PHD #227: EVENT - Mountaineering
Summary: A briefing for the Mountaineers is a long time coming. Freighter plans are laid out.
Date: 11 Oct 2041 AE
Related Logs: None
Rian Corrath Lunair Lysander Madilyn Decumius Vandenberg Kincaid 
Ready Room - Deck 7 - Battlestar Cerberus
With the hatches at the rear of the room, the walkways on both sides slope down towards the dais at the front of the room. The stadium seating forms a partial semi-circle around the speaking podium and provides enough seats for all three hundred members of the Air Wing. The walls are adorned with the patches of each squadron aboard and their mottos stenciled in white lettering above each one. Behind the podium is a set of large LCD screens that can display any matter of material from reconnaissance to maps to gun camera footage.
Post-Holocaust Day: #227

On the half-hour sharp, the lights in the ready room dim, regardless of whether everyone who was supposed to be in attendance actually is in attendance. The tall blonde woman had been sitting off to the side at the front of the ready room, in the jump seat or whatever obscure, awful name that the air wing gives such a thing. The standard beige duty uniform is pressed and straight, she has a plain folder under her arm, and looks made up well enough, but she moves a little slowly, and looks tired standing at the podium. Even that is visible in the low light.

The screens are not currently displaying anything, their displays blanked so as not to be distracting or overly bright. It's her up there at the podium, and all the rest of the marines not on duty in the seats. The folder is flipped open, the papers with the meeting agenda pulled out and set to the side, and the sheet with the talking points set on the other side. The microphone is adjusted with a small swishing, scrunching, crunching sound, then tapped to make sure it's working. She could project, but she wants to be able to talk easily tomorrow. Once everything is setup to her liking, and the rustling in the audience has mostly settled, she begins.

"Good evening men and women of the First Battalion, Ninth Marines. Bravo Company. The Mountaineers, as we're called. Some of you I'm familiar with, and you with me. Some of you are quite new to this ship, to this battlestar group, number one three two. At any rate, I am Major Madilyn Willows-Cavanaugh, and I am the Bravo Company Cee-Oh. At any rate, it's been far too long since we've convened a full briefing for the entirety of the marines stationed aboard this ship, and we've much to talk about." She's neither forceful, condescending, or sarcastic in her words, choosing them carefully and deliberately, attempting to be candid and honest in a way some other commanders may not.

A new face wanders into the Ready Room and takes a seat towards the rear a few minutes before the lights dim. Fresh from the barber, Vandenberg's hair is done up in a tight bun behind her head. Taking up a set of duty browns, the woman seems to have taken up a small notepad from somewhere and sets it out on the desk in front of her with a pen. Her eyes scan the room lightly, noting faces and the interactions. As the Major begins, though, she turns her attention to the woman at the front and jots down a few notes. 'Quite New' whut?

Decumius is most certainly not late, but he is near the back of the room - and judging by the rogueish smirk that's twisting his lips upward, it's because the back is a great place to cause mischief. Or maybe not. "At least it's no slide show presentation." He mumbles quietly.

Kincaid is in one of the seats here, intermingled among the various enlisted that aren't NCO's. He's with his Dog Platoon, the ones that enlisted after the bombs fell. He has out a flip pad — a reporter's notebook — and is holding a ballpoint pen much nicer than military issue. "If we do some sort of 'oo-rah' chant, I'm out of here."

Having made his way to the ready room prior to the start time, Corrath had taken up 'residence' in one of the seats on the left side of the room. Like the rest, he's clad in the duty browns and resting on the table in front of him is a small notepad, in which he idly taps a pen against. Once the Major begins, the tapping ceases as he simply prepares to jot down anything that might be important.

Sergeant Lysander is in attendance and with the rest of his squad of Charlie Two filtering here and there amongst so many seats of the ready room. They're wearing the usual of off-duty browns and one or two of them have some measure of note-taking material. Lysander does not. With the Major preparing to get the shindig under way, the marine stops glancing here and there, or commenting under his breath about various things, and leans back in his seat, finding pad and pen while getting comfortable.

