Postby Mesha » Fri Oct 12, 2018 4:47 pm
PY-SD-04-07 #05(RW)
The Periphery
The Rim Collection
Gillfillian’s Gold
Continent: Lyuben
Country: Trendafil
Maroo
Airport
DCCC/RW Camp
Rabid Wolves Bivouac
Fox Cub Company Billet
November 3rd 11:00 am local time
When the core unit of the Rabid Wolves, Fox Cub Mechanized Infantry Company was deployed to Gillfillian’s Gold, I was privileged to serve with it in the initial capacity of a Corporal. The initial deployment took place in May of 3098 and the unit moved to its training location, Camp Maroo, in Lyuben, on Gillfillian’s Gold in June. There we took up the job of bringing the company up to good shape before the contract began. We faced many problems, in that we were short of both equipment and know how in the lower ranks, if not along the entire chain of command. We were deploying with a skeleton crew, without our training staff and their expertise. We had to simulate and improvise constantly. My service at Camp Maroo was to me, from beginning to end, a constant revelation of our unit’s pathetic state of unpreparedness. But under the supervision of a few veteran Spec Ops soldiers who had gained experience on the other contract and our small allotment of Regular Rabid Wolves personnel, we made headway and became a workable formation in time for our Security Duty maneuvers.
Being assigned as an Ultra AC twenty, field gun, squad leader in a mechanized heavy weapons company, I had little chance to keep up my rifle shooting. There was no civilian competition within driving distance of Maroo and I often went for months at a stretch without firing a shot. I did, however, have an opportunity to test the M42B Assault Rifle to my satisfaction and I gained a good bit of respect for it, an alteration of opinion for me. At the beginning, I had decided that full-auto was not the thing. It seemed to me that, with the adoption of a fully-automatic rifle by the Rabid Wolves, accuracy would have to be sacrificed. Most men would be inclined to blow away their ammunition too fast, and good fire discipline would become more difficult of attainment. This original opinion of mine had received its first setback at Alice Springs in ‘97, where I shot one of the weapons in the Assault Rifle School and got a 79 out of 80 at 200 yards, rapid fire on the 10, “bullseye”. Next, the limited firing I did at Maroo sold me on the weapon as far as its range performance was concerned. The conclusion I harbored then was that if using this new gun did not seriously increase the ammunition supply problem, there could be no real reason why it should not be a grand performer in combat. The latest improved M42B model with the gas port instead of the older muzzle sleeve, was actually superior in practical accuracy to the Federated Long Rifle. Its better sights, stock fit, and lightened recoil made it easier for recruits to shoot. The fully-automatic feature eliminated the need for long hours of bolt manipulation exercises. But with all of this, it still seemed to me a little early to think of discarding the good old Long Rifle.
Well, a normal need for building the trimmings of Camp Maroo faced us, and we laid down our rifles to “fancy up” the place. It seemed to me that there was an unnecessary amount of emphasis placed on housekeeping while we were there. All of the time used in landscaping and beautifying had to be deducted in one way or another from training. But that was in peacetime and no one could blame an officer for building duck walks and finishing them with mahogany stain if he knew that it would set him well with high authority, even if he had to yank the men off the ranges to do the work. The thought of that incident, one particularly annoying memory of Camp Maroo days; brings me to mention a few things about that camp and the circumstances of our stay there.
I suppose that it was much like any other Static Defense post at the time, but even in rationalizing retrospect, I cannot forgive the responsible parties for some of the serious sins of omission and error which were committed, and some of the damage which was done to the really good raw material which we got in the first levy of recruits under the MRBC’s selective service.
These first batch of recruits were largely volunteers, with a very high order of intelligence and physique, and they were deserving of the best possible training under fully qualified instructors. Most of them were fresh from schools or businesses, thoroughly indoctrinated with the spirit of efficiency and organization, which are inherently part of the Inner Sphere industry. Coming into a Mercenary Unit, they had every reason (if not every right) to be trained as efficiently by the MRBC for their function in it as they had been trained for industry and business by the various branches of their House’s educational system.
Most of them were at least a little fired with a feeling of conscientiousness, and many were of a thinking sort; men who had carefully adjudged the seriousness of the international situation, and wisely decided to get into the Mercenary trade early. The greater part had relatively high educational qualifications, sometimes well above those of the House Guard enlisted cadremen who were to be their instructors.
