[B-Deck] Crash Course

[Temple, S.]

1700 Hours, May 17, 2543 (MILITARY CALENDAR)
UNSC Vengeance, B-Deck, Medical Bay - Infirmary
en route to Atlas Moons

Corpsman Temple stood at the forefront of the Infirmary with a trio of subordinate Corpsman Third Classes - Franklin, O'Connor and Tolsen - representing First, Third and Fourth Platoons of Oscar Company, respectively. They had been ordered to perform a medical readiness evaluation per chain of command, in preparation for the coming offensive. The other Companies on the Vengeance had been going through similar evaluations throughout the day, with Oscar being the last chalk scheduled at 1700. On top of the readiness check-up, Temple planned to offer Oscar Company a rundown in first aid - a refresher course to limit the inevitable casualties to come. As he waited for the last of the Company to file in and form up in their separate platoon formations, Temple scrolled through his datapad, going through the relevant coursework and the Periodic Health Assessments he was about to upload.

Once the Platoons finished forming up, Temple spoke loud and clear for everybody to hear. "Good evening ladies and dickheads of Oscar Company." He paused for a 'good evening' in response. "As I'm sure as you've all heard through the Lance Corporal Underground, we're about to be neck-deep in shit and piss. Command has authorized - ordered, if we want to be real here - a medical readiness evaluation of Oscar Company. If you haven't had the pleasure of meeting me yet, I'm Corpsman Second Class Temple. These three friendly faces are Corpsman Third Classes Franklin, O'Connor and Tolsen." Temple gestured to his three subordinates.

"Each of you have been forwarded a Periodic Health Assessment to your datapads. TACPADs. Whatever you want to call them. This is a simple 30-question questionnaire that will tell us the state of your well-being and what we, as Corpsman, can do to help. Once you complete the PHAs, you may turn them in at your earliest convenience. There will be a brief readiness assessment for height/weight, blood-pressure, vision and hearing. Fairly simple. No blood draws, no needles, no dental. Last one is mainly because none of us are qualified dentists and the best I can do is unmedicated tooth extraction." Temple grinned at the last quip.

"Lastly, once this is over, we are offering First Aid Classes for anyone that stays after. While not mandatory at the battalion level, attendance is entirely up to the discretion of your chain of command. Assuming Captain Flannigan isn't mandating this, it will be left up to your Platoon Leaders. If they don't mandate it, Squad Leaders. I'll go ahead and tell you November Company's fucked because nobody showed up and all their Corpsmen are pissed. Don't be No-Co." Temple wrapped up his speech and all four Corpsmen took their positions in front of the Platoons, the required equipment for each event right there in front of them. Temple checked his datapad once again, keeping tabs on everyone's progress as they went through their PHAs.

[Wilkas, G.]

 RTO Grace Wilkas shuffled uncomfortably through the speech about what they were all going to have to endure today. She was no frightened, anxious, nervous and considerably worried. After all, what if they declared her unfit? She did not wish to be kicked out and forced to return home to the judgement and disappointment of her newest failure. If they did accept her back into the family fold, Grace knew that they would view her poorly and a source of family shame. Plus really did not want to reveal her health, she shuddered at her imagined horrors they might inflict upon her in order to properly assess. Maybe she might be lucky and manage to escape any of it. Maybe, but she doubted it was anything more than a half crazy dream. 

With a resigned sigh, she started to fill out the questions, answering as honestly as she could, or perhaps willing to admit, nervousness check, difficulty sleeping, fear of dying check and check again. Physically she was okay, fit and healthy, maybe a tiny bit underweight. She was among the smaller soldiers in the company, not that she could change it order anything. Her run time was pretty good, but room for improvement. She continued to finish the various other questions as they came up, feeling her agitation grow within her. 

Did she wish for a first aid course afterwards? She might, even though she wished to escape from the room as fast as possible. Unfortunately, being smaller than most she had elected to sit near the front. Leaving meant that someone might stop her, thus trapping her here. She prayed to any deity that she would pass the test before sending it over to the Corpsmen to examine. Please be okay, please be okay, please be okay. Grace repeated over and over in her head, trying her best to avoid eye contact with just about everyone.
 

[Furby, J.]

