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From:	ShadowTK@********.demon.co.uk (Paul J. Adam)
Subject:	Debriefing
Date:	Fri, 11 Apr 2003 20:05:10 +0100

Message no. 1 *****INTERNAL: Combat Team 701
>>>>>[This is going out live, for obvious reasons. Some of you are
backing me up, others... may have to avenge me, if my worst fears are
correct.

Why am I so worried?

Because I was contacted using an old Aztlan Internal Security code, one
I thought lost in the past. And it called for a meeting, on supposedly
neutral ground, though time and circumstances have left most of those
carefully-chosen places obsolete: now, what was a busy nightclub where I
could pass unnoticed, is a cheap sports bar where a single woman will
stand out.

Perhaps, a desperate contact from another lost soul adrift from AIS's
factional warfare. Or, perhaps, someone in Aztlan is determined to clean
house.

+++++begin live video feed
Emma walks into the bar. Josie Joy Alabama is warbling "Honey, I Love
You Dearly (But I Just Can't Stand Your Folks)" while an undistinguished
football game is playing out on the wallscreen: the team in green
jerseys appear to be on third and five, on the forty yard line, four
points down in the third quarter.

A dozen or so patrons, all male, mostly isolated, are nursing beers and
paying more or less attention to the game... some pay sudden alert
interest to Emma, though whether it's in hope of carnal pleasure or
seizing a political prisoner.

Emma ignores them all, and resists what must have been the enormous
temptation to check her weapons. The mirror behind the bar shows a
blonde woman of medium height and slimly athletic build, with the
blandly forgettable beauty that comes from good surgery. The denim
jacket and matching jeans are just slightly wrong for the bar; she must
be armed, but nothing is visible.

The bartender deigns to notice her, and - for cash up front - brings her
a bottle of Newcastle Brown ale from one of his refrigerators. Emma sits
at the end of the bar, back to the wall, and watches the game.

Despite the occasional looks, none of the other customers approach her.
Perhaps they've realised she's too out of place to be here by choice,
perhaps they're too intent on their own lonely amusement. Or, perhaps,
they're afraid she's an undercover cop or worse.

Emma sips the dark beer from the bottle and watches the game. The green
jerseys - a college from Connecticut - fumble their third play and the
quarterback gets blitzed on the fourth, letting Alberta Ag & Tech take
possession.

Another woman walks into the bar: wearing a cheap print dress, drawing
more eyes than Emma, sitting beside her. And Emma _does_ tense, raising
one ankle to near where her left arm hangs naturally: though still not
grasping anything lethal. Yet.

"Relax, Esmeralda." The newcomer says in Spanish. "As far as I can tell,
the only people watching this are you, I and the sniper on the rooftop
opposite. Anyone I should know?"

"One of the Lynch Mob. A paragraph of my insurance policy." Emma
replies. "You have the advantage here..."

"Actually you do. I had to guess that you were who I hoped you were, and
would remember the codes, and would come here even though this was out
of date." The last has the tone of disgust that Emma feels.

"And I am here. So, what do you have to tell me?"

The newcomer sighs. "Intelligence-Captain Gloria Madonna Santiago. Shall
I recite your name and rank, Esmeralda?"

"As long as you remember I outranked you, no. Those days are gone for
both of us. Call me Emma, now."

"Then call me Soraya, for now. I have something for you."

Emma pauses. "And the price?"

Soraya shakes her head. "This has no value to me any more. I would be
willing to consider offers of employment, if you needed a freelancer...
but I must be rid of this. And I believe you will be interested in what
this shows." She places a datachip on the bar, pushes it towards Emma.

"Very well. And where should I find you?"

"Details on the chip. Make of it what you will. And while these poor
specimens are ignoring us, I have pursuers who I need to avoid. If
you'll excuse me?" Soraya slips off her stool, and walks out of the bar.

After just long enough to finish her Newcastle Brown, so does Emma,
leaving Alberta A&T to win by eleven points.
+++++end video feed

That went better than I expected. Santiago was cynical where I was
fanatical, and always alert. It surprises me not at all that she has
landed on her feet, more so than I did.

As to the contents of her chip... they are more than a little alarming.

It seems that Santiago - or, as she calls herself now, Soraya - was
hired by persons unknown to intervene in a blackmail case. A UCAS
biotechnologist, working for the Centre for Disease Control facility in
Stovington. That alone should ring alarm bells. It seems she killed her
subject, which is further grounds for alarm.

I'm investigating further and on my way back to the office. Anyone
available, check out Dr. Thomas Keenan, SIN >>number<<, apparently
deceased about three months ago.

