After Action (Battalion)

[Harrison, D.]

1245 Hours, June 19, 2542 (MILITARY CALENDAR) /
A-Deck, Briefing Room 14, UNSC Vengeance

Operation: FROST DRAGON had been a resounding success. Derrick reminded himself of this as he walked through the door. The briefing room was a wide, circular room with a large, round table at its epicenter. Dull grey walls emblazoned with the silver UNSC eagle reminded him that he was aboard a UNSC vessel, and he always found it odd that the UNSC insisted on marking its property with its insignia at every opportunity.

It was as if the brass figured that somehow one would forget that they were aboard of their ships, or stationed at one of their posts, so they had to place their logo at every conceivable corner as an ominous reminder that they belonged to the military. He'd always wanted to ask someone what the purpose was in the rampant display of the eagle atop the Earth, but had never encountered anyone who knew the answer. Perhaps there was no particular reason?

Derrick would never know.

Colonel Harrison pulled a chair out from underneath the table and lowered himself into it, the leather crumpling beneath him. He leaned back in the seat and patiently waited for the others to arrive. Major Killinger had passed the word earlier that there was to be a debrief at thirteen hundred. It would only be a matter of time before his command staff and the company commanders started to show up. He preferred to arrive before anyone else, giving him ample opportunity to organize his thoughts in peace.

The door to the room suddenly opened with a whisper-quiet snik, and in came Sergeant Major Leon Carson, dressed in a pair of cross-branch fatigues. Carson wordlessly maneuvered around the table and seated himself to the right of Derrick, placing his eight-point NCO cover upon the table in front of him. Derrick nodded to himself. That's one accounted for, he thought.

Before the door had the opportunity to slide shut, Major Killinger appeared. He too was dressed in a pair of dull grey cross-branch fatigues. Harrison was beginning to feel like the odd one out, as he had yet to change out of his winter cammies since the battalion had returned. Of course, he had not yet had the chance to visit his quarters save for when he changed out of his armor, and he'd forgotten to change his uniform while he had been there.

"Major," Derrick greeted, acknowledging his executive officer's arrival. "I take it you advised the company commanders to be here for debriefing, yes?"

[Flannigan, S.]

Captain Flannigan made his way through the myriad of offices and meeting rooms that inhabited this part of the Vengeance. Officer Alley, as it was known by the enlistedmen, was a place that made even the likes of a Marine Captain uncomfortable. He knew the men and women here as people, but it was a mess of rank from both branches. With a nod to a Naval Lieutenant (his equivalent), he ducked into the assigned briefing room. He found both the Colonel and the Major present.

With a smile and a quick nod to both, he slid into a seat, setting his datapad down on the table in front of them. He knew that he should have waited for a more formal dismissal from his superior, but they both knew it wasn’t needed. Killinger might call them all to attention at the beginning of the meeting, but every man and woman who would be sitting at the table was tired and had just come back from three days of kicking ass. A dog and pony show to “restore discipline” would be unnecessary.

He quickly pulled up his reports and logistic information that he would need share in turn, looking over the reports filed by his Lieutenants. Herdandez was on his third draft, the first two looking like they had been written by grade-schoolers with crayons and after the second terrible submission he had let the young man know. The information he needed was there though. Thankfully Durant and Johansson could pick up the extra slack of the sub-par officer. Thankfully, Flannigan had made his reputation on not being gentle so his berating of the man had come at no shock to anyone.

With a few more taps, he had reports overlapped on his datapad so he could pull up what was needed when he needed it. Casualties, needed replacements, possible awards, and various other information was at his ready. The most important piece was not ready however, as compiling a Company level after action review took time. The crux of it was in place though, and he could easily answer for anything Oscar Company had accomplished.

“Zieed should be here in a minute, Sir,” Flannigan said, finally addressing the Colonel directly. His exchange was interrupted by the door opening to reveal Captain Alexander, who greeted the Colonel with all pomp and ceremony required. He greeted the Major in turn before affixing a cold glare at Flannigan. It was a rather constipated look, by Flannigan’s estimation, and it took his restraint to not just laugh at his peer.

“Afternoon Flannigan,” Alexander said through gritted teeth.

“Afternoon No-Go,” Flannigan returned, obviously addressing the elephant in the room head on. “When you’re done being butthurt and want to settle this like men, my offer still stands. At least until the next update puts Upshaw on our books for good.”

[Harrison, D.]

Derrick looked away from Killinger as the door to the briefing room opened. In walked Captain Flannigan, whom wordlessly found a chair and plopped down into it, barely paying him or the battalion XO a passing glance. He leaned forward, somewhat over the table, and was about to say something in regards to the Irishman's entrance when he caught a blur of motion out of the corner of his eye.

