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| - Curled up into a tight ball of misery, Katriel is in one of the vehicles, rocking slightly against the seat. Her face is an unhealthy chalky color, and she doesn't seem to be aware of where she is, or even that the vehicles have stopped. The Captain looks on ahead at the stopped line of vehicles. "What is this now?" he mutters under his breath as he reaches for the door handle. As he turns the handle to exit, he looks to Katriel with his index pointing, "You, Miss, stay here." Turning to the man in the front passenger seat he orders in a low voice, "Watch her." With that, he makes his way out the door. It must be someone's lucky day. That not being Katriel or the Captain, but rather the man who's dressed almost like a member of the NLM, but managed to get himself lost and wander upon the track, both in the same day. He's silent, almost as if he was never there, and moves a little closer in, watching and waiting for moments where backs are turned or people are looking the other way. McDowell takes a knee and observes closely. Katriel barely acknowledges the Captain's words to her, a slight turn of her head in his direction about the only sign that she's heard him at all. Still, she doesn't seem inclined to go anywhere. The Captain makes his way forward amidst the buzz as soldiers pile out of their vehicles. Several are standing around the broken-down vehicle staring at it dumbfoundly. A near by soldier looks at the Captain and simply shrugs before giving a awkward, half hearted-salute followed by a barked, "Sir!". The Captain just raises an eyebrow at him before his attention is called by the man standing next to him. "Sir," the frazzled looking man says, "She's broke down on us." "I can see that quite clearly Mr. Spregan," the Captain says looking at the lifeless hover vehicle. McDowell takes the chance to slowly raise himself up, to try and get a look inside of the vehicles, before slowly and carefully lowering himself back down. Not leaving anything to fate, he slowly lowers himself on the ground and starts to slowly move forward, moving slowly and using whatever cover might be available. Namely, in the direction of the PANL captain and his cohort. "How long... like this?" Katriel asks brokenly, her voice little more than a whisper inside the vehicle. "Gah! This bites!", the man in the front seat says, stretching nervously side to side before returning to an awkwardly contorted position to face Katriel in back. His gaze is on the driver though, "How long we s'possed ta fuckin' wait here? They might " The driver idly drums his fingers on the steering wheel. "I don't know. Just relax, man," he says with a hint of irritation, "We'll move when we move." "So, what are we going to do to fix this this situation?" the Captain asks coolly, placing his hands behind his back. He approaches the vehicle and performs a slow walk-a-round. "Well... ummm.... I dunno,"the man says with a shrug. The Captain stops walking and rolls his eyes, regarding the man closely. "Useless, go and get the prisoner. And watch her carefully. If she escapes, you won't much like the circumstances." The man's face falls as he turns around and ambles off to retrieve Katriel. The door on Katriel's side opens and the man says, "Umm... Ma'am... You need to come with me please. Mr. Fitzgerald wishes to see you." Brandon continues on his slow and gradual approach, staying to the bushes and scrubs off the side. He pauses beside a nice thick palmbirch, comes to a kneel and digs into a pocket on the BDU. A commlink is produced, and he then starts to speak into it. "Advanced Party, this is Watcher Scout, Advanced Party, this is Watcher Scout." He pauses for a moment as his light brown eyes slowly study the PANL troops at the front. "Have made contact and currently observing..." Another pause and his brow furrows slightly. "No... I don't know where the fuck I am... Someone didn't give me a map and I didn't think about it until the ship brushed off. Track this or something." Dazed lavender eyes lift to the man outside the vehicle, staring at him blankly for a long moment. Eventually the small Mystic uncurls, shifting her arms from being wrapped around her knees to around her middle and slips out of the transport. The man in the passenger seat, as well as the driver step out of the vehicle. "Hold up, man! You'll need us along unless ya want ta get fucked over by this bitch," the passenger calls out. He takes his psi-blocker off his belt and waves it for emphasis before placing it back. He jumps over and slides across the hood, the vehicle dipping momentarily with