PHD #034: Search for a Silver Bullet
Search for a Silver Bullet
Summary: Cadmus checks out the captured heavy raider; bullets are pondered.
Date: 2 Apr 2041 AE
Related Logs: None
Cilusia Cadmus 
Repair Bay - Hangar Deck - Battlestar Cerberus
Post Holocaust Day: #34
When engines need to be rebuilt or other heavy but short-term work needs to be done, this is where it happens. Large, red hand-mobile cranes are situated along the wall beside stacks of toolchests. Carts with various computers and electronics are dispersed around the area for quick access. A very conspicuous yellow locker at the rear holds a sizable amount of firefighting gear, as well. Sturdy metal stands are available to hold all sorts of parts from gun systems to the FTL drives of a Raptor. Big enough to accommodate quite a few Vipers and Raptors at once, this area see's extensive use and is usually attended by at least one crew at all hours of the day and night.
Condition Level: 3 - All Clear

The usually pristine deck is a shambles. Sort of. Deck crew are working to unload one of the raptors. Stacks of what appear to be junk are growing against the wall. Paper signs have been tacked to the bulkhead every few feet. They go from 'Unknown' through varying degrees of usefulness to 'Plug and Play' While the first few categories have the largest pile under them, there is a growing number of parts in the final few as well.

One of the myriad advantages of being an MP is the ability to get first pick of guard posts over the other rank, and file, as well as the ability to finagle security clearance above that of the ordinary Marine. So it's hardly surprising that Lance Corporal Maragos - well-known in Marine country for owning too many JANE'S FIGHTING WARSHIPS manuals - has apparently been assigned to guard this area for today. After entering, saluting, and reliving the Private and Corporal stationed at the main bulkhead, Cadmus simply stands and *looks* at the partially disassembled Heavy Raider for a long moment. "Well," he says at long last, "Frak me sideways with a mop. That is a sight."

"I know right? What a frakkin' monster huh?" Cadmus isn't alone down in the repair bay, with various flighty redshirt deckies hustling and bustling around to sort and classify pieces of gear and equipment coming off of the various other piles of salvage that surround the mostly-intact, but slowly peeling Heavy…like a giant, Cylon onion. The girl that talks though is a tiny slip of a deckie, wearing the normal coveralls, her hair pulled back in a tight bun, and her face and hands a little smeared with grease. At the workbench in front of her are a few pieces of disassembled Cylon armor plating, the various dents and puncture holes pretty clear.

Stepping aside from the hatch, Cadmus quickly jots down his name and the current time on the roster clipboard. Moving deeper into the room after he does so, he takes up a position near the port bulkhead and lets out a low whistle. "This is *very* different from the old two-oh-ones," he says, cocking his head first left and right. "Looks like you're doing a pretty swift job of tearing it down, too. Fast hands, damn."

"Well, you know…sometimes the big knuckledraggers need my tiny little precision grippers. I can get places they can't," Cilusia chuckles out, spinning around to talk to Cadmus, wiping said hands off on a little work rag and holding them out to show. "But yeah, they've been pulling all sorts of electronics and other shit from this thing I've never seen before. Gonna take a hella-long time to get this thing figured out."

"Hey, I bet. I got to peep inside one of the Mark VII engine housings once, and for the love of Athena, I swear I couldn't figure out how you'd pull some of those lines. By the way…you came to the first CQB training exercise, yeah? Thanks for making it, by the way," Cadmus notes after a moment, once he's able to pry his eyes away from the heavy raider. Gesturing toward the Cylon craft, opens his mouth to add something, but suddenly stops, and just continues staring directly at the ship. "Holy gods," he murmurs, "Is that a frakking face on that thing? I'm seeing a frakking face."

"Hmmm, yeah. Ugly frakkin' thing, ain't it? Like a big godsdamned Centurion that spits out more Centurions. It's like some frakked up animal giving birth or something!" Cadmus is looking at it from the front; Cilusia is looking at it from the side, from her workbench, so she moves on around the front end. "Yeah…look at how ugly this thing is. Definitely not as pretty as our Raptors. Not by a long shot. As for the exercise the other night…" Cilusia just huffs a little and chuckles. "Damn shame we all got killed huh?"

"Eh. My fuckup, more than yours. Against odds like that, you'd probably have needed twice, maybe three times as many people. Depending on how good they were with their rifles…" Cadmus murmurs, still sounding a little bit distracted by the giant metal head that stares impassively at him. He steps away from the bulkhead, slowly drawing ever-nearer to the ship, and eventually breaks away from the staring contest he's engaged in. Clearing his throat, Cadmus tosses up his hands a little: "Next exercises won't be so godawful, I promise."

"Maybe we'll get to play with the real marines huh? It won't be folks used to using a wrench or a Viper against trained marines. Either way, the Chief wants to see more of us down at the range anyways, to be prepared for anything. Never know when the Raider that makes its way here on deck will be a little more, ah, aggressive, you know?" To emphasize her point, Cilusia gives the metal beast a swift kick from one of her boots; not like she's going to do any damage to it.

