| Rusty as Cylon Shit |
| Summary: | Nathan seeks firearms requalification and an interview |
| Date: | 25 Jun 2041 |
| Related Logs: | Coll fire |
| Players: |
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| Marine country - Deck 6 |
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| The floor plating along the corridors of the Cerberus is standard military. Their forged steel plates are welded seamlessly together to run nearly the entire length of each hallway. The hallways themselves are the typical load-bearing structural design of the angled quadrilateral. Oxygen scrubbers and lighting recesses are found at nearly perfect intervals throughout the passageways. |
| Post-Holocaust Day: #120 |
Constin is dressed in his off duty tankand sweats, head still damp and towel around his neck on the way back from the showers as the big man steps toward the Deck 6 Enlisted Berths. Middle of the 'afternoon' and the Second shift is about to let out.
And Nathan comes out of the Security Hub, a pile of folders under one arm and he's reading a piece of paper at the top of it. He looks up and about for a moment, as if to get his bearings again, though each day he grows more familiar with Marine Country. A short pause as he notices the big man in his sweats, offering out an, "Afternoon… Sergeant Constin, isn't it?"
Constin looks up from his thoughts at the greeting, narrow blue stare picking over the myriad details of Nathan's appearance, direction and folder burden in an instant. "Ah am. There something ah can do for you?" the big man wonders, stopping his steps and turning to square his shoulders to the unfamiliar civilian.
"Nathan, Dicianni." Nathan crosses the hall and moves down that way a little bit, offering out one of his hands. A wry grin crosses his hardened face. Whatever was burdening him down the other day, it's either gone or been repressed, because there's no sign of his recent shell-shocked appearance, "Not now, I can see you're just getting back from something. But sometime we'll need to sit down for a thing or two yeah."
"Mister Dicianni," the big marine returns with the handshake. His lowbrow drawl damages his pronunciation of the name, but its still recognizable as having all the letters in the correct order. "If you'll spend a breath letting me know what level of access you've got to the Hub, ah'll spend a few back at you. Have some time."
Nathan shrugs his thick (but much shorter) shoulders up at the larger Marine, "Not too damn much right now to be honest. Though I'll be joining up and recieving a commissioning…sometime in the next month or two ideally. I've volunteered to serve, and it appears I need to get requalified in firearms, melee, and first-aid." A slight grin now, as if anticipating the reaction before he notes, "Lieutenant Lunair volunteered you as someone who might do some shooting with me for a week or so and get me requaled on the range."
Constin nods curtly once. "Then first things first, ah'd like a look at what files you're lugging out of the hub, mister Dicianni. After that, the El-Tee's right. That's the manner of thing ah'm getting into the habit of doing. How long's it been since you handled a firearm?" he wonders, holding a thick-fingered hand out for the files.
"Rifles? 5, 6 years. I served as an infantryman with 2/5 though, Echo Company, back in the day." Nathan turns over the first paper to Constin, which has the JAG Office seal on it. Upon reading, it would identify Nathan as serving as a temporary attache to the JAG office pending his field commissioning, and also authorizing him to access files and perform interviews in relation to two case numbers, which indeed are the numbers, on the folders he's holding. There's the air of him having something more, another shoe to drop, but for right now he only scratches his neck tautau and notes, "Pistols, I shoot more regularly."
Constin nods to Nathan's answer, but the sergeant's eyes remain on the files he glances over. "Were you commissioned an officer the last time around, mister?" the marine wonders aloud, taking note of the two cases with a dry sniff, as he closes the fuiles back up and returns them, along with his eye contact, to Nathan. "Ah'm just off a shift, mister, so if you have a spell, your timing is good."
"No, Heavy Weapons Specialist, discharged as a Corporal." A short pause, as Nathan does a brief amount of math in his head and notes with a wry grin as if feeling his age suddenly, "Probably around the same time you were enlisting in fact." He takes the files back, tucking them under his arm and noting, "I've got nothing else to do but study law books and seethe. Now's fine for shooting or talking, whichever you want to do Sergeant."
"Ah figure with those in hand, you're looking to do both, mister," Constin returns evenly. "Set here a bit and ah'll be back out in five minutes and we can get this business moving. Ah do hate idle assignments," the big man mutters with a wry twist to his lip, before nodding once in parting and starting for the Berths.
