(MQ) The Life and Times of Tesserala Del Montessore (Full Version)

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TormentedDragon -> (MQ) The Life and Times of Tesserala Del Montessore (10/28/2011 11:56:26)

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“Tess’ Journal – Farpoint Station, second moon of Laurezia. What I’ve feared has come to pass. Garrison duty has turned out to be really, really boring.” She paused here, biting the end of her stylus as she looked at the writing tablet, reading the line she’d just written. She sighed, and put the tip back down to the screen. “And stars, that line makes me think of my cousin. Oh well. It’s still the truth. After all, garrison duty is nothing but tedium – live in the barracks, go out on patrols, maintain equipment, go through the drills. I can’t say I’m not busy, but it’s all busywork. It’s all stuff designed to make sure we stay alert, don’t lose our edge, keep our skills up. All necessary. All as tedious as it was back in basic.”

She paused again, eyes slipping skyward to look at the starry sky. Of course, this sky was always starry – the moon had not been terraformed, and had no atmosphere of its own, so even when Laurezia’s sun was in view you could still see the stars if you looked in the right direction. “When I signed on with the Second Solar I guess I had a rather unrealistic picture of what I’d be doing; surgical strikes, ops deep behind enemy lines, solo missions – I mean, I did train for those. But then, so did everybody else. When you pilot a mech, it’s important not to be limited by your operational training – or I suppose that was the philosophy behind all that. Either way, those missions are more along the lines of spec ops and vanguard forces, and I guess I just didn’t consider that I’d have to make a tour as part of a garrison force.”

She sighed again. She was too darn reasonable, sometimes. “It makes sense, I guess. You don’t want to have a rookie on the front lines, where inexperience can threaten the op. I know I wouldn’t want a green recruit watching my back on a delicate mission, or the like. But (and this is the curious thing about things that are entirely reasonable and sensible) it doesn’t make it any less boring.” Here she put down the tablet, stood up, and stretched, working the lingering ache out of her joints and muscles. The day had been a full one, and in contrast to the claims of tedium, out of the ordinary. She’d gone on her patrol, and halfway through, had found herself struggling to keep her mech from faceplanting in the lunar terrain. From there, it had a been a long, grueling hour’s work to limp it back to base, all the while correcting for balance, something the Bann Sidhe’s own automatic systems were supposed to take care of. She vaguely remembered asking its AI just what the hell the problem was, but it had answered in its usual method of full technical disclosure, which was usually helpful but required you to be able to give your full attention.

Rolling her head around on her shoulders, she yawned, and turned back to her journal. “I suppose part of the problem I’m facing is that, here, tedium is a good thing. Excitement means combat, which means danger, and means that the lives of the people we’re garrisoned here to guard are threatened, or it means lots of annoying, tedious work, such as today’s incident (ref. Maintenance Report T3-BS7.93.01). Seems someone didn’t seal Sidhe’s chassis properly, and now she’s got a knee problem. One good thing came out of it though: Leftenant Rogers was damned impressed I got her back to base in upright fashion, and so were my patrol mates. So, impressed the CO without rubbing my fellow soldiers wrong. I’ll call that a victory.”

* * *


“Well,” she muttered, blinking the sweat away from her eyes, “I suppose I asked for this.” She was in a poor position – isolated, injured, and attempting to evade pursuit. Under the circumstances, she couldn’t help but think about that whiny little journal entry of hers, and scoff at herself yet again – not that she hadn’t done so even as she’d wrote it. “Come on, Tess, you can do this. You’ve patrolled these dunes for the past eight months, you know how they work. They’ve just got their topography charts to work off of.”

It was nigh impossible to actually shake close pursuit in the lunar environment. Sure, ECM and counter ECM and high grade ECM could damp their sensors and screen your presence with in a cacophony of electronic data, but there was nothing you could do about the tracks. With no atmosphere, there was no wind, there was no plant life, there was nothing to wipe away or hide the evidence of the passage of machine or man. Of course this meant that tracks criss-crossed each other and eventually carpeted the landscape, but yours would always be on top. And yours would always carry a heat signature – no atmosphere meant no convection, and no convection meant that heat didn’t have anywhere to go, really, at least not quickly.

