One less bastard.
One less bastard.
Summary: Desusa probes Gars mental status before he passes judgement.
Date: 21 ACH
Related Logs: None

Genesis's brig.

Gars is boxing in his cell, #2, fighting some invisible enemy only he can see. His jacket is thrown on the bed, and his t-shirt and tank top drenched with sweat; he as obviously been at it for quite some time. He is focused and determined his moves and imaginary hits, almost dancing as he ducks and sidesteps and lashes out with his fists.

It's quiet in here. The only sounds coming from the desk sergeant guarding the brig, as he writes some reports. Good things never last. The stillness of the brig is disrupted by the sound of the opening of the hatchway. In steps Desusa in his full blues. The Major holds a few folders under his arm as he moves towards the desk. "Gars," is all he says as he scribbles his name in the log book.

Gars slows down to a halt in his exercise and looks on out the bars, taking a moment to roll his shoulders before standing at attention. "Major, Sir!" he calls out with his rough voice.

Desusa does not answer the greeting. He just walks slowly towards the cell and slides a folder out from under his arm. "Here is the list of the marines I have lost in the past ten or so years as a military leader and commander on the ground." He throws it inside Gars's cell between the bars and lets him pick it up if he wishes. "Do you think those men and women in that list give a flying frak about you or how you are behaving, Corporal?" His is loud, but he's not screaming… yet.

"No, sir, I don’t" Gars says, ever standing at attention.

Desusa narrows his eyes a bit, "So, you think a dead marine doesn't care about how you are tarnishing their code and honor by disrespecting fellow marines and officers, is that what you summarize, Gars?"

"No, Sir" Gars says, putting emphasize on the last of the words. "Dead Marines who has seen combat pity me for being cooped up on this barge, instead of taking the fight to enemy to deal out some frakkin' payback, sir. They would rather see me shoot down the enemy, than being forced to share quarters with cocky kids who thinks they know something about combat, sir. If they still are Marines, which I am damn sure of that they are, they pity me for not avenging the attacks on our home worlds. I summarize, sir, that I need to kill Cylons, as Zeus, Athena and Ares intended, sir."

Desusa drums his fingers over the other folder nesting under his arm, as he continues to query Gars, "One lone battlestar to avenge our home worlds?" He shakes his head and smirks sarcastically, "Shit. The concepts of strategy and tactics elude you, huh? I ask this, cause it seems to me, you think that 'running and gunning' like idiots is the way to turn this war on our favor."

"No, sir" Gars says, ever locked in at-attention. "But sitting on my ass doing nothing is like being a frakkin virgin again. We got our asses kicked, sir, and I need to do something about it. Doing nothing is staring to upset me, sir. We are at war, and we need to start killing our enemies, if only to uphold the memories of the men and women who wore this uniform 40 years ago. Sir."

Desusa grunts, "So, you are some sort of frakking one-man commando, huh?" He turns around and cries, "By Apollo, stop this mutherfrakker! I got the answer to our prayers sitting on the brig!" The desk sergeant look up and smiles somewhat. Raul turns back to Gars and says, "I don't frakking care if you can chew bullets in mid-air, Corporal, /you/ don't get to decide when we fight. Period."

"Compared to the pacifists calling themselves Marines around here, sir" Gars says, "Then yes; I am the answer to your motherfrakkin prayers, Major, sir! But until a time when I am in combat, sitting on my frakkin ass doing nothing but spending time around kids fresh out of basic who think they are all they can be just because they wear our uniform, sir. You and I both know the shit this detachment has got on the inbound, and perhaps even worse than we can imagine. And they act like this aint war, but a social party where their rights are upheld by a civlian government… A government that three weeks ago got nuked all the way to Hades. Sir."

Desusa grunts, "Whatever happens to the marine detachment is my and Major Gaelan's concern. Not yours." He then pulls out the second folder and opens it up, reading, "Insubordination. Conduct unbecoming a Colonial Marine. Assault on a fellow enlisted. And another charge of sexual harassment." He look back to Gars and asks, "Is there a rule in the manual you haven't broken?"

"When did I, Assault, a Marine, sir?" Gars says with a frown. "I have no memory of such an act. I do remember subduing a Marine who took a swing at me, sir. I wasn’t aware that self-defense is assault in JAG's book, sir."

Desusa ahs, "Yes. You are correct, according to the record, Lakis swung first." He closes the folder and slides it back under his arm. "But you know, since you decided to break my trust and continued to act like some rebellious kid who wants his candy, I say the 'inciting' the Lance to hit you is just the same in my book." He clears his throat and asks, in that sarcastic way of his, "Anything else that you like to add before I decide what to do with you?"

"Marines duke it out all the time, sir" Gars frowns. "It is in our nature to fight even when there is no war. The Lance Corporal had no problems with solving the issue between the two of us. Why Corporal Ramiro saw it fit to call in the MP's I do not know, sir. Personally, I would trust the Lance Corporal ten times more to get the job done in combat than Corporal Ramiro, because she demonstrated that she's got balls, sir. Corporal Ramiro is a by-the-book sucking-up-to-brass liberal who cant handle shit on his own. And the more men you place under his command, the more men you place at risk of dying for no good reason, Sir. There is a war on and we need to get back into the fight, sir, and you need Marines and not high-school degenerates who likes a fancy uniform and finds it neat to salute, sir."

Desusa listens to all that and shakes his head in total disapproval, "What Ramiro does on the ground with his men, has yet to be seen, and you sure as hades ain't gonna grade his performance, Gars." He studies the man and says, "I have no idea what happened to you, but you can bet your ass I am not gonna allow you to walk out easy from this one." His eye narrow on the corporal behind the bars, "As of this moment, you are dropped off from the Bastards. You are confined to the brig until the time Major Gaelan and I have finished reviewing your case." He slowly turns away and heads for the door.

"What happened?" Gars says and looks at Desusa for the first time. "What happened?! Mankind got nuked and wiped out; Thats what frakkin happened, sir. The Cylons have frakking wiped us out. We are frakking extinct! You asking me what happened? We Are Frakking All Dead! And the only thing we've got left is to kill as many toaster-frakkers as we can while we still live. There is nothing to fight for, no planet to defend, no president to protect, no frakking civilization to uphold! We are frakked! And Im sitting on my sorry ass on this damn tugboat, surrounded by IQ deprived kids who thinks they know what it means to be a Marine! You ask me what the frak happened?!"

Desusa walks out. Not bothering to give the man a reply.

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