AWD #013: Event - Viper Briefing, 1/19
Viper Briefing, 1/19
Summary: Cole, with some input from Zachary, briefs the Strikes on the known particulars of the situation to date.
Date: 19/01/2013
Related Logs: Warday logs, the various system recon logs
Zachary Cole Holtz Jess Tiptoft Phin 
Ready Room
Capable of seating every member of the wing with space to spare in its stadium organization, the Ready Room has more than two hundred seats and is the largest room on the ship dedicated to single briefings. Sections of desks were manufactured specifically for this and wrap the width of each level of seating, rolling leather seats positioned at even points through each row. The walls have the tenant squadrons' patches painted on individual panels as well as a Kill Board up to the left side of the dais and podium, the Training Board on the other side to log progress. At the rear hatch, on a barren section of wall, is the framed and cased photo of 'Bad Dog' Ruegger.
January 19, 2005

Phin is early, seated in the second row from the front, in uniform blues that he probably spent some time making extra-sure weren't wrinkled. He's armed with a notepad and pen and is making some preliminary scritches on it while it he waits for the show to begin. Bullet points and dates at the top, and such.

Holtz isn't quite the early bird that Phin is, but he seems to have beaten the rush, as it were. Also clad in fresh duty blues, he's carrying a binder under one arm as he walks down towards the front of the room, taking a seat not far from Phin's. "Dolls," he greets the younger man as he leans back in his seat, pulling out a pen as he opens the binder and starts looking over the contents. Anyone close enough to get a look will see what looks like his scrawled notes from his video reviewing sessions.

Tiptoft thumps in on Storm's heels. No fancy binder or notepad for him: just a pen and two pieces of yellowed legal paper torn from a notebook. Dressed in his flight suit, it looks like he's just come from CAP — or a stint in the sims. "Practice," he mutters underneath his breath. "Not even the godsdamned game." Welp. Sims, then.

Jess is somewhere just on the borderline between early and simply on time. Like the others, she comes in duty blues, freshly pressed, dampish hair tied back in a neat ponytail. Like Holtz, she carries a binder, notebook jammed in the front pocket and sticking out the top. She finds a seat up front and eases into it, removing a pen from where it's clipped along binder's spine and tilting it back and forth between fingers, drumming the cap on the arm of her chair. "Boys," she greets them generally.

Phin's blue eyes tick up from his pad, to Holtz, and he offers the other pilot a polite inclination of his head. "Hey, Storm." Eyes tick down again to the man's notes, quickly skimming over them. "Still going over the footage from Caprica? How's that coming?" He offers a general "Sirs" as the others enter. It's not so much formal as a greeting that he can use pretty much interchangeably with his squadmates. Baby that he is.

As everyone settles, Aristides 'Janitor' Cole takes the podium. Dressed crisply in his Officer Blues, the Captain's pins at his collar look as if they've been fiddled with to perfection. The man is as regulation as you can get, down to the ramrod straight spine and the shine of his shoes. But everyone has nervous tells. "Lucky Strikes." The name of the squadron is said to quiet the last snipets of conversation before he begins.

"Yo Cap," Thumper calls from his seat before he can be hushed. "New pins look FLY, baby." Then: hush.

Holtz offers a jaunty little wave in Jess' direction. "Nags." Grey eyes swing back in Phin's direction, and he nods. "Yeah. I think we've finished going over most of it — " he stops briefly, shooting a questioning look back at Jess, but then Cole starts speaking before he can finish the sentence. Storm quiets himself and directs his attention to the captain at the podium.

"As you may know," Cole's voice has a higher register, which only seems to abate when he clears his throat and gains a little confidence from Tiptoft. "The room has only just been cleared by the HAZMAT DC team after or DCAG contaminated our trash can." A small joke to be sure, though not ill-meant for the little smile he gives Zachary's way.

"The AAR's are coming in regarding the various recons of the Colonies. Of our homes. And while I know rumors have been flying I'll tell you now, the majority of them are true. I thank you for your patience. The AARs we have are being distributed as we speak." Cole seems to gain confidence as he continues, easing into his new role like butter beginning to melt in a hot pan. He crooks two fingers to spur an Ensign into distributing them down the various rows. "You can read the details for yourselves. But I'm going to give you the quick and dirty:

Tauron, Sagittaron and Gemenon: Complete loss. Irradiated.
Canceron: Unverified. Presumed complete loss
Virgon: Complete loss. Planet tectonics are unstable. Loss of atmo imminent.
Picon, Libran, Scorpia and Caprica: Occupied.
Aquaria: Occupied but the cities have power. Spaceport is destroyed.
Leonis: Occupied and being utilized as a prison camp. Rescue mission imminent.
Lastly Aerilon: Occupied. But millions of survivors reported.