the sudden weight. The three soldiers begin moving toward the Captain with the captive in tow. The driver also has a noticeable psi-blocker unit on his belt. "Hold up," Brandon almost whispers into the commlink as he slowly stands up. "Something's happening." He leans a bit further around the tree. "She... A female, either a young Timonae or Mystic female is currently being escorted from... From the forth transport." If Brandon was playing close attention to his surrondings, he may of notice a ferretmonkey coming up behind him and giving him a curious sniff. A boot goes back, making contact with the ferretmonkey, which in turn produces a loud scream, which is immediately followed by a stunned sneaky person saying rather loudly, "Oh fuck!" Followed by a, "Oh crap." There could be a chance that people down near the broken down convey could have heard that, same as Katriel. Katriel flinches as the psi blocker is waved in the air, taking an instinctive step back from the men with the devices. But it's three soldiers to one diminutive Mystic-- propelling her forward and then over to the Captain really isn't that difficult. She lifts her head a bit, looking to where the ruckus coming from off in the jungle lies. "Great!" the Captain says, head snapping to look in the direction of the noise. He motions to the men standing around the broke down vehicle, 3 in all, to move out. They pull out their plasma rifles and charge off. The captain pulls out his radio and keys in, <> The men surrounding the Mystic woman pulls out their pistols at the noise, the befuddled one looking toward the noise. The others keep moving, one poking Katriel with the butt of his weapon as she slows to look at the commotion. "Keep it moving, keep it moving," he says in a calm, yet threatening, voice. The reach the Captain by the disabled hover vehicle. Brandon just pulls himself around the back of tree, and slips his hand up to rest on the revolver. He closes his eyes, and starts to breath slowly. Could that be noise? Certainly is, and Brandon snaps around, his pistol being withdrawn in one fluid motion, which could be classed as graceful. Hammer being cocked in the same motion. It's that ferretmonkey again, and McDowell naturally narrows his eyes at the tattletail. He hasn't moved from his position, but he does whisper to the critter. "I should really kill you for that." Stumbling, Katriel continues moving in the direction her guards take her, arms remaining steadfastly wrapped around herself as opposed to coming out to help steady her balance. Her face is drawn and pinched, her pallor decidedly unwell. The three scouts move in cautiously toward the bushes. "Who ever is there, reveal yourself!" one barks out. A ferretmonkey pops out of the bushes, chittering away and looking up at them. "Aww... look at the wittoh guy," one of them coos as he kneels down, "It's just a yoescu guys." The Captain looks at the approaching group and looks at the Mystic. "You," he orders as he points to her then the vehicle, "You're good with mechanics, correct?" Brandon takes a breath of relief, and kneels back down once more. The commlink is raised back to his ear, and he continues to make his report. "Advanced Party, this is Watcher scout," he whispers quietly into the commlink. "I'm still here... Can't really extract... Call down..." He slips around the side of the tree, the side away from the three scouts. "Actually, they're doing something once more." Blink. Stare. Blink. Katriel shifts her gaze to the indicated vehicle, taking a step forward. "Busted?" "It is rather clear, wouldn't you say," the Captain huffs, putting his arms to his side, "It would be hovering otherwise." He slowly approaches her, again clasping his hands behind his back. "I know for a fact that you can fix this thing, and you'd best do it!" he threatens, leaning into her, his voice settles as he calmly adds, "Your survival depends upon it." The guards look around at each other in disbelief. Elsewhere, the scouts sit there looking at the ferretmonkey. <> one of them radios. <> comes a reply from the Captain. The guards look to each other and shrug. "May as well keep him happy," one of them says as they push on through the brush. Brandon leans back for a moment, peering in the direction of the voices. He shakes his head, and then slowly stands once more. "Nah... I think... I think I'm right," he whispers, still observing the convoy. He ends the transmission, and then mutters to himself. "What I'd give for a decent sniper rifle right now. Get to kill me something." Katriel stops, shifting her gaze to the Captain as he approaches her and then leans in. There's