The medical bay was pretty full, but most of the personnel present were visitors, not patients. That was something to be thankful for, Bradford reflected. Four injured, plus CPL Makhandule admitted for enforced bedrest, after her collapse. The Commander hadn't wanted to send her back out again, but without knowing what they'd be facing, he'd wanted the best he had available, and she was the best Rocketeer they had. She'd more than earned her corporal stripes. Bradford stood off to the side of the doorway, watching the buzzing activity for a bit longer before he turned to go.
IO Pidgeon leaned back in his chair, smiling. Ward was so wrapped up he could barely move, and he was still cracking jokes. Pidgeon had come to ghost-write a letter to Mike, since Ward wouldn't be holding a pen for another couple of weeks, and he wasn't entirely sure that the things Ward was dictating weren't at least partially to make him blush.
"Sign it," Parsons paused, considering. "With burning passion and dreams of-"
"Ward!" Pidgeon exclaimed, dropping the pen, "I'm not writing that! You wait until you can write your own smut." Parsons laughed, and tried to raise an apologetic hand.
"I'm kidding," he after the laughter had died off into a series of wheezing coughs. "Sign it, 'With all my love, W', then a couple Xs and Os." Pidgeon rolled his eyes and jotted it down.
"There," he replied, carefully tearing the pages out of the notepad. " You want to proofread?"
"Nah, I trust you, mate," Parsons replied. "Thanks a bunch for doing this. Mike would probably flip if he didn't get a letter this week, so soon after we got permission to start sending mail."
"It's no problem," Pidgeon said, carefully folding the paper to fit an envelope. "So, hey, I have a question."
"Shoot."
"After the mission, I heard several of the others referring to you as Shroud?"
"That's... not a question, mate." Parsons replied after a brief pause. "You want to know why?"
"Yeah."
"Mak tells me it was because my shots just seemed to come out of the darkness, during the last mission. I was on the rooftop, overwatching the battle, with my marksman rifle."
"So, shroud?"
"Yeah," Parsons confirmed, then chuckled. "Course, that's not what Faber tells me."
"What'd she say?" Pidgeon inquired, raising a brow.
"She said it was because they were pretty sure I was dead, when they got me onto the Skyranger," Parsons said with a grin. "Said I was ready for a burial shroud."
"That's horrible!" Pidgeon's eyes widened. "Why would she say something like that?"
"Relax, mate," Parsons returned. "It's just the sort of jokes you make in that sort of situation. It's called gallows humor, and it has a history going back all the way."
"Why?"
"Cause you might die any time you go out," Parsons explained, picking his words carefully, the smile gone from his face. "You can't just stare that in the face without blinking. So, you joke. The jokes may never be funny for anyone who hasn't been there, but they're a damned sight funnier than dwelling on death and pain all the time."
"I guess I can understand that," Pidgeon replied.
Showing posts with label Ward Parsons. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ward Parsons. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 8, 2015
Friday, March 27, 2015
Mail Call (07 APR 2016)
"Everything is in place?" Bradford paused, listening for a moment, before nodding. "Excellent. I'm sure the troops will be happy to hear it. Thank you for your efforts."
Central Officer Bradford hung up the phone, and leaned back in his chair. When the Commander gave the go-ahead at the end of March, he'd expected this to take a lot longer than it had. It turned out that the U.S. Air Force had been surprisingly willing to work with them, helping set up an APO with an obscured address. Now, the troops and technicians of XCOM could send and receive mail and packages without giving up any information about where XCOM HQ was located.
Of course, there'd still be a lot of restrictions on the mail, and privacy was basically not going to happen, but he'd argued, and the Commander had agreed, that mail privileges would strengthen morale. Right now, with only a handful of injuries and only one KIA, morale was pretty high, but Bradford knew that things wouldn't continue the way they were forever. Any enemy with the ability to fly craft between the stars must have more up their hypothetical sleeves than they'd shown so far.
Bradford pulled himself to his feet, stepping out of the small ready room and into Mission Control. As always, the Hologlobe caught his eye, and he saw the red blip signaling the UFO they'd splashed just before he'd received the call from the Peterson AFB post office. He knew that troopers were already gearing up to go out. Hopefully they'd all come home in one piece, to good news.
"Intelligence Officer Pidgeon," he said, scanning the room for the technician. He saw the Australian's head pop up as soon as he spoke, and gestured him over.
"Sir?" the man said, coming to attention as he approached. Bradford waved it off, indicating that he could relax.