Pallas: Status unknown.
Ouranos Asteroid Belt: Status Unknown. Erebos Asteroid Belt: Survivors Presumed. Rescue missions imminent.
Persephone Fueling Station: Occupied. Human survivors confirmed. Rescue and salvage imminent.
Hera: Complete loss. Loss of atmo in the domes. Salvage imminent."

Phin's eyes fix back on his pad as Cole gets down to business about the colonies. Taking down some notations, but it also lets him avoid eye contact with anyone while news of their homes is distributed.

Thumper doesn't do anything more than skim the distributed AAR. An unshorn fingernail carves a brutal course through the part of the page that says 'Virgon,' shredding it with methodical precision.

At the mention of Tauron, Holtz' features harden. His expression remains controlled, though, and he quietly passes the stack of AARs down the row, keeping one for himself and scribbling something in the margins of one page before slipping it into his binder.

Jess is just turning to reply to Storm, a nod beginning when she too is cut off by Cole's beginning. She lifts a few fingers and makes a 'we'll talk after' gesture before facing front to listen. Tap tap tap turns to taptaptaptaptaptaptap as the Ensign maeks his slow way around passing out papers, resisting the urge to snatch it out of his hands when he comes past, but just barely. She looks up sharply at the mention of Aquaria, brows high, and then starts flipping through her packet. Even as she's reading, her hand is lifted into the air for a question, but snatched back down just as quickly. Nevermind, nevermind.

Cole is like a hawk at the front of the room, his eyes touching on each of the men and women he's now held responsible for. As Jess' hand pops up, Ari is quick to spy it. His eyes rove past her, however, as he says: "Before I continue, are there any questions or comments."

"I got one, yeh?" Thumper doesn't bother raising his hand. "Looks like we got a fight going on out there and we've been sitting pretty over here just wanking in our sims or shooting each other with fake bullets. You and big brass got plans to bring some pain, Cap? Maybe get us some offensive ops. Vipers, Predators, whatever. Get in the GAME." That's a softball for you, Janitor. Cue the hoo-rah YAY FIGHT speech. Maybe?

"Seein' a lot of mention of survivors here, Cap," Holtz calls out, his sonorous baritone filling the room. "We are gonna do something about it, right? Rescues, arms drops, whatever? Civvies can't fight the frakkin' tinners on their own," he notes, nodding in agreement with Thumper.

Phin's eyes tick up, focusing on Cole. He doesn't add any questions of his own but his expression is intent on what the answers will be.

"I'll touch on that now." A nod is given to Tiptoft and Holtz in acknowledgment. "Alright then. Now for your orders." Ari's eyes touch down at the notations he's kept in neat little rows and neat little columns. He exhales a slow breath and then lifts his eyes. "The Colonies are at war. Now whether or not Command sees fit to fully join it, considering Piraeus' main directive, is above our pay grade. There are a few missions in the tubes, however. Operation Truck Stop will involve the Strikes. We'll be providing air support as we try to retake the Persephone Fueling station." Not much for a hoo-rah speech so far.

Jess keeps her hand down, giving Cole a little shake of her head if she looks his way. Later. As Tiptoft and Holtz speak up, though, she adds, "Looks like there's a couple planned on here, but—" But he is going to touch on it now, so she goes back to tapping, scanning AAR pages, and listening all at the same time. As far as multi-tasking goes it's really not that impressive. "Fueling station?" she says, brows arching again. She does not sound terribly impressed, but at least she mumbles it so only those nearby in that front row are likely to hear.

Tiptoft clicks his tongue against his teeth. He doesn't hear what Jess says, but he too is Not Impressed. Cue an expression similar to a star vaulter who has just taken second place in an inter-Colonial sporting competition. Then: "Uh, Cap. You're the boss-man, but. Fueling station? We got some more pansy-ass targets? Maybe we gonna blow up some Cylon stuffed animal plant next week."

Like Tiptoft, Holtz only skimmed the provided packet, so it's possible he missed the listed plans for rescue ops, such as they currently are. He doesn't exactly look impressed at the mention of the fuel station either, but he doesn't protest. "Enough. They need fuel, same as us," he says instead, scowling slightly. "Anything we deny them helps us in the long run."

