2237-06-12 - Commander Caprica

Jonas seeks out Rothschild to discuss her leadership.

Date: 2237-06-12

Location: CQB Arena

Related Scenes: None

Plot: None

Scene Number: 1124

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Rothschild is finishing up a run through the arena -- a more practical way to hone her marksmanship skills than just firing down the stational range. She has a variety of targets on some of the walls, including just some random hit points. With her practice rifle slung across her back, she starts making her way through the maze of hallways and rooms, heading for the weapon storage.

Having heard that the sergeant was down here, Jonas has made his way down. He's not here to run the course, instead he's waiting near the weapon's storage, and when Rothschild approaches, he pushes up a little. Blowing a lazy bubble, popping it between his teeth before sucking it back in. "Hey Sergeant. Got a moment?"

"You can just call me Rothschild, Ingvar," the Leonese woman says, looking up just once before she stows her rifle. She is dressed down to her layered tanks and khakis, and she works are retucking the former into the latter as she turns toward him. "But, yes... I got a moment." She gestures him to follow her, still going through the motions of cleaning up the space after her run through.

Moving to pick up a few of the items, Jonas considers. "When I was nine, I first fell in love with the radio. One of the first things I heard over the airwaves was this programme from Caprica - Commander Caprica and the Spectacular Squadron. It was about a group of pilots that fought in the air and on the ground in special missions. Just like us, right?" he asks with a small smile at the memory. "Anyway, a couple of years later, there was this a chance to meet the voice actors at Summerfest. I was so excited. You know, meeting my heroes in the flesh. I'm sure you know how that went - face for radio and all that." he laughs a little at that. "Plus the time difference between radio and space, that was my first lesson on that."

"Mmhmm. I remember Commander Caprica. I think I was about seven when I heard the broadcast the first time." Rothschild rights a dining room chair, seeming unperturbed. She tucks the chair in to the mismatched dining set before she turns to him, hand braced against the back of the chair. Her dark eyes settle on him with her hand resting on the well-rounded curve of her hip. "Did you still ge this autograph though, or did you find yourself disappointed that he wasn't a tall, strapping soldier from Caprica?"

"Still got the autograph, but was disappointed. Wasn't all I made it out to be. Funny how things can do that, you know. Build expectations?" Jonas considers for a moment, then glances at the woman. "We're supposed to put our trust in you, Rothschild, to know what you're doing out there. You put everyone in those trucks in danger the other night. I get that you wanted recon high, but height was limited by a limited field of vision from the trucks and no ability to listen or get ahead of the trucks. How long has it been since you led a squad in combat, Sergeant?"

Rothschild seems to have known where this was going, as she doesn't look at all surprised by how he turns the subject onto her leadership decisions. "Hmm." She kneads her hand once at the chair, and then pulls it out. She gestures for the fellow Marine to sit with her at the abused table. "Alright, Ingvar... tell me how you would have done it." She folds her arms across the table, her eyes not leaving him.

"The objective of the mission was to have the trucks guarded. Recon should have been out front, at least a 100 yards ahead to look for the obvious traps. Heavy on each side to flank, support on the inner ring." Jonas responds easily, not looking or flinching away from the dark gaze upon him. He doesn't take a seat, leaning against the wall, chewing the gum. "You put recon and support in the truck, with that excuse of keeping higher watch, but you weakened the rest of the squad."

