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Bering, Pacifica Base: VIP Headquarters

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A certain Direktor is nervously walking around his office. Sitting down and standing up multiple times. Circling around his room, worriedly looking at the projected image on his desk. After a while, he starts breathing slowly trying to calm down. Then he takes a seat at the command table looking at the map of Bering in front of him.

The windows of the office project a simulation of planet Hamburg, so he doesn't have to look at the mechanics breaking their backs in the hangars. He keeps looking at the projection of the Texas Jump Gate, again and again. For a second he relaxes and rests back in his chair.

After a short while, a loud resounding knock hammers against the office door, followed by a repeating dull beeping tone, alerting the Direktor to someone awaiting attention at the door. "Direktor? You home?" A coarse voice would call, followed by a sigh and a muffled grumble. "I need a drink..."

James puts his hand on the command table sliding his finger across it, opening the door. "When I'm dead, I want you to knock on my coffin so I wake the fu*k up." He faces Niska, looking him in the eyes. Well. Eye. "What's your poison?" As he finishes the sentence he leaves the door to close automatically. Walking to the minibar he says with his hoarse voice: "Please, take a sit."

Niska saunters on in, lazily slumping down in a chair across from the desk. He'd place his hat down on the table and slide a hand back over his balding head, letting loose another sigh as he stretches in the chair. "I'll take whisky, in a IV." He'd run his hands down his face, clearly tired, offering a smirking sideglance in Hollywood's direction. "If you're lacking the IV, any glass'll do."

"A glass it is." He pours the finest whiskey he has into a glass and puts it on the desk in front of Niska. He pours one for himself too and places it next to Niska's. James sits down in the chair next to Niska. He slides his fingers across the command panel once more and a map of Bering is displayed. "Here's the problem that needs solvin'. And I need ya' to do it. So tell me now... What ya' think?"

Gives a slight nod of thanks as Hollywood sets down his glass, of which he reaches for immediately, taking a quick swig shortly before the map appears. Leaning in to rest an arm, he places his glass down onto the desk, staring intently at Pacifica's location as he thoughtfully strokes his beard. "Thinkin' that it's real lonely out here, just us, them corpos and maybe some junkers." He'd lazily gesture with a metallic finger to where Marshall once was and then point towards the lane junction. "Those were our distractions." He'd sit back, still stroking his beard. "Navy will be sweepin', playin' suppression. Think we can keep 'em from findin' Pacifica meanwhile?"

Admiring the man's beard the Direktor speaks. "Pacifica is safe. It's so well hidden that sometimes even I don't find it. We got a whole lotta of advantages. One of them bein' the home-field advantage... And the element of surprise." He takes a sip of Whiskey continuing his sentence. "One thing we cannot do, however... Is win against them while usin' pure strength. I don't fancy going one to one against a fleet of overlords that just keep on comin' and comin'." He slides his hand across the table pointing towards the Marshal wreck. "At least we don't gotta deal with them anymore. The LN did our dirty work. Now let's get 'em out of 'ere and take this place."

"It ain't gonna be easy. How we gonna do it? We need to cut their lines, win lotta fights, and when we have the upper hand kill the queen bee."
He says pointing towards the Liberty Navy Battleship parked in the center of Bering. With a couple of swift slides, he opens four projections. One of the gate, the battleship, the Freeport wreck, and one of Pacifica.

Niska reaches for his glass, taking a quick sip as he narrows his eyes watching the projections intently, before setting his glass back down. "Knock out the gate would be an obvious move. Can't be havin' more of 'em show." Leaning back again, slumping in his chair, he'd reach for a pouch containing a couple of cigars. Taking one out, he'd light it, taking a few brief puffs. "Maybe we don't need to take it out, jus' make 'em not wanna be here. Make it too costly." He'd shrug, giving a quick glance to Hollywood, gauging his expression.

"GMG did it I heard. Fire 'n' fade, couple'a mine fields maybe." He'd pause for a moment, flicking the projection back to the Battleship as he takes a long drag on his cigar. "The belt is our advantage. Must mess with their scanners, maybe we can throw out some 'noise-makers', ghost signals and the likes. Throw 'em off."

Clearly not caring about Niska's smoking the Direktor proceeds to speak. "I agree. The gate's gotta go fo' sure. As soon as it's gone tho there'll be some sunshine DSE or Ageira repair sight poppin' up in Bering..."

"Cuttin' off the system is our best bet. There mustn't be any reinforcements. We cannot take on the whole Navy one on one." Hollywood pulls the two of his fingers together and zooms out on the map, showing only the gate in one corner and Battleship Concord in the other. "This is the problem tho. When we cut off the gate we gotta guard it so no one can repair it. We can't let 'em repair the gate."

"BUT we must also make sure that Battleship COCKcord, over there, doesn't make it's way to the gate and destroy our guardin' forces." He sits back in his chair taking a sip of whiskey, visibly concerned about the plan. As he puts down the glass he looks Niska in his eyes. They sure are scary but they're nothing like Hollywood's eyes. The Directors' eyes, as cold as death.

Quietly chuckles and mutters. "Cockcord." Before taking another long drag, taking note of Hollywood's visage with a sidelong stare. "Noise-makers. We need to make ourselves look bigger, throw 'em off." He'd return his attention to the projections, tracing a finger along the belt towards the Concord, system-east to west. "With all these asteroids, we throw out some scrap-rigs with UN IFFs, throw 'em in this way. Useless in a fight, but make a lot of scanner noise." He'd then lean back and gesture towards the periphery of the star with the butt of his cigar. "Then sweep in with some bombers 'n' boats, edge of the 'rona, should mask us long enough. If all goes to plan, Navy falls for the noise-makers. Pulls off some wings, lets out torp boys get in real close, do some damage."

With a narrowed gaze, stroking of the beard with one hand, his metallic digits pinching at his smoke as he graciously puffs away, Niska seems to pause in contemplation for a while. He'd mutter: "Could do it to draw 'em from tha' gate."

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