Roger Davis
Marine Commander Staff
34 Years Old Major Aerilon Native
[brw1775|militaryapps]Sic Loquimur Omnes
Posts: 873
|
Post by Roger Davis on Aug 11, 2013 17:32:26 GMT -5
Roger quickly stood to attention and returned the salute briskly. "As you were, Lieutenant." he ordered. He'd apparently caught Tremaine off guard. It seemed the pilot wasn't expecting an old friend and/or superior officer to be lurking there in the hallway for him. Complacent.
Roger raised an eyebrow of his own when Tyler gave his response. "You will be fine." he repeated with emphasis this time. The question was not that Tyler would recover but when he would recover. Technically he was supposed to be combat ready at all times, but the War Games were in just over eight days. Griffin would need to be at his best by then. It also wouldn't hurt to get in as much sticktime as possible between then and now. A bruised body with a line of fresh stitches holding his chest together tended to hold one back.
"And they said I was the one who was going to get myself killed." he added. It was another reference back to their time together in the nineties. Roger had been assigned the callsign "Graves" for that very reason back in flight school. Fortunately enough it was often misleading, implying he'd be the one doing the killing rather than the dying.
Small talk out of the way, Roger spoke up again, "Mark your calender, Lieutenant." he said. "I've got a job for you on the 13th, and I expect you'll be in top shape by then." The 13th was day four of the Ophion Games, most notably the day scheduled for boarding actions, Roger and his marines' specialty. There were high hopes and expectations for Hyperion's performance this year. Roger wasn't about to let anyone down. "You ever flown into an enemy hanger before?"
|
|
|
Post by Viktoriya Gilyov on Aug 11, 2013 21:21:02 GMT -5
Gilyov was taken aback by the Major waiting outside, offering a salute and greeting at once with Ty. The conversation between them was meant only for Ty, but the Lieutenant wouldn't walk away without being dismissed. The major, of course, touched on the things Viktoriya herself had been worried about. A pilot didn't black out and get back in a cockpit not look like a pussy, and if he hadn't, he'd been pretty frakking close. The truth was, in a fraction of a second, the right impact, the right nerves, though it might have looked innocuous enough a hit from the outside, could have ended everything that Griffin woke up for every morning. The Major was right. Griffin had gotten into a fight that risked his airborne life. and Ty would have totally looked like a pussy. And, on another point, Griffin didn't seem the sort who would... It was all he seemed to want in life.
There was something else, though. Tremaine had been very close to hitting Lars in the throat with all he had. Collapse the trachea and that would have been one Hades of an end to the fight. And the marine... and Ty. She doubted Griffin would have done it if he'd been aware of himself... and if he lost that awareness, he really just didn't need to get in the ring. However else it worked, it would wreck him, his career, and his opponent. Really, Captain Wilson should have stepped in the second he saw it, but he parted them just for a bit. He should have called it off, then, and made sure his pilot stayed as far-flung from any such scenario as he could put him.
It was safe to say the Major probably hadn't witnessed that particular nugget in the match, or he likely would have mentioned it. Funny that he did mention getting killed, the irony being it had seemed like a very distinct possibility for a moment, and it hadn't been Ty on the chopping block.
((I made a couple of edits until I have time to go back and rewrite))
|
|
Tyler Tremaine
Viper Pilot Staff
37 Years Old Lieutenant Caprica Native
[brw1798|militaryapps]
Posts: 110
|
Post by Tyler Tremaine on Aug 12, 2013 18:54:23 GMT -5
"You will be fine." The Major repeated him, with emphasis on the word 'will'. Davis could still be a prick at times, but he chose his timing with analytical supremacy... And let's not ignore his sense of humor. That dry, non-vuger, piase overbearing style, that all you could do is smile in the mirror when he pointed out imperfection. "And they said I was the one who was going to get myself killed." And, there was further proof of the earlier mentioned humor. Tyler smiled back at him, as though he were the aforementioned mirror.
"I'm fine now Sir. Tip top."
"Mark your calendar, Lieutenant." he said. "I've got a job for you on the 13th, and I expect you'll be in top shape by then... You ever flown into an enemy hangar before?"
