Sniping, Honor, and Callsigns
Sniping, Honor, and Callsigns
Summary: Ramiro and Novella have a quiet talk in the bunker while others sleep.
Date: 25 ACH
Related Logs: None

Old Bunker Leonis - Surface
25 ACH 6735 Souls

Once the main door is breached, the cold wind and snow remains outside of the old bunker. Following old, laid tracks deeper into the cavern, it opens up into a wide area. Whatever was here, is long gone or just small parts remain. Nothing of use is found here. Small tunnels lead to some other areas that are long since caved in, whether on purpose or the mountain taking back its own.

<WEATHER> It is nighttime. Snow covers everything as far as the eye can see as a storm sweeps down from the mountains to add more inches to whatever is already on the ground.

Still very late on Leonis, almost everyone inside of the bunker is sleeping. Having slept a little himself, Ramiro his wrapped himself in his blanket and moved near the door to sit and write in a little notebook. A small flashlight is shoved into the brim of the mark that he's rolled up into a makeshift beanie. A steaming cup of coffee sits beside him.

In through the door walks a very heavily-wrapped Ensign Novella. She's not just wearing Marine cold-weather gear, but her flight suit can be seen near her collar. She looks a bit like she's been inflated with all the layers. But everyone is asleep! She looks around, pouting. Suck! But wait! There's that Corporal. She makes her way over to him as she begins unwrapping a few of the layers. "Hi, there," she whispers.

"Hey right back." Ramiro replies, nodding to her and motioning to a thermos beside him. He has a small metal mess kit cup that he's using. "If you need warming up, feel free to drink out of the thermos cap." He motions, offering for her to have some coffee as well. "Warning though, it's rust flavored." He smiles, pausing to take a sip. "Great job getting us down here, Ensign."

"Corporal, you're a saint," she breathes, flopping down next to him. She unscrews the cap on the thermos and pours some into the top. "No problem. I said I'd never crew another Raptor after the Tauron raid, but nobody else wanted to step up. Besides.. someone has to look after you all." She smirks at him over the lid of the mug, a relaxing sip taken. "Its beautiful outside. Hasn't stopped snowing.. like three feet or something. Great camo for the Raptors. If we'd had enough time, we should have painted them white… Do you think cylons see color?"

"Well if marines flew Raptors we'd cover them in armor and ram them into things." Ramiro comments with a smile. Pausing to take another sip of his coffee, he turns off his light. Sliding it into a pocket alongside his notebook, he looks to her. "They probably do, but only for recognition purposes. I'm more concerned about whether or not they see infrared. Humans put off heat. It would be the smart thing to do at least." He shrugs. "They may have us beat on senses but we've got creativity."

"Well I'll tell ya, those sons of bitches are tanks. You probably could up-armor them and ram them into stuff.. Use the guns to blast a hole and then.. kinda.. board a ship like pirates." The blond shrugs. Apparently this is something she has considered trying before. She's either crazy, has a deathwish.. or both. The woman considers his words for a few moments as she sips. "Good point. Well the Raptors are completely powered down. In a few hours, their FTL core's won't even be putting out heat. They'll look like giant snowmen. But how are you planning to counter IR? If they see it, anyway.."

"There really isn't a way to counter IR." Ramiro replies, scratching his head for a moment and then looking back to the pilot. "Heat is heat. My ghillie suit absorbs some cold on the outside and the inner lining might give me an advantage, but really our best comes when we're at a distance, a speck." He pauses. "I've taken down five Centurions myself though, so if you ever come that close to one? Don't stop shooting till it's down. Take a knee, find some cover. They just keep coming, which is a blessing and a curse."

Another small sip from the cup. She's nursing the Marine Brew. Everyone knows it beats the crap out of the shit the Navy passes off for coffee. "Good points. I know stuff about attacking targets from the air. At high speed. Getting in close.. knife-distance.. that's where its at for Viper sticks. And I might be an officer and you enlisted.. but I think I'll defer to your knowledge about these distance things." She smirks. "Good advice, though. Anything else I should keep in mind if I find myself up near you all?" Not that she would.. but you know how unpredictable these plots can be.

Ramiro pauses, reflecting for the moment. "Well if you're down with the rest of us, I'll probably be covering you from high above." He motions to the collected backpacks and sniper rifles by his sleeping team. "I've found it simple as this in the combat drops I've done. Try to provide them with as small a target as possible while making sure you're free to hit them. They don't stop coming forward. They don't duck, dodge, flinch…not a bit of it. You're a pilot, worse comes to worse you're our ticket out of here." He looks to us. "So let us cover you and do our jobs." He smiles, shrugging a little. "That's what I suggest."

