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RP: 4th Fleet (NSN) [Mission 5.3] Debriefing and Preparations

"Define normal, Romero," said Phaedra with a hint of bitterness. She turned on her heel and made her way out of the hangar.

====================

"Punctuality is an important trait. One I am please to see the three of you possess," said Phaedra as she entered the armory. Phaedra strode past the three recruits and gestured to a pair of Hostiles and an Aggressor docked nearby.

"Francis, Plainsview, you have been assigned one of these Hostiles. Talbain, you have been assigned this Aggressor. I want all of you to be ready to use them by the end of today," she said, returning her hands to behind her back.

"Take some time to adjust your settings and ensure they fit properly. I will be running several training simulations later in the day as well."

"Any questions?"
 
Bastilen had looked up from his own work long enough to gather in the rest of the room as he heard some of them talking. The soldier leaned back into his rolling chair, observing some of the others, silently grumbling at how he wasn't alone. He thought that most of them, at the very least, would be doing anything but hanging around their armors after a mission. The soldier tugged out one of his cigarettes, and plucked it into his mouth.

At least he had the sanctity of several meters. That was more than he got in prison.

Thwick! Thw-thw-Thwick! Bastilen struck his dying lighter a few times, before it gave up a wavering flame to ignite the tobacco in his cigarette.

With that, he went back to work, content in solace.
 
Francis gazed at the Hostile armor that had just been assigned to him. He acknowledged Phaedra's orders with a nod. This armor seemed that it could hold its own in a firefight, but it looked somewhat sparse when compared to the Agressor armor next to the Hostile. Something about power armors had always appealed to him, probably the raw might that they were capable of unleashing. His PA training had been the most enjoyable back in boot camp, and Francis suspected the same would be true here, save the part where enemies would be shooting at him now.

Francis suited up in his Hostile, and began to acclimate to the use of the PA. His previous training made its way back to the forefront of Francis' mind, and he recalled all the proper procedures for using his Hostile. Everything seemed to be in line to him, and he decided to take a quick stroll around the armory to get used to the movement. Moving was easier for Francis than he remembered, but he had no complaints there. He decided to toy around with the suit and see what it could do before Phaedra gave him the simulations to do.
 
Hangar

"Isolov, Sergei. Griffin, Tony. You're joining Corporal Morris' new squad. Where the truant is hiding, I don't know. Report to Romero. She'll fix it with her usual panache," Rochester called out.

Laura turned her attention back to the haughty man. "Don't dump your problems onto me!" she yelled back.

"Too bad, Romero. Until an hour ago, Morris was in your squad so you know where to find him better than I do!"

Laura grumbled under her breath and shouted at the two unlucky idiots, without looking at them, "Follow me to the Armory. If you walk into an airlock, feel free to jettison yourself. Saves me the trouble of remembering who you are."

---------------
Armory

A hop, skip and a jump later, Romero and her two victims arrived in the armory. "Sergeant Volkov, two more corpses for you. They're for Henry's squad but I don't know where he is so pass them on for me. Bernie's brother just assigned to Rochester's unit! I need to find out all of his embarrassing secrets so I finally see him squirm when he gets back!" And with that, the plucky medic disappeared, leaving Sergei and Tony alone.

"She does that a lot," Kerr noted. "Sign of an active mind. Immature and active," Holmes added to the commentary before both turned their attention to watching Phaedra.
 
Henry had walked in cleaned up and with his catharsis previously vented, but something in the air was just wrong. Something was simply ticking him off. His datapad was telling him that he had new additions to his squad: A Private Isolov and a Private Griffin.

He made a quiet beeline for the armoury and found Phaedra there. He gave her a nod of respect and acknowledgement, and then sized up the two new guys. An ID-SOL, which, according to his file had some aptitude with technology, and a former gang-banging Nepleslian. Hopefully since they were in the Fourth Fleet, they were a cut above the normal crunchies that come across. Durandium Nepleslians upon Durandium ships were what the 4th Fleet stood for anyway.

