MD #235: Future Possibilities
Future Possibilities
Summary: Atticus comes to see the Master-at-Arms about the possibility of joining the Military Police. These days Lleufer feels like a CMC Recruiter.
Date: 29/11/2017 (OOC Date)
Related Logs: Atticus logs (all of them)
Atticus Lleufer 
Master-at-Arms' Office, Deck 3, Battlestar Orion

A small nine foot by nine foot office. Most of the floor space is taken up by a desk with chairs on either side and filing cabinets. There is a coffee maker on low cabinet with a tray of cups and condiments.

A flat screen for meetings to project maps and charts from the Master at Arm's data terminal covers one grey bulkhead. Wall file slots for blank forms are mounted by the hatch beside the current MP roster.

A large black and white aerial recon shot shows destruction of a city where Marines made intense battle. The caption reads: 'Santos Ridge, Picon, Liberated 0935 13 OCT 2005. 2500-3000 Centurions destroyed.'

Sat Jun 16 09:15:18 2049

Third shift, evening ship's time, and the Sec Hub is relatively quiet. It's long enoughb past shift change that those on patrol are out, but not yet long enough in that they're starting to trickle back in for refs. While he might not have been out and about much these past two days, it seems that the lone PoW has at least left his cell this evening, for there's a tap on the hatch from one of his guards who sticks her head through the door to see if the MaA is in, and if he has a few moments for the son of his old CO.

Lleufer has been off shift on third duty shifts lately and would normally be in his bunk by now, sleeping. But with an upcoming mission for Airwing, Ynyr has put in for his schedule to be changed to align with his wife's off duty hours in the final days leading up to her departure. Naturally, that always messes up one's sleep cycle. The smell of freshly brewed coffee is strong and Ynyr has a fresh cup to try and keep him awake. Lleu glances up when the MP's arrive, "Certainly, show him in." And a breath later when Atticus steps through the hatch, "Care for some coffee?" The Gunny gets up from his desk, about to step back to the coffee maker.

<FS3> Atticus rolls Alertness: Success.

Atticus is, predicatably, dressed in fleet PT sweats as he steps through the hatch. Given the size of the office one of his MPs waits outside, while the other hovers by the hatch, keeping out of the way, but ready, just in case. Noting the that Lleu looks tired he pauses for a moment, as if unsure if he should intrude, but then coffee is offered and it seems to settle things. "Please," he replies then steps over to the desk, although he stays on his feet and doesn't take a seat, apparently waiting for Lleu to do so first.

A cup of strong black coffee is poured and the ceramic cup offered to Atticus. "There's powdered creamer and sugar if you want to alter it." The Gunny goes back around his desk, pulls down his monitor to close it and clear his view of his visitor as he resumes his seat. Lleufer picks up his own cup, black and undoctored, and takes a sip as he watches the other man get himself settled. "So, what's on your mind, Ommanney?" No mention of the man having just had a birthday, according to brig logs and Emily's recent visit.

<FS3> Atticus rolls Alertness: Great Success.

Atticus takes the cup in both hands, then eyes the creamer for a moment before apparently deciding to pass. "Is everything powdered here?" he asks tentatively as he takes his seat, "Lieutenant Wescott said the eggs were too. Part of life in space?" He still has no idea how the frak one powders and egg, or milk for that matter, but thats not a question for Lleufer. A sip is taken, then the mug clutched down, almost protectively, to his stomach with one hand, leaving the other free to rest in his lap. Being addressed by his family name is still weird for him, and it shows for a moment, but he moves on quickly enough. "I just wanted to talk to you about a suggestion .." he stops before he says 'Marcus' and corrects himself to ".. Commander Petra made. If you've the time?" He himself ahs the time, all the time in the world really, and he's just about to offer to postpone if needed when something on the office wall catches his eye. The picture of Santos Ridge, from his reaction it's clear he recognises it, although for now he's just staring at it, rather than saying anything.

"Yes." Deadpan, "Everything that can be powdered is for reasons of space, mass, and long term storage. Some things are merely dehydrated or more rarely, frozen. Space is limited on board the ship and mass consumes fuel. Water isn't an issue. We can find or make it in space." Another sip of coffee. Yep, a lot of basic data Atticus needs exposure to in order to bring him up to speed. Ynyr makes a notation, as he had before for Emily, as to materials that need to be brought to Ommanney's reading list. "You have my attention. Speak your mind."