"I need you to draft up a memo for the intranet message board. I've sent you an e-mail with the details, but the gist is that we're going forward with the mail service," he explained. IO Pidgeon's eyes lit up, but he remained silent as Bradford continued. "It'll be phased, starting only with letters, but once everything is up and running, we'll be able to handle packages as well. Let me know if you have any further questions, after you've read your e-mail."
"Sir, right away," Pidgeon turned and hurried back to his computer with a spring in his step. Bradford smiled slightly. The man had a wife and two daughters back in Queensland, and he was probably missing them terribly. It'd only been a month so far, but everyone knew this was going to be a long haul.
08 APR 2016
"Hey," Naomi Bowden looked up from breakfast as Lorena approached, tray in her hand. "Have you checked the message boards yet?"
"No," replied Naomi, stifling a yawn. She'd been up late, reviewing the just-published material for the Officer Training School, and had barely managed to drag herself out of her bunk this morning. "Something good?"
"I'll say it is," Lorena replied, sliding her tray across the table, and dropping heavily into the seat next to her. She grinned, and didn't say anything else.
"Well?" Naomi knew that the other woman was baiting her, but she didn't rise to it.
"Bowden!" Jared Houston waved from across the chow hall, hurrying over. "Did you hear?" he said excitedly as he slipped into the seat opposite her. "They're going to start allowing mail!" Naomi glanced at Lorena, who was scowling at Houston; Apparently, he'd scooped her announcement. Then what he'd said really hit her.
"Oh," she said. "Oh, now that's quite good." She glanced around the chow hall, and realized that the place was much more abuzz than it usually was this time of day. Apparently, she was one of the last to know. She smiled, feeling much more awake than she'd been a minute before. Oh yes, quite good indeed.
"No problem, Donohue." Parsons picked up his pen to begin writing again.
Central Officer Bradford hung up the phone, and leaned back in his chair. When the Commander gave the go-ahead at the end of March, he'd expected this to take a lot longer than it had. It turned out that the U.S. Air Force had been surprisingly willing to work with them, helping set up an APO with an obscured address. Now, the troops and technicians of XCOM could send and receive mail and packages without giving up any information about where XCOM HQ was located.
Of course, there'd still be a lot of restrictions on the mail, and privacy was basically not going to happen, but he'd argued, and the Commander had agreed, that mail privileges would strengthen morale. Right now, with only a handful of injuries and only one KIA, morale was pretty high, but Bradford knew that things wouldn't continue the way they were forever. Any enemy with the ability to fly craft between the stars must have more up their hypothetical sleeves than they'd shown so far.
Bradford pulled himself to his feet, stepping out of the small ready room and into Mission Control. As always, the Hologlobe caught his eye, and he saw the red blip signaling the UFO they'd splashed just before he'd received the call from the Peterson AFB post office. He knew that troopers were already gearing up to go out. Hopefully they'd all come home in one piece, to good news.
"Intelligence Officer Pidgeon," he said, scanning the room for the technician. He saw the Australian's head pop up as soon as he spoke, and gestured him over.
"Sir?" the man said, coming to attention as he approached. Bradford waved it off, indicating that he could relax.
"I need you to draft up a memo for the intranet message board. I've sent you an e-mail with the details, but the gist is that we're going forward with the mail service," he explained. IO Pidgeon's eyes lit up, but he remained silent as Bradford continued. "It'll be phased, starting only with letters, but once everything is up and running, we'll be able to handle packages as well. Let me know if you have any further questions, after you've read your e-mail."
"Sir, right away," Pidgeon turned and hurried back to his computer with a spring in his step. Bradford smiled slightly. The man had a wife and two daughters back in Queensland, and he was probably missing them terribly. It'd only been a month so far, but everyone knew this was going to be a long haul.
08 APR 2016
"Hey," Naomi Bowden looked up from breakfast as Lorena approached, tray in her hand. "Have you checked the message boards yet?"
"No," replied Naomi, stifling a yawn. She'd been up late, reviewing the just-published material for the Officer Training School, and had barely managed to drag herself out of her bunk this morning. "Something good?"
"I'll say it is," Lorena replied, sliding her tray across the table, and dropping heavily into the seat next to her. She grinned, and didn't say anything else.
"Well?" Naomi knew that the other woman was baiting her, but she didn't rise to it.
"Bowden!" Jared Houston waved from across the chow hall, hurrying over. "Did you hear?" he said excitedly as he slipped into the seat opposite her. "They're going to start allowing mail!" Naomi glanced at Lorena, who was scowling at Houston; Apparently, he'd scooped her announcement. Then what he'd said really hit her.
"Oh," she said. "Oh, now that's quite good." She glanced around the chow hall, and realized that the place was much more abuzz than it usually was this time of day. Apparently, she was one of the last to know. She smiled, feeling much more awake than she'd been a minute before. Oh yes, quite good indeed.