"Good day Gentlemen - trust you came in well on the flight here," He had a cigar in his mouth. He pulled out a match and struck it against his arm, putting the lit end to the cigar and gave it a puff in the men's direction, "And I also trust that both of you know which end the bullets come out of. That aside, welcome to the Minutemen..." His voice seemed very nonplussed about squad introductions - mostly because he was late. "I'm sure you're familiar the rules of engagement. If it has tentacles or cat ears, ensure that it dies and stays dead. If not, I'm sure you'll figure them out in a hurry."

His introductory speech was full of thinly veiled scorn and disinterest as his eyes narrowed to analyse the two new men, and mull over their backgrounds as relevant as their files made them. Only the fires of combat would see if these men were burnt or tempered by what they experienced. The death of his former superior was still thick in Henry's memory, and Phaedra could see it in his body language and hear it in his voice.
 
Talbain looked to the Aggressor he had been assigned before looking back to Phaedra. "On it Sergeant." Making his way to the armor he gave it a walk around before actually getting it opened up. Climbing into the armor Talbain kept the frame opened up until the systems were booted up. The personal adjustments were easy enough to perform. Between the neural probe and his experience with Aggressor armors before he already knew what changes he wanted to make.

Once he was satisfied with the armors settings he started checking his range of motion. Everything still checked out. Head, shoulders, elbows, wrists, fingers, waist, hips, knees, and ankles. The ID-SOL couldn't help but smile in the confines of his armor. It had been some time since he had gotten to run through the set up process in preparation for actual combat.

Happy with the performance of the suit itself he started checking the weapons set aside for the behemoth. AOP first. It was simple enough but he didn't spend much time on it. He followed up with the PCTs, Racks, LSP, and finally the issue vibrosaw. Having returned the AOP to it's stowage he ran the armors hand across the AMP before preceding to handle the weapon. The scrutiny he showed checking this weapon was far greater than what he had given to the AOP and it was obvious. When he was finished going over the AMP he strapped it to his armor.

Having finished running through his checks Talbain used the suits communications to send a message to his squad leader.

Code: 
Message: Talbain
Preparations complete. Additional orders?
 
A second shuttle arrived after the first unloading the new arrivals. Recruits and personnel redirected from places like Delsauria, Malaise, and Cirrus station. As it was cleared and touched down, only one of the last place walked out. And she walked out first.

A rather voluptuous woman with crimson hair braided into a ponytail, looking rather happy to be back in the good old Nepleslian uniform. Along with their equipment. The patches identified her as P2C Winters. The smile on her face showed her excitement at being somewhere new. Her feelings on the fights ahead weren't readily apparent.

As she stepped down, she looked over her shoulder with a smirk, knowing that the boys behind her were watching her slightly swaying rear as she walked in front of them. She quickly ignored it though and worked out with informed the dock officers of the squad her orders were assigning her to. Inwardly, she was giddy at the thought of flying a PA again.

Then she was brought back to reality by the loud growl from Sergeant Rochester as he started calling for a semblance of order.

"Winters, Claire! Report to Sergeant Volkov in the Armory! You're in her squad."
 
((Lol, Sigma. I could've posted it))

Volkov? Sounds like a dangerous name. This'll be fun. Yes sir! *The buxom redhead marched off towards the armory, tapping her datapad for directions quickly. She was quietly thankful that at least one of the recruits on board had the data, otherwise she would be getting yelled at by the previous sarge. (though she was pushing it already from her comment.)

The armory. a shiver went down her spy. It'd been a long time since she got to look at the beautiful armors. She was happy for another go with them. She stepped in and cleared her throat, her green eyes scanning the room. "Sargeant Volkov? P2C Winters here, reporting for your squad." She had no idea what Volkov looked like, but was expecting an annoyed bark to clue her in soon.
 
As the new recruits saw to their PAs, Phaedra's datapad chimed to inform her of a new message. She pulled it out from her pocket and read the message.

Code: 
Message: Talbain
Preparations complete. Additional orders?
While she prepared a reply another message popped up on the screen.

Code: 
Message: Drei
P2C Winters, Claire
Assigned to Sgt. Volkov, Phaedra
"Another transfer. At least this one appears have some experience..." thought Phaedra.

