AWD #269: Wall of Silence
Wall of Silence
Summary: Amos tries to get to the bottom of the events between Lleufer and Elias
Date: 02/Oct/2013
Related Logs: And It All Falls Apart
Amos Lleufer Brina Elias 
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. Squadron ready rooms double as locker rooms for the aircrews and their gear, metal-faced wooden lockers on each wall with large gear tables down the center dominate the rooms.
AWD #269

It's been a long night, the kind of long night that only exists when you're dug in hundreds of miles away from base with neigh-on constant incoming fire and a clever, thinking foe. Needless to say Amos is dog-tired as his boots hit the tarmac at Crandall again, and everything aches. Heading for the mess area his plan is simple, grab something to eat, then put his head down for as long as he can get away with but before he can get to even the first of those he's intercepted by another marine. There's a brief conversation, and not a terribly joyus one by the sounds of it, and then the Captain is turning from his original course and heading for the ops buildings instead, hunting for Sergeant Ynyr.

Sergeant Ynyr has had an easy night by comparison. Marlin City planning for scouting, gathering what intel he can through interviews and additional data. There was that few hours sleep in the brig and at least one meal after. A meeting with Captain Gray last night, some sporatic gunfire to be delt with on base with a couple of Centurions, but nothing as exhausting as Captain Ommanney's night. Lleu's leg is better so he's been out walking a perimeter patrol with fellow Marines, spotting along the Marlin City border to take notes and photographs. He's just gotten back in and is standing at the desk he's claimed. A map and pieces of maps for Marlin City are pinned up on the wall behind it with many notes, some photos.
"All right. Get that and send it to me ASAP. I expect we'll be heading out any time now." The fellow is dismissed and heads off. Lleu picks up his cup, finds it stained and empty and glances over at the very empty carafe that has no coffee or tea to make.

It doesn't take Amos long to find his target, but as he rounds the doorway and starts for the desk his expression indicates that he's had time enough to digest the news that greeted him on the apron. He's not quite ready to spit thunder, not yet, but give him a little more time and he might be. "Sergeant Ynyr!" he barks out as soon as the Aerilian is spotted, "outside. Now!" He's pointing to the corridor, so likely means there rather than actual open sly outside. Stepping aside from the doorway to allow the man to pass he'll then follow, but not until he's given the rest of the room a look that suggests they should find themselves things to keep them busy for the next few minutes.

Hell yeah, the whole room jumps! Officer on Deck, even if it's only a Captain, because it's a pissed and crusty Marine Captain. Everyone in the offices stares at Ommanney including Lleu for about two seconds. The cup is put down, Ynyr having snapped to attention with everyone else. A flick of his gaze and, "Yes, sir!" out the door he goes. In the hall he continues until Amos himself stops. Lleufer stands at attention, eyes forward, back straight. He's wearing his combat kit, slightly mangled combat blacks with armour, grabbed his helmet and rifle when he left his desk. Man hasn't shaved or bathed in days like the rest of them, tired, but more rested than Amos to be certain. Quiet, Lleu waits and keeps his eyes forward, mouth shut. No expression upon his face.

Amos is still in his comabt gear too, although his has fresh dirt, blood, and sweat all over it as opposed to Ynyr's more faded grime. Helmet on, rifle across his back it's obvious he hasn't stopped since getting back yet and he seems quite content to leave Lleufer standing at attention. "Congratulations Sergeant," he starts, not getting up in the man's face nor shouting, but keeping about three feet away and annunciating clearly yet firmly. "You've managed to acquire yourself a few minutes of my time all to yourself." Speaking quickly he doesn't pause to give time for interuptions. "Now, I intend to spend most of it telling you that as of now you are confined to this base until you can prove to me that you are not a danger to yourself and those around you. As such, when I am done here you will be reporting to Ensign Kostas for rostering into the escort details for the 379th and consider yourself very lucky that I need every damn pair of boots I can get hold of and am not confining you to the brig on Orion for this tomfoolery." He snatches a breath, his first so far, then plows on. "While you're doing that I'll be talking to O'Connal and Captain Gray and when I have got to the bottom of this mess you've landed me with I'll decide if I still consider you fit to uphold the standard expected of officers, comissioned or otherwise, of the Corp. Now, you have precisely," he lifts his arm and pulls back his sleave a fraction to reveal his watch, then waits until the seconds hand reaches the top before finishing, "thirty seconds to explain to me while I shouldn't bust your arse down to Private and give your job to someone I can trust to keep focused on the job."

