RP: 4th Fleet (NSN) [Mission 4.2] Back to the Fleet

Bastilen felt his mind prodded by a specific request through his mindware. The query itself hadn't come through the polysentience itself, as all current major queries had been answered. This one had come through an InterNEP transmission from... right next to him. John was asking Bastilen to let the man himself to admit to his own midnight duty. The Private Fourth Class sent the Third class a stern, and out-right 'No'. Captain Murdoch had explicitly ordered Bastilen to carry out the correspondence, and he wasn't planning to countermand a direct order.

This included the Chief's request to have a private chat with him. The short walk gave him the realization that he had acted like quite the stiff in turn. Perhaps his tenseness in regards to his probationary period was beginning to go to his head. A private like himself wasn't supposed to be privy to such matters, but he had been a Private 2nd Class when he was sent to prison. Back then, in the 1st Fleet, he had butt heads plenty of times with the naval personnel. Admiral Vanderhuge encouraged conflict and tests of strength. The old ID-SOL was old-school like that, but this...

Bastilen looked the Chief in the eyes, and saw what some would've seen as weakness. He would give no less respect for that, 1st Fleet was rough and tumble front line assaults. 4th fleet, if he had read the dossiers correctly, were more specialized and pointed in their operations. Admiral Valken was a unique sort compared to the beastial Admiral Vanderhuge, the bloody Admiral Corcyra, the rough Admiral Coast, and the insane Master-General Westwood. In comparison, the young admiral was light-handed compared to these leaders of the past.

Yet, his experiences were dated. The Admirals may have adapted to a new time. The shocking facts were everywhere, especially with how safe everything was now. Most surprising to him was how the discharged Master-General was now running the nation. It was a wearying fact to accept that viewpoints and values had shifted. Three years was much longer than he had anticipated.

Bastilen plucked his cigarette out of his mouth, and pinched the tip with his gloved hands. Once again, snuffing the life out of the cancerstick.

"Yes sir." hummed Bastilen, he stole a glance at his own scuffed boots. He returned an affirmed steel-blue gaze back at Santiago. "It won't happen again, sir."

"Oh, don't yes-sir me! I know you're smarter than that. Do you understand my point? If I wanted simple obedience, I'd be issuing orders left and right. I'm talking to you because I want you to exercise your brain. The unthinking Marine is a dead Marine, especially if he tries to pick a fight with ten Navy with only one person as his back up. I won't sell your skills short but five to one isn't a good bet when some of those five are ID-SOLs," Santiago replied.

What?

That response had caught Bastilen off guard. Santiago was a little familiar for a first time meeting with a subordinate. Most superiors usually wanted to straighten out their soldiers, at least the ones he had seen before. This little atmosphere made him feel somewhat worse. Perhaps he was too used to the whole prison aspect, maybe it had skewed his perceptions a little bit. Abjection was a totalitarian penal colony.

"I'm sorry, s--..." Bastilen cleared his throat, showing he was a little uncomfortable. "Uhm. My bad."

"Time and place for everything, Wreno. Back there, not the time or place to pick a fight. I'll let you know when's a good time. But to business! I presume the saintly Captain Murder has sent you to me for a reason? Or did you simply happen to pass by my table and want some of those delicious dogs?" Santiago said conversationally, walking the pair back to John Karrlik.

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"Your stubbornness is a good starting point, Stones. That's twice you've failed to answer my question. If you don't even have the gonads to man up and blow your own horn, what kind of confidence should I be expecting on the field? You another wallflower like that dilettante, Karrelik? Attend the same rich kid school for the socially-inept? Cos if all I'm going to hear is 'My words mean shit' then I can't take you seriously! It's not a bloody hard question. Why do you think you're good enough for 4th Fleet?"

It really wasn't a hard one. Murdoch had literally seen hundreds of iterations of "Boast, chest-pound, exaggerate." Those men and women proved to him that they were confident and eager to get at the enemy. People with reservations or these "I don't know" attitudes meant the difference between swift action and delay. Those people were hazards, untrustworthy and unreliable to the Marines willing to jump at a moment's notice.

"Ah." Bastilen looked up at Santiago and then back down at his boot, still trying to get used to the comfortable atmosphere. The Tech Expert put his hands at his waist before looking back at the Chief, eye to eye. "Well." The young Wreno looked aside a moment, trying to remember just what he was going to say now that he had been thrown off a completely direction. He cleared his throat before rolling his hand around his wrist. "Well, Captain told us to report to you. John's got two-weeks of midnight guard for mouthing off."

