| Just the FACs |
| Summary: | Markovic, after a -very- long day of almost dying, heads to the FAL and finds the Jolly Green Giant. |
| Date: | 2657.345 |
| Related Logs: | Bushwhacked |
| Players: |
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First and Last Deck 7
Troy System, Humboldt Quadrant — 0147 Hours 2657.345
Later in the night and the FAL is mostly empty. A few enlisted are over in a corner having a small drunk. Markovic is alone at the bar while the bartender is cleaning off a few glasses at the other end. The Captain is still in her flightsuit, the top taken off with the arms tied around her hips. Her hair is matted to her head from the helmet which sits on the counter in front of her with a half-consumed glass of beer. Leaned back heavily in the chair, she looks like she's had one helluva day.
Ryan has arrived.
Through the doors ducks (yes, ducks) probably the largest human many people have seen. At an inch over seven feet, the marine (and yes, the ancient and armless semper fi t-shirt stretched across his chest gives it away) probably has to make sure he doesn't brain himself on the door's overhang. He isn't young, probably near fifty, but he looks like he is in very good shape which is probably why he is here.. to stay that way. The gym bag is over a scarred and tattoed shoulder and the faint sheen of the freshly showered attests that he has been in the gym. He meaders towards the bar, moving like a man his shouldn't, with an almost feline grace.
Markovic glances to the man-beast as he arrives at the bar. Then his size hits her. She looks over at him and waaaay up to his head. "Fucking Hell." The Captain is only half way between five and six feet as it is. "I have shot Kilrathi smaller than you. What do they feed you?" The woman blinks up at him, hand idling by her beer.
Entering the bar a short while after is the much shorter, Chief Manix. He's still dirty and grimy from hours of work in tight and dirty spaces(no jokes please). He presently carry's one of those portable coffee mugs that are also rated for zero-G. His mind seems to be intent on the coffee pot as he arrows straight for it.
Kincaid dropping the bag at his feet, the mid-middle-aged marine sighs as he is addressed. "What do ye suppose they feed me?" he asks, maybe a bit sarcastically. his voice is almost too deep, even for his size, and thick with a brogue. He looks over his shoulder (which sports a tattoo of the /saltire/, the blue and white crossed scottish flag, and fixes his single eye on her… and sees the rank on her half dossed flightsuit. "Sir. Sorry Sir." he says quickly, standing straight with the precision of a man who has probably served in the marines longer then a lot of the officer on boat have been alive.
The woman seems non-plussed by his initial response. "I think they feed you three-quarter ton pick-up trucks. Or maybe small econo-boxes for appetizers." She's still a little taken-aback at his size. When he mentions 'sir' her gaze drops to her suit. "Oh. Yeah, I am off duty. So are you. I do not think you want to sit here and call someone sir all evening. Do not worry about it for now." She lifts the beer and eyes those arms and the tattoo over the brim of her glass.
Mmmm… Coffee… Java… Bean of the gods… Too bad this tub still uses industrial solvents instead of whole bean coffee. Ryan sniffs the pot of brew before wrinkling his nose slightly. He mutter something about hours old coffee and battery acid before filling his mug. He finds a seat somewhere out of the way, semi-oblivious to the world around him. Caffine bad for attention spans if taken for too long it seems.
Kincaid relaxes /immediately/, as if the 'sir' was for effect and to test waters, and that he was anticpating her response. His trained face softens faintly and he nods. "No, lass, I surely would not." he admits. Since he is off duty, he seems to feel he can call her lass, though probably because of the age difference and not out of any insult. "And I gave up the pick-up trucks when they started given me high cholesterol. I stick with the smaller import trucks now." he says deadpan.. then chuckles and looks to the tender. "Pitcher of Guiness, lad." he orders. "No pintglass needed." he spots Ryan, the man he met last night, and fires off a friendly non-military salute before looking back to Markovic.
Marko can't even SEE Ryan around this guy in front of her. "Aye. Had the Commodore come in here one night and sit down with us. He was good about it but I certainly cannot stand frivilous rank intonations when it is not needed." For sounding as far out to Eastern Europe as she does, she seems to speak English fairly well. There's a quick, tired laugh at his mention of his diet. "Sounds delicious." She finally seems to relax about his size and just scoot back from him more in her seat so she can see him better. A glance to the order and then back up to him. "I am going to assume they do not cram you into crawlspaces or cockpits, da? -Ah yes, Marines." She gestures to his shirt. "So what do you make the Corps do for you, Mister..?" She lets it hang, waiting for a name.