He looked over at Sergeant Major Carson. The salty E-9 waved his hand dismissively, as if he had read Derrick's mind and was encouraging him against acting out over something so trivial. Part of him wanted to remind the old codger that he was not in charge of him nor did he have any say in what he chose to do, but decided against it. Carson was no fool, and if he was cautioning against something, it was probably for a good reason.

"Nevermind, Major," the Colonel said, returning his gaze to Killinger, "I see I have my answer."

The door to the room opened once again and in strode Captain Alexander. Alexander came to a brief halt, snapped a crisp salute, and then moved to his seat. Harrison nodded at the officer and leaned back in his seat, the leather hissing under the weight. He paid little attention to the exchange between Flannigan and Alexander until he heard the farmer's last comment.

"Jesus," Carson murmured under his breath. "Would the two o'ya jus' git a room already?"

Before anything further could be said, anticipating some form of escalation, Derrick brought his fist down upon the desk and glared at the two company commanders sternly. "Lock it up!" he barked. "Captain Flannigan, need I remind you that you are by oath an officer and a gentleman? I will not have you challenging my senior officers to a physical altercation. Lock it up or there will be consequences, I assure you."

Snik. Captain Marrett stood in the doorway, his eyes darting from the colonel to his peers. Harrison looked up at the officer and nodded, motioning for him to take a seat. Marrett seated himself on the opposite side of Flannigan from Alexander with some semblance of a grin on his face. He was likely aware of the feud between his peers. As Carson had predicted, word had spread across the battalion like wildfire about the altercation that had occurred in the CP.

It was upsetting to him. Relations between Oscar Company and its sister elements were tenuous at best. Mike Company, in the grand scheme of things, held more of a neutral stance towards Oscar. Marrett's Marines were neither for nor against Flannigan's. But November Company?

The two were like fire and ice. Neither was meant to work with the other. The rivalry between Oscar and November had been around since before Derrick had accepted the mantle of command over First Battalion. It was never clearly explained to him why, and to be honest he never cared enough to know, but that was how it had always been. Recent events of course had only served to exacerbate the issue.

He sighed. Sometimes he wondered why, out of all the commands out there he could have been assigned, was he given command of this one. He had once told Killinger that this battalion would be the death of him. The Sergeant Major, whom had also been present, had disagreed with that assertion adamantly.

However, recent events did little to change his perspective.

"Gentlemen," the Colonel called, intent of starting the debriefing, "a lot has happened over the last seventy-two hours. Phoenix III has been lost, but we managed to complete all of our objectives. Thousands of lives were saved because of the actions of your Marines. For that, I commend each of you."

He scrutinized each of them for a reaction. Captain Marret showed no sign of emotion, maintaining a blank expression, while Captain Alexander smiled. November Company's commander had always been out for recognition and the advancement of his career, the polar opposite of his peers. "However, now is the time to assess the state of our units and our personnel. Starting with Captain Flannigan, I'd like to know the disposition of your units. Casualties sustained, any equipment that may need repaired, promotions or awards of your personnel. The whole nine yards."

[Flannigan, S.]

Sean did his best to remove the smirk from his face as the Colonel slammed the table and reprimanded them both. He had a quick remark to come back with but managed to keep his mouth shut as the Mike Company Commander walked in. Sean held very little restraint much of the time, but he was not one to back talk his superiors in the presence of others. Flannigan had already made up his mind to stay after and discuss what being a man meant, beyond just a gentleman. In his estimation, the glory hound Alexander was far from both.

“Oscar is currently combat ready sir,” Flannigan said, his information up and ready to go. “We sustained roughly 33% casualties, however, only eighteen are currently KIA. I have two in critical condition, so we may be looking at twenty KIA before the week is out. I have another fifty four WIA. All but ten will be serviceable in four weeks. Twenty of those will be out of the infirmary before we hit the freezers.”

Flannigan paused a moment to take a breath and catch his thoughts back up. A tap on his data pad brought up his other required information and he took a moment to glance around the room. Scuttlebutt had said that Mike and November had lost far more men and the looks on his peers’ faces told him it was true.

“We currently have eight lower enlisted who are recommended for promotion. There are also a dozen accommodations that have been submitted for, four posthumously, but we won’t get confirmation on those until after we thaw out. I do intend to hand out the proposed promotions at a formation this evening, if you have no objections sir.”

Flannigan still wasn’t sure how he felt about the medals. Part of him screamed that his marines deserved more than that for their actions however, Marines were not just handed medals and accommodations; they earned them with heroic deeds. In all reality, his reports were most likely the correct judge and call of these rewards, but he knew the likes of other Officers were padding their resumes with half earned medals and lower standards. It was frustrating to say the least.

