HAH! Dot, this is one of the few times a post has actually made me laugh out loud, alone in my room, like a crazy person. Well done!
And yes Kuro, he seems to have broken her Hahaha
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But you're so adorably amusing!
Also, it was totally like, 70 degrees all day. Definitely went for a five-hour ride. It was glorious.
Also, it was totally like, 70 degrees all day. Definitely went for a five-hour ride. It was glorious.
KuroTenshi said
Haha thank you Igraine! It's like a little jumpsuit thingy XD it's got little smiling monsters on it Also great post Road! Though I thought the hangar was mostly empty?
The bay for Loretta was.
I can't imagine that the other five bays would be empty. I'm sure those unnamed NPCs have shit to do just like Bill and co.
Mike entered Hangar Six, clipboard in hand, Cpl. Lopez and Specialist Sczruba hot on his heels.
“Big place,” Sczruba muttered, his eyes panning the massive space. Lopez gave a low whistle in agreement.
Nodding his agreement, Mike reached out and slapped both men on the back, then strolled further inside, ignoring the various pilots and mechanics who bustled about, hard at work.
It was laid out almost identically to the hangars they’d already been through; 400 yards wide, 150 yards deep, with five bays for the team’s five mining ships nestled side by side, delineated by bright yellow safety lines painted on the ground. A larger bay stood at the far end, containing the massive recovery and rescue ship that would be sent out in case one of the mining pods came to harm.
Waving his two senior men over, Mike scanned his clipboard before pointing towards the door they’d just entered from.
“Pretty much the same score as the last five, gents,” he said, flipping through the pages until he reached the Emergency Procedures handout. “We secure this one the same way we would any of the others. It’s big, but there’s only two entrances, so as long as we have a clear field of fire and some cover, it shouldn’t be hard to keep somebody out.”
Not that he anticipated having to do so; the tactics and responses they were working on were for repelling boarders or putting down a mutiny. Neither of those seemed terribly likely, but his crew had to cover it. The Marine knew first hand that planning for every possible eventuality was key. In the outlandish event that his boys had to secure one of these hangars, he didn’t want them walking into it blind.
“So, machine-gun and a rifle on the far door, the other three cover the near door,” Sczruba said, briefly removing his cover and running a hand over the bristles of his shaven head.
Lopez nodded. “Yup. Casualty collection point at the back, by the storage room.”
“And if we’re overrun?”
“Heavy suppressing fire. Commandeer a ship, boogy out the air-lock, then loop back into one of the other hangars and assault from another direction.”
“Good.” Mike said, nodding. “Last Stand actions?”
“Seal suits. Blow the door. Suck the whole bunch of ‘em into space, and hope we survive long enough to get picked up by the MPs.”
Nodding grimly, Mike gave both men a gallows smile. “Hopefully it won’t come to that.”
Glancing towards the offices, Mike caught a flash of strawberry-blonde hair and grinned broadly, slapping the clipboard into Lopez’s chest.
“Yes. Excellent. All of that. Keep doing...This stuff. I’ll be back.”
With that he spun on his heel and bee-lined towards the rear of the hangar, leaving his two (slightly perplexed) men to finish looking over the Emergency Procedures for Hangar Six. They’d already done it five times; he figured they could handle this one on their own.
Mike crossed the distance between the offices and the door at a rapid pace, slowing as he reached the young woman he’d spoken with earlier.
“Hey!” he said, beaming and giving her a small wave. “Pauline, right? You feeling any better?”
“Big place,” Sczruba muttered, his eyes panning the massive space. Lopez gave a low whistle in agreement.
Nodding his agreement, Mike reached out and slapped both men on the back, then strolled further inside, ignoring the various pilots and mechanics who bustled about, hard at work.
It was laid out almost identically to the hangars they’d already been through; 400 yards wide, 150 yards deep, with five bays for the team’s five mining ships nestled side by side, delineated by bright yellow safety lines painted on the ground. A larger bay stood at the far end, containing the massive recovery and rescue ship that would be sent out in case one of the mining pods came to harm.