If there was one thing that Lance Corporal Jayson Furby despised, no, loathed more than anything, it was hospitals. The ship's infirmary, while not technically a hospital per the usual definition, was close enough to meet his requirements. Those standards weren't very high, admittedly. It was cold and the air was sterile. That pretty much sufficed in his book. The fact that he had been ordered to report to the infirmary at seventeen hundred was enough to make him complain, as there were better things that he could have been doing with his evening than standing here waiting to be examined by some anal retentive corpsman. In this case, there were four of them. 

Doc Temple was their new platoon corpsman. He'd replaced Skotchdopole just before the unit had deployed. Furby hadn't spent much time around the man, but judging from his demeanor, he was going to be the guy that got onto him for the smallest sleight. He listened to the man go on a spiel about Personal Health Assessments and examinations, and it made him want to vomit. It was bad enough that he had to be subjected to an examination by a corpsman, whom would likely force him to turn his head and cough so he could fondle his man parts, but now he had to fill out some stupid questionnaire? Couldn't they just ask him the questions and fill in the blanks themselves? "Oh, this is such bullshit," he mumbled under his breath.

Lance Corporal Avery, who stood next to him, glanced at him with a smirk. "What now, princess?"

If he had intended to elicit a rise out of him, that was enough to do it. "Princess?! What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"That you're the queen of bitchin', bro," Avery replied without a moment's hesitation. 

Furby exhaled a sigh. He retrieved his datapad from his pocket and opened his messages, finding the questionnaire that Temple had sent him as an attachment. It took only a second for the file to download before it materialized on his screen. He skimmed the questions briefly before inquiring, "Why the hell can't they just ask us these?"

"They are."

"I mean out loud!"

The grin on Avery's face widened. "Not their fault you can't read, bro."

Furby stood there flabbergasted for a moment. He hadn't expected that response. The machine gunner always seemed to know how to shut him up. Perhaps they'd been around each other for way too long. He didn't like it when someone caused him to actually think of a decent rebuttal. The marksman shook his head and resigned to complete the questionnaire as requested. The first question on the list was if he smoked, to which he stated that he did not. The following question inquired about his drinking habits. He chuckled as his fingers danced across the keyboard that appeared on the screen before him, stating 'every day and twice on Sunday.' That wasn't the truth, but what did he care? Would the Doc slap him with a medical disqualifier and have him discharged? He welcomed the thought of returning to the civilian world, no longer an unwilling participant in the war. 

That is, until he thought about his team. He spared a glance at Avery, and then Ward, both whom were in the middle of their questionnaires. Even in the best case (or worst case, depending on how you looked at it) scenario, he would be removed from the fire team for a spell and not allowed to continue with the deployment. Then what? If his squad got into some deep shit, they would be down a Marine and his team would be without a designated marksman. He couldn't live with himself if something happened to them and he wasn't there to try to help them, especially if it was due to his own selfish stupidity. Furby backspaced and answered with 'occasionally.' Satisfied, he moved on. It took him a few minutes to finish the questionnaire, but he managed to answer all the questions honestly and without an ounce of sarcasm thanks to his damnable conscience. 

Placing his datapad back in his pants pocket, he sighed and said, "Let's just get this shit over with."

Avery was still in the midst of his, but still managed to seize an opportunity to take a shot at him. "You'll be the first to be fondled, bro. Lemme know how smooth those hands are."

"I fucking hate you."

"Love you too, bro."

[Ward, J.]

Ward offered his full, undivided attention at Corpsman Temple introduced himself and explained to them the reason they were all present in the infirmary. He sat at the end of the middle row of seats that had been hastily put together for the Marines that were set up in the lobby to the infirmary. Back further into the infirmary, behind the corpsmen that would be conducting their medical evaluations, were the individual examination rooms. Each room was separate by a cloth partition, meaning that there was very little privacy afforded to the would-be patients that would soon be under intense medical scrutiny. While no one would be able to see what was happening, nothing would stop the sound of their voices from traveling. If someone chose to air out their dirty laundry, anyone within the nearby examination rooms would be able to hear it. 

