Greyloch.

“Tyrone, keep our perimeter secure.” The Major instructed the Sergeant with a whirling gesture of his hand implying all round security. Tyrone acknowledged him and began to move around the area seeking higher ground. From it he could utilise the scanning rig and command sight-lines with the Preyhound's guns.
Ordlo closed with the pilot, tapping the side of his headgear and gesturing in a questioning manner. Desoto shrugged. She had a flaregun in her left hand which she bound to her utilities.

Ordlo removed his headgear, Desoto did the same.
“Major Ordlo. TASTRAS. Attached to 2nd Regiment.” He sounded off his call sign.
“Lieutenant Desoto. Fleet Pilot. Logistics Wing. Thank god for you! I've been hearing your squawk for several minutes, my receiver is working, but my transmitter is damaged.
I would have talked sooner otherwise.”
She had short bristly brown hair, features like Ordlo thought only ever seen in feature films. Desoto's caring brown eyes showed a mix of worry and relief.

Ordlo asked for her headgear, she handed it to him. A merging of a flight helmet, aviation visor and an emergency sealing apparatus for atmosphere loss.
At the rear of the helmet Ordlo pried away a panel to which housed the communication circuit-board. He pulled out his combat knife and began bypassing the damaged links and stitching the wiring back to the transmitter pins.
He put the helmet on and tested it using his radio and ears. It worked perfectly.

“Keep this on. You can rally with us. There's a global rendezvous south-west of us at around nineteen clicks. Here, this is yours.”
Ordlo presented the box drive Desoto had left hanging around Crewman Weer's neck.
The Major spent several minutes explaining what he and the Sergeant had done up until finding her. She had been amazed to learn of how the storm had been halted and communication restored with the Task Force.
Desoto thanked the Major for repairing her comms and returning the box drive.
She had some questions however:
“Major, did you find the black box on board my ship?”
Ordlo informed her that he hadn't searched the craft personally, he suggested she ask Tyrone, though he hadn't mentioned finding the unit.

“Are you aware this planet has a Holcroid presence Major?”
Ordlo spied a sidearm buckled to her thigh, her fatigues and flight suit looked worn and stretched. Not ideal attire for an environment like theirs he noted.
“We found a dead Slasher in a trench after it closed in over us, was that you Lieutenant?”
Desoto looked down, clearly upset and not at all ready to discuss her ordeal. Ordlo went on to explain how the ravine became a tunnel, to which Desoto responded with the same story telling of how it had happened to her, but not in the same trench...

After exploring the small cave she mentioned in her recording, Desoto had dug her way out through packed snow into the ravine or trench the Major and Sergeant Tyrone would later discover. When the Slasher loomed over her at the edge of the ravine, she put a bullet through its head. She wasn't sure if it was there to scout the crash site or if it had tracked her leaving the Hydra and tried to ambush her.

She said she took off running, she leaped through the storm and eventually tripped, falling forwards head first into a new ravine. She had plunged into snow several metres deep and in trying to climb free was locked inside it in much the same fashion as had Tyrone and Ordlo been. It took her the better part of thirty six hours to crawl free and dig her way out of the tunnel filled from wall to wall with snow.

“You can ask the Sergeant-Major about the black box Lieutenant. It's a good thing you're alive. And Congratulations.... As far as the three of us know, you've scored the first kill of this operation.” Ordlo grinned sardonically. Desoto chuffed half-heartedly, appreciating the Major making her feel better about the ordeal. She felt she could trust a man with a minute to appreciate her combat skill. Even if it was sheer terror that had kept her alive.

“One more thing Major, I've been picking up chatter from another unit call sign Ultra One One. They say their team leader is MIA, and they sounded like they were close by maybe within three clicks. I think they were trying to contact Control before they went silent.”
Desoto relayed the news to Ordlo who instantly knew who to tell about it.
“Tyrone! I'm relieving you in five mikes, Lieutenant says she's had comms from your unit, call sign Ultra... Take a break with the Lieutenant and see if you can't contact them and get their position.”

