AWD #255: Recruitment Drive
Recruitment Drive
Summary: Squire heads down to marineland to talk recruitment.
Date: 18/Sep/2013
Related Logs: The Next Crop
Amos Kelsey 
Battalion HQ - Deck 3 - Battlestar Orion
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.
AWD #255

It's around about 0700 ship's time, slap bang inbetween the times Amos wanted reports from the marines involved in yesterdays little training exercise and when they are scheduled to debrief in full. The duty sergeant and wireless operator seem to be content with having their own quiet conversation and not disturbing the captain as he reads said reports, making notes and annotations at various points: differences in accounts, points needing clarification, decisions that need evaluating, and all that sort of fun stuff. Finishing the last he sets it to one side, glances to the clock, and decides that now would likely be a good time to break for a coffee before there's even a hint of the three marines in question appearing at his door. Grabbing a CMC mug from his desk he pushes his chair back and makes for the pot, praying briefly to whichever Lords or Ladies might be listening right now that it wasn't the sergeant who refreshed it last.

Uniformed pilots don't usually come down here unless they are either going to the brig, filing a complaint with the MPs, or trying to find some kind of gun to train with. She greets the Officer of the Watch easily at his desk and asks for directions. Being aimed at a gentleman at the coffee pot, she nods and heads that way. Clad in her blues with those wings on her chest, hair up in a ponytail, she will probably never escape the idea that she's some kid who found an officer's uniform and is playing a prank. There's a thin binder in her hand as well, though, but maybe its just part of the trickery. Right? "Captain Ommanney?" she greets with a lifting lilt in her voice. "Could I steal a few minutes of your time?" Nobody needs to be that awake at 0700. Poor Amos.

Amos finishes pouring as he hears the unfamilar voice behind him. Placing the pot back on the heater he takes the mug in one hand and turns to see just who it is that is wanting his attention. The pilot, the uniform and the binder are all taken in as he gives the faintest of nods to acknowledge that she's addressing the right man, then he guestures towards the desk he just left. "I think I can probably manage a couple of minutes Ensign, please, take a seat."

Kelsey smiles a bit brighter at the confirmation that this is, indeed, the correct member of the Marines. She looks towards the desk and chairs and nods. He's a Captain, she still an Ensign. The young lady heads over to the chair and sits down in front of the desk, legs crossed as she settles the binder in her lap. She waits for the man to sit, watching him and then the other Marines around the room. For all the urgency she carries this could be a social call.

Amos follows Kelsey back to the desk and clears the reports he'd just been reading into a folder so that she has space if she requires it. Then, leaning back into his chair behind the desk he takes a sip of his coffee then sets the mug down and clasps his hands together infront of him. "Alright then Ensign, what is that I can do for you this morning?"

Kelsey takes a breath…and stops. She seems to remember something and it takes her a moment to make a decision, finger tapping twice. "Just so introductions are all made and everything, I'm Kelsey Wescott. I drive Raptors and, when I can, Predators. I'm a big fan of close air support." She grins a little with that. Few Marines probably hate the idea of CAS. Even fewer pilots love it. Bombing things isn't sexy, generally. "But I'm here at the request of my squadron commander, and given my introduction, prooobably not for what you're thinking. I'm actually here because I was told to speak with you about recruiting." It makes sense. Young kid trying to recruit pilots. Its where the next crop will be coming from. And she certainly has that energy.

Amos certainly doesn't seem adverse to the idea of air support, infact, as it's mentioned he relaxes into his chair a little further, on ehand reaching for the coffee mug again. He's listening, but that doesn't mean that there isn't part of his brain that isn;t already thinking about when and where a spot of joint CAS work could be slotting into 3rd Battalions training schedule. "That would be Captain Bennett?" he checks at the mention of her squadron commander, making usre he ahs the right pilots for the right birds. Fallng silent again he lefts her finish and yes, there is a look of faint surprise on his face at her final words. "I see," he starts, steepling his fingers slightly, "recruiting whom, to do what?"

"Yes sir. Bennett Saint Clair. Good Captain, even better leader. I wish we could clone her." Kelsey has that youthful energy, to be sure, but its tempered with experience. She's emotionally older than she looks, but that's no surprise. Amos has probably seen it in every single Marine he has — how war ages a person. "Well, first, I'm not here necessarily to recruit Marines to come fly. They're welcome to try out if they want, but I'm not here to till the Marine field. I wanted to discuss with you incentive packages and options we might be offering people to sign up and join our proud groups. Obviously pilots don't get cool Marine Sabers with out officer uniforms and we don't get to call ourselves Marines, but I'm not here to measure who is more awesome. I'm just going to state that we both are equally badass in our own ways." She's getting away from her point, but luckily she comes back. The binder opens. "Do the Marines offer anything to people to sign up these days? I mean specifically to this battalion."

