Later that afternoon

"I do not recall visiting anyone's dreams last night." Anastasia saya pushing her hair back from her eyes.

She frowns at the mountain of gear, "How come you American's did not simply bury Soviets in equipment? They may have had 10,000 old piece of junk tanks from the fifties and sixties in Eastern Europe but you guys gots some really nice underwear." A grin spreads across Ana's face.

"You are still looking for planes that got shot down?"

Rooster stood up, and snickered at the banter just looking big, but saying nothing. He had nothing that could possibly improve the situation. Instead he looked to Simmons for a queue.

SSG Simmons, fleece top, BDU pants, black Bennie, M16A2 close by - working on the AHKIO sled

looks up from working on the sled and gear at Rooster and then to the commotion of the returnees. Then looked back at Rooster and shook his head.

Rooster could see the tiredness in his eyes of the NCO that did not have time for banter nor shit-talking. He looked back down to his work. Which was tying down the artic tent and stove on the sled according to the instructions on the Ahkio sled.

When Anastasia made the comment about the mountain of gear, Simmons simply said,
"Carry what you want, and don't carry the stuff you don't want to carry or load on the sled. But don't come sniveling to me that you are cold. Plus no one can wear your small size anyway."

Anastasia and Rooster noted that SSG Simmons did not take the load bearing vest, but kept his Russian Lifchik vest. He also switched out his ruck sack for the new one issued. He took spare 550 cord and a stick from the fire lite stove and tied the e-tool and 2 qt canteen to new large ruck. He did not use the ALICE metal clips, but used the 550 cord he had and burnt the ends with the fire lite stick. He took the strap from the 2 Qt canteen carrier and feed it through the webbing loops on the large ruck and the E-tool carrier and back to the 2 QT canteen carrier. He took his old 2 QT canteen carrier, cutting it off and then used his 550 cord to tie it to the rucksack frame right above the kidney pad so the canteen could be carried against his lower back and as he explained to the lower enlisted;
"Your body heat will keep the water from freezing."

He did not take the cold weather helmet liner, but took the Bennie, balaclava and neck gaiter along with the fleece top and bottom. He exchanged his old and worn ECWS with the new one and seemed actually happy with it. He took the over whites and attached them to the ECWS top and bottom. On the boots, he took all of them but when he tied the tent into the Ahkio sled he tied the 'bunny' boots into tent in the sled. The socks he kept and stored in his ruck along with this prized old wet weather top with the wool blanket sewn into it.

He then took the sleep system bag, taking the green lighter bag and laying it outside the bag sleeping bag and then stuff packed it tight and then released it and repacked it a second time explaining to the younger Soldiers and civilians;
"the first time does not get it small enough, the send time does."

In the gear that came out of his old ruck sack was an old weather bag of worn brown t-shirts, a civilian sweater popular in the Italian Alps, a couple of pens, two worn note books, packets of creamer, and sugar from old MREs. Then a old paper back novel drops out, Cold Mountain by Charles Frazier that Simmons quickly sweeps with his foot into the pile of his older belongings.

He then starts packing it tight and then straps the snowshoes to the outside and the over-white cover into the map pocket.

Once satisfied that everything is packed and the weight distribution is right by jumping up and down and moving side to side to see if the load moves or shifts. He stops midway through and drops the ruck and repacks it. frowns and then shuffle a few things inside and then straps it down and picks it up and checks it again. Satisfied he looks around at the others and say;
"I will be checking your ruck and gear in and hour. IF I hear your gear move around or make noise you will repack it again after I dump it."

He then puts the packed and ready ruck on his bunk and puts his feet on the top and takes a short nap for about 30-40 minutes. Once he opens his eyes he looks around at Bledsoe, Rooster and MacDonald to see if they are finished. After satisfied with the new comers and civilians packing, SSG Simmons looks over at McBride and says;
"When was the OPORD again?"

Jason sorted through his gear preparing it for more immediate use, or departure, either way. There was a very religious, ceremonial way, in which he went about his work, that he seemed to be in his own world tying things together or on his webbing and so on being very deliberative in how he did things. He seemed to put a lot of thought in how he packed, yet he was not exactly slow in what he did. The was a paced, practiced expertise in what he did, which showed he could also be quick, but not careless.

Seeing the whole group come in, with all of their...interesting...personalities, Jason figured he ought to introduce himself. He walked up to the Staff Sergeant and reached out a hand.

"Master Sergeant Jason Black. We're here because we're prepping to go out soon; a lurp of our own. Where have you been and what have you been up to?"