Code: 
We will start the simulation momentarily.  We have another new arrival, so consider this small amount of downtime a reward for being the first one done.

Also, next shore leave you should tell me what you have been up to all this time.
-Sgt. Volkov
Phaedra had barely put away her datapad when a tall woman with red hair entered the armory.

"Sergeant Volkov? P2C Winters here, reporting for your squad," she said, her eyes scanning the room.

"Over here, Private. Double time!" said Phaedra, motioning her over. Phaedra tapped at her datapad as another Hostile was prepped for the new arrival. She returned her hands to behind her back.

"This is your Hostile," she said, motioning with a nod of her head.

"I want it to be combat ready by the end of today. Adjust what settings you need to and then standby for a simulation. Your squadmates have already gotten started. Move it!" said Phaedra.

Phaedra overheard the introduction that Henry had given to his new recruits, and she heard the unusual agitation in his voice. She tapped on her datapad to send him a message.

Code: 
Henry, please come speak with me once you have orientated your new squad members.
-Sgt. Volkov
 
Claire grins widely. "Ooh A hostile? I've got the training for em, but never got to play with one. Trust me sarge, I take good care of my things. This beauty will -shine- before we're out." *She seems eager and already begins diagnostics on the suit before ensuring all the locks were operational. When the thought of loadouts enters her mind, she almost looks giddy with glee.

As for Volkov, she spares a glance over when she was operating the locks on the legs. Interesting woman. All business, looked fairly hardened. She mused on what lay beneath the hard nanoeye for a moment while she worked. People were puzzles, and the girl did love herself a good mystery. For another time, perhaps. She darts about as she does her diagnostics and preparations, seeming all too excited to get her hands on a PA again.
 
"Now, here are your assigned Hostiles. Excellent machines that won't ever betray you," Henry told the new recruits, pointing the two to the powered armours in the racks. He gave the machines an approving nod before turning his attention back to the two newbies, "They'll be your second skins when we drop into Hell tomorrow, so treat them with some respect, and familiarise yourself with them if you haven't already."

He rubbed his head for a moment before continuing, removing the cigar from his mouth and tapping some of the ash away from the tip, "I want both of you to be combat ready by the end of the day." He was using his cigar to point at the two newbies, fencing with it.

"Your task is to find an armourer and get their arse to work on your armour with whatever weapons you require." He looked over to the other squads. "Now get moving and make your decisions-" He pointed his cigar to some Armourers who had nothing to do. "-or leap into battle naked. Move out!"

He waited for the duo to give him a salute and entered some paperwork and housekeeping data into his datapad, before replying to Phaedra:
Code: 
Go ahead, go ahead.
-Cpl. Morris
 
Code: 
Message: Cpl.  Morris
Go ahead, go ahead.
-Cpl. Morris
Seeing that he was free at the moment, Phaedra strode over to where Henry stood.

"Henry, I know those under my command well enough to know there is something wrong. And I think I know what it is. It is also for the same reason I did not congratulate you upon your promotion to squad leader."

Phaedra stared directly into his eyes and put a hand on his shoulder.

"I served with Rui for almost as long as you did. Believe me when I say I do not take his death lightly. I wished my last coversation with him would have been something other than yelling at each other," said Phaedra her eyes glancing away for a moment. Phaedra returned her hand to behind her back.

"That said, we cannot allow losses to impair our better judgement. You have a squad to lead, Henry. I need to have you with your head on straight. We will have a short ceremony soon to jettison our dead, and then a proper ceremony when this campaign is over. Then we may grieve, but now is not the time."

"Speak freely, Henry. I need to know what your thoughts are. I need to know if this will be an issue."
 
Francis continued to fiddle around with the Hostile that he had been assined, running diagnostics and checking the various sensory systems that came with the armor. When he was certain that his PA was working at optimum condition, Francis messaged Sgt. Volkov.
Code: 
Message: Pvt Lasalle
Prep complete. Anything else, Sgt?

While he waited for a reply, Francis noticed a rather attractive red headed woman come bounding into the room. He couldn't he the actual exchange but he assumed that this woman was in his squad. He would have to introduce himself later. First, however, came his PA training.
 
