MD #153: Hangerbay Racetrack

>Discussions are had on where to best test the marine's LAVs onboard.

Hangerbay Racetrack
Summary: Discussions are had on where to best test the marine's LAVs onboard.
Date: 09/09/2017
Related Logs: None
Palermo Toby 
Hangar Bay - Deck 3 - Battlestar Orion
Each hangar deck is divided into five one-hundred yard sections, each divided from the others by massive blast doors that close vertically from the floor and overhead. Each hangar section houses all of the Vipers, Raptors, and Predators that the wing operates as well as the vital work areas to support and maintain these fighting platforms. Each bay is large enough to accommodate one of these frames and still get heavy work done, though the fore- and aft-most sections are dedicated to overhauls and major work to be done. The bays along the center section are located across from launch tubes and elevators in order to provide scramble and Alert-Five capabilities. The second-to-aft bay provides major elevator and transport access to the starboard bay as well as the major manufacturing facility. Above each bay and within are a trio of small red firefighting balls that will explode on too much heat being exposed. Due to the nature of the work, the hangar decks are major hubs of activity at all hours of the day and all but four hours overnight.
MD #153

People covered in grime is not entirely unusual for the hangerbay, but people in fatigues rather than overalls is a little out of the norm. Not that most of the deckies seem to give a rat's arse mind, they've their own work to do. While Toby also has work to do, his current task has him heading for the stores to grab some required parts, so his path crosses Palermo's not far from the hatch. He remembers her, vaguely, from that trip down to P after he arrived back on Orion, which is enough to earn her a faint nod as they draw close, but that’s about it.

Toby had not been expecting the greeting and it takes a moment to register that the marine is talking to him. Pausing in his progress he stops to eye her for a moment then nods once, "yeah, that’s me. Sorry I don't recall your name." His tone isn't exactly cold, but nor is it entirely conversational. He's curious enough to stop to see what she wants though.

"Excellent, I thought so," Palermo replies as she extends one hand forward, most of the grease and grime is cleaned off of her hand, but her knuckles are dinged up and only a lot of hot water and cleaning solvent will get the rest out. "Renee Palermo, marine sergeant and LAV driver. Just doing some scheduled maintenance on the LAV's. We're wondering," there's a pause for breath as she plunges ahead, "what are the odds that we could get the LAV's out long enough to do a few laps around the deck? An object in motion and all that vs an object not in motion, wheel rotation isn't enough to make sure all the moving parts continue to move fluidly."

Toby looks briefly confused that he's been asked, then replies cautiously, "you'd need to take that up with the Chief." He does take some degree of pity on her though and offers, "suggest doing it on the middlewatch, when everyone with any sense is in their rack. We'd need to clear birds for you, and that’s no easy task, unless you just want to trundle around at under about 2 mph to ensure you didn't hit anything or anyone. Better option is probably to convince command to give you ground time somewhere I reckon. Or jump us into orbit so you can use then landing pads, that'd give you more room, just don't drive off the edge."

Palermo makes a small grimace that is no where near a smile but it's in the same family, of sorts, "I don't think the odds of convincing command to let me put wheels on the ground anytime soon is the more likely of the options. But I'll kick it up the food chain. So middle watch?" she eyes the busy hangar deck, eyes narrowed in a speculative fashion, absently rubbing at the side of her jaw with one hand and leaving a faint smudge behind. "Playing deftly dodgers with the birds on the deck would be kind of fun," she allows with a quick gleam of a grin.

"While I admit that we're one of the larger spaces onboard, we don't get that much chance to ever stop using the vast majority of it," Toby warns. Convince Command we don't need to work on the birds for a day and sure, we're clear 'em out of the way for you, but I doubt they'll bite. If there's a pressing case, get whoever is acting as your CO right now to press the point. Brass like listening to brass. But keep the Chief in the loop with ever, or she'll have you guts for garters." All that was at least an attempt to be helpful, but when the comment about playing dodge rears its head he frowns in an unamused fashion. "No. It wouldn't. You crash into our gear and you're putting lives at risk. It takes a lot longer than you'd think to service those craft, and we have a hard-enough time convincing the flyboys not to frak them up without you lot pissing about an' all."

Palermo holds up one hand in a peace-making gesture, "I was only kidding, sorry," she says with another of those grimaces. "I wouldn't actually risk one of my LAV's anyway like that. If I'm going to convince command of the necessity of slinging one under the belly of a Rhino to get the advantage of having an armoured personnel carrier in combat, I'm not going to screw the pooch by suggesting idiotic stuff in any sort of serious tone."

Toby still looks unamused, but he does have the grace to acknowledge the apology with a grunt. "Just talk to the Chief okay? She'll have to approve anything anyway, and has a far better idea of what's ahead than I do." For, you know, reasons he's not prepared to discuss right now, and, well, she is Chief. "Good luck with the Rhinos, no idea of Command is more averse to risking them than landing craft or less."

Palermo stuffs the grease stained scrap of cloth into one of her back pockets as she nods at Shackleton, "I'll do that. Thanks for the tip," she says with a tip of a nod and another almost-smile. "I'll get out of your way," she rubs at the side of her face again with one hand, itching at the smudge of grease and grime before she moves out of Shackleton's way and continues carefully making her way past the parked birds.

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