"I suppose this is where I should say something about how rough and tumble I am and that everyone is equal when the bullets start flying, right?" She tilts her head to look at him, the barest hints of a chuckle at the edges of her voice. "But I know the reality. Without the pilots, we're all frakked so I'll keep my ass out of the line of fire. its good to know about how they attack, though. Their Raiders are very different. Not easy opponents, but they aren't as creative in a dogfight as we are. All that training we did paid off bigtime."

"Yeah…I know, you guys have been doing wonders out there." Ramiro replies, sipping the last of his coffee. He grabs the thermos and pours himself some more. "I dunno though, I'm not one of those marines that'll say you pilots can't do your own. You went through basic and OCS, so there's alot of merit in that." He smirks in a friendly manner. "So where are you from, Ensign?"

Once more, Novella's shoulders lift and fall. "We pull our weight. But dogfighting is worse than most think. Sweating off two pounds in a ten minute engagement is pretty common. But then again, yeah, its nothing like what you all do. But I appreciate that you think that way." Another sip of her mug. "Rumormill is working overtime that some of your mates don't play well with others. Any others. Nice to know not all of you think that way." She looks over across the sea of sleeping bags in the dim. "I'm actually from Caprica. How about yourself?"

Ramiro chuckles inwardly at the mention of trouble between the Marines and the Navy. He shrugs. "I think some people just get bitter about the pay." He blows on the coffee, trying to cool it a little bit. "I'm from Gemenon, but transferred to Caprica garrison before being shipped to the Genesis. Go C-Bucs.." he adds in, a little mention to Caprica's pyramid team. "…so do all pilots have a callsign? What's yours?"

Novella can't help but laugh about that. "Yeah.. the pay sucks. If we don't get a raise soon I might just pack it in." Sarcasm: Love it. She shakes her head as the lightness peters out. "Gemenese, eh? Nice. I miss Cap, though. Never was much for pyramid, though. Not bloody enough. Lacrosse.. now there's a sport I can get behind." She grins, then dips her head to his question. "Yeah. We do. But they're earned so it sometimes takes a bit before a pilot gets theirs. I've actually had two but this one will stick to death, probably. Everyone calls me 'Cav.'"

"Cav?" Ramiro asks. "What's that short for? Cavalier? Cavalry? Caviar?" He makes a little joke, shifting a little as the floor of the bunker is decidedly not soft. "You willing to tell the story of how you earned that one?"

"Normally I make people buy me a drink to hear it, but sharing this coffee on a frakking night like this? Shit if that doesn't cut it then I'm just a tease." Novella chuckles once more, letting her whispered voice carry the low volume to her laugh. "Right on the second guess. Short for 'Cavalry.' A couple months into flight training, we were out at a bar on a Friday. We'd all completed our first checkrides. Well this one guy? Caleb? He wasn't too popular in our class. He was goofy and awkward. But he meant well and had the right mindset. Well he got into a scuffle at this bar with a dozen Marines and he starts getting shoved around.. so he decks this buck Sergeant. Beautiful hit, too." She can't help the smile, glancing to him. "Well they start gruffing about how bad he'd frakked up and they were going to kick his ass. Well I get up out of my chair and nobody else in the flight looks like they want a piece of it. So I expounded on something my grandfather pounded into my head about honor." See her wiki page for the exact line. "And I charged in, tackling a PFC from behind. Took down two of them before the MP's got me."

"Well in my honest opinion, they probably deserved it." Ramiro replies, lifting his coffee cup to crash against hers. "A dozen groundpounders sweating a goofy and akward pilot? Hey no offense you guys are smart, agile, and well…officers, but twelve against one?" He scowls, shaking his head. "That's just downright uncivilized." He chuckles, shaking his head. He pauses to look to her. "Cav…sounds like a good person to have down here watching our six from above. I've got my team prepped to try and recon that Heavy Raider lurking around here, so you be careful out there, huah?…Sir." He remembers his place.

"Ah shit, nah. Caleb said a few unhappy words about the Corps. He deserved it. We were all frakkin' tanked, too. They beat the ever-living hell out of us. Only two other guys from my flight followed me in. But we scrapped hard. Took a nice blackeye from it, bruised ribs, and ripped the skin off the four main knuckles on my right hand." Its a point of pride for her. Sure, she lost the fight. But she didn't leave someone out to dry. The feeling is almost tangible with her inflection. "But no problem. I'm here because nobody else wanted to volunteer for this shit. But you've got air support from me if you need it.. or I can go forward and call it in quicker. But you watch your ass too. Cuz damnit, even if it sucks and you're under fire, I'm stilling coming to get you. But the harder it is, the more alcohol you owe me. Understand, Corporal?" She can't help but tack on the last word, even if it is in good humor.

