AWD #269: New Orders
New Orders
Summary: Lleufer reports to Kostas with his new orders, then Amos explains to her the reasoning behind them.
Date: 02/Oct/2013
Related Logs: Wall of Silence
Lleufer Kostas Amos 
Aircraft Apron - Crandall
The heavily creased and cragged tarmac has seen better days but there is plenty of room for any number of aircraft that need to find ready station and waiting room on the base. The apron spreads out, further away from the runway to the West, but in the immediate vicinity are a few buildings. To the North across a large taxing area are the hangars, spread out in a line that leads away from the central buildings and towards the runway. To the East are the buildings in question, the closest being Operations which is a stark, well built brick building with the heavily reinforced munitions bunker attached. The two buildings are ensconced by an extra chain link fence collapsing at one side and likely no longer worth its weight.
AWD #269

A slightly strange thing happens. Sergeant Ynyr comes jogging out from the Operations Offices and makes his way in full combat gear to the 33rd's Hangers. On the way he's watchful, keeping an eye out because he was told Ensign Kostas was out somewhere this direction overseeing some of the 379th's bringing in ships one at a time from the AMARG as the crews work to turn them over to make them fit to use. Ynyr's limp is about gone, his leg healing up though still stiff and sore at times. Lleu's got his helmet on, rifle over his shoulder by the strap and watchful. His gait breaks stride to slow to a walk as he approaches the exterior of the buildings and pauses to ask another Marine if he'd seen the Ensign. A nod and a hand pointed sends him on his way once more.
When he comes to that far end, it's been a fair bit of ground to cover on foot. The day's heat is up. When he finally sees her, Lleu adjusts his direction one last time and walks the last distance to ease his breathing. Might be he's carrying a message? Radios are working just fine, odd.

Kostas is indeed overseeing things, her gaze alert. She's even posted extra lookouts, something about a sniper attack last night or something. But for the moment there's been a bit of a changing of the guard, and the ensign is standing underneath the hangar's overhang, taking a sip from her canteen and her rifle shouldered as she scans the horizon. She's wearing her armor as well, though there's a rip in the left sleeve of her fatigue arm that shows though, telltale mark of something caused by a glancing bullet. Lleu's motion catches her eye, and she caps the canteen, straightening slightly and nodding to him, even as she continues to search the area visually along with the others she's posted. "Sarge. Good ta see ya up and about."

As she's not currently engaged with anyone else, Ynyr walks on up, stops and stands at attention before Kostas and snaps off a salute which he holds until such time as she'll return it, "Captain Ommanney has ordered me to report to you, Ensign Kostas, for rostering into the escort details for the 379th. I am to remain under your command until such time as the Captain orders otherwise, sir!" Whoa, from operations planning support busted down to guard duty out in the sun and dust? Did somebody piss off the Captain? Lleuffer's face is sweaty, dirty, and unreadable as he stands straight backed at attention with his right arm up, fingers to brow of his helmet, looking dead ahead.

Kostas returns the salute crisply. "Understood, Sergeant," she tells him, her expression relatively neutral, tone gruff as it always is. "At ease. How long you been on duty? 'Ll add ya to th' rotations. We got ourselves an incident here last night. Even when you jus' walking around this place, need our marines and escorts to look sharp. Didn't catch th' sniper, but it wasn't a mess of 'em at least. You an' I know that prolly gonna change up soon. Make sure you got IR for nightime patrol."

The arm is lowered smartly. "Got a couple hours sleep six hours back. I'm fine, sir." Rotations? Lleu eyes her at the thought he might not be working 24/7 out here? Yeah, right. He gives a nod, "I have IR gear, sir. I've doubled up as scout, spotter, and sometimes sniper when we've been short." No details offered. "Eh, further, I'm not allowed off base without checking with Captain Ommanney, sir." Ynyr's mouth thins, "What are you orders for me for the rest of the day, sir?"

Kostas, by contrast, looks like she's probably not slept since yesterday sometime. She nods, digging out a small notebook out of her utility pocket. "Mm." she comments, frowning as she glances things over. "Groups 'r about ta shift anyway. Start with the border patrols along the tarmac for shift one. Shift two's th' control tower point. Shift three's down here in th' hangar w'the ready groups for stuff that's needed when it's needed. Shift four's grabbin' a *full meal* and then hit the rack. Daily assignments 'll be up on the communications board in th' barracks. Clear 'nuff?"

OK, not on three eight hour shifts out here, sixes instead. Got it, "Yes, sir!" Ynyr's stands at ease at parade rest and allows his gaze to slip towards the border he's patrolled at least once before. He looks back to Kostas, doesn't say a word more. Lleu keeps his place to wait until he's dismissed.

Kostas still hasn't lost the stonily neutral expression, nor the even tone of voice. "Check th' postin' every day. Since you'll likely be the rankin' member 'f your squad each shift, I want a report on my bunk at the end of your final duty shift, even if it's just 'frak all happened. Dismissed Sergeant." Her dark eyes will follow him when he goes, expression inscrutable, for a few moments, before turning back to her task at hand, the notebook flipped shut and stuffed back into her pocket without looking at it.

Lleufer snaps to attention and gives her a salute to acknowledge his final orders and being dismissed, "It'll be done, yes sir!" Aside from tired and dirty, Ynyr's kept his own expression aloof and unreadable. No anger, no evading her gaze, no nothing there. He pivots and heads at once to find that communications board to see where he's to form up to meet with the rest of his patrol for the next shift. Ynyr won't forget the order she put his shifts in as they won't be written down yet and he'll have to remember it.