Leon's eyebrows rose as he looked at John. "Him?" the Chief asked so that only Bastilen could hear, "He looks so bland. How did he manage to piss off the Captain?"

He took another look at John. Goatee... maybe. A little sickly perhaps. And a small guy. Bastilen and Leon both towered over the unfortunate John. As easy as it was to pick on the little guy, Murdoch wasn't head-hunted as the Fleet's Intelligence Officer for nothing. The whole act of acting aggressive, tough and always angry was a persona much like Marine drill instructors.

Leon's first time with the Captain during his own interview had been extremely tough, almost a shouting match before the Captain saying, "You'll do." They argued over politics (Westwood vs. Himiko), strategy (how to invade a planet with 4th Fleet), leadership style (Vanderhuge vs. Valken), and the always important Navy vs. Marines.

Bastilen looked back down at John, before turning his metal eyes back in Leon's direction. He raked his teeth over his tongue a few times, trying to think back to just how John had managed to anger the Captain. There was a bit of back-and-forthing between the two, but Tech Expert had toned out the bulk of what they were talking about. Heck, he wasn't even there for most of it.

"I'm guessing the Captain didn't like what he had to say." Bastilen shrugged, "I was just ordered to get him out of the room, and tell you about his punishment. There wasn't much else, otherwise."

He looked back down at John, "He looks bland, but he's actually pretty garrulous."

P3C Stan Brandt felt more than a little nervous - albeit nervousness blended with enthusiasm - as he navigated the labrynthine corridors of 4th Fleet HQ. The anxiety, he scolded himself, was absurd. He had already dealt with boot camp: surely he could handle this, of all things. And anyway, it would be more than a bit hypocritical of him to hold disdain for those he felt to be too timid if he himself was acting just like them.

Okay, just take a deep breath and keep in mind that you're just talking to a superior in his office. That should be child's play, he thought to himself. The more he thought in this manner, the more Stan felt his anxiety subsiding to be replaced more fully by a desire to show that he was perfect and just the man the 4th Fleet HQ was looking for. Of course, that did not mean he was entirely at ease - he had no idea what to expect from the man he was going to meet.

Stan hadn't balked at being introduced to strangers before, so he felt more than a little irritated at himself for his apparent reticence. If you didn't take some chances, then you'd never get to hit the big leagues. His father had often expressed sentiments to such effect, and Stan took them to heart. He tried to avoid thinking of his father's unanticipated silence and focused on the task at hand, as he always had.

There was the simple matter of finding Captain Murdoch, who - if he was remembering things correctly - would be dealing with him for now. Turning yet another corner, Stan found himself standing in front of Captain Murdoch's office, where a trio of men were having a discussion. For a moment, he paused, unsure what to do. Nevertheless, he decided to wait and bide his time for now. No sense in barging in there without warning, especially since he didn't know who any of them were. That would presumably earn their ire far more quickly than the alternative.

As he waited, his thoughts turned to his impending introduction to the Captain. He didn't get this far to be stopped by a mere meeting of all things. It felt like his entire life had been leading up to this moment, this one instant that would determine the trajectory of his formative military service. He'd survived so many vicious scraps that to fail here was inconceivable.

As corny as it sounded, success was the only option - and failure most certainly was not.

Wulfe, stiffened at the captain’s remark. “I stand reproved, captain.” He began saying, “although, the powers-that-be seem to be content in thinking that I’ll do good in what I was trained for, which is to kill, to adapt quickly to whatever environment I’m deployed to and to follow orders. If that does not suffice to you, if that by some reason is just not enough for your nor everyone else's standard, then I’ll be just glad to inform you that should I fail it’ll be just another number in another obituary.” He said firmly, again not directly stating that he considered himself the cream-of-the-crop in any way, partly because he didn’t want to be reminded of saying such thing should he not be par with the standards, but mostly because Wulfe – being the pessimist that he was- wouldn’t believe to be really any good until he had gone through his first mission. And that was just who he was, being green as grass with no combat experience didn’t seem to help it in any bit too.
He saluted one more time, “Does that answers your question, captain?” Wulfe asked.

With a growl, Murdoch relented. "Barely, Stones. Dismissed. Send in the next victim."

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Santiago nodded his head, impressed by Wreno's vocabulary. "Sucks to be him, I guess. Not gonna ask about your P4C status but just want to know if there's anything not in the file I should know about?"

"Sir." Wulfe said, saluting one last time and grabbing his duffel bag from the floor as he left the captain's office. At least it's over, might as well enjoy my free time while I await for new orders. Or something. he thought as he opened the door.

