IC: So Say We All

Lieutenant Fuller nodded once. A sharp precise gesture that ended almost as soon as it began. "Thank you Sergeant Adama," he finished as he read the man's label. He went through the motion of walking the line and inspecting the appearance and kit of the men. These things also gave a young officer trainee time to think.

The corpsman was a young pretty thing, and he forced himself to keep moving as he walked past her, then came to rest in front of Sergeant Adama. He glance over at the senior NCO and nodded in acknowledgement.

"You're right, Staff Sergeant Burke. These are sharp Marines. Stand at ease Marines."

Sampson waited until the Marines shifted. It was a beautiful sight for him, watching a group of well trained men and women moving in concert. Once they settled he began to pace, though keeping his eyes on them.

"I'm just a 3rd, meaning still wet behind the ears. It also means I only have one speech, because I'm not weighed down enough with years or medals to have more than one. That's the one you're going to get."

He stopped pacing and turned to face the assembled half platoon. "I'm Lieutenant Sampson Fuller. I know you all wanted the best possible officer to lead you, but what you get is me. We'll all have to make due," Sampson paused to see if the men realized it was a joke, or if anyone laughed, but then pressed on.

"Every officer says his door is always open. I think it's in the frakking "good officer's manual". This officer will tell you my door is usually open. If it is an emergency, and by an emergency I mean you or someone in our unit or under our protection may die if you don't kick in my door. Then it's always open. Use your discretion. Which brings me to conflicts."

He paused another moment to collect his thoughts. "If Corporal Hicksman," he said as he identified another Marine in his team, "has an issue with Private Bates, what are we going to do about it? We're going to settle it like Marines, using an old military tradition I mean to speak with SSgT Burke about once we're done here. We leave our baggage behind when we go into a fight though understood? When bullets are flying we are one mind, one unit. No one gets left behind. Am I understood?"

Giving a chance for response and reaction here. Also, I don't want to make any assumptions based on my own Military experience, so what would be the standard issue arms for the 3rd? Sidearm, sidearm and carbine, sidearm and something else?

Mundy briefly snaps to attention and properly snaps a salute at Fenq's back--Even if Fenq is not going to follow the proper forms, I damn sure will; I don't want to give him a needless opening.--and then quickly strides over to the communications section. He nods a greeting to the PO3 manning the only occupied communications console and then makes his usual morning request in an even, firm tone of voice as he sits down at one of the empty communications consoles...the only one whose screen faces away from everyone else in the CIC. "Third Class, I need my usual morning printout of current Fleet Operations Updates for the last twenty-four hours." How has Fenq managed to miss my usual morning routine? James then really notices the time display on the screen he was using...which jogs his memory of something Fenq had said.

Oh, I really am early. Damn, I keep falling into the grooves I got used to aboard the Battlestars and the ELINT 'specials'. I keep forgetting that Major Deering is neither extremely stressed or a hyperactive geek...and thus actually sleeps. But how does Fenq not know about the standing orders for COs of ALL active Colonial Units to receive the morning Intel briefing...? Mundy quickly and competently establishes a secure, encrypted connection with Picon Fleet HQ, sending his Fleet Intelligence ID, Authorization, and Verification Codes along with a request for the standard Command Morning Intelligence Briefing. James then starts keeping a close eye on the rest of the CIC to ensure that no one attempts to read information they are not cleared for over his shoulder. I know that I am the only Fleet Intelligence person in the 24th, but Colonel Biers' XO was following the regs and briefing him as best he could, and neither of them minded when I conducted the briefings--as required--while I was stationed aboard Echidna Base. Both of the other ship COs in the Squadron didn't look surprised when I started briefing them during my brief stays, and neither did Major Deering. But could Fenq really just be that clueless...Or does he actually hate me enough to completely ignore me whenever humanly possible? Mundy continues keeping an eye on the CIC for the next five minutes until the PO3 hands over the notably thick stack of paper his request has produced.

