[B-Deck] "Team Time"

[Flannigan, S.]

Flannigan took the 'pad and read over the message that had been sent to Durant. Flannigan could understand the predicament that his junior officer was in. He hated the politics, and rank created politics all on its own. Now here was a O-1 who had to figure out how to tell an O-2 that he was a complete asshat. This was a perfect place for Flannigan to help. He had a reputation to uphold anyway.

"I'll handle this one Lieutenant," Flannigan said handing the datapad back. "Clearly someone got out of the the wrong side of his rack today. Just to be clear, Private Wilkas isn't a trouble maker, is she? She's your RTO, if I remember correctly."

Flannigan paused for a minute, letting Durant answer, happy inside knowing that he was well along his way of setting the Lieutenant at ease. The next questions wouldn't be nearly so forgiving. He continued after he got his answer about Wilkas.

"I got a message at the end of my meeting that two of your troopers got checked into the infirmary. Any idea what that is about? I don't like my troopers broken during training. I don't mind a scuffle or two, it shows their ready to fight, but two from the same squad looks bad to the brass."

Flannigan could feel his blood start to pump a little harder. If he wasn't careful, he would blow his top, and that wasn't what this meeting was about. Of course, when he got to his last question, he had kind of figured that he would lose it. Always good to keep up a reputation.

[Stone, T.]

Sergeant Mason looked as if he was about to respond when raised his hand in front of him to silence his friend. He cocked his head as if straining to hear something, and he heard a handful of unfamiliar voices coming from inside his berth. Stone sighed and shook his head before taking one long swig from his bottle. Somehow he had the feeling his new replacements had arrived.

Stone stood up and took one last puff of the cigar before putting it down, exhaling the smoke as he walked over to the curtain to his compartment. "Hang on a sec, Mason," he whispered quietly. "Lemme check this out."

He pushed the curtain aside and stepped into the common area. Directly ahead of him, as he had surmised, were a group of people he didn't recognize. Most of them had that look. The look every inexperienced Marine had when they were reporting in to a unit for the first time. Most people called it being nervous.

Stone called it being stupified.

There did appear to be a pair of vets among the ranks of the new arrivals. He couldn't quite make a guess as to how experienced they were; those things were almost impossible to judge from a distance. But, the manner in which they carried themselves was a very tell-tale indicator that this was not their first rodeo.

"Davis?!" Stone barked, announcing his presence to the room. He searched the common area with his eyes, and saw no sign of his right-hand man. Immediately that set off warning signals in his brain, because he knew normally the Corporal would have taken charge of things and be around for the new people's arrival. The fact that he was no where to be seen was... suspicious.

"Uh," the voice of Furby reached his ears, and Stone locked his steely blueish-gray eyes with the PFC. "He's not here, Sergeant."

Yep. Something was definitely wrong with this picture. The beginning stages of visible frustration sparked across Stone's solid features. "He ain't here?!" he asked. "Where the hell is he?"

"With Private Wilkas," Furby answered, rather matter-of-fact. "She was late to training."

By now, the frustration was clearly evident. "Alrigh', then where's Faust, PFC?"

"The infirmary, Sergeant."

Stone's eyes trailed over to Third Team's compartment and noticed it was practically empty. He frowned. "'N Skip?"

Furby suddenly looked apprehensive. "Same place as Faust."

The short temper that was rarely exuded by Stone suddenly flared. His eyes darted between the three compartments, the new guys, and Furby. I leave those animals unsupervised fer half an hour 'n this is what happens, he thought angrily. The rage that was beginning to course through his body was starting to show rather visibly in his face.

"I'mma kill Davis," Thomas mumbled under his breath.

Then, he looked over and saw a Lance Corporal of whom he didn't recognize apparently attempting to settle into a rack in Second Team's compartment. He seemed to be talking down to a boot that had tried to do the same thing as him. The fire that was steadily burning inside him demanded to be released as a hellish fury upon those in his immediate vicinity, and the Lance Corporal and his boot friend had just made themselves targets of his aggression. To further worsen the situation, he was beginning to feel the effects of the bourbon he'd just been consuming.

"Devil Dogs," he growled to the two Marines. The boot, whom instantly whipped around and took notice of him, snapped to parade rest. "Git'cher asses away from that compartment before I drag ya from it!"

The look in his eyes was almost murderous, and he fully intended on making good on his threats. He would lay down the law for these animals, and let them know how things would be for now on. Sergeant Stone was not an individual to be trifled with; doing so would incur many a consequence upon the asshole that tried it.

However, just as he was about to move in for the kill, something -- rather, someone -- caught his eye. It was one of the replacements standing towards the entrance to the berth. He seemed recognizable to Stone.

The gears in his mind started working, and the realization struck him almost instantly. The resemblence was uncanny. Except for the fact this kid was young and rather skinny compared to the man locked away in the aging Sergeant's memories.