And if anyone's really on the ball, can we get Stovington to inventory
their HAZMAT stocks? I have a hateful feeling that someone stole some
material.]<<<<<
-- Emma <20:05:43/04-11-64>
S-2 Intelligence

From:	BrionW@*.com (BrionW@*.com)
Subject:	Debriefing
Date:	Sun, 13 Apr 2003 14:43:41 EDT

Message no. 2 *****INTERNAL: Combat Team 701
>>>>>[Frag, you'd think they'd have locked all that drek away and lost the
key after the space needle incident.

I'm not on assignment now, so I'll start shaking the trees. I'll let you
know what fell out when you get back to the office, Emma.]<<<<<
-- GSgt McLeir <11:47:35/04-13-64>

From:	chicken@********.net.nz (Jaimie)
Subject:	Debriefing
Date:	Mon, 14 Apr 2003 17:16:06 +1200

Message no. 3 *****INTERNAL: Combat Team 701
>>>>>[You forget, sarge, that only the sort of people who can't imagine
things going wrong tend to make that kind of weapon. Anyone else tends to let sensible
fear of unfortunate consequences hold them back from developing their full destructive
potential.

Do we have anyone in Stovington yet? I seem to remember hearing about a
particularly nasty bioweapon being used on a mafia boss there some
time... late last year maybe? Someone with real matrix-access must be
able to get out there and find out what it was, and whether it could
have come from the CDC facility.

Meanwhile, I'm busy with these poxridden antiterrorist exercises. It is
getting a _lot_ harder to be the OPFOR as time goes by. I think the guys
we beat last month warned every other soldier, sailor and uniform tailor
in the navy, army, and airforce.]<<<<<
-- Van Holde <23:03:51/04-13-64>

From:	ShadowTK@********.demon.co.uk (Paul J. Adam)
Subject:	Debriefing
Date:	Mon, 14 Apr 2003 23:03:43 +0100

Message no. 4 *****INTERNAL: Combat Team 701
>>>>>[Soraya's information, analysed properly, is both less and more
alarming than it might have been.

She leveraged one Dr Thomas Keenan, of the Stovington CDC, to provide
her with three vials of smallpox virus: which, I am informed, represents
nearly two per cent of the total known worldwide stock of the virus.
Keenan was being blackmailed by a local mafia clan because of his
distasteful personal habits; Soraya eliminated the Mafia, with the virus
being her price. (Keenan was more willing to steal level-4 biohazard
materials, than to pay off the Mafia... it seems the Mob were too
greedy).

Once Keenan had delivered, she arranged for a fatal automobile accident:
it would be worth checking that out.

Then she delivered the virus, and collected her payment. And killed the
first assassin two days later. (I suppose one advantage of
hand-delivering a level-four lethal virus, is that nobody is willing to
get frisky at the meeting... Gloria was as good as I at making sure she
could leave a meet alive)

Smallpox is unlikely epidemic material: and there are good reasons why
it would be desired by a number of biotech companies for reasons
entirely unconnected to its lethality. Still, smallpox remains almost
extinct in the general population and few are currently vaccinated
against it: an uncontrolled release could cause problems, though nowhere
near as severe as some of the tailored bioweapons we face. (Yes, they
are banned and all destroyed now, which is why I can buy a vial of
gamma-anthrax from a New Jersey fixer for cash with no questions
asked... and, yes, Commander Turner, that explains the flash-priority
mission to destroy the dietary-supplement plant in Jersey City)

I have the luxury of kicking this decision upstairs. Your orders,
General?]<<<<<
-- Emma <21:59:43/04-14-64>
S-2 Intelligence

From:	ShadowTK@********.demon.co.uk (Paul J. Adam)
Subject:	Debriefing
Date:	Mon, 14 Apr 2003 23:21:53 +0100

Message no. 5 *****INTERNAL: Combat Team 701
>>>>>[God damn it, Emma, you know how to twist the knife.

Okay. Someone (insulated by a very slick Johnson) wants smallpox. There
are applications for variola virus but most of the interest is in how
fast you can infect people and how quickly you can get virii from
arrival in the mucosa to the blood-brain barrier, smallpox being a real
wildfire virus in those terms. I can see peaceful healthcare
applications but I see lots of interest in lethal stuff too.

(Yes, I know enough biology that I can hold the briefing books the right
way up)

Our policy is, until proven otherwise, this is a biowarfare ploy. The
National Security Advisor didn't accept my action plan, but gave me
carte blanche for CT701 to investigate. In other words, here's plenty of
rope, General Lynch, why don't you tie yourself a noose and stick your
head in it? Because you're the only commander and have the only team who
will: everyone else with reach, is playing cagey; and everyone who says
they're willing to go hunting, is too specialised or too localised to
play.

I'd have liked to earn our pay on something less lethal, but what the
fuck.

Damned if we do, damned if we don't. One thing I want everyone clear on,
though: you are acting under my orders and my authority. If the fit hits
the shan, if you have stayed within our accepted rules of engagement (I
mean CT701 rules) then I will carry the can for you first and settle
accounts later. The converse should be obvious, but if I thought that
would be a problem you wouldn't be here.