Ryan gives the big man a small wave and atempts to give him a knowing wink. But he makes no move to join them.
Ryan has disconnected.
Kincaid ohs and seemsa bit embarrased that he forgot. "Fuirgive me, lass.. still gettin used ta bein back in." he says. "Kincaid.. Ezekiel Kincaid. Gunnery Sergeant, ex-Force Recon." he states. "Well.. I think ex. They 'aven't been too forthcomin on wot they want of me, at the moment. I spent tha past two years on wot I thought wuz retirement." he says with some humor. He scratches at the eyepatch unconciously and then lowers himself onto a stool as his pitcher arrives. he picks it up like he would a pint and takes a sip.
Ryan has connected.
"I thought you guys had to be small and mobile. I bet a rifle looks like a child's toy in your hands." Markovic has a smile and some mild amusement on her face, but its tempered by how tired she looks. "But pardon me. Dejana. Markovic. I was just appointed to the XO slot of the two-twenty-first." She lifts the beer once more, taking a small sip. "We sure could use you, though. I just landed some of your bretheren for an assault two nights back. I had to run with a fireteam. Not my cup of tea, I must say."
Ryan continues his coffee drinking and not interupting thang. This must be his morning start up coffee… even though he's been on duty for 16 hours or so.
Kincaid grins and shrugs. "ya know, thats wot /I/ said twenty years ago or so when they asked me to go to slideways outta the standard units and into F.R." he says with a grin. "And a pleasure ta meet yas, Dejana." he sips his beer again (more like a quaff) and sets it down. "Considering the cats.. tenaciousness.. I guess Brass felt they needed some extra oomph. I am, or at least was, quite mobile. I like ta think i still am. And I am pretty damned flexable and quiet.. Can fit in tha damndest places. I Remember I once fit in some abandoned freezer on Algernon.. Was damned cramped but i did it.."
"Yes, well.. Every Marine a Rifleman? Is that not the saying? I am not even sure you could call every pilot an officer in the proper sense." The woman's smile is easy, her demeanor relaxing more. "I think the transition would not be too difficult. I actually am going to be looking to have one of my pilots be working rather closely with you all. I am sure you are aware of Close Air Support, yes?"
Ryan grimaces and adds more sugar to his coffee. He mutter about industrial waste bfore going back to drinking it. Numer nums.
Kincaid nods at that. "I am vera familiar with CAS, actually." he says, looking intrestd. "The coordination between ground and air forces is a bitch.. always has been.. but CAS integration is still an old and proven tact and useful even today." He looks over to Ryan and waves at him. Sorta a "come on over, man, if you wish but only if ya wanna".
Markovic nods her head a few times. "Da. Just before I transferred out here I finished developing a program to embed pilots into Marine units specifically for such coordination. Forward Air Controllers." That smile turns to more of a smirk. "Not a permanant attachment to the unit, but someone the Marines can request to assist in coordination. Also to help you all shoot down some enemy planes who might harrass when we are not around." At the mention of Ryan, the woman blinks and leans, looking around the hulk. She seems surprised someone else was there.
Ryan meanders over looking something like pig-pen from the ancient Peanuts comic strip. The only thing he's missing really is the cloud of dirt following him everywhere. "Cap," he says cordially. "Jolly," he says nodding to his giant green friend. Not that Zeke isn't especially happy.. but he heard it awhile ago and thinks it's very apt to his rather large friend here.
Kincaid makes a better door then a window.. or maybe a wall. "A embedded fighter pilot.. Well thats sorta new. Usually we just 'ad the transport pilots to relay for us, since they are already more integrated with our units then yours be.. But I could see that workin, actually." he looks to Ryan and grins. "'ey there, lad.. I dunno if I am jolly, but it's better then sum other names I been given."
Markovic listens to what the man has to say before offering anything. "Transport pilots work well but the problem is delivery. If you needed someone to get in under the air defenses and put damage to a target without being able to spot it from way up high first, you will want a pilot who knows what other pilots will be seeing. It does not just sound more effective, it is. The first classes start at Saint Johns fighter weapons school in three weeks." She offers a friendly nod to Ryan. "Evening."