"Hey, Sarge. How's it hangin'?"

A familiar voice caught both Henry and Phaedra off guard. It was... Rita! She'd had the left arm of her IPG-issue prosthetic body chopped off during the fight with the NMX, and was so heavily damaged that she was forced to retreat. When received by triage medics, they discovered that a mild concussion she survived in combat damaged the cybernetic interface connecting her brain to the body. She was in the hospital until after everything happened and just recently got out.

Rita certainly seemed as spirited as ever for someone who had come within inches of death. It appeared that her prosthetic arm had been replaced with a much more noticable, gunmetal grey cybernetic arm with no synthskin over it. It was bulkier than her other arm but about the same length. The hand was large, with articulated square fingers that ended in rounded tips. It looked similar to a gauntlet. It was a common design for marine cybernetics.
 
Almost as soon as Stan had gotten his meal he had devoured it. The ID-SOL realised that he must have been far hungrier than he thought, though considering what he had just gone through, the Marine felt that it was understandable. Putting away his tray (and trying to look presentable), Stan decided to make his next destination the showers. An unwashed ID-SOL wasn't the most pleasant person to be in close proximity to, and that was assuming they hadn't just been fighting for their lives.

One brisk - and cold - shower later, Stan made all haste back toward his accomodation; there wasn't too much he wanted to do except sleep and regain his strength. At least he had lived to fight another day.
 
The Navy armourers were not very busy at the moment. Most of the repair work had been given over to the Junker drones. So now all they had to do was wait for the newbie Marines to get their act together.

They just lounged and smoked by their toolboxes, wearing in oily overalls.

-------------------

Laura bounded up the new boy in Rochester's squad, Matthias. "Where's Bernie?" she interrogated him.

The young man with blonde hair was taken aback by the sudden question. "Who?" he asked.

"Bernie! Bernhard! You have the same surname! You said you knew me!" Laura shouted at him.

Recognition flashed across Matthias' face. "Oh, Bern. He sent a picture of you and him in one of his messages home. How should I know what he's up to? I just got here. You're his girlfriend, right? Shouldn't you know?"

"No. All I know is that he was sent to 1st Fleet for something." Laura kept quiet about the girlfriend part. From what she knew of their relationship, Bernhard would not have called it that. He hadn't really shown a lot of the emotional attachment that a couple in love were supposed to. He also called her advancements "an adolescent infatuation" with him.

But if Matthias wasn't any the wiser, there was no harm in letting him continue to think that. He'd be more open to talking to her.

"Anyway, I should take you to see Sergeant Volkov!" She yanked him back towards the Armory, causing him to drop his bags. They were promptly picked up by a passing Junker drone. "Which room, sir?" it queried. "216! Thanks!" Matthias called out as he was being dragged away by the woman that his brother had described as "a unstoppable, undeniable Force of Nature."

---------------

Laura re-entered the Armory, holding Matthias by his sleeve and shouted out to Phaedra. "Hey Sergeant! Look who I found! Bernie's younger brother!"
 
Henry's worst fears were confirmed as he watched the two slack-jawed Newbies. They had that deer-in-the-headlights look - either they didn't have enough brain cells between them to follow basic instructions for survival or they were just busy staring at the machine. Something snapped inside Henry's mind. He bit down on his cigar and his eyebrow cocked like the hammer on a revolver. The half-cigar fell to the foor.

"Oh for fuck's sake people -" Henry moved up to the two, gave them both a firm inwards to reverse their facing, and then pushed them towards the armourer, "Figure it out yourselves or you're going in naked - that's a promise!" His last words towards the two were particularly venomous. The other half of his cigar fell out of his mouth.

He then turned around to see Rita: "Oh, good to see they patched you up." He didn't seem too plussed about Rita's recovery. However, there was one thing missing from the cyborg - something she used so often it might as well have replaced her right hand: "Your chainsword was a goner - but it ended up killing a few more Mindies by my hand while you were out and it 'died' a warrior's death."

Henry contemplated the Warrior's Death - the noble death that kept the rest not grieving, but extolling the act of valour or bravery. Those were the fumes in the gas-tank of this war. "Get another - do what you do best - try and hold onto your limb this time."