Cadmus ventures the beginnings of a smile, but it gets lost somewhere between "mildly pleased" and "goddamn this thing is still watching me," and thereby dissappears after peeking out for a moment. "Range action's good," he says, nodding in agreement, "But next time I think we oughta equip the snipes, deck crew and pilots with something closer to real weapons, too. AP rounds, explosive rounds for their sidearms and underbarrel launchers on the rifles, and maybe some flashbangs, as well. I realized that I'd set up the exercise in pretty much exactly the same way Elijah died, during that SAR mission…"

"Hell…yeah, AP rounds would be frakkin' boss. Check this out…something we pulled off that station." And then back to the bench, where those pieces of armor she was examining before still rest. To demonstrate, she holds the chest panel up. "Regular rounds…caliber, I got no frakkin' clue. Maybe it's from a sidearm, maybe it's from a rifle. Either way…this is like a damned beesting to these things. No damage at all. And then, look here." Rather than point this time, she holds her head down behind the plate and looks through a nice clean hole. "AP. Badass. Aim the shot right, and you're definitely shredding hydraulics or wiring or something. Of course, I have no godsdamned idea how much AP ammunition you have available, but if I was in charge, every marine would have every bullet like this."

Screwing his face up, Cadmus quickly counts on his fingers, stops, tries again, and then gives up. "I can't convert weight into numbers, but… I dunno, probably about two tons in seven-six-two. A lot, because we're pretty well stocked with *everything* at the moment," he says. He leans in over the raider, looking at some of the various panels and exposed conduits which have been revealed along the surface. "Well, I promise you this, any time we go out for real, everybody is getting loaded for bear if I have any say in the matter, because anything less is just stupid. I'm even thinking we oughta load down deck crew with full body armor, not just vests."

The armor panel is placed back on the workbench…and then, so is Cilusia's butt, as she slides up on the sturdy surface. She's so short that her feet dangle quite a bit off the floor, and she really has to hop on up there! "Well, see, the problem with that is if you suit them up in full body armor, you make it really hard for them to say, run damage control, or change into fire suits, EVA equipment, breathing apparati…the whole shebang. Just like sure, you could armor a Viper jock inside the cockpit to add an extra layer of protection between them and the raiders, but you're limiting what they can do on the stick."

"Sure, but… Dammit. Maybe when time's not as much of an issue, then," Cadmus answers back, a little confounded that his clever "everybody gets armor" plan has good reasons not to be followed. He plants a foot on the bench, sighs, and seems to decide that switching gears is a better plan. "Listen, I dunno what the Chief is letting get out about this thing, or even what you've figured out yet…" he ventures cautiously, "But if there's anything helpful about it that you've managed to learn yet, and if you wouldn't be disobeying orders, I'd be interested to hear it. I'm still trying to figure out a more coherent picture of what we're fighting."

"Other than the fact that this thing's armored to the godsdamned teeth and looks like it handles like a flying turd? Nope, I don't know much about it. I've been rummaging through pieces of armor and helping sort the other piles of salvage. Let the more-experienced sorts worry about taking this thing apart in order. You probably wanna hit up ah…shit. What's his name…frak. The avionics guy…" While she thinks, she scrunches up her face, and scratches her head. Then, she snaps and grins. "Bannik! That's it. I've seen him in and out of the thing, picking over it. You'll wanna talk to him about what's going on with it. Or the Chief, of course."

Giving the raider's gunpod an wry glance, Cadmus nods. "Yeah, other than the whole flying turd business. I'll see if the Chief will help me out some. Maybe there's some electronics junk in there that'll help us figure out the Centurion we've been tearing apart… It'd be a real blessing if we could figure out how much information they share with each other," he says, running his hand over some of the scratches and holes in the forward plating. After a moment, he glances back toward you. "So Bannik's avionics? He made himself out to be some kind of deck-swabbing nobody…"

"He might be. I haven't really met the guy except in passing. But avionics is what the duty list says, so that's what I say." Cilusia just shrugs a little. "I'm still learning the faces down here, just like you are. Hell, you might know them better than me already." On the work bench, she just kicks and swings her feet around idly while chatting.
"Fair enough. I can't say I get down here very often. I'm only here now because I *had* to see this thing," Cadmus admits, stepping quickly out of the way of a group of crewmen unloading a larger plate. He watches them go, pursing his lips in thought as they lay the plate up against the wall. "D'you know how much salvage we've got left to go on the Anchorage, by the way? I heard there were gonna be a few more salvage ops, but I have no idea how much we're trying to get out of it." Apparently one of the drawbacks of being a Marine is that it's hard to keep in the loop.

"Frak if I know. I'm just a PO3. I go until the Chief says stop. And the Chief goes until the XO says stop…or something like that. You get the idea. Truth is, a lot of that shit over there is just too frakked up to even be worth bringing back. But still, I guess there's a lot of slag that can be melted down and put to use somewhere else. It's going to be really hard to scavenge the whole place though. Too damn big."

Cadmus frowns with a touch of disappointment, leaning back against the raider and looking ceilingward. "Well, I guess if nothing else, we get to keep the Viper Autofac facilities in materials for now. Which is better than nothing. I guess I just hoping for some kind of break. Maybe a secret weapon, or some shit like that. Guess we haven't eaten enough crap, we gotta go back out at eat some more. Something will turn up eventually, though, I'm sure."

"If there was a secret weapon, I highly doubt the Cylons would just leave it sit on one of these hulked out stations for us to find. Unless it lwas like…still in working order, and they just sit back and push a button. Man, wouldn't that be a boot right in the frakkin' teeth, huh? Anyways, sorry I couldn't be more help ell-cee. Been involved in my own work though and shit." As the conversation starts to come to an end, Cilusia hops down off the workbench with a thump, standing there a minute and seeing if the marine has anything else to ask.

"Nah, it's all right. I'm just searching for a silver bullet, and I know there's no silver bullet for being as frakked as we are. Just hard work and perseverence. I should let you get back to work anyway, sir," Cadmus says, offering a slight smile. Stepping away from the raider, he meanders to his port-side position on the wall, and proceeds to… guard. Which involves standing and looking fierce, for the most part.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License