"No worries, Lunair showed me the way to the shooting range the other day, so we can head over whenever you're ready, feel free to take your time." Nathan moves over towards the bulkhead, giving a grin in return to the nod and wry twist, ready to wait for Constin.
Constin isnt gone for the full five minutes, but it's close. Emerging from the berths in the service trousers, boots and ubiquitous layered tank top (which, incidentally reveals a particularly nasty scar fresh on his right upper arm, along with smaller puncture wounds, especially on the right arm and neck), the sergeant nods once, before voicing evenly, "Let's move, mister."
| Shooting Range - Deck 12 |
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| This nearly soundproof room has ten shooting booths in a straight line that face the target field. The ranges move out to thirty yards, each booth using its own track to take targets out to the desired distance vial a simple dial at the booth. Behind the firing line is a long bench that runs the width of the room where crewmembers can load magazines and compare targets. At one end is a huge stack of paper targets that has either Cylons or a few different types of human targets on them. A large sign hangs from the ceiling that details out the rules such as wearing eye and ear protection and watching where weapons are pointed at all times. |
| Post-Holocaust Day: #120 |
Nathan is content to follow along, quiet on the way to the shooting gallery so that he can keep his bearings and better pay attention to the path that's taken. Gotta learn his way around the ship eventually right? When he gets to the shooting range he sets the files and his paper near at hand, before removing a small recording device of some sort, setting it ontop of the stack conspiciously without saying anything else about it. "So, you're becoming the go to firearms instructor? Not a bad position to have Sergeant."
Constin is likewise none too talkative on the trip through the ship's stairs, but immeditaely after stepping onto the Deck 12 landing, the man's level speech resumes as the two walk toward the shooting range. "Ah'm becoming one of the fellas who hollers at the new recruits, yeah. It's work that needs doing, and that's never a bad position to have. Well, usually not," he adds with a dry snicker. "You serve on a Battlestar last time around, mister?"
"I did about a year on a Battlestar, one of those Expeditionary tours." He looks over the selection of paper targets and then reads the rules briefly. His voice takes on a monotone and raises slightly as he grins, repeating the opening syllables recruit training mantra "The first weapon safety rule is…" Then he steps to the bench but remains there, letting Constin lead the way in getting weapons or the like, "I was based planet-side though, Gemenon."
Constin nods at the answer, stepping to one of the arms lockers within the firing range. "Close Quarters battle rifles are the rule here, which you'll remember, ah think. We issue officers and all Em-Pees personal sidearms- the Picon Five-seveN is the standard issue piece, but there are no personal rifles. They get issued and collected at the start and end of every shift," he recites the shipboard policy, just in case it's changed since Nathan served on a fleet boat. "If you're marked for the Jay-Ay-Gee, you'll be responsible for your personal sidearm and its munitons." While he speaks, one of the described pistols is brought out, along with a clip of rubber bullets. they are set down seperately on the firing table in front of Nathan, along with a set of ear mufflers, and goggles.
"Right." Nathan looks at the ear mufflers with a smirk, as if (like many young - some would say dumb - grunts) he never bothered with them very much when he was going through the first time. This time though he does pick up the goggles, fitting them to his head and noting, "Nothing too much changed then. I handled the CQB rifles a few times, but they weren't the standard issue planet-side, might take some getting used to." Ear mufflers go on next.
Constin nods once. "Yeah, planetside is a different animal. On board the boats, its Cee-Cue-Bee, all day everyday. We'll get to those, next. Standard issue is the Picon P-Ninety. Uses the same ammo as the Five-seveN, which ah will tell you, is a frakking gods-send under limited supply scenarios. Load and prep the piece, mister," he notes indicating the pistol and clip.
Nathan nods his head. He picks the pistol up and looks it over. His movements are deliberate and slow, clearly in no rush to embarrass himself by getting something wrong. He examines both sides of the pistol and the trigger, safety, and magazine clip to familiarize himself with them and then loads the pistol, slamming the magazine home, and chambering a round… keeping the business end pointed down-range.
The target is adjusted to twenty feet out, the last instruction from the sergeant being, "Five shots, then hold. Open up when you're ready, mister," comes Constin's loud drawl, pitched to be heard even through the ear mufflers, as he pulls his own into place, slipping the goggles on, to satisfy the regs.
<FS3> Nathan rolls Firearms: Failure.
<FS3> Nathan rolls Firearms: Success.
<FS3> Nathan rolls Firearms: Bad Failure.
