Warrick was tempted to snap back that the ambush could very well have nothing to do with him or SimTech at all and more to do with an ambitious attempt by restless dissidents to take marines out on a well-known road. The convoy would have passed countless bolt holes and encampments on the way to the compound to pick him up, and it wasn't as though the Mastiffs were inconspicuous vehicles. But it was clear that the soldier was determined not to listen anyway so he might as well save his breath.
He watched Toreth scramble around in pockets for a map with a sigh and brought up his watch again, tapping a very inquiries into the GPS. After a moment he spoke up.
"We're forty klicks north of the nearest outpost at 33.996 and 68.076. The compound is to the left of us, but you're right I don't think we should go back. If there's any chance at all of us being followed I don't want to lead them to the labs." He should place a call to McLean as well, tell the security team to put certain protocols into action now that his safety and the compounds might be compromised.
"If we want to avoid the main roads, then there should be a turn-off to the right just ahead that will serve as a detour. I'm not sure if that's the best option or not. I haven't ever traveled the backroads here."
The words came out more measured and calm than he felt at that moment. The movement of the truck hid just how badly he was trembling, which was a blessing, and hopefully he looked exhausted instead of terrified. They were fine after all, he wasn't hurt beyond a few bruises from being bounced around the truck and he hadn't even seen any of the gunmen. Just heard the shots and ricochets and drove off like it was nothing. The men on the comms sounded self-congratulatory and jubilant about their hits. All Warrick felt was razor-sharp awareness of everything; the quickness of his own blood through his veins and the scent of gun oil and stale sweat clinging to Corporal Toreth. Everything was unbearably real, visceral in a way that the sterilized environment at SimTech wasn't.
no subject
He watched Toreth scramble around in pockets for a map with a sigh and brought up his watch again, tapping a very inquiries into the GPS. After a moment he spoke up.
"We're forty klicks north of the nearest outpost at 33.996 and 68.076. The compound is to the left of us, but you're right I don't think we should go back. If there's any chance at all of us being followed I don't want to lead them to the labs." He should place a call to McLean as well, tell the security team to put certain protocols into action now that his safety and the compounds might be compromised.
"If we want to avoid the main roads, then there should be a turn-off to the right just ahead that will serve as a detour. I'm not sure if that's the best option or not. I haven't ever traveled the backroads here."
The words came out more measured and calm than he felt at that moment. The movement of the truck hid just how badly he was trembling, which was a blessing, and hopefully he looked exhausted instead of terrified. They were fine after all, he wasn't hurt beyond a few bruises from being bounced around the truck and he hadn't even seen any of the gunmen. Just heard the shots and ricochets and drove off like it was nothing. The men on the comms sounded self-congratulatory and jubilant about their hits. All Warrick felt was razor-sharp awareness of everything; the quickness of his own blood through his veins and the scent of gun oil and stale sweat clinging to Corporal Toreth. Everything was unbearably real, visceral in a way that the sterilized environment at SimTech wasn't.
He wasn't sure he liked it.