PHD #198: Integration
Log Title
Summary: Decumius comes to have a chat with Madilyn regarding integration of the rescued marines.
Date: 12 Sep 2041 AE
Related Logs: Sag logs (specific scene coming soon!)
Decumius Madilyn 
Marine Offices - Deck 6 - Battlestar Cerberus
This offices consists of desks for those under the CO, along with his desk toward the back of the room. The S1 and S2 have desks here and the place is neat as a pin, with everything in its place. At the front of the room, a Marine sits at a desk to meet people as they come in through the hatch.
Post-Holocaust Day: #198

Sitting in the Marine offices at one of the 'visitor' chairs is Corporal Lucius Decumius, in a clean pair of his desert combats. The shirt is meant for wear under a frag vest - its chest is plain tan, and the sleeves (which would be visible) are desert cam, both in some kind of moisture wicking material. He's got a bored look on his face, but that beard is gone.

Although absent when he first arrived, the Marine CO isn't one to keep appointments waiting. Last time he saw her she was on the planet with folks, helping to orchestrate the mass evacuation at the arrival of Cylon forces (and even before that), in combat blacks, no doubt a little dirty herself. In between the quick layover here in the office after arriving back on Cerberus and reporting back here now, she's managed to sneak a quick shower and a quick bite, returning now in the tan duty uniform, with her hair a lot cleaner and definitely pulled back in a more organized fashion. Some courteous peon has seen fit to put on some fresh brew, one scoop light, for her.

"I apologize for that slight delay," Madilyn says off the bat. At the same time, she's sliding around the back of the desk with a fresh mug of coffee in her hand. Demolition has begun on a few towering piles of folders, but they're still an eye sore on her desk. "How are you Corporal? Enjoying an actual head and mess?"

Decumius stands up as Madilyn gets in, his heels moving together in attention. He relaxes once she talks to him, grinning broadly. "Roger that, sir." A calloused hand reaches up to rub his shaven face. "Everything's been pretty gravy. The Sergeant's in the sickbay, he's been feeling like shit for the last month or so. Probably a parasite he picked up, sir."

"If it's a worm, I'm sure the medical staff here will get it straightened out. We're not hurting for those types of drugs, I'd imagine, and the staff are second-to-none. Perks of being on this once-shiny, once-new monolith." Madilyn motions for him to have a seat, and the at-ease seems to be…well, it sort of seems to be in the air here. Oddly, the speaker set-up behind her desk is silent, clearly missing the music player which is on loan. "So what can I do for your Corporal? I'm afraid I haven't yet had a chance to look through the personnel files for the marines we've recovered. Although, I do have them in my possession."

Decumius looks behind him at that seat (possibly to make sure that no midget servants of the Major dragged it away when he wasn't looking) and then sits down. "Well, sir, the Sergeant sent me over here to find out how were going to fit in to the company. I'm not sure how many of us ended up here, but I know that we sent a lot of guys here, in a trickle. Ours was the last group."

In just a moment, the folder with said personnel files is procured, placed flat on the only open expanse of desk, and opened. The personnel officers were nice enough to index everything on one convenient little coversheet before going into all the detailed files, stapled and/or paperclipped as needled. "Fourty-four marines, in total. All from the Three-Four's Combat Support Company. Does that sound about right so far?" When she asks, she looks up from the folder for an answer.

Decumius pauses for a moment, breathing deeply, and nodding. "They lost a few on the way. We sent out 61. But, it happens. Sounds about right, sir."

"Well, as you might expect, our little company of the One-Nine is equipped primarily for fleet operations. Em-Pees form the bulk of our little family here, though many in the One-Nine were drawn from the ranks of the garrisoned riflemen on Canceron. Rifles we can always use; all the better if you're willing to undergo Em-Pee training. Corpsmen will be integrated into our detachment; the same with the wirelo operators. Techs, artillerymen, and assault engineers - despite the fondness I share for those boys - will have a little more difficulty. I'm not averse to seeing them hop divisions if they want to play with ship tech and the big ship guns. Some training is better than no training, which is what we're getting out of the civilians."

Decumius has his pen and pad out and is taking down quick notes, though really, the only thing that matters to him is the stuff about the guys in reconnaissance platoon. Or who /were/ in recon. "Can't hurt to crosstrain any of us in Emm-Pee stuff, sir. Whereever we're useful, anyways. All of the boys in Recon had at least one tour before they were on Sagittaron this time, and they've all got multiple qualifications already. We're versatile, that's the way we've always been. The more, the merrier I say." Dec gives the Major one of his stupid grins. "I imagine most of it will be Oh-Jay-Tee, for that kind of Em-Pee stuff?"