“Finally, all mission essential gear came back from the planet minus a brain bucket or two. There were fifteen sets of personal gear lost with the bodies that got left. I’d like to take a moment to recognize the actions of my XO, Lieutenant Matheson, who caught to very last shuttle off the planet while organizing the egress of the extra vehicles and support equipment, assisting to ensure that only the barest of losses affected the MEU’s readiness for follow on missions. I believe that covers everything for Oscar Colonel.”

Waiting for a nod from the Colonel, Flannigan then took his seat, steadying himself to hear the rest of the debriefing from his peers. Hopefully they would cover actual actions by the companies. Oscar had a lot to take credit for.

[Harrison, D.]

Colonel Harrison held his gaze for a long moment, daring with his eyes for either Captain Flannigan or Alexander to make a comment (whether towards him or each other notwithstanding). The officers had been called here for a purpose, and that purpose did not include a bar room brawl over pettiness. So long as he was in charge he would maintain order and professionalism in his company commanders.

The entrance of Captain Marrett seemed to be enough to keep the Fighting Irishman down and his mouth shut, so Derrick gestured with a wave of his hand for Flannigan to start off the debrief. "Oscar is currently combat ready, sir," the Irishman stated. Those words were music to his ears. "We sustained roughly 33% casualties, however, only eighteen are currently KIA. I have two in critical condition, so we may be looking at twenty KIA before the week is out. I have another fifty four WIA. All but ten will be serviceable in four weeks. Twenty of those will be out of the infirmary before we hit the freezers.”

Harrison nodded as Flannigan paused to organize his thoughts. Thirty-three percent casualties wasn't bad compared to the pounding he'd heard Mike Company had received. CASEVAC birds had been in and out of their AO, airlifting wounded Marines by the dozens, from what he disseminated from all of the flyboy radio traffic. The Covenant were a stubborn and technologically advanced enemy; Derrick almost expected a high volume of casualties from these high-profile direct action operations.

Flannigan finally caught back up with himself and continued his debrief. “We currently have eight lower enlisted who are recommended for promotion. There are also a dozen accommodations that have been submitted for, four posthumously, but we won’t get confirmation on those until after we thaw out. I do intend to hand out the proposed promotions at a formation this evening, if you have no objections, sir.”

"No objections, Captain," Harrison said with a single shake of his head.

Flannigan seemed deep in contemplation for a moment before he continued. Derrick was partially curious what his subordinates was thinking about, but it was of no pressing concern of his. He recalled the old saw about curiosity and its dangers, so he did not open his mouth to ask.

Seconds later the officer seemed to snap out of it. “Finally, all mission essential gear came back from the planet minus a brain bucket or two. There were fifteen sets of personal gear lost with the bodies that got left. I’d like to take a moment to recognize the actions of my XO, Lieutenant Matheson, who caught to very last shuttle off the planet while organizing the egress of the extra vehicles and support equipment, assisting to ensure that only the barest of losses affected the MEU’s readiness for follow on missions. I believe that covers everything for Oscar, Colonel.”

"Your XO's actions are noted, Captain," Derrick replied, "and greatly appreciated. The preservation of the supplies and equipment that keep this MEU running are mission critical. We cannot afford to have our future operations hindered or impeded due to a loss of tech. As for the lost gear of your Marines, have your XO submit a replacement requisition order with Supply. They'll get your Marines squared away."

With that, Derrick turned his attention onto Captain Alexander. The Captain nodded and stood up from his seat, a datapad clutched in his hand. "November Company did fair as well as Oscar Company, I'm afraid, sir," the officer said, shooting Flannigan a dirty glare. Derrick almost reprimanded him for it, but nothing else about it was said. "In total, we suffered forty-two percent casualties; the majority of those being WIA, thankfully. The KIAs we sustained have already been logged and the appropriate measures taken to notify the families upon return to normal space."

"Recovery time of the wounded?" Harrison inquired.

Alexander peered at his datapad before he answered. "Uh, the majority should be combat effective again within the month. The worst ones are expected to take double that time."

That wasn't exactly good news as far as Derrick was concerned. He wondered what had happened that had wounded some of his Marines so terribly. Generally speaking, modern medicine and technology performed miracles in a very short period of time. The recovery time for a gunshot wound, for example, took no where near the amount of time it did five hundred years ago. So if some of his Marines weren't expected to recover for over a month, they must have been in terrible condition.

"I have a few promotion recommendations for you, sir," Captain Alexander added. "I will have them forwarded to your datapad shortly so that you can review them. I have also received a recommendation from one of my platoon commanders to award one a one Corporal Gray with the Bronze Star for exceptional courage exuded in the field."

Harrison's eyebrow cocked questioningly. He would have liked for Captain Alexander to delve into a little bit more detail about the actions of the NCO that had been recommended for the award. There would be a citation written, of course, but he wanted to know now what to expect. He shrugged. It could wait.