Lleu's gaze shifts to what catches Atticus's eye. "That was among your father's personal effects. I served with him on Santos Ridge. I nearly died there." A hand is raised to tap the bullet wound scar in his brow. "When Amos was murdered, I asked for this photo or a copy to be made of it. I've collected a number of images of Amos since then to add to my own things. Should you … ever want copies of them, I can make them available." The Gunny shifts in his chair, "Amos stood in for my father at my wedding to Major Bennett St. Clair." This of course makes Lleu remember the smell of Cognac that had permiated his office recently.

"It used to sit on the mantlepiece at home," Atticus replies, not quote able yet to drag his eyes away from the familiar scene, "he was very proud of it." As Lleu talks about more images, and other personal recallections he drops his gaze and looks down for a moment. Emotions are clearly happening, but he surpresses them for now, this is not what he came here to talk about. Finding refuge briefly in the mug of coffee he takes a drink, giving him time to compose himself again before he gets things back on track. "Sorry. The Commander was talking to me about my options in the longer term. He said he wanted to find something for me that I'd enjoy, rather than just something I could do, but he did suggest that perhaps the Military Police might be something I should consider. I mean, it wasn't all just hunting down deamon-sympathisers and rebels in my last job," he tries to keep the tone light and joking as he says that but doesn't entirely succeed, "there was a lot of resolving boundary disputes, breaking up drunken brawls, investigating thefts.."

Now it's Lleufer's turn to … try to keep a straight face. At mention of hunting down deamon-sympathizers. Or the deamons themselves, like his missing son Sean. It's a thought the Gunny has tried hard not to dwell on himself. Was his son murdered by Atticus or someone like him? All Lleu can do is hope his eldest son was killed in action in his viper. Likely he'll never know. He glances down at his own coffee. Shame it's not scotch.

The Gunny sets his cup down on the desk. "Yes, well." Better to think of Amos. "It's possible, if you show the apptitude and can get through all of the training. First, we have to get your POW status recinded. Then, if Command allows, you may apply to join the Colonial Marine Corps. If that is your desire. You'd enter Boot camp and go through Basic Training, as Emily herself has been doing. Then go into your more advanced courses for Rifleman. If you complete those courses in good order, and if you were still interested in joining the Military Police, then you could apply for additional training. We aren't … precisely set up for these training courses. So we do what we can as we are able to spare the personnel to teach."

Atticus is clearly still ashamed of his past, despite the attempt at humour, and like Lleu he doesn't want to dwell on it. Focusing on the future he nods at points that seem pertinant in what's said, making mental notes along the way. "The Commander didn't seem to think they'd be a problem with joining the fleet," meaning navy or marines, "but he didn't go into the details of how or when. I guess what I wanted to ask is what do they do and if you'd be prepared to consider me? I mean, I know they guard the brig, and some of the other sensitive areas of this ship, but what else is involved? Is there much crime to deal with?" He doesn't want to say it, but it's likely clear that one of his concerns is if he'd get bored standing outside a door all shift, day after day, or if there's more he isn't seeing.

This is easier to answer. "We do patrols, security inspections to critical areas of the ship. There isn't much 'crime' per say but investigations come up. We watch for sabotage and those who are loyal to the Scath. People are bound to be rowdy on ship and off, such as on leave to Mother or Pitchfork. They have their own security but we look out for our crew. Try to keep them safe, bring them back for discipline as necessary." Ynyr picks up his cup of coffee and sips of it, "We also train and assist with damage control for the ship. We repell boarders, and we deploy on ground missions like any other Leatherneck. We act as guards or escort to any who are a security concern - such as our highest ranking officers, critical areas of the ship, or questionable guests." Like Atticus himself. "Some very few are also trained with K-9 partners. Our dogs are fully ranked members of the Corps, not pets. They are trained for attack takedowns, scent tracking for SAR or other location needs, aiding with demolitions, or drug searches."

Atticus nods slowly, the answer apparently having reduced his fears somewhat. He takes a few moments to consider what's been said, then gets started on the next round of questions. "So if I did want to take that route, it'd be the same training as Emily is getting up to basic capability as a rifleman, then specalising over?" It seems a simple enough procedure, but he wants to make sure he isn't misunderstanding it, "and if I decide at that point that I want to go a different route then I'd stay a rifleman?" With the procedural questions out of the way he takes a long drink of coffee to steady himself for the more difficult one to come next. "On a more personal not Sergeant," he starts, a hint of caution in his tone, "putting aside any considerations based on my dad, do you think the marines would be a good choice? I mean, I know I can't just sit and farm, which is an option that was mentioned, so it'd likely be marines or navy, but I don't want to end up swayed by sentiment. I mean neither him nor you disrespect in that, but as I keep being told, I'm my own man now, and I know he wouldn't have wanted me to feel like I owed it to him to opt for the Corp if there was a more suitable option elsewhere." It's longwinded yes, but he's nervous, and that tends to make him more verbose.

