An Even Trade (Martin, McMillan, Wilkas)

[Durant, M.]

1825 Hours, August 4, 2542 (MILITARY CALENDAR) \
Berthing Area, B-Deck, aboard UNSC Vengeance,
in slipspace en route to Zeta-Zorata System

Durant was thankful for the cool climate in his room as the air conditioning blasted cold air in through a couple overhead vents. The heat and humidity that had assaulted him had been nearly unbearable, and the change of climate had been a welcome one. He'd had to drop all of his gear and jump in the shower to feel better, and he'd made sure that the water was set to the coldest setting possible. If he were to have a choice, he never wanted to experience that again, temperature regulators in his armor or not.

Unfortunately he knew that soon he would have to suffer through it again, and next time, it would be for real. There would be no escape from it once the battalion arrived on Melfa. He had read over the company operation order several times, and every time he winced when he read the average daily temperatures on the planet. Jungle warfare was grueling enough, and the weather was one of the key reasons for that. The humidity was just an extra problem; a venerable middle finger from Mother Nature herself.

A trio of knocks at his door broke his concentration. He stood up from his seat and sauntered over to the door, unlocking it from the panel beside it. The door opened and immediately he snapped to attention. Standing on the other side of the door was Lieutenant Commander Brick, the Battalion Surgeon. Brick was a short, lanky man with tortoise-rim glasses. His skin was only lightly tanned and, in Durant's opinion, he looked nothing like the warrior one would expect. Despite his deceptive physical appearance, the man was a capable individual in the field, and had proven himself a knowledgeable medical practitioner.

"At ease, Lieutenant," Brick said with a half-grin.

"Sir," Durant replied, his brow arched, "to what do I owe the pleasure of a visit from the Battalion Surgeon? Is there a problem?"

The Lieutenant Commander shook his head. "No problem, Lieutenant. Just a slight change in your all-star line-up."

Michael found himself even more confused. "Excuse me, sir?"

"Mike Company is in need of an experienced corpsman and, so, the BC saw fit to transfer Petty Officer McMillan from your outfit to theirs," he said, rather matter-of-fact. "I can forward the paperwork to your datapad, if you'd like."

"No, sir. I find myself more worried about the sudden vacancy in my platoon."

Commander Brick smiled and stepped to the side, gesturing for Michael to step outside with his hands. The Lieutenant stepped out from his room and glanced to his right. Standing there was a man a little older than himself and about a head shorter. He had dark, low regulation hair and was immaculately shaven, though his overall posture seemed lax, almost indifferent, as if he was hardly bothered by the fact he stood in the presence of a pair of officers. "Meet Corpsman Martin," Brick said. "He arrived with the last batch of replacements to the BAS, and to be honest, we really didn't know what to do with him. He's had a deployment or two under his belt and, to be honest, didn't really fit in in a hospital setting. Now I think that problem has been solved."

Durant turned to Corpsman Martin and nodded at him curtly. "Pleasure to meet you, corpsman. I'm Second Lieutenant Durant. Oscar Company, Second Platoon."

"He's the guy in charge of the Marines responsible for putting twenty-eight of the ship's MAs out of service -- not to mention throwing an illegal party in clear violation of practically a dozen regulations," Brick clarified to the corpsman.

"It was an isolated incident," Durant said, shaking his head. He honestly didn't want to be reminded of that particular event. It had caused him a very sore headache.

The Battalion Surgeon shook his head. "If only that were true, Mike," he replied with a smile. "Anyway, I'll leave you two to it. Send Mac to Sick Bay when you see him."

"Aye, sir," Durant said, and then turned to Corpsman Martin as the Lieutenant Commander walked off. "I guess I'll show you to your new quarters. You'll be sharing a berth with our RTO, PFC Wilkas."

[Martin, M.]

His reassignment to Oscar Company had been a surprise to the young Corpsman, as was his swift date of departure from his old unit. He had learned over the last few years to limit his possessions to only what he could fit into a duffle bag and large suitcase. Of course, over the years that expanded to include a backpack containing his less acceptable possessions but all in all he was proud to say that he could throw everything he owned onto his back. Hopefully he seemed competent enough to the Marines as he followed along behind the surprisingly slender Commander Brick.