"Anything else, Captain?"

The Captain shook his head. "No, sir."

Harrison nodded. "Very well. Captain Marrett?"

Captain Marrett did not stand up like his peer, but did straighten up when he was called upon. He too had a datapad in hand, but Derrick quickly noticed that he did not look down at his once the entire time that he spoke. "Mike Company received sixty percent casualties from time of ingress to egress, sir. It pains me to say that most of that number consists of KIAs. The assault on spaceport is where we suffered our greatest amount of casualties."

Captain Marrett paused for a moment, as if possessed by a sudden thought or memory. Derrick frowned. The spaceport assault had been the trickiest objective to tackle on the FROST DRAGON op order. There had been so many possibilities to consider regarding how exactly they planned to assault it and what kind of resistance would they be looking at.

Obviously, the level of resistance had been greater than he or anyone on his staff could have anticipated. "The list of KIAs will be forwarded to you, sir. I'm afraid Mike Company is going to be combat ineffective until we can get some replacements. We simply do not have the manpower to tackle any large scale operations at the moment. Attached to the list of KIAs will also be a list of promotion recommendations for my surviving Marines, sir."

[Flannigan, S.]

The rest of the meeting went as expected, with Alexander giving out far less awards than Flannigan anticipated. He didn’t miss the attempted withering look again, trying to take pride in losing men. Alexander still looked constipated by Flannigan’s estimation. It was that kind of arrogance and ignorance that made Flannigan despise the man. Not like Marrett, who seemed to understand the full gravitas of their position.

Flannigan felt sorry for him. He was taking this battle personal, and Flannigan wished he could tell him not to. The man had lost a lot at the space port, and no amount of objectives met or civilians saved would bring back his marines. Odds are, knowing the Captain, he had been there with his men, securing the egress for the civilians that dawdled behind the assault, praying they could escape the death of their planet. It was bad enough to have numbers, but to watch your boys cut down by the crippling artillery they reportedly hit was another thing. That poor man needed some scotch.

As they wrapped up and the other S-Shop officers gave their reports, Flannigan listened with mild interest. He understood that the MEU as a whole was important, but his responsibility and loyalty lie with Oscar first, the rest of the MEU, Battalion, Regiment, or whatever other overlord he had be damned. While he had talked with the Colonel many times and felt they had an understanding, but perhaps it was time to revisit their understanding. The Colonel seemed to think that he knew better than Flannigan and the Irishman was ready to show that wasn’t the case.

Everyone started to stand up and leave, while Flannigan remained seated, making it clear that he had more to say to the Colonel when they had cleared out. He noticed Alexander shaking his head after a side glance, having a good guess as to what Flannigan was thinking. The Sergeant Major also knew what was happening, as he remained solidly sitting. Flannigan offered him a broad grin. He had worked with the Brit many times through the years, respecting him deeply.

“If it’s all the same, Sergeant Major,” Flannigan said, trying to politely dismiss the Senior NCO, “I think the Colonel can give you the recap.”

“I’m here to make sure you don’t decide to hit him, Sir,” Carson said, the faintest hint of a grin on his face.

“I do so solemnly swear by the ashes of my home world that I won’t lay a finger on him,” Flannigan said, trying not to laugh.


“I won’t be far off,” Carson said, rising to his feet, taking his cover with. “Good luck.”

“So,” Flannigan said, rising to speak after the Sergeant Major left. “If you think for one moment that I don’t know how to play this game sir, you are sadly mistaken. If I wanted to play, I would be your boss now. I don’t play nice because it doesn’t mean fuck to me. Alexander is a worthless asshat who is more concerned about appearances and what will get him promoted than killing the enemy. There is a reason Oscar Company has half the casualties of the other Companies, and that’s cuz my boys are killers with leaders who want them to be killers. I thought we understood each other but apparently not so let me be clear. You can’t get rid of me, so leave me be. I could make your life far more miserable, as you could mine. So, rather than doing that, let me do my job my way and Oscar will continue the best unit you command on this miserable tub.”

[Harrison, D.]

Colonel Harrison noticed, as the company commanders and his staff slowly filtered out of the room, that Captain Flannigan seemingly had expected to remain behind. Knowning the officer as well as he did, he knew that could mean nothing good. Derrick sighed and turned his head to Major Killinger. "You're dismissed."

Silence pervaded (aside from the short exchange between Carson and Flannigan) until the room had emptied, leaving Flannigan alone with Harrison. Derrick glared at him expectantly. He recalled the conversation he'd long ago had with the Captain when be first assumed command of the battalion. The conversation had not been a pleasant one, but the two had come to some kind of mutual understanding.