a moment where her skin pales even more, but then she sets her jaw and narrows her eyes at the man. "You can't kill me," she declares steadily, looking into his eyes with a certain calm defiance. It's a brave pose. It looks good. For about 30 seconds. After which, the Mystic sways on her feet and then crumples. The Captain's head droops as she crumples, a dull thud as she hits the ground. "Brilliant!" he says in exasperation. Lifting his head, he spies the Mystic woman laying out cold on the ground. "Couldn't /one/ of you catch her? I didn't want a bargaining chip with bruises all over her. Now they'll think we're savages!" His face turns red as he spins around violently on his heels. He stamps a foot with his fists clenched and and arms stiffened at his side. "Incompetents! All of them! How am I to win this with all these screw ups!" he mutters to himself. The men look to each other and decide it's best to get the woman out of the elements, and the enraged Captain. One of them picks her up and carries the diminutve Mystic woman over his shoulder back to the 4th hover vehicle. The scouts, still on the prowl for McDowell, keep creeping forward, scanning about. Their weapons are still at the ready, and all but one of them has his shouldered. "You see anythin' yet?" one of them says in a low voice, turning his head to the other. "Not a damned thing," he responds in the same tone, "Just keep your head up." They near to within a matter of yards of McDowell's tree. "Hey... I think I see something sticking out by that," one of them says, motioning at the tree with his gun. And Brandon continues to observe the convoy, completely unaware that the scouts have managed to flank and are dangerously close to his position. He kneels down once more, before before raising the commlink back to his ear and transmitting once more. "The girl, she's just gone down. No gun fire, no nothing... I didn't hear what was said..." His voice is still a whisper. The scouts close in on McDowell's position, one motioning at a a boot sticking out from behind the tree. The lead let's his rifle fall on its strap then motions with his hands for the two soldiers to go around the side with the boot. The lead goes on to set up just off to the side of the tree and kneels down, shouldering his rifle and looking down the site in the space just to the other side of the tree. "Come out mother fucker," he whispers to himself. The other two walk out wide, rifles shouldered and toward the tree. "Freeze!" one of them yells. The final thing that the Advanced Group would recieved would be a rather audible, "Crap." Brandon drops the commlink as he raises both of his hands, but he brings a foot down on it, just to render it inoperative. "Private Jules Frank Gomez," he states, before letting the cocked pistol drop from his grip. "New Luna Militia. Serial number...." A pause as he thinks of something. "Eight Seven Four Two, Twelve Eleven One." The lead moves in to stand behind McDowell, rifle still shouldered. "I don't give a fuck who you are!" he yells, "On your knees now!" He closes in, boots clomping in the hard-packed jungle floor. The other soldiers remain put and silent. A glance to the left to one plasma rifle armed PANL soldier, a glance to the right to another one, and then a sigh. A defeated sigh. Brandon complies, slowly kneeling down as instructed, though he moves his hands so that he can interlace his fingers behind his head. "I didn't tell you to move your fucking hands!," the lead says, firing a shot to the side of Brandon's head, "I want them behind your back fucker. Right now!" Burning tree splinters hurt, and Brandon certainly shows that with a rather pained looking grimace. The right side his face now being covered in cuts and nicks of various sizes and imbedded splinters. It's a rather pathetic grunt of pain he makes, as he lowers his hands behind his back as instructed. Though he shakes his head, as if trying to clear something from his eye. The lead closes in, removing zip-tie style cuffs and quickly clasps them down on McDowell's wrists. "Ok, fucker! Stand up," he orders, prodding the captive with his rifle, "You picked the wrong damned day for sight-seeing trip!" The latest prisoner twitches away from the touch of the barrel, and shakes his head once more. "Grwawwl Mrrrerree PruurRrr phhmmmfft Tthhhfft Mmrroow Mrrrerree" Brandon growls in badly accented Demarese, as he struggles to his feet as instructed. "I've got blood in my eyes, I can't see properly." A rather nice sized cut has been opened up above his right eye, effectively giving a temporary lose of eye sight out of that eye. "What the fuck