His breathing shifts somewhat but not much, a muscle in his jaw to tense. Eyes forward, not a word of interruption. Ynyr is dead silent as Amos speaks, ranting or not. Movement of his throat to try not to swallow or move at all at mention loosing his rank or any future rank he'd been working towards, and the confinement to base. No flicker of his eyes, looking dead ahead. No making fists with his hands though he's tensed. When he's told to explain, Lleufer says crisply, "It won't happen again, Sir!" Nope, no explanation offered. Zip. But Lleu works damned hard at not shifting his jaw around, wishing he could say something more. He doesn't. Not so much as a glance.

Amos waits in silence for thw whole thirty seconds he'd granted, even though Lleufer's answer takes up only a fraction of it. "I'm so very glad to hear that," he replies, tone not shifting an inch, "because if it does, or there's even a hint that it might, then you'll be swopping your rifle for a vegitable peeler and preparing potatoes in the mess for the rest of this war. Do. I. Make. My. Self. Clear?"

That muscle in his jaw just can't help but twitch. "Sir! Yes, Sir!" Just like in boot camp, but a whole lot more serious. Ynyr stays straight at attention and waits.

"Good," Amos replies shortly, only now moving to loosen the strap on his helmet a fraction. What he wants to say next is 'now get out of my sight' but he's been doing this long enough that it comes out as a crisp and precise, "dismissed!" before he turns to continue on down the corridor, hunting for the next name on his list.

Lleufer was told to stop what he had been doing and report at once to Ensign Kostas. So, Ynyr snaps off a salute, turns smartly and heads out to do just that. All of his notes and prepwork are ready for Captain Ommanney including some useful data from Captain Saint Clair, on Lleu's vacated desk or on the wall behind it. Lleu puts his helmet on as he heads for the stairs and outside to go find the Ensign as ordered.

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 small group of Marines wander back to base after patrol. While the majority of them chat Brina is quiet, keeping to herself. Once they near the building she peels away from the others, too tired and too upset to want to socialize.

Having found out fairly quickly that Lance Corporal O'Connell was out on patrol, Amos is standing just inside the doorway of one of the control centre buildings. Seeing the group return he steps out and makes to intercept as he sees her break away. "O'Connell," he calls firmly, although thelevel of pissed-off in his tone seems to have dropped somewhat, "with me," and then he's turning for the mess area. He still needs to eat and now sems like as good a time as any.

Brina snaps to and then follows after almost barking, "Sir, yes sir!" the officer is followed obediently, the only sound coming from her being the dull sound of booted footfall.

Fortunatly there's not much of a queue at this time of day and it's only a couple of minutes before Amos has something hot and edible in one hand, and hot and drinkable in the other. Leaving Brina to help herself or not as she chooses he then moves off to find the closest thing resembling a quiet corner that he can and sits himself down, gestruing the Lance Corporal to the chair opposite.

The younger Marine is lacking in appetite so doesn't get herself any food. A glass of 'drink' is gotten and brought with her, however, it then set down on the table before she sits. "What can I do for you, sir?" there is an audible nervousness when she speaks. her voice giving her away.

"You can tell me what happened between Sergeant Ynyr and Captain Gray," Amos answers between mouthfulls. "The details that is, I've already had the cliff notes. Then you can tell me if, in your considered opinion, the Sergeant can keep his shit together from now on or if I'm going to have to find him somehting useful to do that won't lead to the deaths of marines under his command if he loses it again." Reaching for his drink he takes a long swig, despite the temperature, then starts on his food again, listening to her replies as he does so.