However, in Derrick's mind, that understanding did not excuse present conduct towards a fellow officer. Flannigan was acting childish. Captain Alexander wanted his Marine back. Harrison saw no issue with that. He understood that Alexander's Marines meant a lot to him, as the subordinates of any good officer should, and the fact that Flannigan chose to stubbornly deny him his Marine was troubling. It caused friction, and friction in a battalion could detrimentally affect the battalion's combat effectiveness as a whole.

He needed to trust his Marines to be able to work together effectively. Oscar Company often saw themselves set apart from the greater battalion, which was a toxic mindset in his opinion. First Battalion was one unit; one mind and body. All elements of the battalion had to be able to work in tandem with one another to successfully achieve mission success. Segregation would only hamper the battalion.

Derrick leaned back in his chair and interlaced his fingers, placing his hands on the table, and listened to the spiel from Captain Flannigan. The outright disrespect that escaped his lips would have been enough to support a charge of insubordination. However, Harrison could ill afford to lose such an experienced officer over such trivial matters. The UNSC was in short supply of good officers to lead its forces into battle.

Too many dead heroes, he thought solemnly. Those officers that managed to stand out amongst the crowd were usually the first to end up in a body bag or an empty, closed casket. The Covenant were relentless in their mission to exterminate the human race from the face of the galaxy, and the unspoken truth known to the majority of the UNSC brass was that extinction was becoming a very real prospect with every tussle with the alien coalition.

"Captain," Derrick began as Flannigan finished his speech, "first off I will agree with your assessment of Captain Alexander. I will even go as far as to agree that your company is one of the battalion's top performers and is a credit to your leadership. I have never once disagreed with your tactical decisions in the field and I hope I never will."

He leaned forward in his chair, not breaking eye contact for a moment. "However, you must understand things from my point of view as the BC. I have three companies that must work together in order to achieve mission accomplishment. The decision to keep Lance Corporal Upshaw from Captain Alexander causes friction. It establishes a divide between Oscar Company and November Company, and that could negatively effect the battalion as a whole. If the issue were left solely between you and Alexander, I would have no desire nor inclination to intervene. The personal affairs of my officers are none of my concern."

He paused, debating on how he wanted to steer the conversation. Captain Flannigan was not the easiest person to talk to, but he needed to get through to him before things escalated beyond the point of no return. "However, we both know that the incident between the two of you, and the subsequent rivalry will not remain between just the two of you. It will trickle its way down the ranks and cause conflict; conflict that this battalion does not need. I'm sure you recall the recruitment posters when the war first began. "United We Stand, Divided We Fall." Those words are apt for this conversation because we will fall if a divide is allowed to fester between your two companies. I cannot, as battalion commander, allow that to happen."

"I will not order you to give Upshaw back," Derrick said, leaning back again in his seat. "But I will strongly suggest it. I must maintain order within this battalion, and order cannot be maintained when there is strife. So, I'm dropping the ball in your court. Do with it as you please, though I must implore you to make the right decision."

He pushed off from the table and stood up from his seat. There was much on his plate for the remainder of the day, and he could not afford to waste anymore time. He started towards the door but stopped just meters away. "Oh, and Captain, the next time you speak to me like I'm some butterbar fresh out of OCS, I will have your ass in a sling. You're dismissed." With that he exited the room.

[Flannigan, S.]

"The only rift between our companies is the fact that one of are a company of marines and the other is a company of pretenders," Flannigan said, gathering his things. "The day you order us to work together, we will, and we'll bail out No-Co all the way to the objective. But there is a reason you send us into subways and aboard derelict ships. And sir, the next time you talk to me like I don't know what your job entails, I'll have to put you in a sling."

Flannigan walked out the door with the last word, nodded to the Sergeant Major who had been standing guard outside the door, and continued back towards his room. He had gotten the last word, but not for the sake of getting it, but mostly because it needed to be said. Harrison had to know that he wasn't going to frighten Flannigan, but more importantly, Flannigan wanted him to know that he was could push back. Physically, if needed. 

"You're never gonna get him to back off by threatening him Sean," Zieed said, stepping in next to Flannigan as he turned a corner. Instinct made Flannigan want to punch him, but he was used to his First Sergeant doing such things.

"It's worked with everyone else," Flannigan said with a shrug.

"Colonel Harrison is not like Colonel McNeil, Sean," Zieed said with a shake of his head. "And I doubt I could hold Carson off long enough for you to get the job done."

"I can't argue there," Flannigan said with a laugh. They both respected the Sergeant Major immensely and he doubted he would raise a finger against the Battalion's SNCO. "Go extend an invitation to Griggs and Captain Marret for this evening. Matt looked like he could use a drink. And some good will with Mike Company might help deal with my No-Co issues."

"I'll get on it sir," Zieed said, breaking off. "Promise me you won't go try to pick a fight with Harrison? He's a good man and a good Colonel. We want him with us, not against us Sean."

