ALT #346: First Class
Log Title
Summary: Private Mallas is summoned to the Battalion HQ to report to Captain Ommanney.
Date: 18/12/2013 (OOC Date)
Related Logs: None
Amos Mallas 
Battalion HQ
The headquarters of Third Battalion, Eighth Marines is the primary command location for all Marines associated with Task Force NOMAD. The walls and desks are covered with maps, photos, and satellite imagery. Secure phones are bolted to each bulkhead, and for added insurance, each desk possesses its own encrypted wireless unit with its own independent wiring. The small room is always manned by a wireless operator and a duty sergeant, though it tends to explode with activity during duty hours.
Sun Dec 18 2005 AWD #346

Battalion HQ is it's usual busy self, although with no major operation imminent there is at least space to move about without bumping into half a dozen poeple before you've gone three feet. Sat at the desk he claimed as his when he first arrived on Orion, and that no one has yet tried to boot him off, Amos has a floorplan of the killhouse infront of him and seems to be experiementing with layouts by pushing around bits of cut out paper until he finds something he's happy with. It's all high tech here as he waits for those summoned.

Private Tony Mallas wanders in, looking around wide-eyed like he's just entered Olympus. Battalion HQ is a few echelons above his pay grade, to say the least. Gods /look/ at all the frakking officers! A wiser (or at least older) person might wander /why/ a grunt was being called in to HQ, but apparently Mallas is not that person. At least he knows that if they wanted to bust his ass he'd already have a Corporal or Sergeant barking in his face, not orders to go see the Old Man. It takes him a moment to spot Amos, but then Mallas ducks his way past various paper-pushers and over to the Captain's desk. Better get this over with. He stands at attention the regulation two paces away. "Uhhh … Private Anothony Mallas reporting, sir?" He has no idea why he's here, clearly.

"Take a seat Private," Amos replies, not yet looking up from the notes he's making on this particular configuration. It takes a good few moments infact before he seems to give Mallas even a second's further thought, and that's only after his notes are completed and the floorplan and cut outs put away in a draw. "Right then Private," he then starts, glancing back to the youth infront of him, "I've been lumbered with dealing with the personel evaluations, since our S1 has his hands full elsewhere. Do you have anything you wish to say before I sign off on yours?"

Blink. The Captain is telling him to sit down? Mallas may not be sure what to make of that, but orders rarely make sense. Snagging the closest chair he sits and waits for Amos to finish what he is doing. The Private idly looks around HQ while the time passes, slumping a bit as the luster of HQ wears off. But he jerks back upright when the Captain finishes his work and addresses his again. Personnel review. Right. Does he have something to say? "Uhhh … I don't think so, sir? Are we supposed to?"

Amos leans back in his chair a little, even steeples his fingers slightly as he watches Mallas' response. Keeping his expression neutral he takes a deepish breath then shakes his head slightly. "You don't have to Private, but I prefer to give people the chance to tell things in their own words." Unsteeplinghis fingers for a moment he reaches for a small folder, one amongst many on the side of his desk and places it infront of him. Openning it he flips over a few pages to the back and takes up the pen once more, "very well then."

It's easy to see Mallas' mind is racing furiously. Oh shit! He's supposed to have something to say. Everyone else must have had something to say. What the hell is he supposed to say? "I uhhh … I dunno. I just shoot Cylons, sir." And that sounds like the extent of his career ambitions. "There's not a lot to tell?"

Amos stops his pen a mere few milimetres away from the paper and looks back at Mallas as he speaks. Waiting in silence, to see if thats all he then gives a single, slow nod. "I see." Flicking back a page he runs his finger down the report until he reaches what he's looking for and taps it a couple fo times, "yes, I think that's already been covered. Anything else? Anything you want to have down on record? SOmething you feel you've done well in perhaps? Ambitions for the future maybe?"

Mallas tries to think about that for a few seconds, but he gives it up. Oh frak it. He tried. He really did! "I guess I'll just keep shooting them until they manage to kill me, sir." The Private grins and shrugs. It looks like he expects those Corporals or Sergeants to be coming to help him find his way out of Headquarters.

Amos keeps his eye on Mallas for a few moments after the Private stops speaking, then gives another solemn nod. The pages are turned so he once again has the last one open infront of him and he states matter-of-factly. "Very well then, I'll leave it as it is," then proceeds to sign his name, close the folder and move it to a different pile. Setting the pen down he takes a moment to rummage in a draw, stating in the same tone as he does so, "that being the case, these are now your's," and deposits a small box on the desktop infront of Mallas, "do try and do them credit Private FIrst Class."

The general lack of reaction quickly puts a damper on Mallas' grin. And not only are they not kicking him out of HQ, the Captain is promoting him? He looks down at his new one-stripe insignia and then slowly reaches out to take the box in his hand. There's no pride or pleasure in his expression, he just looks mystified. So he does what you're supposed to do when receiving instructions from an officer. He stands up, snaps to attention, and salutes the Captain. "Aye aye, sir."

Amos leans back in his chair again, giving the lad a brief nod in acknowledgement as he takes his feet. "Very good Private," he offers as he folds his hands once more, "now, unless there was anything you yourself were needing? DIsmissed."

The new Private First Class looks down at the box in his hand, then Mallas shakes his head to the Captain's question. "No sir," he says simply. He turns to leave, but hesitates long enough to say one more thing to Amos, very quietly. "Gods watch over you, Captain." And then he is getting the heck out of there, hopefully before Amos changes his mind and does something worse, like make him a Sergeant.

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