Private Attention on Deck

[Orinn Darge]

Attention on Deck!
Location: Reception Hangar Bay, Mahporeem Imperial Navy Command Ship MIN Tempest
Tag: Captain Charles Ronhar Tane (Also open to MIR members)​

The disciplined precision of a Mahporeem Imperial Remnant ceremony was an intense contrast to the mud and ash 1st Lieutenant Orrin Darge had lived in for the past two months.

Inside the high-ceilinged Reception Hangar of the MIN Tempest, the flagship and dedicated command nest of MSOC Valkyrie, the ambient red operations lighting had been switched to a crisp, clinical white brilliance. Arranged in flawless formation lines along the polished black floorboards were the men of Rampart Platoon. Standing at rigid attention, their signature battleship-gray and field-green Valkyrie armor plates had been meticulously scrubbed of Ruisto's salt and Oricon's volcanic grease, though the deep gouges from enemy slugthrowers and Anooba tusks remained carved into the duraplast as permanent badges of theater survival.

Darge stood at the far end of the formation line, his unhelmeted gaze locked strictly forward. His dark hair was cleanly cropped, his posture unyielding, and his face a mask of grounded, disciplined humility. It would have been the first time some of the new troopers had seen his face.

Before the senior officers at the high podium could transition to the day's primary decree, Ramparts senior NCO initiated the opening sequence of the muster.

"Rampart Platoon, Attention on Deck! Dress the line!" Sergeant Major Hamish Horvath's gravelly voice echoed off the metallic bulkheads, his booming tone as always flat and commanding.

The primary doors opened in a silent hiss. The six Rampart operators who had survived catastrophic trauma during the initial clearing of Ruisto's mountain basin marched into the center of the floor, taking a position just in front of the main platoon. They had been given sufficient time to recover within the flagship's trauma wards, their bodies mended enough to stand on their own. Five of the assaulters bore the heavy synth-flesh mesh of healing shrapnel and blast punctures under their dress tunics. The sixth trooper, whose lower limb had been completely shattered by Anooba jaws, advanced with a steady, deliberate stride—his gait driven by a freshly fitted, high-grade cybernetic leg replacement that whirred softly against the deck.

The room fell into an absolute silence as the citations were read prior to the presentation of the Blood Laurel, the Remnant decoration awarded to soldiers wounded or permanently scarred by direct hostile action in defense of the Empire was carried out.

Orrin watched with quiet, profound pride as the medals were pinned to his men's high-collared dress tunics. His trauma from Capitol Five had left an indelible scar on his psyche; he knew exactly how close these six men had come to leaving their bodies in the ash. Seeing them standing here, stabilized and honored by the high command, was the ultimate validation of the grueling combat doctrine that MSOC Valkyrie had been built to enforce.

As the wounded troopers were guided back to the platoon ranks, the chimes of the tactical table shifted to a low, booming sequence. The central holoscreen updated, displaying the combined operational combat records of the platoon's recent deployments.

"First Lieutenant Darge, front and center!," the master of ceremonies announced.

Snapping to attention, Orrin stepped forward, his dress boots striking the deck in a sharp, automated rhythm before halting exactly three paces from the presentation podium. Following the young officer's valorous success in multiple recent campaigns, his chain of command had seen fit to commend him by meritoriously promoting Darge to the rank of Captain.

Presiding over the official ceremony at the high podium stood a stern, heavily decorated officer from MSOF Command, the Battalion Executive Officer, a high-ranking Major whose uniform was immaculate. Flanking the podium table were the key operational commanders who had traveled to the MIN Tempest to observe the proceedings. To the left stood Captain Ronhar Tane, the veteran Army commander whose mechanized force had decisively ended the chaos on Ruisto. To the right stood Captain Charles, the senior Navy officer whose massive fleet command overrode the entire sector, outranking the presiding Major and Tane alike. Both captains had personally led and integrated Darge's platoon during the recent meat-grinders of Oricon and Ruisto, earning them the formal right to offer comments at the podium. Orrin was honored when they had agreed to participate.

Yet, as the Major unsealed the official promotion cylinders, it was the senior naval commander Orrin's gaze settled upon. Per special forces custom for meritorious advancement, Orrin had personally requested that Captain Charles be the officer to physically "pin" him, attaching the heavy, polished red and blue Captain's insignia directly to his field dress uniform.

Orrin snapped a crisp, textbook field salute, his gaze alternating respectfully between the assembled commanders.

"Lieutenant Darge reporting as ordered, sirs," Orrin stated, his voice calm and confident, as he returned to attention on the dais.

 

[Captain Charles]

A Well Deserved Promotion​ Charles | Reception Deck | MIN Tempest: He was wearing his dress uniform. It was very rare that he did, though he felt today was a day that deserved it. The men of Rampart platoon were instrumental in the success to the Ruisto Expedition. He was glad the wounded were getting the honors they deserved, and honored that their commander Darge had offered to let him be the one to “pin” him. The Captain’s rank was felt heavy in his hands. For Darge that weight was synonymous with his achievements and the weight of responsibility he would now bear. He had a short speech prepared. He would say that before pinning. He looked out at the assembled guests, then back at Darge who saluted. He returned the salute. “Lieutenant Darge reporting as ordered sirs!” “Congradulations Lieutenant.” he replied. The Major stepped away from the podium. It was time. He stepped onto the podium, his immaculately shined boots glinting the the bright light. It took a good thirty minutes to make sure they were that shiny. Time that was well spent in his eyes. He wanted to look his best to honor these men who also seemed to have a lot of respect for him. He would not take that for granted. “Good Afternoon, today we are gathered to recognize the achievements and actions of Lieutenant Darge and the men of Rampart Platoon.” he began. He used his formal voice. That was also rare. It seemed appropriate. "Though a relatively new command, MSOF has already proved its worth many times over in a variety of campaigns” he paused for dramatic effect. “....publiced or not.” he added mysteriously. Little did the guests know that Rampart Platoon was the only unit of MSOF and was completing objectives that would otherwise take an entire Brigade to accomplish. Three more platoons had just been trained. All would be a part of Captain Darge’s command. “The fighting on Ruisto proved to be unexpected. Crazed Mon Calamari and beasts under the control of a mysterious machine tried to over run the site of our new base. Fighting was brutal and close quarters. Rampart Platoon held the line long enough, against overwhelming odds I might add, for reinforcements to arrive. Their actions saved the base from destruction.” He paused, holding out the rank in front of him. It was a fresh plaque, its sliver edges catching the bright light of the reception room. “This rank is a culmination of all of our efforts Lieutenant. Step forward.” He stepped forward. Charles got down from the podium, walking over so the Lieutenant was less than arms length away. “You have asked me to pin you Lieutenant. I am honored by your request. Would you like the blood pin or normal?”