Patrol Element Delta Aftermath
Patrol Element Delta Aftermath
Summary: Pip, Kell, and Paz discuss Patrol Element Delta, among other things…(scene continues in Drunks Musing)
Date: 2657.315
Related Logs: Drunk Musing

Her Scimitar bedded down with its crew chief clucking over it like a mother hen, fully debriefed, showered, powdered and nice to be near, Paz strolls into First and Last grinning the the cat who ate the canary.

With the conclusion of the mission, Kell stepped out of the boiling cauldron into a pit of fire which is the ship's maintenance crew. One can easily tell that upon landing, they were not pleased with the condition that the Stiletto came back in. After some tongue lashing by the veteran repair crew, which the embarrassed rookie pilot receives without complaint, the pilot retreats to pilot country. Sporting only a couple of bruises and most likely sore muscles from the intense flying earlier, Kell is debriefed before he grabs a shower to relax.
It's only after cleaning up and dressing again does the pilot with the callsign of 'Razor' appear in the First and Last to kick back and relax a bit, to settle his nerves. Having only arrived two days ago, the young pilot does not know many faces nor has he ventured to the First and Last before so after stepping into the lounge, he pauses and takes a look around the area.

The First and Last isn't the best ship's lounge in the galaxy, if one were to ask Pip, but that is sure enough where he can be found, strolling in a few moments after Paz. He's cleaned himself up, of course…but seems to have slipped into yet another of his faded old flightsuits, which do seem to be about the only pieces of clothing that the middle-aged pilot owns. A hand is run through his grey hair, and Paz is given a polite nod, as he passes…moving toward the bar, and starting work on a tray full of pints. The young rookie regular pilot is also given a nod, though it manages to be a bit more of a relieved grin. A gesture toward one of the tables, as if to wait for the drinks to arrive.

Spotting the two Scimitar pilots, having seen them disembark from their fighters after the mission, Kell makes his way towards the two and openly grins. Grabbing a seat at the able, he looks from Pip to Paz, giving her a very abridged version of what happened, allowing the more senior and experienced pilot to go into details for the story, "A combat patrol that involved a /lot/ of bad luck for us."

Placing the tray on the table, with 6 pints of very dark beer for the three of them, the older Englishman settles himself into one of the seats, and replies with a slight smile, and a nod toward Kell. "What he said, frankly. We engaged an element of four Sartha, eliminated them without much trouble…but then we lost half of our firepower to mechanical failures. Valentine…"Whom he clearly doesn't address by rank, or even appear to have much use for, if his perturbed expression.."made an orderly exit, followed by one of our Broadswords…" He pauses in his explanation, and reaches for his pint, taking a long gulp, and glancing at the Stiletto jockey…as if indicating he should pick up the next part.
Paz nods, sipping at her pint and giving a thoughtful _hrmn_ at the unfamiliar taste as she cuts her eyes over to Razor.

When the pints of the dark, thick beer is placed on the table, Kell stares at the drinks for a moment before grabbing one, certainly not complaining about free drinks even though it's darker than he's use to. While he listens to Pip go through the first part of the patrol, Razor takes a deep drink from the dark beer, finding it pretty good tasting, perhaps the feeling of still being alive making everything taste better.
When the storytelling ball is passed to him, Kell nods and then turns his attention to Paz, "Firepower we could've really used for the next Nav Point. We basically stepped into a bear trap, found the Drayman Pelican under heavy attack by a Fralthi and her escorts. Turns out the big Cat had some kittens, three Dralthis. They also had an ace furball flying around in that nasty Hhriss class fighter, which messed us up pretty badly. Pip over there managed to blow one of the Dralthis out of the sky pretty fast, then things went to Hell." Kell then looks back to Pip, perhaps allowing the other man to wrap up the story while he takes another long drink of the beer.

"Aye. That little skirmish was one of the hottest I've seen for the small number of vessels involved. For a while, things seemed to from bad to worse, until that rook bomber pilot, Koenig managed to cripple the Fralthi with his second torpedo strike. He likely saved our asses, truth be told. That and the mouthy Count Kitten ordered it to attack the Drayman, and leave the glory to his squadron." A draught of the draught is taken, and then a frown. "He was good, though. Came within a hair's breath of waxing Razor, and then managed to destroy Koenig's 'Sword. Laid a decent lick with those forward guns on my bird, too." Setting the half-downed pint onto the tabletop, he sighs. "Koenig lost a gunner, a WO Stein, I am told. Atleast, for what good it did, that bastard Kilrathi got to digest my last heat seeker, roundabout the time that you arrived." A thoughtful nod, and he smiles more broadly at his squadron mate. "That was a neat piece of killing, Lieutenant. I was impressed, lass. Bagged yourself a Dralthi on the first pass." If someone can do what he does, he respects them greatly! "Of course, I'm going to punch the Captain of the Pelican square in the jaw, if I ever meet him. He left without so much of a 'How'd'ya do?"

