A Good Company

[Davis, E.]

Newly minted Sergeant Evan Davis stood at a crisp parade rest in front of the Staff Sergeant that sat behind the desk. The excitement of having his own squad, even in training, was carefully masked behind the military professionalism that was expected in garrison. He patiently waited as the Staff NCO quickly scanned his file through the neural lace and processed his transfer paperwork to the newly formed Hotel Company. He had only been back from tour for a week at this point, but he had already cleared his chest from the Vengeance and moved his billeting to the recently built barracks that occupied a distant corner of the base. In the background, he could hear the whine of warthog engines that carried trainees around the training grounds.

"Your billeting will stay the same, Sergeant," the Staff Sergeant drawled slowly, finally getting around to speaking again. "Captain Emerick has a briefing planned for all of his  NCO's at 1600 hours. You are a free man until then. Do you have any questions for me?"

"Do I have a squad assigned to me yet, Staff Sergeant," Davis asked, his eyes still locked on a spot on the back wall. 

"Yes. Their files have already been opened to you. You are not supposed to meet with them until after Captain Emerick's briefing. I suggest you meet some of your peers and get your files in order. If your room isn't inspection ready, I would square that away. Dismissed, Sergeant."

Davis snapped back to attention before backing up a step and crisply turning out of the small office. He had already squared his uniform up (a complete waste of time in his book) and had his room prepped for any inspection. He was going to sift through his squad files before grabbing lunch. Depending on his file work, he was hoping to squeeze in some PT before the Captain's briefing. If he was lucky, he'd get a chance to meet his own leadership soon. He wasn't here to relax. He was here to prep another squad of green marines into a combat capable squad. Lounging in his room and around post did not accomplish that goal.

His room had the faintest scent of pine from the generic cleaner that all barracks used. His bed was tightly made and the lock on his wall locker flashed the sun the streamed in through the window. He sat at his desk, starting to open up personnel files and learning about his new team. This was going to be the first step forward to his best years in the military.

[Davis, E.]

Davis said on his back, staring at the roof of his tent in absolute frustration and exhaustion. He had spent all week in the field dealing with a squad who was green in nearly every possible way. Not a single killer in the group. He had more combat time than the company combined, sans a few other ringers they had pulled in from front line units. And for all that experience, he got talked down to and treated like an animal by the leadership. Captain Emerick was, in Davis's humble opinion, a desk jockey who must have spent more time on his knees than behind a rifle. Promotions, as they say, are earned in a multitude of ways. Unfortunately, this man was going to get some of these recruits killed, if not most of them. 

The crack of a rifle pulled him back from the edge of sleep. They were working on a defensive position, with another unit acting as OPFOR, and Davis was praying that they were being attacked. It was the only thing he had to look forward to here. He quickly rolled over, grabbing his rifle and throwing on his helmet. He hustled, keeping a low profile, toward the foxhole the commotion was coming from. He flopped down behind the overhead cover, calling to the two men inside. PFC Charez and Private Lutz were manning this location and according to his HUD they were both there still. 

"What's going on boys," Davis called in. The awkward silence was not reassuring.

"Lutz had a NG, Sergeant," Charez called back. "Nothing important."

"What the fuck," Davis roared, getting to his feet. He stormed around to the side of the foxhole, reached down, and hauled out Lutz with one hand. "How in the name of sweet baby Jesus can you not keep your dick beaters off the trigger!? Private, this is how people die! You kill them with terrible trigger discipline. You've lost stealth, which mean the Covenant can find you easier. You think I'm terrifying Private!? Go stand in front of an Elite! Watch him step out of nowhere with a fucking energy blade and run it through your fucking guts because you decided to shoot at nothing! Private Lutz, start beating your face until I get back. CORPORAL HENDERSON!"

Davis stormed off in the direction of were Corporal Henderson was BIVOUACed. He saw the shelter-half start to shift around as his NCO was starting to move. He doubted that anyone in the camp was sleeping right now. And it didn't bother him in the slightest. Corporal Henderson rolled out of her tent, completely dressed in full battle rattle.

"Yes Sergeant Davis?"

"Go make sure Lutz never puts his fingers on the trigger at the wrong time again. If I go back over there, I'll break his stupid face."

"Yes Sergeant," she said, hustling off.

"Sergeant Davis!"

Davis turned to see First Sergeant Archarya storming toward him across the grounds. It was going to be another session of telling Davis he was too hard on the troops. He was too tired to care about it now.

