After a difficult run-in with some insurgents, two marines report... interesting findings to one of the //Dauntless// marine officers.
Location: Marine Hq, Dauntless
Related Scenes: 2237-11-01 - The Wagner Investigation
Scene Number: 1511
The Marine HQ has numerous desks. Some hot-swapped between Sergeants on paperwork duty and some more permanently assigned. One particular Lieutenant has the (dis)pleasure of a more permanent desk in the corner.
Lieutenant Olson is a gentleman easing towards middle age. Perhaps someone who took on a renewed comission when the war began or perhaps a man who has just never had the pleasure of seeing himself as a Captain. He carries some weight around his middle and his blonde hair is receding. He was likely attractive in his heyday, but the stress of war is getting to him. He sits in quiet repos sipping at a mug of something-or-another as he quietly reviews a few open folders spread across the desk before him.
By and far, the HQ is quiet. There's a few people here and there, but it's mid-shift and thus lacking in the loud bustle.
Normally, when Abigail sets foot in the marine offices, it's to do paperwork, or man a desk for a shift or two. Which means she usually doesn't walk in looking like she just took a tumble down a hill and came out covered in dirt a grime. This time, she didn't actually take a tumble, but the effect is much the same. The raptor's barely been skids down long enough to let the Marines off, before she was on her way in to report, with a little bit of extra reluctant company to boot. She does, at least, pause in the doorway, looking for the officer on duty. Oh good. A tip of her head in Olson's direction before she takes off towards the man.
The HQ isn't exactly a hang-out spot for Gage. In fact, he spends as little time here as he can manage, which is thankfully pretty easy to achieve given his respectively low level rank. And so, it's perhaps no surprise to anyone who knows the Tauron even remotely that he's looking ill-pleased to be marching there now, straight from their planet-side mission, grudgingly enough that he's a few steps behind Abigail. His uniform is still dusty -- the front in particular from his dive into the dirt -- and his shoulder and left side are stained dark with what any marine would instantly recognize as dried blood.
The motion is noted and Olson looks up. He frowns at the state of both marines, setting aside his mug after another drink. Perhaps deeper than those previous. "Sergeant," he offers simply to Abigail on her approach. There's an arch of brow at the reluctant marine behind her. Olson, a man from Aerilon, has not lost his weathered look even during time aboard-ship during the war. He reaches out and closes the folders before him, tucking them to the side in a haphazard way. There's an appraising glance for both marines, but his gaze lingers on Gage. "Do you need to hit sickbay, marine?"
"Lieutenant. Sorry to interrupt your work cycle, but I wanted as quick debrief, if you've the time." Her tone is polite, her stance equally so, as she folds her hands behind herself. Abigail looks back at Gage, as Olson asks the question, a single brow arching as she waits. She waits for Tomak to make his decision, before she will continue with the report. It's a sign of stress perhaps, that she hadn't noticed or sent him off to be seen first off. That's not her way.
Settling into a slouch a couple of paces away, Gage folds arms across his chest, nodding towards the Lieutenant. "Aint my blood," the Tauron says with a matter of factness just shy of imprudent that all marines seem to perfect. His flick of head seems to indicate the LT's attention should be on Abigail, not him. He's just set dressing. Awesome, buff, handsome, Tauron set dressing, but just set dressing for the time being. He's no fan of reports, doubly so when it might involve one of their own, and his groucher-than-usual expression clearly reflects this.
There's a frown that's directed at Gage at his words. "Not yours? I hope your squadronmate is alright." It's said with the weight of a man who has sent many a 'We are sorry to inform you...' letter home. Olson takes a deep breath, leaning back in his chair and gesturing to a few that sit cattywampus near the desk. "Of course, Sergeant." He seems about to ask something, but restrains himself. "What do you have to report?"
Abigail settles, once she sees Gage actually not take the chance to run for the door, which he could very easily have done. "Only minor injuries, sir." She does settle into the chair, though she remains on the edge of it, rather than attempting to approach anything like comfortable. "We were on guard duty, on that equipment shed in Al-ha sector, when we came under attack by insurgents. Three heavy machine gun emplacements, three combatants on foot. We eliminated all of the insurgents, and removed them closer to the shed for processing by local forces. She reaches into one of the many pockets on her vest, pulling out three firing pins, which she sets on the LT's desk, "From the HMGs. Things were rushed at the end, and I never managed to get them back to the locals. One thing of note. We manages to catch a short transmission from the last combatant. Might or might not be useful, it was, 'Jameson to Wagner. Mission failed.' Then he died after trying to repeat it.
