ALT #305: Dead Moons, Dead Raiders, and Other Business
Dead Moons, Dead Raiders, and Other Business
Summary: Assignments are given concerning the upcoming mission back to Minos and a project to search for spare Raider parts.
Date: 07/11/2013 (OOC Date)
Related Logs: The Underground City and the other Minos stuff is jawed about.
Atalanta Phin Warren 
Viper Squadron — Deck 2 — Battlestar Orion
The berthings for the Orion's Air Wing are the same as what one would find on any other Mercury-class Battlestar, though they are distinctly different from the rest of the bunks on the ship. These bunks are separated not into sections of sixty, but by squadron. That means that there is a little more room to move around with only twenty to twenty-five pilots in one bunkhouse. Some officers have brought a small rug to sit in front of their bunks, but the tables and chairs are standard military issue. At the rear is a small couch that was probably new when the ship left anchorage and seems to have been kept carefully clean. The crest of the Lucky Strikes has been painted onto the wall behind the couch, as well.
AWD #305

Phin strides through the hatch into the berths, still in his flight suit. Helmet's already off and under his arm, but he hasn't bothered unzipping any more than that. He's been getting a few more flight hours than usual lately. He volunteered to cover Holtz's CAP shifts while the squadron leader was staying over on Minos. So he's just getting off duty.

Atalanta, meanwhile, is currently sprawled out on the couch at the end of the aisle. Or, rather, her things are sprawled out there. Apparently tired of pacing her office, she's moved her tablet, her files, an outdated map of Minos, and herself to the berthings and claimed a significant amount of space there. After all, if she can hear other people having conversations, that counts as being "approachable", doesn't it? She barely looks up when the hatch opens; at this hour, plenty of people are coming and going.

Phin heads to his locker to peel off his suit. His fatigues underneath are sweaty and generally as gross as one is after hours in a cramped cockpit, but he doesn't bother to change. One can hope he's hitting the Head later. A few pilots he passes get a casual, "Hey." Atalanta is even offered a "Hey, sir." Like 'sir' is her preferred name, in his brain.

She drags her eyes up off her page at the familiar form of address. After all, unless she's in a room with Jameson or Faulker, it's usually aimed at her. There's none of the sheer exhaustion or angry red in them that there was over Picon, after weeks with little sleep and too many stims, but there is what must by now be a familiar expression of frustration. "Lieutenant." A beat, a blink at his appearance, and then "Ohh, yes. You've been flying some of the Major's shifts, too." Almost unconsciously, her eyes flick over to Holtz's empty bunk. It's only for a second, but it makes her frown.

Warren arrives from the Squadron Berthings.

"Always happy to get more flight hours, sir," is Phin's reply, about the extra patrols he's opted for. It's true enough, whether he probably feels particularly dutybound to cover for his sometime wingman. He's just off CAP at the moment, finishing peeling off his flight suit by his locker. "Any idea when we'll be headed back to Minos to pick up our people?"

"As soon as I get the approval from upstairs," she murmurs, looking back at one of her maps with a furrowed brow. Granted, the CIC isn't really upstairs, but surely, he follows along. "By my best estimates, we're going to have to hold the moon for at least five hours, maybe eight, and there's basestars well within range of Tauron. There were six of Caprica alone, by my count in June. I expect it's going to be ugly if we time it poorly, and one of their patrols swings by. You and Smythe are going to have to be prepared to carry not just your own weight, but split the work of leading the squadron between you."

GROAN, goes the bulkhead door as its opened and in steps Warren. Cup of coffee in hand, and staring at the clipboard full of papers with a hrm, he looks up as he steps in giving a firm nod to his fellow pilots, "Evenin. Whats this about carrying and leading the squadron? " Apparently he caught the last little bit as he slipped through. Either way he's headed towards a chair as he takes a sip of his coffee.

"Yes, sir," Phin replies to that promptly. There's a somewhat daunted look in his eyes at the prospect of that, but it's nothing he voices. "Any idea what kind of cap ship support we'll have?" Unclear if he means for the evac or the basestars. Maybe both. He picks his water bottle out of his locker before closing it, and begins drinking long and deep from it. Warren gets a "Hey, Toast" between gulps.

"We won't be using capital ships for the evacuation. All of the spaceports on Minos have been destroyed and we can't land them on the lunar surface without them sinking. Even a paved lot for land vehicles doesn't have the necessary weight tolerance to hold them; they'd sink right into the dust, and we'd never be able to take off," she says with a sigh as she reaches up to brush a few flaxen strands of hair out of her eyes. "Captain. You and Lieutenant McBride are going to be leading the Lucky Strikes on the Minos evac." A beat. "Assuming the locals will even agree to it." The way she says 'locals' in reference to the Minoans — as stubborn and stupid as their parent Colony, apparently — makes it sound like some horrible pejorative.