He stared at the much taller man outside. I’m sure he’ll do way better than you, Wulfe, rang his conscience again. “You’re next.” He said, too busy and already stressed to think of something remarkable to add to the comment. I need a cold beer, He decided at last, heading to look for the first place to get some alcohol on his blood system.

Stan, for his part, felt a powerful need to do something other than merely standing there. After all, he could always be doing something productive, even in situations such as this. He began going over in his head what the Captain might say, and how he would reply. Above all, however, he just wanted to get it over with - there were few things more unbearable than a prolonged wait, especially when it involved something as important as this.

It was at this moment that a Nepleslian left the office, helpfully informing him that it was probably his turn. Part of him wondered where he was going to go next, but that line of thought was promptly quashed. He should only concentrate on the immediate task; he could catch up with the man later. Nodding and muttering a thanks, Stan opened the door. Stepping through and closing it behind him, the Private snapped into a salute. "Private Third Class Stan Brandt reporting for duty, sir!"

Even as he maintained the salute, the tall man could not help but take in the sight of Captain Murdoch. He looked pretty damn intimidating, if he was honest with himself, but if he was lucky his bark might be much worse than his bite. Unfortunately, you could never tell, no matter how much you wanted to wish otherwise. For now, though, Stan decided to just remain in the moment and see how things would develop. He'd always preferred to deal with the immediate concern rather than things in the longer term.

As Stan entered, he was confronted by a towering man only several inches taller than him.

"Private Brandt, straight from boot camp. Why does HQ keep telling me that we're an elite unit while they send us fresh-faced Marines? Don't answer, you're not qualified," Murdoch sighed before taking a deep breath.

"What differentiates you from the last few sacks of turd I've had to interview? Besides your physical stature, Brandt."

Stan could already tell that this was not going to be easy by any stretch of the imagination, but he knew that he couldn't afford to quail now. Gathering himself, he maintained his composure as he quickly replied, "I am a very dedicated person, sir, and when I am asked to do something I try to do my best to accomplish it - I don't like leaving a job half done. I also have a varied skill set, sir."

Almost as soon as the words were out of his mouth, Stan felt a twinge of disappointment with himself. Was that really the best that he could come up with? He'd have to really kick things up a notch if he wanted to convince the Captain that he was a worthy addition to the unit.

"Not very enthusiastic, Brandt, but better than the last two. Marginally so but still better. Varied skill set? You can sing and tap-dance simultaneously? Or do you mean something else?"

In Murdoch's mind, Brandt had barely passed his first question. How would the ID-SOL deal with sarcasm?

The ID-SOL/Nepleslian hybrid felt slightly buoyed - slightly being the operative word - by Murdoch's words, though he was still aware that there was plenty of ways for it to go wrong now.

Stan's reaction to the sarcasm was not to highlight it - he wanted to play things safe for now. He had no intention of earning Captain Murdoch's ire, least of all with some botched attempt to show how "witty" or humourous he was. He had never seen himself as someone with a particularly sterling sense of humour, anyway.

"Certainly, sir. I'm quite handy at constructing basic weapons," said Stan earnestly, trying his best to show that he was undeterred by the Captain's sarcasm. "I can also pick locks."

Stan decided to sidestep the issue of mentioning another pair of talents - driving certain small vehicles and the fact that he was quite streetwise. Compared to the other things at his disposal, it seemed rather insignificant and unlikely to impress. And as for the latter, well... he was fairly certain that could apply to any Nepleslian you cared to drag off the street. Sure, the skills he mentioned before were long shots too, but at least they could hold some relevancy - however small - to a mission. And you never knew when it would come in handy.

"We are in a profession where we use power armor, high velocity anti-armor weaponry, missiles, antimatter and plasma. How often do you think we'll be opening locks quietly in power armor?"

The boy did not seem to have a grasp of what he was getting into even after months of basic training. Why was 4th Fleet becoming a dumping ground for new soldiers despite the Admiral's constant demands for experienced soldiers? It would be a never ending cycle.

"Don't answer. Or I'm throwing you out the window. Go find Chief Murdoch and tell him that you're his latest problem child now. Dismissed."

He'd really blown it with that last response, Stan realised. He had - rather foolishly - merely blurted out answers without thinking about the deeper practicalities and caveats of what he was saying. If the Captain didn't already think he was a fool with Nerimium for brains, that was probably going to be the case later on if he didn't wake up.

Trying to ignore the churning feeling of embarrassment and mortification in his stomach, Stan nodded and with the most professional tone he could muster he said, "Yes, sir."

Retreating to the door, he opened it and closed it behind himself once more as he began to figure out where he would need to go next.