Post by Threid on May 13, 2010 18:09:40 GMT -5
The quadrilateral was now a line.
Kyle sat opposite from Lt. Gerard on a long, rectangular table. He did his best not to remember their last crew meeting: He, Madelaine and Tybalt had done their best not to burst out laughing at their new commander. It was still difficult to keep a level expression, but this time, the difficulty was not laughter-related. The two sat in silence, Kyle waiting for Lt. Gerard to speak, and Lt. Gerard, trying to think of something polite and in-protocol to say.
He knew that losing teammates was part of war, and that he should've been better-prepared for it. He thought back to Tack and Flack, the short-lived Tin Cod pilots, and Bigby Wolfe. They had died, and it hadn't hit him as hard as Madelaine and Tybalt. They hadn't been part of The Beam Team, after all. Whatever Lt. Gerard said, they had fought and died as The Beam Team, not MS Unit M303.
Kyle had requested a military funeral for the two, but it had been short, and sparsely-attended. He figured he was lucky even to get a chaplain; death in the war happened all the time, and if the Federation had to give every private and corporal a proper funeral, they'd never have any time to fight. He'd found a feather to lay on Tybalt's remains, and an old wrench - the biggest he could find - on Madelaine's. He thought they would have approved.
It was the memories that made it difficult, he decided. He thought back to Madelaine's befriending him in the hangar, his joy at her assignment to his team, and her happiness when his Gundam had been upgraded; Tybalt had arrived not long after that, with his well-deserved confidence and personal panache. He remembered their cooking experiment, how they'd all done their best to prepare - and eat politely - what they'd been given.
At first, he'd hated the enemy pilot who'd done this - hated her for being so callous, so arrogant, to take the lives of others, but then he realized that they were all that way. They were in a war, and they were fighting. People were killed. They died. How many team members had he destroyed? How many families had he left broken? What was it for? The answers never came as easily as the questions.
To protect. It was the best he had come up with. Kyle wondered if the ideals, territory, or grudges that were being fought for were worth the cost in human lives. He was sure that others had asked the same question, and found the same answer. Even if you didn't agree with what the higher-ups were fighting over, you still had to do your duty to protect whatever or whoever it was that was important to you. For Kyle, it was Nora, and quiet places like the home he had left behind. If he could protect Nora, and keep war from touching the lives of others, he could justify his participation in the war, even if it meant taking the lives of others.
"Death is a part of life in the military, sergeant. The sooner you get used to it or get out, the better." Lt. Gerard broke the silence with his words. They were true and to-the-point, keeping with Lt. Gerard's style.
Kyle resented that this man - this man who had been assigned to their unit just days before - would be charged with writing the letters to Madelaine and Tybalt's next-of-kin. After all, hadn't Kyle done most of the leading? Hadn't he known them better, enjoyed their company, and shared drinks with them? It was his right, but Lt. Gerard's responsibility. He hoped the man wouldn't screw it up. Though, knowing Lt. Gerard, his letters would be exactly what the families were expecting: succinct notifications with cookie-cutter condolences and a rubber-stamped signature. Then again, would a real letter be more comforting?
"Yes, sir," was all he said - all he could bear to say.
"This meeting is adjourned. Get some sleep, sergeant, and be here at 1700 tomorrow for the fleet briefing. Dismissed." Lt. Gerard did not know how to express sympathy, and stuck to what he knew: protocol. It wasn't that he didn't feel bad for the boy - Lt. Gerard had certainly lost companions in the war - he just doubted that any words he could twist around his meaning would do any good in comforting him. Perhaps later, when he knew him better, he might offer words of encouragement, praise or comfort. Perhaps. It was always safer to stick to protocol, especially in the beginning.
Kyle rose from his chair, saluted, and walked briskly out of the room, hoping he'd make it to his room without meeting anyone he knew. He didn't feel up to making any small talk. He wondered how Aurem, Arieta and Lt. Ferdinand were doing - if they had heard of what had happened in the battle, or had lost anyone important. Perhaps he'd seek out their company later, to find out why they fought, and how they kept fighting with the memory of the dead so fresh in their minds.
He clutched a photograph of The Beam Team to his breast fiercely; it had been taken in the hangar just a week ago. Kyle had decided: He would break his no-personal-items-in-the-cockpit rule, or rather, modify it. He placed the picture next to the photographs of Nora, and of his family. he would carry them through the war with him as far as he could. For an instant, the memory of his joining the military for access to the latest tech flashed through his mind. The tech was an exciting tool, not something to fight, live and die for. To protect that which is dear to me, and to preserve the memory of those who have fallen. These are my real reasons.