The cadre of our company was made up of men and women of various backgrounds and from various walks of life, but they were troopers who had kept an interest in the military during the years of relative peace. By spending a night or two out of each week at an armory where they would learn drill and weapons training, and by going to a two weeks summer camp, they had managed to pick up a smattering of military knowledge which later proved to be worth its weight in gold. Some few, like myself, were weapons enthusiasts, and our interest in the peacetime military had been primarily one of competitive shooting with the rifle, pistol, and occasionally with the Browning Auto Rifle or machine gun. Many of us were moved to remain members of National House Guard units for years, mainly for the pleasure we obtained from rifle and pistol competition, (though often we would gain an interest in tactics and weapons employment as well).
Throughout the ranks of Fox Cub, as in other Mercenary Companies, there were all sorts of men and women officers, ranging in type from the keenly interested non-professional soldier to the yokel who had joined up for the sake of the uniform. However, the most valuable asset each unit had, as far as training was concerned, was its small group of Regular Army personnel.
Those few regular soldiers and officers also varied individually, but most of them had received lengthy training and were accordingly possessed of some military knowledge. The great trouble was that they were too few in number, and almost entirely unschooled in the better methods of instructing new soldiers. Few of the enlisted Regular Army personnel had educational (or I.Q.) qualifications to match those of the better selectees. And few of them possessed truly specialized military knowledge.
This “specialized knowledge” was the most important non-physical shortage encountered in the early days. War may be a very wide scoped and general business, but Special Ops training and tactics are not at all general in character. They are just like the name say, ‘Specialized’, and, to a degree, highly scientific. No amount of common sense on the part of an officer can be substituted for the minimum requirements of technical knowledge concerning the operation of weapons and the handling of Infantry units in combat, especially Special Ops Infantry. Special Ops rifle shooting, despite its simplicity, is one of these subjects which requires specialized knowledge; in some ways rifle ‘know how’ is just as specialized as the knowledge and experience required for the operation of complicated signal equipment.
Rifle shooting instruction in the Rabid Wolves at Camp Maroo pre Whitley, was generally poor. (That’s how the troops refer to our training period at Maroo, Pre-Whitley and Post-Whitley. They were that different) No amount of rationalizing can alter that truth, and there are few excuses. True, we were short of Instructors and equipment. We did not have M42B rifles, of course, but we had perfectly good Federated Long Rifles, and an inadequate but worthwhile allowance of 7.62mm ammunition. We were also short of good instructors but no alibi is provided there, for there was always a small number of skilled rifle shots and rifle instructors who were kept busy at “more important work”.
This was largely a matter of improper placement of training priorities, and over emphasis upon “appearances” . . . a term which, in military parlance, is known as “eyewash”, and means exactly the same thing as the Oriental term “face” (and which to my mind makes about the same amount of sense). The old Infantry concept which demanded that an outfit be taught, “to shoot and to walk” ahead of everything else, had apparently been forgotten by important people somewhere at the top of our command echelons. That pragmatic, age old, prerequisite of good, fighting, foot soldier units seemed to have few advocates at Maroo. It seemed that instead those two subjects had been deemed unimportant and had been set aside, for we were taught most everything else first. Shooting and the employment of weapons in the field were intangibles as far as many of the post inspectors were concerned; such qualities did not show up for all to see at a glance . . . at least not so importantly as a nicely painted mess hall or a well appointed enlisted men’s club!
We seemed to spend endless hours on things which were obviously silly, especially the more spectacular and “showy” subjects. Hours were devoted to ‘hand to hand’ combat instruction and drill, how to fight without weapons, long before we had even begun to learn to use the guns we had. It made me wonder if our higher training authorities had lost all confidence in firearms, and had decided to fight the war under slightly modified Marquis of Queensbury rules. Mass calisthenics were taken up in minute detail, with officers staying up all night sometimes to rehearse a complicated routine of commands they would have to give on the following day to a company of soldiers who would spend an hour or so emulating the antics of a group of chorus girls, flexing their muscles in unison. Sometimes they would be accompanied by a holo-vid band playing “The Band Played On”. Military courtesy and customs of the service were subjects which also kept constantly appearing on the schedules of Infantry Squads whose recruits had not yet learned to shoot or to march.
