|Full name||Adrian J. Calhoun|
|Date of Birth||3 May, 2493|
|Parents||Father Isaac, Mother Gina|
|Assignment||Commanding Officer, 1st Batallion, 42nd Federal Rifle Regiment, 2nd Alliance Marine Division. Embarked with H&S company, and elements of Weapons and Bravo companies, ABS Destiny|
|Specialization||Infantry, Ordnance and Armory (translation: The guy who fixes your weapon when you break it, when he's not busy shooting at the guys who you're not, 'cause you broke your bloody weapon!)|
|Eyes and Hair||Gray/ Black (cut too short to really tell)|
|Height and Weight||193cm, 110kg|
Full schooling on Persephone. Alliance Military Training System; Recruit Depot, Camp Arthur Currie, Persephone. Advanced Infantry School, Bernadette. Military Armorer's School, Ares. Self-described as "Degree from the University of Life, Diploma from the School of Hard Knocks, and three gold stars from the Kindergarten of Getting the Shit Kicked out of Me."
Adrian Calhoun was born to Isaac and Gina on Persephone; one child for two parents who, by their own admission, took their work far too seriously, and didn't spend near as much time with their son as they would've liked. His parents have been working on a powered combat exoskeleton for individual soldiers. It's their life's work, and it shows; their home is decorated with schematics of prototype suits, power supplies, various formulae, and generally, the place screams "Scientists Live Here". The two encouraged little Adrian to think for himself, but still guided his thoughts. Had he not become irrevocably enraptured by the images of the "glorious Alliance Military Service," it is very likely he would have followed in his parent's footsteps. Who knows, maybe he would have hit upon exactly what was needed to get the exoskeletons out of their heads, off their paperscreens, and out into the field. It was not to be, though.
A Soldier is Crafted
On his 18th birthday, Adrian strolled into the recruitment building, with one goal in mind: Alliance Military Service. Well, he got it. Shipped off to Basic Training, he showed an inherent grasp of small-unit tactics, and a good deal of mechanical aptitude (he could field-strip and reassemble his weapon faster than anyone in his training platoon. Heck, he could take it apart and get it partway back together again by the time the last man in his squad finished the first field-strip-reassemble cycle), and a strong desire to learn everything he could about the issue equipment. He graduated as a recruit-corporal (a rank from which he was busted several times, chiefly due to an unruly squad member who quit before graduation). Upon graduation, he applied for advanced infantry training, and was accepted. The Advanced Infantry School taught him land warfare tactics on Bernadette (before that component was moved to the Silver Hold colonies), then sent him and the rest of his class to Bellerophon for aquatic (frogman training, essentially), amphibious (sea-to-land), and desert training; a week's travel time out, and another week's back, that was NOT wasted; in transit to and from Bellerophon, the class was instructed in microgravity combat. After AIS, he applied for additional armorer's instruction on Ares, and was at first rejected, but a letter from his senior drill instructor (followed immediately by a re-application) got him in. His armorer instructors initially were rather callous, but gradually warmed to him (one rather stubborn woman named Vance in particular seemed to dislike his inquisitiveness about some of the newer gear. Of course, part of it might have been due to Adrian's hands-on nature, clashing with her control-freak nature), or at least were able to tolerate the man. He aced his armorer training, and, just after the end of the Unification War, was assigned to the Ares Shipyards Security Detachment, an assignment he prefers not to speak of.
Deployed to the surface of Three Hills, with a hostile force of Pirates occupying the planetary capital, Adrian's first introduction to an active deployment consisted of him falling out of a prototype drop pod from borderline heatstroke. Three days in a neutral-buoyancy cooling gel tank, and he was good as new, and ready to join a patrol. He remembered an old quote from Winston Churchill, an Earth-That-Was general and politician (though Adrian didn't hold the latter against him); "If you have to kill a man, it costs nothing to be polite." So, he bought a keg or two of local beer, and delivered it (through an intermediary) to the hostile compound, with a note: "Better luck next time - The Meteor-man you missed." Thus began a not-entirely-unfriendly rivalry that defused more than a few incidents; the Pirates were loathe to go out of their way to lose a regular supplier of booze that they didn't have to expend any effort to get.