Let's find that virus, people.]<<<<<
-- BGen J R W Lynch <23:02:12/04-14-64>
Officer Commanding
Combat Team 701

From:	BrionW@*.com (BrionW@*.com)
Subject:	Debriefing
Date:	Mon, 14 Apr 2003 18:31:22 EDT

Message no. 6 >>>>>[And aint it curious that all these happily ignorant yutzs keep
getting
jobs in NBC RnD, or working with even nastier drek? What do they do, grow
these fools on farms?

As for the OPFOR problems, try completely changing your tactics Van Holde.
If you've been going the down 'n dirty guerilla militia and fanatical
terrorist route, try throwing some "proper" military tactics at them. Sure,
the boys your working on are trained for that, but if they're expecting
something else pure surprise should give you at least a temporary
edge.]<<<<<
-- GSrgt McLeir <15:36:20/04-14-64>

From:	ShadowTK@********.demon.co.uk (Paul J. Adam)
Subject:	Debriefing
Date:	Tue, 15 Apr 2003 00:21:00 +0100

Message no. 7 *****INTERNAL: Combat Team 701
>>>>>[Matt, as far as OPFOR goes... if it was easy, anyone would do it.

Look at what happened when the Detroit City Guard got mobilised to deal
with a "suspected Bug hive" that turned out to be a real infestation. We
kicked the crap out of them last year and talked them through how we did
it: and when they had a real enemy to fight, they burned the nest out
with less than a dozen casualties and only five KIA, and by the time
we'd got our QRF to them the problem was gone. A decade ago, the bugs
would have killed _hundreds_, if they'd been stopped at all.

If the Good Guys are finding us easy to beat... we need new
tactics.]<<<<<
-- BGen J R W Lynch <23:32:12/04-14-64>
Officer Commanding
Combat Team 701

From:	chicken@********.net.nz (Jaimie)
Subject:	Debriefing
Date:	Tue, 15 Apr 2003 17:41:52 +1200

Message no. 8 *****INTERNAL: Combat Team 701
>>>>>[Enough with the pep talk. I said getting harder... but not yet
getting hard. And besides... until our drills have sim-civilians of some kind, it's not
quite real enough to draw proper conclusions.]<<<<<
-- Van Holde <22:38:56/04-14-64>

*****PRIVATE: Faerie, Terminal, Mr Gone, WhiteTyger, Random, Ice
>>>>>[I need to know the name of a fixer who operates in Stovington, UCAS.
I have to get my hands on some gear and info... I know it's been a long time, but if any
of you guys can help me I'd appreciate it.]<<<<<
-- Ronin <22:40:04/04-14-63>

From:	ShadowTK@********.demon.co.uk (Paul J. Adam)
Subject:	Debriefing
Date:	Thu, 6 Mar 2003 23:33:42 +0000

Message no. 9 *****INTERNAL: Combat Team 701
>>>>>[We're talking about that last little free-chase with the 10th
Mountain, if anyone wondered.

+++++begin video
Lynch sprawls in a chair, looking exhausted but comfortable in
dust-caked battledress that shows clear lines between 'almost clean' and
'filthy' where his combat harness had covered parts of it. The fabric of
the elbows and knees is shredded to reveal the green Ballistech inserts
underneath, and he still has an empty pistol holster strapped to his
left thigh and traces of camouflage paint on his face.

Admiral Kowalski is almost as casual, in undress khaki, in her small but
efficient office. "So, how did this one go?"

Lynch glances at the ceiling, sees Kowalski nod, and takes a cigarette
from a flat metal case inside his combat jacket. Lighting it with a
battered Zippo, he hands it to Kowalski and takes another for himself.
"Pretty damn good, especially for Army pukes."

"Interservice rivalry, huh?"

"Damn right. Left every Army guy I had behind for this. Ripped them
apart in the field and in the debrief, really cut them up. Busted a gut
doing it, but we just about stayed ahead in the field... and the winners
write the after-action reports."

Kowalski nods. "When's the return visit?"

"Three months, tops. They're sharp, they'll learn and adapt, they'll be
itching to pay us back. We stage a rematch in June with the same odds
and they should fight us to a standstill if they were paying attention.
Maybe even win."

"You want the same odds?"

"I want to spur them on, not crush them. You know that. Yeah, we'll hit
them with a full company and drone support on the next-bar-one, but they
should be able to learn from that by then, maybe even survive it. If
their CO comes out evens from the first rematch, put her in for her
star. She'll have earned it."

"You're mighty generous with flag rank these days." Kowalski snorts.
"Any other highlights?"