All of these other training subjects, which I have mentioned with doubtless bitterness, were not necessarily useless. All of them had definite purposes, though some must be lauded only on indirect points of value such as “hand to hand” combat, which, realistically, has practically no combat value. Its apologists say that it is “good for morale”. To an extent, I suppose that is true.
Military courtesy and precise close order drill were also beneficial, and their value in the interests of discipline was great. The bitterness I bear toward such training subjects does not come from any belief that they should not be taught to Spec Ops soldiers, for I feel that they are all fairly important. My rancor stems from the fact that commanding officers who were supposed to have some idea of what they were doing went ahead and spent time schooling their men in such finer points of garrison life and duty before these men had learned to shoot well enough to definitely hit a standing man at 100 yards with a rifle, or to march so that their company could move twenty miles on a hot day without losing entirely too many of its personnel. We never got around to any properly organized rifle instruction during our pre-Whitley stay at Maroo, except in the case of a few units which were lucky enough to have skilled instructors for their immediate officers. At Maroo, there was no spreading out or mass utilization of specialized instructional talents as far as rifle shooting was concerned, and in most squads the same story was true of marching.
We blundered through our training period with all units struggling their utmost to look better than the next outfit. This resulted in thousands of man training hours being shot to hell in the execution of especially refined housekeeping activities, such as landscaping and beautifying the barracks areas, and neatly whitewashing little picket fences (often built by a company carpenter who sometimes had no time left to make training aids or range equipment). Officers kept trying to comply with training directives, to do the impossible, teaching everything listed in the book, but no one on hand had been empowered to take a look at the whole mess, scrap the entire training program for a necessary length of time, and teach the men to shoot and to walk. So when final checks were made, we were found to be much wanting in both of those abilities. We needed our training officers who were stuck back on Outreach with the bulk of our unit.
When we finally did begin to shoot, there was a more than ample measure of stupidity in our range programs. Weapons schools were organized by squads and subordinate leaders in accord with the “book”; which procedure in itself was all right. But the instructors selected were often unqualified in their respective subjects, the operations office sometimes having the weird idea that it was good practice to select an instructor uninformed on the particular subject, so that the instructor himself would “learn by instructing!” (I actually heard a Battalion staff officer express himself along such lines.) And there was always an element of “eyewash” shoved into each class, a thing or two in the way of decoration or show which wasted everybody’s time and benefited only the platoon or company commander who had managed thereby to dazzle the eyes of his senior. This “eyewash” might be in the form of flashy instructional props, or a high instructor’s platform, or even some radical departure from regulation training procedure.
In the matter of rifle shooting, the policy was reminiscent of some critical histories I have read of the conscription and training of the Federated CommonWealth Civil War soldiery. Reliance on subordinate units seemed to be the rule, and the admittedly keen minded operations and training officer (G-3) of the company apparently did not know who could instruct in rifle shooting and who could not. In any event, several third party, independent, Periphery Grade, rifle instructors, who almost literally did not know one end of a rifle from the other, were hired and charged with organizing and conducting rifle qualifications. The advice of a distinguished rifleman assistant instructor was, on one occasion, disregarded by a section commander who had ordered his squads to remove all of their rifle bolts when the weapons were locked up. His orders further prescribed the stowing of the removed bolts in a locker, but made no provision at all for returning the bolts to the proper rifles. Fantastic as it may seem, it is true. That section commander, the leader of half the soldiers in our Special Ops Platoon, had to learn by experience that Federated Long Rifle bolts are not always interchangeable!
A good look at our qualification firing would have made a civilian rifle club member laugh. On the date of record firing, officers galore were detailed into the pits to keep supplemental scores, and every shot on the targets was recorded carefully in the pits and on the line, but the identification of firers was not closely checked and in at least a few cases men succeeded in firing for each other. After these score-cards were turned in, they sometimes seemed to be changed. The shooting was on a competitive basis in only one sense, an organizational one. Each of the units wanted to score better than the others. With possession and control of the records in their own hands, there was plenty of pencil pushing on the part of certain outfits.
This was ignorantly encouraged from above. On more than one occasion, senior officers demanded high qualifications standards from their subordinate commands, refusing to accept anything below a certain level. When a Master Sergeant made such demands from behind his desk, without taking the time to go out and check the ranges and scoring procedures carefully, he usually got his high qualification records promptly indeed, on paper.