Waving his two senior men over, Mike scanned his clipboard before pointing towards the door they’d just entered from.
“Pretty much the same score as the last five, gents,” he said, flipping through the pages until he reached the Emergency Procedures handout. “We secure this one the same way we would any of the others. It’s big, but there’s only two entrances, so as long as we have a clear field of fire and some cover, it shouldn’t be hard to keep somebody out.”
Not that he anticipated having to do so; the tactics and responses they were working on were for repelling boarders or putting down a mutiny. Neither of those seemed terribly likely, but his crew had to cover it. The Marine knew first hand that planning for every possible eventuality was key. In the outlandish event that his boys had to secure one of these hangars, he didn’t want them walking into it blind.
“So, machine-gun and a rifle on the far door, the other three cover the near door,” Sczruba said, briefly removing his cover and running a hand over the bristles of his shaven head.
Lopez nodded. “Yup. Casualty collection point at the back, by the storage room.”
“And if we’re overrun?”
“Heavy suppressing fire. Commandeer a ship, boogy out the air-lock, then loop back into one of the other hangars and assault from another direction.”
“Good.” Mike said, nodding. “Last Stand actions?”
“Seal suits. Blow the door. Suck the whole bunch of ‘em into space, and hope we survive long enough to get picked up by the MPs.”
Nodding grimly, Mike gave both men a gallows smile. “Hopefully it won’t come to that.”
Glancing towards the offices, Mike caught a flash of strawberry-blonde hair and grinned broadly, slapping the clipboard into Lopez’s chest.
“Yes. Excellent. All of that. Keep doing...This stuff. I’ll be back.”
With that he spun on his heel and bee-lined towards the rear of the hangar, leaving his two (slightly perplexed) men to finish looking over the Emergency Procedures for Hangar Six. They’d already done it five times; he figured they could handle this one on their own.
Mike crossed the distance between the offices and the door at a rapid pace, slowing as he reached the young woman he’d spoken with earlier.
“Hey!” he said, beaming and giving her a small wave. “Pauline, right? You feeling any better?”
Dude, dude...So I just discovered this nifty fact of Free Will where like...If you don't enjoy a place, you can stop going there.
It's seriously super-duper cool. You don't have to go back and make accounts, and then post whiny bullshit about how awesome this new place you found is. You can just go to your new place, and hang out there all the time, and never bother the people who still like the old place with your "my club is better than your club" shenanigans.
Just throwing it out there, hoss.
It's seriously super-duper cool. You don't have to go back and make accounts, and then post whiny bullshit about how awesome this new place you found is. You can just go to your new place, and hang out there all the time, and never bother the people who still like the old place with your "my club is better than your club" shenanigans.
Just throwing it out there, hoss.
I'm alive. So, here we go.
Mike
Status : Conducting the day-to-day with his Special Response Team, and pondering the cryptic warnings he received from his First Sergeant.
Future : I can already forsee some action on the horizon for Sgt. Davis. I imagine he and his boys are going to have their hands full, and will be doing their damndest to protect what remains of humanity's best and brightest.
Bill
Status : Prepping his gear, looking forward to both some home-brewed space booze, and his first mission out in the depths of space.
Future : I'd love for him to get his feet wet sometime soon on a mining op. Honestly though, he's never been anything more than a working man. I imagine New Canaan will have plenty of work for someone of his skills. He's just looking forward to doing what he does best : diggin' holes.
Mike
Status : Conducting the day-to-day with his Special Response Team, and pondering the cryptic warnings he received from his First Sergeant.
Future : I can already forsee some action on the horizon for Sgt. Davis. I imagine he and his boys are going to have their hands full, and will be doing their damndest to protect what remains of humanity's best and brightest.
Bill
Status : Prepping his gear, looking forward to both some home-brewed space booze, and his first mission out in the depths of space.
