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RP: 4th Fleet (NSN) [Mission 5] Replacements

Sigma

Sigma

Inactive Member
4th Fleet HQ, Nepleslia Prime

Captain Darryl Murdoch strode through the ranks of the assembled Marines. Each and every one transferred into the 4th Fleet from 2nd Fleet. Replacements from that devil, Grand Admiral Corcyra.

Each and everyone was necessary, too. The existing Fleet Marine contingent was far too small to be able to perform the duties required of it. And from what Murdoch could predict, most of these Marines would be replacements, not new units. Most of the senior officers in the Fleet expected heavy casualties in the campaign to retake Southern Nepleslia.

A towering ID-SOL with large, sleek cybernetic arms with claw-like fingers, Captain Murdoch (or Captain Murder as he was known to the Headquarters Staff), was the equivalent to God, pending the Grand Admiral's return. He had the Admiral's implicit trust. One word from him and any of the Marines before him would be sent back to 2nd Fleet with a clear note of "failure to meet requirements."

Looking over them, Murdoch frowned. Most of them seemed to be fresh out of boot camp.
 
Tony was standing straight and attempting to look at the same dot in front of him. He was quite successful at this and one could swear that Tony could be able to burn a hole in this unfortunate-enough-to-be-there dot. However, he was shivering every time when felt Captain's gaze upon him. It was plain instinctive animal fear. Not something about Captain's reputation - Tony never ever heard about him before - it was something about energy around Captain or aura, as one can say.

Tony did not knew what he was doing here and felt even more nervous about it. Maybe that's the reason why his skin turned pale a little and cold sweat treaded on his face.

As old proverb says: curiosity killed the cat. Apparently, Tony was not familiar with it and asked with low, but calm somehow voice:
"Sir. May I ask a question?".
Then he remained silent for a second and added.
"Sir"
 
Murdoch halted midstep. The silence was palpable amongst the transferees. Even the nearby sailors stopped their work and watched. Fireworks were guaranteed and they wanted to watch someone else become the victim of Captain Murder.

"You just did, Marine."

Murdoch spun on his heels and marched slowly, menacingly up to the smaller Nepleslian. At 8'2", the Naval ID-SOL towered almost a good two feet over the younger man.

"And is that how you piss poor cows from 2nd Fleet request permission? Even the bloody 4th Fleet Marines, braindead husks that they are, know how to properly phrase a request! Try again. But give it a moment. See whether you can rub two brain cells together. Assuming you have them."

He had started off with a loud bellow before reducing it to a sarcastic growl.
 
Tony was standing still, motionless, attempting to stay calm at best of his ability.
As Captain's voice echoed around the room, he understood that Murdoch is just same officer type as any other one. Just bigger. And louder. However, realisation of this fact did not saved Tony from flushing face.

As Murdoch finished his speech, Tony took a deep breath, which happened to sound as loud as a gunshot in this momentum of silence, raised his gaze up to officer and responded, saluting:
"Private Tony Griffin, sir!"
And then continued, lowering his hand:
"Sir, allow me to ask a question, sir".

It was almost a shout. A little compromising nervous tone sounded for a moment somewhere in a middle of it.
 
The taller Murdoch bent down to examine the very brave or very foolish P3C. Either way, he was very much doomed. He just didn't know it yet.

Murdoch spoke, quietly and conversationally, mocking the Private. He had chosen to interrupt the Captain and so now, the Captain would make sure every minute of this interruption was uncomfortable. It would make sure that this mistake was not repeated in front of someone more important and less patient with enlisted personnel. Grand Admiral Valken, for example.

"And what would you like to say, Private Griffin? Permission to speak is granted."
 
Tony hunched a little when Captain leaned down to him, trying to keep distance with him.
As he was allowed to speak, he straightened and let out silent squeaking sound, blushing afterwards in most uncomfortable manner.
Actually, Tony forgot what he wanted to ask and spent few more seconds He failed in desperate attempt to remember the question, which seemed so important just two minutes ago and made up new one:
"Sir... what are we doing here?"
Probably even more stupid question than before.
 
Murdoch glared at the new arrival to his Fleet. If glares were daggers, Tony would have been skewered from head to toe.

The Captain shifted his gaze to look at the Marines around him, settling on the name tag of an ID-SOL who looked quite at ease.

"Corporal Talbain, please answer this gentleman's question." The sarcasm, contempt and condescension dripped from Murdoch's voice. He clearly felt that anyone stupid enough to ask that question was not deserving to be in the 4th Fleet, let alone their Marine contingent. This Private Griffin was clearly not one of the soldiers head hunted by Grand Admiral Valken.

Corporal Talbain, whose name had already crossed Murdoch's desk, was definitely amongst those hand picked elites.
 
Talbain hadn't actually expected to have any involvement with the "demonstration" the Captain was giving. However the ID-SOL know that was at an end when Captain Murdoch's gaze settled on him and stopped moving. The question itself was simple enough.

"Understood Captain" Was all the confirmation Talbain offered up. Though he belted it out loud using his lungs to speak. "Private Griffin, we are here to execute the will of Nepleslia as our chain of command sees fit to use us. We will execute the tasks we are assigned and the enemies of Nepleslia with everything we have. Because anything less is nothing." The statement was loud to be sure. But lacked the tones of emotion one would expect. For Talbain this statement wasn't a creed or ideal. Just a fact of life that had been drilled into him at his cloning facility.

After finishing Talbain stood silently. With any luck his involvement with the charades would be over. Though he had to wonder why Griffin had asked such a question. Just about everything involved standing in formation and the private had to know what being transferred meant.
 
Tony always was wondering how one could say so many words with so lack of sense in them. The meaning of a man's life could take the place of the answer to his question with the same amount of success. His question was about the current situation, not about Talbain's personal beliefs about the purpose of the army.

Tony was brought to this event as soon as he dropped his backpack at the barracks after a long, as he believes, space travel from his previous duty appointment to Nepleslia Prime. Sadly enough - no one actually cared to notify him in a letter two weeks advance. Which was worse for him - Tony did not pay any attention to words of the sergeant, who clearly and in detail described why and where they were going to travel. As a result - he still had no idea what he doing in this place, but that definitely was not some sort of garrison routine briefing for which he already got used to. People around looked too tight for that work and seemed to expect the same from Tony, for some reason.

Tony decided for himself to clarify the fact that it is not garrison duty, but changed his mind after a second and shut his mouth solid. The better way to find it out without bringing any more trouble upon himself was to keep his mouth shut until he will actually arrived to a designated post or just to listen what a Captain has to say.

Anyway, Tony was not able to wipe of his face a quite puzzled expression.
 
"Clearly," Murdoch returned his attention to Tony, "the Private wishes information that is far above his rank and pay grade. Or perhaps he wants a more existential debate? Which part of doing your duty for Daddy Nepleslia did not penetrate into your thick skull during Boot Camp? Did you, perhaps, volunteer as a means of impressing some girl with your foolhardy courage? You evidently lack the brains to impress a woman, let alone a mushroom!"

Murdoch evaluation of Talbain was far more positive than his of Griffin. The ID-SOL was clearly a loyal son of Nepleslia who knew his duty and was competent. His combat experience made him a perfect mid-level NCO, able to support the squad leaders and officers as well as close enough to the regular privates to be "one of the boys."

A good pick for the Fleet's Marines. They needed all the help they could get, as far as Murdoch was concerned. How many times had he been forced to listen to the various ship captains' complaints about the embarked Marines? None of them were more vocal than Flag Captain Ironside. He doubted any of these Marines in front of him would alleviate that problem.
 
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