Marines were a strange lot, at least when it came to earning their trust. As a corpsman he wasn’t really one of them, not until he fought alongside them, patched up their wounds and help treat at least one STD. After that you could pretty much be considered a brother in arms, before that, a corpsman was just a stranger Marines were expected to treat nicely. This wasn’t out of respect or kindness, it was simply a smart way of treating the man who might very likely hold your life, or the life of your friends in his weak Navy hands.

A few of the Marines outside glanced up as he walked by, their expressions a combination of mild curiosity and immediate disdain at having someone they didn’t recognize in their area. Fortunately he had an officer with him, allowing him trail in the wake of requisite obedience the surgeon commanded. Of course, that didn’t stop the straps from his bags from digging into his skin as he waited for conversation between Commander Brick and an officer whom Martin assumed was going to be his new boss.

The tall Lt seemed like a decent enough guy, going so far as to offer the corpsman a pleasant greeting. Martin returned the favor offering the man a respectful nod and the most respectful response he could muster.

“Sir,” he said plainly. One thing he learned after three years was that it was easy to screw up a first impression. Which is why he always opted to say as little as possible until he figured out his CO’s personality and quirks. Of course, he had been taught to salute when reporting to a new unit, but this was hardly a formal meeting and his arms were technically occupied carrying his gear. Besides he had had to go through that whole hassle when he had reported to the unit earlier. Hopefully once was enough.

Hopefully this Lt wasn’t a stickler for customs and courtesy, because Martin had never been able to remember when to do what. Call it a personal weakness. Call it laziness. But whatever you do, don’t call it a reason to warrant docking his pay.

Fortunately, the moment passed as Lt. Durant began leading him towards his new quarters. It only took a few moments of silence before the corpsman couldn’t help himself from asking a question that had just begun eating at him.

“So, 28 MA’s Sir?” inquired the corpsman incredulously. Marines were a rough sort to be sure, but taking on nearly a platoons worth of men whose sole job was keeping people in order seemed damn near impossible. “What exactly do you feed these Marines?” he added with a lopsided smile as he adjusted the weight of his duffle bag to a more comfortable spot on his back.

[Wilkas, G.]

Wilkas' room was currently in its state of mess, as in it looked like a bomb had detonated in it. She possessed this weird innate ability or just considerable amount of luck, as before every single inspection, surprise or otherwise she appeared to sense them, or maybe fate made it look like she did because she tided everything up just before.
Unfortunately she had no idea the LT was coming with a new corpsman. She played her heavy metal loudly, one of the many Russian bands which she liked.

The room was an absolute tip. One of her boots like discarded near the door another poked bravely out from under her bunk. Numerous articles of clothing lay scattered across the floor. She seems completely content in her squalor or at least reluctant to neaten it up. The Russian ran a hand through her ginger hair, Grace was behaving in an odd way.
Well... Unusual for her. She was currently standing on her bed singing as best she could along to the lyrics of the song. She happened to be doing surprisingly well at this, the band possessed a female lead singer. A woman who Wilkas managed to sound slightly better than her.

She changed the song, same band, another great song. More Wilkas singing. She stood on her bed, bouncing around and generally behaving as a young teenager might. In her mind, her room, she was the only occupant for the moment. That justified the jumping on the bed, playing loud music, the mess and her singing.
Things she had not been allowed to do at home or in boot camp. However... Now she held a hold room to herself. She was going to live it up whilst she could.

She had been part of the infamous party, but managed to get away scot free. How? A Wilkas trade mark secret. Currently no one had dropped her in it on being in the party.
She was worried about getting into trouble about it but the ringleaders had been caught. She managed to evade any trouble so far.

[Durant, M.]

The trek to Martin's new home away from home was brief. The platoon RTO and corpsman had been billeted next to the platoon commander's quarters likely because their assignment to the platoon headquarters element. All that stood between his quarters and theirs was a Head, and so it took only a matter of seconds to arrive at Wilkas' door. The sound of heavy metal music resonated through the door.

Durant knew almost instantly it was Wilkas that was playing the music. While McMillan boasted some rather obscure tastes himself, the Lieutenant was certain the man did not speak Russian, and the voice of the band's singer was distinctly Russian. He also heard, intermixed with the singer's voice, that of Wilkas singing along. He grinned.