[Davis, E.]

"Sergeant Davis," First Sergeant Archarya started, trying to keep his voice calm. Davis was back in the man's office for the eighth time since they returned from the field. It was starting to feel like a daily occurrence. Hatred was not even close to strong enough to describe how Davis felt about this man. "I need you to tone down your training. I've been getting complaints from your Marines."

"Care to give me some names, First Sergeant," Davis casually offered, standing at Parade Rest. "I would be happy to address those issues personally with my Squad."

"You know it doesn't work that way Sergeant," Archarya said with a tired sigh. "I know that Oscar has a reputation for hard training and correction.."

"You forgot excellence and a combat record that puts any other Company to shame," Davis interrupted.

"That's not the point of this conversation, Sergeant," the First Sergeant snapped back.

"I believe that it is First Sergeant" Davis continued calmly. He could feel his blood start to boil though. "The two pieces are linked. Inseparable. We can keep going around about this, but until you can tell me how I'm doing this wrong by the results I'm getting you're wrong First Sergeant. And I'm not going to risk the lives of my troops by being nice to them."

"They still need to be treated like people, Sergeant," Archarya said, having regained his composure. "People who have a life outside of the Corps."

"I want to make sure they do," Davis said plainly. "And that means I will continue to be the biggest, meanest, scariest bastard here. And I will get the best combat results out of my troops so they will live and the Covenant will die. It's that straight forward First Sergeant. So, let me do my job, and stop coddling every Sally Sob-story and Harry Hardluck who comes crying to you. They're Marines. They should act like it."

"Dismissed," Archarya said after mulling over Davis's words a minute. Davis quickly made an about face and grinned as he walked to the door. This was the first time he felt he had made headway with his leadership. And now, God help them, he was going to make headway with his Marines.

He found them, the whole squad of junior marines, lounging in their squad bay common area. It was 1700 on a Friday and every one of them were simply standing by for final formation. His team leaders were laughing and joking in a corner by themselves, paying almost no attention to their troops, as they were attempting to start their weekend early. Davis would have kicked the door in if they had one. He was disappointed he didn't have that tool at his disposal. His squad scrambled to their feet to Parade Rest as he cleared the threshold of the room. At least someone was paying attention.

"Which one of you weaselly fucks went crying to First Sergeant," Davis barked. He saw eyes dart around the room as they tried to find a scapegoat. No one flinched though. Good. "You don't take squad business outside of the squad. If one of you miserable excuses for marines has a problem, you bring it to me. You want out of the squad? Bring it to me. I'll gladly send your quitting ass to some other squad where you can infect them with your pathetic, whining, can't hack it attitude and keep my squad unblemished. You'll pay on the way out, but you're going to pay staying here anyway. If I get called into the First Sergeants office again because you pathetic excuses for Marines think he'll save you, I will PT you all until you tell me who the snitch is. And where I can find his mother so we can cut that shit off at the source. Have I made myself clear!?"

"Aye, Sergeant," the squad roared back. 

"Hopefully First Sergeant releases us soon. Carry on until them. Team leaders, report to my room."

[Davis, E.]

"You three better pull your heads out of your asses and start acting like team leaders," Davis snapped, starting to unbutton his blouse. His three team leaders, Corporal Stuart, Corporal Henderson, and Lance Corporal Bass all stood at Parade Rest, standing unflinching before his onslaught. "You three set the tone for your teams and I expect them to outwork every other team here. Bass, you haven't ever served in this roll before, but you other two have got zero fucking excuses for the shit shows your teams look like. I've got marines just sitting around waiting for final formation? Are they proficient at a damned thing?"

"Lance Corporal Hawkness is an Expert in automatic weapons per our last range day, Sergeant" Lance Corporal Bass spoke up. Davis turned a cold stare at the young man, hoping he would crack under the pressure. He walked up to him slowly, now stripped down to his skivvy shirt. Every marine was fit, but Davis had lived in the gym since returning to Reach, just to keep his aggression level in check.

"Is she an expert at camouflage? At setting up overlapping lanes of fire? At reading terrain? At landnav? At any of the other dozens of tasks a LANCE CORPORAL SHOULD KNOW?"

Bass flinched, ever so slightly, with the giant man bearing down on him with the full weight of authority. Davis actually was impressed. The young man had potential and it was at this point he decided to make Bass his personal mission. 

"I am not sure, Sergeant," Bass got out, holding his calm.

