With a low hum, [i]Gammorah[/i] wheeled along slowly behind the majority of the squad, with Kradis' feeds wired into the recon's visual inputs. A good idea to monitor your eyes and ears, in any firefight. It was sunny, and the air was cool inside his GEAR, which was a god send int he heat of a Lavaran desert. Without taking his eyes of his main screen, Kradis slipped another tab and thought introspectively about the final destiny of these men and women. So many youths: Would they live to see their placement with the [i]Parvan[/i] through? Did they have friends, family or lovers who would never see these soldiers again? Kradis himself had abandoned such things a long time ago, but he still couldn't help but to think how many of his comrades, by the end of all this, would turn into cold shells of their former selves like their squad mate. Perhaps, none would, for they would be stronger than that, and not turn into army dogs who live only to kill others. Such things are not healthy ways to live.

After some time, Kradis brought up his AWSS, and began to calibrate the [i]Gammorah's[/i] weapon systems to factor in the current environment's variables. Wind speed 9 knots in a South-Westerly direction, clear line of site due to flat terrain, humidity low. Once he modified his armament suite, Kradis proceeded to check through the recon team's feeds and comms, to ascertain the strength of the LAS-DES signals he was receiving, and flicked over to a full screen view of a particular civvie's rather curvaceous ass, followed by a hearty and passionate reprimand from Blade himself piercing his ears like a precision laser beam. At least our commanding officer can instill a sense of discipline into his men, and not afraid to call out their failures. Some things in military life, regardless of faction, never change. Without comment, Kradis closed his feeds and silenced the Colonel's comms for a bried moment, to avoid his yelling, and continued to follow the others.