Future : I'd love for him to get his feet wet sometime soon on a mining op. Honestly though, he's never been anything more than a working man. I imagine New Canaan will have plenty of work for someone of his skills. He's just looking forward to doing what he does best : diggin' holes.
Post up for Mike and Abby.
Kuro...Can we get a "dun-dun-DUN!"?
Kuro...Can we get a "dun-dun-DUN!"?
Collab between Igraine and Road Rash
1034 am, First Day Third Shift
"You do know, Sergeant Davis, that some good old-fashioned push-ups are better for upper body strength than pull-ups, right?" Abby crossed her arms as she leaned against the gym wall, one booted foot crooked over her foot, grinning as her fingers thrummed a slow rhythm against her bicep. She had been watching the members of her SRT team beat the hell out of each other, in the most disciplined way imaginable of course. The First Sergeant in her was duly impressed, and the scrappy fighter in her desperately wished she could jump into some of that training herself at some point. But Abby was realistic enough to know her position as titular commander required she maintain a certain professional distance. Besides, there was no guarantee any one of these men would throw a real punch at a woman not trying to kill them, much less their First Sergeant, and she'd probably be more hindrance than help to their training.
"As a matter of fact you could drop and give me twenty right now if you like," she teased with a laugh, "But I'd rather have a few minutes of your time, if it won't wreck your workout of course."
Finishing his set, Mike lowered himself from the bar and dropped to the ground, knees bending slightly to absorb the impact, his prosthesis hissing softly as he straightened and stretched.
"Rah, First Sergeant," he grinned, giving her a nod as he slipped free of the weight belt and removed the plate, stowing the gear in its proper place out of habit. Mindful of Specialist Sczruba pounding away at the heavy bag a few yards from him, he sauntered up to Abby, assuming an easy Parade Rest, his hands hands clasped loosely behind his back. In one-on-one talks, they tended to be less rigid, but it always paid to observe the formalities when the troops were around. He had a great deal of respect for his NCOIC, and despite the professionalism of his men, showing that respect in front of them went a long way towards maintaining discipline in the ranks. It was a simple thing, but even the little details counted.
"I've always got time for The Boss. What can I do for ya?" he asked, beaming at her as he worked to regulate his breathing. Panting in front of The Boss was also to be avoided.
Abby pushed off the wall as her SRT squad leader approached, arms unfolded when he stood before her. "At ease, Sergeant," she said with a warm smile, appreciative of the man's professional discipline, even interrupted in the middle of PT. Though no one would ever realize it on a battlefield, a skirmish or a bar brawl, this discipline was half the reason men like Sergeant Davis were so damned terrifying, and deadly effective.
"Walk with me, Mike," she added under her breath, turning from the gym proper and the other soldiers still sweating there. Abby did not look to see if actually he did, because there was never question whether he would. She moved slowly toward an alcove against a far wall filled with training mats neatly stacked, and completely empty of eavesdropping ears. A weary smile sat on her face as she turned to SRT leader, one hand laying against that tall stack of mats.
"First, I'm not about telling you how to do your job, or what you schedule when," Abby began as she turned to Mike, holding his gaze with her own. That small smile was still on her lips, but the feeling behind it never made it to her ice blue eyes. "What I'm asking is... Well it's more along the lines of a favor, really. It's about your quarterly training briefings. I assume you have them penciled in already - you know, the PowerPoint slides reminding you not to sexually harass Corporal Lopez, where to plunge the atropine injector if you actually survive the first lungful of sarin gas; that getting hooked on crack is bad for your military career - all that, right?"
A small bark of a mirthless laugh escaped her lips as she shrugged. No matter the service, mandatory quarterly training - aka Death by PowerPoint - was the bane of the poor bastard designated as the Training NCO, and a complete waste of an entire day for soldiers, sailors, seamen and Marines alike. "Move up that training, Mike, to say... Tomorrow? And I'd be most appreciative, if you would spend a special long time on the Geneva conventions, the Law of War training - hit those four categories hard, especially forbidden targets, tactics and and techniques."