"Allright…that's fair. Let the gossip rise when they see a grunt buying a set of wings a beer." He chuckles, turning his head to look at her again. He lowers his voice. "Just remember one thing. SST, the snipers? We can go pretty deep, undetected. By all means, you come and get us. However, if you're ordered not to because of circumstance, don't feel so bad allright? We know how to keep ourselves alive in these conditions. We aren't gonna freeze to death. This is what we're trained for, it's a reality of what we do. To be honest, we'd probably be able to recon this place all alone without any of the other marines here. Larger numbers make our job harder. Just make sure they come back for us if worse comes to worst, deal? You'll then owe me beer, one per day it took to get our extraction completed." He smiles, extending a hand to shake on it.

"Big, tough snipers, mm?" Novella can't help her own smirk. She takes his hand, shaking it. "Got yourself a deal, Corporal. But you had better believe I'll be coming back. Its the only reason I'm here. Leave no man behind." She takes another sip of the coffee as her gloved hand falls away. Mmmm. Marines' brew ftw. "Yeah I can see large numbers complicating it. Maybe command just figures you all need backup in case someone fraks up. Like some dumbass Ensign pilot stumbles on a cylon position or something."

"You never, ever know. They might just start sending us out on recon while you guys sleep so when it's warmer out and you've got daylight you can move. Well…you and the marines. Or just the marines." He shrugs. "However they decide." He looks to his watch. "Yeah, big tough snipers. More like patient though. Situations like these are what we're bred for. Not the upfront fight but tactical shooting." He grins to her. "You tellin me you can't avoid stumbling, Ensign?"

"Move? Hell this isn't bad. Had worse days camping with my brothers. I wouldn't mind sticking around here as long as the food holds out. I had to come in because I started itching for a snowball fight." The Ensign nods to the rest, though. "Not sure I could do it. Sit out there for days on end and not move? I'd probably sleep or start playing 'I Spy' with someone just to keep from goin' batshit nuts. But me? Stumble? No, I'm actually pretty coordinated. But bad things can happen to anyone. Let your guard down for a minute at the wrong time?" Or you botch a roll. "I sure as anything am not perfect about it." She won't say how close to it she believes she is, though.

"Eh…there's stuff we learn in training about keeping the brain active, muscle control, and maintaining our sleep. Which, mind you, I should probably get back to sooner or later here." He nods his head towards his bedroll. Sipping his coffee again, he looks to her. "I guess you could say that Snipers are the anti-fighter pilot. We don't like to chase, dodge, dogfight, and to us we like to play the tortoise game. Slow and steady, careful, don't be seen. We're doing our jobs if our targets never see it coming, and neither do their friends." He chuckles. "We're like karma."

"Neat as hell! You'll have to teach me some of that. Could come in handy on those long-ass CAP's." She looks over towards her own bedroll with the rest of the Raptor crews. Somewhere over there, Rue lurks. "Yeah, I'm coming up on the end of my rotation. I should probably try and get some sleep, myself." With his last, she looks to him with a quirked brow. "Karma? Ever heard the phrase 'Karma's a bitch?' Cuz I kinda agree with it. Karma frakkin' hates me. Or loves me. Depending on your viewpoint and opinion." She slowly rises off the wall and drains the rest of her little cap before stooping to replace it.

Standing as she does, Ramiro will leave take the thermos up when she's done screwing the cap back on. "That's exactly why my squad's callsign on the field is Karma. Because Karma's a bitch." He smiles before draining the last of his coffee. "If you're regular to go on a long CAP with someone like a wingman? Learn a new language. One of the colony dialects. Talk to eachother in it, correct eachother. I had a spotter in sniper school that we kept eachother active by writing a script for a movie we never planned to pen out. We just kept adding to it." He smiles, extending a hand to her. "Was a pleasure getting to talk to you, Ensign."

"Godsdamn, that's a good idea." She is dutifully impressed. "I'm gonna try that. I'll have to find someone to loan us a few books on it." Not like they can order new ones. But she reaches out to take his hand once more. "Same Corporal. Be safe out there and happy hunting." After a good shake, she gives him a nod and heads for her sack.

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