Post by Trask on Aug 5, 2006 15:45:51 GMT -5
Bolivar Trask walked the length of the hanger. To his right the seven Sentinel frames stood inert, their systems powered down and their pilots sent for some well earned R and R. The air thrummed with activity as diagnostic systems worked their way meticulously through the complex innards of the augmentation suits.
Initial reports revealed that the power glitches that had occurred in Alpha Leader and Alpha Four were due to an external error that had yet to be traced. Alpha Leader had also suffered superficial damage from the small arms fire. The large caliber rounds that had been fired by the sniper had dug significantly deeper, though he had been assured by the engineers that no internal damage had been sustained.
Alpha Seven was a different matter entirely.
The frame was almost completely destroyed. The frame however, could be replaced. The pilot could not. Trask had already penned the letter to his young wife, commending the man for his bravery in the field and had extolled his virtues as a soldier. He would see to it that the man received the honours he was due and would push for the Purple Heart to be posthumously awarded.
It didn't make it any easier.
The words were just words to the next of kin. They could not ease the sorrow of those left behind. The dark train of thought knotted his brow in a deep frown.
It was exactly that expression that caused Simmons to hesitate before approaching the Secretary of Homeland Defence. When Trask brooded, he looked like a gathering thunderhead. The gangly scientist swallowed and summoned his courage.
"My initial belief is that the frame was destroyed by extreme temperature change," he supplied simply, "a combination of heat and cold stressed the armour beyond reasonable integrity. It was one of the things we could not have forseen."
Trask nodded somberly. He had a neat stack of eight tapes on his desk; the visual recordings of Alpha Team during their first mission. Each and every one would be picked over until answers were found. Bolivar already had a fairly good idea of what he would find though and it did not please him. Not at all.
He ceased his introspection and turned his attention to Simmons, who almost flinched at the sudden, intense gaze.
"I want a team of analysts on those tapes within the hour and I don't want to hear from them until every inch of those recordings has been thoroughly examined. I would have answers to this," he gestured to the wrecked Sentinel, "and I would have someone held accountable."
Simmons nodded and scribbled in his notebook.
"And," Trask added ominously, "have my secretary arrange a meeting with the president, we have alot to discuss."
Initial reports revealed that the power glitches that had occurred in Alpha Leader and Alpha Four were due to an external error that had yet to be traced. Alpha Leader had also suffered superficial damage from the small arms fire. The large caliber rounds that had been fired by the sniper had dug significantly deeper, though he had been assured by the engineers that no internal damage had been sustained.
Alpha Seven was a different matter entirely.
The frame was almost completely destroyed. The frame however, could be replaced. The pilot could not. Trask had already penned the letter to his young wife, commending the man for his bravery in the field and had extolled his virtues as a soldier. He would see to it that the man received the honours he was due and would push for the Purple Heart to be posthumously awarded.
It didn't make it any easier.
The words were just words to the next of kin. They could not ease the sorrow of those left behind. The dark train of thought knotted his brow in a deep frown.
It was exactly that expression that caused Simmons to hesitate before approaching the Secretary of Homeland Defence. When Trask brooded, he looked like a gathering thunderhead. The gangly scientist swallowed and summoned his courage.
"My initial belief is that the frame was destroyed by extreme temperature change," he supplied simply, "a combination of heat and cold stressed the armour beyond reasonable integrity. It was one of the things we could not have forseen."
Trask nodded somberly. He had a neat stack of eight tapes on his desk; the visual recordings of Alpha Team during their first mission. Each and every one would be picked over until answers were found. Bolivar already had a fairly good idea of what he would find though and it did not please him. Not at all.
He ceased his introspection and turned his attention to Simmons, who almost flinched at the sudden, intense gaze.
"I want a team of analysts on those tapes within the hour and I don't want to hear from them until every inch of those recordings has been thoroughly examined. I would have answers to this," he gestured to the wrecked Sentinel, "and I would have someone held accountable."
Simmons nodded and scribbled in his notebook.
"And," Trask added ominously, "have my secretary arrange a meeting with the president, we have alot to discuss."
