IC: So Say We All

Wilco, Chief. Wrecking Crew is checking now, and will have the junior member waiting with those samples. As per the instructions from the Skipper, we will be formed up and awaiting your arrival in the Hangar, Chief. The tone sounded suspiciously amused, even through the unusually heavy static bursts that blitzed the wireless at that moment.

An entire shift of MA's taken up before they were even on duty. 3LT Fuller shook his head in a bit of disbelief tempered by wonder. A gunfight and a brawl all in the first hours of his arrival. If not for the XO being critically wounded and his corpsman being the same in all this mess, he would have thought it was some odd incoming officer hazing ritual.

"Practical and pertinent suits me fine, so thirty minutes it is. Are these brawls common?" Sampson asked his sergeant as he looked over the two MA's in front of him, "I'll take Ryman for the moment. We can switch it up later if need be."

Sampson waved the unlucky MA over and wiped a hand across his forehead. Sometimes he hated formalities, but sometimes they saved lives. "Okay MA, let's make this painless. Tell me what happened here, starting with your first arrival on scene up until I arrived and the Marines locked this down."

A frown creased Joran's brow as he dodged his way around Vipers, missiles, and repair carts.

'Formed up? What the frak, I didn't ask for a formation, nor do I need one. I just needed the damn deck gang to obey orders and get the Gods-forsaken nugget out of Lift Three without getting anyone ELSE frakking hurt or worse.

Wrecking Crew, Chief - scrub the frakking formation or whatever it is and let's get this job done. And if anyone else gets hurt today, I swear to Gods I will make life hell for the lot of you. I'm getting into my suit - you have two minutes, Wrecking Crew. Chief out.

Joran turned off his wireless and took the pages and case out of his pocket. Setting them on the bench beside the EVA locker, he made sure they were visible and then slipped out of his boots. Reaching into the EVA locker he removed a set of pressure gear and started slipping it on. Nothing major, like marine armor, it was just a jumpsuit with built in gloves and mag-boots and a collar for the helmet. Before donning the helmet, he made sure to double check all the pressure seals and the O2 hoses on the suit and helmet. Satisfied everything was good to go, he locked the helmet onto the suit collar and stepped into the lock, giving the deckhand at the controls a thumbs up. Then he switched on the suit comm:

Deckhand, I'm good to go. I'm going to cycle out this lock and one of Wrecking Crew is coming in - make sure they get those samples to the fluid lab. Also, you'll find a case and a sheaf of papers on the bench at the EVA locker - orders from the Skipper. I want you to read them and get whatever you need to carry them out ASAP while I deal with this frak up in Lift Three - are we clear?

Sergeant Adama snorts. "Yes, sir...although not bad enough to require two squads." He shrugs. "That is normally only a once-a-month thing, Sir. The nuggets seem to think that harassing the off-duty gunners and snipes while they are all playing a little pyramid or cards is a good idea. This, though, sounds like they decided to try pulling one of their once-a-month attempts at pranking the off-shift Deck Crew." Adama again shrugs. "We get either the completely hopeless--but barely passing--nuggets, or the hotshots with attitude problems, Sir. Unfortunately, the majority of our nuggets this cycle--all but two, actually--are of the former variety. Thus, we have thirty overly-enthusiastic hormonal Cadets with less sense than our freshest private, Sir." The NCO then moves off with MA Mitchell, taking him far enough away to still be in mutual support distance of his CO and the other Marines, but just far enough away that MA Mitchell couldn't hear what MA Ryman was asked.

<<MA Ryman>>
"Well, Sir, me'n'Mitchell were accompanying Miss Goshan when we came around the corner and..." The notably nervous MA proceeds to tell a truthful, if notably country-accented, account of what happened. He has no idea why the XO opened fire, and he proceeded to open fire because he figures if the XO is shooting a medic, than the XO is most likely the threat. He mostly reacted in a confused situation, and meant no harm.

<<Deck Gang>>
Roger, Chief. Clear as vacuum. The deckhand cycles Belar through the airlock; as promised, the samples are waiting on the other side.