-
Spencer Donohue walked in from the showers, towel still draped around his neck. He'd also heard the word, and he was pretty stoked about it. He'd had to tell his wife that he wouldn't be able to communicate at all for who knows how long. She'd hated the secrecy, but it wasn't exactly new territory. Most of the operations he'd been on over the years had been classified, though none so secretive as the XCOM Project. He saw Parsons hunched over on his bunk, a pad of paper in his lap, scribbling furiously. Spencer hadn't been by supply yet, but he figured there'd be a run on writing paper. Parsons might be willing to share, though.
"Hey man," he said as he approached. Parsons glanced up with a smile, clipping the pen to the edge of the notepad. "I don't suppose you could spare a few sheets for a comrade?"
"Absolutely," Parsons replied, flipping a few pages and carefully tearing out several blank sheets. "This stuff'll be like gold until the next supply truck."
"Thanks, man," Spencer replied, taking the paper. "You writing your.." He paused, glanced at the man's hands, and saw no wedding ring. "your girlfriend?"
"No," Parsons shook his head. "Boyfriend, back in Sydney."
"You're.." Spencer trailed off, startled.
"Yeah," Parsons replied, then lifted a brow. "Is that a problem?"
"No, no," Spencer quickly assured him. "Just wasn't expecting it. It's been years since they started allowing gays and lesbians to openly serve in the U.S. but I've only met a couple of girls who were out." He shook his head. "Man, I'm really sorry. I just got caught by surprise."
"Don't worry about it," Parsons waved it off. "You writing your... husband?" He grinned, and Spencer laughed, the tension gone.
"Nah, my wife. She went back to Texas after I got selected for this assignment. She's gonna flip when she gets my letter."
"Mike will too," Parsons said. "He didn't want me to go, but when the time came, he was as supportive as he could be."
"That's about the way it always is," Spencer agreed. "Is he military too? I met my wife in the Army."
"No, he works as a database administrator in Sydney. Doesn't approve of the military in general, but he makes an effort where I'm concerned."
"Can't ask more than that." Spencer reached over and swatted Parsons on the shoulder. "I'll let you get back to it. Thanks for the paper."
"No problem, Donohue." Parsons picked up his pen to begin writing again.
"Call me Spencer," he tossed back over his shoulder. "All my friends do."
Monday, March 16, 2015
Blowing Off Steam (19 MAR 2016)
PFC Naomi Bowden stretched as she walked into the day room. It'd been over a week since she'd been put back into the rotation for combat duty, but there'd only been the one operation in that time. She'd spent a lot of time in the medbay, visiting Horn and Dhalon, but a lot of her time was spent in the gym, running. It'd become a bit of a joke around the barracks, but that didn't dissuade her. Some of the other troopers understood, some of them had yet to see action in this new war. She didn't blame the rookies, though. When she'd seen the first shaky footage from Vancouver, she'd been skeptical too. It looked like footage from a badly done B-movie, like one of those direct-to-DVD things her sister was so fond of.
But then came Operation Twisted Grave. She'd been designated to lead the squad, even though none of them had any rank in this new organization. Hell, she'd only been a Corporal back in the British Army, and Houston had been a Sergeant with three combat tours in the U.S. Army. But they designated her to lead, and none of the others in the squad had made a big deal out of it.
All in all, the mission had gone well enough. PVT Dhalon had served ably as designated scout, though he'd taken a hit in the first contact. Parsons had patched him up well enough to continue the mission, and Dhalon had moved on to rack up several kills. Rainhard's injury was just bad luck; He'd peeked around cover at just the wrong moment, when they'd been lying in wait for that last pod of Sectoids. It could have done worse, and they'd all walked out of it with promotions. Still, both of them were going to be out of commission for a long time, and Bowden felt responsible. She should have done something differently, somehow.
The day room was packed, as it always was. With only three troopers in medbay, and no missions out, there wasn't a lot going on, and a lot of time to do it in. At least the engineers and researchers had work to do everyday. Naomi stepped out of the doorway and stopped, scanning the room for a familiar face. It didn't take long to spot Parsons leaned over the pool table, taking a shot while a woman with a pool cue stood by, waiting her turn. Naomi wove through the crowded room toward them.
"Has anyone called winner?" she asked. The other woman shook her head sourly as Parsons lined up another shot. Without a nametape she couldn't be sure, but she thought the woman's name was Kline. "Mind if I jump in, then?"