"I'll keep it in mind First Sergeant," Flannigan said with a nod. He broke towards his berth, still holding his datapad and double checking for an update from his PCs. Hernandez was narrowing in on a proper AAR, while Johansson was doing minor revisions. Durant had the heavy work up front, and Flannigan was hoping to see his AAR within the next twenty minutes. 

All those thoughts were interrupted when he rounded the corner and found Captain Alexander waiting for him outside his berth. Flannigan slowed and broke into a wide grin. Perhaps he was ready to be surprised.

[Flannigan, S.]

“What the hell do you want,” Flannigan asked bluntly, pausing outside of his door the the November Company CO was blocking. He was expecting another hippy lecture about respect and dignity from his politically minded counterpart. What he got was entirely different.

“I want my marine back Flannigan,” Alexander snapped. Flannigan had to look up to the man as he stood another three inches taller, and definitely had the advantage in almost every conceivable category for combat. All except experience and will. Flannigan had those in spades.

“You know what it’s gonna take,” Flannigan said with a smirk.

“Where and when,” Alexander said gruffly. The puppy had some bark, Flannigan would give him that. His bite was not something Flannigan feared.

“Give me an hour to straighten my shit out and we’ll meet down in the hanger. Come in PT’s, it’ll look less suspicious that way,” Flannigan said, still skeptical that Alexander would actually follow through. “You turn yellow though and scuttlebutt will tear you apart.”

“I’ll be there,” Alexander said, walking away. “Just make sure you bring that big mouth of yours so I can shut it up.”

Flannigan chuckled to himself as he ducked into his room to change and inform Zieed of what was happening. He didn’t expect to be hurt, but he didn’t trust Alexander to actually keep his word either. Flannigan wouldn’t be surprised to find five Marine’s waiting for him when he got down to the hangar deck and he needed someone to come get him if he got waylaid by bandits.
------------------------------------
Oddly enough, neither issue came to fruition, and he found Alexander waiting for him, a fresh set of PT’s and a water bottle to complete the illusion. It wasn’t odd to see a pair of officers run together, and Alexander knew it. He didn’t want word of their extra curricular activities to get out anymore than Flannigan did. Especially around the Navy’s flight deck. The Squids got very defensive of their space when the Marines weren’t needed.

“Follow me,” Flannigan said, leading the CO down a few twisting corridors. They came to a side room that looked like an empty storage space. A few shipping containers were tucked along the edges, but it was as open a space as one could find on a vessel this size.

“So, anything you want to…” Flannigan was cut off as he turned around to a sharp cross from Alexander. His instincts kept him from getting anything more than a bruise to his jaw. It was almost a sucker punch, except he had waited for Flannigan to turn and face him. With a quick shift of his feet, Shay backed away enough to be out of the man’s reach. “I’ll take that as a no. Best of luck to you, you’re gonna need it.”

And with that, they started in earnest, with Flannigan proving his monkey of the Crazy Irishman. In an instant he had closed back with Alexander, landing three quick jabs to the man’s face before he had time to move. Shay was sure he felt Alexander’s nose give way on the third jab and blood ran freely from the man’s face. To his credit, Alexander came back with a pair of jab/cross combinations that put Flannigan back on the defensive, but it wouldn’t be nearly enough to stem the tide.

Stepping back in, Flannigan ducked another cross, stepping a foot behind the larger Captain, and jamming his elbow home against his ribs. He heard the air hiss past Alexander’s lips and a sharp gasp of pain as he tried to recover from the unending Irish onslaught. Flannigan was sure that he had bruised them, though not broken the man’s ribs. If the fight ended now, Alexander would remember it for a long time, but Flannigan wasn’t done yet.

With a sharp kick to the back of Alexander’s knee, he dropped the man down as he tried to escape. He followed up with a kick to the other side of Alexander’s torso, eliciting of grunt and another set of bruises. With two quick sidesteps, he moved back around to the front of the fallen man. With two sharp jabs, he dazed Alexander and then moved in for the kill. His left hand snaked out and grabbed the collar of the PT shirt while his right hand struck hard. Five blows later, Flannigan had cut open the skin of his knuckles on Alexander’s teeth, but the entirety of his opponent’s face was starting to swell and bruise.

“Yield,” Alexander managed to sputter out between blows, his arms fallen from pain.

“Bout time,” Flannigan said, dropping his compatriot to the deck. “And you can have Upshaw back. If yer willing to take a beating like that for one of your subordinates, you deserve to keep him.”

“But I lost,” Alexander mumbled around a mouthful of blood.

“I wasn’t about winning or losing,” Flannigan snapped. “You still don’t get it, do you Alexander? This is about making you an officer worth following. You worry about awards, and medals, and a career. What about your men? What about those boys you boss around every day? They’re making your career, but what are you doing for them?”