Kyle sat opposite from Lt. Gerard on a long, rectangular table. He did his best not to remember their last crew meeting: He, Madelaine and Tybalt had done their best not to burst out laughing at their new commander. It was still difficult to keep a level expression, but this time, the difficulty was not laughter-related. The two sat in silence, Kyle waiting for Lt. Gerard to speak, and Lt. Gerard, trying to think of something polite and in-protocol to say.
He knew that losing teammates was part of war, and that he should've been better-prepared for it. He thought back to Tack and Flack, the short-lived Tin Cod pilots, and Bigby Wolfe. They had died, and it hadn't hit him as hard as Madelaine and Tybalt. They hadn't been part of The Beam Team, after all. Whatever Lt. Gerard said, they had fought and died as The Beam Team, not MS Unit M303.
Kyle had requested a military funeral for the two, but it had been short, and sparsely-attended. He figured he was lucky even to get a chaplain; death in the war happened all the time, and if the Federation had to give every private and corporal a proper funeral, they'd never have any time to fight. He'd found a feather to lay on Tybalt's remains, and an old wrench - the biggest he could find - on Madelaine's. He thought they would have approved.
It was the memories that made it difficult, he decided. He thought back to Madelaine's befriending him in the hangar, his joy at her assignment to his team, and her happiness when his Gundam had been upgraded; Tybalt had arrived not long after that, with his well-deserved confidence and personal panache. He remembered their cooking experiment, how they'd all done their best to prepare - and eat politely - what they'd been given.
At first, he'd hated the enemy pilot who'd done this - hated her for being so callous, so arrogant, to take the lives of others, but then he realized that they were all that way. They were in a war, and they were fighting. People were killed. They died. How many team members had he destroyed? How many families had he left broken? What was it for? The answers never came as easily as the questions.
To protect. It was the best he had come up with. Kyle wondered if the ideals, territory, or grudges that were being fought for were worth the cost in human lives. He was sure that others had asked the same question, and found the same answer. Even if you didn't agree with what the higher-ups were fighting over, you still had to do your duty to protect whatever or whoever it was that was important to you. For Kyle, it was Nora, and quiet places like the home he had left behind. If he could protect Nora, and keep war from touching the lives of others, he could justify his participation in the war, even if it meant taking the lives of others.
"Death is a part of life in the military, sergeant. The sooner you get used to it or get out, the better." Lt. Gerard broke the silence with his words. They were true and to-the-point, keeping with Lt. Gerard's style.
Kyle resented that this man - this man who had been assigned to their unit just days before - would be charged with writing the letters to Madelaine and Tybalt's next-of-kin. After all, hadn't Kyle done most of the leading? Hadn't he known them better, enjoyed their company, and shared drinks with them? It was his right, but Lt. Gerard's responsibility. He hoped the man wouldn't screw it up. Though, knowing Lt. Gerard, his letters would be exactly what the families were expecting: succinct notifications with cookie-cutter condolences and a rubber-stamped signature. Then again, would a real letter be more comforting?
"Yes, sir," was all he said - all he could bear to say.
"This meeting is adjourned. Get some sleep, sergeant, and be here at 1700 tomorrow for the fleet briefing. Dismissed." Lt. Gerard did not know how to express sympathy, and stuck to what he knew: protocol. It wasn't that he didn't feel bad for the boy - Lt. Gerard had certainly lost companions in the war - he just doubted that any words he could twist around his meaning would do any good in comforting him. Perhaps later, when he knew him better, he might offer words of encouragement, praise or comfort. Perhaps. It was always safer to stick to protocol, especially in the beginning.
Kyle rose from his chair, saluted, and walked briskly out of the room, hoping he'd make it to his room without meeting anyone he knew. He didn't feel up to making any small talk. He wondered how Aurem, Arieta and Lt. Ferdinand were doing - if they had heard of what had happened in the battle, or had lost anyone important. Perhaps he'd seek out their company later, to find out why they fought, and how they kept fighting with the memory of the dead so fresh in their minds.
He clutched a photograph of The Beam Team to his breast fiercely; it had been taken in the hangar just a week ago. Kyle had decided: He would break his no-personal-items-in-the-cockpit rule, or rather, modify it. He placed the picture next to the photographs of Nora, and of his family. he would carry them through the war with him as far as he could. For an instant, the memory of his joining the military for access to the latest tech flashed through his mind. The tech was an exciting tool, not something to fight, live and die for. To protect that which is dear to me, and to preserve the memory of those who have fallen. These are my real reasons.