"If you've got half a brain, and can impartially enforce the Cee-Cee-Em-Jay, well, that's really all the qualifications you need. Rifle qualification is a pre-req, and you've all clearly attained that. After what you likely saw down on Sag, before and after things went way south, this responsibility is likely to seem positively boring. However, Cerberus has a habit of finding itself in strange situations, and the more Marines I have trained in the most things, the better. If you've been listening to the scuttlebutt, you've likely heard about the Leonis…ah, mishap. Or that there is apparently an unknown ship of Colonial origin sharing space with this battlegroup right now." Or that we have an admiral in our brig on suspicion of treason and collusion, and that a shitload of new MPs, not partial or even familiar with the situation is a gods-send.

Decumius shakes his head, a tiny frown pursing the sides of his lips, before the same mouth returns to a line of neutrality. "No, haven't heard any scuttlebutt, sir. We've kinda been keeping to ourselves, to be honest. Didn't wanna step on anyone's toes until we got a feel for the place. Not used to being around so much Fleet, either, to be honest - we're all out of Camp Clarkson on Libran. Typically not too many Fleet jocks there." He pauses, coughing into his hand. "I'm not sure what kind of docs you got on us, but I can grab everyone from Recon after you're done with me to list off qualifications and such. If you don't have them."

"Well, what I've got here is…a few months old, at best. Nothing past Warday, as it were. Virtue of being fresh out of spacedock, the local databases were about as fresh as they could be, even if the central Fleet database was bombed all to hell. Long story short? I have the details on most of your backgrounds, and what you were doing up to, and including Warday. After that? We're going to have to rely on face-to-face contact."

"Just a lot of running and gunning, sir, after that. Trying to find our place and such." Decumius shrugs at that one, as if it isn't important. "No one got any /official/ qualifications after the nukes dropped, but let's say everyone's familiar with living in enemy territory and using all sorts of implements now, sir."

"See, that's a useful skill at this point. If there's one thing Fleet lacks it's living away from the comforts of home. Had we had experienced Marines to send, maybe the Leonis clusterfrak would've been a little smoother. In short, since you've likely not heard of this, Cerberus attempted to recover several Vipers and Raptors located at CFAS Anadyomene using a transport vessel and Cylon transponder signals. Plan fails, crew stranded on the surface, HALO jump necessary to affect extraction. The crew stranded on the surface were primarily pilots and other technical crew."

Decumius considers that for a few moments, bobbing his head up and down. "I see. That's impressive that you guys jumped some troops in, I haven't heard of a combat jump in years, other than maybe spec ops. Sergeant Nichol's an experienced instructor, though. Hey can maybe pass on some knowledge of basic recon which is usually just surviving undetected in enemy territory. It helped that we were all qualified on that stuff or had experience with it before. I'd sure love to be able to pass on any relevant skillsets to the folks here, sir. Least we can do for you rescuing us." He smirks.

"I'm sure that if you're willing, we'll be able to find a place for every one of your companions here. I'm not in the habit of turning away trained Marines, and I know the other departments aren't turning away civilian or trained recruits either. Better than having them freeloading in the hangar bay, at any rate. It's a concerted effort for the survival of the species, at this point." As for rescuing, she shrugs a bit and gives a faint little smile. "Doing our job when it comes to the rescuing, at least. We may very well be the last surviving, functioning Colonial battlegroup in the galaxy at this point."

"Since I still don't know much of what happened on the 26th of February, I'll refrain from judgement on that. Besides, a Marine infantry corporal's not well versed in the art of Colonial strategy." Decumius cracks a grin at his own words. "But on behalf of all of us, thanks, sir. You really fished us out of a shithole. I'll set the boys to start filling in reports on what equipment they /do/ have… which is not extensive. We'll go to quartermaster tommorow and pick up what we need, if you guys have it."

"Much appreciated. Initiative makes my job that much easier. And as you can see," Madilyn says while patting one of those piles of paper. "Time spent in the field doesn't agree well with a Marine CO. The Bravo Company marines have no doubt heard this before, but I'll tell you too: command really just means being an overpaid paper-pusher. Equipment catalog forms and replacement requisition forms can be picked up right," she says, while pointing to another officer's desk. "Over there. The S4. Another position I hold near and dear to my own heart, for what it's worth. Take your time, and be thorough."

"We mostly operated on our own, even though we were apart of Combat Support Company. I think sometimes they just put us there so that we were with a company on paper. So we try to get the administrative stuff done in house… or else it doesn't get done. You guys are always busy with other, more crucial stuff than equipment requisitions and stupid memos. In my opinion, it should be dealt with at the NCO level, leaving you to worry about Ops. But that's just me, sir." Decumius shrugs, and rises up. "I won't take any more of your time if you don't need me for anything, sir."

"Well, we have our own special Ell-Tee. All they do is handle quartermastering duties, and not even for things like rations and survival equipment. Please, please give them something to do. I'm sure they'll love you forever and ever," Madilyn says with a little smirk…and an accompanying groan from said S4 who's within earshot.

"Roger that, sounds like an order we can fulfill. Have yourself a good night, sir." Decumius snaps to attention, then walks for the door.

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