Theres a glance over his notes and he flips the page as Warren listens and watches the two. Theres a little quirk of his brows as he glances over to Atia, "I'm a little confused sir, maybe just out of the loop. But we? Am I not in command of the squadron with the Major away? Or has there been an issue with my leadership sir?" He glances over to Phin, "No offense Dolly," before glancing back to Atia, "Or am I just badly misreading what you're saying? I mean I do count on Dolly, and he's certainly stepping up. Just trying to figure out what your meaning is there sir?"

"Uh, no offense taken," is all Phin says, backing away from this question. He has things to straighten up in his locker, and he pays attention to that for the moment.

One of the CAG's dark brows arches at that, mildly. "Captain, we've got five people on the ground in an unknown location, limited supplies, constant radiation exposure, and an unpredictable civilian population that may well see them as a potential threat. Of those five people, three of them are mine, personally. My people. My responsibility. I want them back, and I want them back now. But if you're more concerned with waving your dick around the room over my diction and syntax, by all means, continue." Though often direct, the woman is not known for normally being quite so unpleasant, quite so brusque. It would seem that she is very, very, very unhappy about Minos. "Otherwise, I expect this to be at least a five hour battle. I don't expect that anyone would be able to hold an entire moon for that long by themselves, regardless of their brilliance or skill, and have decided that Lieutenant McBride will be your immediate support. If you take issue with that, you're welcome to file a formal complaint."

Warren sighs a bit and shakes his head, "Sir I asked cause I wasn't clear on what you meant. I don't take issue with Dolly being my direct support. Frakin hell, I would have chosen him to do that myself." He shrugs a bit, "Didn't know if there was an issue with me that you or the Major hadn't spoken to me about." Theres a pause and a sip of his coffee, "We'll get them back sir."

Phin stands up a notch straighter as Mom and Dad fight. About him, sort of, no less. "I presume I'll be acting in a capacity as your second and under your direction, Captain, and I'll do my best to serve as such." After all that. "Do we have to evac everyone on Minos at once? What I mean is, they've been there for this long. Are they in immediate danger, or could we start by bringing back a smaller group? Maybe show them what we're about, gain some trust."

"Major Holtz isn't one to be particularly shy in his criticisms, Captain, and I don't believe in coddling people. If there were an issue, one of us would've told you — in varying degrees of volume and vulgarity depending on who, but all the same." She nods her head to Phin, once. He's got the right of it. Atalanta doesn't touch the subject again. She's been honest, and as far as she's concerned, there's no more problem to address. "I'd considered that, but there's two problems with evacuating them in stages. First, from what I can determine from the AARs, they've survived this long by staying hidden. Every trip back means running the risk of exposing their hiding place any Raider patrols in the area. Second, the surface was nuked — lightly, but nuked. Every day they're there, they're being exposed to low levels of radiation. The log books are mostly in Tauran, but the ones that aren't show what looks like a dwindling population. They're dying. Slowly, but they're dying."

It looks like Warren wants to make the comment that Holtz is 'sir not appearing on the battlestar' but he apparently thinks better of that. "In other words if its going to happen it needs to happen all at once, and that means keeping that airspace secure for an extended period of time while we ferry them off the plannet," he finally intones before taking another sip of his coffee before setting it down. He glances over to Phin, "That means we're going to run rotating shifts. Going to be hell out there if the cylons show up. Gonna need to refule, rearm, repair. Means flights need to hold while the others getting flight ready agian."

Phin nods to that explanation of the tactical approach to this. "Understood, sir. I'll refresh myself on the maps we've got that area of space. Is there anything else either of you need from me? Concerning Minos or otherwise?"

"Not in Raptors, at least, thank the gods. That may spare it the worst of it, Captain. We've still got that fleet of ships sitting at Hebe, perfectly intact, just in need of refuel after a funeral detail's been completed. They aren't armed," she says, giving Phin a knowing look. Those sim exercises she ran when she first arrived? Maybe they weren't so useless after all. "But they can hold a few hundred at a shot, and we can land them on existing roadways. Make three trips. Hold the site for five to eight hours. Less time than we spent at Pallas, by far." A shake of her head as she finally sets the maps aside. "When we're done, I'll be passing down a project from intell. Not exactly low priority, but by comparison, it can wait a few more days."