"Thank you, Third Class." The PO3 has already turned back to the rest of her usual duties, used to this morning routine. Mundy quickly skims the Updates while primarily keeping an eye on the CIC--especially Fenq--and occasionally glancing at the download progress. Well, at the rate this download is going, I should JUST have time to memorize it before I have to print it out and brief the CO. After finishing his skimming in another five minutes--Nothing significant except the Galactica's decommissioning, a status request on all jump-capable Fleet vessels, and a notice of lack of contact from Armistice Station...so nothing important...--Mundy checks on the download--Still slow--and then looks around the CIC. Not noticing any attention in his direction, Mundy then turns almost of his attention to something more entertaining and productive...although he is still alert for anyone approaching his station. And now, yet more 'fine-tuning' of our Intrusion Countermeasures. The firewalls are as near 'unbreakable' as I can believe possible, but we thought the same thing fifty-some-odd years ago. Where are the subsystem isolation programs, anti-virus scans, flash-encryption programs, and all the other things Colonial Fleet Regulations dictate? Are they really that ignorant of cyberwarfare and electronic security anymore?

Mundy went back to the task he had been working on in all of his spare time aboard every non-ELINT vessel he had been stationed on since waking up: installing basic anti-hacking software other than firewalls. Of course, modern Colonial OSs were oddly near-incompatible with any such security measures other than firewalls; it was why ELINT vessels ran Fleet-spec OSs from the War, and why something that should have taken Mundy three days, at worst, was taking him weeks and months. I am spending days and weeks of my time finding ways to get an OS and a basic suite of network-internal security programs to work together, when it should only take minutes and hours. Who the hell designed these operating systems? The fracking CYLONS? James quietly chuckles at his thoughts' impossibility. But...No...Well...Is this a legacy Greystone Industries design they just 'updated'? How the hell did any of this get meet the Electronic Security Standards in the regs?

James checks on the download and finds, to his surprise, that it has finished. Closing up his other project--I have oddly encountered even more bugs than usual aboard Old Mel, and haven't even manged to get ANY of my 'additions' working--James begins quickly reading the briefing on his screen as he also begins printing a hardcopy for the CO. James reflexively sandwiches the briefing between two 'Commanding Officer/Intelligence EYES ONLY' cover sheets and then binder-clips the whole thing together...all while continuing to read the briefing himself. He finishes, clears his workstation, and then looks at its time display.

All twenty-nine other Marines in the room snap to attention as one and simultaneously reply in the time-honored fashion at the time-honored volume of Marines everywhere.

"SIR, YES SIR!" Their shout slightly deafens 3rd Lieutenant Fuller, and can be even be heard in the in the hangar (if faintly; the acoustics on these older vessels is quite good). They then all simulatenously 'relax' back to At Ease.

As Erik Charon finally got his hands on his ligher, somehow misplaced all under the emergency life support system, and thus requiring him to crawl halfway under the thing...the proximity alarm suddenly begins sounding quite urgently. Only this is not the normal 'Beep-Beep-Beep' of an approaching contact. This is short, cut-off bursts of harsh, guttural squealing designed to get someone's attention and not let it go; almost as if someone took the feedback squeal of wireless static and tortured it. And it is getting both incrementally louder and repeating at an increasing rate. In fact, there are no actually two different alarms going off...but both are this odd proximity alarm. Something about this specific tone sets an itch going in Eric's brain, but he cannot quite remember what exactly about it...

Riptide, Meleager Logo-Sierra-Oscar, clean touchdown on the Two-Wire. You are cleared to the hangar, Riptide. The voice of the LSO--onboard the chronicly under-manned Meleager, that was Senior Chief Petty Officer Rachel Sternjekcz--was as neutral and calm as it ever was as Riptide's Mark VII is taken below, into the hangar, by Lift One.

Killer, Meleager Logo-Sierra-Oscar, hard touchdown on the Four-Wire. Nuggest, no bending my deck because you are frustrated by what happened in training. Otherwise you will be crashing the first time you do a combat landing under fire running from a total cluster-frak. You are cleared to the hangar, Killer. The tone was more scathing for its calm neutrality, not less, as Killer's Mark VIa4 descended into the hangar on Lift Two.

