The First Recon

[landashua]

A bit of a preface, this serial takes place during the second war, after the Elven defense of Quel'Thalas as the elves are mobilizing to aid Lordaeron.
It follows a few warbands of Farstriders as they vanguard the elven offensive.

"What are we waiting for?"

Liridon's nose twitched at her voice. His head turned just slightly, unwilling to fully break his view of the treeline ahead of him. His lips soured slightly as he turned back to the treeline. His hands drew a looking glass from his belt, the larger lens wrapped in cloth, only a small strip in the middle left uncovered.

"Liridon," her voice intoned once again, "What are we waiting for?"

His left hand held the looking glass to his matching eye, the fingers lifting as a signal for her to hush as the glass was cradled by his thumb. Closing his right eye, he searched the opposing tree line. His tongue poked forth, wetting his lips.

"Liridon!" her patience was wearing thin, "I asked you-"

"Shut the fel up." his voice interrupted, low, but carrying a great threat, "We're waiting for the damned team we sent forward an hour ago." he tongued his lips again, teeth coming to rest on the lower. He quickly closed the looking glass, tucking it back into his belt. He turned towards her with a grin.

Her arms crossed against her chest, pressing her back to a tree. Her head rolled against the tree briefly, hands pressed to her eyes. After a sigh and sip from her waterskin, she looked to Liridon. She was not pleased by his grin. "What's tickling your chin now, Duskrunner?"

"They're almost back, Zulu." he chuckled, pressing himself to a tree and sliding down against it. "If their report is clear, we move up." he took a short breath through his nose, looking over his shoulder around the tree, following the team as they sprinted across the short clearing. He offered a quick birdcall and waved his bare hand to reveal their position.

"Zulu, get up. Watch their crossing." he twisted around the tree, pulling the bow from his back and knocking an arrow as he landed on his left knee in one smooth motion. Zulu mirrored his motion, sliding on her knee to a tree nearby.

The recon team charged up the small hill to Duskrunner and Zulu. As the three man team passed between the two lookouts, Zulu eased her arrow forward, grinning. She turned towards the three men, arms wide. Duskrunner bit on his lower lip once again, giving the opposite treeline a final hawking glance. He snapped his arrow into the ground, pressing to the hidden side of the tree again.

"What's the word, guys? Any signs of enemy movement?" Liridon eagerly anticipated their answer. The three men looked at one another as Liridon reached forward and drew a small pack of dried meat from his bag.

"Not specifically, no sir." the elf nicknamed Reporter was the one who spoke, Liridon pointed a fillet of dried meat at the man before biting a bit of it off.

"Was there any non-specific sign of the enemy?" Liridon questioned as he chewed, chuckling as Reporter rolled his eyes. The two men with Reporter shared in the laugh, Zulu offering only a smile. "Alright, we're moving up. We've got orders from Chaos and Disorder, however, to hold at the next clearing."

Liridon snorted, he wasn't used to having Silvermoon stick their hands into his operations. The names Chaos and Disorder represented the leadership controlling this push, so chosen because, traditionally, the more Silvermoon attempted to control the Farstriders the more dangerous the operation became.

"Even though we're acting as the tip of the spear on this one they don't want us moving too far ahead and getting cut off. We'll be moving forward in bounding movements. We'll take some ground, hold for resupply, then take some more. Less than favorable." the three men, Reporter, Doc and Renegade groaned, moving to sit next to Zulu. Liridon stood, frowning against the setting sun. "If you say it's clear, we'll move tonight."

[landashua]

There is a bit of strong language ahead, I'll spoiler it. I'll also spoiler any particularly gory scenes.
One might notice there's a lot of waiting around and a lot of references. One would be right.

Liridon crouched at the edge of the tree line, "This is it. We wait for the rest of our battle group here." he snorted briefly, scratching at the mustache he had cultivated over the two weeks since their initial deployment. "Command unit's back that way anyway."

"So what now? Do we seriously just sit here?" Zulu threw her arms up in exasperation, walking behind Liridon and gazing at the moonlit clearing before them.

"I suppose we can observe movement on the road. Quarter watch, three of us get to rest. Reporter, head back to command. Let them know we've settled in and guide them back." Liridon drew a spade from his ruck, "Ranger graves for the rest of us."

---

Renegade grew weary of his watch. The shapes seemed to be shifting, merging together in the shadows. The road in the clearing before them was just simple dirt, but still visible in the moonlight, if only barely. "Liridon," Renegade's limp voice called out, "I've got two."

Liridon stirred from his sleep and crossed to the man, placing a hand on his shoulder, "Good spot, Renegade."

"Orders, sir?"

"We're not cleared to engage. Wake Zulu for her watch and get in your ranger grave." Liridon patted the man once on the shoulder and retired to his rut. He laid his head on his pack and tugged his cloak over his body.

Spoiler:

"Liridon, what the fel is this?" Renegade has followed his leader, and crouched at the side of his rut.

"We don't have permission to engage the enemy yet. This is strictly recon. Standard rules of engagement persist, only defensive actions." Liridon rolled to face away from the man, hoping the motion would end the conversation.

Renegade stepped over the rut, again squatting before Liridon. "We have the better position, it's the middle of the night, I could take the bastards out myself. You saw they were armed, and I-" he sighed in exasperation as Liridon simply looked on. "We're just going to let the enemy get away?"

"I don't give a shit, Renegade. Wake Zulu and get in your damned hole. Bring it up with command when they get in.

---

Morning came quickly. Zulu was on watch, leaning against a tree eating some stale bread when Reporter came back with the officer assigned to their warband. She greeted the two men with a nod, the ranger officer insisted on being called Pit.

Liridon was shortly awoken and greeted the man, Pit. "What's the word from command?"

"Rules of engagement have changed," Pit's voice was odd, calculated, but not overly so. He seemed to be a bit weary of his current company. "You have clearance to engage any enemy hostile. Avoid civilian casualties, we have reports the orcs might be bringing non-combatants."

"Makes sense, Pit. They have lines to maintain just like us. War is certainly profit for these people. Scrappers, scavengers, smiths." Liridon simply shrugged.

"Correct. But, if you see a woman with a weapon on her back, kill her. If you see an armed troll selling water out of the back of a wagon, put him down.

"What did command say about the grooming standard?" Liridon stroked his mustache as he asked. There was a mustache growing competition between the participating warbands and nobody wanted to lose.

The officer pinched the bridge of his nose, "They said you Farstriders were exotic but... Is that honestly something you're worried about?"

Liridon simply nodded his head. The officer continued, "No, we have no word on the grooming standard. It looks like you're safe for the next few days."