Rian sits in the back of the room with Decumius. In the dim light she wears her duty browns and as the CO starts up she starts awake, dark eyes blinking. One hand rises to wipe her chin, perhaps a little drool? As Dec speaks she chuckles quietly, tilting her head towards his slightly to whisper, "I was hoping there would be a slide show, less talk. I do better with visuals anyway." Hands are folded in her lap, not having brought a pen or paper with her.

Decumius sneers at Rian. "You're an idiot. All slide shows do is they give a bigger piece of paper for the officer in question to read from. Literally. Word by word. C'mon, you remember that brief we had with Major Adair before April Lightning? That was like three hours of torture. I didn't even glean anything from it until Nichol explained in our squad brief." He speaks at a low enough volume not to be a distraction for others. That said, it's obvious he's talking at the same time as the CO. He's got his pad in hand, now, too, freshly pulled from a pocket on his tan coverall.

"In the past months we have faced trials and horrors once thought to be impossible visited upon us by Cylon forces that we thought vanquished. Our homes have been destroyed, our families broken and murdered, our companions at arms scattered and hunted. Through this period of time, we too have struggled: to escape the holocaust of warday with an untested battlestar group lead by an untested battlestar; to rescue our own on Leonis; to make contact with the remainder of humanity on each of the twelve colonies. Along the way, we've made disturbing revelations about the nature and degree of Cylon," Madilyn continues, pausing there before hesitantly using the next word. "Evolution. About their technology. But we've also brought new compatriots into the fold. From the Third Battalion, from their posts on Sagittaron and Aerilon. We press on," she states, but not adding 'though just barely.' "I've called this meeting together not to dredge memories of the past, but to prepare you for the future."

"Frak D, don't start with the insults today, I'm hung over and hate briefings," Rian pleads quietly to her friend, hands rising to rub her throbbing temples. As for April Lightning and Nichol, she remains silent, honestly not wanting to jerk her brain into remembering that far back. As the CO talks about their 'future' she huff a quiet, spiteful laugh at the word.

Vandenberg only casts a glance towards Rian and the huffed laugh, the words falling short of her ears. She lofts a brow and looks back towards the Major with some interest. Its her first briefing in six months. Can't blame her, right? Right.

If the exchange between Rian and Dec is heard, Corrath makes no effort to stop it. There's simply a quick glance around those that have gathered before he's letting his attention shift back to Madilyn and when she finishes speaking, he's offering nothing more then a muted grunt.

Decumius nods as the Major mentions his old battalion, the "Thundering Third", with a soft smile of appreciation. "Should keep your mouth closed. For any bottles or other phallus-like objects." But, despite his quips, his attention has leveled onto Madilyn.

"Pressing forward, it is my hopes that the new additions should find a new home here in our company. And while I'll freely admit that I'm not the overbearing Cee-Oh you might be used to, expect, or even desire…well, transfer requests are available in the office. The Cee-Ohs aboard Praetorian or Corsair may be more to your liking." There she pauses and flips a pice of paper over on the podium and looks out over the crowd. "But now, in order to avoid keeping you here longer than necessary, we shall move onto the main point of this briefing."

Then the monitors go from being blank, to displaying a particular freighter on the surface of Aerilon. "As some of you may know, there are plans being carried out right now to add another vessel to this fleet. The goal of this particular vessel is to serve primarily as a civilian-crewed farm vessel to provide a sense of purpose to a number of the people stuck in our starboard hangar pod, and more importantly I'd dare say, supplement or even replace the limited food and medical plant supply of the fleet with fresh."

As Madilyn begins to outline the plans for a civilian-crewed vessel, Corrath merely allows his lips to curl into the slightest of frowns. For a moment, it looks like he might pose a question, but rather then do so, he simply looks down and makes a notation in his pad before looking back up to watch the monitors.