Artemis, Meleager Logo-Sierra-Oscar, clean touchdown on the Three-Wire. Congratulations, Artemis, Perfect Trap. Fifth one this week; are you looking for the squadron record?...Because, I hate to inform you, but that was seven perfect traps in one week performing combat landings under fire during the Cylon War. You are cleared to the hangar, Artemis. It had almost sounded like a hint of humor in the old Senior Chief's voice as Artemis' Mark VIa4 began its trip to the hangar on Lift Three.

The descent itself was nothing special. The lift would sink beneath the deck, the blast door closing over the shaft so a distracted pilot doesn't try to put down on top of you, then a two-minute trip through a pair of airlocks...and finally being towed out of the elevator shaft into the hangar proper, where you could finally crack your canopy, pop your helmet, and loosen your suit...and scratch any itches vigorously.

The first indication to Artemis that something might be going wrong was the fact that she could still see the landing deck above her. The second--and far more obvious--was when, just before the second airlock, the entire lift shuddered to a halt. Metal-to-metal contact carried the faint sounds of tortured metal briefly screaming, then suddenly dying, to Artemis as the usual yellow warning lights of a Lift cycling were replaced by multiple sets of four spinning red lights coming to life from their mounts on every 20 feet of lift shaft. Just to had insult to injury, though, what appeared to be lift lubricant fluid--on of the hardest-to-remove and nastiest substances in the Colonies--began spraying all over her Viper, the lift shaft, and even the lift itself. But mainly her Viper. Artemis was now trapped in a place, and as the Meleager had been retrofitted with a system that clamped small craft to the lift at some point in her career, Artemis was unable to simply fly free through the open blast door overhead and was now quite stuck.

Senior Chief Sternjekcz couldn't see the lights going in the shaft, but she did notice both the open door and the light denoting a fault in Lift Three. Not seeing any indications of fault with the lift itself--as the red spinning lights on the flight deck's surface had not lit up--she called it in over the intercom circuit. "Hangar, LSO. You need to get that new Deck Chief to fix the blast door on Lift Three. Thanks." She hung up and went back to filling out the copious paperwork of an LSO, waiting for the next landing.

Senior Deckhand Adoree Goshan was not having the best day. After 'First Class' Mundy had educated her, she had experienced a rather bad day: First, having the nuggets under instruction not pay attention and knock over the delicate avionics on her workbench; Then, a Raptor crew forgot she was working on the threat receivers in the double-tails and nearly cycled up their engines for a test and almost severely burned her before their deck handler noticed her; And Now, this. She didn't know the new Chief, she didn't really know Dragon or his ECO, Archer, and she was now accountable for getting this fixed quickly by Senior Chief Sternjekcz; she had been just been the unfortunate located right next to the intercom when it rang. There was a reason the Deck Gang called her 'Stern Decks'. Adoree just straightened up and walked over to the person that someone had pointed out as her new boss not ten minutes ago, stopping right next to the new Chief and hoping her nerves didn't show. She noted the rest of the Deck Gang subtly perk up and find quiet errands to perform in earshot so that they could all evaluate their new boss. She took a subtle breath and then spoke in a carrying voice.

"Chief, Senior Chief Sterndecks wants us to fix the blastdoor on Lift Three." Adoree paused after firmly stating her case; only that hardass Mundy had ever flatly refused Stern Decks...which is how they found out that they were apparently old friends. She wondered what was happening as Dragon and Archer started twitching...and then she noticed that over half the subtly assembled Deck Gang were also twitching. No why are they...? As she thought about it, she realized that-Oh, I am so screwed! She knew her entire head--hell, likely her whole body--were blushing as she hunched in on herself. Almost all of those twitching with repressed laughter burst out into full-throated guffaws. This could not possibly get any worse- She then heard a familiar voice cut through the good humor from the passageway leading to the CIC. Now it cannot get any worse.

