AWD #266: Ethel the Aardvark Goes Quantity Surveying
Ethel the Aardvark Goes Quantity Surveying
Summary: Does exactly what it says in the title
Date: 29/Sep/2013
Related Logs: Picon Invasion - Marines and Raptors
Dropkickst Amos Callen Kostas Lleufer 
Operations Offices - CFAB Crandall
Home to the 33rd Tactical Fighter Wing and 379th Air Expeditionary Wing, the operations facility is sprawling on the base, the connected builds slammed up against the rear of the hangars and apron. With a plain interior, white walls are scuffed here and there from worn passage with running pilots or errant clerks with carts. The carpet threadbare and in desperate need of replacing. The hallways are utilitarian with doors going up and down both sides and simple plastic placards pointing the way to room numbers or specific areas or units. Old squadron plaques line the walls, each etched with names and years. The facility is minimalistic and not meant for comfort save for the fake potted plants to try to soften the interior and expense is definitely cut where it is not needed. There is a main room to the buildings, serving as something as a CIC and called 'Operations Control', with all the central scheduling, flights incoming and staff that were once here still etched on the dry erase, filing cabinets lining one wall.
AWD #266

He's not a particularly obtrusive gentleman. But when he moves he has that air about him of someone you need to get the frak out of the way from or he will actually plow you over. Its that cool confidence that seems to be the first thing to notice about this guy in the orange deck gang get-up. It looks loose on him, like he hasn't had a new one since he lost 30 or so pounds. But as he stalks the corridors of the operations offices, he finally seems to find what or who he is looking for. He passes the door to the temporary CP once and his boots squeek on a visible spot of linolium before he backs up and stands in the doorway. At just over six feet, he has an average build but this man in his late thirties doesn't seem to let any of it matter. Those are Senior Chief pins on his lapel and he doesn't seem inclined to move from the doorway until his target invites him in. Does he say anything? No. He just stares at Captain Omanney with those dark eyes and waits.

Amos is stood, side on to the door, and still in his combat armour, just in case. Rifle across his back he rests both hands on the table infront of him and seems to be consulting a map of the boarder the base shares with Marlin City to the north. The sound of boots makes his glance briefly towards the door, but seeing a set of orange coveralls he turns back to the map and it takes several moments before it registers that the man has stopped. Continuing to lean he turns his head to take stock of the man properly for a moment before he asks curiously, "you looking for me Chief?" He's got that distinct impression somehow, possibly it's the stare.

Callen is, for all intents and purposes, at this moment, a grunt. He was asked to grab his gear and come on with the Captain, and that's what the Corporal did. No harp playing here, just wouldn't seem right. He's standing out of the way. Not exactly sure why he's here, but he was asked, or well, told really, it was just formed as the latter. So here is, eyeballing various reports, maps, and such, doing the thing that his old man told him years ago: keep your head down and shut up. Pretty easy for someone like him.

Kostas studies a list of names, alongside a smaller map, finger marking exactly where she is in her reading, a slight scowl darkening her features. She's pretty intent on whatever it is that she's doing, though at the odd presence of someone stopping stock still in the middle of a doorway tingles her 'odd' sense and she too looks up, one dark brow raised. She straightens, noticing it's a Senior Chief, a gesture of respect from the Ensign, though she remains quiet as Ommanney calls out to him.

"Maybe. I was looking for your boss, Major Rand, but he was too busy hiding on the Orion. He told me to come find you." He steps slowly inside, glancing around before settling on Amos. "So no, I'm not. But if you're the best the officer corps can muster, I'll take you." A pause. "Sir." The man seems a little peeved with the Major and stewing a bit. "I'm Senior Chief James Koenig. I'm the ranking enlisted left from the three-seventy-nineth Air Expeditionary Wing after they executed killed Master Chief Olesson and shot Senior Chief Lipton for trying to escape." James doesn't stand at attention, though. Eyes glance over the other Marines and back again. That accent… its gotta be Libran. It sounds too precise and 'educated' to be anything else. "Where in the hell did you guys come from?" Koenig can probably read patches, but that's not really what he's asking.

