Tom didn't like hyperspace any more than the next man. Space combat, sure--it was a blast to slide through the ether with only a tin can and your reflexes stopping you short of a messy decompression, but hyperspace didn't have any of the interest of all that. A wink and a flash and you were either dead or not, vaped by some snot snot-nosed engineer who didn't doublecheck his numbers. So he wasn't the only one who breathed a quiet sigh of relief as their base of operations came back online, lights dim but functional.

What would it even be like, he wondered on occasion, to die before your nerves could process it?

Though he'd saved Yuuyami from an ignoble and ultimately idiotic demise, it was Trapp that caught Tom's interest. When he had first been appointed, at the very beginning of all this, Tom had been surprised to find himself slightly insulted. That Tori Astelion had been a leader first and foremost was obvious--yes, she was a good pilot and a good soldier, but her own team had better of both. More important than her fighting skills was her way with people, her ability to build them into someone better than who they were. She had managed to play the difficult gambit of comrade and commander and come out on top, and she was loved for it in the same way that Captain Alexis was. It had needled him at the beginning that he hadn't been given the opportunity to try despite being one of the team's most senior and accomplished members, but with even an ounce of reflection he knew it would have been disastrous, which made his interest in those that could--or could not, not every commander was a good one--all the more distinct.

Trapp, for example. The man had clout, he had presence--there was no doubt about that. He would lead better soldiers than Trent to Hell and see them back again, but that was just it. This was the [i]7th[/i]. Half the members of the damn squad were barely soldiers anymore between the pampering from the Captain and the prestige of their position, whether they knew it or not. Yuuyami was a space cadet almost literally, Alice was a doberman chomping at the bit, Maki couldn't keep her mouth shut long enough to even think the words 'insubordination', Gerard was too busy crying over dead enemies and he, well...

He was a soldier, if only because the fastest way to chase the reaper was following orders.

So when Trapp told them to fall in for the after action report, fuck it--he clicked heels and brought his hand up, his spine moderately straighter than normal.

"Yessir." He offered past his cigarette, falling out and drawing it from his lips to trail smoke to the ceiling. As they fell out and slipped off to wind down for the next half hour, Trent tipped the ash off his cigarette and disappeared to whatever it was Thomas Trent did when he was alone. Most people on the ship were almost superstitiously happy not to find out.

---

And so it was that the after action report came to pass and confirmed most of what he'd thought to himself earlier. In some ways he couldn't believe what Astelion [i]had[/i] managed to make of most of them. Those who had been in the Infantry at least acted like they knew what a chain of command was but the rest of them, well... they were lucky they weren't called on it more often, frankly, and luckier still that they could pull it off when they needed to. But the truth was that Trapp was [i]right[/i]. This wasn't how they should do things. Astelion [i]would[/i] have been ashamed of them, not because of their entitlement but because they were losing it as soon as they got to the ship. 

Leaning back against one of the cabinets, he was perhaps the least moved by the dogtags of the fallen and the most moved by sheer stupidity of his comrades. He'd been suicidally reckless as always--he knew that--but this was [i]different[/i]. As he raised and tilted back his drink, he coughed quietly to gather a bit of attention. Hell, if everyone else was going to say their peace, he might as well.

"Anyone stopped to consider that Trapp is right?" 

"This ain't us. Not the battle--Hell with that--but what comes after it. Astelion's dead but, excuse me, when did we start falling apart when we hit the ship? Gerry, you're bleeding all over me--slap a bandage on that heart of yours. Yuu, you really leaving a drink to the fallen on the damn table? Alice, pull it the Hell together. Trapp may not know you all well enough to think better of you, but I sure as Hell do. Tori was a fine woman, a fine commander and a good friend. And now she's dead, and if we were half the people we ought to be by now, we'd do our damn jobs and get ready for the next one like we always do instead of pissin', moanin' and firin' back at our commander like we didn't just step through the airlock and fall apart."

"Show. Some. Damn. Respect, ladies and gentlmen. We [i]are[/i] better than this, and it's about time we acted like it."

For effect, he put out his cigarette in the bottom of his glass--fuck it, not like he hadn't stockpiled cartons--and put himself back at attention.

"Permission to be dismissed, Sir."

Waiting for confirmation, he sighed and stood at ease once more before grabbing his glass from the table and making from the door.

"On point, Rookie, you're with me."