Rooster settled down and rechecked his kit. He popped a crayon out from his pack and tucked it into his cheek. Ultramarine it said, his favorite flavor. He had already showed and secured it, zero emissions had been his life for the past three months. His kit was still piecemeal, some NATO, Some Russian, Some USMC, all squared away.

Having parted with the AT-4 Rockets on the sled had freed up considerable space. He had also eschewed his tent and all additional cold weather gear onto the sled. Anything that didn't have a place in his hands in a firefight had been placed on the sled. He did not spare the space, since he reasoned as the strongest person by far, he was likely going to be hauling it for most of the time.

He hadn't said much after chow, serious, hard features. Focused on what was important. So he presented his kit to Simmons when he was inspected. Not much of a difference in technique, Marine Raiders had similar training to Rangers after all, they only varied on methodology and employment. Rooster didn't expext an attaboy, only looked to see if Simmons acknowledged he had done as necessary when Simmons had come to check.

The hulking marine, even dressed in full overwhites still managed to stretch the fabric. With an additional layer he looked almost comically bulky around his chest. And even though he was well fed he looked eager, hungry, and something a bit more wild in his eyes. He had said he wanted to kill Russians, the deed was so close now he could practically taste it.

As he moved from storing his gear, he began to clean Hillary, and kept a weather eye on the interlopers. Simmons own body language told him what he needed to know. They were allies. That didn't make them friends. And in a shooting war, that added up to a massive liability. Plus, he surmised the rep was they were thieves. Rooster had no tolerance for that kind of behavior. So he watched, carefully. In lieu of his job, which was murdering bodies, and breaking shit, he could be a set of eyes and ears.

McCain sat comfortably, machine gun in hand, the bunk frame creaking under his mass. Simmons didn't need a skull cracked, that suited him just fine. But he would be ready, willing, and able to provide that service at a moments notice.

Justin looked at the newcomers and grimaced beginning to understand the kind of misery he was getting into.

He thought about saying something, but nothing useful came to mind.

Instead, he turned back to his kit and checked it again. It would not be enough. It never was. But it was better than sitting there wondering what he had gotten himself into.

Judging by the state of these soldiers, there were no vehicles to transport them across the fields and forests. Elvis reckoned that made sense. You wouldn't want to alert any of the Ruskies you were coming. Still, it made him feel a bit useless. He was a mechanic for cripes sake, not a guts'n'glory tip of the spear type. He hoped he would be able to find a way to make himself useful somehow.

Glancing over at SSG Simmons, he decided to take a page out of the experienced mans book and began to gather up similar items, doing as he did with his canteen as well.

Elvis stayed quiet as the newcomers (or, rather, he supposed, the old hands) came in. If those who had been out in the field had nothing to add or say, he certainly didn't, and he sensed their presence was unwelcome in the hooch.

Cristea looks up from the steadily growing pile of equipment surrounding his bunk as the patrol files in. For a moment he simply watches them. Frost, exhaustion, like they've forgotten what warmth is. At least these ones have seen whatever it is we are about to walk into he thinks.

Glancing back down at the collection of winter gear spread across the blanket, 'Remarkable', he mutters. 'Six months ago I owned one coat. Now I appear to be assembling an expedition to the North Pole.' The doctor picks up a pair of socks and studies them with more interest than the snowshoes. 'The Americans continue to impress me. Their civilisation may collapse, but apparently nobody shall do so with cold feet.'

While others debate weapons and ammunition, Cristea quietly begins sorting his possessions into two piles. Those things required to stay alive. And those things required to keep other people alive. The second pile grows considerably larger. And the medical bag never leaves his reach.

Anastasia fiddled with her gear, she'd been living off stolen Soviet gear for years now and fresh equipment felt almost decadent. She folded up and put away the American fatigues, she was not an American. But, she kept the winter poncho handy.

The thermal underwear she kept as well as rhe gloves, balaclava and as many spare socks as she could get her hands on. The American webbing felt useless, her weapons were stolen Russian and the magazine pouches were all wrong. The duty belt on the other hand she could probably find some use for.

She was quiet and methodical packing everything away in as small a space as she could.