Tyrone came back full spirited and somewhat ecstatic:
“Solid Copy Sir!” He pulled the Sprint Suit around and strode back toward the pilot's makeshift camp, hissing hydraulics and wheezing gears sounded as the Sergeant moved his unit. Grateful to be relieved. He asked Ordlo if he would take the Preyhound for a while. Instead, Desoto answered:
“Why don't you boys get some rations while you try to get your unit on the horn, and I'll take the dog for a walk? You are the heroes of the day now. And no offence Major but you look like you haven't slept three fucking weeks. You need a nap.”

When Tyrone had returned, Desoto showed them both where she had stashed the ration packs and M.R.E's from the Hydra and gave the men spots to lie in. The snow would have to suffice for a bed.
Ordlo fed himself quickly, taking in calories lost in their trek from four days ago.
SX-02 is a planet with a day/night cycle lasting eight months. None of the three of them had experienced the planet at night but Ordlo was a aware of a fireteam tasked with recon on the 'night-side' of the planet. No word from them yet.

Tyrone tried every frequency on the band trying to get his team to respond.
He paced back and forward while sipping a tube of puréed cereal.
The lines were filled with static and the occasional signal refracting tone from the Cyclops satellites. Tyrone swore, throwing the empty tube over a mound.
He gave up. Walking over to the case he'd pulled from the Hydra, he sat his weapon on top of it and radioed the Lieutenant:
“Permission to speak Ma'am?” He asked.

Desoto, who was slightly taken aback by Tyrone's request, quickly discovered that she outranked him. Even if he was TASTRAS and she was Fleet, the chain of command holds up on operations.
“Granted, er... Tyrone is it? What's the gamble?” Desoto hefted the Preyhound like a veteran. She had trained in many hardware systems and had significant time operating Preyhounds for Fleet base security on the colonies of Aegis and Erycanan as an Ensign.
She stopped her forward march to better pay Tyrone attention.

“I have with me a black hard-case with an archaic padlock on it, it was under the chair in the Hydra's cockpit. Significant?”
Tyrone slumped in the snow. Gazing at the case and wondering what it contained.

Strange... I never saw him remove it when he got out of the Chaser...
Desoto thought. She kept it to herself that Sergeant-Major Tyrone had a suspicious enigmatic shadow about him. She responded in kind:
“That's the black box flight recorder Sergeant. Keep it safe for me. I'll wake the Major in a couple of hours. I've had all the sleep I want, you two get some shut eye, we'll move out to meet rendezvous in two hours.”

“Copy that Ma'am.” Tyrone yawned and turned to see the Major roll onto his side in the thick powdery silt. Already fast catching up on lost sleep. Tyrone grabbed a bundle of discarded ration packets and filled a plastic collection bag creating a makeshift pillow.
He flopped backward, slipping the pillow under his head and stared up at the solid blue and grey sky. The blue sun filled a greater portion of the horizon.
Tyrone fell asleep wondering whether the eight month long 'day' of SX-02 was in its infancy, or if nightfall were soon due.

Ordlo awoke to the heavy mechanical thud of the Preyhound closing in.
Desoto didn't need to radio the Major as he sat up and shook snow off himself.
A swift breeze had pulled up since the planet's atmosphere was restored to normal. Though Ordlo could not feel the wind directly, he remarked how pleasant it was in contrast to the infinite blizzard of a few hours ago.
“Are we to move out Major? I've been picking up shaky transmissions from Ultra.”
Ordlo quickly stood up and switched his communication suite to wide band, he was getting a broken series of voices, broken because radio's have an effective range of only a few kilometres.
“It's squad frequency. They're still close, can you lock their transmission point Lieutenant?” Ordlo asked, he stepped over to shake the Sergeant-Major.
Tyrone stretched and groaned, then rose to his feet. He poured through the inventory of supplies and any useful gear, he collected it up and loaded what he could on his person.
The rest he strapped to the Preyhound. Desoto answered the Major with a location of Tyrone's section.