"I'll pass that along to her. She will be quite amused, Senior Deckhand." The laughter stopped cold as his voice alone cuts it down....well, most of the laughter. It took Archer and Dragon a moment to realize that everyone else had stopped laughing; they then stop and start trying to figure out why the good humor has died.

Hearing the Senior Deckhand, Joran turned towards her. It appeared that she was blushing all over and that the entire Deck Gang was standing behind her to laugh.

Seriously? I've been here fifteen minutes and there's already a malfunction? And she isn't blushing because she has a crush on me or something, right? I mean it's only been FIFTEEN FRAKKING MINUTES!

Then he hears his voice, and when the laughter stops he realizes that she must have misspoke in regards to the Senior Chief. And worse than that, Mundy was on board.

Of COURSE he's on board. I finally get a chief's billet - I should have known better. The gods really DO hate me... Oh well - time to try coming to my Deck Gang's rescue and see if I can pull off this turnaround in my career despite everything...

"Well, if Senior wants it done, we'd better get on it, don't you think?" Singling out members of his Deck Gang in order to expedite their leaving of the 'scene of the crime', Joran tosses out orders. "You, you, and you - grab your gear and get on Lift Three, doubletime! You and you, get those other Vipers in their slots and run them down! And you three, I want you running maintenance diagnostics on every Raptor we have, and then hit the Vipers. I don't care if you did it yesterday - New Chief, New Schedule, now get it done!"

As the rest of the Deck Gang scatters, Joran works out why the laughter had stopped so suddenly - one of them must have been subjected to one of Mundy's infamous 'reeducation' speeches. Judging by how the Senior Deckhand's blush had deepened when he spoke, Joran guessed it was her.

And the only cure for that, is to see someone stand up to him. She'll spread it by word of mouth, I assume, but honestly I just need her to be ok, the rest weren't a direct target and so they'll get over it soon enough.

Joran reaches forward and catches her by the shoulder, briefly glancing at her uniform's nametape and collar devices before looking her in the eye.

"Thank you, ATDH Goshan. I apologize for not having been more prepared to work immediately. Now, if I remember correctly from my files, you're up for Third Class this coming cycle, are you not? I want you with me today. We're going to go over everyone's work and see how they did. But first, I need you to show me around the ship - fair deal?"

"Umm, yes, Chief. Okay." She responds tentatively, looking apprehensively in the direction of the CIC passageway and Mundy's shadow in it. "And about the Senior Chief thing-"

"Don't sweat it at all, Goshan. It wouldn't be a Deck Gang without that stuff, and I doubt very much that Senior herself is unaware of it. If it bothered her, Chief Patrick would have quashed it a long time ago - just don't call her that to her face, ok? Stick with 'Senior'. Now, with me."

Mustering up all the bravado he could, and bolstering it with the lingering anger he had, Joran turned and practically marched over to the passageway to the CIC, stopping shoulder to shoulder with Mundy, facing the opposite direction.

"First Class Mundy, we meet again. Here to frak up more Vipers? No matter, whatever the case may be, I believe you have your own workstation somewhere closer to CIC. I would very much appreciate you carrying out your duties there, and keeping my deck and my gang clear to do their jobs. Is that understood, First Class?"

Without waiting for an answer, Joran pulled SrDkhd Goshan in his wake and continued on down the corridor to locate CIC and then tour the rest of the ship.

GODS that felt good!

Mundy took a moment to yell a warning down the corridor after the new 'Chief' over his shoulder.

"Just watch out for Fenq! He is on the warpath, and if you are the 'frakking new 'Chief' that he seems to be under the delusion was going to report to him before checking on your Deck Gang, than beware! He was pissed last I saw him, and headed this way...which is why I came! That man is a total Prick!" Shrugging and figuring that if Belar hadn't gotten the point, he never would, Mundy walked over to the closest intercom in the hangar and punched up the PA in the Hangar. His voice boomed out over the Hangar deck, causing everyone to momentarily pause and listen in sheer surprise.

