| Back on the Job |
| Summary: | Damon finally returns to the Deck; Evandreus' Harrier-305 requires repairs. |
| Date: | 17 Feb 2041 AE |
| Related Logs: | Sturm and Drang (Preceeding); A Moment of Calm (Following) |
| Players: |
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[ Hangar Deck - Port ]---[ Midship - Battlestar Cerberus ]
The single largest rooms on the Cerberus are the hangar decks. Each flight pod consists of two stacked landing bays with adjoined decks and hangars, which along with computer-assisted landings results in a faster Viper recovery rate. Mirror images of each other, these two huge areas are located on the flight pods. The inboard sides of the deck, closest to the ship's main hull, are lined with parking and maintenance bays for Vipers and Raptors based aboard the battlestar. The outboard side of the deck contains the launch tubes used by the Vipers for standard deployment. Huge blast doors seal the deck into four sections, each one containing an elevator that leads up to the flight deck directly overhead. The fore-most section contains an elevator system that leads towards Aerospace Fabrication.
"It's not my fault my backseater decided to stop playing in the middle of the game," Bunny gives a little sulk, through, from the spark of mischief in his eyes, he barely means it. "Oh, hey," he greets a deckie who comes to see him with his paperwork, "C'mere a sec, I need you to look at something," he goes on. "If you've got a moment."
It's been a little while since Andreas Damon has been on the deck floor - a Pyrmid injury had him in recovery for a couple weeks, incapacitating him from doing his duty. But now that he's back on the job, he's ready and rearing to get himself covered in grease and grime again. "What's goin' on, el-tee?" he asks Evandreus as he's called over.
Evandreus steps up onto the ramp and jumps onto the wing, heading on inside, "C'mon in, some of the control systems got shut down according to a hit I took in our war games out there. But I can't get the damage to clear," he notes. "It's like we really got hit, just… no physical damage. It's just… jammed," he notes, crawling up into the pilot's seat and gesturing to the co-pilot's so he can climb in and look for himself.
Damon hoists himself up onto the wing with a grunt - his shin's still sore, it looks like. "So the thing thinks it's hit from the wargame signals?" the Petty Officer asks with a short laugh, apparently finding this situation all sorts of humorous. "So run me through what happened out there, el-tee, and we'll get her back up operational for you." Not so much sitting in the co-pilot's seat but sort of hovering over it, Damon starts giving the sensors and instrumentation a cursory glance.
"Exactly," Evan nods. "I took the hit, it was light. I can barely feel it, flying," he shrugs. "But I can't get it to go away, either. Maybe it got locked into wargame status? I switched it out of training mode like five times," he murmurs.
Damon purses his lips, taking a look over it. "Aye, el-tee. I think the first thing I'm gonna try is hardwire disconnect the training module and see if she comes back online as her old self." Leaning out of the cockpit, he calls over a pair of deckhands with a deafening shout. "One of you get underneath and disconnect the training module. The other one, grab me a frakking tea."
"Thanks, dude," Evan smiles at the guy, looking over the profile of his face for a moment before starting up again, "Need me to clear out?" he wonders.
Damon shakes his head and watches with a grin as the greener of the two deckhands goes sauntering off to grab him a tea, probably muttering under his breath. "If you got somewhere to be, el-tee, I don't need ya to stay, but I'd prefer if you were here for when we bring her back up. Just so you can confirm all systems good." It doesn't take long - within five minutes, the other crewman's got the module disconnected and Damon gives the ship a complete startup sequence.
"Sure, yah, no prob," Evan answers. "I've been timkering with boats since before I started flying them," he lifts a shoulder lazily, "But I've never had much in the way of formal training, and the Chief hasn't cleared me for tinkering detail, yet," he adds with a grin, leaning forward to assist in the startup, calling out systems as they come online and get greened.
"Bah, formal training's overrated," Damon says, waving away Evan's statement and sitting down at last as various lights flash and systems begin to hum. "The Chief seems to be a bit of a hard-ass compared to other ships I worked on - and I don't mean that in a negative way, just an observation. Most pilots did basic maint on their own craft, all the other hangars I worked in." Hey, tea's here! The Petty Officer accepts his steaming cup with a smile and a nod.
"I wasn't allowed to, on my last post, but— the one before that, I more or less took care of my own boat. Not that it tended to need that much care. Just the odd tweak here or there. We weren't a combat squadron," he goes on to explain the reason why he wasn't in the habit of getting his boat shot up. He wrinkles his nose as he looks down at the readings. "Command input's still buggered," he notes.
Damon nods as he listens to the pilot with half an ear. Now that the systems are mostly all online and the noise level is significantly higher in the cockpit, he's talking a lot louder as well. As in, a LOT louder. Far louder than he has to be talking to be heard. "I see that, el-tee!" he bellows, leaning forward over the console. "Looks like we'll have to do a diagnostic rundown! Might not be as simple a fix as I first thought!"
Evandreus lifts his voice, as well, more because Damon is than for any other reason. "If you think you'll need to!" he answers back, "I'll start running a trace through the control junctions, see if I can't narrow down where the fritz is, a little bit, before we start digging!" Yep, he seems ready to dig in for the long haul, here on his boat.
Damon is talking so loud that if he were out on the deck floor, a crewman could probably hear him from the other side of the hanger even if there were a Viper taking off. And it's not like he's wearing ear protection or anything right now. "When's your next scheduled flight?" he roars to the man sitting right next to him.
"0630," Evan hollers, "CAP," he adds, looking down at the readouts while he converses, "Should I line up another ride?" he asks, then, brows furrowing, he looks up, "Why are we yelling?" he asks, pausing in the series of circuit checks he'd been settign about running.
"My hearing's all frakked up, el-tee!" Damon shouts, pointing to his ears with a grin that can only merit the ranking of 'wild'. Possibly 'insane'. "Too much heavy metal and roarin' engines!" His hand reaches up and gives the side of the ship a pat, like she's some kind of dog or something, as he gets up to exit the cockpit with tea in hand. "No worries, we'll have her up and checked by that time, or I'll eat my boots for breakfast!"
"Oh!" Evan answers, lifting his voice again, "Sorry to hear that!" he adds, then, "I mean— you know what I mean!" he adds, eyes all mischief as he stays in place, continuing, for the time being, to run the tests. "Thanks for the help, dude!" he yelps to the PO.
Damon roars a short laugh that would make most men doubt his sanity, his head rearing right back with it, before hopping off and landing with a grunt. "Anytime, el-tee!" He gives a sloppy little salute - well, it's more like a little wave that comes close to his forehead than anything that bears semblance to military drill. "All right, let's get to work!" he calls out to the crewman who's still underneath the craft, ducking under it himself to start diagnostics.