Ryan shrugs as he is sorta thrust into a conversation he really doesn't know a lot about. Though he'll try his best to sound like a complete and total dithering idiot, "Ma'am… why not just send a class of nuggets through the first run. That why if you loose one you don't loose years of combat experienced fighter pilots." There.. idiotry done.
Kincaid sighs. "That be true.. And i ken tell yas that me and mine 'ave wished on MANY an occasion for better 'delivery' Well, we've wished it all the way back to Peron." and with that he probably dates himself a wee bit. He looks to Ryan and has to stifle a laugh.. "Ya know, lad.. Kids may be expendable, but the birds ain't."
Markovic takes a sip while she considers Ryan's question. "Well, the primary reason being that nuggets do not know what it is like to have to get down low in combat. Their understanding of the stress levels and read of terrain is not what is required. The potential loss of all that experience is daunting, yes, but the benefits to our brothers and sisters on the ground outweigh that. CAS is one of the most dangerous missions for pilots and when other experienced pilots are on the ground, it halves the risk to those in the air and on the ground." Dejana settles the beer on the knee of her flightsuit and leans her other arm over the back of the stool's rest. "Hopefully, Gunnery Sergeant, wishing will be a thing of the past. I have a pilot in mind but I have to go through your CO before anything can even begin. If he does not sign-off, then it is just a nice idea until we can get one of those future graduates out here."
Ryan shrugs again. This topic is really not in his wheel house. You wanna talk about corect power setting for your hydrogen reactor.. he's your man. Wanna know how to weld in zero-G.. he's your man. You want to talk about how things go boom.. he's… not your man… Unless it's big reactors…
Kincaid sips from the pitcher of beer, nodding, before setting it down and wiping his genrous lips with the back of a scarred hand. "Well I hope he does. Sign off on that I mean. Though I dinnae know much about the man yet. Haven't officially met. My papers are still sorta between her and there, iffen yas know what I mean. Damned red tape." he makes a face. He looks to Ryan again and grins. "Dinnae feel bad, lad. No such thing as a dumb question."
"Da. When I was pitching the program to the brass I had to answer that question about twenty times. It is hard for people who do not fly to really grasp it at first, but hopefully it makes sense." Markovic lifts her beer, taking another sip. "I have yet to meet the man, myself. Hopefully I will have the chance tomorrow."
Ryan takes a long drink from his coffee before finishing it. "Glacf.. That tastes like something from a dirty coolant truck." He goes off for more however as it's the only thing available at the moment. He waggles the pot back and forth to the rest of the trio before refilling his mug.
Kincaid snorts. "Sense and brass dinnae always go tagether all that well." he mumbles. "Sometimes ye need ta be a lil less then subtle ta get a point across.. and half tha time even then they wilna admit ta seeing what needs ta be seen. Like lookin at tha wind." he shakes his head. He watches Ryan todle off for more coffee, so looks back to the pilot. "So.. enuff shop talk. tell me, lass.. There anythin intrestin on board ta do? Floatin poker games? Fight CLubs? Book Circles?"
Markovic shrugs. "There are some smart brass out there but the problem is that they get deployed. The stupid one's stay back and make policy decisions because they cannot be trusted with lives." The pilot seems deadly serious. "And if I can never be accused of one thing, it is being subtle. I think my WinCo would prefer I kept my mouth shut more often than not." She looks to Ryans offer and shakes her head, lifting her beer. "Interesting things to do? I would not know. I spend most of my life flying or in the stupid map room. I hear Lieutenant Yama might have a poker circle, but you may have to get invited. I am terribly boring, I must say.”
Kincaid snorts and shakes his head. "Not /that/ boring, lass. Trust me, I 'ave met some boring pilots. At least you seem ta be usin yuir brains outside of the cockpit. You are more intrestin then ya give yuirself credit fuir." he assures her. "Perhaps ye just need ta loosen up.. find a way ta channel yuir career in new and intrestin ways. It's somethin ya gotta learn ta do. Trust me. Ya ain't gonna be a pilot fuirever and after ye get out it is nice ta know tehre is more ta yuir entire life then what ya just did.." he sighs at that.
Ryan's life is all exciting at the moment. Holes to plug, pipes to reconnect, wires to sodder, etc.. etc… etc…. He refils his mug before returning. "Hmph, at least you get to go outside sometimes.. Farthest I've been in the last 6 weeks is to the outside of the hull to help with placing new armour plating."