"Mister Martin," Durant said, glancing at the man from over his shoulder, "I ask myself the same question every day. However, between the two of us, I must admire the tenacity and warrior spirit of my Marines. While the brass did not find their egregious violation of regulation amusing, I'm fairly certain the Gods would have heralded them for such spirit. Unfortunately, I tread a slippery slope, and sometimes I cannot show my Marines how I feel due to the nature of my position and the responsibilities that come with it."

He meant that. While he was by no means pleased that his Marines had been instrumental in not only orchestrating an illegal gathering of junior enlisted but also in inviting a riot that sounded the involvement of the ship's law enforcement, he had to admire their spirit and ferocity. Twenty-eight MAs was an impressive body count for four lone Marines, especially when those particular MAs were equipped with riot gear and trained to quell such events with extreme prejudice.

It reminded him, in an odd sort of way, that he commanded perhaps the best platoon in the battalion -- maybe even on the whole ship. Not even the ODSTs with their aggressive nature could boast about such an achievement. "The responsibility of command is both a gift and a curse, Corpsman."

The Lieutenant turned then and knocked on the door as hard as he could. He doubted Wilkas would hear it over the blare of her music, but it had was worth the shot. Durant waited patiently for a moment before deciding to be more direct. "Stay here," he ordered, and then keyed the manual door override. The door opened and Durant stepped inside.

Wilkas's room was a mess. Clothes were scattered everywhere across the floor, and there was even a boot just a few inches from the door. He could tell by the size of the boot that it belonged to Wilkas, and he shook his head with a grin. The room reminded him of that of a teenager's. Suppressing a chuckle, he made his way through the room, maneuvering around the clumps of clothes, to inevitably find himself in front of the curtain that segregated Wilkas's half of the room from McMillan's. The curtain was half open and he could see Wilkas on her rack, singing along to the song.

The stereo system was to his left, blasting out the heavy tunes of metal. He reached over and cut it off, silence suddenly falling upon the room. Michael stepped out from behind the curtain to reveal himself to Wilkas. The look on her face was priceless. "I see you're enjoying yourself, PFC," Durant remarked, amused.

He glanced back at the mess for a second before returning his eyes to Wilkas. "And might I add perhaps a little too much."

She opened her mouth as if to apologize, but Durant raised his hand in a silencing gesture. "Relax," he said. "This isn't an inspection. That's tomorrow. I'm just here to introduce you to your new roommate and fetch McMillan. He's been reassigned. Do you have any clue where he might be?"

He nodded when she answered. "Alright," he replied. "Martin, you can come in now!" Once the corpsman had made his way inside, Durant decided to make the introductions. "Corpsman Martin, meet PFC Grace Wilkas, my RTO. Wilkas, this is Corpsman Martin, McMillan's replacement."

[McMillan, J.]

Jim found himself holding a thermometer that protruded out of the month of PFC Adkins. He was in the berth of Second Squad at the behest of Corporal Kateb, whom had informed him that Adkins had been complaining of a stomach ache and a high fever. When he arrived, he could already fell there was nothing wrong with the man, as his disposition was as it usually was and his complexion was normal.

However, he had to follow SOP, and it dictated he give the young Marine a full examination before dismissing his complaints as BS. The thermometer beeped and Mac withdrew it from Adkin's mouth. He held it up in front of his face so that he could see the digital readout and then leaned over and showed it to Corporal Kateb.

Kateb frowned. "I'm afraid your temperature is normal, PFC," Jim said plainly, stowing the thermometer in his medkit after swapping out the used plastic end for a new, sterile one.

"What's a normal temp, Doc?" Adkins asked.

Jim frowned. "Ninety-six point seven."

Adkins shook his head profusely. "That can't be right, Doc! I'm burnin' up here!"

Adkins was determined to keep up the lie. He knew exactly what the Marine was trying to do, and he just wasn't going to give into him. "I'm sorry, PFC, but the thermometer -- unlike people -- does not lie. I cannot write you a sick chit unless you have a temperature above a hundred degrees, and even if it was malfunctioning, you show no outward signs of illness."

"But..."

McMillan turned to Corporal Rio, whom had poked his head in the door as if curious to see what all the commotion was about. "Corporal, where's Staff Sergeant Mason?"

Rio shrugged. "I think he left to make a Head call, Doc."

