| Log Title |
| Summary: | The CAG and TACCO debrief Quinn and Trask, in regard to the Virgon recon mission. |
| Date: | 28 Feb 2041 AE |
| Related Logs: | Virgon's Coffin & Memo for the FNG |
| Players: |
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| Hangar Deck - Port / Midship - Battlestar Cerberus |
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| 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. |
| Condition Level: 2 - Danger Close |
OOC: This is a direct continuation of Virgon's Coffin (Air Wing side) & Memo for the FNG (Deck side)
[TAC3] "Jugs" Quinn says, "Cerberus, this is Raptor 505 reporting back in? Permission to land… and we'll need a decontamination crew on deck."
"Yeah. Well. I'm ready for anything that you need done, huh?" says Bannik with a little bit of a smile touching around the edges of his lips. "I mean. I'll get it done. Whatever you need. Just — maybe — I figure when I get some downtime I'll see if I can get in touch with my girl on Aerilon, see how she's doing with all that. You know." He shrugs, a little smile on his lips. Clearly, it hasn't set in for him, the enormity of what's happened.
"Keep to your duties, Ensign. There are still patrols to fly, and there may be need for further search or reconnaissance missions in the coming days. I shall keep you all apprised. And, yes. I have all confidence in Captain Quinn. I pray we shall know what they found soon enough…" Cidra's voice trails off a little as she says that last.
[TAC3] (from "Bootstrap" Trask) In the background, Trask can partially be heard telling Quinn, "The stiff needs a-"
"Wouldn't know about that, sir," Damon answers Marko, hooking a thumb into his toolbelt. "If I did, I must've been sleepwalking. It's the Crewmen and Specialists doin' a lot of the heavy liftin'." He reaches forward to give Bannik a pat on the shoulder. Except it's more like a bear swipe. There's a good amount of force behind that friendly gesture. "Top notch, says the Chief. I'll pass both your words to the deck, though, and my thanks for 'em. Knuckledraggers have a thankless job sometimes, it'll give 'em a bit of warmth - even the ones that roll their eyes." He's about to say something else when the wireless goes off, and someone runs across the deck to alert him. "Decontamination team!" he bellows, his voice booming on the deck. "Standby for incoming!"
The young ensign gives a little smile and another nod to Damon and the tech he didn't see in the Viper. "You've got my thanks, both of you. For whatever that's worth," he says, then winces as Damon starts reacting to the wireless comms. "Decon?" Marko mouths to Cidra, already in the middle of the whole 'clearing the deck and generally getting the frak out of the way' thing. "That's not encouraging," he mutters to himself.
"To the side, Ensign, they may be coming in hot," Cidra says firmly to Marko, motioning a thumb sharply back. She edges away from the main work area of the desk herself, getting a nice position on the sidelines where she can watch the incoming. Whatever it may be. She takes a deep breath, exhaling it slowly. Trying to maintain as much of an outward aura of calm as possible. Though under her breath she mutters, "Shield of Athena, I pray your protection has not wavered from them on this mission…"
Once having been given permission to land, Captain Margaret Quinn brings the worst-for-wear Raptor down to the deck. The front of the windshield is spiderwebbed, what looks like a bullet hold cutting out and a manual suction patch behind it so they were able to jump back. Otherwise, the landing is textbook.
Despite the deck crew having gotten a 'crash course' on hot landings in the last day or so, Bannik's head still jerks up at the call for a decontamination team. He flinches at the smack from the deck chief's second, but tries his best little 'yeah, that's us' smile as he pushes his glasses back up on his nose. And then in comes Quinn: "Oh, goodness," he says as he watches the Raptor come down and the decontamination team rush out to meet it. He hovers near the edge of his Viper cockpit, waiting just in case he's needed.
From the Flight Deck, one of the elevators begins its wailing alarm to alert the hangar personnel that there is a bird coming down. A blue light on the ceiling rotates with the horn and slowly the hydraulics begin to work. The Raptor begins its drop down to the deck. Outwardly, it looks alright. Except for a patched bullet hole in the canopy glass, right where Quinn's head looks out the front of the glass. There's some banged sections of the bottom of the Raptor, but that's minor. Decon crews swarm the thing with their fire extinguisher looking things but the overall exposure to the ship reads as minimal, as indicated by the shout of a Specialist. But when the door open, the reason may be more apparent. There is more than a little blood and bile on the inside of the cabin. And the smell… is AWFUL. Decaying blood, human excrement, stomach retchings. It all comes out at once and drives a few deck members away with held noses.