"I was a philosophy major in college." Marko delivers that as if it explains everything. She takes a long pull of her beer, nearly finishing it. "I have channeled this career into the ground a couple times. I thought I may have to retire after my last deployment. But I believe your life is what you make of it, Guns. If you think that what you have done is honorable and was a worthy cause, then there is nothing to regret. What a person does afterwards is normally a function of trying to achieve parity with the rest of their life. I would be perfectly happy to never see a cockpit again once I am out." She rests the other arm on her helmet, still holding her beer. "Could be worse, Chief. I cannot imagine how many hands aboard have not been off this rig in many months."
Kincaid pahs and looks into his beer. "I /know/ me life 'as been followin a worthy cause.. though I know I 'aven't always been 'onorable. But sometimes, lass.. Sometimes people focus so much on what they 'ave done, and what they be doin now… they tend ta not look too far ahead and see what they COULD be doin.." he looks up. "When ye live over 'alf yuir life as one thing, reachin that parity is 'arder then ya think… trust me on that. is why i came back to tha fold. I ain't a civilian any more. Not since the day I wuz sworn in. I didna realize that everything I 'ad, I got from and gave to tha core.. and through that to tha people we protect. Not much leftover fuir me, after that, i realized, because I didn't set anythin aside fuir myself. i dinnae mean money, either. i mean.. I mean life."
Ryan pillages 8 packs of sugar from a table he passes by on his way back to the small group. "Yeah, well I just got here too," he says casually, "Not that I was sorry to see Hespersus go.. That over glorified parking lot has nothing on the sleek lines of this boat. Transfer stations are so freakin crowded." Upon returning to his seat he pours all eight sugars into his coffee before he begins start up cup two. "Could be worse though…"
"Worth has its own honor, Guns. Do the ends justify the means?" Markovic shrugs. "I do not know. You are you and I am me. But the future is what we decide we make. Some feel they need to give their last to their cause. That, in itself, is honorable. Others believe that when their time is up, it is up. They must move on. But achieving that parity does not necessarily mean living years doing the opposite, either. Every time you teach a Marine something that could save his life or another's, you work at that parity. Like you said, if you concentrate on the past sometimes you cannot see the future." She offers him a quick wink and finishes off her beer.
Kincaid smirks now at her wink and nods. "Aye.. I guess I am just mopin a lil bit. I been doin this fuir ove rthirty years.. and just over two short years on the ground 'ave eroded a bit of me self confidence.." Which may be funny since why would a giant need to worry about self confidence. "Truth be told.. The core is me family and me home.. Maybe not fuir some, afterwards, but for me it be. I was dumb ta get out ta begin with. I 'ave more ta offer from this side, then the other." he looks over at ryan now, relaxing somewhat. "Ya think transfer stations are bad.. ye should see one of tha old Sloboat halfway stations. Crammed like sardines."
Ryan shakes his head. "I don't like the thought of that much," he comments, "Too many people clog the water filters, strains the atmo scrubbers, and just generally smells like ass." Yummy right? "I'll retire when I'm good and ready.. probably posthumously. But I couldn't care less what I do after I muster out."
"See? There you go." Markovic slides off her stool and reaches up to chuck him in the bicep. She really is tiny compared to him. "More to give from this side means that you are working through that parity, Guns." Her smile brightens despite looking exhausted by this point. "Anyone with that sort of drive does not need to worry about their confidence because they just 'do.' I have faith in your ability to kick a lot of shit when the time comes." The woman grins at him for a second before reaching back for her helmet. "Now if you will excuse me, I nearly died today. I am going to go sleep for a year. Good day, gentlemen." She dips her head to them and moves off for the door.
Kincaid rolls his eyes. "God.. if I could sleep for a year everytime I almost died.." he trails off on that remark with a grin. "Thanks, Cap'n. I needed that pep talk, I guess. And speakin of sleep… I gotta cot strung up in me berth, since the damned bunks are a bit too short, that be callin me name…." he looks at Ryan and grins. "Well, I tella ya what lad.. I'll try ta take REAL small dumps so i dinnae clog tha plumbin, that good fuir ya?"
Ryan tips his cap to the the departing Cap, "Ma'am." He shrugs to Zeke before commenting, "I don't care. You could flush a bowling ball down there and it should still work.. that and I don't have to work on that if you happen to actually clog it." He waves to the departing gunney as he leaves with the captain… curious.. could his pep talk yesterday have worked so soon?