"You," he said to the Marine. The kid instantly snapped to parade rest. "Who're you?"

"Private Jonathan Ward, Sergeant," the boot said.

Ward... oh my God, he thought with incredulity. There was no way this could be... no.

"Ward, huh?" he asked. The private nodded. "Ya wouldn't happen ta be related ta a Gunny Sarn't Michael Ward, would ya?"

The private nodded again. "Yes, Sergeant. He's my dad."

Oh, boy. A smile creeped its way onto his face at that knowledge. It was a wicked smile; a twisted one.

This was going to be fun.

[Gray, L.]

Gray fell out with the rest of the marines and followed Durant into the elevator where she listened so him speak again. Soon the elevator doors opened onto B deck and they all filed out. As Durant led them down them down the corridor, he pointed out various rooms and what their use was and Gray listened carefully to him, whilst making a mental note of where everything was so that she wouldn't get lost. Soon they came to where the platoon's sleeping areas were. The first lots of marines were designated to the their squad.

Then it was Gray and her boot camp friend and fireteam mate, Leona Lawrence's turns. She listened carefully as she, along with Stringer, Lawrence and another private called Silva were assigned to second squad and told to report to a Sergeant Mason or Corporal Rio. Turning to Lawrence who was stood behind her, she grinned at her and said "Well looks like we are together yet again." Lawrence nodded and grinned back at her. Turning round again, she followed Stringer through the doorway.

This was it. They were about to meet the rest of their squad.

After following Stringer through into the room, Gray calmly watched as Stringer spoke to one of the marines, then spoke to another, who turned out to be the assistant squad leader Corporal Rio. Corporal Rio, assigned them to third fireteam with Stringer as it's leader. She noticed the remarks about being an all female fireteam and both her and Lawrence gave the marine who had made the remark and the others who were smirking, a steely glare. In the 710th she and Lawrence had been in a all female fire team with a male leader. During the Battle for New Madagascar, her fire team had taken out more Convent and Innies than any other fire team in the whole of the 710th Divison. Only ten people from the 710th had survived the Battle for New Madagascar, five of them, were Gray and her fire team.

Gray and Lawrence followed Silva when Stringer told them to go ahead. After a short time, he rejoined them and they entered their berth. Gray smiled when Stringer told them, that he did not think the other marines would give them trouble from now on. Stringer took the lower left bunk in the room and Silva took the one about him. Gray and Lawrence both shook Silva's hand when she introduced herself and held it out. Turning to Lawrence, she said "you can take the other top bunk if you like." Lawrence nodded and said "thanks." before hauling herself up into the top right bunk.

"I'm Louise and this is Leona." Gray said gesturing to her friend. After listening to Silva speak of her home planet and family and telling her that she had never been to New Paris but would like to go, Gray decided to tell her about her own family and where was from. "I'm from Jacksonville, North Carolina, United Republic of North America, Earth and in this photo, I have my mom and dad and my two older brothers Daniel and Jake. My brother Jake is also in the First Battalion, Twelfth Marines serving as a corporal in Second Platoon, November Company right now and as for my other brother..... well.....I don't really like to talk about him but he was in the 712th Division and was killed at Battle for New Madagascar, in 2541 in which me and Leona also fought in." Gray said softly as she took a sheet from Stringer and taped it over the lower right bunk.

[Furby, J.]

One of the new arrivals spoke up and identified himself as Private Ward. He went on to explain that he and the others with him were the replacements for the squad's long list of KIAs, and that they had been ordered to report to Sergeant Stone or Corporal Davis. A wicked smile snaked its way across his face, and he nodded slightly.

"Well, Corporal Davis isn't here," Furby began, taking one long step towards the group before pointing to the back of the room, "but Sergeant Stone's back there. He'll tell ya everything you need to know."

His smile grew wider as they started to make their way over to the area that belonged to the squad leader. The smell of cigar smoke was potent in the air, and clouds of it could be seen drifting across the expanse of the room. Stone had been very clear earlier in the morning; he did not wish to be disturbed for any reason.

Suddenly, the grizzled old man appeared at the entrance to his compartment, seemingly aggravated by all of the commotion that was occuring in the berth. He seemed to stop dead in his tracks when his eyes settled on the group. Almost immediately, Stone called out to Corporal Davis.

Furby glanced back at Lance Corporal Avery in a "you gonna come out here and tell him" way. Avery shrugged and shook his head. Prick, Jay thought.

"Uh, he's not here, Sergeant," the PFC said, somewhat nervously. The last thing he needed was to be bitched at because his fire team leader was dealing with someone who wasn't his responsibility to deal with. However, it seemed like things were headed in that direction, as Stone inquired as to the Corporal's whereabouts.