Operations Offices - 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 #269

It's shortly after the hour, and there's the sound of heavy boots climbing the stairs. After a moment, Kostas appears in the doorway, helmet loosened but not off, her rifle shouldered. The armored vest has been loosened a little too, her bandaged arm given more room to stretch and roll after many hours on duty. Her dark eyes scan the room, looking about for the Captain—and once spotted the marine will march herself over to where he is, saluting crisply. "Captain Ommanney, reporting in as requested, sir."

Amos had been planning to grab a few hours rack time over night, but then a call had come in and he'd spent the hours of darkness dug in in a particularly nasty fire fight. The next plan was to sleep once he got back to Crandall, but no sooner had his boots hit tarmac then there was another mess landed in his lap, one that's so far required hunting down personnel dirtside, as well as a hitching a ride up to Orion. He's not been back long, but its already clear that he's missed his window of opportunity and so now he's resigned to staying awake another dozen hours or so, aided by adrenalin and a tin mug of very cold coffee. Urg. Currenrly he's going over the Marlin City intel, standing by the wall where several maps have been pinned up. Hearing footsteps behind him he turns as Kostas announces her presense and gives the Ensign a nod. "I won't keep you long, I just wanted to check that Sergeant Ynyr had found you and that was all sorted."

"He did, sir, and it is, sir," is the ensign's reply. Her voice is relatively quiet, eyes moving to the coffee mug, and the dormant pot of coffee. "Shift's over, sir. You got time for some shuteye for a couple 'f hours? I got a full one th' last rack shift. I'll donate, if ya don't ream me for getting hit by a fuckin' sniper 'cause I was hanging out on the stoop like some green private."

Amos nods sloly to the first bit of news, then lets out a low 'hmmmm' sound before stating in a quiet tone, in the hope his voice won't carry too far. "Keep an eye on him Ensign, he's got himself involved in one of Captain Gray's schemes and lost his focus for the job at hand. I don't want to do anything too drastic, not without giving him a chance to pull it together, but have someone you trust out with him, make sure there's someone there if he can't." Not a particularly pleasant topic so he moves on, shaking his head at her offer. "Thank you, it's appreciated, but I have too many things to do before dark. If we get any shouts though I'll be sending you as first preference." He know's he too tired for that sort of thing right now, not unless the need is critical.

Kostas shakes her head slightly. "Sir, permission to speak frankly?" She nods at Amos' directives. "Understood, sir. 'Fore I turn in I'll jig things a bit so that there's another NCO in the patrols as well." Lucky them. "I c'n at least refresh that shitbrew first," she nods to the cold carafe and then Amos' mug, "While I'm changin' things up. Might have another hot night t'night, we'll see. We baptized th' new corpsman good, w' sniper fire before he even signed in." That makes the Canceronia grin a little.

Amos gives a quick nod in responce to the request, then listens as she outlines her plans. They get a nod too and then he glances down to the mug as it's pointed out and gives Kostas a faint smile, "if you can find any left on base Ensign then I reckon there's a few'd stick a bit of tin to your chest for it. Might be a case of bribing one of the med-evac crews." A glance to the maps and he states simply, "I'm hoping tonight'll be quiet, after last night I think we could all use it." Not that that means he's putting any money on it, but he's still hoping.

"Not sure what's goin' on w'the Sergeant, don't know the guy that well. But I been a little disturbed ta see Marines moonin' around like puppies of late. 'S weird, bein' in command of adults—easier with kids since you gotta step in to a pretty big role. Makes it easier in a way. But I heard folks practically cryin' about folks gettin' hurt or shot up. They ain't in Dog, so I been reluctant to say anything. But that kinda thinkin'…we gonna see a lot 'f shit, Sir. Bet you seen folks that can't deal with it take out people because they can't. You been doin' this more'n me, and fuck, you been trained how. That somethin' I should have a word privately with folk about, when I see it? Or STFU an' mind my own biz, Sir?" Kostas collects the carafe as she speaks, and gives a short bark of a laugh about the medal. "Well shit, someone else gonna have to take the credit. I think we pissed off th' Orion flight crews for awhile with our…incident th' other night. But I c'n ask one of th' other crew t'russel some up and I…uh…kind of requisitioned some when I was last on the ship, sir."

Amos takes a deep breath and cosiders that one as he lets it out slowly. "If there's time to give 'em a bit of space then let them have it, sort their own heads out. If not, keep them focused and keep them fighting, then deal with it after. There's no one easy answer to that one I'm afraid Ensign." Another glance to the carafe as she speaks an he just shrugs faintly, "do what you can with it, thats all we can ask."

Kostas absorbs this solemnly. After all, listening to old folks like Amos is the only OTC that she's likely ever to get. "Understood, sir. Too frakkin' bad that everything don't have a manual." She shrugs though, tucking the carafe under one arm. "Thanks, Cap'n. Gonna see what I magic w' this thing, then hittin' the rack. Have a good'n. If not, I guess I be seein' ya sooner than either of us wants," she grins. "Frakkin' canners." She snaps to and offers a salute.

Amos almost makes a joke about machines coming with manuals, not people, but his brain can't think fast enough to come up with one thats both amusing and not cutting to close to the bone right now. Her plans are met with a short up-nod and then he offers a brief, "sleep well Ensign," before he's turning back to the maps again.

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