SSG Simmons notices when Anastasia does not take the US uniform he says,
"I understand you wanting to retain your identity and individuality, but the Orcs will shoot you on sight as a saboteur and wearing civilian clothing is not a shield but a target."
He then points to the winter over-whites which are baggy as they are meant to be worn over uniforms and winter gear.
"You may want to place those over-whites onto the gortext jacket. If we are going on a long patrol when we go outside the wire, then the over-whites will provide better camouflage." Noting her small size "the pack cover might cover you whole. Not that you need camouflage as you seem to remain hidden at times."Simmons then points to his Soviet first pattern Lifchik vest, "I understand about the US load bearing vest and your preference towards the Soviet vest. I prefer it too."
SSG Simmons looks over at the Doctor and says,
"Heck this is the first time I received new gear in the last 2 years. We were told we would get gear in two months, then 4 months, then 6 months, then a year. Mail stopped coming last year, so I was surprised about this new issue as much as you are the amount. The snowshoes do really help in the deep snow. I am not that good with the cross country skis though."
He pauses and then adds;
"But five extra socks is the a boon!"

Looking at CPL Bledsoe and Macdonald;
"We are the new comers to the platoon, even I am a new guy, even though I am in the same battalion. It doesn't matter because I came from another company."
He looks at them with steady ease
"So don't worry."
Then looking at Macdonald
"How did a Canadian end up with us Americans?"

When Rooster presented his equipment, Simmons pointed out a few improvements to be made;
"We can't get it all perfect the first time. But I appreciate the speed and efficiency of your effort. See if you can help the others since you finished early."Simmons ears prick up when the SF sergeant moves towards SSG Rutherford Beltrain and asks about the AO.

Rooster watched intently, eager to learn as Simmons showed him how to further condense how he stowed the kit. Rust McCain was only "country dumb" burning intelligence and attention to detail, he attempted his very utmost to perfectly replicate how Simmons moved, even affecting similar mannerisms as he attempted to replicate The Staff Sergeant's seniority and wisdom.

"Thank you Staff Sar'nt." He offered sincerely when Simmons approved. "Hoppin'to." Rooster acknowledged and

Anastasia smiles at Sgt. Simmons, "I will to ask the Soviets politely please to be shooting at someone else."

"I will accept your advice on all matters but I will not be wearing a uniform. I am not a soldier. I will take as spares in case my clothing gets wet"

"Your American load harness will not hold these." Anastasia says pulling a PP-19 helical magazine out and laying it on the bed next to her. "Besides, where we are going everyone is using Soviet equipment. Who knows when we get resupplied."

SSG Simmons just shrugs his shoulders
SSG Simmons thinks pulls out a can and slap it once opens in and places something in his lip and says,
"Fair enough, but one thing I will require is that you take and use the over whites. If we are out and about I don't want the patrol to be spotted because you are in civies."
SSG Simmons just stares at the PP19 mag with actual regard and curiosity.
"No it won't fit in the El-Bee-Vee, but I was not saying you had to use the El-Bee-Vee, either."
Looking at the PP19 magazine
"I heard those magazines make the Pee-Pee nineteen unbalanced after they fire ten or so rounds?"
SSG Simmons voice and body language comes across as actual curiosity and does not imply anything wrong with the weapon. He is honestly curious.

"Reckon that Staff Sar'nt Simmons got a good handle on just bout e'rything." He chuckled while stuffing the last of his gear closed his pack up then moved over to whoever seemed to be struggling. "Comes wit seniority." Looking at Simmons he rubbed his nose with the back of his hand, grinning at what was supposed to be an inside joke.

"'ere Doc, lemme give ya a hand." He grunted as he showed Doctor Cristea the method Simmons had just shown Rooster for stowing the gear. Rust moved, exactly, like Simmons had. The massive marine may have been bad with people, but his agility and particulary proprioception, was an outlier for any person. Emphasized by his immense size. "We are too diffr'nt but that don'mean we hafta be sour grapes. Reckon you like music. Whaddayu listen to?"

Anastasia nods, "Of course I am taking the snow cover, I have learned the importance of not being seen."

When Simmons asks about the helical magazine she grins, "You get used to it after a few practice rounds. There is thirty round box magazine but I only have only ever seen one or two because most Soviets are armed with Kalishnikovs."

She shrugs pushing her blonde hair back behind an ear, "It was all I could get out of Sevastopol, I had to abandon the rest of my equipment when we fled."

Jason placed a hand on Simmons shoulder.

"Things aren't always as they seem. A civilian can sometimes be an asset, not something to be butchered in cold blood. As long as they aren't on some grudge-sworn officer's Terminal List, their Civvies can be an asset in the field, especially approaching roadblocks when diplomacy might be a better choice than a full-on confrontation," He said.

"I get the better to not be seen; we operate on a different wavelength, but our drags are probably just as likely to get her shot more than her own apparel. The Soviets are looking for GIs to gun down on sight, civvies, less so."