"With Private Wilkas," Jayson answered. He debated leaving it at that, but decided that might have been easily misconstrued if he failed to elaborate. And that would just lead to more unnecessary questions that he did not feel inclined to put up with. "She was late to training."

Stone seemed to become visibly agitated by that fact. The PFC saw where the Sergeant's eyes went, and instantly knew there was going to be a follow-up question.

And he was right. Stone asked about Corporal Faust.

"The infirmary, Sergeant."

"'N Skip?"

Furby didn't miss a beat. "Same place as Faust."

The Sergeant, at that point, appeared ready to tear someone's head off. His first targets then became some Lance Coconut and some dumb boot whom were making a beeline for the racks in the compartment belonging to Second Team. Furby watched with some amusement as Stone began to tear them a new asshole... and then shift his attention to the private Furby had spoken to before Stone had emerged from his room.

Jay sighed and turned around, heading back into First Team's compartment. "That got boring quick," he said loud enough for Avery to hear. The automatic rifleman shook his head and said nothing, completely engrossed with a game he was playing on his chatter.

Jay sighed inwardly and climbed into his rack. He stared up at the ceiling inches away from his face and then rolled over, deciding that now was a perfect time to snag a catnap.

[Ward, J.]

Ward nodded at PFC Furby when he mentioned that Corporal Davis was not present at the moment and that Sergeant Stone was in the back. "Thanks," Ward replied with a warm smile. He then turned and started on his way towards the back of the berthing area when suddenly someone stepped out of the room belonging to the aforementioned NCO.

To say the man was intimidating would have been an understatement. The tall and muscular man that stepped out into the common area looked like he could take on every Marine in the room single-handed. His pale face was marred by a series of horrific scars and his eyes held a steely glare that could stop a speeding MagLev train in its tracks.

"Davis?!" the man screamed with a detectably thick southern accent. The look on the NCO's face was that of agitation, and with the curtain to his room pulled aside, Ward could smell the distinct scent of cigars having been smoked recently.

That piqued his attention, as he'd been told back in Boot Camp that smoking was expressly prohibited on all military installations and ships, and the possession of tobacco products was banned. With that in mind, his impression of this man was that he did not care about those regulations, and therefore probably wasn't a very strict person.

Jon stood and watched from the sidelines as the exchange between PFC Furby and Sergeant Stone took place. He quickly gathered from the conversation that all of the team leaders for this squad were missing, and that two of them were sitting in the infirmary for unexplained reasons. Though, he assumed that it was from whatever training that Corporal Davis had hosted.

These guys must be badasses, Ward thought with a grin. I think I'm gonna like this squad.

Jon was brought out of his reverie when he felt someone brush past him. He turned his head to the left and saw the backs of a pair of his fellow replacements heading for the racks in the middle compartment. Apparently they were under the impression they could choose whatever racks they wanted, and immediately Sergeant Stone disproved that theory by yelling at them. Jon saw the look on Stone's face, and instantly felt intimidated again. The look held in the E-5's eyes was borderline murderous, and it frightened Jon to the core.

So when the NCO suddenly shifted his attention onto Ward, it caused him to jump. A part of him felt like he was reliving his days in Boot Camp, and he pushed that thought aside as he snapped to the position of parade rest.

"Private Jonathan Ward, Sergeant," Ward answered Stone's query.

The expression plastered to the grizzled veteran's face was that of curiosity. Ward cocked his eyebrow, equally as curious to see where this was going. Why the sudden interest in me? he wondered.

"Ward, huh?" the NCO inquired. Jon nodded, rather reluctantly. He was starting to get a bad feeling about all of this. "Ya wouldn't happen ta be related ta a Gunny Sarn't Michael Ward, would ya?"

That question caught Jon totally unprepared. He had not expected to run into someone whom may have at one point known his father. It seemed that this Sergeant Stone had seen the resemblance in him to his dad. "Yes, Sergeant," Ward answered after a short pause. "He's my dad."

Jon debated adding that his father had been promoted up to First Sergeant, and was now a senior enlistedman of an administrative unit back on Reach, but decided against it. The old mantra of "speak when spoken to" that had been beaten into his brain during Boot ran through his mind, and he imagined it would be wise to adhere to now. The last thing he needed was to give off a bad first impression to his new squad leader.

Jon snapped out of his introspection and gulped at the terrible look on the Sergeant's face. Somehow he got the feeling that he'd just given his squad leader ammunition that he could use against him in the future.

Essentially, he'd just shot himself in the proverbial foot.

[Durant, M.]

When Captain Flannigan took the datapad, Durant leaned back in his seat and waited patiently for the officer to sift through the message that had been sent to him. He wondered what the Irishman's reaction would be to it, and what advice he could impart upon him to help him handle the situation. The whole thing frustrated Durant.

He was a warrior, not a politician. He'd signed up and taken a commission because he wanted to fight and lead his Marines into glorious battle with humanity's common enemy: the Covenant. He had not signed up to deal with politics and other officer's BS.

