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."

Cristea gives Simmons a small nod, almost appreciative despite himself. "My skiing is adequate on the recreational slopes, Staff Sergeant. I suspect that will be of limited consolation when I am carrying half a clinic through the forest."

When Rooster offers help, the doctor gives him a long look, then steps aside with the faint air of a man permitting brain surgery to be performed by a bear. "Very well. If you are determined to be useful, I will not stand in the way..." He watches as the marine demonstrates the packing method, making no attempt to disguise the fact that he is letting the larger man do much of the work. At the question about music, Cristea pauses - "Rachmaninov", he says eventually. "When civilisation still meant something."

He checks the medical bag again before anything else, making sure the instruments, dressings, and pain relievers remain close to hand. The rest of the gear receives a more sceptical review. But when McBride explains the matter of civilians, uniforms, and summary execution, Cristea looks up. "Then I am quite prepared to be mistaken for a soldier, if the alternative is being correctly identified as a civilian and shot. Although my experience is the Russians are not too picky about who they shoot either way."

Justin looked around the group, hearing their words and concerns. As much as he understood some of them, and as deeply as he wished he could be a civilian again, he could not help wondering how many of them would be ghosts in the coming days.

When Simmons asked again how a Canadian had ended up with the Americans, Justin only glanced over at him for a moment. He had already answered that at breakfast, or close enough. Maybe Simmons had forgotten. Maybe he was just making conversation.

Justin said quietly. "Lucky I guess."

He looked past the others, toward the blizzard raging outside.

"Seen worse," he muttered.

Then he checked his jacket, hat, and gloves. They would have to do.

Anastasia looks at McBride and lets out a breath, "Fine, I will wear your uniform, but I hate to burst your bubbles, the Soviets will likely execute me for being Ukrainian and fighting against them."

She's already got her thermals on but begins to switch into the American uniform under her breath she mutters something in Ukrainian.

"I like me The Isle of The Dead, mix'n melody and cacophony is genius, real ev'n. A minor keys, both chillin' heartbreakin', fits the Everglade." Rooster smiled and continued to pack Christea's bag perfectly willing to do the grunt work. He was a grunt afterall.

"Reminds me of Saint-Saens. Do you know Camille Saint-Saens?"

The older Sergeant looked at Macdonald: "Yes, must be lucky." he says with a smile.

Simmons replies: "I only had a couple of days on the slopes before this all started" he made a arm wave around the platoon hooch as if he was explaining the history, "We can put the items you don't want to pack or the heavier items on the sled, heck that is what it is there for. Just tie a colored piece of cloth to the bag or pack so we know it is yours in the event you call out for the bag of cold weather items. We are not expected to carry all the items on our backs."
He smiles at the Doctor, then looks at Rooster
"Except the Marine, he looks like he can carry the entire load and then yours and mine" Simmons says with a smile.
he thinks for a moment
"You don't have a scarf? maybe a thread from a scarf or something to tag your bag?"

"I swear we're playing a surreal game of Pac-Man," Jason said upon hearing the men from the outside.

Tandem lurps seemingly to recover the wreckage from downed birds that unexpectedly came their way with supplies that nobody was expecting that was turning into a disaster with losses in the recovery effort.

Was it all worth it going after the power pellets, if the ghosts were out there ready to tag you if you didn't get them first? It was a dangerous game and someone didn't think all the steps through on either end, and now they were left picking up the pieces. Yet no one asked their opinion, of course.

The talk of the Geneva Convention was a sobering thought, but he personally wonder if it was relevant in this total war scarred environment they were in. He had seen some reckless situations in his own time where the Geneva Convention was moot. As the world descended more and more into total destruction, was there really any room for tribunals processing war criminals?

"Do you really think there's a place for seriously prosecuting war criminals, still, at this point? I'm not sure there's a place for stately and placid tribunals for war crimes in an orderly fashion; well thought over and conducted in a measured way anymore."

Simmons arches his eyebrow but keeps silent.

Momentarily distracted from his conversation with Dr. Cristea he acknowledged Staff Sergeant Simmons' compliment. "Thank you very much Staff Sar'nt. Neva did lift more than a half ton tho'."

The conversations around them had turned darker, deadliest. On the subject of prisoners of war and executions. "Retroactive abortion. Thats what Smelly called it." A smirk pulled at Rooster's lips. "That's medical intervention right doc?"

"It seems as if this will just grind on forever until both armies have destroyed themselves utterly." Anastasia says laying down on her cot. "When there is no more meat to feed into the grinder, then it will be over and we are all going to hell."

