Ossana comes in, whiskey glass in hand and stogie stub smoking in her mouth as she puffs on it. Montcrief deftly slips a blank manila folder under the offending cheroot stub just before a heap of ash plummets from the tip. "Good to have you back. Good news is, your next job's a bit closer to home--just the far side of the river. Bad news is, we've had word of increased Coalition patrols in that neighborhood. Whether you engage or not is left to your discretion, but keep in mind that a high body-count might just lead to more folks poking around."
She calls up the map, and she really wasn't kidding about how close your patrol zone is. Just to the south of old Branson, Missouri, it looks like you'll be running around a zone about 10 miles square--mountainous terrain, of course, but nothing the Creeper and Sasha can't handle. "Now, you're just getting this as filler duty--we expect to have a standard unit of rank Legionnaires out there in a bit over a week, at which point you can come home and we'll hopefully have you on a more significant detail, and maybe even flesh out the squad a bit--we're expecting a new batch of recruits once the Senior Wing Adjutant Deployment Exams are done with. In the meantime, see if you can figure out what the Coalition's up to, and in general keep the peace. You can get there however you prefer--normally, we'd just send you via that crazy woman's boat again, but if you want to play with your new toy, go ahead--it'll be about the same travel-time either way. Dismissed."
With that, she turns and heads out, as usual leaving Montcrief behind to address any questions you might have.