Abby's eyebrow cocked meaningfully as she continued, her smile not much more now than a tight, thin line of her lips. "Emphasize the definition of 'unlawful orders.' We don't have any JAG officers I can send you, but I trust you Mike. Drive it home, that fine line."
Mike nodded as Abby ran through the standard quarterly training schedule, furrowing his brow towards the end of the list.
"Unlawful orders, Geneva Conventions, and Law of War, eh?" he asked, moving to one side to lean against the same stack of mats now that they were away from the eyes of the troops. Mike was no stranger to combat operations, and every mission he'd been on in the Sino-Korean War had been opened with the same briefing.
"Not gonna lie First Sergeant, you've piqued my interest," he said, his face serious. "Can you tell me what's goin' down? I can keep a secret if it needs to be kept, but I don't want to lead my boys into anything blindfolded."
"And that's why I'm talking to you, Mike. Blindfolded, blindsided - I have no intention of letting you step in anything." Abby sighed, hands clenched at her sides, as if she might somehow keep the words back, even now. Even when she finally chose someone in whom she truly could confide these unspeakably heavy, ponderous suspicions; suspicions she could not even lay on Gavin's broad shoulders.
But she was committed now, and Abby let her fingers fall open at her sides. "I only have suspicions at the moment. Hunches. Useless gut instincts without any proof to hang my hat on yet. But you and your team are the best armed, most elite fighters awake on the Copernicusright now. And I have to know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that if anyone in the chain of command, anyone with rank: me, Staff Sergeant Liu, the commander of the Copernicus himself," she added, laying obvious emphasis on the last of that short list.
"That you and your men will follow your conscience, not orders. Our home may not exist anymore, the United States. But I'll be good and damned if I'm going to see the very best of all we were, and all we did, doesn't survive to New Canaan. We are who we always were, professional soldiers - not mindless fucking robots, or some cud-chewing sheep with guns. And you need to know Mike that God forbid, and I'm right? There is a chance you and your team will be ordered to do things honorable American fighting men would never do."
"And if and when that day comes? You'll know, and you'll remember what I've said today - and if there's breath in my body I'll be standing there with you too."
" 'Rah," Mike nodded firmly, his eyes flat and hard, dangerous, the sparkling mirth that usually graced them nowhere to be seen. These were Operator's eyes; the eyes of a professional killer, cold, calculating, and pragmatic. They were the eyes of a man who could not only determine the swiftest and most efficient way to kill a room full of people, but could then give the order that started converting humans to corpses. They were predator's eyes.
Then, in a flash, those eyes were gone, the emerald orbs springing to life and dancing with the same barely-contained laughter that they always did.
"Don't worry yourself, First Sergeant. Come Hell, high water, or little green men, my boys and I will be right there with you."
“That’s all I needed to hear.” And it really was. Abby grinned, letting the heaviness of the mood go, trusting Sergeant Davis was as good as his word without a second thought. She nodded as she pushed off the mats, glancing at Mike as she moved to leave the gym, and let the Marine back to his workout - but she did have one last thing she just had to ask.
“How likely is it, do you think, that you and your team might let your old First Sergeant in on some of that hand-to-hand training? “ she asked with a wicked little grin.
Mike grinned, then turned to head back into the gym, motioning for Abby to follow.
“Szcruba!” he bellowed, halting the Specialist mid-workout. “Change of plans! Throw on some pads, First Sergeant here wants to whoop your ass. I’m reffin’.”
Turning back to Abby, the Marine gestured towards the waiting mats. “All yours, First Sergeant. Try not to break him; I need him for patrol in a few hours.”