She grins a little, "I'll be sure to save you a seat by the fire."

Cristea pauses, a faint look of surprise raises one eyebrow. 'The Isle of the Dead?', the other eyebrow rises to meet it. 'I did not expect that answer.' He considers it for a moment. 'Ah...Saint-Saëns. The old reactionary. Danse macabre does have certain similarities of tone.' He tilts his head slightly, 'Though it never quite reaches the funereal depths of the Russian master.'

The doctor adjusts the strap of his medical bag. 'As for the equipment...' he says to Simmons, looking at the growing pile around his bunk, '...I am reassured to hear I need not personally transport an expedition's worth of winter clothing. The medical bag, however, remains with me. Come what may.' He picks up one of the newly acquired pairs of socks. 'And these I have no intention of allowing out of my sight.' At the mention of a scarf, he actually smiles. 'Well... as it happens, that is one of the few things I do possess. Mothers have their uses, even at my age.'

Then Rooster's remark about 'retroactive abortion' reaches him. Cristea's expression becomes thoughtful for a moment, his brow furrows. 'The Russians are the finest surgeons you will ever encounter, marine...their mortality rate, however, is appalling.'

Rooster replied in the way he smiled, it was a wicked smile, the American could read what was a very subtle, very dark sense of humor from Dr. Cristea. It was the very same within Rooster. Not that stupid earnest grin he wore perpetually, but an intentional and lethal thing. Like a wolf that had just eaten.

Rust's accent made him sound slow, but he spoke Russian naturally, with conversational fluency. It wasn't as natural flowing as his Ukrainian but far better than the average Floridian might have known.

"Русский военный хирург выходит после операции и говорит: 'Жить будет.'"

Cristea's eyebrows rise once again at the marine's Russian. 'You continue to surprise me Mr McCain... But in my experience, when we encounter the Russians, they seldom say zhit' budet...' He adjusts the strap of his medical bag. 'Usually there is nobody left alive.'

"Alfred Nobel invented the ingredients to make dynamite, to create explosives so terrifying as to make war unfeasible, he thought." Jason began, replying to Anastasia, mainly. "As we've seen, while frightened into promoting peace, he was wrong; we've just made weapons of scale of many times the power of a single charge of dynamite, and in this damned war, we've unleashed them. It's my hope, the people in charge will become a little more introspective, think on the Nobel state of mind, and consider Peace instead of continuing to blow stuff up and fight this meaningless war. If I were in charge..."

Jason shrugged forcefully, and then went silent. He knew he had already overstepped his bounds, even as Special Forces...there was only so much indoctrination talk you could get into before it was insubordination. Anti-war talk was Heresy.

"Oorah." Rooster replied assenting to The Doctor's statement about how lethal Russians were. "I am here to even the score."

Rust folded the last parts of the pack into place and sealed it demonstrating it once for Cristea. He added thoughtfully his smile vanished and was returned to a more neutral flat expression.

"Я полимат, но давайте оставим это в секрете. Никому не нужно, чтобы я думал вслух."

He said in Russian with a slight hush. He was pretty sure Ana was the only one that could understand them. The languages weren't that different. But it was nice to have a secret. Secrets didn't make friends but they did keep allies. "You're all set doc."

Anastasia looks at Jason and the Doctor, "The difference I think between the Soviets and our American friends is the Soviets well continue to feed their men into the machinery of war long after the Americans have seen the writing on the wall. They do not see value in a single man's or even ten thousand men's live."

"Mobiks make good target practice. They make the grass grow too." Rust snickered as he found a spot to sit and recliner. Able to relax for the first time since arriving in the Hooch.

The doctor gives the slightest of smiles, but says nothing in reply to Rooster except a nod of acknowledgement for his help. Sitting down next to Anastasia with an exaggerated sigh he says, 'Well... we may see if your prediction proves correct in the coming weeks.'

Justin listened to the others without looking up much. But when the talk turned to comparing Americans and Russians he blurted out, "Do you think they want to be here any more than we do?" half muttered and mostly to himself.

The words were out before he could stop them.

He regretted them almost immediately and looked away, busying himself with gear that was already in order.

Rust shut himself up and looked to Simmons for a queue. He turned to look at MacDonald.

"War tastes sweet to the inexperienced, it's said, at least to some idealistic, some want to get out there and do something...but yes, unlike America's army, the Soviets are fully a conscript army, so, I doubt to many the taste of war is sweet. To most, they'd just rather be wherever home is." Jason commented on the matter.