Vandenberg taps the eraser of her pencil to her temple gently with the mention of finding a new home, the gesture pointedly towards Madilyn. She stops writing, though, as the mention of the freighter comes up. A cocked brow later, she is leaning forward a tough more in her chair.

Kincaid sketches some notes in his corners. 'Civilian crewed vessel.' Underline. He glances back.

Lysander gives a momentary glance over his shoulder at the mentioning of transfers but whoever he looks at is hard to tell given the lack of wanton bright lighting, so in the dimness does he turn his attention back forward. A most-familiar freighter is brought up on the screens and he writes something down before looking aside and murmuring something to the marine sitting next to him.

She was here. Really. Quiet. Really, really quietly. Or just that few people speak at her head level. Lunair is listening quietly. She smiles a little. There's a mixture of sadness and hopefulness. It was her little plants that started the garden. She considers her pad for a moment, just watching for now.

"To this point, the ships associated with this battlestar group have been military vessels, or conscripted for military use. Civilian survivors have fallen entirely until the pruview of the military, subject to policing, rationing, and limitations imposed by living on a battlestar. Having spoken with civilians, other department heads, and marines alike, and following regretful tragedies bred and wrought by an unsettled and cabin-fevered population, adding this vessel should help alleviate some problems…I hope." The image on the screen changes. "This is a Eunostos-class freighter. It has been stripped of its FTL for use by Aerilonian farmers to transport their goods to space stations to go off-planet. As of two days ago, I hear that deck and engineering crews have successfully repaired the vessel's sublight engines, and the air wing is actively searching for a compatible FTL that can keep up with the fleet."

Decumius has no change of expression at the mention of the new vessel possibly joining the fleet, but like the others he writes it down for posterity's sake anyways. He nods thoughtfully at the mention of FTL drives.

Kincaid's pen goes wild. Euonostos-class freighter. Sublight engines repaired. FTL engine ongoing. Scribble. Scribble. Scribble.

Vandenberg looks around and then towards the Major. She looks like she might have something to offer but resists the urge to raise her hand. For now. The idea lurks like a hungry shark while she, like Kincaid, scribbles furiously.

Much like the others, Corrath continues to take notes, jotting down various things that are said, as well as possible questions or concerns that arise of such things. A tap of his pen and then he's giving a slow nod, eyes remaining on the monitors.

"The reasons I bring this up now, in this forum, should be clear," Madilyn powers through. The quiet assumption is that all questions will wait until the end, or when she says the floor is opened for questions. It's very much like going back to her days - a hair over a decade and a half ago - when she was in charge of TA duties for college students. Half a life ago, practically. Say your piece, then answer questions. Less chance to get nervous and flop that way. "This ship is to be crewed and operated by civilians. The makeup of the pilots and engineers remains to be seen, as we must guarantee that the ship keeps functioning and is capable of following the fleet at each jump. But my concern - and thus your concern - is how to ensure the safety of military and civilian crew alike should anything…less than desirable happen." Riots or mutiny, anyone?

Kincaid raises his hand — no. He raises his pen in the air, in a practiced, easy sort of manner. Call it experience from his time as a reporter.

Vandenberg lofts a hand. She glances around a moment before speaking up. "Sir: Primary threats? Have the Cylons been prone to boarding actions or are we more concerned with this ship being taken in a crew mutiny? If its boarding actions, I'd suggest we train up the civilians and attach a sort of paramilitary police force to them. If its the latter? Well, sir, we'd probably be looking at a fireteam rotation, yeah?"

Lunair looks like she might have a question, but stays quiet for a moment. She smiles briefly at the others, seeing questions. A nod at the concern about riots or mutiny. Oh those whacky civvies.

Decumius lowers his pen and paper momentarily, smiling at the overall idea of being rotated on a civilian ship. Yes, the Corporal approves.

As people begin to loft hands and questions through the air, Corrath simply leans back in his seat, eyes flicking over to Vandenberg as she speaks. Then, his own hand lofts into the air, waiting in line to pose whatever questions he might have.