1034 am, First Day Third Shift
"You do know, Sergeant Davis, that some good old-fashioned push-ups are better for upper body strength than pull-ups, right?" Abby crossed her arms as she leaned against the gym wall, one booted foot crooked over her foot, grinning as her fingers thrummed a slow rhythm against her bicep. She had been watching the members of her SRT team beat the hell out of each other, in the most disciplined way imaginable of course. The First Sergeant in her was duly impressed, and the scrappy fighter in her desperately wished she could jump into some of that training herself at some point. But Abby was realistic enough to know her position as titular commander required she maintain a certain professional distance. Besides, there was no guarantee any one of these men would throw a real punch at a woman not trying to kill them, much less their First Sergeant, and she'd probably be more hindrance than help to their training.
"As a matter of fact you could drop and give me twenty right now if you like," she teased with a laugh, "But I'd rather have a few minutes of your time, if it won't wreck your workout of course."
Finishing his set, Mike lowered himself from the bar and dropped to the ground, knees bending slightly to absorb the impact, his prosthesis hissing softly as he straightened and stretched.
"Rah, First Sergeant," he grinned, giving her a nod as he slipped free of the weight belt and removed the plate, stowing the gear in its proper place out of habit. Mindful of Specialist Sczruba pounding away at the heavy bag a few yards from him, he sauntered up to Abby, assuming an easy Parade Rest, his hands hands clasped loosely behind his back. In one-on-one talks, they tended to be less rigid, but it always paid to observe the formalities when the troops were around. He had a great deal of respect for his NCOIC, and despite the professionalism of his men, showing that respect in front of them went a long way towards maintaining discipline in the ranks. It was a simple thing, but even the little details counted.
"I've always got time for The Boss. What can I do for ya?" he asked, beaming at her as he worked to regulate his breathing. Panting in front of The Boss was also to be avoided.
Abby pushed off the wall as her SRT squad leader approached, arms unfolded when he stood before her. "At ease, Sergeant," she said with a warm smile, appreciative of the man's professional discipline, even interrupted in the middle of PT. Though no one would ever realize it on a battlefield, a skirmish or a bar brawl, this discipline was half the reason men like Sergeant Davis were so damned terrifying, and deadly effective.
"Walk with me, Mike," she added under her breath, turning from the gym proper and the other soldiers still sweating there. Abby did not look to see if actually he did, because there was never question whether he would. She moved slowly toward an alcove against a far wall filled with training mats neatly stacked, and completely empty of eavesdropping ears. A weary smile sat on her face as she turned to SRT leader, one hand laying against that tall stack of mats.
"First, I'm not about telling you how to do your job, or what you schedule when," Abby began as she turned to Mike, holding his gaze with her own. That small smile was still on her lips, but the feeling behind it never made it to her ice blue eyes. "What I'm asking is... Well it's more along the lines of a favor, really. It's about your quarterly training briefings. I assume you have them penciled in already - you know, the PowerPoint slides reminding you not to sexually harass Corporal Lopez, where to plunge the atropine injector if you actually survive the first lungful of sarin gas; that getting hooked on crack is bad for your military career - all that, right?"
A small bark of a mirthless laugh escaped her lips as she shrugged. No matter the service, mandatory quarterly training - aka Death by PowerPoint - was the bane of the poor bastard designated as the Training NCO, and a complete waste of an entire day for soldiers, sailors, seamen and Marines alike. "Move up that training, Mike, to say... Tomorrow? And I'd be most appreciative, if you would spend a special long time on the Geneva conventions, the Law of War training - hit those four categories hard, especially forbidden targets, tactics and and techniques."
Abby's eyebrow cocked meaningfully as she continued, her smile not much more now than a tight, thin line of her lips. "Emphasize the definition of 'unlawful orders.' We don't have any JAG officers I can send you, but I trust you Mike. Drive it home, that fine line."
Mike nodded as Abby ran through the standard quarterly training schedule, furrowing his brow towards the end of the list.