"Wait, wait…you're tellin' me Grim lit out with half your escorts?" Paz replies, incredulous. "Oh that mother _fucker_!" she snarls quietly enough to keep it amongst those around the table. "We didn't know anything about it back here, at least, me and Spaceboy didn't, ditto the Broadsword pilots that launched with us. All we heard, like I said, was there was major trouble at triple x mark triple y, now go get 'em!" she chuckles, taking a more lusty swig at her brew now that she's used to the flavor. "Sounds like you guys did some damn good flying before we got there." she adds, hoisting her pint in salute. "You managed to nail Count Kitten, and that oughta put a finger in Archangel's notion that the Scim's a POS." she smirks. "And I can't believe you manage to trap with your ship in the state it was, Razor." she chuckles. "You were venting like a goddamn chimney!" she adds, then grows silent, hoisting her pint again. "Here's to Koenig for getting it done, and WO Stein." she proposes the toast. "And that kill wasn't that hard, sir. Senor Fuzzy-Wuzzy was too intent on vaping Razor here, never even saw it coming."

Not showing any reaction to his feelings of the Wing Commander, Razor could only shrug his shoulders, "Both the Wing Commander's Stiletto and the Broadsword had problem mechanically." As the subject of his ship is brought up, Kell can only grin, "It was sparking pretty badly, when I got hit, I almost pulled the ejection lever, almost."
At the mention of Warrant Officer Stein, Kell raises his half full pint of beer in the air towards the other two pilots, "To Warrant Officer Stein, for his bravery and sacrifice." Though this recent engagement has only been Razor's second engagement, he seems to be maturing rather quickly with the Trials by Fire here on the frontlines in Gemini Sector. Time will only tell if the rookie bit off more than he could chew, having personally requested to be assigned here straight out of the Academy.
After the toast was made, Kell drains the rest of the thick, dark beer and puts the empty glass on the table none too gently, letting out a sigh of relief before shaking his head slightly. "You shouldn't be too hard on the Captain of the Pelican though. Who knows how long he was by himself with all those cats breathing down his back, probably pissed his pants and was focused only on getting out alive. He did do us a favor, whether intentionally or not, by taking out one of the Dralthis."

"I am unimpressed with Valentine, as an officer, specifically. He insulted my flying, after I waxed him three out of five in dogfights in the sims, last night. Imagine that. And, both of his kills were missiles." There is a dismissive air to that statement. Sooner or later, everyone is going to eat a missile…it's why they rule the battlefield. A pause, and a frown. "Though, I shouldn't be sharing that disapproval with subordinates. It is inappropriate. I apologize." His own stein is then lifted, as he listens to her explanation of what went down back on the ship to get the help they so desperately needed. "To Warrant Officer Stein." And then he downs his own pint, and settles it to the table, before adding quietly. "And to Scimitars, the finest ships in the Fleet…" Said with true sincerity…"And punching merchant marine captains in the face, too." Kell's defence of the Pelican's CO gets a smirk, and then a perfunctory blow it out your ass snort.

Grabbing the second dark pint of beer, Kell laughs in amusement at the additional toasts that Jenthson tacked on, getting a feeling that the other pilot would not agree with his defense of the Captain. As for the apology, Razor merely shakes his head, "No apologies needed, what's shared over drinks is only between those drinking." The talk of superior officers that aren't liked isn't new to the young pilot, having heard of the same while in the Academy but instead of superior officers, they were instructors. Razor seems to have gotten a bit more quiet as he continues to enjoy the second pint, already finishing half of the drink but it looks like exhaustion of tonight's mission, on top of the other mission is catching up to him.

"Heh, my ship was sparking bad as yours was, Razor I'd be thinking about joining the bird gang, too." Paz chuckles throatily, "Like I said, how you managed to trap that thing is beyond me." she smirks, then sobers as she clunks glasses. "Vale, Stein, you done good." she adds quietly. "As to the other, sir." she says, turning a little to address Pip as she drains her mug. "I've got my own assessment of our Fearless Leader." she says, eyes dancing mirthfully. "Which is why I'm going to offer the two of you an in on what might be the big-ticket item of the cruise." she grins conspiratorially. "There's gonna be a match-up, Archangel versus Grim. Dunno when, but it is coming, and this is from credible sources. Odds are even, well, maybe shave a point or two in Archangel's favor because he hasn't been flying a desk like the Winco. You want a piece of the action, lemme know. I'm getting a pool together." she adds, reaching for a fresh pint and hoisting it. "To the Scimitar, she's big, she's heavy, she's fucking ugly, but good God, she flies good!"