He nodded, and glanced back at Adkins for a moment before he continued with his train of thought. "Let him know that PFC Adkins here insists that he is sick and that while I cannot find any obvious signs of illness, he may have some kind of undiagnosed condition that needs the immediate attention of the medical staff down in Sick Bay. And also advise him that, if Adkins should go, that if they can find nothing wrong with him than they will be forced to put him on report for falsely reporting a medical emergency, which can have some severe consequences."

Rio cocked his brow at McMillan for a moment before realization overcame him. He smirked and nodded his head. "Oh, you got it, Doc."

McMillan returned the grin. "Thank you, Corporal."

With that, the corpsman stepped out of the compartment and made his way for the door out of the berth. Just before he stepped through the threshold into the passageway beyond, he just barely overheard Corporal Rio say, "Adkins, I'mma have to teach you a thing or two in the art of skating, man." Jim chuckled and made his way out of the berth.

The journey back to his quarters was brief, and when he arrived his brow arched in curiosity. Standing outside the door to the room he shared with Private First Class Wilkas, the platoon's RTO, was a man in crossbranch fatigues with a seabag over his shoulder and another in his hand. Jim spotted the Caduceus pinned to the man's collar on the left side and the rank pin of a Navy Crewman on the right. The nametape on his uniform read "MILLER."

"Corpsman Miller," Mac called as he bridged the gap between them, "how can I help you?"

[Wilkas, G.]

Grace did not notice Durant's knock on the door, nor did she register him opening the door. Suddenly a painful silence filled the room, causing her to pause mid lyric, she landed lightly on her bed turning around to find herself facing the LT. Her cheeks immediately flushed with colour from the embarrassing situation, a look of abject horror on her face. Wilkas hastily offered him a salute as she attempted to make herself appear somewhat respectable.

The red head opened her mouth to provide a manner of explanation for the terrible state of her room.
He however raised his hand for silence. She wished that she possessed the officer's talent for silence. 

She hopped off of the bed, picking up a few pieces of her articles of clothing. Grace dumped them on her bed, as she answered his question. "I have not seen him for ages." The RTO replied unhelpfully. She was happy to hear that his arrival did not herald an inspection. If it was... Well she would of failed it hands down. 

Suddenly the penny dropped. "What do you mean reassigned?"  She inquired as Martin entered. She offered him a slightly embarrassed smile. Their room was largely a mess thanks to Grace or rather her side of the room happened to be a mess, a complete sty, a swamp for want of a better word. "Pleasure to meet you." She glanced around the room. "My apologises for the mess it is not surprise inspection day nor inspection day." Wilkas happened to be distinctly proud of her talent of seemingly knowing when the inspections were due. Many noticed when Grace seemed to be struck with the desire to tidy up and make herself ready for inspection, that it happened to be time to prepare for one themselves. 

[Martin, M.]

The corpsman didn't say anything in response to the LT's answer. The walk was over before he had the chance, something his shoulders were decidedly grateful for. That didn't mean he didn't have an opinion of the young officer. Quite the opposite. It was clear the man took pride in his Marines, not because they were his, but because they were worthy of his respect. Michael couldn't quite tell if that feeling was reciprocated by his subordinates, but if it was then Michael considered himself lucky. He might have little trust in officers, but even a man like him recognized the benefits of a competent leader with a strong relationship to their Marines. It was good for morale, and high morale was good for everyone. Especially a corpsman. That wasn't because the Marines would stay out of trouble. As the scuffle with the MA's demonstrated, but the best preventative medicine had always been superior firepower, and high morale was a good first step in that direction.

Although it also had its drawbacks.

Like for example, when it came to having to live with a teenager who clearly had too much enthusiasm for metal music and not nearly enough for basic sanitation. The Corpsman had only just begun taking a step into the decidedly thrashed room when another voice entered his already assaulted eardrums.

The Corpsmans squinting blue eyes turned to see the individual who was addressing him, happy at least that someone in this unit could recognize Navy rates. That didn’t do anything to change the unimpressed expression on his face though as his took in the sight of the man approaching him. Attention to detail was something members of the medical field had to learn quickly, so it wasn’t hard for Corpsman Martin to notice the Caduceus on the man’s uniform, or the weary expression in the man’s blue eyes. If that wasn’t enough to inform Martin that this man was likely the Corpsman he was to replace than the name tape reading McMillan would have certainly given it away.

