The sergeant snapped off a salute to Raelyn, coming to attention in the presence of a superior officer. The sergeant was at a desk, going over battle reports at the behest of the superiors of his particular military branch. It was a thankless, tiresome job that was nevertheless neccessary and a cup containing ugly dregs of long-cold coffee sat upon the desk. Its interior was glossy with sugars leftover from the liquid itself, suggesting that the sergeant had sought extreme stimulation to help carry out his task and was now, or would soon be, paying for it when he crashed.<br/><br/>"He's probably in the CIC, waiting for orders." Weiss said. "It's how we did it back in Russia."