"Clear a path, let's go, let's move!" Damon yells. Not that he really needs to - most of the deck is already moving and doing what they need to do. Putting up shielding, getting the decontamination gear prepped, suiting up. Once the Raptor's safely landed, the Petty Officer moves toward it to get a closer look even as it's being sprayed down. "Frak me," he whispers, eyes on the windshield, and then the door as it opens. "Let's get 'em out of there!" And then the smell hits him. He recoils back, arm over his face, almost as if hit by an unseen hand. "Gods!"
Stavrian is still sitting silently in the back seat of the Raptor, with company. Lieutenant Oberlin, who's sitting across from him, and… a body in a flight suit. Lying on the floor, de-helmetted. The man's horrible face has the hallmarks of acute and advanced radiation sickness, burns and peeling skin, vomit all over him. And blood. Burst vessels all over the skin that's visible of his face, underneath the horrible blistering.
Quinn is sitting in the front seat, head -almost- lined up with that bullet hole… but not quite. And that's what counts with bullets. In one piece, she's probably been the luckiest to have missed most of the dead man exploding in various ways on her Raptor's floor. She finishes the landing and just turns back, waiting for the decontamination crew to start giving orders. She doesn't even take her helmet off as she slowly stands up. The flight suit is the one thing keeping her clean right now. Her face looks sickly pale behind her helmet, though.
Marko can't see the interior of the Raptor from his angle, which is probably a good thing. But he can note the reactions of everyone who's approached it by now, and just that's enough to make the color start to drain out of his cheeks. "No… no…. nonono….. No way…" he says, backing off slightly.
Since it's what Damon is doing, Bannik hauls himself out of the Viper he was working on and makes off at a jog for the arriving Raptor. "Oh, frak," he groans when he catches whiff of the smell, placing his hand over his mouth. Not going to toss his cookies. Not going to toss his cookies.
Tillman appears at the stairwell, the man dressed in his blues and doing his best to look rested - even if that's a lie. He spies the Raptor and the teams moving around it… and their reactions. He glances around to make sure nothing is going to crash into him before stepping over towards the unopened side of the Raptor. The man doesn't say anything as he looks from Quinn, to the bullet hole, and back again. There's an unsaid question there, though. He doesn't seem worried about a decon.
For someone who had a gun being pointed at the back of his head, courtesy of a man who'd gone insane from PTSD and radiation poisoning, Trask is looking rather blasé. He also is covered in blood-tinged vomit from the back of his helmet sliding down to his rear. Like the others, he waits for the HazMat peeps to do their thing. Unlike them, he busies himself with getting all the data prepped for dispersal to the proper authorities.
As the Raptor touches down and the deck starts to swarm and retch, Stavrian unclicks his belt and gets up, kneeling down at the side of his medical pack. Standard post-flight check and secure, performed with an automatic sort of efficiency while the decon commences on the exterior.
Cidra also does not have a front-row seat for the gore and smells inside the Raptor, and is also probably luckier for it. Her hands do clasp tightly behind her back when she notes the bullet hole in the glass however. She bows her head a moment, murmuring something under her breath. Then her gaze snaps back up, expression fixed in a mask of business. "Stay still, Ensign!" she says to Marko. Not too harshly, but firmly. "We shall know the full of this soon enough." She's going to be very, very interested in this particular report.
Marko takes a deep breath and nods to Cidra. "Sir," he says, pulling himself upright and forcing his hands behind his back in an attempt to make himself at least look like a professional officer in the Colonial Fleet.
"Step this way, sir, this way…" Damon steps up in front of the hatchway of the Raptor and directs those within toward the maze of decontamination, where they must do their dances to appease the radiation gods. He does fine for almost a full minute - though he doesn't look inside or anywhere but the eyes of those within - and then he throws up without warning, throwing a nice bit of color on the side of the bird. But he just wipes his mouth with the back of his sleeve and keeps on doing what he was before like it never happened. "Decontamination crew's standing by, they're ready for you, sir, this way…"
Quinn flickers a single, silent gaze in Tillman and then Cidra's direction. She says nothing, still trapped in her own slightly gore-smeared suit. She really did get lucky, in more than one way. She steps down, towards the maze, holding her arms up as techs begin to undress her from her EVA gear. Fortunately, her suit wasn't breeched. She'll have an easier time of it for it. Her eyes have shut down to simply professional. Numb, straight forward. Utterly professional.