With any kind of semi-advanced heat-tracking system, you could not only find recent tracks, but know exactly how old they were. So she couldn’t hope to lose her pursuers. She’d have to either take them out or evade them long enough to lead them into friendlies. That last would be difficult – she was farther away from friendly patrol lines now than she’d been when they’d first encountered the hostiles.
“Alright then, you Reichert bastards, let’s see how you like a proper ambush.” There were larger dunes coming up ahead, ones big enough that, for all its size, not even the Bann Sidhe could see over the top of. They weren’t ideal, but ‘ideal’ was always and ever a pipe dream in field of combat. Putting on an extra turn of speed and making sure her ECM was still doing its level best to deafen every listening system in the area, she took herself around the dune. If they wanted to stick with her they’d have to send at least one unit to follow her tracks exactly, which was what she was banking on.

Her trail set, she swiveled the war machine around and reversed the throttle, thankful that she was no longer suffering from knee issues. Its pace a fraction of what it had been before, the titan walked backwards, the massive gatling cannon at the ready. And then, she waited. The seconds stretched into minutes, the sweat got into her eyes again, and she started to wonder just where the hell the pursuit was. Wait, there … movement. Almost at the same time, the computer picked up on it, and painted the approaching mech on her HUD, its sensors analyzing and comparing to data already gathered. It was the Chimera, the same unit that had managed to flank her patrol and cut down Simms with a devastating cannon burst. She grinned, her cannon already spinning, her finger twitching on the trigger.

Just as the mech came into full view, the HUD’s focus shifted, warnings scrolling across the screen to the effect that she was being fired on from a separate angle. She cursed, and punched the throttle, sending her girl backwards at quadruple the pace she’d been moving before. No wonder it had taken so long – they’d sent the Moorcat up the dune. The cock-pit shuddered a bit as the shots impacted on the Sidhe’s shield, and stars was she glad she’d set her shielded side towards the dune. Her finger came down on the trigger, and the battle was joined.

The Bulletstorm’s barrels wasted no time in spitting out its deadly fire – massive slugs large enough to rival shots from a hand-held tankbuster. At speed, and under fire herself, the accuracy of the weapon was not exactly great, evidenced the enormous bursts of lunar dust as the shots impacted the surface of the moon rather than the surface of the mech. Still, it wouldn’t take much – the Chimera was a functional but rather fragile chassis, and she was more concerned with making sure it didn’t get a clear shot on her. She had faith in the Sidhe’s armor, but those cannons had ripped through Simms’ Fenris like it was so much tinfoil, and she had no desire to be on the receiving end of a similar salvo.

With battle joined, the enemy ECM had softened, and the Sidhe was suddenly warning her of a third enemy inbound, coming around the other side of the dune. She grimaced, turning so that her mech was now walking away from the dune, keeping her shield presented to the Moorcat. She had to take this Chimera down, at least, and so she kept up the fire, trusting to her mech’s sensors and her own steady aim to find the target even in the midst of the explosions of dust. And finally, after nearly 35 seconds of sustained fire, she was rewarded with the nearly blinding spars that signified a direct hit. Or, given the sheer rate of fire the Bulletstorm was capable of, six or seven direct hits. There was a scream of tortured electronics across her sensors, and the sudden, tell-tale skybound trail of an ejection system.

She barely had time to register her victory when the HUD started screaming at her again. The Moorcat had switched from its beam weapons, which had proved incapable of penetrating the ray shielding on her shield, to its array of missile weaponry, and that was a much more signifant threat. In a slight panic, she brought the barrel of her cannon to bear, leaving a trail of blasted landscape as it swung across the field, each slug tossing the particulate up into the air for a few fractions of a second before gravity asserted its dominance. With enough slugs, and given the size of each cloud generated, however brief, it had the nice side-effect of playing havoc with most targeting systems.

It did not, however, prevent the Moorcat from getting enough of a lock to send a salvo down towards her. Her own stream of fire quickly caught up with it, exposed as it was on the top of the dune, and as its missiles raced towards her, she saw her slugs tear through its legs, sending the enemy mech toppling to the ground, effectively removing it from combat. She had just enough time to swivel the Sidhe’s torso to the right and draw the left arm over a bit, presenting the shield, front and center, before the missiles hit.