Amos says nothing about Major Rand, somepeople are born to ride desks and the good major is definitely one of them. That doesn't mean he's going to start commenting on it though. A brief upnod is given at the introduction as he pushes off the table to stand straight so he can turn to face the man head on. "Captain Amos Ommanney, currently serving with the 3/8th, but I guess you know that already." He recognises the man's accent, but now doesn't seem like the time to remanise about home so he keeps on with the matters at hand. A nod towards first Kostas, than Callen, "Ensign Kostas, Corporal Methos," then he's back to the man infront of him, "sorry Chief, the Orion's location before she jumped into orbit for this offensive is classified. Even I couldn't give you co-ordinates." A pause, although not a long one and then he asks, "what can I do for you?" The man had come looking after all.

The Marksman from Aquaria suddenly finds himself being called out and he turns his head afrom the map and the terrain level it was displaying. Blinking, Callen nods to Koenig. "Chief." he says, tone quiet, but respectful. But, being as far down the foodchain as he's very aware that he is, he keeps his trap shut other than the greeting. Now, he starts to pay more attention to what the two older men may be talking about.

Kostas almost cracks a smile at the Chief's words, moving to an at ease position. Maybe it's promotion-by-attrition solidarity. She lifts her head slightly at Amos' introduction, but otherwise remains silent, while the big dogs are talking. As long as she doesn't open her mouth, she seems remarkably like any other young officer, if perhaps a little old for the insignia she wears.

"Lovely. Well wherever it was I hope you guys have food because we have been living on shit rations for the last ten months. If you want to win these people back and get them into the fight? Food and coffee. I would suggest that you get all you can down here to Crandall and set up a buffet line in one of the hangars. We're not looking for a free meal, sir, so much as the energy. Some of our guys are also in fairly poor shape from the beatings. Whatever you can get for doctors, I have three-hundred forty-one who need medical attention, of them twenty-two were critical cases before you landed." Koenig doesn't stop. Amos asked what it was he needed? He's getting it. "Then I need armed escorts and I need to know what you all need from us. I sort of doubt you all landed down here at Crandall because you were looking for some nice company." Thousands of Raptors, Vipers, Predators, and various other ships sitting in dry storage, ready for quick turnaround to active duty. "What do you need first? I've got two thousand people who are pissed off and want something to do to kick the canners in their brass jimmies. Get us fed and look after our wounded, give us a couple hours to rest, this place is going to be swimming in more aircraft than you can get off the ground in a week."

Amos listens in silence as the Senior Chief speaks, not interupting the man at any point, not even with a nod. Once he's finished though, then there's a brief nod and he turns his head towards Kostas, "Ensign. Get me a couple of hangers cleared. Find Lieutenant Billington from the Peak and get him to have one set up as a feeding station ASAP, the other as a triage point." Then to Callen, "Corporal, go find Sergeant Knox. He's napping in the commo tent at the bottom of the control tower. Tell him I want med evac raptors down here to take the critical to the fleet and ferry down what medical personnel are needed for the triage I just mentioned." Orders given he turns back to the Chief, "Start with the raptors, we taken heavy looses across the board but we can make new vipers elsewhere. Lieutenant Colonel Spree will be providing pilots and I'll have your escorts organised by," theres a pause as he checks his watch, "1800."

Callen can't help but make a face at the state of things. It's a grimace of sorts, but he's not nearly as stone-faced as the others around him be. And he doesn't dare make a comment at this particular moment. Then, he's looking back at Amos who's talking, as he gives orders to Kostas. And then, shit, he's talking to him. Memory organizes the orders he needs to relay to the Sergeant, then he salutes. "Yes sir." Shouldering his rifle the turns to leave the tent, to get done what he was ordered to do.

There's a flicker of…something…that crosses Kostas' face as critical cases are mentioned, though it's gone before it registers most likely. She remains at ease, though the wheels are turning as Koenig keeps going. Or perhaps she's gone back to jarhead two brain cells trying to find their way together land. Hard to tell with the stoic rough and tumble ones sometimes. Breaking hte thousand yard stare, she glances to Amos. "Aye, sir," she replies, snapping to, heels even clicking. "Chief." And with that, she'll be off to go find the El Tee and alert the rest of her Dogs, unless Amos tells her to cool her heels.