It was moments like this that made him realize why enlisted personnel held such harsh opinions on officers. While Michael detested admitting it, many of his peers let their rank get to their heads. They hadn't joined for the glory of battle or the honor of leading others into it, but because they knew they held power over others or out of greed.

It was no secret that officers were paid much better than the members of the enlisted ranks. Not only that, but many people considered officers to live in relative luxury with their cozy offices and comfy beds. Plus, the added benefit of not being required to share their living space with another individual, which was a fact that caused much envy from the enlisted personnel in his platoon, and likely of the entire Marine Corps.

The voice of Captain Flannigan caused Durant to return to reality. He was somewhat surprised by his CO's offer to personally handle the situation, though appreciated it. He exhaled a sigh of relief, feeling as if a heavy weight had been lifted from atop his shoulders. "Thank you, sir. I appreciate it," Michael said with a smile.

Flannigan then inquired about Private Wilkas, and whether or not she was a troublemaker. Durant shook his head. "No, sir. Private Wilkas has so far been doing well under my command. I've had a few problems with her, but nothing serious, and nothing I can't handle."

He smiled, and then added, "And yes, sir. She's my RTO, attached to my platoon from the Comms Section from H&S Company."

Mike noticed the change in Flannigan's expression. It seemed to turn far more serious than it had been so far, and it made the Lieutenant nervous. He had an idea about what the Captain was thinking before the officer spoke, and it was confirmed when he did.

The Captain wanted to know what was going on regarding the two Marines from his platoon that had landed themselves in the infirmary. The short answer to that question was that Durant didn't yet know, but he knew that answer wouldn't be satisfactory and likely make him look incompetent. An officer was supposed to keep abreast of his Marines.

"I received the same notification myself, sir," Mike said, pausing for a moment to take a deep breath. "I understand the ramifications of the situation, and was actually about to head down to Sick Bay to find out what was going on and who from my platoon had been checked in. I imagine Corporal Faust to be one of them, as she's been on light duty recently by order of her doctor. She sustained some pretty serious plasma injuries on our last op and had to undergo surgery."

The Lieutenant sat still, staring at his CO. He wondered how the man would react to his answer, and if perhaps he would suggest they both head over to the infirmary together. He wouldn't be opposed to the idea, although he would rather handle the situation himself.

He didn't need to be babysitted by an O-3. Durant was perfectly capable of doing things himself, so long as they didn't involve politics that he honestly didn't care to try and understand. Michael was only concerned with doing his job and looking out for his Marines, and he firmly believed he did his job better than any other platoon commander in the entirety of Oscar Company.

Which, considering there were only two of them aside from himself, was not exactly saying much. But, the point was the same and he was proud of himself and his accomplishments thus far.

[Wilkas, G.]

"The last I heard Corporal the Lieutenant wanted him to join him for the arrival of the new recruits," she replied a furious fire still burning in her eyes, it was probably wrong to get into such an argument with someone of a higher rank than her. It was unusual for Wilkas however she felt strongly that Davis was wrong and being unfair. She knew for a fact that in all likelihood that the Sargent would not be there and they would have to wait as a result, but Wilkas knew she was right. Cruz had not given her the paper work she would never lie, especially to someone who outranked her.

Besides Grace happened to be the worst liar in the history of lying, it always had been incredibly easy to tell when she lied. 

Private Grace Wilkas also held a secret which few others currently knew about besides herself, she sent a letter to her parents yet that would take ages to reach them. Besides there was no doubt that the letter would be read by the proper military authorities to make ensure that she wasn't spreading defeatist talk or revealing the horrors of the front. Damn censors. However nothing could be done about them as long as they let her letter actually get home nothing else mattered really. 

She hoped her parents, both of them would enjoy hearing from her, in the ideal world she wanted to go visit home again yet no doubt that could only be a dream of her's one that happened to highly unlikely in actually become a reality any time soon. 

"I however have no problem waiting, if it convinces you to the truth of the matter then I do not mind but I would never lie to you nor argue with anyone of a higher rank unless I knew for certain that I was in the right." All of this was uncharacteristic Wilkas behaviour, well except the part of her fighting against what she perceived as a great injustice. That was a part of her, but arguing with her fellow marines as well as one of those who held a rank above her was distinctly unlike her. 

Grace realised that she had a couple of secrets well two, one Cruz knew about and one that no one knew about, not even Cruz who she had told virtually everything to. 

She wondered what Cruz's reaction to this whole argument would be. She suspected that he might be mad, if not furious especially since he had forgotten the necessary paper work, which she hoped he would confess to otherwise she'd end up in one heck of a pickle then. Even if say Cruz sided with Grace, he probably once they where next only talk to her, ask what was what and why she had done the things she did. 