There is a nervous sort of smirk from Cole. "Baby steps, people. Tylium and saving those being used as human shields is no small victory. Moving on. Operation Pirate Flag: we'll be providing air support for a boarding mission of one of the prisoner transports heading to Leonis. I have it on good authority that we'll be rescuing more than teddy bears and unicorns if we're successful." Janitor leans forward, resting his forearms on the podium. "We all joined the service for a reason. And while the nuances of that reason may differ, one thing is consistent: you don't join a pyramid team to sit on the sidelines. We all are ready to get out there. But we are not an infinite resource. We took some hard hits outside of Caprica. You don't move a mountain in a day, and this new Cylon force? Is one big frakking peak."

Phin listens to the discussion of the plan to retake the tylium station, but it's the bit about Leonis that seems to really make his ears prick up. His expression remains carefully schooled, but he gives a short little nod to all that.

Hey, Pyramid. Tiptoft likes that metaphor. Appeased for now, the big man settles back in his chair, using his pen to stab more holes into his already-ruined AAR.

Jess snorts softly at Tiptoft's choice of words, and continues her skimming. And tapping. It is a constant, though she seems not to even notice she's still doing it. "Just the one transport, or several?" she asks, looking up, "Seems like it'd be better to hit a few at once, we're only going to get one shot at surprise before they up their security. There are other missions in the works, right? That they just aren't ready to tell us about yet?" Right? Right?

This time around, Holtz stays silent, listening to the interplay between the other pilots as he sits back in his seat, idly clicking his pen.

"The plan right now is to hit several at once. Any other operations are in the beginning stages of planning and have not yet been passed down to me. When I know, I assure you, the rest of you will know." It's the trickle of Chain of Command. "If you have any ideas or suggestions, I encourage you to submit them in written form for review. Additionally, I plan on holding weekly roundtables, pending Major Sheperd's approval, to talk about strategy. I've already tapped Storm for brain picking." Ari straightens up from his lean. "If we're concluded with that, I'll continue?"

Phin does raise his hand. A little tentatively, but he apparently does have a question.

"That's fine." A voice from back, that of the Major's speaks up, and returns to writing notes. When the frak did he sneak in?

Cole nods in Phin's direction for him to take the floor.

Phin turns his head, noticing Zachary for the first time. Hey, D-CAG! He clears his throat and turns his eyes back to front, and to Cole. "Sir, I don't know if this is the time to ask, but does Command have any estimates on how many people are still alive down on the Colonies? Just based off what the Raptors got, I mean."

Holtz straightens ever so slightly in his seat as his name is mentioned. He cranes his neck a moment later to look at Zachary at the major's sudden interjection into the conversation; the DCAG's sitting in a seat that was definitely empty a minute ago. Then his attention switches to Phin as the younger pilot asks his question.

"Sir, would you like to speak to that one?" If Cole has the approximate number of souls, he seems more comfortable lobbing that question in the DCAG's direction.

Jess slides a look down towards Holtz at talk of tapping, and then to Phin, leaning over to watch his question. She twists to eye Zachary for the answer, and adds a question of her own: "I take it there's still no sign of other battlegroups or parts of battlegroups out there? Are there protocols for this sort of thing, places we're going to check, or are we assuming the entire Fleet is lost except for us?"

Thumper — who had been content to sit back — now leans forward at the mention of survivors. "And, Cap. One more thing. Any news on the Moonies?" That would be the folks living on Hibernia, the habitable moon.

Zachary lifts his brow, and then he flips through that dog-eared notebook of his. "Intel's still crunching the numbers," he finally says, as he tries to meet the eyes of as many of the pilots in the room as he can as he stands up from his seat. "Just from what I saw in the reports and the camera footage, I'd put it upwards towards eighty percent. But that's a guess. We still have a lot of recon missions to rerun because time and fuel constraints. I'm trying to scramble a recon to Libran yet. I don't have answers for Hibernia.." he tries to field the questions as he comes and then draws a breath. A look is shot to Cole, as he takes the meeting over for a moment.

