PHD #001: Search Party
Search Party
Summary: Tillman and Stavrian discuss the upcoming recon.
Date: 2.27.2041
Related Logs: In Hope of Answers
Players:
Tillman Stavrian 

[ Map Room ]------[ Deck 7 - Battlestar Cerberus ]

The one object that dominates this room is the one it is named for: the giant plotting table in the center of the room. Bottom-lit like the plot in CIC, this one is twenty feet across and about the same distance wide. The maps, which are rolled and kept in a locker at the side of the room, provide much more detail than most of the charts in CIC and are especially useful in planning tactical operations. Unscaled models of ships are available to be situated on the surface of the table and risers on each side of the room allow for a small audience to watch or be briefed. A single large LCD screen is built into the wall at the far end to display reconnaissance or other supplemental material.

-=[ Condition Level: 2 - Danger Close ]=-------—-

Finding Tillman isn't hard. Stop by anywhere on this deck and they'll probably point someoen to the Map Room or CIC. Seeing as how Price is running Watch, only one place left to look. Currently the TACCO is parked at the map table, standing over it with a tired face. The man is still technically in his grays, but they're opened down the front and his sash is tossed onto a riser behind him. Maps and charts are in various stages of being rolled and unrolled on the table and floor, the locker at the back hanging open. Guy looks pretty damned tired and in need of a shave.

Stavrian had the decency to change out of bloodspattered scrubs and into camos to come look for the ship's TACCO. A shower, though, that was pushing it. The smell that clings to him is sharply unpleasant - hospital antiseptic, sweat, and something high and coppery. The need for a shave is a common bond among many men today. His boots make rhythmic thumps on the floor as he enters the map room and stops a few feet in, raising a tensely sharp salute. "Captain Tillman, sir?"

The Captain looks up from his maps and charts with a simple "Mm?" and nods to Stav. "Lieutenant.. Gods, I'm sorry." He's blanking on the name. "I saw you the other night with the Sister. Come on in and be at ease." He motions with his hand and looks back to the maps. "What can I do for you??" Attention snaps back to Stav quickly.

"Jesse Stavrian, sir." Stavrian's hand drops from temple and he takes a few steps forward to close the distance, both clasping behind his back. "Able Five Actual, Cerberus corpsman detachment." Chilly blue eyes flicker once to the maps Tillman was poring over, then return to the man. "I've received some communication from Lieutenant Oberlin and Captain Diego concerning this reconnaissance sortie. Are you the man to speak to about it, sir?"

"Ah, I'm sorry. Again. Lieutenant Stavrian. Of course." Tillman runs a hand through his thinning hair, wetting his lips. "Yeah. Myself of Major Hahn. What's on your mind?" He turns a bit to face the LT, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

Stavrian, for his part, stands immaculately still while Tillman moves about. Except for the eyes, which make one glance down to Tillman's boots and back up, as if unconsciously unable to stop himself from medically assessing the man. "Details for packing, sir." He clears his throat softly. "I understand the mission is to Virgon space. Beyond being blown out of sky, in which case a medic will be of little assistance —" Bone dry, that. " — what manner of hazards are you preparing for?"

The man is in obvious need of sleep. His eyes are glassed over and the strain is showing. But then again, he looks like every other officer in CIC. Or on the rest of the ship. The initial statement doesn't even seem to register until its explained. "Oh! Heh. Yeah, no problem." He leans a hip into the map table. "The mission is purely recon. We don't have a clue what the state of things back home are. But if you run across our ships who are in depserate need of medics, I'm willing to bet they could use the help. We have no idea what to expect. I wouldn't pack too heavily but I'm sure you can fathom what you might run into better than I can. What you might pack into the field with a squad would probably do you just fine. Beyond that?" He shrugs. "You know your trade better than I ever will."

Stavrian's eyes don't waver once they have Tillman's again. Eyes grainy and sticky, his brows sometimes tense when he blinks. "Understood, sir. How many personnel, minus medical crew, are you anticipating being aboard?"