"Go for it. I don't think it's going to take much longer," the woman said, grimacing again as Parsons took yet another shot, leaving just the cue ball and the 8-ball on the table. "I thought I had this one in the bag, too." Naomi smiled sympathetically, and the other woman shook her head again, finally smiling ruefully. Indeed, it didn't take long at all, as Parsons called the corner pocket, then put the 8-ball into it.
"You owe me a beer, love," he said with a grin.
"Yeah, yeah," Kline shot back, laying her cue on the table. "You owe me a rematch." She glanced at Naomi, then added "After." She cut through the crowd toward the bar.
"Beer?" Naomi said, lacing her voice with disdain. "You mean piss-flavored water?" Parsons laughed and started racking up the pool balls.
"Hey, it's all we can get here, though my mate over in intel says that they're talking about introducing a chit system for the real deal. It'll probably be American domestic brews mostly, but it's better than nothin' eh?"
"If you say so," Naomi said, which was obviously not agreement. Still, he was right. Even an American beer would be nice after a combat mission. She might even drink it cold.
"You break, love," Parsons said, flipping the triangle end-over-end as he pulled it away from the table. Naomi took up the pool cue and leaned over the table, sliding the cue between her fingers a few times before letting loose with a crack that scattered the pool balls satisfactorily. Nothing went in though, which made it Parsons' turn.
"How are you feeling?" she asked as she stepped back from the table. "After yesterday's mission?" He didn't answer right away as he scanned the table, looking for a likely shot. Kline returned with a tray of near-beers and set it down near Naomi before picking one up and taking a slug. Naomi made a face, but grabbed one anyway.
"I'm feelin' good, honestly," he replied after a minute. "Olu gettin' hit at the last was damned bad luck, but it was a clean mission, and I think I'm going to do well as a Scout." He punctuated his statement with a clean shot that put the nine in the side pocket. The cue ball rolled until it fetched up immediately between two other balls, and he frowned before lining up his next shot. "Heard you got tagged for Infantry."
"Yes," she returned. "Bit of a surprise, really." Parsons' shot went wide when the cue ball clipped one of hers, and it was her turn. "I only managed the one kill, right there at the end. You'd think they'd want more than that." Naomi leaned over the table, and cleanly put the three into a corner pocket.
"Nah," he shot back. "You're an excellent all-arounder. You're not the fastest, toughest or most accurate, but you got high marks in all areas, and you kept your head through that whole mission." She nodded absently as she banked the cue around the fourteen, and put the two into a side pocket. "What I think? They're grooming you for an officer billet." Her shot went wild as what he said registered, and she glared at him. He smiled back with only a hint of apology before moving to the table for his shot.
"That's utter nonsense," she replied. I'm a Private First Class, all but bottom of the barrel, same as you and anyone else." He put the twelve away, and lined up for a bank on the fifteen. "They'll bring in officers from outside, I wager."
"XCOM's not like where we came from," Parsons replied. He didn't say anything else, but she could tell he wasn't done speaking. He stepped back from the table, carefully considering his next move. "Pidge says they've got plans for an Officer School. Once its up, we'll all have mandatory classes between missions, but they're already starting to earmark the promising troopers." He leaned over the table, lined up a shot and took it, the cue ball flying across the table. "Survive long enough, and I think you'll find yourself wearing lieutenant's bars." The cue ball smashed into the thirteen, putting it hard into the corner pocket, and the cue ball kept moving, clipping the 8-ball. "Oh, no..." Parsons groaned as the 8-ball slipped right into the side pocket, and covered his face with his hands.
"Looks like that's it, then," Naomi replied with a small smile. "Care to play?" she asked, turning to Kline.
"Sure thing, ma'am," Kline shot back, giving a sloppy salute.
"Oh, do shut up," Naomi shot back, pulling the triangle out. As Kline racked the balls, Naomi realized that she felt really good for the first time in weeks. Piss water or no, she took an enormous swig from her beer. "I hope you're better than him. I was looking for a challenge."
But then came Operation Twisted Grave. She'd been designated to lead the squad, even though none of them had any rank in this new organization. Hell, she'd only been a Corporal back in the British Army, and Houston had been a Sergeant with three combat tours in the U.S. Army. But they designated her to lead, and none of the others in the squad had made a big deal out of it.
All in all, the mission had gone well enough. PVT Dhalon had served ably as designated scout, though he'd taken a hit in the first contact. Parsons had patched him up well enough to continue the mission, and Dhalon had moved on to rack up several kills. Rainhard's injury was just bad luck; He'd peeked around cover at just the wrong moment, when they'd been lying in wait for that last pod of Sectoids. It could have done worse, and they'd all walked out of it with promotions. Still, both of them were going to be out of commission for a long time, and Bowden felt responsible. She should have done something differently, somehow.