"Still way too dependent on BattleTac. Whenever we cracked the
encryption, it was like pushing baby ducks through a meatgrinder. If we
got enough to jam it, we were kicking ass. And they were yammering so
much that we had DF on their nodes non-stop. They've *got* to learn to
fight the hard way, before they start relying on the network. Got to
learn that just because we can't break the code, doesn't mean we can't
get ass-kicking COMINT off their chatter."

"You know, I'm assured that your techniques won't work for real..."

Lynch stubs out his cigarette more vehemently than he might have
intended. "Street hardware and available skills, Jane. Now, Joe Blow
can't do it, but a motivated, skilled, well-funded opponent could. Hell,
Thunda was whiting-out BattleTac five, six years ago, that's what gave
me the fucking idea! It *can* be done, it *has* been done, and we have
got to accept that sometimes our silver fucking bullets just won't work
as well as they did a decade ago!"

"Easy, easy!" Kowalski laughs. "I asked the tech reps who told me it was
impossible to put it in writing over their signatures. Guess what?"

"It's not so impossible they'll stand by it and sign their names." Lynch
lights another Marlboro. "Look, it's great technology, a fantastic force
multiplier. Sasha's Rebels use it. Carefully. Because if the bad guys
get inside it, they can screw you over savagely, unless you know how to
tell good traffic from bad and how to win _without_ your magic wrist
unit. You've read my papers."

Kowalski nods, as she pours coffee into one of her collection of ship's
mugs. "Which units do you think have it right?" Lynch gets handed
DDG-121, USS LOOKABAUGH.

"From experience? UCAS? Leaving the 4th Marines out of it, I'd go to the
2/75th Rangers. Callins and I kick each other around a lot, but we learn
a lot doing it."

"I hear he hates your guts."

"It's mutual, but he's a damn good soldier. Which is why we don't pull
our punches and we learn so much from going up against each other."
Lynch shrugs. "Same as how I can't stand Mitchell personally, but he's a
good soldier and makes a great S-1. If not the Rangers, then the 101st,
they learned some expensive COMINT lessons at the Arcology."

"Okay. I'll keep feeding the good word into the system. It does help,
trust me. Any other lessons?"

"The usual, and they'll be in the report."

"Did they fall for the usual?"

Lynch chuckles. "Again. It must be a basic human need to get up and go
_do something_ when it's night and you're scared. One day I'm going to
run up against an opponent who gets down in their foxholes, braces
tight, lets their sentryguns have free-fire, maybe calls in some
artillery... and I'll be screwed. Until then, if we can get inside the
perimeter we can wreak holy hell, especially if we can co-ordinate with
some fire support and a diversionary attack. Like we did this time."

"Easy to say. Hard to do." Kowalski allows.

"So's spin recovery in a MiG-57, but *I* can do it. If it was easy we
wouldn't need to train people." Lynch shrugs. "Point is, at night you
set clear corridors with sentry cover for your patrols and you challenge
_everything_ moving. We've spent half a century owning the night, we've
forgotten that even college students get thermographic eye mods now."

"What do frat boys want thermal imaging for?" Kowalski demands.

"If you're paying for new eyes anyway, why not? Imagine, tell at a
glance whether someone's wearing jockeys, boxers or commando?
Bellywarmer or thong? Stockings or pantyhose?" Lynch replies at once.
"Are you checking out an ice queen or an up-for-it sex goddess? Trust
me, college students like thermal vision. "

It takes Kowalski a few seconds (and some spilled coffee) to stop
laughing.
+++++end video]<<<<<
-- BGen J R W Lynch <23:32:12/03-06-64>
Officer Commanding
Combat Team 701

From:	"Jason Carter, Nightstalker" <CARTER@***.EDU>
Subject:	Debriefing
Date:	Sun, 7 Mar 93 22:59:25 CET

Message no. 10 >>>>>[ Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn! I wanted to go on the boat raid. It
would
have been my second in my career and the first was really fun! ]<<<<<
-- Cerise <13:57:06/03-07-54>

>>>>>[ Creeping Death: You got away this time, but next time you will die.
Abominations like you cannot be allowed to live on this planet. If you want to
live you better stop supporting Kurgen, otherwise your mine. ]<<<<<
-- Raven the Mage <13:59:22/03-07-54>

>>>>>[ Raven seems to be quite pleased to have Jaez back. Of course she
also
wants Creeping Death pretty badly. It's almost like she forgotton its
Highlander were looking for. ]<<<<<
-- Nightstalker <14:03:40/03-07-54>

>>>>>[ I remember about Highlander, I just have a special place at the end
of my
magesword for Toxic Shamans. ]<<<<<
-- Raven the Mage <14:05:10/03-07-54>

>>>>>[ Nice to see the girl get some deadly serious. I was beginning to
think
she was some sort of pansie. ]<<<<<
-- Cerise <14:06:33/03-07-54>

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