There were explosions. There was fire. There was, above all, a sever rattling of the cockpit that made her grateful for the straps that held her firmly in place, and the helmet that kept her head from whipping about. But at the end of it, she was alive, the Sidhe was functional, and she’d managed to keep it from toppling over despite the repeated concussive blasts. There was damage, of course there was, to the exposed portions of the mech, mainly the legs and the pelvic area, but it wasn’t bad, and it wasn’t at all beyond what was expected in combat. For having eliminated two mechs entirely on her own, she was in damn good shape.

But there was now that third one to deal with, and as both she and Sidhe recovered from the rattling, she reversed throttle again, this time moving to intercept. If she remembered right, the remaining chassis should be a Panther, more of a scout chassis than an actual combat chassis. If it had managed to flank her, she’d have been in trouble, but with its combat partners down, the last mech shouldn’t be a problem.

“Unless, of course,” she muttered, brow furrowed in irritation, “he decides to book it.” Enemy ECM had suddenly gone back to full roar, and based on the last accurate telemetry, the Panther had been starting to head away from her. That made sense, though. The Bann Sidhe was a modified Sentinel model, a full-fledged war chassis, and she’d managed to take out his two mates in quick succession. He’d have to be a right fool to try and take her on alone. “And I’d have to be a right fool to try and chase him,” she sighed, and instead logged in a course for home. She still had a job to do.




TormentedDragon -> RE: (MQ) The Life and Times of Tesserala Del Montessore (10/31/2011 13:57:29)

“Report!”

The pilot saluted, and began belting off the report of his patrol. Behind him, his Fenris was being loaded into a repair gantry, the scorch marks and holes in its armor telling a grim tale on their own. Leftenant Rogers scowl only worsened as she listened to the pilot, his story one that had been repeated five times before, with minor variations. A routine patrol, interrupted by a sudden spike in ECM activity, and then by weapons fire. There was no getting around by this point; these assaults were too organized, too formulaic, and far too many to be pirates or other criminal organizations. This was a military operation.

“Thank you, Pilot,” she said, the summarized form of his report already stored in her pad. “Report to medical, then prep for another sortie.”

“I’m fine, sir.”

“That was an order, Pilot.” He saluted again, and headed off, leaving her shaking her head at stubborn pilots, and surveying the hangar. It was a grim sight: only a few gantries housed an undamaged mech – all the rest were empty, signifying a mech that had yet to respond to the call to return, and many that never would, or mechs in various states of disrepair. More than a few would not be seeing combat again. “Sergeant!” The man to her right snapped to attention. “Inform the mechanics I want them to prioritize a return to combat ready status. I want as many mechs in the field within the next five hours as possible.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Have Corporal Bennett handle the debriefing of any more returning patrols and forward me the summaries. Make sure all pilots are given a field expedient exam before being cleared for active duty.”

“Aye, sir.”

“I’ll be in ComCen if there are further developments. Dismissed.” The sergeant saluted, and she returned it, turning away and heading for the command center as he took over here. Twenty patrols. Out of twenty patrols, only five had returned. The failure of the satellite could no longer be accident or coincidence. Nor could the unidentified objects that TEAS had tracked – her instincts had been right to be suspicious, it seemed, but the spread search had been turned against them. She heaved a sigh, and rubbed her temples, taking the left that would lead to ComCen. “Priorities, Leftenant,” she muttered; first thing was to focus on a defense plan that didn’t rely on a large garrison. After that, she could worry about re-establishing off-moon contact and figuring out just who, exactly, was assaulting her moon.




TormentedDragon -> RE: (MQ) The Life and Times of Tesserala Del Montessore (11/1/2011 19:01:46)

“Unidentified contacts,” said the voice, calm, female, and somewhat otherworldly in tone, a fitting voice for the Bann Sidhe’s AI. The sensor readout came to the fore in response to her unspoken request, and she grimaced. Somewhere in the fight, the Moorcat’s shots had managed to damage her sensors; she’d run across two other patrols, and been forced to avoid them simply because she had no idea whether they were friend or foe. It looked as though she would need to do the same here, which would mean, once again, going out of her way to avoid all … it looked like, three, contacts. A standard patrol size, but that meant nothing: such standards weren’t limited to the Second Solar.