"There is a lot of conjecture and heresay, but it's bad. I can't tell you how bad because I don't know myself. But if you're hoping that a loved one survived? Try instead to focus on those that are still alive and fighting." he says finally. Then his attention turns to Jess. He flips a page in his book, and the D-CAG maintains that steady posture. "…there is at least one battlegroup that we know of that broke contact and fled." he lets that settle in. "Someone with foresight unmothballed the Union Bay-class super dreadnoughts." he comments. "I am returning to Picon to see if I can get a better lead on the whereabouts of the Baxter Bay battle group." And now, he lets that settle in. The super battleships may have escaped. A small glimmer of hope offered. "But until we make that contact, we must assume we are the only fleet in standing."

Phin takes in Zachary's answer and just nods. "Understood, sir," he mutters, fixing his eyes back on his notepad and scratching down…something. Those sitting next to him would note it's mostly unintelligible, but it gives him something to focus on.

Holtz utters a low whistle at the mention of the superdreadnoughts. "Ever seen the guns on those bastards?" he muses to no one in particular, the former enlisted gunnery specialist in him coming out for a moment. His expression turns a little grim, though, at Zachary's assumption regarding the rest of the fleet.

"Now that's what I'm talking about!" growls Tiptoft. He, apparently, has seen the guns on those bastards. The news — or lack thereof — about Hibernia is received with surprising equanimity.

"Any other questions? If not, I turn the meeting back over to Janitor." Zachary says, ready to retake his seat.

Cole takes his own notes as to what the DCAG is saying, even if it may be a duplicate of ones he already has. He meets Zachary's eyes for a moment, only giving a slight nod of his head as his superior continues regarding the super ships. A small smile is cracked at the reactions from his squadron, but he reserves any comments himself about that news and he prepares to continue.

Zachary retakes his seat, and continues making notes in his small pad.

Phin has nothing else. Blue eyes eventually tick back up at Cole.

Jess does not look as excited by that answer as some of the boys, but she nods and turns back around. To Cole: "What's the schedule on these missions? Do we know how soon we're moving? Are there any particular training exercises planned for beforehand?"

Holtz is still sitting quietly in his seat, occasionally making notations in his binder as people talk around him.

Cole takes his pen and taps his nose in the direction of Jess as he continues. "These are your standing orders: be ready. The Orion will be operating under Condition Three until further notice. This means all those training exercises and readiness drills we were doing are now real. So to reiterate we will undertake the following:

A. Sidearms training. Simply requalifying is no longer an option. Take to the range.

B. Hand to hand combat: Meet a Marine. They are your new best friend. They are your shadow in the gym. They are the cheese to your crackers. Just, uh, be mindful of Frat regs. Those still stand, people.
C. Reviewing gun cam footage. Start with the skirmish off Caprica. We'll add that of other missions as we progress. When you're through with that, review the footage of your wingman. We need to know what we did right, what we did wrong and most importantly how we can improve.
D. Three squares a day. I need you in the peak of health. Stop skipping breakfast, take it easy on the junk food, and eat your vegetables.
E. Predator cross-training. Still exists. Get in those sims when you're not on actual CAP."

Cole's eyes find the Major again, in a silent bid of, 'have I forgotten anything, ZOMG I'm new to this command thing'.

"Frakking vegetables," mutters Tiptoft. That's what the man chooses to focus on? "Hey Cap, I got a question. Tomato. Fruit or veg? Can't follow order number D — uh, letter D — without that intel, sir."

Looking over the notes on the board, Zach looks amused for a momet, before he glances at Tiptoft. "Reasearch it yourself. I expect the answer by tomorrow morning or I'll have you cleaning the head." That settled, he adds. "Yes. F. We're going to kick CMC ASS NEXT SATURDAY." Ra-ra.

Holtz snickers quietly. "Who needs a damn Marine?" he deadpans, smirking thinly. The big pilot does make another note, however, reminding himself to take the Predator sim for a spin sometime. "One thing, Cap — I don't know how much use the automated opponents will be for training purposes until we have the sims updated." He takes a look around the room. "Anybody wants to try a live opponent, though, let me know and I'll hop in with ya."

"I'd like a shot at that, Storm," Phin says quickly at Holtz's offer. Not loud enough to interrupt the larger meeting, since they're sitting next to each other.

Cole knits his brow as if that's the hardest question he's had to face to date. "And eat your fruits too." He tacks on to Zachary's order. There. Solved. "Ah yes. Airwing has a training exercise scheduled one week from today. A simulated ground battle against the Marines, using official modified paintball equipment. Wear a cup." Which Ari seems to apply to both the men and the women in the room. "We'll get programmers on that, I'll push it up as a requested priority. But first we have to calculate how these things move differently, so the proper mathmatical adjustments can be made." Which. Is about the extent of Cole's knowledge on /that/ particular subject. He's a jock, yo. "If there is nothing else?" Next comes dismissal.