<FS3> Nathan rolls Firearms: Bad Failure.
<FS3> Nathan rolls Firearms: Success.
Nathan opens up with his first shot, hitting just outside the edges of the target. He takes a deep breath, adjusts the sights and takes another shot, this one landing well within the kill zone. However, on his third shot, a bad failure, not only does he miss the target, but there's a jam on the gun. He pulls the slide back, ejecting the round, only to miss again, "Frak." He mutters to himself, though still loud enough to be heard. Finally figuring the source of the problem he adjusts his grip, and lands another shot.
Constin watches the series of shots with crossed arms. After the fifth shot, he reaches up to pull the ear mufflers down around his neck, before he eyes Nathan and voices, "You said you'd been keeping up with pistols, some?" The words are level and not terribly encouraging. "Even if you're tagged for the Jay-Ay-Gee, you need to pass muster with the sidearm, mister." He slides the target five feet forward with pressure on a nearby switch. "Spread your feet a bit, bend the knees a touch. Use your free hand to support the bottom of your firing hand and squeeze the trigger. One shot at a time. Next five- open up when you;re ready," he states curt and crisp, tugging the ear mufflers back into place.
<FS3> Nathan rolls Firearms+5: Success.
<FS3> Nathan rolls Firearms+5: Success.
<FS3> Nathan rolls Firearms+5: Success.
<FS3> Nathan rolls Firearms+5: Good Success.
<FS3> Nathan rolls Firearms+5: Success.
There's a brief bit of fire from Nathan's eyes at the leveled comment. But he doesn't say anything. Either he feels he deserves it, or decides that it's not worth getting into a dick-swinging contest with the instructor on the first day. Because he simply steps off to the side. He looks at the wall for a long few moments, breathing deeply, before coming back to the firing line. He doesn't say a word, just settles into the recommended stance (noticably more relaxed this time) and squeezes off five shots. They aren't fast, but aren't slow either, a slow steady two breaths between each one, all within the target area.
Constin watches the results with narrow eyed interest. "Mm-hmm," he grunts wordlessly, watching Nathan throughout the shots moreso than the target, glancing toward the paper outline of a cylon after the fifth shot and nodding once. Adjusting the target back to the twenty foot distance, he collects a fresh clip, sets it on the table, and voices, "Reload, set the spent clip to your right, and open fire when you're ready, mister."
Nathan doesn't even turn around this time. He points the weapon up into the air, slowly watching himself unload the clip. He takes a moment to set it aside, and take the next clip. He looks the first round in the clip over before reloading. After checking the safety again to make sure it's off, unlocking the slide, he aims down-range….
<FS3> Nathan rolls Firearms: Success.
<FS3> Nathan rolls Firearms: Failure.
<FS3> Nathan rolls Firearms: Terrible Failure.
<FS3> Nathan rolls Firearms: Bad Failure.
<FS3> Nathan rolls Firearms: Success.
Constin watches the second round of firing with the same arms-crossed, narrow-eyed attention. A second look uprange at the target is met by another wordless grunt. Dragging off the earmufflers, her voices, "Common casual shooter's problem: real good at self-defense range, but rusty as cylon shit any further out. You are gonna need to drill that like hell to get back in the habit, mister."
Nathan nods his head, turning it towards the side to be able to watch the lips and make it easier to understand through the ear-mufflers. He nods again then, unloading the clip and ejecting the last round, setting the now safe weapon down on the bench. At least he's got the basics of firearm handling down, "Well, it's been a while since I've had to point at anything more menacing then a common mugger." He admits this with a bit of chagrin, rolling his shoulders and offering a smirk, attempting a sense of humor about it.
"Huh," Constin returns, with a faint half-grin. "It shows. You know how to handle it, but the instincts are jammed up. Put your name down on the 'Requested shooters' list by the door. you need to be handling a sidearm every day until you get back in the habit. When was the last time you was first aid qualified?" he asks next, collecting up the clips and gun and returning them to the arms locker. "Once you can keep five shots out of ten on target, we'll step you up to the rifles. Shouldn't take long."
"Even longer ago than I shot to be honest. I was never even a Combat Aidsman, just the basic stuff you get in recruit training." Nathan collects the sidearm and clips and ammo, moving to return it to the window as he continues, "Yeah, I can come down here most every day. Like I said, I've got frak all else to do, right?"
