Greyloch.

“Chief? You look chalked… Are you alright?” Grey appealed to the paling officer, and wondered what could be making him look so ill.
“Beg pardon sir, I just have the beginnings of a headache. Too much time spent out of the light.” O’Rourke carefully admitted. But he knew as well, that he hadn’t slept for fifteen hours.
“Fall out Chief. Report to the infirmary for a dose of meds and take leave for eight hours. Lieutenant Dervishor can manage deck duty. Dismissed.” Grey glared at him now, expecting his orders to be challenged. But instead Chief O’Rourke humbly thanked his commander and dutifully saluted before departing the room. On the way out, O’Rourke passed a collection of camouflaged fatigues encased in partial power suit configurations. The TASTRAS command echelon - Headed for Grey’s briefing. The group exchanged salutes with O’Rourke and entered the small darkened chamber.

They were greeted by a loosely calm, however, stern-looking Captain, who stared at a floating image of SX-02. As though Grey expected it to yield some kind of definitive secret, perhaps dispersing the current air of anxiety.

“Commander Lakeman, and detail reporting for updates and briefing Captain.” The broad shouldered and grizzled Lakeman oriented himself in between his officers and gestured for ease standing position.
“Thanks for acknowledging the summons gentlemen. I’m sorry to report that all the news I have received since twelve-forty hours , is all bad.” He glanced at each of the three men present. Lakeman shifted to ‘at-ease’ and tuned in for Grey’s speech and situation appraisal. Grey wished infinitely, that Strategic Command, had green-lit his proposal for maintaining the current ground operation as originally drafted. He imagined the TASTRAS command section might not take kindly to renewed orders…
“I will let the computer fill in the blanks up to the point I was notified, I shall then answer your questions and we can co-operate based on STRAT-COM orders to address the problems we have developed.”

Unanimous nods of approval and flickers of expressions showing nervousness ensued, but the stalwart TASTRAS stood firm awaiting the situation overview and last report updates. The mainframe talked down the detail of missing TASTRAS operators, and a potentially downed or grounded Hydra somewhere in the south of the equatorial line. Once the Commander and his men understood the nature of the situation, Grey stepped back in to lay his briefing.
“I have reported and consulted strategic options with STRAT-COM. Should you wish to contact HQ you can do so once I conclude here. At present, Joint Fleet Ops has outlined a plan for drone recon and search patrols from orbit and in-atmo. No further ground deployments have been authorised.”
The two officers flanking Lakeman looked at each other with frowns and astonishment. Lakeman sighed heavily and thought about what to say to STRAT-COM to get them to reconsider their orders. Hell, why bother? They won’t even listen much less change their minds. He thought.

Grey disliked the probable outcome of discussions if the TASTRAS operators pushed for a rescue op. But presumed Lakeman had a level enough head to let STRAT-COM go ahead with forward patrols. The plan was to let drones and recon craft determine if a rescue mission would even be feasible should they detect the life signs of potential survivors. The other half of the maneuver again would be to confirm or deny objective: ‘Low sentiment.”

“Commander.” A voice said, leaden and weighty in volume. It came from a speaker mounted in the paralight projector, but no image could be generated due to the sheer distance between the Aeneas and STRAT-COM HQ on Earth’s Moon.

Lakeman straightened, and cleared his throat to address the voice.
“Sir! Commander Lakeman receiving. I wish to report on the situation at hand, and extend my suggestions or recommendations to supplement the plan put forward by Fleet.”
All strategic operations in this environment may or may not have had a different outcome based on total acquisition of data.

"Lakeman, Major Ford. We understand that your teams are cutoff on the planet."
Lakeman wanted to respond but decided not to be hasty. The Major continued:
"Understand Commander, that the plan discussed with Fleet is final, and we will not be issuing orders to deploy more fireteams without further intel being gathered - However..."
Lakeman stiffened suddenly, Strategic Command usually meant what they said if something was final, but here the potential to somehow have input was appetising.
"We have interest in this op for our own reasons... One, Major - Meclas Ordlo, is among the list of names who are MIA..."
The two officers either side of Lakeman looked more quizzical at the notion, each trying to figure out if the other had any idea. Lakeman finally spoke:

"Sir, does this make the Major you have named a STRAT-COM High Prio-Individual?"
The delay in the transmission was somewhat long before the officer resumed his brief and answered Lakeman's question with a steely tone and an intense degree of importance.
"Yes Commander, Major Ordlo is conducting a survey of inter-human/Holcroid relationships, the data he may carry would aid in combatting the threat of such an enemy we have battled on the edge of space for more than a decade." "Therefore, it is imperative that either he or his body be retrieved and his Armour's data cache secured in the event of an engagement between friendly forces and the enemy..."