"Fisticuffs, then? I have yet to meet Archangel…so I will have to make my own assessment, before laying down any wagers…" A smile, and Frethan merely sips at his second pint, giving some consideration to the conversation at hand. "Though, if it is a simulator battle, I would be just as likely to claim the victor, and put my own money on myself. I might not be so spry as I used to be, of course…" Damn, now she has him wanting to size up this Archangel fellow, and see just how much he should wager on Valentine getting his ass handed to him! "I'd take a Scimitar over those piece of shit Stilettos…"A pause, and a glance to Razor in silent apology for bad-mouthing his squadron's chosen starfighters…."They're almost as bad as the Hornets I started out in."

Leaning in to join the possible friendly conspiracy, Kell can only grin and chuckle at what he hears. "I will certainly keep that in mind. Certainly sounds like it will be a very good matchup… but I think I'll just remain a spectator for now." Plus, the young pilot has yet to receive his paychecks yet to start blowing cash around freely. When Paz forms another toast, Razor joins in and raises his glass, clinking it, "And to the Stiletto, allowing me to fly better than I am, quick like a dagger but paper thin." With that made, he drains the rest of his second beer and puts the empty glass down.

The comment made by Jenthson doesn't seem to upset or offend Kell who laughs, "Did a lot of training with Hornets at the Academy so the Stiletto is a major step up in my book, I like the speed and maneuverbility." Whether it's the exhaustion or the beer catching up to Razor, the pilot stifles a yawn before looking at the two, "I think I'm actually going to hit the sack. Didn't think that it would be this busy right after assignment… not that I'm complaining." He certainly knows that the only way to become a better pilot is through experience.

"Sims? Oh, fuck that. I'm putting my money on myself. I've flown against the Valentine, and he's good, but nothing special, I assure you. Not as good a gunner as he should be. Could barely hit my Scimitar for Christ's sake. Between those two? If this Archangel can shoot…drop the cash on him." The Englishman takes another long swig of his pint, and then nods to Kel as he makes to leave. "Great flying, Rook. One more kill, and you'll be an ace. We'll get you proper drunk, after that. Find you a lady for the night, too." A smarmy grin from the Lieutenant, then.

Nodding his head at Paz, Kell grins at her, "Thanks, though I'm only this good with good wingman. And these past two missions, I've had pretty damn good wingmen covering me." He says, shooting Pip a smile, glad to have a veteran like the Scimitar pilot looking out for him. The response from the other man brings a chuckle from the younger pilot, "Looking forward to it then, smoked kitties, lots of booze, and a pretty girl, it's all upsides!" Rising to his feet, Razor gives both a wave and a quick thanks for the drinks before heading out to get some shuteye.

A tilted head, and the grey-haired pilot merely lifts an eyebrow to off-set the tilt, and lifts his pint to his lips, takes a sip, and then settles it back to the table. "That, I have not heard, lass. But, I can't say that I'm surprised. The WC looks like he's a hair over 20…"Okay…he isn't that young, but Pip does have a point. "And, they see some old grey hair show up, stand up the WinCo, beat his ass in the sims, and generally act as if he knows his business? I can see why they'd be mistaken." A shrug, and taps the single bar on his chest. "They don't generally put 47 year old First Johns that got cashiered from the service their own squadron. Especially not when they've already fucked up as a WinCo. Jolly's job is safe." And, then he falls silent, looking toward the young pilot with a curious expression. Might as well wait to see what she has to think of the old fellow being a monumental fuck-up.
"Heard a tale or two about that too, sir." Paz replies easily enough, polishing off pint 02 before hoisting pint 03. "Said you got eighty-sixed, but can't find out why. Care to elaborate?" she asks simply, dark eyes scanning the older man's face. "Jolly's a friend." she adds. "Good pilot, and a good leader." she says, feeling the need to defend her CO for some reason. "He stood us up with a handful of raggedy-ass knuckledraggers, birds that hadn't seen a proper refit in twenty years and pilots who barely knew how to fly them."