"Unlawful orders, Geneva Conventions, and Law of War, eh?" he asked, moving to one side to lean against the same stack of mats now that they were away from the eyes of the troops. Mike was no stranger to combat operations, and every mission he'd been on in the Sino-Korean War had been opened with the same briefing.
"Not gonna lie First Sergeant, you've piqued my interest," he said, his face serious. "Can you tell me what's goin' down? I can keep a secret if it needs to be kept, but I don't want to lead my boys into anything blindfolded."
"And that's why I'm talking to you, Mike. Blindfolded, blindsided - I have no intention of letting you step in anything." Abby sighed, hands clenched at her sides, as if she might somehow keep the words back, even now. Even when she finally chose someone in whom she truly could confide these unspeakably heavy, ponderous suspicions; suspicions she could not even lay on Gavin's broad shoulders.
But she was committed now, and Abby let her fingers fall open at her sides. "I only have suspicions at the moment. Hunches. Useless gut instincts without any proof to hang my hat on yet. But you and your team are the best armed, most elite fighters awake on the Copernicusright now. And I have to know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that if anyone in the chain of command, anyone with rank: me, Staff Sergeant Liu, the commander of the Copernicus himself," she added, laying obvious emphasis on the last of that short list.
"That you and your men will follow your conscience, not orders. Our home may not exist anymore, the United States. But I'll be good and damned if I'm going to see the very best of all we were, and all we did, doesn't survive to New Canaan. We are who we always were, professional soldiers - not mindless fucking robots, or some cud-chewing sheep with guns. And you need to know Mike that God forbid, and I'm right? There is a chance you and your team will be ordered to do things honorable American fighting men would never do."
"And if and when that day comes? You'll know, and you'll remember what I've said today - and if there's breath in my body I'll be standing there with you too."
" 'Rah," Mike nodded firmly, his eyes flat and hard, dangerous, the sparkling mirth that usually graced them nowhere to be seen. These were Operator's eyes; the eyes of a professional killer, cold, calculating, and pragmatic. They were the eyes of a man who could not only determine the swiftest and most efficient way to kill a room full of people, but could then give the order that started converting humans to corpses. They were predator's eyes.
Then, in a flash, those eyes were gone, the emerald orbs springing to life and dancing with the same barely-contained laughter that they always did.
"Don't worry yourself, First Sergeant. Come Hell, high water, or little green men, my boys and I will be right there with you."
“That’s all I needed to hear.” And it really was. Abby grinned, letting the heaviness of the mood go, trusting Sergeant Davis was as good as his word without a second thought. She nodded as she pushed off the mats, glancing at Mike as she moved to leave the gym, and let the Marine back to his workout - but she did have one last thing she just had to ask.
“How likely is it, do you think, that you and your team might let your old First Sergeant in on some of that hand-to-hand training? “ she asked with a wicked little grin.
Mike grinned, then turned to head back into the gym, motioning for Abby to follow.
“Szcruba!” he bellowed, halting the Specialist mid-workout. “Change of plans! Throw on some pads, First Sergeant here wants to whoop your ass. I’m reffin’.”
Turning back to Abby, the Marine gestured towards the waiting mats. “All yours, First Sergeant. Try not to break him; I need him for patrol in a few hours.”
Justric said
I'm hearing echoes of my KwanJangNim from where I work... as he has so painfully demonstrated on my ribs a number of times during sparring.
Yep. A lesson I learned myself (painfully, I might add) from my own MCMAP (Marine Corps Martial Arts Program) instructor, Sergeant Mauro.
We did that exact drill I described in the post, actually. Regardless of who was executing the technique on whom, as soon as the technique was finished (be it a leg-sweep, or a shoulder throw, or what have you) we rolled immediately into ground-fighting. It was...Useful, but unpleasant?
The Hulk Rabbits are great. Very friendly, which is unfortunate, because it'll be that much more unpleasant when butchering season comes.
I find it's easier to shoot something when it tries to bite you every time you feed it.
I find it's easier to shoot something when it tries to bite you every time you feed it.
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