Zach raises his hand. His eyes are locked on Holtz. Apparently something dug in there.

"Pizza's not a vegetable, Thumper," Jess deadpans across at the big pilot before she nods to Cole's list. She hasn't been taking notes and doesn't start now, pen used for fidgeting and fidgeting only. How is this not annoying anyone yet? She speaks up regarding the simulators, "Storm and Redux and I have been putting in hours on that," she says, "We've gone over the footage we have so far and are working up numbers, and we've got Buttons started on programming already. If there were a tech or two to give him a hand with the grunt work that might be good."

"Shit, Nags? Not even if I put cucumber on it?" Tiptoft grins a loopy little grin as he packs up. By which he means he crumples his AAR and (still-blank) pieces of note paper into his breast pocket. As far as he's concerned, this meeting's over. Nobody's going to be asking him about mathematical adjustments.

"Especially not if you put cucumber on it," Jess replies, "That's just like dunking it in water or something."

"Holtz asked an interesting question. Who needs a Marine." He looks around the room, Zachary's expression is grim and tight. "Would someone care to enlighten Storm on why we have Marines in the battlegroup?" he asks simply, his voice in a simple demand. The jokes just ended.

Phin actually raises his hand for this one.

"True that, Nags. I knew this frakker who would put cucumber on pizza back at Nike. Always thought he was a little bit off." Whispered by Thumper to Jess oh-so-sotto voce while the DCAG winds up to cut Holtz's head off.

Cole nods in Phin's direction for him to speak up as he'd like.

A nod of confirmation from Holtz follows Jess' statement. Whatever he might have said, though, is cut off when Zachary speaks, and Storm looks a little startled at the turn of the conversation. Uh-oh.

"Yes, thank you, Dolly. Would you care to explain to Storm why your brother is part of this battle group?" Zachary says, giving Phin the floor.

Jess will not be raising her hand, as she is instead smirking at Thumper and then rolling her eyes at the conversation's turn. She makes sure to roll them towards the front of the room, where only Cole is likely to see.

Phin flushes some. "I don't think Storm was trying to say anything to dis the Marines, sir," he says quickly. "But, I mean, they're the professionals. It's all they train to do, so they're just better than anyone else at that kind of thing." He has no small amount of - admittedly tangential - pride for the CMC. "All parts of the big machine, y'know?"

Zachary nods. "It's also about being family. We're all that each of us have left at the moment. Make it count. Cole, if you will?" he asks, retaking his seat.

"All due respect sir," Jess speaks up here, tone serious, "We're not all that we have left. There are hundreds of millions of people still out there. We can't just be out for each other, we have to be out for them, too."

"Also, the textbook answer is: because that was a direct order." There is a pointed glance at Jess, though Cole softens that with a bit of a smirk that turns the corner of his mouth upwards just a hair. "But no practice is bad practice, so I encourage you all to seek what sparring partners you can. Diversity is also a plus. Anything else?"

Holtz doesn't apologize, but he doesn't make any more disparaging cracks about the Marines, either. He does shoot a hooded look at Phin, though, as his thumb does a few more restless clicks on his pen. There doesn't seem to be anything else on his mind, though, so he stays quiet when Cole asks for further business.

Tiptoft's got no further business. Other than this vegetable-fruit dichotomy, which has been burning in his brain for the past couple of minutes. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Is seeded-ness dispositive one way or another? &c.

Phin offers Holtz a half-abashed shrug of his shoulders and scribbles some more stuff on his pad that has no clear meaning to anyone not him.

"I have nothing else. You can dismiss at convience, Captain." Zachary offers, remaining in his seat.

"Then with that, Ladies and Gentlemen. It is an honor to serve with you and for you. You are dismissed." Ari isn't much for motivational speaking. The newly minted Captain/Pro Tem SL will have to work on that.

At Cole's dismissal, Holtz rises to his feet, straightening his slightly bunched up uniform with a tug on his blues jacket. The lieutenant gathers up his notes, but doesn't move to leave right away.

Tiptoft is out. Salute here; salute there; salutes everywhere. Then he disappears down the corridor, his boots clanking loudly against the deck.

