Summary: Micah takes responsibility, Desusa confesses to uncertainties
Date: 39 ACH
Related Logs: Enemy Contact, Gunny's Ward

CO Quarters Pandora - Main Deck
39 ACH 6285 Souls

This is a perfect example of a CO's quarters. Before the CO moves in. Not an inch of color past Marine Green and Navy Grey is in evidence. A regulation bunk set into the wall, A desk from the office pool, two locked file cabinets, a foot locker and inset cabinet are in this room. No personal style is in place in the slightest.
----< Condition Three - Duty Area >----—-

There's a knock on the door of the CO's quarters.

After making the call to 'Come', Desusa has begun opening his footlocker and is in the process of changing shirts.

Despite being confined to light duty, Micah's taken it upon himself to arrive at the CO's office dressed in officer's blues today. Pressed and clean, not a thread out of place, even his hair looks some semblance of neat today. "Major," he greets audibly, offering a salute.

Desusa looks back to the man entering and nods a bit, "At ease, Ensign." The major slides his shirt on and moves towards his table, filling up a cup with tea, "To what do I owe the honor," asks Desusa as he takes a seat.

Micah's arm drops away, and his hands clasp behind his back once the 'at ease' is given. Watching the pouring of the tea, he speaks up after a moment or two, "Felt I had somethin' to clear up with you, sir. Regardin' my performance, on the Leonis mission."

"You do, eh," says the marine. "Come, have a seat," he prompts after gesturing with his free hand to a chair just in front of his desk. The CO's quarters in the Pandora are as boring as watching a snail race, but, it does manage to have comfortable chairs. The majors voice is calm and good enough for a conversation. the tea he's drinking must be getting to him.

Micah clicks his teeth together a little, but does take the offered seat, perhaps out of courtesy. He looks anything but comfortable in it, perched on the edge as he is. "Permission to speak freely, sir."

Desusa sips and nods slowly, "Granted. Speak your mind, St. Germain." He leans back on his chair and awaits what he knows will be an interesting talk.

Micah teases his lower lip with the tip of his tongue, quiet for a moment. He's watching the Major closely, though eye contact itself is shied away from. "I wanted to give my formal apology, and acceptance of responsibility, for the Phantasm, first off. I was the pilot, maybe I should've refused the Lieutenant's orders, maybe I should've offered an alternative." He pauses. "That said, sir, you won't find a pilot in the fleet that could've handled it better. I got my wingman, and what Marines I could out of it alive, and took down three tin cans when it hit dirt." His chin lifts a fraction. "I did my damned best. But it don't change the fact I had a responsibility. And ah'm willing to take whatever consequences there are for what I did, I know I owe a debt to you, and to the Marine Corps."

Desusa listens carefully to all Micah is saying, keeping a steady eye on him. "Listen, Micah, I know this are trying times for us all, and you know," a pause as he takes a drink, "I sometimes channel my anger wrongly and we where both unlucky that it happened around a big crowd. I have no clue about what sort of pilot you are and maybe I only skimmed thru the report looking to blame you inderctly, for that, I apologize." He leans over and sets his cup down, lacing his hand in front of him. "What I do know, is that it takes a big man to recognize his mistakes and I am pleased to see you wanted to come to me and talk about it."

There's barely a twitch in the kid's demeanor, while Desusa says his piece. A swallow, subtle, and his eyes have trouble staying still, but he's otherwise remarkably steady. "Thank you, sir." His voice is a little scratchy. "Know ah'm not the best officer. I may jus' be the worst there is, but I promised the CAG no more frakups. I promised ah'd behave with integrity. I am a pilot with the Colonial navy, and I didn't want to be here, but I am, and if integrity's all ah've got left, then ah'll die with it. Sir." He glances down at his hands finally, which are tangled together and white-knuckled on his lap. "Never been shot before, not like that. Really makes you see things different. And for what it's worth, sir, I was out of line questioning your decision back there, t'leave us behind. May not have agreed with it, but I can respect it."