Koenig watches the response with slowly easing satisfaction. At least this guy seems like he can take off some of the frustration from the other people he's spoken with. "Yes, sir. We will start unrolling Raptors first." He watches the other two begin to move and he nods to them both. "Few last things, Captain." His arms cross over his chest. "All our officers are gone. They were shipped off to, we believe, Leonis. Every single one except the ones who managed to convince the Cylons they were enlisted. Talk about a culture shock for them. That's leaving me in defacto command of the base operations for now. Whoever it is that you've got running the show, you let them know I'll be here getting things moving, but we'd appreciate some officers down here helping with oversight. And tell them that if they try and put officers pins on me, I'll quit and just come to work in jeans and a t-shirt." Given the steady look of the Senior Chief, he probably isn't kidding. "And one other thing…" The face flattens. "They've had us reactivating old ships or building bulk carriers from scrap since day one. We get them running, some plugged-in weird-ass human traitors climb in, fly them away. They don't ever come back except to load up once a month from the shipments of blown-up Centurions they need reassembled."

As his two marines start moving, Amos gives them both a silent nod, not of thanks, given they're under orders, but acknowledgement maybe. There's a faint quirk at the corner of his mouth as the Chief makes his threat and he states simply in reply, "I'll ensure that's passed on in full Chief." He falls silent again as he's given the potted history of the past few months, then asks once the man falls silent again, "humans with centaurions controlling them? We've seen them elsewhere too, Jacks, as we've taken to calling them. Any indication where they were being flown too? Or anyway to track the ships themselves?" These are technically minded people after all, they might have found some clever way."

"Whatever you would like to call them, they're about as human as this desk you're leaning on. All the same personality qualities, too. We just called them 'bags', short for meatsacks." James unfolds his arms and glances to the door and back. "No idea where they were going. We never bothered to track them because they had us on lockdown. No point in it. We thought the war was over until late August, one of these skinners slips into our barracks one night late last month, starts telling us about how the war isn't over. Tells us the Orion has a massive fleet and is beating ass. This Nine was pretty hopeful you all would be heading here." He stares at Amos. "She was very persuasive. She had a lot of our guys and gals on edge, pins and needles. People wanted to revolt. It nearly happened twice. It was very hard to convince them that this Nine might be lying or just trying to give the canners reason to shoot everyone." He works his mandibles, a loud crack from his jaw as it pops back into place. "And then you all show up." A pause. "That Nine gave some very desperate people a lot of hope. You find her, I'll shake her hand. She saved lives, Captain." It seems there's little else. He takes a step back from the table, then. "Thanks for getting that all moving, sir. We'll make sure you get everything you had hoped for."

Amos replies with a short, sharp nod. "There are people working on ways to try and remove the cylon control from them, return them to who they were before, but I think we're still a way of that yet." Nodding to the answers he receives to his questions he then doesn't seem overly surprised at the mention of a Nine. "I think I know of the one you speak of Chief. I don't know if I can get a message to her or not but I can try for you if you'd like." As the man steps back he adds a final, "you find yourself needing anything else Chief, come find me. If I'm not here then the saw-bones have likely found me again, but someone should be able to put you in touch."

Coming in at a job, Corporal Methos comes to a quick stop, adjusting his rifle to prevent it from falling off. He stands at attention, clipping off a saltue to Amos. "Captain, sir. Found Sergeant Knox. Reported what you needed done and he said he was 'on it'." For a moment, he almost added in a comment about trying to wake the Sergeant up, but he thinks the better of it. Not really the time for humor at the moment.

There's the sound of boots coming in at double time as Kostas jogs in, though she doesn't even look winded. She slows to a halt at the door, walking purposefully towards the group. "Hangers gettin' cleared, Sir. Lt. Billington's on 't," she reports after a snap to, and then a relaxation on an at ease position.

