Donovan listened intently, nodding periodically and taking notes in his tac-pad where needed. He'd slipped into the room just as the presiding officer started speaking, and he was leaning against the wall in the back, jotting point-form what the man was saying. He liked Edmund - tough, to-the-point, unafraid to get his hands dirty. Perhaps a little uncautious, based on his extensive augmentation, but that wasn't for Donovan to say. His place was alongside the grizzled veteran on the front, following his orders and relaying them to the men - two broken individuals, scarred and bruised, doing their damnedest to stay alive and get the job done. They weren't friends - not exactly, not given the chain of command. Truth be told, Donovan only vaguely knew the man. He knew enoug, though, to be confident with the notion that Edmund was a proper bloody officer - just the sort one called upon to get the job done without worrying about shining one's medals or making sure to give the full credit to the stuck-up seniors further down the line.<br/><br/>His notepad was full, already shifted over by several pages, by the time the man finished talking. Donovan liked to take detailed notes - they may be a pain to read later, especially in his cribbed, hieratic handwriting, but they explained everything he needed to know in enough detail to make sure that no mistakes would be made. He'd seen men shot over such mistakes - on the frontlines and off of them - and he'd suffered under enough of them himself. Hell, he'd made a fair number as well - more reasons to keep his nose on the grindstone, to muscle up, and to orchestrate himself and his men into a well-oiled and well-machined unit. They may not be flawless, but they were good people - scruffy, unkemp, miserable bastards the lot of them, and he wouldn't have it any other way. Year after year, though, there were fewer old faces, each gradually replaced by a starched newbie fresh from boot camp, eager to please and to follow orders. Green and malleable - the best and the worst that the corps could throw his way. There were too many of them in the crowd that sifted out past him. What he wouldn't give for a few squads of hardened veterans who could read their mission from the lines on his face, and who could act without having the stick up their collective arses jiggled by somebody who knew their duty.<br/><br/>As for him, he waited by the door, standing more-or-less at attention against the wall and letting them file past. He'd earned his stripes, his right to loiter while the young'uns got their arses in gear. He'd take his time - everything he needed was ready on his bunk. He couldn't get any more prepared for this.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>