Now out in the vacuum pressure, Joran has to rely on his suit comms to communicate - thus he's hearing all of Wrecking Crew on a single channel doing their jobs. Luckily, they are a well trained bunch - keeping silent unless something needed attention. The one exception was Wrecking Crew lead, AT2 Arianna Stone, whose constant chatter kept everyone on mission per her duties. Of course, she wasn't one to limit herself to mission-related chatter either. Clearly she had a good rapport with C-Lt. Gorgo, judging by the sheer amount of snark coming through over the wireless at the expense of the trapped nugget. Standing in front of him is a Third Class - and judging by the suit size and fit, it's male and muscular - holding the contaminated hydraulic fluid samples and waiting for the airlock to cycle. Behind him are the controls of a personnel lift that goes to the flight deck, which Joran will have to walk in order to get to Lift Three and down to the rest of Wrecking Crew.

Stone... let's see. File says she's young, but good. Wrecking Crew Lead, would be fast-tracking First Class but has a bit of a mouth on her - nothing that would get her in trouble, but holds her back from being seen as 'professional' by the senior officers in charge of advancement. I'll have to be tough with her to start with, and then see if I can help her out with getting on track for First before getting comfortable with her work.

First things first, gotta get these samples done. Third Class at the airlock, who all is in Wrecking Crew again? Valens, Grippa, Rossi... yeah, definitely Rossi. Larger man, does a lot of lifting, usually being used for armament detail. Let's get him on the way and then deal with Stone.

Without missing a beat or seeming to hesitate, Joran gestures to the figure in front of him and motions towards the airlock.

AO3 Rossi, good. Get those samples inside, shuck your suit, and double time them down to the fluid lab. While you're stripping down, make sure the Deckhand who cycled us through - Brahe, I think - has picked up the orders and case on the bench and is getting them seen to. After you bring me back the analysis of the hydraulic fluid - which could take until noon depending, consider yourself on liberty. And no re-arming duty until next week for you - make sure Brahe or someone puts it on the board. Get going.

Walking away assured that his orders would be carried out, Joran takes the short lift ride in silence, listening to AT2 Stone and the sporadic call outs of the rest of Wrecking Crew. Once on the flight deck, he strides with a purpose to Lift Three and peers down.

Stone! Cut the chatter - we have a job to do. You can get back to flirting with the LT on your own time. I want a status report on her wireless relay emitter, and someone to shake their line so I know who's out of my way coming down. Lt. Gorgo, if you're monitoring this channel, I need an update on you as well - how's it coming? Speak up people! I can't work in a vacuum here - no matter how ironic that statement is right now.

"Did you get all that Private West?" 3LT Fuller queried as he tried o keep a neutral and pleasant look on his face.

Fuller couldn't help but feel sorry for everyone stuck in this mess. He even felt sorry for the XO, though the whole situation was annoyingly irritating. Fenks wanted something he'd already lost long before the shooting incident. Was their any way to recover from that sort of hatred and disrespect? Sampson doubted it, but he couldn't discard the idea of redemption altogether. Sampson Fuller was the kind of man who tackled problems with the intent of repairing them, but his people were his primary concern.

"Don't be overly concerned Ryman," Fuller said as the interview closed out, "Because you discharged your firearm I am going to need a 197-3 from you, and off the record, at some point we need to chat about being sure of your target even in the confusion - but breathe and take the rest of the day slow."

He wasn't sure how much time he had now before the scheduled meeting with Ramess, walk through anyway. He'd have to stop in and take a statement from the Major as well before the day was through.

Private West nods. "Yes, sir, I did. Do you want it in triplicate sworn statements like Lieutenant Buckley did, Sir?"

At the same time, MA Ryman nods fervently. "Aye-aye, Sir. I will have that to you ASAP."

Sergeant Adama appears to be finishing up with Mitchell, as well. This entire exercise has taken about twenty minutes, by everyone's chronometers.