Stavrian grits his teeth at the sound and smell of people losing lunch left and right outside. Eyes fixed on his kit, he stays exactly where he is until it's finished being repacked and then stands up, with the help of his hands on his subtly shaky knees. Once Quinn's left the bird he too steps off into the designated area, muttering just a few words to the doctors about the body and what state it's in.
Tillman flashes a gaze to Cidra and then steps around the rear of the Raptor, looking it over as he does. He keeps his distance from Quinn for the moment, though, letting her Decon. He motions to Cidra. It's a gesture to join him.
Two copies are prepped: one for the CAG and one for CIC. That finished, Bootstrap unstraps himself and starts going through his post-flight checks. Noticing Damon, he notes, "PO, unless you want irradiated sperm, you'd best suit up."
Cidra stays out of the way while Quinn and the rest of the crew are getting themselves deconned, though she does approach the area around the Raptor when the Harriers' captain seems about through it. Offering Marko a small nod as she goes. Permission to stay where he is, apparently. She waits until Quinn is done with the decon mess, regarding the woman with a measure of concern she can't quite conceal. It's been a long stretch of days, and her own professional demeanor isn't hammered as firmly in place as usual.
Right as Trask says that, a suited member lays her hand on Damon's shoulder, pulling him back gently. "We got it, PO," the woman says as he's moved out of the way. If there's anything he hates in the world, it's having to stand by, useless, unable to help. He paces behind the decontamination area, clenching and unclenching his fists repeatedly, his arms tensing and untensing with each movement - his relaxation ritual. Waiting until he can be useful.
Marko gives himself a little shake and stuffs his feelings back into their respective boxes, analyzing what's going on with a more detached eye. Clearly, the Virgon mission did not go well; time to watch and listen and learn to try and figure out just how badly it really went.
Quinn closes her eyes as the decon crew do their work. Arms up, helmet stripped, flight suit stripped, everything put into decon bags, the air jetting… and then she's free. Looking somehow older than her 37 years, she steps back and around from the decon area and towards the Major and the Captain. "…Bootstrap has the full report. But… " She finally just slowly shakes her head. Nothing left. There was nothing. Her eyes flicker back to the contaminated Raptor. "We thought we found… -a- survivor. His mind hadn't made it, though. He pulled a gun on us once he was on board, insisting we jump to Picon." The hole in the windshield and the dead, decompressed man tells the rest of the tale.
With the decontamination teams doing their things and already on the scene, Bannik really doesn't have all that much to do. He just watches from afar, not trying to toss his cookies. That, it seems, occupies most of his time for the moment.
When Damon is ushered away, Trask nods in approval to the hazmat member who took the initiative. There is nothing lofty about it, however. He then resumes his post-flight checks.
On goes decon. And on and on. Stavrian stays dutifully in place for it, eyes watching some point on the wall for most of the agonizingly long stretch. When he's given something without a half-life to wear, he shrugs it on, and slides his feet into the new pair of socks and boots provided. A doctor comes back over to him then, and there's yet another quiet conversation about that body and what to do with it.
Tillman doesn't signal to the CAG anymore. Instead, he just looks away and back to Quinn. The smell finally reaches him and he covers his nose and mouth. The guy doesn't even try to look inside the Raptor. He just waits. Not quite patiently. But when she delivers the news, his face goes impassive, jaw setting. He then looks to the other crewmembers getting off the Raptor and back to Quinn. The TACCO tries to say something to her but finds himself sans words. Not here. He then looks to Stavrian: "Lieutenant?" He's looking for anything at this point. An opinion. An idea. Anything.
Cidra looks toward the Raptor, and what little she can see of the gruesome sight inside. She doesn't look too hard. "Lords have mercy upon him…" she murmurs, drawing out a breath. "Did your crew all make it back whole, Captain?" She looks the woman up and down, as if making sure all her limbs are attached. "Are *you* all right?" Physically, she probably means.
Marko blinks a few times as the stench inside the Raptor finds his nostrils and he shakes his head a little to try to clear it away. Otherwise, he's as quiet and still as your average granite outcrop. It is clearly a stance that takes an effort for him to maintain.
"Back to work, come on, this ain't a spectator sport," Damon says to the knuckledraggers who've gathered to hear what happened down on Virgon. "Word'll be passed down when we know something. Let's keep at the birds." Hypocritically, though, he doesn't go back to work - not yet. He floats about near Quinn, but he can't seem to hear anything that's said because he looks increasingly frustrated and keeps repositioning himself, head tilted toward them.