With all bases covered so far, he then walked aside and away from the commotion of the bay and one on one with Volkov. He looked at her and all he had to say was this:

"I never asked for this." One simple sentence from the otherwise loquacious Engineer was able to speak about his condition. It wasn't difficult to figure out that he was referring to the squad that he had been promoted to out of necessity. There was simply nobody else qualified to do the job at the time and Henry had proven himself too good as a replacement and ended up becoming the mainstay.

Most of all, he didn't want to use Ran Rui as a stepping stone in his Military Career. If it were anyone else, it would've been fine. Henry looked away and sighed realising that he was now Ran Rui's replacement. Not in flesh and blood, but in spirit: Too old, too bitter, too sour and too tired - and yet people would still adhere to him and exalt him like some false God of what it meant to be a stereotypical Nepleslian soldier - a cigar chomping, booze swilling, Neko hating killer; Always glossing over the details and focussing on the glory without sacrifice, loss or fear. Picking and choosing the parts that were marketable rather than true.

"And I don't deserve this position."
 
Tapping on her datapad, looking through what they had available for load-outs on the Hostile, Claire's eyes looked over at the other two being pushed towards their mechs. Her own beeped at her to inform her that the diagnostics were finished. Everything was green aside from informing her there still weren't any weapons registered on the armor yet. Weapon diagnostics were pretty quick and painless however once she got it all worked out.

"Come on, boys. Register yourselves into them and get your system checks done. These big boys won't let you take them for a ride till you do." As she spoke to the other newbies, she glanced back and the exasperated sergeant. She was hoping her nudge for the ones causing him grief would take a little bit of his shoulders. Whatever the two squad leaders were talking about, it didn't look like the man was holding up too well.
 
"I never asked for this. And I don't deserve this position," said Morris.

"No one ever asks for the responsibilities thrust upon them. I did not ask to be promoted to Sergeant, and yet I was. And as to whether or not you deserve this position, that will become apparent in due time. For now you will have to adapt, Henry."

"Hey, Sarge. How's it hangin'?"

"Ah, Rita. Welcome back," said Phaedra, glancing at Rita's new prosthesis. She began to unconsciously fidget with her own cybernetic left hand.

"All mended I see. Choose a replacement Hostile and have it ready by the end of today. Also you will be reporting to Henry from now on; he is your squad leader now," Phaedra said, gesturing towards him.

Phaedra's Datajockey chimed to inform her of a new message. She stepped away from Henry and Rita to read it.
Code: 
Message: Pvt Lasalle
Prep complete. Anything else, Sgt?
Phaedra tapped out a reply:
Code: 
Not at this time.  You may enjoy the small amount of downtime before we start the simulation.
-Sgt. Volkov
"Hey Sergeant! Look who I found! Bernie's younger brother!"

Phaedra turned at Laura's outburst. She was curious to see what Bernhard's brother looked liked and was surprised that they looked nothing alike.

"Private Greer," said Phaedra, "Sadly your brother is not here to meet you. You are in Sergeant Rochester's squad, correct?"
 
Talbain couldn't help but look for Volkov among the armor bay after receiving her message. He spotted her standing off to the side with ... Morris? He wasn't quite sure given the angle but he knew better than to interrupt a Sergeant having words with someone alone away from the crowd.

So he found something else to keep busy with. A couple of things actually. First a trick that he had learned courtesy of Cheif Vel Steyr. Turning down the Aggressor's movement systems so that he would actually have to work to move around the bay. Then he made his way to the hangers supply counter. The ID-SOL was oblivious to the fact that he largely looked ridiculous walking across the bay in a manner that allowed the armors frame to support as much of its own weight as possible. It certainly wasn't a natural gait. An AGGRESSOR hunched over the supply counter to speak with the supply people didn't help either.

"Excuse me Quartermaster. I would like to requisition 4 blocks of RX-33 with detonators, two spools of detcord, multi-tool, a case large enough to hold it all, and mounting equipment." The business like tone in his voice contradicted the 2,500lbs of armor huddled in on the counter.
 
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