Canaries
Log Title
Summary: Tasked with helping the rookies of the Minutemen up to speed, Paz and Trey talk about how to do so.
Date: Date
Related Logs: Once, Twice, Three Times a Lady?
Players:
Paz..Trey..

The Powderkeg Deck 5
119CE System, Humboldt Quadrant — 2238 Hours 2658.085


Designed to house sixteen officers in some minimum of space and privacy, this is the barracks for the 1087th Fighter Squadron. Bunk alcoves and locker banks alternate along the walls, with privacy screens for the bunks retracting in front of the lockers when not in use. The bunk alcoves themselves are perhaps two and a half meters long and a meter deep, certainly not an arrangement for the claustrophobic. In the center of the room, a pair of sofas and a pair of chairs have been secured to the floor around a small table. A small hallway off to the rear of the room leads to a small bathroom and communal shower, while a door to port opens into a small private stateroom for the squadron commander.

Paz is actually ~gasp~ working! Yes, you read it here first! She's got a laptop on the table, a short stack of papers, a pen in her teeth and a beer in easy reach. "Okay…let's see…training schedule…" she mumbles around the pen. "Start 'em off easy…Review basic aerospace combat maneuvers." she says, doing her best two-fingered hunt and peck on the keyboard.

Trey steps inside and makes a beeline for the couch. His spot, you know. The cushion isn't discolored from his butt, but he's working on it. Upon spotting Paz, he stops in place and promptly snaps a salute, "Sir yes sir, Lieutenant Ramirez, sir." No, he doesn't have to do any of this, but he's standing there with a goofy grin on his face at attention anyway. Like he's waiting to be dismissed.

Paz tilts her head to peer at Trey, rolling her eyes at his stance. "You're being even weirder than usual, Sloppy." she comments before turning back to her screen. "There a reason for that?"

"Your promotion, sir. I am standing at attention," because the guy is still a smuggler pretending to be an officer? "Because you outrank me and it's fun. Now please dismiss me so I can plop down on the couch again."

Paz takes the pen out of her mouth and clicks it open. "Sloppy, sit down and stop acting like a dick before I come over there and stab you in both eyeballs with this pen." Paz smiles sweetly, holding the pen like a combat dagger. "Close enough for government work?"

"Yes, sir. Taking evasive maneuvers before superior officer breaks directive 12 stroke 24 B." And with that, Trey sits on 'his' couch and reaches for the ball on a paddle, which he's stowed underneath the thing. It's got 14 staples in it, now. "I never got the chance to congratulate you. So what are you doing?"

"Thanks." Paz replies, smiling for real this time. "Working on a training syllabus." she says, starting to peck away at the keyboard again. "Pip wants to put me in charge of training some of the rooks we've recently shipped in."

"Moving up in the world, huh?" Trey smirks, turning a little red, at that. "I'm guessing this means we're not going atmo surfing any more, then."

"Ha! Something tells me we'll be doing more of that than we were before." Paz says, scrubbing her face with the backs of her hands. "I haven't even gotten my official papers yet, and I'm already drowning in paper." she sighs. "This, on the other hand." she adds, pointing to the laptop and motioning for Trey to join her at the table. "Might be interesting. I've got an idea of how to do, but I need more particulars. What sequence should I be doing this in, for starters. Wanna start 'em off with the basics, of course, but don't wanna bore them to death so they won't learn."

Trey casts a skeptical eye towards the other pilot, "Wait a second." He shifts his glance towards the door, and then to the other beds to make certain that nobody is paying attention who shouldn't be. Regardless, he lowers his voice a few notches, "You mean the people who get brought into this… you know, the reservists, don't actually have proper training? I figured they, you know. Knew what they were doing."

"You didn't know?" Paz replies, eyes going wide as she drops her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "We're getting _creamed_ on the other fronts. They're grabbing the first warm bodies they can find and stuffing them into uniforms with only a few weeks of training. Some of them barely know how to fly to start with." she she adds, nodding sagely.

"Why the hell would they do that?" Trey seems a bit surprised at that one, for what it's worth. "All they're going to do is destroy a lot of expensive ships. It's not like you can just give them a gun and point them at the fuzzballs. There's money to consider, here. That's really, really dumb."

"I know!" Paz replies, nodding repeatedly as she starts to giggle uncontrollably. "That's probably why they're not doing it, Sloppy." she says, starting to laugh hard enough that falling out of her chair's become a distinct possibility. "GOD! What a fish!" she hoots. "What a cad! A real lollipop, you are, Slop! You should've seen the look on your face!"

Trey folds his arms over his chest, "I've had to learn to avoid mirrors, you know. Danger of falling in love with myself. Would that make me gay?" The inquiry comes with a lame smirk on his face, "Okay. So if it's not that, what is it, chuckles?"

"Make that, Chuckles, sir." Paz giggles, fanning her face for a moment before reaching for her brew. "Maybe throw in a little salute." she titters. "No…seriously…Hehe…It's just that I remember what it was like when _I_ first came aboard." she says, holding up her hand to forestall any reply before she can de-giggle long enough to take a sip of beer without choking on it. "You think you know what to do, but you really _don't_. There was a lot of guess-work between 'training' and 'experience'. I'm trying to find ways to close the gap a little."