Lleufer leans back in his chair and puts his boots up on the corner of his desk, coffee cup nestled in his lap to keep his hands warm. "Yes, and yes. However, your options will also depend on what we need and how well you scored in your other training. If you opt for EOD, or Heavy Weapons, or want to apply for Special Forces, there are a lot of factors involved on whether or not you'd be approved." The Gunny takes a drink of his coffee and thinks about Atticus's question. "I only care who your father was in reguards to /my/ own debts and responsibilities. I owed Amos for may reasons and therefor I felt compelled to put extra effort in seeing you recovered and given a /chance/. Here on out your father doesn't play into it and doesn't mean squat. It's all on your own merits." The Master-at-Arms shrugs, "You are trained to fight with your hands or weapons. Military discipline and courtesy will overlap to some degree with what you already know. Such as to know how to take and follow orders, or to give them. How to think about basic small unit tactics for infantry. The Marine Corps does seem like a natural fit for /you/, nevermind your father. That is, unless you have an acute mind for mathematics, three dimentional space, intelligence gathering, tactical planning, or other valuable skills we aren't yet aware of."

Ynyr adds, "We would put you through a battery of tests to see where your strengths lie. We'd discuss your options based on our personnel needs to see what appeals to you. No one is forced into a path they are unwilling to undertake."

"Thank you," Atticus replies before draining the last of his coffee. He continues to grasp the mug though. Apparently satisfied with both the procedures invovled, and that he'll be allowed to pass or failon his own merits he puts those questions behind him and gets down to answering the more nitty-gritty stuff Lleu had mentioned. "Unarmed, dagger, sword, pistol," he lists, "I'd have a fair chace with axe or mace, but I never liked the balance of them much, not for combat." There's a nod in confirmation for giving and taking orders, then another for small group tactics, although that one comes with the clarification, "close range only though. I was generally the only one with a firearm." As for other skills he gives a shrug and lists, "riding, hunting, hawking, archery, reading.. none like that important or unsual here. I was okay at maths in school, but I'm seventeen years behind now," three dimensional space just gets a shake of his head, but intelligence gathering does strick some kind of chord. "Information was important, finding it, working out what was important and what was just village gossip. Other than that? I don't think there is anything."

There's a slow nod from the Master-at-Arms, "Riding and hunting may have their value. Basic survival, tracking, being able to move stealthfully are useful skills among us. Also to be able to use a blade or bow. Assuming we continue to deal with the Skath, your and Bennning's skills in particular may be of use. Blend in, seek information, infiltrate. Certainly we have Line members but they lack the knowledge of Clerics and your culture." Lleu finishes his own cup of coffee and moves to stand from his desk. He goes over to pour himself a refill. "First we need to deal with your POW status. I've punted that up to Command but it's their decision, and Medical's, whether you are ready." The coffee pot is put back, "Anything else?"

"I can teach both as well," Atticus notes when Lleu mentions blade and bow, "to some degree at least. We had to help enure the militia's skills were kept fresh." The rest he just listens to quietly, until Lleu refers to the skath culture as his. There's an involuntary pull back at that and then he shakes his head, "it's not my culture, not any more." It's a small distinction, but one that seems deeply important to him on a personal level. He stands though, when Lleu does, setting his own mug on the desk, and after a moment's consideration shakes his head, "No, that was it." Well, almost it, his eyes are drawn to the recce picture again and he takes a deep breath before asking, "could I have a copy of that though? Or do I need to wait on that decision from Command first?"

"Understood. I didn't mean it … like that. Only that you two are far more aware of that culture than the rest of us." Lleufer quirks a brow, "I may be interested in polishing my knife fighting skills. Marines all train in basics and it ties in closely with our hand to hand fighting." The Gunnery Sergeant glances to the Santos Ridge image, "I can get you a much smaller copy. For now, you have no where to put a large image. But once your POW status is removed, I can give you a digital scan that can later be used to project or print out the full scale version." Lleufer goes back to his desk and resumes his seat, opening up his monitor. Lots of work waiting for him and clearly Atticus is free to go.

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