The doctor moves off, and Stavrian's reserved blue eyes turn to Tillman. His focus had been absolute on the doctor talking at him, Quinn's report joining the ebb and flow of mushy voices going on around him. "Sir?" The single word has no particular inflection.
Quinn nods curtly towards Cidra as she asks if she's okay. "Just fine, sir. It missed us all. The bullet, that is." Not the spew, or blood, or bile. But at least the bullet did. Her eyes trail back to that damn raptor again for a moment, but only a moment. Far more comfortable to look away. "Do we want to do a proper debrief here or elsewhere, sirs?" Her eyes trail back to Trask for a moment, and Oberlin, since they've got the hard data. She just has her eyes and ears.
When Trask finally disembarks from the Raptor, he might as well be going 'neener-neener!' at the Holocaust itself. No one ever said that the man had healthy coping mechanisms, but telling the universe 'frak you and your bollocks!' via flippancy seemingly works for the ECO. Spotting the CAG and TACCO, he calls out, "Got some souvenirs for ya, sirs." They'll have to wait until he's finished getting decontaminated before anyone gets pressies, though.
"We can take it to my office, so far as the debrief is concerned," Cidra says. "We are all most interested to hear what you discovered, Captain." Dead guy and bile aside. A nod to Trask. "Whenever you are ready, Lieutenant."
Quinn nods curtly, motioning to Trask, Stavrian, Oberlin, "Alright boys. The CAG's office. Let's go, then we can go properly shower." That's what she wants. A shower. A long, hot, so not regulation timed shower. Maggie breathes through the thought a moment and begins heading off the deck, eager to get the report over with.
Tillman gestures to Stavrian. "When you're done, Lieutenant, I'd like to have a few words." He then looks to Cidra. "Sir? I'd like to join if you don't mind? Lieutenant Stavrian, as well?" The TACCO seems inclined to do whatever the Major says, though.
It's really not up to Trask as to when he gets to leave. At least he's being a good boy while the decon people do what they need to do.
"Sir." Stavrian repeats the single word, acknowledgement. If eyes are the windows to the soul, his have the shutters down, the front door shut, and the gate locked. He looks at Cidra without turning his head, then at the doctors poking around the body, then back to Tillman. "I will need to file a report with medical, sir."
"Sir," Damon pipes up, looking between those who just got off the Raptor. "Any special considerations or anything my crew need to know when they're working on the bird?" He glances back to it - still being hosed down. "Apart from the obvious, I mean."
"Of course, Captain, this is your show as well," Cidra says, motioning for Tillman to follow her. Whenever Trask is deloused, that is. A nod of her head to Stavrian. "Lieutenant Trask and Captain Quinn shall have most of what we need, by the look of things, so I've no objection if Captain Tillman does not need to keep you about." She does remember poor Marko during all of this, looking back to him. "Ensign, you may of course be about your duties."
Quinn waits silently, patiently, for Trask to finish, her hands folded behind her back in parade rest form, lips set in a cool line, breathing slowly through her nose.
"Then, when you have time, come find me. We can talk to the aircrew for now." It seems like there is more Tillman wants to say but what do you really say to someone who came home in a Raptor like that? He then looks to Damon. "Don't touch it until Medical clears the body. They'll have to bring in a team for the biowaste or whatever is causing that smell. After that, you'll probably have to scrub anything that had the blood on it." Easier said than done. He turns more and falls in beside Quinn, glancing to her before the Major leads them off.
"Sir," Marko replies, nodding firmly to the CAG. "Captain," he adds for Tillman's benefit, still a little wary of the man after his previous encounter with him in CIC. "Captain," he says, giving Quinn a worried, sympathetic look as he passes on his way down the hangar deck.
"Yeah, actually." That would be Trask. "The thermal scanners for the recon package got taken out. Not responding. At. All. Somethin' must've gotten into it when we were hit by some frigate innards." When the crew gets around to it, they'll discover a 6" length of pipe embedded into the lens.
Some time later, the ECO is cleared to go.
And that's it. Damon barely has time to scrawl down what Trask tells him about the thermal scanners before he realizes that everyone's moved on ahead. The deck is once again back to its normal state, minus one Raptor undergoing thorough decontamination. Already, the personnel decontamination zone is starting to get dismantled; this is the life of the hangar floor, where things change on a second's notice, chaos happens, and then… passes them by. They come and go, but Damon remains. "All right, let's get all this cleared away," he says, stepping in to help out with the equipment.