"Three. A Lieutenant Trask will be running the backseat stack in the Raptor. Lieutenant Oberlin, our ship's intelligence officer, will be observing. Captain Quinn will be flying and in command. I would recommend you get fitted for a suit if you don't have one checked-out already." Tillman has no clue how Medical operates, probably.

Stavrian's chin lowers and raises again. "I assume you are anticipating radiological hazards, sir." Safe bet, considering Picon, and he's got that classic Sagittarian bluntness about it. "Raptor shielding aside, I recommend all those personnel receive a booster of anti-rads before departure, just in case."

Tillman nods. "Goes without saying, Lieutenant. I'm sure you've heard the reports as well as anyone else on board. Be prepared for that eventuality. The shots are a good suggestion. might do some good to bring a few along, too. Just in case any other ships could use a few extras. We have no idea what we're looking at out there."

"Understood." Stavrian shifts one shoulder, rolling it slightly under the olive and red camo fabric. "That in mind, would you be opposed to a second member of Able Five going? If we do run across an injured population, or a hostile one, we may need the backup."

There's a quick shake of his head. "No opposition, Lieutenant. Use your best judgment. But I would put a limit there in case another ship needs to send something or someone back with you." Hands come out of his pockets and those arms cross as he exhales.

"Yeah." Stavrian's eyes finally flicker away, but then they're back to center again. After a pause, he speaks again. "There's been a rumor around Sickbay that those ships out there against us weren't colonial, Captain. Truth to that?" Again, no attempt to be coy, no joke. It's just given straight.

Tillman's brow twitches with the question, a motion that could easily be attributed to the 40 gallons of coffee he's drank in the last day or so. He holds the Lieutenant's gaze for a few moments before finally speaking. "We don't know for sure. We've got scattered reports that they may have been cylons but we can't say for sure. It tracks, to be honest, but until we have one positively ID'd as a walking popcan, I'm not going to call them anything. And neither is command. Not until we've got a firm answer. But like I said.." He clears his throat. "That scale of an attack? The way they gridded out their nuclear weapons on Picon? It makes sense. But we can't rule anything out."

Blue looks right back at the TACCO in the initial silence, not even a blink interrupting. Stavrian's chin slowly tilts upwards while Tillman talks, about an inch higher at the end than it was when he began. The muscles at the back of his jaw bunch and then relax again, and there's a slow, audible exhale through his nose. "Understood. If I may ask, sir. Why Virgon?"

Tillman motions the Lieutenant over to the table to see something. He swipes a hand across a few charts to clear them out of the way. What's left is a nav plot of Virgon and the surrounding stations. He points to an area off away from everything else but still near the colony. "Here is where we had our last reports of enemy action. What we saw off Picon station wasn't even the main engagement. That was twenty-seven battlestars and their attached escorts. Out here? This is, or -was- as of about twenty-four hours ago, the main fight. We initially jumped to Uram as a basic formation to lay-up and get our ships situated for a combat jump. That didn't work out because we're having other problems I won't get into. But I believe this is going to be our best chance of getting into contact with someone."

Not even the main fight? Stavrian's brows twitch together. The corners of his mouth press together as he tilts his head and steps closer, looking over the nav plot that Tillman points out. "Madness," he mutters under his breath. "Understood, sir." His eyes rove over the plots, no doubt not quite understanding all the tactical markings but drinking it all in anyway. Right hand then appears from behind his back, giving him a glimpse of his watch, and he talks between his teeth. "I need to get back to duty, Captain. It's a swamp down there. But thank you, I'll get all this to Captain Diego tonight."

Tillman nods to the Lieutenant. "Don't go spreading rumors about cylons, El-tee. Not yet. As soon as we have something confirmed, it will be passed along in short order. I'm not going to have secrets kept like that. Not if those rumors turn out to be true." He doesn't say anything else on the topic. "Be careful out there and good luck," he adds with what's more or less a dismissal.

"Already rumors like wildfire out there, sir." Stavrian tugs his sleeve down securely over his watch again. There's a small hint of something wrapped around his wrist just above the band — wooden beads. "I won't be adding to them. But they're not quiet." His lips purse and he backs up, raising formal salute to the man. Assuming it's returned, he gives a final: "Gods guide." And turns to head back to work.

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