With a sigh, she turned her mech, charting a course away from the path the contacts were taking. Given the amount of space she was giving herself to avoid pursuit, it would add another two hours to her ETA at HeadQuarters. There was no worry of running out of fuel, but she’d been out for near six hours longer than the patrol had been planned for, and emergency rations were notorious for tying your digestive system in knots. She was not looking forward to breaking those out.

“Warning – energy spikes detected.” She cut the throttle, bringing her mech to a full halt as the HUD displayed the sudden spikes of energy, helpfully informing her that they matched that produce by weapons fire. Combat meant friendlies. Another patrol ambushed? Regardless, she had a duty. The Bann Sidhe swiveled, its complex array of gyros serving to keep it balanced on a single leg as it reversed direction, and began to run. She had the throttle at full, hands flying as she brought her combat systems back to full power. The lack of transponder codes would make battle interesting, but all of the Second Solar had visual markings as well. And she had another trick up her sleeve …

“Can sensors separate units into two distinct sides?” she asked, pondering whether to go over the hill in front of her or around. “Calculating – affirmative. Commence analysis?”
“Affirmative.”
“Request acknowledged. Analyzing.” By the time she was halfway up the hill, she had a fairly good idea of which contacts were on which side – enough to guide her in the coming battle. “Warning – analysis indicates major sensor interference.” Or not. “Compensating.” She shook her head. It didn’t matter. She had a duty to perform. “Compensation requires visual data for correlation.”

The head of the Sidhe crested the hill, and the random flashes of light resolved themselves into a massive battlefield. She pulled back on the throttle, allowing her mech to come to a stop at the top of the hill, while she started at the scene before her, speechless. “Correlating visual data with sensor feed. Analysis – pitched battle between Second Solar garrison units and unknown assailants in progress. Estimated total number of combatants exceeds thirty. Forces comprised mostly of mechs – Second Solar vehicular armor units engaged. Marking friendlies. Marking enemies. Awaiting pilot action.”

This wasn’t headquarters. Her geographical location had never been in doubt, even without the satellite in place – her AI could just as easily navigate by star charts and topography. And yet, a majority of the garrison had been called up and into a pitched battle. Just what in the name of Oren was going on? “Well, Tess. You found the action. Let’s get into it.”




TormentedDragon -> RE: (MQ) The Life and Times of Tesserala Del Montessore (11/3/2011 14:22:37)

“Jalah, watch your flank!”
“Stay in cover, dammit!”
“He’s breaking for the support line! Get him!”
“Two making for the left flank! Tony, get on ‘em!”
“Roger!”

The leftenant frowned, eyes sweeping across the array of screens, some featuring tactical overviews of the battlefield, others providing live feeds from the mechs themselves. The enemy had them outnumbered and outgunned; their early ambush had cut the garrison’s strength by somewhere near seventy percent, as almost all the surviving mechs had been lighter chassis’, faster and more able to evade pursuit, but overall lacking the serious punch that they needed right now.
Oh, certainly, they were holding their own. A few patrols had managed to completely rout their attackers, and those heavier chassis’ were performing wonderfully, while the armor division was effectively locking down the enemy angles of approach with their long-range firepower. But it couldn’t last. Barely ten minutes into the engagement, and they were down three mechs, to the other side’s two. They wouldn’t survive if they only tried to hold the line.

“Sergeant Brody, take command of pilots Jalah, Cole, and Maria. Get them to where they can hit the flank.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
“Commander Brennan.”
“Sir.”
“Have armor support channel their forces to these waypoints,” she said, marking two locations on the battlefield. “Peroia, see if you can-“
“Sir! Enemy focus has shifted!”
She looked up, eyes narrowing. The ensign was right. A previously stationary bombardment group had suddenly begun moving, and ceased their bombardment. “Peroia, find out their plan! Brody, this is your opening! Move!”

* * *


No one was paying her any attention, yet, which gave her the time she needed to wrap her head around the situation. What had at first appeared to be an mass brawl had resolved itself, after a few seconds careful observation, into clear defensive action on the part of the Second Solar. They were holding a chokepoint, keeping the enemy assault force from even approaching the garrison base, and from the looks of things were being fairly successful. The overall lack of wreckage meant the battle had not been going on long.