"Cylon boarding actions are not an immediate threat to the security of the freighter," Madilyn answers Vandenberg. Oh, to get this thing a real name! "However, Cylons have demonstrated that they are capable of, and willing to undertake, hostile boarding actions aboard our vessels. Cerberus itself was the victim of Cylon stowaways that had managed to hole up between the outer skin and inner hull and breach multiple secure areas simultaneously. The primary threat, in my opinion, comes from the crew itself. Given the increasingly volatile political climate and ennui sweeping through the civilians, this freighter may alleviate some of this threat. My concerns are of seditious civilian elements managing to seize command of the vessel and either turn it into a weapon, or go and get themselves killed." The question of fireteam rotation of militia is left unanswered. She points at Kincaid first, then Corrath to answer their questions next.

"Major Willows-Cavanaugh. Two questions." Kincaid has the practiced, hurried clip of the pool report. "First, many of the Marines we've picked up and brought into the company are not military police. Will we be maintaining our company's structure of only having one rifle platoon or will there be other ways of integrating those new soldiers? And second, will Marine detachments be sent to the new ship to maintain security or will civilians be left with police duties? If Marines, I would recommend elements of Dog Platoon. We were civilians before all of this. We know their plight better."

Vandenberg looks like she might have more to say on the subject but holds her tongue for now. She scratches down a long string of notes that continues long after Madilyn answers the question. Yep, ideas ideas ideas. She looks like she'll be hunting down the Major after this. The comments and questions from the others get further scribbles. Especially Kincaid's, which get an interested glance from the Lieutenant.

Decumius can't help but roll his eyes at Kincaid's questioning. "As if we're all dog faced baby killers in the military. What a fracking crock." He mumbles under his breath. However, this is not a democratic forum, and since Decumius doesn't have any stellar ideas of his own, he keeps his voice low enough.

Do note that it was Lunair who really kicked the garden thing off. Talk about a pushover of a Marine. She looks a little pained by Kincaid's comment. She seems like she might be ready to raise her hand.

Someone near to Lysander chuckles at the word ennui and the Sergeant clears his throat, dutifully so while he lifts his freed left hand. Still, he smiles. His right jots something down before he lifts his chin and draws gaze back forward and down to the Major. A glance around and then the hand drops back down, smile lingering, but something says the wisecracking marine ought not speak up just yet and let the others have a go.

Allowing his hand to drop back down, Corrath listens to Kincaid's question before giving a nod of his head. Once the other man has finished, he's casting his attention back to Madilyn. "The Lance Corporal just nailed my main question, Major, as to whether we'll be shipping over or whether we'll be training civilians to do it, with our assistance. But, I do have a concern to the former." The pen is settled on the paper before him, hands coming to clasp on top of it as he continues, "If we're going to rotate teams through to the civilian ship, we should request that the Colonel contact the Corsair and the Praetorian and ask that their Marines do the same. Ensures that one vessel isn't providing the bulk of the support and doesn't compromise our own internal security efforts by leaving us with more of a shortage of personnel then we already have."

"Those are both good points. I am more inclined to put trained fireteams aboard the vessel to keep order and to provide an opportunity for training." It's a fine line, of course. A few vets, a few green MPs. The idea of civilians in a paramilitary force on their own ship is scary indeed. "Of course the commanders of both Praetorian and Corsair will be asked to contribute. To address the lane corporal's questions…it is my intentions that eventually, every marine serving aboard this ship eventually becomes qualified in MP duties. We're not a company constructed for sieges and insurrection. We're not outfitted for dedicated recon or combat engineering. We were formed, outfitted, and exist to serve in a police capacity aboard a battlestar group with the potential to serve as a boarding force aboard enemy vessels. For the moment, one rifle platoon will remain to facilitate transition into this company, but looking long-term…" she trails off, point made.

Carefully, Lunair asks quietly, "And we'll be keeping controlled or medicinal plants on board? I'd really hate for all that morpha to become someone's personal stash instead of getting to MedBay," Her nose wrinkles. "Also, will we be allowed to maintain the potted plants in storage? It's helped some of our own onboard," Psychologically and otherwise it seems.