The day room was packed, as it always was. With only three troopers in medbay, and no missions out, there wasn't a lot going on, and a lot of time to do it in. At least the engineers and researchers had work to do everyday. Naomi stepped out of the doorway and stopped, scanning the room for a familiar face. It didn't take long to spot Parsons leaned over the pool table, taking a shot while a woman with a pool cue stood by, waiting her turn. Naomi wove through the crowded room toward them.
"Has anyone called winner?" she asked. The other woman shook her head sourly as Parsons lined up another shot. Without a nametape she couldn't be sure, but she thought the woman's name was Kline. "Mind if I jump in, then?"
"Go for it. I don't think it's going to take much longer," the woman said, grimacing again as Parsons took yet another shot, leaving just the cue ball and the 8-ball on the table. "I thought I had this one in the bag, too." Naomi smiled sympathetically, and the other woman shook her head again, finally smiling ruefully. Indeed, it didn't take long at all, as Parsons called the corner pocket, then put the 8-ball into it.
"You owe me a beer, love," he said with a grin.
"Yeah, yeah," Kline shot back, laying her cue on the table. "You owe me a rematch." She glanced at Naomi, then added "After." She cut through the crowd toward the bar.
"Beer?" Naomi said, lacing her voice with disdain. "You mean piss-flavored water?" Parsons laughed and started racking up the pool balls.
"Hey, it's all we can get here, though my mate over in intel says that they're talking about introducing a chit system for the real deal. It'll probably be American domestic brews mostly, but it's better than nothin' eh?"
"If you say so," Naomi said, which was obviously not agreement. Still, he was right. Even an American beer would be nice after a combat mission. She might even drink it cold.
"You break, love," Parsons said, flipping the triangle end-over-end as he pulled it away from the table. Naomi took up the pool cue and leaned over the table, sliding the cue between her fingers a few times before letting loose with a crack that scattered the pool balls satisfactorily. Nothing went in though, which made it Parsons' turn.
"How are you feeling?" she asked as she stepped back from the table. "After yesterday's mission?" He didn't answer right away as he scanned the table, looking for a likely shot. Kline returned with a tray of near-beers and set it down near Naomi before picking one up and taking a slug. Naomi made a face, but grabbed one anyway.
"I'm feelin' good, honestly," he replied after a minute. "Olu gettin' hit at the last was damned bad luck, but it was a clean mission, and I think I'm going to do well as a Scout." He punctuated his statement with a clean shot that put the nine in the side pocket. The cue ball rolled until it fetched up immediately between two other balls, and he frowned before lining up his next shot. "Heard you got tagged for Infantry."
"Yes," she returned. "Bit of a surprise, really." Parsons' shot went wide when the cue ball clipped one of hers, and it was her turn. "I only managed the one kill, right there at the end. You'd think they'd want more than that." Naomi leaned over the table, and cleanly put the three into a corner pocket.
"Nah," he shot back. "You're an excellent all-arounder. You're not the fastest, toughest or most accurate, but you got high marks in all areas, and you kept your head through that whole mission." She nodded absently as she banked the cue around the fourteen, and put the two into a side pocket. "What I think? They're grooming you for an officer billet." Her shot went wild as what he said registered, and she glared at him. He smiled back with only a hint of apology before moving to the table for his shot.
"That's utter nonsense," she replied. I'm a Private First Class, all but bottom of the barrel, same as you and anyone else." He put the twelve away, and lined up for a bank on the fifteen. "They'll bring in officers from outside, I wager."
"XCOM's not like where we came from," Parsons replied. He didn't say anything else, but she could tell he wasn't done speaking. He stepped back from the table, carefully considering his next move. "Pidge says they've got plans for an Officer School. Once its up, we'll all have mandatory classes between missions, but they're already starting to earmark the promising troopers." He leaned over the table, lined up a shot and took it, the cue ball flying across the table. "Survive long enough, and I think you'll find yourself wearing lieutenant's bars." The cue ball smashed into the thirteen, putting it hard into the corner pocket, and the cue ball kept moving, clipping the 8-ball. "Oh, no..." Parsons groaned as the 8-ball slipped right into the side pocket, and covered his face with his hands.
"Looks like that's it, then," Naomi replied with a small smile. "Care to play?" she asked, turning to Kline.
"Sure thing, ma'am," Kline shot back, giving a sloppy salute.
"Oh, do shut up," Naomi shot back, pulling the triangle out. As Kline racked the balls, Naomi realized that she felt really good for the first time in weeks. Piss water or no, she took an enormous swig from her beer. "I hope you're better than him. I was looking for a challenge."
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