Joined: 24 Aug 2006
Location: Rangstadt, Allied Europe, Earth, NEC
|Posted: Thu Mar 20, 2008 5:09 am Post subject: The Sigma Depression - 13 Lares 275 LC
|Cawfee. Dark, rich, a flavour unlike anything the Terrans knew. You could fake it with coffee, a little cocao, a dash of nutmeg, and a pinch of cinnamon, but even then it just wasn't the same. Glazed in a syrup over vanilla ice cream, with cherries twice-marinated in Bethany sugar cane and red wine from Ashanti. Or warm, blended with whipping cream and sprinkled generously with chocolate shavings. Or just black, piping hot with a little sugar. Warm and rich and conforting, like the quiet chirrups of the Mekong jungles in the dead of night. Great buddha, Gotah missed cawfee.
The pale Caprician coffee just wasn't cutting it. Commandant Paul Gotah looked up from the mug with a look of vague disappointment on his face. Ah, the things he sacrificed for his country and his planet. Cawfee, cigarettes, and apparently, peace and quiet. Captain Morgain of the 12th was in his viewscreen, and didn't look at all happy. The burly Protectorate man was red in the face and had spent the past minute venting profanities in a musical mixture of Anglic and Hispanic. He idly wondered whether the man knew that his violent temper intimidated his team members and isolated him from them. It made them efficient, but made them weak when it came to teamwork. The observation mission was given to them for that very purpose.
"A season's worth of work, gone! GONE! Sante Proph, Gotah! Has Tynes gone mad?"
Ah. He was pausing, so Gotah supposed he'd want an answer. He bit back the responce of "no, that's Blia" and instead supplied something to stem the font of bitterness.
"No, Morgain. You've lodged your complaint, and I'll be looking at the Lots incident fully as soon as I can get ahold of 05. How many of your assets have survived?"
"About ten percent," he grumbled, still angry but back into a productive frame of mind. "and we're still assessing. All of the data we've pulled is going to be made useless, though. We're starting over from scratch. Did he even *think* about what the -"
"Easy, Captain," Gotah urged, adding firmly, "*I* will deal with this. You get me a surveillance net on the Lots. Two weeks. That enough time?"
"Yes, I think so, Colonel. We may need more supplies to do it."
"Let me know what you need tomorrow, and I'll get what you need from our hosts. They and Talon 13 just captured most of an outpost relief supply train, and there should be a good supply of electronics in there."
"Thank you, sir."
Good. He was back to his brisk, sharp-toothed efficiency. That's what Gotah needed from him. He made sure to reinforce the state of mind tomorrow when they spoke again, and to also speak to his lieutenant, in order to get a second opinion on the Talons' precarious position.
"Good, Captain. Best of luck. Talk to you tomorrow."
The line closed and Gotah sat back into his creaking folding chair heavily. When had he turned into a babysitter?