Now. Here was an interesting moment for Tremaine. He actually had flown into an enemy hangar before. However, not for many, many years, and not that he would ever talk about lightly. This was the kind of stuff that made you a good soldier a superior could trust, or it could make you a showoff that commanders would hate. Some soldiers loved their past... darker... missions. And at this moment, they would infer that something happened and that it was classified. Tyler eyed the Major for a moment in silence. How much did he even know? Major Davis wasn't in Tyler's chain of command, nor was he a member of the Karaya operation. The legitimate one. He was certainly not privy to the parts that Sec Con covered up. And even if he had that kind of pull, Gilyov certainly did not.
Then again, Perhaps it was simply a question without any purpose other than the exact answer. Maybe he just happened to need an infiltration op, and he wanted Tyler... Instead of Captain Weiss... There were other options. Perhaps he meant to send Tyler into a hangar in a Viper, run an assault mission, clear out some opposition. It wasn't unheard of, and it would be a ballsy, daring move. He'd need a Viper pilot of Tyler's uncanny ability, to find the wildest and most dangerous plan in the room, and scoop it up first! Whatever the Major's game was, Ty had only once entered a hostile hangar, and he wasn't allowed to talk about it. He simply answered with a dull tone that might sound bored, or unaffected, "No Sir, not intentionally. But I'd sure like to try it..."
|
|
Roger Davis
Marine Commander Staff
34 Years Old Major Aerilon Native
[brw1775|militaryapps]Sic Loquimur Omnes
Posts: 873
|
Post by Roger Davis on Aug 12, 2013 20:48:20 GMT -5
"Hmm." is all Roger responded to Tyler's predictable assurances. What kind of pilot would admit to being unfit or show any weakness? Certainly not Tremaine. The nine stitches that he'd admittedly just received attested to the fact that he certainly was not fine, but Roger was not going to press it. He wasn't there to lecture Tyler. The man wasn't under his command, and besides, what's done is done. The hope was that Tyler might not get himself so badly fraked up in the future.
Tyler's response to the question was also expected, humorous and eager, though it was camouflaged by his tone. Of course there was the possibility that he had, but what were the odds of that? It was reckless and suicidal in real combat and little better in simulation and war games. But for a staged boarding action? The rules didn't say anything about that. At least they wouldn't until next years when the book would be revised.
"Then you'll get your chance." Roger replied before looking around Tyler to the other pilot who'd remained quiet and a bit out of site since her salute. "Lieutenant Gilyov." Roger stated. He'd probably never said more than two words to the Viper pilot, but he certainly knew who she was. Security and information was Roger's bread and butter. She'd been on the ship near four years now and was in the same squad with Tyler and Chris, two men whom Roger was well acquainted. Suffice to say, he'd read her file.
He asked of her, "You're qualified expert marksman ,yes?" He turned back toward Ty as well. He was about to ask how they felt about spacewalks before deciding they'd heard enough for now. They were still over a week away from the planned battle. It could wait.
Roger intended to get as many pilots as he could scrounge for the op, Wilson included, but if he could only get one for this mission then it would be Tyler. He had the skill to get in quickly and daringly as well as the expertise both with small arms and hand-to-hand to best most opponents. That's the kind of well rounded soldier that he was relying on to knock this one out of the park.
"I'll be a little more forthcoming with details when we are closer to the date." Roger said. "Now, I don't want to keep you from your recov-" he stopped himself. "Regular duties."
|
|
Mark DePaul
Medical Chief
40 Years Old Lieutenant Colonel Libran Native
[brw1812|militaryapps]It's not that kind of shot.
Posts: 46
|
Post by Mark DePaul on Aug 14, 2013 1:57:54 GMT -5
Dr. Depaul waited patiently off to the side as the nurses did some final patching for both of the fighters, and remained silent as they spoke amongst themselves. Such was the awkward situation that Mark often found himself in; no longer administering treatment, and no longer a reason for them to be there, this was the intermediate event from which a patient emerged to once again join the healthy and living.