Jess flexes her jaw, and nods as they're dismissed, gathering up her unopened binder and levering out of her seat. She doesn't really go anywhere once she's standing, turning to nod at Holtz and say, half-distractedly, "We should spar sometime, warm up for the Marines."

As the room starts to empty, Cole collects his various notes from the podium, organizing them as best he can into their various folders. His eyes tick up occasionally, to keep tabs on the room's occupants. "Can I help you with anything else, Lieutenants?" He addresses Jess and Holtz as a pair.

Phin stands as well, tucking his notepad under his arm. "There a good time we might be able to meet up in the sims, sir?" he asks Holtz. "I was serious. I probably would get a better work out having the senior pilots shoot my ass than doing the programs against those old-school computerized Raiders." Though he kind of edges into the background when Cole addresses the pair of them.

"Any time. I usually try to get down there at least every couple days… gimme a holler when ya see me. Chances are I'll be in the ring," Holtz says to Jess with a quirk of the mouth. Turning to Phin, he nods and replies, "You free later tonight? If not, I think I booked some time for tomorrow." No time like the present. And then, finally, Cole. Storm shrugs his shoulders. "I think at this point, all we really need is time." His head gets cocked slightly to one side. "Unless you got somethin', Nags."

"I'll do that," Jess says to Holtz, and then adds to both him and Phin, "If you guys want to run some Predator drills, too, let me know. I'm a little rusty, but did a fair bit with them on another post." To Cole, she shrugs. "Nothing on the record," she says, "But I'd have a word if you've got a minute."
Ceres has disconnected.

"Later tonight works," Phin replies to Holtz. "Cool." Jess's mention of Predator drills gets a grin and eager nod. "Definitely. I could use the practice. I did quals while I was on Picon, even though it meant staying the full twenty-four months, but my scores were never up where my Vipers stuff was." He hangs around to see what Cole is going to say to Holtz and Jess, trying to make his eavesdropping less obvious by skimming over the notes he took during the meeting.

Folders tucked into the fold of his palm, Cole swings them to be pinned by forearm to his side. He approaches the trio, a hand collegiately clamping onto Holtz' shoulder. "Count me in as well." Because his douchebaggey yoga ain't gonna cut it against Tincans. "I'm at your disposal, Nags." A motion to the hatch if she'd like to go out in the corridor for it.

Feeling the other man's hand on his shoulder, Holtz nods at Cole, his lips twitching in a ghost of a smile. "Like I told her, Cap, you know where to find me," he replies with a jerk of the chin Jess' way. "Yeah, Preds. Gods, it's been years since my last qual on those things. Might not be a bad idea."

"We should grab some of the ECOs for it, make it a party," Phin adds about Predator drills. "I've been trying it with the ECO auto-pilot, just to get a feeling for how the planes handle, but it feels really off in some places." A glance is flicked between his superiors. Hanging around doesn't seem like it'll net him any further interesting information. So. "I'll see you later, sirs." And off he goes.

Feeling the other man's hand on his shoulder, Holtz nods at Cole, his lips twitching in a ghost of a smile. "Like I told her, Cap, you know where to find me," he replies with a jerk of the chin Jess' way. "Yeah, Preds. Gods, it's been years since my last qual on those things. Might not be a bad idea."

"We should grab some of the ECOs for it, make it a party," Phin adds about Predator drills. "I've been trying it with the ECO auto-pilot, just to get a feeling for how the planes handle, but it feels really off in some places." A glance is flicked between his superiors. Hanging around doesn't seem like it'll net him any further interesting information. So. "I'll see you later, sirs." And off he goes.

"Yeah, the auto-pilot stuff for the Predator sims isn't the best. Live ECOs'd be better. I think Butch is planning on setting something up for that already, probably." Jess nods to Holtz and Phin and then turns to Cole, saying, "I just want to bitch about our mission priorities and didn't want to do it in front of the wing and the major."

A last lingering glance goes to Jess and Cole. "I'll let you bitch in private, then," Holtz offers to Jess, giving each of them a final nod and makes his way towards the exit a few moments after Phin. "Catch you two around."

Phin is too gone by this point to know to try and lurk in the shadows of whatever hall conversation Cole and Jess are going to have. Sadness.

"Thank you." It's lobbed in general to the group as some part and some want to bitch unofficially. As the room clears out, Cole flops into one of the chairs and flips open his papers again so he can take notes. "Whatcha got?" He asks Jess, his hazel-colored eyes ticking up to her face with an expression that's softened out of his Briefing expression.

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