Cidra marches the distance from the hangar deck to her little spot in the Naval Offices in not-too-long a time. She lets the others in, waiting until they've docked before closing the hatch behind her. "Sit, please," she directs them, gesturing at the chairs available before her desk. She takes her own seat behind it. The office is a utilitarian thing. Still half being unpacked. There is the faint smell of tobacco about it, a few decorations on the walls, and here and there pictures of Gemenon and people who look likely to be family of the CAG.
Tillman follows the CAG up in silence and stares at anyone who dares to try to approach the crew that just got back from the Colonies. Entering the office, he slides into a chair beside Quinn and turns it a bit to face the other two a bit more.
Quinn steps into the small, but private office. And privacy was a hot commodity on a ship like this. Though it was getting more common, what with dozens of pilots dead. Maggie gives the almost familiar place a once over and then comes to sit down where she's been offered, settling back into the chair and trying to look relaxed. Surprisingly, there's little tension in her body. She's just, pretty much, in autodrive at this point. "Bootstrap… want to hand over the hard data? Did you manage that DRADIS scan just before we jumped?" While the mad man was shooting at them? "The long and short, though… there's nothing left. We eyeballed at least… fourty battlestars destroyed… civilian ships… Virgon's been as nuked as Picon." She reports factually, distantly.
Tobacco? "Don't suppose I could bum a smoke from you, Major?" asks Bootstrap, before plopping down, wearing that post-decon issued robe, fresh pair of socks, and a new set of boots. After what they've been through, the man surely deserves that much. Especially considering that, yes, he did get that scan, which he slides over to the CAG.
Cidra wordlessly fishes a pack of cigarettes and lighter out of her desk, offering them to Trask. And sundry. An equitable trade for the data, she figures. "My thanks. You've a copy for CIC as well, you said?" She doesn't wait for a reply. "There shall be time to review this in detail but. The broadstrokes." Which Quinn gives her. For a moment she just takes that in, face paling a shade. She intakes a breath sharply. "My gods…"
Tillman leans forward in the chair and looks between the two for a second before Quinn starts speaking. That impassive expression sticks to his face but there's some horror at the edges of his eyes. "That's at least a third of the fleet, Mags." He states it bluntly, quietly. "Gods are you sure about that? And Virgon? It's nuked? Like… there were a few detonations or are we talking about the same thing as we saw on Picon?" Tillman really doesn't look any healthier than Cidra does at this point.
Quinn keeps speaking quietly. "The same thing we saw on Picon… there's barely atmosphere left. It's just… ash. If people are alive down there… " She just shakes her head again, the chances of surviving the nuclear fallout alone are miniscule at best. Her eyes then slowly drop, studying her hands for a few moments. "We'll have to sit down and go through all the hard data Bootstrap got… it'll be the only way to get exact numbers. But… there didn't seem anyone left alive… other than our friend who didn't make it anyway."
"Best CAG ever," is proclaimed when the dark-haired scamp seizes his reward. Plucking one out and and slipping it betwixt his lips, Trask nods to Cidra and murmurs, "Yep." Tillman's gonna have to wait a moment, though. Nic fix, first. Second copy of data, second. The lighter lid is flipped open and a small flame conjured from the spark coaxed by a callused thumb. *Click* It is closed. A long drag follows, savored, then exhaled. Much better. Setting the lighter back down on the desk, the ECO says, "Thanks, Toast." The cigarette remains in his mouth, but the TACCO then gets his own goodie.
Cidra swallows hard, wordlessly lighting up a cigarette. Since she's got them out. Her hands are shaking so that it takes her a few tries to properly pass the flame over the tip. "Understood… Captain." She manages to keep her tone level. Composure leashed. Barely. At least in front of the others. "We shall await more details from the data itself." The smallest of nods to Trask. Mind clearly reeling. She takes another drag before asking, "How did you get that man aboard? Did you encounter any of the hostile forces we faced on Picon?"
Tillman takes the datalog from Trask with a nodded thanks and he leans back in the chair, eyes on Quinn and then back to Cidra. Then Quinn again. "If Virgon got it that badly…" He doesn't finish. But its implied: Caprica. Aquaria. Gods… Scorpia. The TACCO swallows hard and stares at Quinn before finally blinking away and looking to the floor.
Quinn looks straight back at Tillman. She's not shaking, not losing it… A bit pale, but considering what happened on their raptor, it's no surprise. She nods faintly, as if confirming what all of them were thinking. Two colonies in a row… Finally, her slightly crackling voice offers to the room. "We should consider this scouting mission a… success…" Her stomach did almost twist to say that. "And… plan others. Perhaps one for each colony… Once we have the whole picture then… then we can figure out what to do… Next."