Fair questions in all honesty but she knew he could not be anything but disappointed in her, maybe Wilkas should not have argued so passionately against what she believed to be persecution against her, yet such things where too late to prevent now. 

[Faust, M.]

Faust hated hospitals. Faust despised doctors. She possessed an unnatural hatred for their nursing staff and she could not stand being in the medical bay with a certain doctor whom she so wanted to punch in the nose. Yet she restrained herself from doing so; that would get her into deep trouble with Durant and the rest of the merry band of higher ranking officers with their heavy books that contained the regulations. 

Her dislike of hospitals stretched back to when she was just a little girl, but the reasons why weren't important, what happened to be was getting the fuck out of the medical bay as fast as humanly possible. 

Of course the good Doctor kept her here for a while as she ran various tests, poking and prodding Michelle in a manner she found to be most infuriating. She hated how the medical staff made her feel like a slab of meat or an animal in a zoo. She resigned herself to uncooperative silence, deciding it was far better to hold her tongue than to deliver harsh words which might land her in hot water.

All those who knew Faust at all could tell by just a glance that she was in the mother of all foul moods, she despised the Doctor treating her at the moment and longed to introduce her fist to the medical professional's face. 

She let the staff do their work, exam her check her wound out, make sure that she wasn't going to get infected or ruin their day by dying on them. Faust hoped they would release her when they finished, however one of the Nurses came in and informed her otherwise.

"I am afraid we will be keeping you with us for a few days Corporal. Just to make sure that your wound heals properly and that you do not disrupt the healing by causing further injury."

Unfortunately, Faust had no intention of remaining in their custody, if she could move she would escape their clutches. 

"What? There is no way you are keeping me here!"Faust exploded, attempting to push past the nurse who though tried to resist was pushed aside by the stronger, taller marine. "You're not fucking keeping me here! I'm not staying I'm leaving right now! If you want me come see me with my unit but there is not way on God's Earth, in heaven or hell that you are making me stay here for your leisure!"

Faust evaded the other medical staff trying to prevent her exit before finally escaping their clutches and heading back to her unit. Of course, no doubt their would be people sent after her to bring her back, nothing short of a direct order from someone in her unit would result in her going back. "I bloody hate doctors." She muttered. 

[Stringer, K.]

"I do not mind having the bunk above your's Corporal. Privacy does not really concern me. Several weeks with sweaty, greasy guys and girls in foxholes there are kinda few secrets. Just don't read my letters without my permission... Private, family stuff you understand? Right?" Stringer nodded, as he understood clearly. For some marine's this was their anchor, their shoreline, their way of keeping their sanity and happiness. Stringer wouldn't dare do that to a fellow marine, let alone one under his command. He noticed the new marine turn to everyone to speak.

"I am Janet by the way."

"Kevin. Nice to meet you Janet." Stringer looks at the marine as she offers to shake anyone's hand who is willing, as he takes her hand and shakes it, then lets go and sees that no one else wants to take a camo sheet. As Louise and the other woman begin to take their bunks, Stringer takes the three remaining sheets and places them back into his footlocker. He knew it was hard to get sheets of camo these days, and with them being digital woodland, they may come in handy.

As Janet began to ask everyone if they ever been to New Paris, Stringer looked up at her and shook his head slowly with a "no" being said as well. When she mentioned her family, he kept looking, seeing the picture of her family. Stringer also heard the tone in her voice, knowing she was dealing with this heavily that she had to be away from her family. Stringer gave her a reassuring squeeze on her left shoulder and nodded one time.

"Janet, just keep them in your thoughts, and that will be what drives you forward and keeps you alive and sharp."

Stringer looked at the other two marines, as Louise began to introduce herself and the other, a Leona Lawrence, as he crouched down and began to retrieve a set of BDUs and underclothing from his footlocker. Stringer only stopped long enough to look at the photo Louise was showing of her family. Stringer knew they would most likely ask him next where he was from and everything, so when it got quiet, he stopped long enough to speak.

"Well, I too am from the United Republic of North America. Birmingham, Alabama to be exact. I was born and raised there, by my parents. My mother was a cop, and my father was a Lieutenant in the marines. My mother always let me hang out with her at the precinct and my father always took me places when he was home on leave. Both of them always took me to the shooting range, and I was able to handle assault weapons when I was only fourteen. I was learning military tactics thanks to my dad when I was ten. I was basically trained up to be one of the two things my family already was. Either a cop or a soldier. I had that choice made for me though.

"I lost my father when I was seventeen. He was killed in combat against the Covenant with the rest of his unit. My mother took her own life two months later. So, here I am, no more family, no brothers or sisters, fighting a war against a superior enemy. I will tell you marines this though. I will not stop fighting till everyone single last one of these alien bastards are dead, or running back to what ever planet they came from." Stringer stood up as he looked at the three other marines before him. He sighed and took a slow deep breathe.