"I really don't know what happened, sir. I mean… I know that Sarge assaulted the Captain but I don't really understand why. Captain Gray didn't do anything to provoke him, as far as I can tell. It just seemed like Sarge flipped his gourd and went on the attack." There's a pause then before Brina dares to continue. "Sir, I think I might've heard something I wasn't supposed to. I don't feel comfortable talking about it but maybe one of them could fill that detail in?" There is the desire to be honest but Brie doesn't want to go into that part of what she overheard during the fight. Hopefully Amos will be understanding. When further questioned Brina takes a sip, her brow furrowed. "I think that he has what it takes to be a very good officer, Captain Ommanney. But right now he's running on fumes and is stressed. Perhaps more so than the rest of us. Perhaps a small delay would be for the best, sir." Gods, that sucked… did she throw poor Lleufer under the bus by suggesting that?

"Sergeant Ynyr seems somewhat relunctant to discuss the incident," Amos replies once Brina is done, "but I intend to speak with Captain Gray when I can." Before or after sleep, he's not sure yet, but soon, certainly. He takes a moment to consider what's she said about what she overheard before he asks, "do you think it pertinant to the matter?" Not sure yet if he wants to push it or not he'll wait for her reply before deciding. The rest though, that gets a tired, almost disapointed sigh as he reaches one hand up to scratch at his chin. "We're all stressed Corporal, and we're all running on fumes, but if he can't hack it then I need to know now, not after people start dying as a result." Blunt yes, but he's hoping he's getting his point across. "He's assigned to escort detail duty for now, until I can get to the bottom of this at least. If you see him trying to leave the base, or if there's any indication he's about to flip again then you are to detain him immediately and send for me. Understood?"

"I think it has to do with why the Sergeant lost his cool, sir." A hand lifts and is rubbed across her nose a couple of times, Brina sighing right upon the heels of when the Captain does. His instructions are listened to and dedicated to memory, mentally stored away. "I'll keep an eye out for you and let you know if he does, sir." Her eyes close and Brie shakes her head, troubled. "If I may, sir, I understand the necessity of this but it feels like I've been asked to play stool pidgeon. Not sure if I like that." Despite her distaste for what Amos told her to do if needed, she'll do it.

"I may need you to tell me then," Amos answers, watching her carefully for a moment, "but I'll see what Captain Gray has to volunteer first. As for the rest, I can see your concern, but it won't just be you. Those same instructions will be issued to every MP from the 3/8th. I'm not trying to hang him out to dry, but if he carries on in that vain he can forget OCS and half the other stuff he's worked hard for." Dropping his fork he puses the sraps on his plate away and adds, "he's a good Sergeant, and I need him back on form. I hope you can appreciate that."

Brina shoves the glass away, almost tipping it over entirely when too much force is put behind it. "Yes, sir." Her eyes hold to the officer's for a moment before she looks down again, her shoulders slouched. "I'm sorry this all happened," she eventually adds, sounding like she blames herself for the fight that broke out yesterday.

"Not your fault O'Connell," Amos replies, "and I hear Captain Gray isn't pressing charges, which is a good start." Having apparently finished his meal and gathers his things together and pushes himself tiredly to his feet, "Good day Corporal."

"Not your fault O'Connell," Amos replies, "and I hear Captain Gray isn't pressing charges, which is a good start." Having apparently finished his meal and gathers his things together and pushes himself tiredly to his feet, "Good day Corporal."


Map Room - Deck 2 - Battlestar Orion
Dominating the room is the large bottom-lit map table in the very center. Ten feet across and eight feet the other way, the table can gather a large number of people around it while still accommodating enlisted and support personnel in the small riser seating behind the table. The risers are done in single-piece desk sections that run the width of the seating area and have small reporting displays built into them along with communications ports for headphones. At the head of the room are two very large LED displays that can have almost anything put on them, including projections of what is on the map table. A single computer at the support seating controls this and in the rear of the room is a large, locked case that holds maps and table models.
AWD #269

While the Orion lacks the marauding Centurions of Picon, the war is here too. The ship is alive with activity, and the Map Room is no longer Elias' private office. A few members of the ops staff are at work, clustered around the big map table, and people are coming and going constantly. Despite it all, the Intel Officer has managed to maintain his claim to one single desk, where he sits quietly going over a hefty stack of reports, photos, and messsages. He's back in his shipboard Blues, and sporting an impressive black eye. Perhaps that explains the generally irritable expression on his face.