"The usual way," Kal relays, between puffs. Not very helpful, really, but he goes on to explain, just as soon as he removes his cancer stick with his left hand, "As I explained to PO Damon, the thermal scanners were damaged by debris. So," puff-puff, "while I was busy scanning the atmospheric content, water an' radiation levels, etcetera, etcetera, I picked-up an ELT comin' from about 5 miles behind us. Jugs decided we'd check it out." He'll let her detail that. To answer Cidra's other question, "Nope. Just some poor Viper pilot Major who'd gone frakshit insane." It would appear that not even a seeming Holocaust can tone him down.
"Agreed, Captain," Cidra says to Quinn. She's - outwardly - together but she's doing a lot of smoking, features still pale and drawn. Blue eyes catch Tillman's for a moment. The same implications he's pondering likely swirling through her own head. A nod to Trask at the negative in terms of hostiles. "I wonder if the attacks were simultaneous, or if they hit each point at a different time… a Viper pilot? Hmm. Well. I hope there shall be some time to examine his body, perhaps discover what ship he was from, before…" She doesn't finish that sentence. The poor bastard probably isn't in for a nice end even in death.
The TACCO doesn't look a single bit impressed with Trask's attitude. He actually looks like he'd be downright ready to punch the officer if there weren't others around. The anger builds in him but he takes a long breath and looks away, gripping the arm of the chair with white knuckles. He finally settles back on Quinn and calms a little as he speaks once again, stuttering the first word. "I-I, yeah. I agree. With the Major as well. We need to find out what the hell is going on." The man doesn't even want to meet anyone else's eyes right now so he looks at the ground. "I'll try to determine if, ah.. if it looks to be about the same time. I assume Lieutenant Oberlin made use of the camera?" He's doing his best to keep the professional air.
Quinn doesn't look quite like she's going to kill Trask, but she does give him a sideways little -look- as if to say 'Tone it down'. Still, she doesn't even tell him to stop. Everyone has their coping mechanisms. She knows that is his. She breathes slowly in through her nose, a composing breath… and nods. "Alright then. We'll let the… professionals examine the data, get a few hours rack time… and go out again. Part of me says we should rotate crews… give some of the younger pilots some field experience. But… I don't know if I want anyone to… see this. Thoughts?" She asks the CAG, voice still even keel.
People tend to want to punch Trask when he's being honest. Although, really, the honesty usually isn't the problem; it's the delivery. Quinn is right, though, knowing him as well as she does. This is just his way of dealing with terrible things. Not that it makes anyone else feel any better. All the same, he doesn't bait Tillman. It never was his intention, but he's not looking particularly upset that his flippancy has offended. "He did, as far as I'm aware." Referring to Oberlin. Back to Cidra, he mildly shrugs, "I'll go." Either the man has no empathy, is in total denial, has suffered so much PTSD that he's become inhumanly numb, or he genuinely just doesn't give a shit. Whatever if may be, it can't be healthy.
"You cannot do this all on your own, Captain," Cidra says flatly to Quinn. "There is also time to consider, in terms of covering ground. More Raptors shall get this done faster. We shall put together a rotation. I can drive a bus myself on a jaunt or two. We are all in the fire now…" She ashes out a bit of her cigarette. "For now, grab some rack time. We have the broadstrokes, I think, and the data shall give us some details. Good job, both of you." It's all the praise she can muster right now, though it seems sincere. Her mind is still a reel.
Tillman -wants- to tell her to get rack. There's a bunch of things he wants to say and it's obvious he's holding back. Really obvious. The TACCO keeps looking like he is going to say something but instead just bites his tongue. The words from Cid are enough and he offers a simple nod. "Thank you. Both of you."
Quinn nods curtly towards both of them, standing up from her chair. "Thank you, sirs. We'll coordinate more in the morning." With that, she snaps off a smooth salute and turns on the ball of her foot, heading out of the room. No hesitation, just wanting escape for now. She might not even be certain where she's going… but she goes there fast.
Kal doesn't hold back. This should not be surprising. "Hold on, Cinnabun," he tells Quinn. No, he doesn't care that he's using one of his many nicknames for her in front of the TACCO or the CAG. "I'll go with you." Because he cares and there was an honest-to-gods chance that Maggie could've died. That deeply rattles him. Not that he'd ever be open about that. Even so, he's a dutiful pain in the ass. "Unless either of you require further of me." Brown eyes pan from Cidra to Tillman then back. "Sirs." Puff-puff.