She was in no position to go in guns blazing. To reach her allies, she would have to cut a path through the enemy force, and she didn’t give much for her chances of survival. “Better … computer, locate enemy long-range assault forces.”
“Analyzing – bombardment units located. Marking.” She nodded, turning her mech to head down the hill. “Prep Rampage for three-target lock, prioritize low armor chassis’ and fire on mark.”

“Acknowledged.” She touched a button, and the Bulletstorm cannon started spinning, the rumble of its motors adding a new tune to the constant background symphony of her cockpit. A few more steps, and the terrain cleared, giving her a clear view of her targets. Two models she didn’t recognize, but the third she knew on sight: a Javelin, well known for its wide array of ballistic, missile, and energy based bombardment weaponry. She grinned. For her, right now, it was a sitting duck. “Targets locked,” said the Sidhe, and her grin grew wider.

Her finger pulled the trigger. “Mark.”

* * *


“We’re reading weapons fire in that sector, sir! Can’t tell who, but someone friendly is hitting their rear!”
The Leftenant couldn’t help but smile. This changed things, oh yes it did. “Aleph patrol!”
“Sir!” came the unison response, the pilots already at the ready. “Start a push along the left flank. Brody will keep them busy on the right, but you need to put pressure there. Make sure they don’t swarm our friend on their rear!”
“Aye aye, sir!”
“Oren keep you, soldiers.”

* * *


She’d got their attention alright. The Rampage’s rockets had knocked one of the smaller chassis’ down to the ground; poor piloting or bad design, either way, it worked in her favor. The bulletstorm, meanwhile, was making headway on the Javelin’s substantial armor, and all three – no, four units, she hadn’t noticed that one – were focusing on her, now. She wasn’t too worried about the Javelin; for all its long range punch it was seriously lacking in all-ranged weaponry. The other chassis’, however, were enigmas, and the sensor readout couldn’t give her any details either. So she put her shield forward, and swept the Bulletstorm over, yelling out another “Mark!” as the Rampage locked again.

The Sidhe shuddered from the impact, the gyros and AI straining to keep her upright. “What the bastard!” she yelled, finger off the trigger as she worked the controls and recovered her balance. The Javelin had fallen, its leg crippled, and the other downed mech ceased to function, its rear torso flayed open by the Rampage warheads, which left those other two func – “Oh balls.” The fourth was a Hellcat. Of course it was a Hellcat. “Target Hellcat! Launch all rockets on target lock!” she all but shouted, shunting the Sidhe into reverse, and trying to bring her cannon to bear.

Her mech rocked backwards again, warnings flashing across the HUD: “Left leg, heavy impact. Left hip, heavy impact. Shield integrity at 75%.” The Sidhe staggered to something approximating stability, and, gritting her teeth, she pulled the trigger. Her cannon spat, three rounds missing in quick succession, but spraying lunar soil in the face of her opponent. The rampage locked, and fired, all nine rockets slicing through vacuum, six blossoming on the Hellcat’s chassis, three others missing by a hair. But there was no rocking of her mech this time, just the light spatter of the unknown mech’s weaponry as it backed away.

Taking advantage of the lull, she tightened her aim, and put slug after slug into her enemy’s chassis, battering it backwards with every hit. With fingers now, and not words, she retargeted the Rampage on the second combatant, staggering the salvos to three at a time. Prepared this time, and facing forward, the mech survived far more than its brother had, but the relentless barrage of warheads finally took its toll, and down it went. The landscape to her left exploded, the Hellcat’s strike knocked off target by the battering of her slugs. Finally, finally, the assault proved too much for its formidable armor, and it fell to the ground, pieces of it littered about the carcass. The tell-tale trail of smoke told her that the pilot had made it out. Well enough. She could kill him some other day.

“Stars-damned brawlers.”




TormentedDragon -> RE: (MQ) The Life and Times of Tesserala Del Montessore (11/11/2011 18:55:22)

“Oren’s blood.” Rogers looked up, eyes narrowing.
“Peroia?”
“Sorry, sir. Weapons fire has ceased. The bombardment team is reading inactive.”
She looked at the clock. Not even a minute had passed. The reinforcement team was barely on their way. “Any clue who our friend is?”
“I’m getting nothing from the transponder, sir, and ECM is damping our sensors. We’ll need to wait for Aleph patrol to make contact.”
No transponder. Either there was a rogue chassis out there, or the transponder had been damaged – which would explain the lack of channel contact. She muttered something about stars-damned anti-pirate regulations affecting her military hardware, and turned back to the command console.