“You picked a fight so you could lecture me on being an officer,” Alexander said from the floor, pinching his nose gingerly to try and stem the flow of blood. “You, the biggest disgrace of an officer I’ve ever seen.”

“If I’m such a disgrace, how come more of my boys came home,” Flannigan said, his fist curling up involuntarily. “You think nice words and platitudes makes you worthy of being followed? Go survive and try to keep your boys alive on Harvest for a month, then come talk to me.”

Flannigan stormed out, praying he had made an impression. Right now it felt like his fists were the only thing that had connected.

[Stone, T.]

Sergeant Stone stormed through the ship's passages, navigating the labyrinth with practiced ease, and ignoring anyone he passed. He was a man on a mission, and his objective was Oscar Company CO's office. A lot had happened over the last couple days that did not sit right with the grizzled NCO, and Captain Flannigan was somehow at the crux of it. The unit's CO was a terribly stubborn coot, and Stone expected he would have to knock some sense into him.

He rounded a corner and closed on the door to Flannigan's quarters. The door was shut, but not locked, as the light on the panel beside the door shimmered green. Stone grinned as he happened upon it, glad to know he would not have to wait at the door to be admitted in. The element of surprise would play in his favor for what he had planned.

The grizzled lifer wiped the grin away as the door opened and he stepped through it. His cold grey eyes fell on Flannigan immediately, who sat behind his desk, appearing as if he had been deep in contemplation. Stone charged forward, looking like a rabid animal moving in for the kill, and stopped just two inches shy of the officer's desk. For a moment he recalled that he was breaking over a half dozen regulations, customs, and courtesies right now, but he tossed all of that aside as he could care less.

Flannigan seemed to glance up at Stone as if just noticing his presence. Stone did not break his composure for a second. "Sir," he started sternly, "what the fuck?"

He waited a moment, giving the officer a chance to reply, likely with confusion, before continuing. "What in Sam Hell are ya thinkin'? Do ya understand what kind of shit ya've stirred up by keepin' Lance Corp'ral Fucknuts from No-Co? No? Well, here's a real quick education!"

He balled his fists for dramatic effect. "Corp'ral Stringer almost got jumped by those pussies 'cuz of it 'n Private Ward looks like hammered shit from a so-called "sparrin' session" from Staff Sarn't Cruz, which, by the way, I know is bullshit 'cuz he's played that card once befer. Yer stubbornness is puttin' my platoon in the crosshairs of those yeller-bellied, no good, weak-ass, two timin' sumbitches. Now, I know I can't give ya an order, but if ya don't give that No-Co bastard back ta his boys most motherfuckin' ricky-tick, I swear on my pappy's grave I'mma beat ya senseless 'n throw ya out a garbage chute... 'cuz the airlock would be a mercy killin'!"

He was just about to say more when he noticed the bruises on his CO's hands and the mark across his cheek. Stone's brow arched questioningly at the sight. Flannigan had not been close enough to the enemy back on the planet for him to have suffered any injuries, and had he been, that mind of information would have likely been announced over the company net. No, these marks were fresh.

Stone sighed. "What in the hell did ya do?"

[Flannigan, S.]

"Come in Sergeant Stone, have a seat," Flannigan said calmly when Stone had finished his tirade. "I just got done with negotiations with Captain Alexander. Private Upshaw will be returning back to November Company this evening and Captain Alexander will be remembering the lesson he just learned for a while. Hopefully it will change the man and in turn change November Company, but it's doubtful."

Flannigan reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a pair of tumblers, setting them on the desk with a crystalline clink. He drew a bottle of whiskey from the drawer and calmly poured a half tumbler for each of them as they sat there in silent for a moment. Nothing brought peace with Thomas Stone like a drink, and Flannigan had known the NCO for a long time. They were much the same in their feeling towards rules and regulations, having quit playing the game years ago in order to make the best of a bad war. Lance Corporal Stone had been in Flannigan's Platoon when this craziness started all those years ago, and they had a long standing bond over their former home world.

"I'm glad you still feel comfortable coming in to see me," Flannigan said, sliding the tumbler across. "And you know my door is always open. However, unless you'd like a lesson like Captain Alexander, I would suggest you don't lead with threats last time, Sergeant. I'm still more than a match for you. How are things in Second Platoon? Is Durant still managing things as well as it looks from up here?"

Flannigan started taking sips of his whiskey, letting the Sergeant continue to speak. It had been a long time since he had connected with his enlistedmen, and now was as god a time as any.

[Stone, T.]

"Come in, Sergeant Stone, have a seat."