"If I had to make that call again, Ensign, I would. Hands down." The marine grabs his cup once more a drinks, "The list of enlisted and officers that have died under my is not very long, son, but I like to think that if I did my job and got thru the obstacles that made me leave them in the battlefield, their loss was not in vain." He sighs a bit and adds, "You know, It is my belief right now that I seem to be getting rusty at my old age. My last outings haven't left me all too satisfied with how things have ended and question myself if there would have been a better way to sort them out." He shrugs as he rubs the back of his neck, "Time will tell, I guess."

Micah nods very slightly to those first words. It seems they were expected. He even stops himself from remarking that he's not anyone's son now, least of all Desusa's. "Sir," he murmurs. "With respect. We only have so many people left. There in't goin' t'be any more new recruits, filling up the ranks of those we lose. Each death is a loss we can't recover; Cav and me, we shouldn't even have been on that mission. If we had the raptor pilots to spare, which we didn't, there's no way the CAG would've let us risk our arses on a ship no viper stick was ever taught to fly. And with respect, sir, I think it's good to question yourself. Nothin' to do with bein' rusty or bein' old; you made a decision that might've been the right one on another mission, in another time. But we can't afford to lose people, now. Even shitty officers like me. Certainly not people like you, and like Lieutenant Craven, sir."

Desusa chuckles a bit and shakes his head, "We are just as flawed, Ensign, I guarantee it." the major stis back on his chair and enjoys another sip of tea. "Is she feeling better now? The female pilot that went down with you, I mean." Raul is in that relaxing conversation mode now.

"She's doin' fine." Micah, probably, is very rarely relaxed. He's jittery by nature, a viper jock through and through. "Doc put us both on light duty for now, so we've been going over section tactics. I heard that Ramiro's team lost one, down there. Ah'm sorry for your loss, sir."

Desusa dips his head a bit and nods, "Yeah. A female sniper. Damn good one too." He doesn't elaborate more on that, and decides to throw Micah a curve ball, "You a smoker, pilot?" He smiles and opens one of his drawers.

It does give him pause, that question. It also has his eyes snapping to the Major's. "Aye, sir." His hands unlace from one another, though he doesn't press on the issue of the sniper.

Desusa smiles and takes out a cigar from his desk, setting it down in front of Micah before standing up to turn on a small cd player, "Hope you don't mind the old tunes." The player begins playing some classical funky tunes of his collection.

Well, this is.. odd. "We're on rations, sir. Don't you need this?" The cigar is rolled closer with the tips of his fingers, then scented briefly as if for quality. If anything, the music's making him smile a touch. "I always play something in the cockpit, while ah'm waiting in the launch tube. Settles the mind. Don't know if it's the same, down on the ground."

Desusa hitches a shoulder and sets the volume to an adequate level, "Well, We always have a boombox strapped in the raptors in the Pandora. Helps you unwind, just like you pointed out, before going into the fold." Hit sits back down and laces his hand behind his head, "And as for the smoke, consider it an offering of peace. I am down on my stach a bit, but I'll make due somehow."

Micah lifts his eyes from the cigar, to the man behind the desk and his old music playing. "'ppreciate it," he murmurs, gesturing with the cigar. "Ta." And then there's a heavy silence from him, and some old crooner's crooning about a love he lost. The pilot looks like he wants to say something more, but lacks the perspicacity.

Desusa looks at the pilot a bit further and lofts a brow, "Something else on your mind, St. Germain?" He flashes a small smile and adds, "You made the long trip here, and am due for leave in about ten minutes, so, feel free to toss more ham into the pan."

Micah shakes his head, and pockets the cigar carefully. Of course he can't smoke it now, being on duty. "No, sir." He pushes to his feet in a smooth motion, and clasps his hands behind his back again. "That was all, sir. Thank you for hearin' me out."

Desusa stands up and offers his hand to the pilot, "Stay frosty, Ensign."

Micah steps forward, after a pause, to clasp the offered hand. And he does offer finally, in a low voice accompanied with a grin at the apex of that firm shake, "Glad we're not havin' this conversation in the brig, sir. 'cause I had every intention of decking you, in the sickbay, if the Gunny hadn't got t'you first."

Desusa snickers and says, "Well, I am glad that it didn't come to that." Raul is a really good ood here, and patching things up with the pilot is only making it better. "Dissmissed," he says after releasing his hand.

Micah takes a step back, salutes once more, and then turns and briskly departs.

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