Out in the vacuum of Lift Three, its Flight Deck hatch had been freed up; the half of Wrecking Crew attending to that issue had left the hatch open to provide more light in the Lift's shaft, though. Down on the Lift's platform, Deck Chief Belar had just been treated to the sight of watching a very experienced team working smoothly. Stone had cut the chatter, although she had quickly back-briefed her new Deck Chief; five minutes in, Artemis' wireless had come back clean, and the pilot was clearly still alive and moving inside. The nugget seemed to have chosen to let the crew work in silence so far, though. Belar had managed to rappel down the shaft (he was not looking forward to getting up) without embarrassing himself; he was watching now as the last fire-suppressant foam was laid around all over the platform, focusing mainly on the clamps locked onto the Viper's landing gear. It had taken them twenty minutes of hard, coordinated work to get to this point.

Chief, Rossi. We just got the results back on that lift lubricant. It is heavily contaminated with notable amounts of fuel-grade Tylium, along with what appears to an accelerant. Standard fire foam should keep it from flaring up. We also took control samples from the reservoirs of the other lifts, along with the reserves we have in fluid storage. We have determined that only the latest batch of lift lubricant we trans-shipped off from Echidna Base is contaminated; since only Lift Three had to have a lube swap since the trans-shipment last month, only it was affected. We may want to warn Echidna Base, though; they go through lift lube at an unholy rate.

The multi-mission 'special operations craft' flashes into existence approximately 20 minutes' flight time from Meleager.

Meleager, Spooky One-Three-Seven, we are approaching from your bow. We have two 'Special Techs' aboard and your 'Special Delivery', please alert your Marines to prepare an appropriate guard detail and warn your Skipper. One-Three-Seven, over.

Daniel sat patiently, it had been a long ride on this ship and he was looking forward to getting this delivery done so his leave could commence. With his feet propped up on the packages he looks to his partner and asks,

"Got any plans after this drop off?"

Spooky One-Three-Seven, Meleager, we have you on DRADIS, cleared for approach to our bay along fore approach path. Lift Three is currently a mechanical casualty, so please route to Lift Four. We will inform the Marines, the Skipper, and our Deck Chief to expect your 'presents'. Meleager, clear.

The pilot of the Raptor looks back to where the Marine Sergeant and the Fleet First Class are strapped in right next to their covered cargo. "Mast, Thompson, we should have you on the Meleager's Hangar deck in right at twenty. Thank you for flying Galactica Flight Testing Air." Her ECO shakes his head at her snark from his station in the back of the Raptor.

"Sharon, be nice; just because Picon HQ snagged us out of everyone around to make this delivery does not mean that 'everyone' in the Fleet knows how badly you bend the deck when you land. Granted, they did ask you not to 'stress-test' the payload, but-"

"Helo, you know we got stuck with this run only because my rep and the fact that we were already headed back in this 'general direction'. Gods, you know that we only got stuck evaluating the newest avionics on the Mark Two Raptor because they figured if anyone could break it, it would be me." The pilot shakes her head, then again addresses the 'payload'. "We will have you two and your 'present' down--without any 'bumps'--shortly." Muttering to herself, the pilot turns back to her instruments as she starts the approach to the Meleager.

Sergeant Julie Mast stretches, and then looks at her partner of three years, looking completely comfortable in her light combat armor, carbine, and full combat load, despite having been strapped into the jump seat for three hours of the flight crew's friendly bickering. "Not really, Daniel. Might catch that show with that up-and-coming actor...whatever his name is...the one that just got booked to perform on the Vice-President's private yacht. How about you?"

<<Onboard Meleager>>

An announcement--with SCPO Sternjekcz's voice clearly distinguishable--rings out across the Meleager's 1MC. "All personnel, execute Special Weapons Reception Protocol One. Set for Special Weapons Transfer in twenty minutes. Marine squad to the Hangar, Marine Squad to the Hangar. Skipper to the Hangar in twenty, please, Skipper to the Hangar in twenty. Flight Operations, Clear."