Amos managed to hitch a lift on a Med-Evac raptor and is now searching for his third, and hopefully final encounter with those involved in the mess the day before. He's heading for Deck 2 as soon as his boots touch deck, knowing that that's where Captain Gray is often found, and given he's still splattered with mud, grime, dust and someone else's blood, there's not many people choosing to get in his way. He does at least have his rifle slung across his back and his helmet under his arm by the time he reaches the map room though, and he pauses for a moment in the hatchway until he spots the man he's looking for and heads over, offering, "Captain Gray," in greeting as he gets closer.

While the Orion lacks the marauding Centurions of Picon, the war is here too. The ship is alive with activity, and the Map Room is no longer Elias' private office. A few members of the ops staff are at work, clustered around the big map table, and people are coming and going constantly. Despite it all, the Intel Officer has managed to maintain his claim to one single desk, where he sits quietly going over a hefty stack of reports, photos, and messsages. He's back in his shipboard Blues, and sporting an impressive black eye. Perhaps that explains the generally irritable expression on his face.

Elias's eyes flick up when he hears his name, probably expecting to see some crewman and intent on dismissing them as quickly as possible. Then he sees the soiled CMC combat gear, and he slowly lifts his head to study the Marine Captain. Yes, he seems to have a guess what this is probably about, and he looks none to pleased. "Captain Ommanney." Elias flips over the papers he was focused on and gestures an invitation towards the next seat over. "I assume this is about Sergeant Ynyr?"

"I can see why they put you Intel," Amos remarks. It's not so much a dig, more a tired attempt at the standard fleet/corp banter, bu then he nods and moves to take the seat. "We're both busy men and I won't keep you long I hope. I've heard you're not pressing charges and frankly thats your own business, but I need to know everything you can tell me about what's going on in his head at the moment." Reaching behind himself to shift the barrel of his gun so he can sit more comfortably he adds, "if he's out there commanding men I need to know he can stay focused and frankly, what I've seen and heard in the past twenty four hours says he can't."

Elias listens closely as Amos lays out his position, then gives a slow nod. "I have intelligence operations of my own going. It seems the Sergeant is … involved with someone who is on one of them. I wasn't aware of just how involved until yesterday." Yes, nothing like be sucker punched to clarify things. The question of Lleufer's mental state gives him pause, and Elias mulls that over for a moment. "In my opinion, the Sergeant feels compelled to protect this person. And he's beating himself up because it is impossible. But I'm not a shrink. I don't know if that helps you or not, Captain?"

Amos' eyes narrow slightly at the mention of an involvement, since he'd had Ynyr and O'Connell pegged and as far as he's aware, O'Connell isn't working for Elias. He considers the rest of the response in silence for a few moments then asks, "when, by your best estimation, is this intelligence operation likely to conclude?" He doesn't like being kept in the dark over the details, that much is clear, but he knows the game well enough not to push and so instead goes on to clarify, "or when do you see this, individual's, role in it ceasing?"

Did he detect suspicion in Amos' eyes? Elias is usually quite perceptive, but also gets suspicion from a lot of people. Nothing unusual there, and he is unapologetic about keeping the details to himself. "There's no timetable for this operation, but if it goes more than a week or two with no sign of positive results, I'll have to assume it's failed." His expression is flat, revealing little of his own thoughts or hopes for the mission, or whoever is on it.

Suspision, confusion, straight-out tiredness, it's all in there to some degree. "A week or two," he repeats back, voicing as little of the disapointment he feels in that answer as he can. Pushing himself back to his feet he grabs his helmet from where he's placed it on the floor by his feet and tucks it under his arm again. "I best be getting back down there," he states, tiliting his head ever so slightly towards Elias, "there's a war on you know," and with that he's turning to go. Mulling over what his fellow Captain did, and didn't say.

Just like the suspcion, Elias does nothing to acknowledge the Marine's fatigue or irritation. The reminder about the war gets a thin, strained smile from Elias. One that turns into a bit of a wince due to his bruised face. "You can tell your people that it's going well, so far. But it's going to be a long haul." He returns the nod of farewell from Amos. "Good luck down there, Captain." And by the time he's finished saying it, he's back to his reports. His war apparently involves a great deal of paper.

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