Amos listens quietly, watching Kelsey as she speaks and giving perhaps the faintest hint of a smile as she gets a little side tracked. He doesn't interupt though, letting her continue with her flow until it comes back on message. Once she's done he tilts his head slightly and gives her a faint shrug. "I think Ensign, that your Captain Saint Clair has sent you to the wrong marine. I am not sure if you are aware or not but I've been here, with the 3rd, for maybe two weeks now, and afair portion of that has been spent lying on my back while the medical staff attempt to remove various bullet fragments from my internal organs." Reaching for his coffee again he takes another sip, a bigger one this time, since it's starting to cool. "Now, I can tell you that as far as I am aware we do not, but that could simply be because I haven't come across anthing that states we do yet. Besides the chance to shoot canners and the pleasure of my company of course, those we offer for free to any who wish to sign." A slight pause and then he asks, "what does your Captain have in mind?"

Her expression says it all: 'Drats!'. Kelsey taps the pen on the paper a few times while he describes having bullets removed. Most women her age might get a bit of squick. She just nods in recollection of having had similar surgery. "Well that's okay. We might look at developing packages then? 'We' being both the Marines and Air Wing." She bounces the leg over her knee, her body leaning forward a smidge. "I'm not sure. She mentioned that I should come see you after I explained why I wanted to do something. See…" She takes a breath. "I think we might have hit a point, sir, and we just didn't see it because of where we are. We're the military. We represent the fighting tip of the spear, Captain. People look up to us as the hope that one day their lives might be better. We prostrate ourselves on the idea that we fight and possibly die so that others can have a future. We may not think of ourselves as heroes, sir, but I suspect we're viewed that way. We also represent one of the few stable career paths left for young people in the near future. How many people want to join our groups, but don't feel they're up to the task? How many college grads do we have out there withering away in tasks they hate when they dream of flying? How many people out there feel trapped and helpless, leading civilians around because thats all they can do, when they'd be willing to take on any skinjob just for a chance to get a rifle?" She leaves it there for him to consider.

"You would limit this to just the Corp and Air Wing?" Amos offers after a moment or two's consideration. "Surely many of the college grads you mention would be able to bolster the ranks in, say, engineering, or tactical?" It's not a criticism of the idea, he's just curious as to why the limited scope. "You are right, that it is something that we need to push, and I do not just say that becuase the up comming offensives on Picon are going to deplete our ranks somewhat. We need to ensure that anyone who can contribute to the war effort, is. Or, is at least given every opportunity too." He's not pushing conscription that is, not as things stand at the moment at least. He considers in silence again for a few moments, then glances to the reports he'd cleared away at the start of the conversation. "I'll tell you hwat Ensign. I have a few marines who could do with something constructive to fill their time when they're not on duty. I'll have them look into what polices we have, both extant and extinct and get them to produce a report on it. Once I'm satisfied with it I'll have it sent to your Captain, along with any other information or suggestions that may surface in the mean time."

Kelsey shrugs. Informality seems to be a nice comfort zone for her. "I don't see any reason to limit in scope, but I was looking at this primarily on the angle of Corps and Wing. I don't generally get tasked with stuff like this because, well, Ensign. Most of the time I do other people's paperwork." She shakes her head. "But right. That sounds perfectly acceptable, sir. I'll let the Captain know the Marines are on the case. Now I just need to come up with something from the Air Wing side." She makes a face. "Oh well. But yes, that's about all I have for you unless you have questions for me, sir?"

"I am sure you will manage to come up with something Ensign," Amos replies, although it's more a general platitude given how little he knows of her. It looks almost like he's going to let her get on with whatever she has to do next, then he pauses for a second and goes back to his initial assumption regarding her visit. "Not a question Ensign, no, but if you could make Captain Saint Clair aware that I would be interested in seeing if we can schedule some joint training sessions, close air support and the like. I doubt we'll reclaim Picon without it, so it's worth reminding everyone of how it's done I feel."

Kelsey nods. She knows its just a platitude and doesn't seem to mind or pay any attention to it. She just nods in agreement. Kelsey is about to rise when Amos mentions the idea of air to mud. Her face brightens and she nods. "Sure thing, sir! I'll let her know when I leave here. When we get to Picon I'm going to be securing as much Predator time as possible so I'll be working fast-mover for you all. Just listen for Squire on the radio, Captain. That's me. Drop 'em low, fast, and make 'em scream." She flashes a thumbs up to go with that beaming grin.

"I will be sure to keep my ears open," Amos replies with a faint smile as Kelsey enthuses at him. It's good to know that there are pilot who'll volunteer for the job of keeping your arse safe rather than having ot be ordered to after all. That being said though, he can't think of anything else he needs to say to either the pilot infront of him, or to have passed on to any of the others, so he reaches for his coffee again and states pleasantly, "I think that about covers everything then. Good day Ensign."

Kelsey nods with the excusing and rises. She tosses him a quick salute and turns to head for the door with the same barely-controlled energy she arrived with.

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