"Well marines, I am off to get a shower. When you are stationed planet side so much, a hot shower is near impossible to come by, so that is my destination for now. Get settled in, do whatever you wish you need or want to do. Let's meet at the mess hall for evening chow. Sound good?" Stringer waited for everyone's responses and then nodded and turned to head out of the fireteam's berth.

[Deleted]

     Dirk followed the group attempting to remain far enough in the back so as not to draw attention, yet close enough to hear every thing that was being said. The Lance Corporal internal found some pride in those actions of pseudo-stealth. If I keep this up I'll be a border-line ninja, but I have to I'd rather receive no attention than any negative attention, at least until I know more. The elevator ascended slightly faster than Baldwin would've expected.



     Durant continued his tour stopping at the standard places that all of the replacements would hopefully become more familiar with. Dirk paid close attention to where the chow hall was. They passed an impressive rec-center, and Baldwin's only thought was computers with extranet, I can continue studying the sciences I enjoy so much. The Lance Corporal had brought along only a few geological field kits with him.



     Most of the group broke off at their new squad's respective quarters. Dirk was in the last group to depart the tour, more information for me to absorb at least, he thought. A young Private in this group was clearly excited over something, does he need to use the head or something, he's resembling a small mammal. Baldwin courteously waited for the others to enter first as he didn't mind being the last one in.



     Durant told the small group to report to Sergeant Stone or Corporal Davis. Dirk quickly scanned the room after entering and noticed that those he was ordered to report to were not present. Better do the smart thing and just stand here against the wall, out of the way, he thought, as he moved a couple meters to the right of the door he had just entered. Another Lance Corporal began to fight a private for a bunk, as a Private First Class Furby told the new eager young Private where he could locate their Sergeant.

     No sooner than that, almost as if on cue, a Sergeant burst through the door Furby mentioned. The Sergeant seemed a tad upset that no one he wanted here was present, and nearly took it out on the Lance Corporal that was arguing with a Private over a specific bunk, until he turned his interest towards the wide-eyed young man. The Private that seemed to hold the anger of Dirk's new Sergeant stated that he was the son of someone the sergeant recognized. By that point though Baldwin was already attempting to imitate some furniture or perhaps fuse with the wall, I don't want to make an impression, and especially not a bad one if he's in a poor mood.

[Stone, T.]

The twisted grin plastered across Stone's face disappeared. In its place was a stern look and a heavy stare as he scrutinized each of the individuals set before him. The majority of the group looked like they'd just arrived from SOI, and thus were as green as boots came. There were only two salt dogs that he could distinguish from the group, both lance corporals.

Taking a single, long step forward, he decided to introduce himself and lay down the law. The alcohol he'd consumed already was steadily kicking in, and it wouldn't be long before he wouldn't be capable of walking straight. That Harvest Ice Bourbon was powerful stuff.

"I am Sarn't Thomas Jeremiah Stone," the Old Man said, his voice level and firm. "I've been servin' in this here Marine Corps fer twenty-five years 'n in that time I've seen more shit, banged more strange, 'n provided the enemy an ass kickin' they ain't soon ta fergit. You assholes don't impress me none, but unfortunately I'm stuck with the lot of ya. So welcome ta Thirsty First."

Stone looked at the replacements, gauging their reactions. He was certain he would intimidate the new boots, but the salt dogs might require more convincing. He wasn't quite concerned with whether they were actually scared of him, but he liked to maintain his reputation -- if only just for appearances sake.

"There are three ways outta my squad that ya should know about. Either by transfer, body bag, or my ass personally tossin' ya out the nearest airlock 'n callin' it an accident. If ya don't believe me, ask 'round 'n the others will tell ya. I could give a fuck less 'bout yer feelin's or pointless shit like that."

He took a step forward as he came closer to driving his point home. "Honestly, I don't care what ya do in yer free time. However, when yer on duty, yer on my time 'n y'all will not waste my time. I expect ya ta follow the orders of my team leads as if they came from my mouth, 'n Goddammit when we deploy I want yer shit ta be wired tight. 'Cuz if it ain't, someone will git killed 'n it ain't gon' be me. Understood?"

He awaited their responses before nodding his head. He turned his attention to Ward for a moment, an idea popping into his head almost instantly. The cruel, terrible smile returned to crease his lips. "Private Ward, I'm assignin' ya ta First Team as its Point Man. When Corp'ral Davis arrives, let 'im know yer the replacement fer Private Porter. In the meantime, git yer shit squared away."

He watched as Ward snapped to and marched off to get his things squared away. Stone turned his steely eyes to the others after that. "Lance Corp'rals Harker 'n Baldwin, yer reportin' ta Second Team under Corp'ral Faust. When she gits back from Sick Bay, talk ta her 'n find out where she needs ya."