Gage settles for a sharp shake of his head and a brief smirk that is not at all in keeping with a squadmate being injured. So, either he's an asshole -- entirely possible by his reputation -- or otherwise, which again he seeks to draw attention back to the more senior of the dusty pair. He seems more than happy to continue to stand, although his posture remains a slouch. While Abigail speaks, he grunts now and then, presumably in support of her account, and as she draws to a close, he swings his pack from his back, pulling out a folded over Picon sports magazine, dropping it onto the desk, along with what's clearly a recon's camera. "They didn't look local none, either, some of 'em," he gives a shrug. "Picon, I guess, but smarter people than me can figure it out."
Listening to Abigail, Olson leans forward on his desk. He reaches out to pick up one of the firing pins to look it over. "Unfortunately, a lot of machine gun builds are similar enough that this could come from, oh, at least three different manufacturers." Briefly, he sounds unimpressed beyond the consternation brought on by news of another insurgent attack. But then the words of a dying man are repeated to him and a battered magazine, along with a camera placed before him. He blinks a few times, reaching for the magazine. "Wagner- that name sounds familiar..." He's a staff officer. Their focus is often on other things. But the man wracks his brain for a moment before he grunts. "Name of one of the snipers on board, isn't it?" He's flipping through the magazine before he arranges it, the camera, and the firing pins neatly before him.
"But it's not a terribly uncommon name, either." There's a level look between the two of them. "Did you notice anything else?"
Abigail grins, amusement colouring her words, "Oh, I didn't pull them for IDs, more just to deny them the weapondry, since we couldn't be sure when the locals would decide to retrieve them, and we were fairly sure that they'd bustle us out of there as quickly as they could. Which they did, as soon as the reports came in. Figured I'd rather them not end up the way the insurgents had planned for us to, given that we didn't have enough recon elements in place to send out a party to scout for their base of operations." A nod, to the name, "Corporal Wagner, of Picon. Which lends some credibility to the idea that they might have actually been using their own names, if that's a common name from that colony. We didn't find any other ID, save for some photographs. Nothing that would identify them by name, beyond that." A glance to Gage, "Anything else?"
Gage has an air of reluctance about him, still, but when Abigail prompts him, he grunts for a moment, then finally says, "I was watching her, Wagner, after. She didn't seem to recognize any of them." Or she could be a good actress, but apparently she has enough credit with Gage that the engineer doesn't even bother to suggest that. He gives a shrug, and flickers fingers towards the LT as if to say, you're an officer, you figure it out.
"Hopefully the Royal Marines picked up the weapons and not the insurgents. Though if they have a shred of intelligence, they won't be back to that spot." Olson has the dour attitude of a man that has to report to his superiors that not all insurgents on the ground are following the cease fire. He looks between the two of them, exhaling at length. "I can't say how common a name it is, but it's one I've heard from time to time over the years." Or maybe he's just remembering when Samuel Wagner's name came up in news and entertainment for this or that novel. He looks to Gage as the other engineer is prompted, giving a slow nod. "No one is a perfect actor, but I would rather hope one of our own isn't... orchestrating anything." It's clear it leaves a sour taste in his mouth. Who wouldn't?
Collecting the items into a pile, he leans to grab for a form. It and a pen are offered out to Abigail. "If you could just fill out the pertinent details, I'll look further into this." SOP.
Abigail accepts the pen and paper with an easy smile, "Of course, Lieutenant." She rises, though, so that she can work at an empty desk and not clutter up Olsen's. "I'm thinking that either some of the group isn't interested in whatever 'peace' they agreed to, or this is a separate faction. The fact that there might be someone from Picon there strikes me as odd though. Picon gave up its claim to its protectorate ages ago. It's never been interested in Sagittaron independence." Says the woman who's also, clearly, by her accent, from Picon. "And given the current state of the colony, I'd question if someone that committed to anything would leave Picon to flounder and go off to fight someone else's war. But, I'll add that to my report sir." A glance to Gage, "Thanks for walking down with me, Tomak."
Gage's expression clearly reads, thank frak I'm not a Sergeant, as plain as day, when the LT hands Abigail the form. He doesn't need the words to know when he's dismissed, either, already turning on a heel. "Gonna try and scrub out the blood." He gives a nod towards Abigail, though doesn't offer the usual platitude of anytime, before he's slouching his way out of the HQ before any forms can be pressed his way.