After a corruption-induced period of involuntary separation, Adrian has been fully reinstated into the Alliance Marine Corps, with full apologies from the Ministry of War. He was even promoted; where previously he held the rank of Lieutenant Commander (or, more precisely, the equivalent of that rank), he was brought to the rank of full Commander, and posted to head up the Marine detachment aboard the ABS Destiny. His delegation abilities (and tendency to ignore as much of the more onerous bureaucratic paperwork as humanly possible) enable him to be surprisingly active for so high-ranking an officer; he deals only with things that need specifically his signature, trusting his clerical staff and his newly-assigned XO, former CO, and longtime comrade Brennart Henderson to quickly and efficiently deal with the rest of the administrative drudgery. Especially with a dedicated administrative team dealing with the lower-level issues.
Awards and Decorations
|Alliance Advanced Infantry Badge (gold)|
|1st Row||Silver Star medal||Federal Ground Forces Medal||Bronze Star w/ V||Purple Heart, Silver Pip|
|2nd Row||Combat Action Ribbon||Federal Good Conduct Medal, Bronze Pip||Federal Expeditionary Medal||Reconnaissance Star|
|3rd Row||'Barbary' Expeditionary Medal||Lilac Campaign Medal||Newhall Campaign Medal w/ V||Three Hills Campaign Medal w/ V|
|Marksmanship Badges||Rifle Expert, 3 rungs||Pistol Expert, 3 rungs|
Appearance and Personality
Being a "desk officer," at least on paper, has surprisingly not taken any kind of toll on the career Marine. He wears his hundred-ten kilograms in the form of solid muscle from neck to calves. Even a few years off the Alliance payroll haven't had any visible negative effects.. Apart from perhaps making him still more snarky, and even less likely to trust in the high and mighty to be regularly competent. OFten found in the Armory aboard the Destiny, he's invariably either catching up on battalion paperwork, reading a manual on one of the newer pieces of equipment, or saying, roughly, "Well, bugger the manual, let's just tear the damn thing apart to see how it works." Sometimes all three at once. Elsewise, he's leading the two companies embarked aboard the Destiny in PT (and making it look easy), or training with the new equipment to grow as familiar with it as he was with his old Unification War-era WASP kit and L85.
- Adrian's nickname (and comm callsign) is 'Pitbull.' The reason behind the moniker varies with each telling, from an incident during his first cycle of AIS where, if it hadn't been a training exercise, he would've earned the Alliance military's highest decoration (posthumously), to a habit as a kid for imitating his neighbor's dog.
- He's developed a habit of tearing apart every piece of gear he or his Marines could be reasonably expected to make use of, and then putting it back together, just so he knows it inside and out. This habit has earned him more than a few finger injuries, and at least one case of nonfatal blood poisoning when an autoinjector zapped him with an chemical agent antidote (that was in itself toxic)
- Rarely socializes with his company, always trying to keep his head above the water of an endless river of paperwork.
- Never, but NEVER walks out of his quarters without a bayonet and his pistol. Seeks special dispensation to carry at least one weapon at all times when attending places where such things are otherwise prohibited.
- Has a few assignments of which he's loathe to speak. Has a lousy poker face about them, though; it'll be really obvious when you've touched a nerve.
Indestructible - Disturbed. His own personal battle theme. Often forced upon his subordinates in transit to a battlespace (he's yet to hear one of them complain)
The Marine's Hymn - Semi-traditional. Used on the rare occasion that some brass hat insists on a parade for whatever unfathomable reason. Lyrics modified to reflect the new singers.
No More Stones - Enter the Haggis. Not what you'd expect to hear from a soldier, but then, Adrian's not what you expect of a Fed.
The Minstrel Boy - Traditional. Sums up Adrian's feelings on the subject of surrender and/or capture.
Down with the Ship - Enter the Haggis. 'Recall' song; played over the comm instead of someone yelling 'RETREAT' in as panicked a voice as imaginable. Encourages those who hear to leave no one behind.
Vode An - I have no idea. Quiet battle hymn, taught to every member of his battalion in the "original language, with one word changed." Often used as a PT cadence.
Peril - O'Donnell, Salvatori. Occasionally played over the company wide comm, at very low volume, on combat patrols, reminding patrollers to 'observe everything, admire nothing.'
Lament - Light of Aidan. Used as a regimental 'Funeral march.' Part of the song is sung in the original language by whosoever of their commanders (from fire team leader, up to the regimental commander) volunteers.
Heart of Courage - Two Steps from Hell. Same purpose as Peril, played for the same reason.
Ball and Chain - Social Distortion. Goes without saying.
The Crush - Miracle of Sound. Puts this on to gear up for combat, be it exercises or the real deal.