"Are you scared Bass," Davis asked, moving his face ever closer to Bass's. It was a move he had seen from Stone many times, though the difference was Stone always had to come up to him. He could only imagine the effect was worse with him descending on the marine like a sadistic, starving wolf. "Does this make you uncomfortable?"

"Yes Sergeant," Bass said quickly, still holding his ground. He didn't break from Parade Rest, though his eye twitched several times as he fought the urge to look at Davis directly.

"Honesty and courage," Davis grumbled, backing off finally. "Before you are all dismissed today, I want an assessment of your individual team members. After your weekend pass, we together will come up with individual training plans for each one of your marines. In three weeks, we will reassess. And if I ever catch the three of you lounging around with your marines, I will have you demoted so fast, your heads will be spinning fast enough to power a slipspace drive. Dismissed!"

The three marines managed to walk out with some dignity, but it was all they could do to keep from scrambling out of his room. All he wanted right now was a celebratory drink. He was making headway with the green marines. Now he would need the opportunity to teach them how to live, not just survive. Hopefully this weekend pass would do the trick. The keys to his truck beckoned to him from their place on his desk. All in due time, he told himself. All in due time.

[Davis, E.]

Davis broke from attention with the call that dismissed the entirety of the platoon. He looked to his leadership who gave him the final dismissal with a slight nod. He strode casually back to the barracks, getting ready to enjoy a weekend pass like the rest of his marines. The junior marines were running towards their rooms and freedom, and the halls were loud with the sounds of scrambling, braggadocios marines boasting about their weekend exploits that had not happened yet. Davis just laughed, having learned that running was unneeded. He climbed the stairs swiftly, making his way to his room to start changing.

He was all the way out of uniform when their was a knock at his door. He opened it, standing in just his skivvies, to find his three Team leaders, still in uniform, looking at him awkwardly, unsure of what to do. He scowled to hide his amusement and nodded his head towards his room and walked back to his wall locker, leaving the door open. 

"You better not be wasting my time," he grumbled, pulling out a tattered gray t-shirt. He pulled it on and it stretched across his broad shoulders, barely encompassing his arms with sleeves that looked too small if not for the length.

"We have the reports on our troops that you requested," Corporal Stuart said. "We sent them via the network, but wanted to be sure they were correct before checking out for the weekend."

Davis walked over, still missing pants, and scooped up his datapad with a hint of annoyance. He pulled up the three documents that his team leaders sent and started reading. Stuart and Bass had a solid grasp on their troopers. They highly recommended more team maneuvers and drills. Davis could get behind that. He also wanted them to understand the tactics of a small unit. Squad level drills would soon be in order. He noted only one warthog qualified driver among their teams. He knew that the company would be qualifying Warthogs within the month, but it was a good piece to note. He was happy to know that he wouldn't have to stay later for them.

Henderson's report read more like a psyche eval. She knew her marines far better than expected. Lutz was her pointman and was already showing fear and a lack of confidence in his ability to lead his team forward through nearly any environment. Lad navigation, battle drills, and a better understanding of how a fire team worked were all suggestions to improve her team. Davis just shook his head as he read her report. It was an impressive level of detail in such a short amount of time. He was glad to have her as a team leader, despite the ineptitude of her marines.

"These are quite good," Davis admited, tossing the pad back down. He walked back over to his wall locker and pulled out his jeans. "Many of these shortcomings will be taken care of in the training plan released by the Captain. However, down time will need to be utilized if we are to correct all of these and have a solid combat squad. Henderson, your team has point everywhere. I want Lutz to know we're always behind him. Also, what the hell was this psyche eval of a report?"

"I dropped out of college to join the UNSC, Sergeant," she said with a grin. "I always enjoyed my psychiatry classes. Guess more of it stuck than I knew."

"I dig it. Help these two get a better grasp on their people. Every edge is important. We, and that includes me, must keep improving. It's that or get killed by some damned grunt. We'll follow up Monday after PT on other hip pocket training we'll need to address. Go enjoy your weekend. Dismissed."

The three marines nodded and left quickly as Davis pulled on his pants. Reaching to the very back on his wall locker he pulled out a Stenson with a red dyed eagle feather tucked in the hat band. Quickly stroking the feather into shape, he put it on and grabbed the keys to his truck. Locking the door behind him, he strode down the hall like he owned the half empty barracks. It was time to enjoy the freedom he had fought so hard for.

It was definitely time.