Such occurrences bothered him, not for its awkwardness, but for what it confirmed in the life he led. Almost always in the infirmary, Mark was composed and interacted differently that he'd normally would. In sickbay, he was required to be extremely observant, analytical, as well as hospitable. He was a participant of what the marines hated; an unsettling, unnatural state of being, where the real world was not applicable. His four walls, all his medical equipment, his staff, even himself, were considered just temporary things in the eyes of his patients.
He didn't mind being considered "temporary", and he wanted his patients to get well, but Mark didn't like the idea of "back out there", in the "real world". It was in such awkward transitions, when the person was well and chatting away, getting ready to leave, did he witness such a unique transition. It underscored how little he had set aside for himself. Others would get healthy and move on with their lives, but here he would be, waiting on hand and foot for the sick and dying.
Despite such emotionally challenging conditions for him as a doctor, Mark sought comfort in the life he was about to have; his wife was pregnant, going on to her third trimester. A quick examination confirmed that it was a girl. DePaul was about to have a baby girl, and was going to have a family of his own. If suffering through his work meant the support and safety of his family's future, then he took the task on willingly.
His dedication and patience would be tested from time to time in the infirmary, largely through his patients. Tremaine was one such a person. His apathetic approach to the nurses, excessive joking with his peers, and fiddling with equipment ensured a few more strands of grey hair for the doctor. Off to the side now, DePaul watched as the viper pilot thanked Engstrom for the boxing match and walked off.
This occurrence puzzled Mark. "Thank the guy that beat the snot out of you, but not the one that patched you up?...." he muttered to himself. Tyler was just full of surprises that day.
Quickly turning to the rest of the small crowd that formed since his arrival, DePaul began shooing away the healthy from his infirmary.
"OK. You're free to go Engstrom. Any other questions? My offer still stands for the boxing thing" he added.
|
|
|
Post by Viktoriya Gilyov on Aug 14, 2013 20:50:05 GMT -5
She hadn't been expecting to be involved in the line of questioning when Major Davis addressed her directly: ”Lieutenant Gilyov, you're qualified expert marksman, yes?” Whatever the major's mission, it was getting more interesting as he went.
”Yes, major.”
There was a slower tone to her voice, evidencing her surprise. She had been engaged in considering the major's questioning of Tyler. Had he ever flown into an enemy hangar before? It almost sounded like something that should have had a punchline to it, but the major didn't really have that lackadaisical, playful kind of attitude. At least, that's how he seemed – Lieutenant Gilyov knew of him moreso than knowing him.
The higher the ranks, the more clenched the anus... she thought she'd remembered hearing Striker say that once. It seemed like something he'd say nonetheless. That was certainly a subject Captain Wilson could be trusted with, considering the similarities. That tended to be the first impression of most, until the shell of decorum was broken... if it ever was. Major Stokes, she'd had the pleasure of seeing on leave once.
The port had been bustling with people, with Snakebite and Fox both in uniform. They were there a bit early, and hadn't boarded the raptor yet. Major Stokes shifted his rucksack, glancing over an eying a man in a suit. He had a briefcase beside him, nice, expensive-looking luggage beside him. Stokes looked at Fox and grinned slightly, then entirely washed his face of emotion and walked up to the man. The blond-haired man looked over his laptop into Major Stokes's grim expression, as if he was about to make some assertive welcome-to-the-urban-jungle (pissant-y) statement about his personal bubble. Snakebite's face stopped him short.
”Don't get on the plane.”
”What -?”
”It's classified. Don't get on the plane.”
Then Snakebite turned away and walked back toward Fox. The blond sat there a moment, his complexion a little paler, before he closed his laptop and tucked it into his case and he and his roll-away luggage all but flew out of the lobby and toward the street.
”Do you do that every time?”
”Eh, pretty much. One coming in, one going out.” Fox dropped her head and laughed quietly, and Snakebite never cracked a smile. He was damn good at it.
Major Davis was as cautious about admitting Ty's injury as Ty himself would have been. Hades, if he'd had his head severed and there was a means of reattaching it, Ty would have made light of it. She would have as well, as would any other Hawk – frak, basically any other pilot, aboard. They'd lie for themselves and they'd lie for each other. That was the one area Viktoriya had no qualms omitting. She wouldn't be grounded, or be responsible for clipping anyone else's wings. That was something they paid lip service to, unless it was pretty heinous.
|
|