"You could be right." Rothschild taps on the table twice with her fingertips. "But you could be wrong. We were in contested territory, and had been on the road for fifteen minutes before the attack. Placing recon in a place where they could see all around us was far more beneficial from my perspective... and it was. Wagner spotted the chrome, and whether or not she would have spotted it easier from her spot in the truck or on the ground cannot be up for debate, because we are now dealing in divergent probabilities." She stretches out a hand across the table, opening her palm. "Now, you're biggest flaw here, Sergeant," and she uses his rank since he apparently has decided to make this a professional conversation, "is thinking that I have not reflected on all the minute details that lead to the successful ambush of the Cylons." She leans forward on her elbow, arm bending in slightly. "So, here's my question... did you seek me out to chastise me, and place me in that same tiny box you've put Commander Caprica, or did you seek me out to perhaps see how a fellow soldier is handling the fact that it was her call that lead to the devastating injuries to two Picon soldiers, Aldrich being bedded up in sickbay attached to morpha, and countless other injuries, including what I have decided was a failure despite us limping in with just over half the supplies we promised?" She arches a brow at him. Because, at the moment, it sounds

"She saw it when the missile was being readied to be fired, at which point, we were already well within the ambush point, Sergeant." Jonas doesn't flinch at the change of tone in the conversation as he pushes himself off the wall. "Wagner would have spotted that chrome at least a minute sooner has she had the 100 extra meters." he points out, tucking his gum into his cheek. "The successful ambush, Sergeant, was carried out by the Cylons, unless you forget about the burning truck, one dead, and several wounded left in the wake of your decision to put comfort over duty. Which sounds like someone that has spent far too much time in PR may end up doing. I'm making sure you're head is in this work, and still not in the studion, where the Cylons were already shut down, and the heroes always win. That's what I want to know, Sergeant, do we have Rothschild the solider, or Rothschild the pinup?"

"Again, Sergeant, we're dealing in probabilities... you are running into the common mistake that we all face now and then: If I knew then what I know now..." Rothschild shakes her head, holding up a hand. "You don't know what Wagner would have seen if she had been on the ground, a hundred yards out... but you believe she would have seen the chrome, because you are trying to figure out what we could have done if she had seen the Cylons just a few extra moments earlier." Her fingers crisscross together as she remains sitting. "So, sounds like you are here to chastise then." She then gestures. "This is where things get awfully uncomfortable, because... Sergeant... if you took the time to know anything about me... you would know that there hasn't been a time when there wasn't Rothschild the Soldier." Her smile is brittle then. "But, as all you have decided to know is Rothschild the Pin-Up, I certainly see your concerns."

"You want to hide behind the probabilities to hide a mistake in basic orders and tactics, Sergeant, you can hide behind it. Standard SOP for a deployment to guard a convoy is an escort to thr front, which you neglected. You put three recon trained scouts in two trucks. You could have spared one to rotate out. No, I'm not saying that she wouldn't have seen him sooner, but what I am saying, is that you took away the opprotunity because you went lax." Jonas responds, as he meets her eyes, her dark met with his blues.

"You never answered my questions. How many missions have you led since you became the poster girl for the Leonese and Colonial military?" he asks bluntly. "Did one of those stripes come from it?"

"You know... I bet Commander Caprica often looked at himself in the mirror, and realized that he had... how did you put it... a face for radio. I'm sure he self-consciously smoothed his hair, and adjusted his collar, and always felt like he never could live up to the vision people built in their heads. But, he sure put a lot of his heart and soul into that role. You wonder if there wasn't a part of him that truly was Commander Caprica." Rothschild stands now. She brushes her hands together as she does. "Since you seem far more interested in my jacket than anything else about me, Sergeant... I earned my promotion after Trenoir, and that was the last time I led a mission." She tilts her head slightly. "Thank you for seeking me out, Sergeant. Surely I haven't beaten myself up enough. Always good to get a few more kicks in." She offers him a lazy salute before she heads for the door.

"The next time a Sergeant that has led a mission or two questions an order, ask why." Jonas says simply. "You want to beat yourself up, feel free. But this isn't the radio. You can look in the mirror, fix your makeup and set your curls, but people are going to look at your heart, Sergeant, to see if it's in it, and your brain, to know you can lead them. You can decide if my words are just more critism for you to take to bed with you, or a simple piece of advice to ask next time."

"Show us your worth, Sergeant. Because right now, all you are is just another pair of boots we have to worry about."


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