotted the first figure to leave the side door of the bird carrying a certain weapon she had seen only minutes ago. Macmillan, three of his Green Berets, and a single black-suited Brotherhood aircrewman exited the wreck through the open side bay and sprinted for the nearby hotel. Synths were in hot pursuit, quickly blown to pieces by grenades chucked from within.
"Alright, I've got an LZ, putting us down!"
TF Rattler, 1st Platoon Bravo Company 3rd Battalion 76th Ranger Regiment.
"30 seconds!"
The rotors of the super chinook began to rise in pitch as the aircraft slowly but surely began to slow among the downtown Boston area. Inside an entire platoon of Rangers stood up from their webbing seats and formed a single line facing the rear of the aircraft, the aircrew inside mindful to keep to their guns.
The crew chief on the ramp had already begun firing the M60 machine gun situated there, outside a AH-56 Cheyanne passed the slowing Super chinook by.
"10 seconds!"
At a hover, the aircraft stopped as each gun attached to it now opened up, miniguns like the ripping of fabric now joining the crescendo as it rose louder and louder.
"Go! Go! Go!"
Rappel lines attached to the roof of the craft leaped from their moorings, the first Ranger to grab the rope sliding down followed by another and another. Forty men, two ropes, all were down in less than thirty seconds as the first squad down had already begun firing. They were already amongst the enemy, TF command having decided to go balls to the wall and rely on the firepower of the A-150s, Attack helicopters, and the orbiting gunships to guide their way in. And oh how it worked. Entire housing developments ceased to exist as 105 MM HE rounds impacted buildings, or 20 MM miniguns ripped through apartment blocks, the inhabitants turning to mist before their eyes. Massive swaths of the Downtown Boston area were ablaze now as helicopters of all types buzzed everywhere anyone looked.
The Super Chinook began pulling away after releasing the rappel ropes, miniguns firing continuously as it climbed away.
"Alright, file to the north, ROE is weapons-free on anything hostile! Let's get our boys out of here!"
With that the platoon began crossing the city streets of their former home, mindful to keep formation and scan sectors as the people of this new city greeted its newest members. TF command had put the LZ half a mile from the crash site, an orbiting drone guiding the three pincers of the rescue force. It was here that the live drone feed was used to bring in much-needed airpower on possible hostile strong points noted along each platoon's path leading to the sorta city within a city.
Two minutes into the jog, the walls of the City known as Goodneigbor began to appear. Already ablaze the platoon could see streaks of blue laser energy fire out over the ramparts while dead bodies hung in defensive positions scattered about the entrance.
"Split into squads, assault the City, and rescue our guys. Don't get cut off, close air can only get so close."
As if to prove his Point, a Cheyanne popped overhead and released two 2.75-inch rockets into the courtyard on the other side, chain gun spitting rounds as he brushed past.
Danse.
"Contact right, suppressing fire!"
A power-armored synth had just burst out of the front door of a former apartment. Its white armored bulk carrying an upgraded M240 machine gun, reared the barrel in their team's direction and was prepping to fire. Danse's own weapon, an M-16 he'd taken off the Vertirbird had a Beta C one-hundred-round drum and began to spit fire alongside the other weapons of the team, into the oncoming monster. Plates of armor sheared, flying in every direction as the weapon held by the synthetic creature broke apart. Finally and with a penetrating shot, the power core located on the back of the suit was pierced, detonating the creature and sending its parts flying.
Everywhere any of them looked there were dead bodies, civilians, raiders, mobsters, and the occasional Synth it didn't matter at all. The institute's troops were mowing down anything they found in the streets and as Danse passed a tent scattered throughout the ground, he noted a much smaller figure hidden by the burning fabric.
"Monsters!"
His blood was up, his aggression was up, and he wanted to murder every single one of these machines and he would do so. Reloading another drum, he spotted three moving twenty meters away at a half jog, weapons up as they followed a pair of ghouls attempting to escape. In another setting, he would have shot them all, but the machine men held priority right now. In seconds he was amongst them, weapons flying in a vicious buttstroke he crashed the first into a wall, before grabbing another head in his metal hand and crushing it like a melon.
"Hostiles!"
The last screamed as it turned to face the threat, snapping its weapons to Danse's face as his fist collided with its head.
"Danse, stay with the team!"
He heard through his internal mic as Nora pushed the team onward and towards Goodneigbhors one hotel located within the plaza. Outside of the building were the wrecks of Synths scattered about, all destroyed by what looked like military-issue frag grenades. Synths could be heard inside, firing constantly into what could only have been Macmillan's team and or the guards of Goodneigbor. Danse didn't care though, his one goal still being the absolute destruction of these inhuman, genocidal, monsters. Nora was already stacked on the front door, now blown wide open. Preston, Piper, and Codsworth on the other side prepped to breach and she motioned the power armored soldier forward first. Hopping into a sprint he was through the doors in seconds, and once more amongst the enemy. Too bad the Green berets had broken off, saying they somehow had a better route. But Nora had waved goodbye.
To his right, a hallway leading to the rear of the building was full of dead Synths, two being of the powered armored variety he noted in a quick second as the telltales marks of high caliber rifle rounds gave away their death notes. To his left, in the lobby were a dozen or so Synths prepping explosives to blow holes into the building, creating entry to the other side and allowing them to flank. Selector switch from safe to full auto, Danse sprayed the Synth engineers down, a slight distortion catching his eye as he noted a slight blink in the air.