"Assuming he survives any such engagement, will he be debriefed?" Lakeman asked boldly. Probably wanting to know more on the pseudo-clandestine op his superiors were running.
"The details of any debriefing will be made known on a need-to-know basis Commander. For now, have two platoons ready to make contact, stand them by. I will send a long-range communique containing a briefing file to bring the teams up to speed on their objective should we green-light the deployment. Understood?"
"Understood Major." Lakeman had no further questions, and no arguments. He stepped back and allowed Captain Grey to call on the Command Echelon.

"Major Ford sir? Your encryption keys will need filtering to allow access for the teams briefing. The Mainframe is currently running diagnostics on communication systems and technicians are assisting in the recovery of planetside chatter." Grey's only request of the TASTRAS commanding officer left his lips on a whim of hope.
"Wilco Captain, I will see to it that my data stream is easily coded and decoded. Standby for Vice-Admiral Chamberlain."
A loud burst of noise cut the communique for a minute while the traffic was filtered. The communication was transferred to the office of the Commanding Officer of the Fleet, and his attaché Chamberlain cleared his throat conspicuously.

"Chamberlain?" The Admiral said, Grey being unused to being placed in a position where he could be mistaken for interrupting a ranking officer, responded:
"Admiral! Captain Charles Grey, FMC Aeneas, Task Force 616 in the Scorpio Region."
The delay ensued once more as the transmission made its way 70'000 light-years to Luna via a high-frequency data-pulse accelerated along interconnected beaming drones...
A quantifiable million of them...
"Six-one-six! Good to hear from you! I apologise gentlemen Rear-Admiral Kelly is currently attending a research debriefing in Tranquility. What do you have to report?"
Grey replaced his stable stance for one of rigid attention and spoke clearly to emphasise the urgency of the matter.
"Sir, please relay our request for all nearby contingents to utilise all other Relativity Gates bar the designate: 'Yishka 111'."

“Ah. Sure thing Captain, I will necessitate the redirecting of contingent traffic immediately. Commence your operations, and report as needed. Yishka 111 is a quarantine zone…. Out.”
Admiral Chamberlain disconnected. Grey looked over his compatriot TASTRAS team. Lakeman and company slammed to attention, saluting the Captain before removing themselves from the briefing room. The Captain would follow them out several minutes later, choosing to remain in solitude to collect himself and psyche-up for resuming strategic command.

Lakeman, and the two other officers sauntered through corridors and access ways back toward the regiment billets. One officer suddenly erupted: “Sir? With all due respect, our operators are likely down on that ice-cube gettin’ mighty frustrated with FUBAR aspects of an inhospitable world and its crazy climate. Maybe gettin’ their asses kicked! I know orders are orders, but we can do more than let the birds fly over and MAYBE find ‘em… They’re gonna need backup one way or another.”
Lakeman shot him an irate look;
“Secure it Lieutenant, I’m not ignorant of that fact. You’re making yourself frustrated by dwelling on it, as soon as we’re billet-side, the two of you will gear-up, FULL power suits and reciprocals, run FULL diagnostics, weapons check and loadouts to be completed thoroughly, and you will pick a squad each and stand them by. At fourteen-hundred, I want you and your squads to report to me, we will prep two flights to go in if HQ changes their game plan – Got it?”

“Got it Sir!” Both men walking either side of Lakeman said no more until they were dismissed. Lakeman entered the terminal booth near the TASTRAS mess, filled a mug with coffee along the way and paged a connection to Captain Grey on the bridge. Sitting for some moments while the contact-screen lit up, Lakeman was rewarded with the high resolution close up of the Aeneas’ commanding officer once more.
“Lieutenant-Commander… I wasn’t expecting to hear from you this soon… “
Grey’s hefty vocal timbre seemed weirdly offset by the tiny speaker nodes at Lakeman’s terminal. Lakeman needed to ensure the Captain knew what he and his men were up to. At least if Grey knew, he could sympathise. The soldier wanted so desperately to know what had happened regarding the objectives ‘Arcsine’ and ‘Low sentiment’ specifically. He informed Grey that he was putting together a unit to effect extraction, resupply, or any means of support for the fireteams planetside.

He requested from the Captain a single Hydra for the mission he would co-ordinate himself given the green light. Grey obliged with Stalk Twenty-Two Sciomese to ferry the TASTRAS groundside. The two officers disconnected. Lakeman needed to collect the ready-file from Major Ford at the data-receptacle. He decided to use the Mainframe to decode the encryption. Faster than using a ready-console.

While making his way through to Data-One three decks below the regiment billets, Lakeman noticed a strange sensation in his stomach, and the feeling of additional weight being added to himself invisibly, but soon realised the Aeneas was moving at high speed to break formation with the rest of the Task Force Fleet. The strange sensations were not so odd, rather to Lakeman, they were familiar whenever a ship moved quickly, gravity became more pronounced during acceleration.

Data-One felt slick inside. Like it had recently had a fire burning, and filled the small alcove with smoke, only, the smell wasn't there, nor the smoke. But Lakeman had definitely noticed the ambient heat and greasy texture the atmosphere had.
While retrieving Ford's ready-file, Lakeman tried to get the Mainframe to recycle air quality in the data receptacle.