* * *

The Javelin’s lasers scored a mark across the Sidhe’s chest, a last-ditch, ultimately futile retaliation by the pilot. Three slugs to its good leg put it back in the dirt, its mechanisms sparking as it tried to stand, and failed. She turned away, making for the hill. There were more units coming her way, four of them enemy, and she had no desire for another brawl. The Sidhe was a hardy mech, but the Hellcat’s Spitfire cannons had done a number on her. It was time to officially announce her presence. “Open a channel to friendly units.”
“Error – unable to comply.”

She blinked. What? “Explain.”
“Transponder is blocking attempts to open channels in accordance with factory specified behavioral guidelines.”
Wait. Wait wait wait. “Sidhe, is your transponder functioning correctly?”
“Diagnostics indicate transponder is operating normally.”
“Hang diagnostics. Transponders don’t block communication unless they’re damaged or forcibly turned off.”
“Correct. It is an anti-desertion and piracy control measure.”
“So is the transponder working correctly?”
“Disregarding diagnostics report. Evidence suggests transponder is damaged. Unable to open channel.”

The other units were getting closer. There were three, though, that seemed to have pushed up from friendly lines. Sent for her? Stars, she hoped so. “Bann Sidhe, I am initiating transponder bypass. Reference Montessore privilege with this code,” she said, tapping in a series of nonsense words.
“Referencing. Code accepted. Speak the words of Martin.”
“Weep not for me, for this is not my end.”
“Accepted. Bypassing.” Within seconds, the data feed changed, marking friendlies and enemies with perfect clarity. She should have realized it sooner, really – if her sensors were really damaged, she would have been in far worse straits. And yes, those three were friendlies. More than friendlies, they were pilots she knew. She grinned.
“Channel open.”

* * *

“Unidentified contact is coming into view, Aleph leader.”
“For the last time, Marcus, use my name.” Talan shook his head. Rookies. “Incoming transmission.” Oh? Not HQ, then, that channel was already open. “Accept.”
A window opened on the HUD, showing a helmeted pilot, cords running from back of the helmet to various parts of the cockpit. He grinned. Only one person on the force had the temerity to wear that much pink on the battlefield. “Tess! You made it!”
“Talan! I did!” It was impossible to tell behind the black faceplate of her otherwise entirely pink helmet, but he was sure she was wearing that stupid grin. You could hear it in her bubbly little voice.
“So I guess it’s your sweet ass we’re here to pull out of the fire. Not,” he amended, “that you need it after that stunt.”
“Oh, I do. Got four more out for revenge, and I didn’t exactly escape unscathed.”
That was the truth, too. As the Bann Sidhe approached, he could see the damage. Its armor had been flayed right open in spots, and her left leg had portions, small, but significant, of its inner mechanisms exposed. He winced. “What the hell did you run into?”
“A Hellcat.”

He whistled. Those things were renowned for being holy terrors in close combat, usually winning a battle in the first round of fire. Given the scorched and battered state of her shield, that was probably the thing that had saved her. “They had the foresight to include a brawler guard in their bombardment team. Wouldn’t be surprised if the others have them two.”
“Right. Are you still in for the fight, Tess?”
“I’ve got plenty of ammo left. I’m just lacking in the armor department.”
“Take rear point, then. Alephs, form up – we’ve got inbound.”

* * *

“Unit two dash four seven – modified Sentinel chassis; custom variant: Bann Sidhe. Pilot: Tesserala.” The corporal looked up, a look of confusion on his face. “Last name is classified.”
Ah. Yes. The Montessore. Who piloted a Montessore chassis. She made a mental note to check her performance record. Wait, Peroia was still talking. “Pardon, corporal. Repeat that last?”
“Just that she’s … very pink.”
“Born that way, corporal. Coordinate with Aleph patrol. Commander Talan will need targets of interest, but is in command of his own patrol.”
“Aye, sir.”

They could do this. The Montessore had opened a hole. Brody’s unit had widened it. Aleph could take it and pull until the whole battle line tore to shreds. “All units, prepare to advance on my mark. Brennan?”
“Sir?”
“Scatter them.”
“Sir.”




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