"Coursers!"
He shouted into the mic as the rest of the team breached the door and took cover behind the initial desk of the lobby. Present was already firing on the incoming splotches of air, earning some spurts of blood from those whose armor was already defeated. One went down quickly, followed by another, their forms materializing out of thin air as their systems died around them. Nora was in the middle of reloading her M14 when one suddenly appeared before her, a massive energy blade drawn and coming down for a strike. Using her weapon to block the strike, it barely averted her own death as it sheared her weapon in two but blocked the blow. Danse was already turning his barrel toward this close threat when one popped before his helmet.
Dark skin, close-cropped hair, sunglasses of all things while inside, and a thick plate carrier beneath its ballistic coat. Like a gunslinger of old, it stood with its hand fully outstretched pointing in his direction, in it a massive weapon of unknown make in the white livery of the institute. Danse felt like he could count the milliseconds he and it stared at each other, His form reflected in the aviators of the machine man.
In a blast of electricity and shearing pain, Danse blacked out.
Nora.
"Son of a bitch!"
She said as the weapon Nate had once held and bought for the family home, split in two underneath the energy blade assault. Saving her life one last time, she nearly shed a tear had it not been for the life-and-death situation she now found herself in. The courser had popped out of thin air, manifesting just as she reloaded and now with his weapon blunted for this one second she had only one move to make. Her survival knife, gifted to her by her late husband was out of the sheath and in seconds thrust into the right side of the coursers skull. She swore she saw the light go out of its eyes as its computer brain died before her. Pulling it back out of the corner of her eye she saw her friend and teammate suddenly collapse.
Danses' power armor fell like a block, slamming into the ground in a flash of metal on wood and leaving an imprint within the wood floors. Before him was a courser, dark skin, and glasses, holding some sort of odd energy weapon She saw him peer toward her as he had just brought down the armored man. He looked familiar but it didn't matter to her at the moment. Enraged her pistol was released from its holster, climbing its sights toward the target as he spoke words she did not hear. Just as the front sight post was on his chest, a blue burst of energy flashed inside the hotel lobby, making her close her eyes to the brightness and in the next second it was quiet.
Rearing back from the light, she opened her burned orbs to a lobby pockmarked, covered in the dead and dying and the remnants of a massively failed assault. There must have been a hundred dead synths in here, a dozen or so courses, and two more of the new power armored types hunched over. Amongst it all were dead civilians, and the guards of Goodneighbor, blasted to all hell by the Synths her first thought was on Danse as she rushed to his side.
"Danse! Danse! Wakeup Danse!"
He'd fallen flat on his face, the helmet lodged into the ground. His suit was completely dead as well, no systems responding as even the energy core read dry. Just what the hell had he been shot with? Too focused on Danse, she hadn't seen the Mk18 barrel slowly pie the corner to the custodial hallway off to her right, or the Green Beret behind it to see just who was outside in the lobby.
"Boss, we've got friendlies out here! One casualty! She heard him yell from across the lobby!"
Behind her, she swore she heard what sounded like helicopters, and a whole lot of them before suddenly five men burst in wearing the OCP camouflage of the Army.
"US Army put your fucking hands up!"
Berkshire. TOC 3. Braxston
"What the fuck."
That was the general consensus of US Northern Command as they watched just what horrors now filled their former home. Massive swarms of green monsters retreating south were now killed in their thousands as they choked up all major roads heading south. Roving air to ground attack craft and the gunships obliterated all they could find as hundreds of thousands of rounds of ordinance were released onto the city below. A military formation calling itself "The Brotherhood Of Steel" was busily clearing out massed encampments of these mutants to the north as bastions of "raiders" were overrun by the oncoming green tide. And that wasn't even the worst of it noted Braxston as he looked over the live drone feed of Super Chinooks landed in the city, men hurriedly pulling bodies out of a downed Brotherhood Veritbird. The first casualties in this new war, against an enemy none had seen coming.
White armor, metallic bodies, not even human and yet somehow they had appeared out of thin air like the aliens he used to see in films and began firing. Macmillan had noted that they had some sort of officer class, heavy class, and reguler solider class in the radio report hed already sent back. So far thank god the only casualties had been the Green Berets killed in the crash, plus some of the Brotherhoods personel. Speaking of which, the Broterhood Vertirbid in the AO had waved off after dropping off a squad of their men. Their men being a wastelander apparently from before the war from one of those Vaults.
The technology she described sounded eerily similar to that of his failsafe, perhaps Vault Tec was somehow in with the Enclave or….. Fuck it.
His job now was to make sure his men got out and regroup out of the situation. Men were dead in the field, fighter bombers were booming over Boston, and half the city burned under his orders. The play had been done and failed, now came the hammer to the scalpel, the sledge to the anvil. He would ready the army under his command, and begin the reclamation here and now.
"Sir casualties aboard Rattler flight, Macmillans brought the wastelander, her team, and one WIA onboard inbound for Berkshire."
A Colonel said off to his left as a holo map showed the flight heading back for the mountain base.
"Prep S2, I want a full debrief of all of them. The WIA is some sort of officer correct?"
"Yes sir, a Paladin, what we would call a Captain by my guess."
"Good, I want him back up to speed and a full interrogation."
He began to leave the room but stopped, peeking over his shoulder.
"And get me recon overflights of the old CIT building and that airship."
"Yes sir."