Glancing to the Corporal as he returns Amos gives the man a nod in acknowledgement of the salute then firs off another order at him. "Well done Corporal, now I need you to go find the nearest raptor and crew you can and tell them to get their engines warm, ready for a trip to Orion. I need to get Captain Nadir fully appraised on the situation as quickly as possible." If he's going there, or bring her here is left unstated for now as he turns to give Kostas a quick upnod in acknowledgement as well. "Thank you Ensign. Start putting together some escort details for the Chief's men and I'll check back with you shortly." Fresh instructions issued he turns back to the table and rolls up the map he had been inspecting before setting it to one side in favour of a small notebook and a pencil. The pertinent numbers provided by the Chief are noted before he forgets them and then he's off himself to go brief that raptor he's just had Callen commendeer.

Somehow or another /Amos/ managed to get treated and his ass sent back down so by the Gods, one stubborn son of a bitch Aerilion Sergeant could manage it too, yeah? Or perhaps Lleu taped his leg up snug and slipped limping out of sick bay without asking leave to do so. Entirely possible. Either way he's gotten a ride down and is managing to get around. His leg is bandaged and he stops often to rest and lean his butt against something, rifle on the carry strap. When someone walks by, Lleu lifts up his baritone, "Hey, seen Captain Ommanney?"

Kostas is studying a few details on a map, the Ensign sitting on the arm of the couch rather than on it directly, helmet off for now. She's got some fresh stiches in her neck and a patch bandage on her left hand that are visible—and a mug of the sludget that passes for coffee in her right. She glances up at Lleufer's voice. "C'mon in, Sergeant," she greets him. "He jus' stepped out for a minute, he be back soon. Glad ta see you come down for some fun."

Lleufer leans against the wall and smiles thinly at Kostas, "See they got you right down into the thick of it. Heard he was hurt. The Captain doing all right?" He can smell that the Ensign has coffee and it makes Lleu glance around curious where she got it. "Seems our plans turned out to work this time."

As it happens, there's a battered old carafe here. As Ynyr looks around, she shoves off her couch arm and pours a fresh cup, offering it to him. "Yeah. Nasty shot t' th' chest, but th' old man done all right. Battin' down docs as easy as canners." She grins, taking a sip of her coffee. "We got lots more ta do though before this shit's secured. Doubt he gonna get more than bare minimum 'til we do." She doesn't sound troubled, they're probably pretty much all in that boat, herself included.

The cup is gladly accepted, "Thanks," strong and black, even if bitter, is fine with him. A taste of that first as Ynyr allows his gaze to roam over the chamber here. "He's a tough, crusty bastard. Fond of him." Lleufer frowns, "I hear Knox stuck close to him. It's good somebody was watching his back." Because Ynyr was off doing something else and barely got back in time. He rubs at his face and sips his coffee again, going quiet.

"We all watch each other's backs, Sergeant," remarks Kostas, slurping some more. "In any case, he ain't doin' nothin' stupid. Not sure we got the luxury of all healin' up full every time. 't least not this time." Doesn't seem to bother the Ensign very much either, in fact, she looks a hell of a lot more comfortable here than on the ship.

"Yeah," it's all he offers back by way of reply. Ynyr stands there favouring his left leg while he has the coffee, watchful and listening though he evades Kostas's eyes for now. After a moment of staring off at nothing particular, Lleu starts to carefully walk around this space to glance over things here, maps, ways in or out, view points, and keeping an eye out for the Captain. The Sergeant doesn't seem to be in a conversational mood.

Kostas lifts a brow, but shrugs it off, going back to her couch arm and her minimap, squinting down at it a bit, one corner of her mouth sucked in in thought.

Amos had in fact, stepped out for several minutes, but now he's returning. It's not quite his usual stride, but he's found that so long as he doesn't move his torso too much he can still get around okay, but then the additional support of the armour likely helps there. Reentering the room he slings his rifle back across his back and notes Lleufer's presense with a nod. "Glad you could join us Sergeant," he offers as he crosses back to the makeshift map table in the middle of the room, "don't worry we left a few for you so you wouldn't miss out."