“Error. Air quality optimal.” It said. The oblique voice had a distinct edge to its prose, sounding dull, but matter-of-fact.
Lakeman dismissed the computer with his own sudden realisation. The receptacle is to the far port-side of the Aeneas. Where the radiation from SX-02's blue mother star bombarded the hull, even if the planet lay between the ship and it. The shifts in temperature and air quality were so subtley gradual from starboard to port, it was a wonder how the small receptacle had such a high concentration of charged particles...

“Decode blocks as I've input for security requisition.” The Lieutenant-Commander stood up and inserted a box-drive into the socket above him.
“Commencing. Please wait...” Lakeman cursed the lack of emotion in the Mainframe's automaton voice. Stress plagued the elite officer in droves. All the wanton desire to address the developing situations culminated in his bloodshot eyes, and rapidly sickening gut.
He pleaded silently with Strategic Command to send in his teams, he willed the planet to give up its treacherous communication blackout, and he near-prayed that the Holcroids had not made planetfall in this area of space. A shrill tone made him glance up – the Mainframe had finished.

He extracted the box-drive and left. Several minutes passed before Lakeman arrived in TASTRAS country again. Through some pressure doors Lakeman was greeted with his Lieutenants and their sections, making ready with full loadouts and championing some disparate talk about the operation set to commence. Or so they thought... The room was lined with large carbonic steel cabinets, crates of ordnance and power suit housing. The cabling and wires of a million possible uses hung exposed from the ceiling, the need for functionality superceding aesthetics on most Fleet Military Craft, the Aeneas never being an exception.

He glanced knowingly at one of the officers, the same man who had burst out with pleas to make the high command see sense. The soldier tapped his headgear with an armoured hand and gestured with his pointer and middle finger at the floor. The sign Lakeman recognised. The officer was telling him he looked like shit essentially. Lakeman breathed heavily, sighing out a cloud of coffee odour mixing in the grime and weapon lubricant of their armoury. Lakeman retrieved a clipboard hanging on a spike above a locker, he pored over the table for a power cell disassembly schedule, he picked a number that was available for use.

Collecting a power unit from the armourer, Lakeman approached his armour's holding apparatus. Large robotic clamps and fastenings surrounded the central portion of the torso assembly and plate-work. The Tactical Infantry Armour System, has one primary component which is the torso assembly, containing the input for a high-yield power cell, atmospheric and environment controls, and onboard tactical suite for communication and intelligence processing.
A soldiers respirator/headgear contains the heads up display paralight projector and assorted adaptive audio transmission equipment. As well as the atmosphere venting/cycling system.

Lakeman coughed as he slid the power cell into its place on the spine of the armour. To his right a glowing red panel with green lettering and touch-screen beeped and accepted the new addition. He tapped the square with 'release' written in it and stepped closer to inspect the operation. The clamps hissed and whirred as they stretched their mechanised limbs apart and opened the two halves of the torso-armour at a hinged shoulder join. Lakeman bent to view a small circuit-panel inside the back portion of his precious suit.
He was startled by a voice, cracking his skull on the rear open half on his way out of the torso:
“For fuck's sake! What is it?!” He yelled, more because his head had connected with impervious carbonic steel armour rather than being startled.

“Apologies. Hunter Unit is ready for inspection.” The voice belonged to the Mainframe. Lakeman fumed at the update. Not really caring to be told, he wasn't ready to inspect his unit yet. He dealt with the sharp pain in his cranium and with even sharper tone impolitely dispatched the Mainframe and its unnecessary updates. Cursing quietly while returning to his diagnostic.

“Commander? Argh ye gooin doon theer with them boys lookin for our lost bird in the frosty?”
The Armourer, having seen Lakeman's frustration toddled over to assist him, asking loose questions about the unit getting combat ready.
“Maybe Corporal. If my boss wants to pull his shit together and let us do our fuckin duty, argh Christ!” Lakeman clutched his head the throbbing had started.
“Aye, are ye expectin trouble? Some o' ye's are packin a wee bit o' kit. Here noo, lemme take care o'this, go and get a dose o' stims from the doc!”
Lakeman shook his sight clear, and walked away without answering the Armourer. Leaving him and his open suit to the Corporal to finish working on.

Lakeman boarded an elevator which ferried him to the upper decks. When the door parted, he was stunned by an iridescent whiteness, the bright radiant light fixtures, prestine hexagonal corridors, and the overpowering aroma of disinfectant in the medical laboratory causeways. He found the sign labelled 'Infirmary' and met the orderly asking for a tab of painkiller. After a short blast of throbbing the painkiller took hold, Lakeman eased into a wall seat and relaxed for the first time in over an hour. He tapped the wrist computer establishing a connection to both his junior officers. He ordered them to fall out. Informing them their time was their own, and they will be ready for ops at a moments notice.