The Sergeant then informed the remainder of the replacements that they were assigned to Third Fire Team and sent them on their way. He waited for a few minutes to oversee what his new subordinates were up to -- ensuring that they were moving their footlockers into the appropriate berths and getting their things squared away, then he turned on his heel and headed back for his room. He'd kept Mason waiting long enough, and he longed to continue drinking and finish his cigar before further interruptions occurred.

[Ward, J.]

Ward found that the look splayed across Sergeant Stone's face was disconcerting. Then, suddenly, his expression took a one-eighty dive. The stern expression, coupled with the terrible look in his eyes, was frightening enough to scare him into believing that this man was certifiably insane.

The speech that followed the glare confirmed his suspicions. Stone's voice remained level and firm, and he seemed deadpan serious when he said that there were only three ways out of the squad. Maybe it was all an act, but Ward didn't think so. There was something about the old man that told him he would be more than happy to eject someone from an airlock were it necessary.

When Stone addressed Ward, he snapped back to parade rest and listened to his assignment orders. "Aye, Sergeant," Ward exclaimed. He snapped to and then turned on his heel, running off to where his footlocker had been discarded by the Navy crewmen down below, he assumed. Jon struggled to heft it up and carry it into First Team's compartment.

When he stepped through the entryway, he dropped the footlocker against the back wall. Jon stood up after straightening it and glanced at the two open racks to his left and right. He started to make his way for the top bunk above Lance Corporal Avery, only to suddenly feel a hand against his chest.

"What do you think you're doing, boot?" Avery asked, climbing out of his rack on the bottom. The Lance Corporal stood up to his full height, towering over Ward by several inches. "That's Corporal Davis's rack."

Ward blinked. "Oh," he replied dumbly. "I didn't know."

Avery shook his head, sighing. "Of course you didn't know, dumbass," he shot back. "That's why you stand by and wait 'til someone that knows something tells you what to do."

Jon didn't know what to say to that, so he nodded instead. The Lance Corporal was right. He should've waited to be told where to rack out. "Aye, Lance Corporal."

"You know what? Stand at parade rest when you speak to me, boot," Avery growled.

"But, I thought -"

"See? That's your fucking problem, boot. You think too much," he interjected, nodding. "I don't care what you think you know, shithead. You don't know your asshole from your elbow. Now make your fucking rack til Corporal Davis gets back, and don't touch my shit."

Ward nodded his head and turned to approach the opposite bunk. Below it was where the PFC, Furby, was laying down. He looked to be asleep. Hope I don't disturb him, Ward thought as he started to make his rack. The last thing he wanted was to be bitched out by someone else.

[Furby, J.]

Jayson tried to sleep. But no matter how hard he tried, sleep evaded him. He tossed and turned repeatedly in an attempt to find a position he was most comfortable in, but discovered that there wasn't one that he could find. To make matters worse, the noise from outside the compartment was almost impossible to ignore.

So, in an attempt to block it out, he wrapped his pillow around his head and covered his ears. Despite the effort, it was fruitless. While the noise had been dulled by the pillow, it was still loud enough to keep him awake. Annoyed, Furby huffed and sat up.

When he looked to his left he noticed that Private Ward had made his way into the compartment and brought his belongings with him. Jayson listened to the exchange between Ward and Lance Corporal Avery before inwardly sighing. Avery was being a dick to the kid. It seemed like after people got promoted up and gained some combat experience, they suddenly forgot what it was like to once have been a boot.

Or, they drew some sick satisfaction in taking out their pain and misery from their boot days on the new boots. Furby found it downright sickening and cruel. There were a lot of things wrong with the Marine Corps, and the culture surrounded around the harsh treatment of FNGs was one of those things. In his mind, people didn't need to treat new Marines like assholes to get their point across.

Sure, messing around with a boot was fun every once in awhile. Pulling pranks on them and making them make themselves look like total idiots was hilarious. But there was a very fine line between having some good-natured fun with somebody and being a total douchebag.

Right now, it seemed Avery fit into the second category.

Jay slid out of his rack and got up to stand beside Ward. He watched as the private worked on making his rack; he was busy smoothing out the wrinkles in the sheets. With a sigh, Jayson tapped on the kid's shoulder.

"Dude," he began, looking between Ward and the bed, "don't worry about that shit. Right now what's important is getting your gear stowed away. Open up your footlocker and put your clothes in this drawer."

Furby pointed to the footlocker and then to the drawer between the two racks. He grabbed the handle and pulled the empty drawer out. "Your uniforms will go in here. Everything except your Blues. Organize them so if in a pinch you can quickly grab a set to throw on. Alright?"

He waited for Ward's response and then gestured towards the closet on their side of the compartment. "Put your Blues in there along with your armor sets. Kevlars and covers are to go on the top shelf and belts and footwear on the bottom shelf underneath the uniforms and armor. Everything else, like your hygiene kits and personal items, can stay in the footlocker."

