AWD #158: Hey, Sailor
Hey, Sailor
Summary: Ygraine wants to know what's going on with Holtz. He's buried under a mountain of paperwork.
Date: 13/06/2013
Related Logs: None
Holtz Ygraine 
Viper Squadron Berths
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 #58

Major Holtz is sitting at the worn metal table at the center of the Strikes' berthing. There's a binder full of paperwork in front of him, and an ashtray with several crushed butts off to one side. His pen scratches softly against the paper as he etches his signature into the top sheet before flipping it over to reveal the next. With a soft sigh, he pauses, replacing the pen with a small flask from his pocket and takes a drink from whatever's inside.

Ygraine is fresh from her post Alert-5 shower, twisting off a braid as she makes her way into viper country. She looks rather relieved when she spies the big guy's back, and makes her way around the table before leaning down on it, forearms bracing against the surface. "Hey, sailor." she drawls, peering at him.

Before Ygraine enters, the room is starkly quiet. The rest of the squad is elsewhere, either on duty or off. The sudden sound of her voice jerks his head up in surprise, though he relaxes when his eyes fall upon her face. "'Lo, Ygraine," he replies, his voice gravelly as he fishes a cigarette out of his pocket. Lighting it, he leans back in his chair and props a foot up on the table, the movement accompanied by a second, louder, exhale.

Ygraine smirks, though it seems to include him in the joke. "Sweet Lords of Kobol, he remembers my name. It's a miracle." The ribbing is accompanied by a grin. "What's goin' on, Kurt?" Her tone is gently amiable.

Holtz just snorts. He seems to take the needling in stride, though, apart from a quick dirty look flashed in her direction. In response to her question, he thumps his knuckles on the binder full of official-looking papers with the Colonial Fleet seal at the top of each page. "Don't ever let 'em make you top kick if you can help it," he mutters drolly. "It ain't worth spendin' your quality time with a godsdamn paper mill."

She laughs, a little tension leaving her shoulders. "Make ya a deal. Clock's tickin' til Picon and command's givin' out leave like candy 'til then t'keep us fresh. We go, we overnight, yeah? See what a real mattress might feel like." She cocks her head to the side. "Kinda thought ya might be bored with me. I ain't one t'keep a man where he don't wanna be."

Holtz looks up at her, still propped back at an angle in his chair. He can't help but laugh. "That what you thought? Hells, girl." He shakes his head. "Thought you knew me better than that. If that was how it was, I'd've said somethin'. Ain't like I got a problem speakin' up, you know." Smoke flares from his nostrils as he regards her. "If they'll cut me loose, you've got yourself a deal."

"Yeah, because you're a real poet with the words and things." she drawls at him. She straightens, come around the corner of the table, and bend to give the top of his head a peck. "They ought." she says firmly, though she knows it can't be helped. "Want some alone time with your paperwork?" The last said as if he was having some kind of mad affair with it.

"Poet, feh." Holtz retorts with a smirk and a snort of amusement. "You sure you ain't got me confused with someone else?" At her last, he grimaces, tossing the pen down on the table as he rolls his eyes. No, he doesn't miss the implication in her tone, teasing as it may be.

"I'd rather go on a spacewalk in my skivvies," he says dryly. "Besides, I'm mostly done anyway." There's not as much of it as one might think from the way he complains about it. The pile in the binder is thick enough, but hardly overflowing.

"Want some help? Seems like I'm always th'one doin' AARs whenever I go Team Blonde." Ygraine looms over him to peer down at the paperwork. "Or should I just kick it over on your bunk 'til you're done by way of bein' th'carrot?"

"Nah. It'll keep." Holtz waves dismissedly. The cigarette gets stamped out in the ashtray as he flips the binder shut. "I'll finish the last bit tomorrow before CAP." The ashtray gets returned to its place on the tray, while the binder and his uniform jacket get unceremoniously dumped in his locker before he moves over to his bunk with an inviting gesture in her direction.

Ygraine steps over to his bunk, giving his shirt a tug. "I'm in a stack of paperwork myself, but th' sick part is, it's entirely voluntary. Got a submission in for the Pallas mission."

Holtz raises an eyebrow. "I don't know what they taught you fancy Academy types, but one of the first things we learned on the enlisted side is never volunteer for anythin'," he teases her. He sinks down onto his back, turning his head to look over at her speculatively. "So what's your plan?"

Ygraine ducks into his berth, sprawling out alongside him. "First we gotta monitor a day or two and see if the cylons have an established recon pattern - try w'ta work within the frame. Then either drop material or send an engineering team to jury rig the landing pads. We send cargo ships and th'like to th'pads, and a full fleet of raptors to the smaller hatchway access and t'land on the dome directly to breech through and create on way access points. Vipers stay in the sky t'keep 'em clear and keep any random raiders who show up from gettin' back t'their barn."

Holtz grunts. "Sounds tricky," he replies after a moment's thought. "That engineering team's gonna have to work like someone lit a fire under their collective arses if they're gonna get it done before the toasters send major backup. An' what if one of your Raptors gets blown away mid-retrieval? All of a sudden you're down a ship an' there's a gaping hole in the dome suckin' all those poor slobs' air right out. Ain't much margin for error." He cocks his head to the side. "You know, if we could stage a diversionary strike somewhere else, might buy us a little more time before the sky starts fillin' up with raiders and basestars. Make 'em think we're focused somewhere else, and your exfil'd have a bit more time to work before the toasters figure out we're pullin' one over on 'em. And, of course, maybe a bit less risk of death by explosive decompression."

Ygraine gives a little snort. "Th'domes are built for redundancy." she counters. "And those people have already done too long without supply refreshment. It's a risk I'm willin' t'bet they'd be willin' t'take."

"Yeah, but they weren't meant to have a fleet of Raptors cuttin' man-sized holes in 'em, neither," Holtz retorts. "You lose a Raptor pluggin' one or two of those gaps, sure, the rest of the dome might take it, but you've still got the problem of where's that air gonna go." He shrugs. "Ain't sayin' it ain't worth tryin'. But it'd be hard enough to pull off without a bunch of damn toasters tryin' to piss on our parade."

"How's it any different from a ship breach for a boarding party?" she counters, shifting so her arms are resting across his chest.

Holtz sighs. "For one, a ship has bulkheads. Lose containment in one section, it's just that section that goes. Somethin' goes wrong, you pull off and try somewhere else. Two, most boarding parties don't go in until after you've blown the enemy out of the sky. And 'boarding party' ain't the same thing as sendin' a whole godsdamn evac fleet."

"The domes aren't just openly exposed, either." Ygraine points out. "But I'll put it on th'quandry list I got on my document and see what gets brainstormed."

"Maybe so," Holtz agrees as he stifles a yawn. "I haven't seen the schematics for those domes, so you'd know better than I would. But it never hurts to plan for the worst, yeah?" He settles back against the mattress. "I'm gonna get some sleep. You stayin'?"

"Yeah." she says, "I'm comfy, I got this whole friggin' pillow," meaning him, "Why should I move?"

Holtz chuckles. "You ain't gonna hear an argument from me." With that, he kills his overhead light and reaches over her to pull the curtain shut.

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