Stone glared at his former platoon commander for a long moment unblinkingly. He was furious with the Irishman for allowing things to carry on this long. November Company were actively seeking out Marines in his platoon and ambushing them. What angered him more was that they lacked the testicular fortitude to at least engage in a fair fight. The aging NCO had no respect for cowards, especially the kind that fought their battles in numbers.

"I just got done with negotiations with Captain Alexander. Private Upshaw will be returning back to November Company this evening and Captain Alexander will be remembering the lesson he just learned for a while. Hopefully it will change the man and in turn change November Company, but it's doubtful."

The anger Stone felt washed away like water at low tide. He stared at the officer for a moment as if dumbfounded. Thomas was shocked that Captain Alexander had found the nerve to take on Flannigan for possession of one of his own. He shook his head and grinned. "Guess I pegged 'im wrong," he murmured under his breath.

He watched as the Captain removed a pair of tumblers from his desk and set them down between them. The next item to be brought out was a bottle of whiskey, the contents of which Flannigan poured into the crystalline glasses. Thomas grinned, displaying his pristine, white teeth, and shook his head. Captain Flannigan knew him better than anyone aboard the Vengeance.

He'd been introduced to the crazy bastard as a seasoned lance corporal on his way to Harvest just after word had spread of its fall. Flannigan had been assigned his platoon commander shortly before the Harvest Campaign, and in the beginning, Stone had not been impressed. He'd been a cocky son of a bitch with a fiery attitude. Thomas had expected him to be killed in action within a matter of days after first contact with the Covenant.

However, much to his surprise, the opposite occurred. Then-Lieutenant Flannigan survived, and led the platoon through the bloodiest battles of the late twenties. It was because of his aggressive style of combat leadership, and his determination to bring everyone home alive, that so many in the platoon loved through some of the most pitched firefights Stone had ever experienced. He'd come to respect the Irishman since then, and - in some ways - considered him one of his few friends.

"I'm glad you still feel comfortable coming in to see me," the Irishman said as he slid the tumbler across the desk. Stone picked it up and took a long sip from it, feeling the liquor burn at his throat. "And you know my door is always open. However, unless you'd like a lesson like Captain Alexander, I would suggest you don't lead with threats next time, Sergeant. I'm still more than a match for you. How are things in Second Platoon? Is Durant still managing things as well as it looks from up here?"

Stone chuckled at the remark from Flannigan. He doubted the man could take him one-on-one, but as he had always done since day one, he'd let him believe what he wanted to believe. "He's a crazy sumbitch," Stone said bluntly. "He's always goin' 'bout gods 'n Valhalla 'n some such psycho shit. But, in the opinion of this NCO, I think he's gon' do just fine s'long as he don't charge headfirst inta a bullet."

Thomas respected Lieutenant Durant more than he let on. While he was a tad bit more by-the-book for his liking, the kid had potential. He reminded him of Flannigan in a lot of ways. Stone had dealt with a lot of officers in his time, and knew which ones were worth keeping around and which deserved the boot. Durant was worth keeping around.

"He lets the NCOs do most of the leg work," he explained, grinning. "He's jus' got a bit of learnin' ta do. I have faith in his leadership an' ya know that's damn hard ta come by."

[Flannigan, S.]

Flannigan couldn’t help but smile as Stone’s expression soured slightly when Flannigan threatened him with his own ass whipping. The old NCO was certain it wasn’t even possible, Flannigan knew, but he had taken down men far larger than Thomas Stone, though few as stubborn. It would not be an easy task for either man, but Flannigan wasn’t put off by the eight inches of height he gave away to his old friend. There were ways to take that height out of play.

“Not far out of line with my assessment,” Flannigan said, with a nod, sipping away at his whiskey. “I’m glad to hear you approve. I’ll see to it that he learns more. I don’t like pushing my new officers harder than I have to, but with two missions under his belt, I’m sure the lad is ready for more.”

Flannigan sat back and reflected on his officers. Barring Hernandez, who was not made to lead men into battle, he had an exceptional leadership team. Hernandez would make a fine XO, but he wasn’t about to submarine the career of his other two officers in an attempt to promote a problem into a fitting position. No, there was a chain of command for a reason, and he intended to keep it in tact, regardless of an officer’s weaknesses.

“On the topic of your approval,” Flannigan started, his tone much warmer than it had been before, “Word just came down about the Corp starting up a new regiment. They are in need of some NCO’s to help oversee the training and build a strong unit. They are asking for solid leaders from across the battle tested units and our name came up several times. Anyone from Second Platoon that might make a good fit there?”

Pulling the bottle of whiskey back out, he poured another shot and a half into the tumblers, easing back into his chair. It was good to have down time again with a trusted colleague. Sergeant Stone may have been a hardass, but was exactly what the corps needed more of. And he was certainly what Flannigan needed right now, filling a niche even Zieed couldn’t find.