Trey complies, "You just like ordering me around, *sir*." He waggles his eyebrows, clearly alluding to something other than Paz's recent promotion, "Yeah. I'm just about the second to… no. Make that -the- worst person to ask, I think. I got on this ship with the same problem, but so far from the opposite side of things that it's actually funny."

"Actually, I think you're the _perfect_ person to ask." Paz replies, settling back in her chair and giving Trey a long, searching look. "You went from going 'Der, wha's that button do?' to being one of the best combat pilots in this squadron real fast." she says simply, nodding her head a little. "Means you were thinking 'out of the box', and 'out of the box' is where this needs to be."

Trey shakes his head, "It's not like that… it wasn't like that and you know it, Paz." Trey goes for his paddle and starts to casually hit the rubber ball, like he's done so many times now. He's not even looking at it. "I've seen more fighting before stepping on this ship than most new people would see in… well, I don't know, but seven years in my line of work will get you some trigger happy jerks -and- some Kilrathi on top. Only thing I didn't know was, well, anything about the military, and how they like to call out targets, their radio dialog style, some of their tactics… I kind of skipped a few grades."

"Okay, okay, I'll give you that. I was mostly just playing, by the by, you knew your shit and you knew it well." Paz replies, nodding again. "But you were able to integrate yourself into a formally trained squadron with its own techniques, it's own maneuvers, it's own way of doing things, without batting an eyelash. Not to mention the rest of it." she adds. "That kind of knowledge _has_ to be useful to us."

Trey smiles, "Are you done with all the flattery? I integrated because you gave me your book and met me after hours to teach me how to act like an officer. Markovic helped a bit, too. I didn't bat an eyelash because I generally expect that I'm done for one way or another. But thanks for all the compliments. I'm guessing you want me involved in whatever you're doing for some reason. I can dig it."

"It's not flattery, jack hole, it's the truth." Paz replies firmly. "We've got a whole bunch of rooks coming into the squadron who have never been in a _real_ fight before." she adds, voice turning a little sharp-ish. "Rooks who are gonna wind up flying in the same formations with us. I don't want them to get us killed, or the fuzzy wuzzies to get _them_ killed." she says. "So yeah, I need a little help. I'm Surfer Paz, not Superwoman." she smirks

"Yeah, yeah, okay." Trey doesn't sound convinced. Though what he sounds unconvinced of may be debatable. "You know what we used to do with some new guy who joined the convoy for some money, no rep, didn't seem to know how to handle himself in a ship? I mean other than put him in the crappiest fighter we had available, of course. We used to make them fly point. Had them be element lead, so someone who knew what the hell he was doing could watch him and pick jackasses off of him when shit got thick. I mean, you're leaving out the bad part. Rookies can get -us- killed when they're not looking where they're supposed to."

Paz starts typing as Trey starts finally talking to the purpose. "Okay…okay….that's good. Rookie as the lead in flight element." she nods. "Go on."

A look of genuine surprise crosses Trey's face when Paz starts typing. "What. You mean you're actually getting this down?" Blink. "Okay. Well, I mean, it was like… rookies are on point, but one of us say something, they're supposed to really listen. Warning shots got fired if they didn't. You, uh, probably don't want to get that down. I guess in military speak, rookies fly point and get to order the more experienced guys around, but the vets say something, they're supposed to shut the fuck up and listen? Kind of like these noncom officers who've been in the service for a billion years and just tell their superiors what orders to give them, I guess."

"Yeah, yeah, I think I've got the basic idea." Paz replies, pecking furiously away at the laptop. "Put the rook in the lead element, put a vet on his wing. Let them feel what it's like to be staked out up in front and almost alone." she says, nodding repeatedly. "Just be sure to keep the vet on his wing, but not close…Yeah, that totally makes sense."

Trey shrugs, "We did it because new guy's gotta earn his money and he's getting hired to at least be a target. In front turns out to be where the rook's least likely to get his mates killed. You really want to write this down?" Trey's, again, not too clear on this. "I mean, it's just space trash. Whatever. Anyway, that's really all I can think of that would be applicable in a legitimate fighting force. Everything else was more on the questionable side of things. I mean, they figure it like he won't actually kill a pirate, but he can make us look bigger than we really are and he's a target. So having him lead was perfect."

"Actually, Slop, I think it's _perfect_." Paz replies, still pecking out notes into her laptop. "Like you said, they're less likely to get someone killed if they're right in front, and its a hell of a lot easier to protect them from behind if things go wonky." she says, pausing to take a big pull from her beer. "It also makes it _real_ for them, psychologically speaking." she adds. "I remember the first time I flew point. It was _NOT_ fun…"

"Well, okay." Again, not convinced. "I remember mine. I actually shit myself. And for an encore they sent me, alone, into an asteroid field to see if anything was going to come out and say hello. I regretted not signing up as gunnery crew instead, like I usually did."

Paz blink-blinks. "They did _WHAT?_" she asks, eyes going wide in real surprise. "Damn…you hung out with the wrong crowd, Slop."

"Oh no duh." Trey grins to himself, "Hey, I don't blame them. I was getting my cut of the pay but could barely hit a target. So they got their money's worth by using me as a canary for their mineshaft." Trey's primary education is a spotty mess, but the guy knows about canaries and mineshafts. Go figure. "Seems pretty fair to me."

"Heh, true enough." Paz smirks. "Well, we're not gonna use the rooks as canaries, but the experience might do them good."

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