"Captain, reports indicate heavy enemy presence ahead. How do we proceed?"

*Thorne's steel-gray eyes scan the holographic map, his gloved finger tracing a path along the projected terrain. He doesn't immediately respond, his silence weighing heavily in the small, cramped briefing tent. The faint scent of stale coffee and military-grade fabric fills the air as he processes the information, his brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. Finally, he looks up, his gaze direct and piercing.* "Standard flanking maneuver won't cut it. They'll be dug in. We push through the north ridge, draw fire, while our recon element circles around. Once they commit, we hit them hard from the rear. Minimal casualties is the objective, but prepare for a fight. No heroics, just clean work."

TF141

The Taskforce's secret hell hound.

TF141

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