Our brilliant commanding officer (whom many of us had the pleasure of seeing sent home by the Major from Gillfillian’s before the unit ever got into combat) organized a rifle school at Maroo as one would organize a circus. He built the highest chief range officers’ platform that I have ever seen, made up numerous giant scale training devices for demonstration purposes, huge washtub sized markers, sighting bars ten feet long, and numerous other gaudy props. He qualified very few men in that school, even on paper, and he thoroughly insulted the intelligence of the men who had to endure the course.
I served in a heavy weapons company, as could reasonably be expected. I had played around a good deal with heavy machine guns, was a qualified expert over the old and tough “E” course, and was very fond of Bull Dog Mini Guns. At that time, most of the men in heavy weapons companies had long rifles for personal weapons. (Their M42Bs were still in the process of shipping or manufacture, and pistols were issued only to a few squad members.)
Regardless of the obvious silliness of arming an already overloaded gunner or number two man with a rifle, it seemed to me that it would have one advantage. At least it would give the men an opportunity to learn how to operate and perhaps to shoot properly a shoulder weapon of some sort. I began to use every available bit of spare time to teach a few men in the company the rudiments of rifle instruction, and we made up a few training aids and selected suitable dry firing areas close to the barracks.
In due time, our AC/20 gun qualifications were finished. We managed pretty well at it because the new company commander stole sufficient time from other subjects, and wrangled someone out of enough old 3095 ammunition to allow us to fire an extra time across the course, (after sorting out all the rounds with cracked necks). A few weeks later, we received our M42Bs and authorization to actually fire with the rifle 200 rounds per man for familiarization purposes, but we had to do so within two days.
Our heavy weapons personnel had not been officially available for rifle marksmanship training at any time previously, and their only grounding for using the rifle at all had been a little mechanical and care and cleaning training given in spare time. But all protests were in vain, and I was forced on this two days notice to take the company out to the thousand meter range and use up the ammunition; otherwise we would not get to fire at all. We had only one morning to get the job done.
It rained that day, a sort of chilly drizzle. I had selected assistant instructors the night before and “crammed” them as best I was able. On the range, I gave up the thought of teaching any positions in the very few minutes we had to spare for the purpose. We simply tried to get across the basic idea of sight picture and trigger squeeze and let each man fire his shots from prone or sitting position, using the sling if he felt like it. The shooting was at inch pasters on big expanses of target background, and the groups were generally pathetic. All of the company non commissioned officers were distressed, if not thoroughly disgusted, but we all felt that it would be better than no shooting at all, and did our best to coach and encourage men who were flinching with each shot and not taking the recoil properly. It was lucky that we took this trouble, because it turned out that those few shots were the only rifle practice the men were to be allowed before the DCCC Brass arrived on world.
That experience was a good one for me, a grand lesson in making the most of poor training circumstances. As I continued in the next years to serve in the Rabid Wolves and saw training as it went on in many posting stations, I was to become more and more certain that the key to good soldiery is not the ability to use well the proper tools of training and war, but is instead the developed knack of getting along with tools and devices at hand, or being able to make substitute tools if normal issues are not available. And when I began to work with the soldiery of other Periphery nations, Chainelane Isdles, Hanseatic League, Mica Majority, and Jarnfolk, I began to really appreciate the need for a new set of standards to apply to the training of people of much more primitive background than the average Inner Sphere or Outer Sphere for that matter. It is an unbelievable truth that it would take months of intensive training and hundreds of rounds of ammunition to teach the average Jarnfolk peasant soldier to shoot even as well as most of the men in my company did with their first 200 rounds from a military rifle.
That fact, however, afforded no excuse for allowing only a few hours’ rifle training to a Special Ops heavy weapons company personnel, individually armed with the rifle, and who were later to use that weapon in combat. Arguments that this training deficiency was circumstantial and no one’s fault were pure hog wash. We took too much time to teach ‘hand to hand’ combat and we took not enough time to teach ‘Sweep and Clear’ methods with our Assault Rifles. (The latter technique may possibly have been used to some extent in a Civil War, but had damn little application in the mountainous desserts of Gillfillian’s Gold.) Nearly everyone used rifles, carbines, or submachine guns in the dessert; no one knew when he was safe without such a weapon, any place forward of a combined arms command post. Pistols were never plentiful, and were used mostly at night for close in “foxhole” protection. We should have been trained better with shoulder weapons.