Decumius stares at his platoon commander, Lunair, as she asks her question. His mouth is agape. He shakes his head and jots some random words down on the paper, to make it look like he's busy.

Blink. Lunair seems abashed by Decumius' reaction and shakes her head. "Nevermind. I'll ask about it later." She noticed that agape look - it's rather hard not to after all. "I apologize."

"Yes, controlled and medicinal plants will remain on board Cerberus and grown in greater quantities in the dedicated hydroponics bay. All food crops and algae will be moved to this freighter if all goes as planned. Potted plants as a part of one's personal possessions will remain so long as they are not of a controlled variety. There's one more point I wanted to make while I have everyone gathered together. With the recent stops at Sagittaron and Aerilon requiring patrol rotations on-planet, the use of MOUT training has been superseded. In this downtime, and with the addition of this freighter, I fully expect that we train hard and develop cogent plans of action for any conceivable situation that may arise. The more minds brainstorming on this, the more situations we can prepare for. If you've got an idea of what these civilians may do, I want to see it on my desk. If there are no more questions, you are all dismissed."

"Sir," Decumius raises a digit in the air, briefly, before lowering it. "When you say superseded, you mean by other concerns? MOUT training is the most useful thing on board anywhere urban or close quarters, like here, on a ship. The more you do that kind of training, the quicker your reaction. More muscle memory. I agree that we need to do other training too, but sir, if our primary concern is ship defense and such, I really think it's important to continue to regularly practice Cee-Que-Bee." He means Close Quarter Battle, which is another word for shooting things in tight corridors and rooms.

Fortunately, Lunair has decent bearing and good manners. So if she was annoyed or stung, it'll be kept for later. Muuuuuuuch later. For now, she goes quiet, quirking her brows.

Vandenberg watches the interaction with Lunair and Decumius before looking back to Madilyn. She waits patiently for the announcement of dismissal before she rises from the chair, gathering her notebook. She once again watches Decumius before she flips the pages back and forth a few moments and heads to the front. She stops nearby and waits.

"Superseded in the sense that drawn out assignments and engagements on-planet have made it difficult to convene MOUT training or substituted similar tactics in a live-fire situation," Madilyn replies to Decumius. There, that should just about address any questions. Even if not, she still takes a moment to lift a hand to her face and rub her eyes a little bit.

As Madilyn makes her statement and the order to dismiss is giving, Corrath rises from his seat, only to turn his attention to Decimus as his question is posed. Eyes flit back over to Madilyn, waiting for her reply before he's beginning to angle off to the back of the room to where the hatch leads out into the hall.

Decumius jots down some more information with regards to what Madilyn says, nodding. "Thanks sir." He calls out to her. He stuffs his pad in his trouser pocket.

"Sir? I've got a few questions and ideas if you've got time. Didn't want to waste the rest of the company's hours." She speaks quietly, but there's a glance to Corrath as if she might be addressing him as well. Even if the other Lieutenant is already heading for the hatch. Vandenberg holds her position for the moment, hands clasped behind her back.

Rian is still in the back of the room, arms crossed over her chest as her head is leaning forward. Long dark bangs hide her face but it is obvious she has been sleeping this whole time. With a start she jumps to life, wide eyes looking around the emptying ready room. Standing quickly she nearly stumbles as she heads towards the door and Decumius, keeping her head low and trying to avoid eye contact with Madilyn.

Lunair looks somewhere between annoyed and thoughtful. She just kind of /eyes/ Decumius a moment, before glancing over towards Vandenberg. She's quiet, listening for now. There's a faint look of concern at the near stumbling and - hm. Sigh. She takes a nice, deep breath. She stands, but is listening.

Corrath didn't reach the hatch before Vand's statement is heard and it's drawing his attention over towards the other Lieutenant and the Major. There's a slight nod of his head before he's offering a quick, "If you need me, Lieutenant, I've got the time."

Decumius smirks at something as he walks out.

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