"Hangar Deck, Now Hear This, Now Hear This: This is an Immediate-Action Fenq Warning. I say again, this is an Immediate-Action Fenq Warning. Set Condition Fenq-Red on the Hangar Deck On the Double. I Say Again, Set Fenq-Red..." As he realized the entire Hangar Deck was looking at him, he waved violently. "...NOW! If he didn't run into your Chief, he is less than One-Two-Zero seconds away!" As he hung up the intercom handset, the Hangar Deck broke into frantic activity as everyone proceeded to burrow into Vipers, Raptors, shuttles, large avionics components, or join the team to go work on Lift Three. As long as someone was actually in the midst of something 'important', Fenq would not bother them; while that was normally a metaphorical expression, in Fenq's case it was literal. He had even driven the engineering 'snipes' to performing weekly 'checks' of the Meleager's tylium reactors, as Fenq had a phobia about them from his father dying in a tylium explosion.

Mundy smiled, then quickly hurried off towards Marine Country, making sure to take the secondary route so he could both warn them and get back to CIC in time for the CO's briefing.

>>>***<<<



Captain Fenq was irritated. That damned irreverant scum Mundy had the gall to not only be in a flightsuit on his CIC, but managed to hide behind some regulation. He twisted the regulations--what kept the Fleet from chaos--to...to...to get over against his superiors! And now, this new Chief--who the LSO had reported had landed over thirty minutes ago--had not immediately reported in! That had been the last straw! And Fenq was going to rectify the frak out of this new Chief's attitude problem! Since that damned Senior Chief was 'off-limits' by order of 'The Major', then Fenq would just have to make sure no more like Sternjekcz or frakking Mundy--that slick bastard--ever even got started!

Fenq came barrelling around the corner on his way to the Hangar...and realized about twelve steps after the collision that he had hit something. Spinning around, he saw some PO1 from the Deck Gang on his right, and, laying on the ground, a Senior Deckhand. Realizing that one of the crew had failed to make way for a superior officer, Fenq grinned tightly as he marched right over and towered over her. He quickly read her name off of her uniform.

"Crewman Goshan!" When the (understandably) stunned and muddled crewwoman failed to get to her feet after 15 seconds, Fenq leaned over into her face, staring into eyes he failed to notice were showing sign of at least mild concussion. "I guess your promotion to Specialist will not be coming after all, Goshan. Now, on your feet and at Attention!" Three crewman who came around the corner nearer CIC stopped, and then two of them--a pair of Masters-at-Arms--started backing up hurriedly, pulling at their companion--a female corpsman--as they attempted to retreat. She made momentary contact with Goshan's eyes--noticing their signs of concussion--and broke free. Her rank identified her as a PO3, and her nametag read--interestingly--'Goshan'. She quickly strides over to the XO and the crewman, slides her pack smoothly off of her shoulder, and gives the XO a venomous glare before smoothing her features and speaking.

"Sir, I need to treat her for concussion right now." Fenq's only response is to snap his head towards her and bare his teeth slightly as he prepares to snarl something at her, not noticing either the corpsman's armband or the nametag...

"Concussion?!" Joran was shocked - NO ONE on Echidna base was ever in such a self-absorbed state or hurry to cause such an injury just from walking down the passageway. And judging by the way this gentleman was addressing the Senior Deckhand, Joran just knew that he was the type of self-important officer that was indicative of a family pedigree of service in the officer grades. Besides being just the kind of man that punched Joran's buttons, he was literally a half an hour into being a Chief and has now not only lost his guide around the ship to a ridiculous preventable injury, but she was a promising young deckhand who was most likely going to be made his 'first' out of his specialists.

Well, these anchors aren't going to earn themselves in this billet...

"Excuse me, sir," Joran said calmly as he brought himself to a relaxed stance somewhere between 'parade rest' and 'at ease'. While evident in his stance, Joran is doing his absolute best to keep his disgust for this particular type of officer out of his voice and off of his face. "Perhaps you could let the Corpsman do her job. And perhaps you could also tell me what on the hangar deck was so frakking important that you didn't feel the need to watch where you were going and are comfortable with severely injuring one of my best deckhands, sir?"