“I’m actually here to help you all, more or less. Lieutenant Durant’s inside, I suspect he can explain the situation better than I can.”

He offered the man a chance to lead the way inside, it being his room for still for the moment, before following him inside.

A quick glance at the room made it evident that there was little chance of him setting his things down anywhere immediately for free of crushing lady garments or other articles of clothing. Which was actually how he first realized his roommate was female.

So occupied with finding a place to set his bag he had completely ignored the young Marine standing next to Lt. Durant. Not until she addressed him directly, explaining the condition of her room. She made sure to point out that it wasn’t inspection day, which everyone was surely grateful for.

“Lucky us,” he replied dryly to the red head. She was young and fit and in any other circumstance the Corpsman might have found her to be decidedly attractive. Fortunately, he was already irritable from hunger and sobriety, and since he was going to have be sharing living space with her his brain had already classified her as just another Marine, instead of anything untoward. Ashe continued to scan the room he realized he had yet to return her greeting.

"It's a pleasure to meet you as well Marine, you have excellent taste in music,", he said with a slightly lopsided smile. Lying to people was one of the first thing he learned outside of training. It was often the only form of bedside manner unlucky Marines could count on in their final moments.

[Wilkas, G.]

The new Corpsman seemed somewhat disgusted or repulsed by the current state of her room. Well it was not like she happened to be expecting company. She made an attempt to pick up a few of the nearby articles within her reach. Putting them away, or rather more accurately 'away' being by putting them on her bed.

For the red head, such attempts were about as successful as a small child throwing small rocks into the sea in an attempt to stop the very tide.
"Yes very lucky." Grace responded, she hated how everything was currently in such a mess. She suspected Durant might be slightly annoyed by the state of her room. Any messier and it may of been mistaken for a laundry room or a small teenager's bedroom.

"Of course." Grace declared, apparently accepting the lie quite happily. "It beats this new pop stuff that has appeared." What followed was a two minute rant about why New Pop happened to be rubbish as well as utterly terrible music. Eventually she noticed Durant raise his hand for silence, thus finally the glorious rant came to an end.

Clearly she disliked the music, she found herself now becoming a bit self concious. Her eyes flitting around to the more embarrassing articles of her clothing littering the room. The worse part was, Mcmillan had not even been gone all that long. Sure the room had indeed been messy before he left the room. (well Grace's part.) Yet now Wilkas left the room in an utterly deplorable state. Who could of suspected the small RTO produced so much mess in such a short space of time.
It had to be a talent of her's.

[Durant, M.]

When Corpsman Martin entered the room, Durant noticed he was followed in by a confused McMillan. The NCO looked, upon closer inspection, to have started to put the pieces of the puzzle together, but realization had not fully settled in yet. Michael frowned. It was a hell of a way to learn you were being replaced, but there had been no other way. After all, the sudden change to his roster had been sprung on him moments ago, and thus he had no time to prepare for it; let alone McMillan.

Durant left PFC Wilkas and Corpsman Martin to their introductions. He approached Petty Officer McMillan and held up his hand in a gesture to stop and listen. "I know this is all of a sudden, and I wasn't made aware of it until just a few minutes ago, but you've been reassigned."

He glanced over his shoulder at Corpsman McMillan. He was in the midst of a conversation with PFC Wilkas in regards to the state of the room and her personal tastes in music, if one wanted to call it that. The Lieutenant returned his gaze to McMillan. "You're being transferred to Mike Company to replace one of their corpsmen. Corpsman Martin is your replacement from the BAS. If I were you, I'd start packing my belongings. The Battalion Surgeon wants you to report to Mike Company ASAP," he said. Durant extended his hand. "It's been a pleasure working with you, Doc."

With that, he pivoted on his heel and returned to Martin's side. "I've got some things to go do. I'm sure PFC Wilkas will show you where to put your belongings and can be trusted to get you squared away. If not, McMillan can assist you before he leaves. He has to pack his stuff anyway."

The Lieutenant waited for their responses and then turned to leave. Just before reaching the hatch he stopped and turned to look at Wilkas. "PFC, I expect this room to be squared away by lights out tonight. Police up your mess. We have an inspection tomorrow." With that, he walked out the door.