did you just say?!" the lead says, jabbing him again with the rifle muzzle, "You speak in our language from now on, got that?! I don't give a shit if you've can't see. Just walk!" The three soldiers begin marching along with their new captive. Silence, that's what Brandon falls into as he gets marched towards the convoy by the PANL soldiers. Nope, he's not going to say anything. Just silence. Silence and glaring. The group make their way to the Captain, who's still fuming and looking, away from the convoy, down the path they were headed. He turns around suddenly and spies the group returning, and makes way toward them. "And who might you be?" Fitzgerald inquires. As with before, Brandon repeats his same statement. "Private Jules Frank Gomez... New Luna Militia, serial number..." His shoulders slump, and he closes his eyes. "Twelve eleven, seven two one?" There's a grumble in Martian Latin, before he shakes his head once more to clear blood out of his eyes. "Is that the number he gave us earlier?" on of the soldiers asks, turning to look at the other. The other responds with a shrug. Fitzgerald glances at the two's exchange, asking "Do you have something to add?" The two shake their heads. "Good then," the Captain continues, turning back to McDowell, "We shall see if this information pans out later." "You've got to get your worthless peice of shit moving first," Brandon says with a smirk, which comes across more as a nervous smile, before motioning with his head towards the broken down hovercar. "And there's a good chance that the rest of my division is moving up." Nervous? Well someone is almost stammering their words. "They'll... They'll... Be here, any moment?" Captain Fitzgerald's face reddens as he punches McDowell across the face. He turns and takes a step, then paces back to stop infront of McDowell again, visibly calmer. "Now, if you'll keep your mouth shut about my affairs, we shall get along here," he says collected tone, "You had best hope they never arrive." He begins walking away, then stops to regard McDowell again. "You see," he says menacingly, "we already have a bargaining chip, so if they wish to all our bluff," he pauses for effect, "you're expendable. Now throw him in the vehicle with the other." He glances at the broken hovercar, and sighs, "Get all your stuff out of it and then burn it. We've spent too much time here already." That certainly was on heck of a punch, and Brandon staggers to oneside and loses balance. He crumples pretty much into a heap as his ankle rolls, and he goes down onto the dirt track with a rather audible 'oomph'. He spits a mouthful of blood out on the ground, and struggles to his knees. He doesn't match the gaze with any of the men, for once actually looking slightly defeated. In fact, he actually looks towards the ground. Two of the soldiers come to his side and lift him to his feet. "On your feet muther fucker!" says the lead scout, "Your ass is coming with us!" They begin half-draggin him down the line of vehicles. "Good day, Mr... Gomez," Fitzgerald says with a wave and smug, mocking smile. McDowell stumbles along as he's hauled towards the vehicles by the two PANL soldiers. Beaten and bruised, his ego seriously deflated, he doesn't put up a fight, allowing himself to be dragged along. He looks over his shoulder to Fitzgerald, glaring at the Officer before looking down and sighing. "Don't look at me like that," Fitzgerald says, with a mock pout, "it hurts me so." He looks to the soldier at his right and punches his fist into his hand. The soldier responds with a nod as they continue on to the 4th car. One man opens the door, roughly shoving McDowell into the back seat. The soldier that had been on his right looks to the man in the passenger seat, giving a sly wink as he says, "Fitzgerald says to give this one a little TLC. Perhaps it will keep the lady in line if she sees it too." "Aww Fuck yeah!" the passenger says, slamming his fist into his hand just like the Captain had done, "About damn time I got to have some fun in this shit!" It's a bit hard to support yourself getting into a hovercar when you're pushed into it, and you're cuffed. As McDowell finds out as he more of less falls across the lap of Katriel. Brandon starts to shiver as the two start to speak, and closes his eyes as he struggles to get himself sitting up right. He opens his eyes and then glances across to the unconscious form of Katriel, colour draining out of his bruised and cut up face more than before, before glancing down to his feet. "Another one of my command down," he mutters quietly to himself.
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