Captain Domingo Fenq turns to face the voice. Which of the junior officers would dare- When he faces the 'accuser', he just...blinks.

For almost a full thirty seconds.

Which is perhaps lucky, as Corpsman Third Class Goshan is openly grinning as she checks over Senior Deckhand Goshan. She was the second-best medic on the ship (it was held as 'fact' in scuttlebutt that Corporal Crane in 'Marine Country' can stop you bleeding out by looking sad and asking the Lords of Kobol nicely), and the third-most-talented medical professional on the ship after 'The Doc' (rumor mill holds it that Lieutenant Fenks can revive the dead by politely asking them not to waste his time) and 'The Corporal'...which meant she learns things. People take care of good 'Docs', especially in the Armed Forces, and thus she knew who, exactly, the clearly-pissed-off and disdainful PO1 sqaring off against the XO was. I don't know whether the new Deck Chief is insanely brave, suicidally-caring for 'his' people, just has balls the size of frakkin' Raptors made of solid frakkin' Battlestar armor-plate that drag the deck, really is 'that good' of a chief, or some frakked-up (and sure to be entertaining) combination of all of them, but I owe him, so he has my endorsement.

Checking quickly quickly over Adoree, Zelena noticed something in her pupillary response. Quickly snapping her fingers to either side of the deckhand's head, Zelena quickly pulled on latex gloves and than began feeling the back of her head...

Fenq, in the the meantime, came out of his momentary mental glitch. First Class! How dare a First Class question me! "Petty Officer, just who in the frakkin' hells do you think you ARE?! I am a godsdamned Officer in this Fleet, and you are my inferior! You will not question my orders, you will execute them, and your first ORDER will--" Fenq stopped for a few seconds as something percolated through his rage. 'My' best deckhands? I have never seen this guy before, but even at half-strength it is hard to keep all the common 'riff-raff' straight; but 'my best'...huh, for this much indignation and bravery, he must be frakking her...in violation of Fleet REGS! Smiling tightly, Fenq notices that two members of the ship's Security Patrol have just come around the corner. Excellent timing! Pointing at the Petty Officer in front of him, Fenq speaks to the soon-to-be Second-Class.

"For violation of Article Two-Seven, Section Beta and Sub-Sections Gamma-Five, Gamma-Six, and Zeta-Two, Petty Officer First Class-" quickly reading off the man's nametag "Belar is to be placed in confinement." The two MAs, having a much better idea of what was going on than the XO, were desperately trying to think of a way to save themselves from pissing off the new Deck Chief when the attention of everyone was dramatically altered in a different direction as boot heels began pounding on the floor. Seeing the glare of the extremely pissed-off medic (who was right below the The Skipper on their list of people to keep 'happy' with them) and her imperious pointed instructions, the MAs complied post-haste.

"This is Corpsman Goshan, I am in Passage Four-Delta-Seven-Seven-Green, I have a traumatic head injury, bleeding present, patient lost consciousness after showing cognitive gaps and sub-par reflexes. Incident is result of forceful collision with XO leading to forceful impact with the bulkhead and deck; patient has Vorkosigan-Haut Syndrome, Type Two, Stage Gamma, and has begun seizing. I need foot evac now." The others present couldn't hear the reply--Corpsman Third Class Goshan had her earpiece in--but she quickly began snapping orders to the two MAs that are restraining the siezing deckhand as she starts digging into her aid bag for the medicine and autoinjector she keeps in a special, padded pocket at the bottom. As she retrieves it, she glances up at the PO1 and the XO. "You two can get back right back to arguing. The Chief has no useful contributions to my medical efforts, and you, Sir, are not going to frak this patient up any worse. So resume your argument, just give me space to work." Turning her attention back to her patient and quickly finding the proper site, Zelena injects the deckhand, the seizure stopping a few seconds later.

No one has yet noticed the cool blue eyes that have been watching the entire debacle from just around the corner since the new Deck Chief opened his mouth (and have listening for far longer)...