"It depends on who you ask, Paz. My pilots, well, those that survived, say I was a scapegoat…." A pause, and Frethan drains his own second, and then reaches for a third, too. His voice is quiet, and he face is fairly well set in stone. Stiff-upper, and all that British bullshit…that's Pip. "Honestly, I don't know if that's true or not. I know I made a mistake, but it was a matter of being too aggressive, when caution was better served. I was Acting CAG of the TCS Montgomery, and her flotilla. We kept kicking Kat ass, much like we've done in our past few patrols, large kill discrepencies, lot of fragged fur. But, when push came to shove? It was a trap…and our Commodore walked his fat ass right into it." A rueful smile surfaces on his face, and he leans back in his chair, eyes never leaving the woman's face. "Monty's birds cleared the way, that day. Most of three kitty carrier groups hit us in a hell-hole of navigational hazards, and my men and women gave their lives so that the battle group could escape. We fought better than any unit I have ever seen,…before, or since, lass. Believe me. If you can find combat footage, you'd see." A shrug, as if accepting the blame onto his shoulders, out of habit. "My sins were twofold. Not giving the order to fallback the moment the order was given…it was, I believe, a bad order…the exit corridor was shrinking, as it was." And then he holds up one finger…"And the gravest? I failed to die of my wounds, while more than 60 percent of entire air group were not so lucky as me." His third drink is drained, after that explanation…with a final addendum…"That Commodore? He retired an Admiral, because 'he' saved so many of his ships."

For a long moment Paz remains motionless, absorbing Pip's story and processing it versus what little she knows about fleet actions in the last few decades and balancing that against the man's attitude in this moment. "Sounds like you were force-fed a great big shitburger to eat, and those that knew it made you choke it down anyhow." she replies, hoisting her pint. "Sometimes, I dunno who's worse, the fuzzy-wuzzies for being extreme xenophobes who won't see reason, or _us_…For not being able to let go of the political bulshit when there's bigger fish to fry." she sighs.

"Oh. Don't ask that question. The Kilrathi are hideous, awful blight upon our galaxy, and humankind's political machinations are nothing in comparison. I was with the Fleet when the bastards fragged that ship full of orphans that began this war. I was a your age, a journalist's intern. TCSF starfighter pilots saved our asses, when our ship, the cruiser Agincourt went down. A month, she managed to fight. I entered OCS less than a week after I returned to Earth." And, that was such a typical old-dude memory rant, which is finished with…"That's why we're better, lass. We don't fucking kill ships full of orphans." His third pint is drained and settled to the counter, before he adds…"I like Jolly. He's a good officer, and he's done miracles with what he's been given…especially having to serve under Der Valentine. So, no worries, there." Tapping his chin thoughtfully, he continues with…"So, tell me about what brought you to the

Oh, nothing much…I signed up for JROTC in High School." Paz replies with an eloquent shrug. "Seemed the thing to do, not ot mention the Instructor was …well….Less said on that the better." she chuckles. "Local college from there. Got my double E in civil engineering, off to the Academy and the ink wasn't dry on my sheepskin before we were being called up." she adds, polishing off pint 03 and going for pint 04. "Been an interesting ride." she muses, sipping at her new brew. "Though, I don't reccommend the accomodations in the Brig….the beds are lumpy and room service _SUCKS_."
"Oh, Spaceboy got shot down a few days ago on a CAP." Paz sighs, smirking a bit. "Didn't sound like the SAR was gonna do much in the way of rescuing him, so me and Archangel…..borrowed a Broadsword and went after him." she explains, quaffing her drink. "Archangel managed to bluff his way off the ship, and we got there in the middle of yet another damn brawl. I'm in the rear seat, trying to figure out what's what based on all of about a half-day's worth of instruction on how the rear-gunner's chair is supposed to go." she giggles, shaking her head. "Thought I'd never get the damn auto-align on the gunsight to work…whoever designed that thing needs to be tied to a chair and beaten with a hammer for a good week or so." she adds, lip curling. "It's like frickin' _gelatin_…You give an axial command and it feels like a week before the thing catches up. And, of course, since Archangel's in the driver's seat, we wind up in a knife-fight. I bagged my second Dralthi, I think …yeah..Pickett picked someone off too….someone I wanna say's important…But we got Spaceboy back." she grins drunkenly, hoisting her half-full mug. "He's a good kid, not a natural pilot, but he's got the stuff…all he needs is the time to put it all together." she adds.
From the doorway, the sound of boots thunk across the deck. Markovic appears half-dressed. Her flightsuit is unzipped and with the arms wrapped around her hips, tied around the front in a simple knot. Her hair is a matted mess, the lot of it held in place by a scunci behind her head in a ponytail. She doesn't bother with a look around the bar on her approach - she just sidles up to the bar and signals for the bartender. "Double espresso, pajalista." She hefts a heavy sigh and rubs at her left temple with two fingers.

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