Frank yawns awake as the Marines scramble from their seats, snapped to full awareness in moments. Old combat reflex, the ability to jump from sleepy to awake in a heartbeat. An hour's rest leaves him feeling invigorated, if a bit peckish.
Watching as the Marines go about their pre-jump checks, he slips the hypo he'd been provided from his pocket. Frowning ever-so-slightly at the prospect of jamming his system full of tiny machines he'd have to be listening to through the course of their run in his system, he nonetheless weighs the consequences of going into a potential toxic spot unprotected, and he settles the hypo at the base of his jaw, triggering it. The rush of semi-intelligent machines through his system is as disconcerting as he remembers it being, but he settles his mind in the shared details of the pre-jump checks.
He gives thanks to the Loadmaster for the meal, especially for the soy-free coffee. He makes quick work of the sandwich and then savors the coffee as only a man who knows the spiritual implications of good coffee can. Afterwards, he settles in for some more sleep. No sense in arriving bagged.
-----
He wakes shortly before touchdown, another instant awareness, this time one of a shift in cabin pressure. The flight seems to have gone by quickly, which is understandable since he has spent the majority of it in quiet slumber. He is quiet through the offloading, preferring, as usual, to passively observe and get a better read on the surroundings. As soon as they are off the plane and into the brisk, damp air he brings his orientation systems online and sets up a mapping subroutine. The base is vast enough he doesn't want to leave directions to chance.
Frank finds himself frowning at the Sergeant's poor turn out, but takes note of the inter-governmental nature of his tasking. The fact the base is comprised of no less than three militaries doesn't especially surprise him, but its enough to peek his professional curiosity.
When Flownders addresses himself and Vice, Frank nods. "A twenty-hundred rendezvous should give us enough time to settle in." He doesn't say any more, instead looking to the others. They don't need direction to know the meeting time would be important to make, and he isn't about to tell them what to do with the time. He just wants to see what they'll be up to.
With everyone breaking into groups, Frank decides to indulge his curiosity. He heads into the main building, checking the signs and frowning slightly. The translations remind him that he's out of his usual theatre of operations here. He'll need to see about picking up some kind of tudor software, or getting some local lessons in Spanish. For the moment, he looks over the signs, and then asks the two at the desk where the communications center might be. Given his newly clipped and cut look, and the fact he's holding himself with no small amount of proper military bearing, he's banking on them not questioning his interest. He is on the base, after all, and arrived with a group who belong here.
Armed with directions, he heads off to find the communications center. Being that they're all on new ground he doesn't want to be going into the dust blind. It just makes sense to him to meet some of the local comm jockeys, and do a bit of scouting as to what forces are here. Something tells him there are some NGOs in the mix, if not on the base itself. The megas wouldn't leave this fiesta alone.