Amos's voice brings his head around, "Sir," Lleu turns and manages to limp closer without spilling his coffee. Same damn leg as before so he's had some practice, "I didn't miss out entirely. I got in some." He looks the Captain over to assess the older man's injuries as far as he can but says nothing of them. Lleu stops near Amos and tastes his drink once more before he asks low, "So, what's next, sir?"

Kostas makes a few marks on her map in pencil, painstakingly scribbling down other notes in the margins. She seems content to make her markings, helmet at her side, every once in awhile pausing to down another gulp of coffee.

Amos's own injuries ar ehandily covered by bandages, fresh fatigues and in one cae armour, although a knowing eye will note that he's favouring his right arm and his torso is very stiff. Resting is hands on the table he looks back to Kostas and asks, "how are those escort details going Ensign?" Lleu's quetion has him returning his attention to the Sergeant and he eyes the man's limp amoment before stating, "so I see Sergeant. Next? Next we feed the 379th and anyone else here that needs it, get them checked over by medical and then get to work getting those craft back in the air. Oh, and lets not forget clearning the remainder of the canners." He pulls back the map he'd been looking at before the Senior Chief had arrived and offers it over. "If you're wanting to make yourself useful though I could do with a plan for a small recon of the close edge of the city. We're not expecting any civilians, but I'd like to know just what is left."

"They up an' runnin', Sir," Kostas assures. "Tweaked th' schedule a bit so we get everybody 's much rest as we can, while we can." She folds her map carefully, tucks it in a utility pocket along with the pencil, zips it up, rising to her feet. "Triage area's bein' set up and we gettin' the first folks settled. Sent word up that we could use all th' help we c'n get, even from volunteers that don't usually come down. Hope that's not gonna fuck nothin' up, but I figured it'd cut the time down some." The chaos of Picon after War Day seems to have educated the Ensign well in thinking quick. "Some 'f the ablebodied that ain't in fightin' shape but able to help 'r helping with the paper shuffle." She smiles a bit, perhaps inwardly directed more than at them. "Made sure there's folks dishing out food that makes th' folks take a full meal so they eat a full meal. Hard ta get outta th' habit of halfs or quarters once you been doin' in this long," she says, knowingly.

Lleufer accepts the map he's handed and takes it up to have a look. He leans against the table to ease his leg as he does so, spreading the map out. "Aye, sir. Definitely need to know what's afoot in Marlin City. Did our Raptors fly over it?" He glances aside to listen to Kostas but when he looks like he might add a comment, Lleufer doesn't. Ynyr thins his mouth and looks over the map.

Amos listens in silence to Kostas' rundown then, when she's finished, adds, "I hope to be speaking with Captain Nadir about those arrangements shortly, although I'm not sure you if I can tempt her down to see for herself or if I'll have to leave you briefly to make the trip up to Orbit." Then to Lleufer he can only answer, "I am sure they did to some degree in inserting us and the attack runs to take out those AA emplacements. If you want further information from them though then you'll need to talk to Captain St. Clair and ask her yourself." Leaning more heavilly on the table a moment he takes a couple of seconds of downtime then glances towards Kostas' mug, "any more of that going?"

"Sure thing, Cap'n," Kostas grins as the kinda-request for coffee. She looks thoughtful for a moment. "Wouldn't be such a bad idea, Sir," she ventures, as she rustles up another battered mug and pours a cup for Amos as well, bringing it over. "She seems ta be one who understands about needin' ta get back down here, at least." She takes a gander at Lleu's map, and then looks back to Amos. "You know where we goin' in next?"

Ynyr indicates the coffee maker that Kostas had shown him but she's already on it herself. "I'll find her and bring her here. Safer than my taking the map to Captain Saint Clair unless you have a copy to spare? I'll let you know what she has to say on it as soon as I know, Captain." Lleu finishes his own cup and takes it back to rinse it out and leave it for someone else to use. Wouldn't Doctor Nadir freak at the Marine germs?

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