Warren nods at that, "Sir, you haven't said anything about the most important piece of information about this op yet." Theres a pause as he watches the woman, "Who gets to punch the Major first when we get him back? I mean I know we're all thinking about it but who has first dibs?" Theres a little grin or smirk slipping into his expression there at the end but he's keeping a mostly straight face.

Phin doesn't hide his relief when he hears they won't be doing a repeat of Pallas. Now that his locker's all sorted, he grabs a towel and his swim trunks. He doesn't start changing in the berths, though. That'll wait until he gets to the pool. Not that he's leaving just yet. His brows arch at Warren's comment about punching Holtz. Not that he exactly objects to the idea. A nod to Atalanta, "Understood, sir."

"When Major Holtz gets back from his little vacation," Atalanta mutters under her breath, even though she's answering Warren's question directly. "I am going to make that man wish he'd stayed hiding in the very darkest part of that irradiated pit. It will seem like a paradise by comparison." Wasn't there something someone said once, about hell and the fury of a woman scorned? Someone? Anyone? The fact that she plasters her coldly polite, tea-in-the-parlor smile on her face somehow makes it seem so much worse. "Captain Grey has asked me to find him an intact Raider for our weapons and avionics teams to pick apart. I tried explaining to him that the goal of a Viper jock is generally to blast them into itty-bitty pieces, but he was quite persistent. So someone needs to review gun camera footage of recent dogfights to find an area for the scavengers in the salvage crews to pick clean."

Theres a smirk from Warren at the response from Atia, "Noted sir." At the second part he tilts his head, "I take it the ensign you were going to have look at it couldn't keep their eyes open?" He's taking a bit of a leap there from their last conversation about such things that this is the same slogging through the cam footage for the captain. "I take it we're up on deck in that regard?" he asks.

Phin looks both intrigued and wary. "So they can dissect it?" He grins. "Cool. I mean, I can see how that'd be useful, sir. Though it might be difficult to find one that's both intact and not, like, still able to shoot us. Anyway, I'll start going over the dogfight tapes after we complete the mission on Minos." Brows arch. But he does not ask about this ensign.

"If they can cobble together a whole one from the parts of several, it out to suffice. So the issue will primarily be finding ones that are only partially damaged, but otherwise intact. Finding one that's somehow whole and non-functional doesn't seem possible." There's a shake of her head as she begins packing up her with things, with the swift percision of someone who spent far more time in the military without their own office than with. "Since the two of you seem to spend more time reviewing gun cam footage than anyone else in the unit, yes, I'm afraid the shit rolls uphill, in this case."

Warren chuckles about the last part and shakes his head, "Who woulda thought being good at our jobs would get us in so much 'trouble'?" He's kidding about the trouble bit obviously but he nods, "What are your expectations on our first round of possible hits sir so we know how to plan things out?"

Phin nods, about cobbling together parts of Raiders, which seems sensible to him. He asks no more on that for now, leaning against his locker and watching for Atalanta's answer to Warren.

"These are areas that salvage crews are going to need to be able to work in. While they're working, we'll be expected to cover them. I'd advise looking in areas with a relatively small Cylon presence. Hopefully, we won't run into them again while we've got someone tethered to a ship with a rubberband," Atalanta says with a sigh and a shake of her head. The things the spooks come up with for them to do.

"Shoulda picked some up right after we took Picon's airspace then," Warren mutters to himself a moment before speaking louder, "We'll find a spot sir…gonna be odd flying CAP over the salvage mission though. Who would have thought we'd end up trying to protect raiders…even if they are dead?"

"If we're lucky we can just pick over areas of Picon we've retaken," Phin says. Not that he sounds overly optimistic, but it's where he'll start. "Anyway, I'll try not to get too wrapped up in it until after Minos. Right now, if you'll excuse me, sirs, I'm going to try and hit the pool before I hit the showers and my bunk. In that order."

Thank you, Lieuentenant," Atalanta replies, almost automatic in her response, as she shuffles down the aisle, towards her own bunk. "It's not something I really imagined either, but it's come down from the CIC. So we'll have to trust that it will be worthwhile for now, and hope that it's an effort whcih turns hings to our advantage later."

Warren gives a nod towards Phin, "Enjoy." He does give a nod towards Atia before glancing back at his clipboard, "Yeah lets hope they know what they're doing. 'least we know that the intelligence department hasn't changed much despite everything." Theres a smirk there as he stands starting to pull off his jacket to hit the rack himself.

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