"Old Callsigns"
02/13/2012 - 11:23:54
Sgt. Ash Kline
Task Force 141 Overseer
Northern UK
Ash had looked over the files three times, but she still couldn't wipe the smirk off her face. She sat at her desk in a corner office on the newly established Task Force 141 land HQ. Her uncle insisted on having a submarine base in order to remain 'mobile'. After coordinating all forms of transport and a schedule for receiving recruits, she let herself lounge a bit. Her boots crossed over her desk, rid of snow, as she reclined in her desk chair and flipped through her book. It was hard for her to focus, she seemed to be brimming with anticipation. On her desk lay the day's intake of new recruits, their arrival at 1200 sharp.
Sgt. Kline barely got a chapter in when she read the clock, finding it a quarter till. Kicking her feet off the desk, folding the corner of the page she was on, she stood up and fixed her shirt. Slipping on her jacket and pulling up the zipper to her chin she adjusted the Ranger's cap on her forehead before leaving the office building. The cold gusts of winter whipped their way across the field, determined to make their mark before spring came. Kline walked around the base, observing the recruits who had already arrived were exploring or utilizing what their new home had to offer. The 'joint-military' unit brought in soldiers from the US, UK and Canada as well. Kline observed a couple US SEALS discuss the best way to traverse the very challenging ropes course Lieutenant Mactavish designed.
Oddly enough, she had taken an immediate liking to the fabled man the moment they met. She had a great deal of respect for him, having read the field report of what occurred when he first joined the SAS. John Mactavish was the new blood, the FNG, yet managed to keep his head on when the world was sliding onto the edge of a full out war. She envied that ability, but knew it was better to train than to wish for peace of mind.
On the other hand, John Price was a different soul entirely. From her lifetime of experience, Ash knew the rough, thorny appearance of the Captain came from trauma and stress. Responsibility weighed heavier than anything. His losses over the decades did not leave him unscathed. But it also made him tougher, stronger, deadiler. Perhaps her uncle was right, scarred men were the most powerful.
It was then she heard the distant sound of a helicopter. Her thoughts flew away as the wind picked up, much to the dismay of the pilot. By the time she had reached the helipad it touched down and a handful of soldiers exited the craft.
"Welcome to Task Force 141," Kline greeted the men. These recruits were all from the 22nd SAS and were hand selected by Mactavish and Price. All of them had previous combat experience, but were relatively young and unscarred. Each also eyed Ash Kline oddly, as if they all recognized her but were unaware if they should say anything. "Papers," the sergeant requested and was promptly handed five packets. She made sure they were all in order before pointing toward the barracks.
"Drop your gear off then report to the main hall," she changed direction, "there and report to the Lieutenant. Bunk rooms are posted on the door."
"Yes ma'am, Key lime-pie, ma'am," one of the men chided, loudly enough to draw attention over the helicopter blades. The rest exchanged glances before looking at Kline warily. She only grinned, taking her packet of papers and slapping it against the arm of the one who punned her surname.
"I thought that would die with time, Gridlock," she shook her head. "Get going brits, this ain't a reunion." With that the men jogged down the hill toward the barracks, apparently far more at ease. Ash grinned slightly watching them leave, but one paused, striding back up to meet her.
"You look tired ma'am," the soldier said, Sgt. Kline chuckled.
"And that looks like another scar," she pointed out, tapping her index finger on a thin, white line that traced down the man's jawbone almost to his clavicle. "What'daya almost die of this time?"
"Nasty fall out of the LSV," he explained, shrugging his massive bag onto his shoulders, "so happens it was an ambush and this friendly chap tried to ram my throat in with a pipe."
"Adding more to that track record I see," Kline smiled, she motioned to walk with her knowing it would be unwise to let their conversation make him late. "Please try not to kill yourself here Sanderson, this is pretty high class stuff."
"Not my first joint-op, hopefully won't be the last either," Sgt. Sanderson replied, keeping in pace with the much shorter soldier. "I enjoy meeting blokes from other countries."
"I'm sorry I was your first impression of a yank, you'll find far better ones down there," Kline pointed toward the course, where the SEALS were still trying to climb through the ropes and pipes. "Now go, you'll be late for introductions."
"It's good to see you again Ash," Sanderson smiled before he jogged after his squad mates.
"You too Roach," Kline nodded, and waved him off. She crossed her arms and sighed, reminded of the amount of time she spent in training Gary and his fellows in first aid and critical care. Although, the classroom was not exactly ideal. It was during a joint operation when the whole WWIII fiasco was far from anyone's minds. As she reminicened on the fondness of those memories, she observed Captain Price exit the officer's quarters. He looked rugged, but expression sharper than a blade. Ash made sure to use an alternative route to return to her office.
It was going to be a long day for the recruits.