These training measures apparently were delayed, or at least were not enforced, until after the Major made it on world. The memories of the last contract were not sufficiently poignant in 3097, and someone high up in command had run out of imagination. Every junior officer (non-comms) I knew at Maroo would openly deplore our lack of attention to vital training in the use of important basic weapons. Everyone but the “wheels” saw the mistakes.
We learned enough about grenades, using the methods then prescribed in the manuals. However, most all of the throwing techniques we were taught were never put to use. The formal grenade throwing positions were artificial as could be, even the prone position, which, as it was taught, called for momentary exposure of the whole upper half of the body. Grenade throwing is an easy subject for the average baseball grounded Spheriod, and grenade throwing technique should not attempt to reteach a man how to throw, but rather to simply give a good course in grenade safety (a few of our men were wounded with their own grenades), then give him a large amount of practice throwing at realistic targets. As large a percentage of this practice as possible should be conducted with live grenades. This was another obviously advisable type of training which was discarded in favor of more precise and formal methods. On the whole, however, grenade training in the Special Ops Company was more adequate than close quarters combat training. Some of it, in fact, could have been diverted to room clearing training.
The most wicked of all our sins at Camp Maroo was concerned with the true occupational specialty of the Special Ops Trooper, Intel. We left real ‘honest to God’ scouting almost entirely out of the picture, and confined the recon we did make to known roads and good trails. None of the large urban centers of Gillfillian’s Gold cities and towns were reconned and scouted by whole companies, properly loaded down with their complete equipage. Quite the other way around: in all reconnaissance, we kept ourselves continually road bound, often moving enough afoot, but scouting only the areas trafficable to motor vehicles. On that account we gained no conception of normal Special Ops Recon across hazardous terrain, and the rigors of such reconnaissance were later to come to us as a shock when Major Cathryn Whitley arrived. Roads, we should have realized at the time, are only man made seams of civilization, and many less civilized areas have none. Our company, which a few weeks later would be especially thankful to find a few hundred yards of cut footpath in the jungle spaces, was conducting all of its scouting and movements along paved roads, with heavy weapons and ammunition going along in carriers instead of on the backs of the men. The “book” had made a statement to the effect that distances for hand carrying heavy weapons should not ordinarily exceed a few hundred yards, and that mechanized transportation would be the favored means of moving field guns. This statement was seized upon and misinterpreted by many officers who seemed unable to even think in terms of large areas without roadnets of ferrocrette or macadam highways.
As our training program went on, we saw each day more evidence of our own military incapabilities; and also terrible shortages of proper instructors, equipment and weapons. How little we actually had to work with! We were short of everything except a limited measure of willingness. We had no weapons, no equipment, and even worse, no knowledge.
Silly things were done in those days, because we didn’t know even the right methods to use. Officers without experience in handling large numbers of troops made errors which adversely and unreasonably affected the comfort and morale of the company. An over emphasis of safety precautions, always a bone of contention in peacetime, tended to give each tactical exercise, each firing problem, and each small unit maneuver, an unreasonable appearance of morale sapping artificiality.
As I recall, the classic expression FUBAR (Phukked Up Beyond All Recognition) came into being at that time and many of us will always associate it with Camp Maroo, where so many things seemed to go wrong beginning with the Major decision to deploy her forces piecemeal.
Memories of my stay at that place put it in the definite category of an organized bore, worse even than any equivalent length combat period I have since been through. Camp Maroo to me was a chigger-infested land of petulant senior officers, who, never satisfied, were always moaning about some trivial detail. It was a place where unknowing field officers stood on platforms and lectured in the hot sun to a hundred Special Ops Troopers, telling them to squeeze the stock of a rifle with all fingers, gripping it like a lemon, to get the trigger off. It was a place where squads were busy building decorative little picket fences and whitewashing them; a place where attempts to devise true and realistic combat training methods as often as not resulted in discredit to the man who went to the trouble.
Worst of all, it was a place in which a thousand conscientious junior officers and non-coms expended months of heartbreaking effort, knowing all the while that too much of it was in the interest of “eyewash”, being totally misdirected.
Camp Maroo, our training period there, served to give proof to every thinking man in the platoon that we were indeed poorly prepared for combat, that our unit was militarily a second rate Dragoon’s F on the Mercenary Rating, that the great mass of Rabid Wolves manhood (and womanhood) would require much physical and moral alteration before it could successfully fight in a joint contract with another MRBC rated unit.