“Ma'am, we're going to need to rally our people and make for the universal rendezvous fast. I'll recommend the Major and I form up on you, you can scout on point.” Tyrone looked at the Major for approval.
“Copy that Sergeant. Good plan.” Ordlo had a wavering grunt and sniff from Shock Cold. Tyrone suggested a medi-con stim dose from his suit. Ordlo had two doses and the three of them began the hard trek over open ground to Ultra One One's position.
Tyrone loaded the last item on the Preyhound, Desoto opened the front to accept the hard case containing the flight recorder.

For over an hour, the trio navigated over the planet headed in its north-west.
At around eight hundred metres and over a mound overlooking Ultra's location the Lieutenant informed the two men behind her that they should get a strong radio signal at her location, she said she could see the men gathered in a gully.
Tyrone took over the calling:

“Ultra-One-One, this is Ultra-One-One Actual, hold fire and rally on incoming friendlies.”
The Sergeant rattled off their co-ordinates. The small group beyond shifted their position to watch the three of them close with them.
“Well holy shit Sarge. We'd just about given you up for lost! How'd you find the weather down here? Hella strange ain't it? Just like that - the storm was gone, weird atmospherics overhead too. Was like watching electricity burn through the clouds. Even stopped the wind!”
The responding voice belonged to Operator Harrison Delaware. His praise, was joined by general chatter and happy chortles from the other four members present. Two others stood sentry.
“Delaware. You liar. I know you loved having your five-way with the rest of the section while I was gone. Couldn't pass up my absence for exploiting the men around you, could you?”
Tyrone joked, the squad laughed and some mixed replies filtered through. Tyrone let them have a second to enjoy the fun before assuming command. He had superior officers in tow who needed to organise them all and plan a way to the rendezvous site.

“Alright Ultra, form up. We have some guests.”
Tyrone had his team collect themselves in a ragged line as best they could. He handed the brief over to Major Ordlo who promptly introduced himself and instructed Desoto to exit the Preyhound and join them.
“Damn... Wish we had dropped with her... Look at that figure...” Said someone.
Another one came back: “No shit, I'd drop in her bunk anytime...”
“CAN IT YOU TWO! SUPERIOR OFFICER IN ADDRESS! ATTENTION!” Roared Tyrone.

Both Ordlo and Desoto had taken off their headgear to let the section identify them. Lieutenant Desoto was paid particular attention to by the squad more than the Major.
Ordlo debriefed them on their journey's discoveries, and activities in the past few days, and quickly had Delaware fill them in on what they had done.
“Not much Sir, we kept together as much as we could, the storm was too intense out here. The other two sections of Ultra are out there somewhere. But we haven't had any contact after the Sarge led them off to scout some terrain for comms. Said he would be back. Never heard or saw him or them since.”
Ordlo absorbed the information then asked:
“Any contact with the enemy?”

Delaware took a moment to answer shifting awkwardly and turning his rifle in his hands.
“No sir. No contact. Objective 'Low sentiment' unconfirmed. But some strange shit has been going on. And I -”
Ordlo interrupted:
“Wrong Operator. 'Low sentiment' confirmed as of July 10th. Lieutenant Desoto here scored the first kill. We encountered the remains on our trek.”
The squad, showed more nervousness than before, some at learning the presence of the Holcroid threat, and other's shocked to hear Desoto single-handedly wasted one on her own.
Desoto herself struggled internally, sharing the unease of the squad.
Ordlo assembled the group in a circle around them to plot their route to the rendezvous.
When all was said and done, Tyrone instructed his men to gear up, weapons at ready.
Desoto secured aboard the Preyhound once more and the small group began the long tab towards the gathering site.