He smiled at the new guy. What the kid needed was someone who wouldn't be a total dickbag every time he happened to open his mouth or walk into a room. Something that Furby hadn't exactly had back when he was a greenhorn. So, Jay felt it was his duty as the guy who liked to spite the Marine Corps and everything it stood for by being that guy to Ward.

In short, he was trying to be a friend to the private.

"I'm Jayson," Furby said, extending his hand to shake. "But you can call me Jay if you want. That's what my friends call me."

[Silva, J.]

"A pleasure to make you acquaintances soon we can get to the job of winning this war." Janet was eager to face the Covenant, mostly so that the war would be won then she could return home to her family, friends and get to set foot back on her world once more. She disliked being away from the same world her family lived on, yet clearly there wasn't one thing that she could do about it. 

"Sorry to hear about you brother, I lost my boyfriend during the New Paris Uprising." Silva replied to Louise, the death of someone you were close to, family or otherwise never got any easier. They lived on however in the memories of those they left behind so in the end they weren't truly gone. 

"I understand Corporal, I have never been to Earth." Silva commented seeing that at least two of her squad mates had come from Earth. "Is it good?" Earth to her had always been a distant place, a far off world where Humanity first began to explore the stars. Of course that was a long time ago and now it happened to be the centre of Humanity's growing interstellar Empire. Well so it had been, until the Covenant arrived.

"Sorry to hear about you father Corporal but we will win the war." She possessed no evidence to back up her claim, Janet as of yet had never seen the Covenant in person, yet she wasn't totally green. Janet prior to becoming a marine, fought a protracted campaign against Innies. She knew to a degree what war was like.

"I'll pass on the shower going to write a letter home if that is alright?" She answered Stringer. "I will meet you in the mess hall later though, can't be skipping meals I just hope it is better than the bullied beef that I was given back home." Silva grinned. "If you could eat that and like it you deserve a medal for gallantry or your discharge papers as your clearly insane." Janet was pleased with her own little joke, but in all seriousness the food had been terrible as part of a Militia unit. The Marines so far it seemed got to be fed decent food, even if the majority disagreed and disapproved of it. 

Janet did not immediately take out a note pad and her ballpoint pen to start writing a letter, instead she took out another photo but not one of her family this time and lay there on her bed looking at the picture. Her eyes held both a happy gleam in them, yet also there was a hint of sadness. Homesickness gripped her, Silva wanted to win the war then she could go home. No, not just so she could go home but so every marine could go home. For those that had unfortunately lost their homes or had no where to go to after the war was over, Janet would insist of them heading to New Paris. It was a beautiful world, one anyone could be proud to call home even if they did not take their first breaths there. 

[Ward, J.]

This was definitely not what Ward had expected when he had been told he would be joining his first unit. How he had imagined meeting his teammates to be like was nothing like it had been in reality. No sooner had he walked into the compartment did he feel like he was back in Boot Camp, being grilled by his superiors for the smallest of details. He was a Marine.

Jon had gone through three months of hell to earn that title. He'd suffered through every punishment, every mind game, every exercise, in order to be called a Marine. The pride and sense of accomplishment he'd felt had been unparalleled to anything he'd ever felt before. Jon had believed he'd earned the respect of his peers and seniors because he had survived the crucible of training.

And yet, now he felt like shit. At the moment he didn't feel like a Marine. Instead of training for combat or something like that, he was making his rack. Something he'd done ten thousand times at Boot Camp.

Yeah. This was not what he had expected.

Jon grabbed hold of the pillow and shook it a couple times before smoothing out the wrinkles in the pillowcase. Then he fluffed it up and placed it on the bed and moved onto smoothing the wrinkles out of the sheets. The bed was mostly made apart from the wrinkles, and so he hadn't the faintest clue how he would be able to work on it for much longer.

Lance Corporal Avery had told him to work on the rack until Corporal Davis, his fire team leader, returned. However, Avery hadn't stated when that would be. He had no idea when Davis would show up. Would Davis be in in just a few minutes or in an hour? That question was glued to the front of his mind, and he just couldn't seem to push it out. How was he supposed to work on a rack for an hour if that happened to be when Davis would show up?

Just then, Ward felt a tap on his shoulder. Jon looked to his left to see PFC Furby standing next to him. Oh God, he thought. What now?

To his genuine surprise, the PFC didn't seem to be in a bad mood like the other guy was. He told him not to worry about the rack for right now and work on getting his things unpacked. Jon was about to ask him what went where when Furby went ahead and explained all of that for him. He smiled, happy to be treated like a human being and not a maggot.

Then, to further add to his surprise, Furby extended his hand to shake and introduced himself by first name.

"Uh, I'm Jon," Ward stammered out. "My friends usually call me Jonny."