All of this was to come out later when Major Whitley finally arrived, and all her infantrymen were later trained to shoot not only the rifle and carbine but also anti-armor and heavy weapons. You want to talk about training. She had the officers trained the dog shit out of us. We trained in Airborne and HALO drops. We trained in advanced level physical conditioning, psychological tests, fitness and swim tests, obstacle courses, long ruck marches, land navigation, small unit tactics, on both the squad and platoon levels, trained in weapons marksmanship, survival training, avoiding capture, resisting enemy interrogations and exploitations, escaping captivity, building techniques, defensive fortifications, as well as explosives, booby traps, and vibro mines. We had to complete a Combat Medic Course complete with trauma care and advanced paramedic training. We became proficient in not only in highly technical and advanced communication systems, but also the most basic forms of communications that are found in all the major Houses. The entire bandwidth of communications was taught as well as cryptography and construction and basic repair of communications systems and antennas for all types of ground to ground and ground to air communications capabilities and rudimentary HPG repair. And in our final phase was a culmination exercise known as ‘Sage Wolf’ where Spec Ops recruits put their training and experience of the last several months to the test. This was a realistic training setting dealing with indigenous personnel, counterinsurgency, and tested in the mission of taking out a mock guerrilla force of Rabid Wolves Instructors in a hostile environment.
I learned a lesson my father had been attempting to teach me for years. ’Be careful of what you wish for. It just might come true.’
Major Cathryn ‘Bulls Eye’ Whitley was a Bitch. But she’s OUR Bitch. Her training regimen saved our miserable lives. That and the marvel of modern military science that was granted to every member who graduated her training program, a Rabid Wolves Combination Sneak Suit.
The RW Combo Sneak suit was woven with a black synthetic Kevlar fiber for protection against shrapnel and other low velocity weapons. To reduce the wearer's infrared signature, within the synthetic fiber is a layer of thermo conductive mesh that absorbs and radiates body heat evenly into the surrounding atmosphere.
The suit worked as an ECM Suit to conceal the wearer from electronic sensors that emitted and detected signals. It consisted of a lightweight ceramic mesh containing thousands of electronic suppression/detection devices. These devices detected incoming signals and fed the information to an integrated microcomputer, which identified the incoming signal, selects an appropriate countermeasure signal, and commands the devices to transmit that signal. The suit can also inform the wearer when there is active electronic detection in the area; for example the suit's left hand will vibrate slightly when it is jamming radar.
The electronic camouflage component of the suit helped to prevent observation through visual methods, including the use of cameras and Rangefinder Binoculars. Sensors in the suit detect the color and amount of light in the immediate area, then passes that data along to a built-in analytical computer which changes the suit's color to match its surroundings. While this camouflage effect helps hide the individual in combination with other terrain, such as standing in front of a wall or within a forest, it provides no benefit if they happen to stand out on an open plain. The effect is also lost if the individual begins making rapid movements, such as sprinting or evading an opponent's attacks.
Also included was an extreme weather insulation unit and body monitors which could detect the wearer's vital signs.The suit was completed by goggles which incorporated a high-resolution video screen capable of infrared vision as well as anti-glare measures. A miniature computer and sensor system even presented the wearer with a 360-degree field of view. The guys in the Spec Ops Platoon referred to it as the 'Sage Wolf' Suit.
Can you say, 'DEST Infiltration Suit, eat your heart out'?
WORD COUNT: 5,498
CONTRACT COUNT: 13,509
NPC
Name: John Ono
Callsign: ‘OJay’
Rank: Corporal
Hardware: Defiance Thunder UAC/20 FG
Company: Fox Cub Mechanized Infantry
Platoon: Demon Pup
Section: Dingo
Squad: 4th
Team: Yankee
Gunner
Unit: Rabid Wolves Battalion
HOUSE: OUTWORLDS ALLIANCE
Last edited by
Mesha on Sun Oct 14, 2018 12:46 am, edited 3 times in total.
Name: Cathryn Whitley
Callsign: ‘Bulls Eye'
Rank: Lieutenant Colonel
Hardware: Steele Dagger Battle Armor
Company: Wolf Pack
Platoon: Brooding Lupus
Squad: Lone Wolf
Assignment: MUCO
Unit: Rabid Wolves Battalion
HOUSE: OUTWORLDS ALLIANCE