Constin nods once at the answer. "S'all about repetition at this point. You'll need a qualified shooter with you anyhow, long as you're a civilian, and any real bad habits will get hammered out in a hurry. Will put you in for a first aid course- that's not something ah can correct much, shouldn't take more than an hour or two." The arms locker is sealed back up, and the sergeant looks back at Nathan. "You wanting to start with the questions now, mister?"
Nathan nods his head, moving back over to his things. "I was told to find a Lieutenant Stavrian with Medical for that." He then hits a button on the side of the recorder, hrming quietly as he seems to think over. He moves to take a seat at a nearby table, "We'll start with Borenstein and Morgenfield, concerning 2 G-4 charges planted in a Viper?"
Constin nods once upon hearing Stavrian's name. That settles that. "Mah specific involvement in that matter was more concerned with the explosive device on Rapter Three-Oh-Five, but the two incidents are considered linked at this point in the investigation. What's your question, mister?"
"Well that was the first question." And now, Nathan seems in his element. Opening the folder up, spreading some papers across the table, his voice is sure, confident, crisp, convincing. Clearly, he must be good at this lawyer thing (or at least, he comes across that way), "Was how you came to be involved in the investigation. So, tell me about the explosive device used."
"Mah involvement began as a result of a detention on the Flight deck of one Lauren Coll, who revealed information which led to the later detention and arrest of Pee-Oh-Two Borenstein." Constin's voice slips back easily into the all-business tone, just as does his stonefaced expression. "Coll's information has led to the conclusion that the device used to cripple Raptor three-Oh-Five was a converted Lightning Javelin missile warhead. Coll's information also led to the collection of evidence which implicated Borenstein as the perpetrator, and thereby to his detention and arrest."
"Did you collect that evidence personally?" Nathan wonders, all business now, just getting the questions out of the way, "I see here in the report the demolitions assessment of it."
"The missile casing was collected by mahself, yes," Constin answers directly. "The print-work ah did not handle personally, as it's not mah department."
Nathan nods his head quietly, hrming and shuffling the papers again for a few moments. He reads something slowly and then sets them down before looking back up to Constin, "You'll have to humor me if I ask you something that's already in the report Sergeant. I'm new onboard and don't know all the scuttlebutt, so I want to make sure I have everything clear." A pause, "What led to the detention of Ms. Lauren Coll in the first place?"
Constin simply nods once and answers, "She refused to complete an inspection of the Raptor she was at work on. when she attempted to leave the Deck and ignored instructions to remain, she was subdued and detained. During questioning, she volunteered the information in regards to Raptor Three-Oh-Five."
"But she was not arrested?" Nathan wonders curiously, quirking an eyebrow up at this point. He nods then adds a followup question, "My understanding is that when Po2 Borenstein was apprehended, he attempted to take a hostage, and then attempted to commandeer a Raptor. Has he offered any other information, on how he got ahold of the materials, for example?"
"Coll was arrested, charged with Dereliction of Duty, and a recommendation to that effect was given by the Jay-Ay-Gee," Constin answers. "But as an Em-Pee, ah cannot make arrests, only detentions. the Commanding officer is the only one able to order arrest and file charges, mister," the sergeant elaborates. "Questioning of Borenstein was delayed for a period by his injuries, for a further period due to the detention of Admiral Abbott, and a period longer due to the operations of Leonis. As a result, his interrogation is still ongoing."
"Allright. If you'll file a report with the JAG's office as soon as his interrogation is completed." A short pause, Nathan seeming to have very little else to ask Constin at the moment, other than, "Who was the shooting officer when Borenstein was apprehended?"
"Ah was the En-Cee-Oh who ordered the shot," Constin states initially, before adding, "Corporal Cadmus Maragos was the man who took that shot."
Nathan stands up then, closing the folder aifd hitting a button on the recorder, "Well, I'll tell you what Sergeant. That's really all for now. I have to talk to Corporal Cadmus and Crewman Sofia. But if I have any more questions I'll be sure to come and find you." He offers his hand out then, forearm tautau peeking out as he notes, "And file a report to the JAG as soon as you're done with the interrogation." He refrains from saying anything else about the case, unprofessional at the moment. "I don't want to take up anymore of your time today, so we can talk about the Admiral another time soon."
"Whenever ah'm not on duty, ah can make time to answer the questions ah'm legally obliged to answer, mister," Constin returns dryly to the thanks. "Until the next time then."