That made the PFC slightly uncomfortable. There wasn't anything damning that he would have to say to Corpsman Temple, but he could only imagine what some of the other Marines would feel the need to disclose to their corpsmen. He'd heard some pretty wild stories of how some of his peers chose to spend their time when on shore leave. He could only imagine the nasty things that people did or contracted while off on their own. Strange women or men with some contagious diseases was the main thing that came to his mind. There was at least one Marine in every crowd that involved themselves in some of the more unsavory comforts that military shore leave had to offer, and usually under the influence of copious amounts of alcohol. At least, he hoped so, anyway. Ward retrieved his datapad from the left breast pocket of his camouflage utilities and opened up the questionnaire as directed. Upon inspection of the actual contents of the questionnaire, everything seemed pretty run-of-the-mill. There was the usual assortment of inquiries about his dietary habits and overall fitness, along with the standard medical rule-outs that would ensure he was medically qualified to deploy into a combat zone without being a liability to those around him. He recalled several of the questions were asked of him when he enlisted at MEPS. 

While filling out the PHA, he overheard the conversation between Lance Corporals Furby and Avery. Those two never let up. Not even for a moment. Furby always found something to complain about, and Avery always found a way to deliver a harsh burn his direction in return. It was an entertaining display, and he listened to it with a smirk on his face. "Least Doc's not in his fifties or sixties," Ward said, more matter-of-fact than he intended for it to sound. Avery turned to look at him, and he saw Furby lean forward to see around him. "Somethin' ya wanna tell us, Fox?" the machine gunner asked. 

The unpleasant memory of having a physical at the hands of a sixty-some year old civilian doctor with an uncomfortably detached demeanor about the whole ordeal assaulted him for a moment. He recalled the man had cold hands sheathed in nitrile gloves when he had performed the "hands on" portion of the physical, and he commented about the size of his genitalia like he had been discussing the intricacies of colonial politics to a layperson. Doctor Chang was his examiner at the Saint Rose Military Entry Processing Station, and he had been a little too comfortable touching and groping him in ways that only his, at the time, girlfriend had done before. He'd found it disturbing, to say the least. 

Of course, that was far too much ammunition to give to the pair, so he settled with saying, "I'm just saying" with a shrug of his shoulders. 

When he had finished the questionnaire, he hit submit and then stowed his datapad back in its respective pocket. He wondered how long the actual examination was going to take. Honestly, like Furby, he wasn't looking forward to the whole ordeal. However, unlike Furby, he had no intentions of complaining about it. He lacked the authority to do anything about it, so there was no point in making a fuss about it. His real interest was in the first aid training that Temple had mentioned. He knew he would enjoy that. It would likely be very useful. Besides, if November Company hadn't gone through with, Oscar Company had to. If only on principle.


"You heard Doc, Jay," he said with a wide grin, "don't be No-Co." 

[Durant, M.]

First Lieutenant Durant stood off to the side of the mass horde of Marines that had assembled in the cramped confines of the ship's infirmary. The room they currently occupied was the lobby. Beyond the lobby was a series of examination rooms containing at least three beds each. The beds were separated by a thin blue curtain that was meant to provide the barest amount of privacy possible to those that underwent examination by the ship's doctors and corpsmen. Second Platoon had been ordered here by Captain Flannigan, along with the rest of the platoons in Oscar Company, for the purpose of a pre-combat medical evaluation. These were conducted periodically to ensure that all Marines and sailors that were to deploy were fit to do so.

Despite the reasoning behind the examinations, Durant knew that no one particularly liked them. For some it seemed like a waste of time; others felt that it was a potential obstacle in their path to getting into the fight. Durant understood the necessity of them, but he had to agree that some of the disqualifiers were ridiculous. Marines were bred to fight the enemy and win. So what if they had a few vices or the occasional bad dream? How did that effect their performance in the field? If a Marine wanted to fight, he believed that should have been enough for the Powers That Be. Unfortunately, he wasn't the one calling the shots, and there were some regulations that even Captain Flannigan couldn't outright ignore. This was one of those in particular.

The Lieutenant quietly listened to Corpsman Temple's speech about the medical evaluation and health assessments. He'd prepared his datapad in advance. He had no trouble accessing the Personal Health Assessment, and it lay open on his datapad as he set it aside for the moment. When Temple mentioned the medical refresher, Durant nodded his head. "That'll be mandatory," he said in response to the corpsman. "I want everyone in Second Platoon to be equipped to aid their fellow Marines should they need to. Doc Temple is only one man. It'll take everyone pitching in when we hit groundside to ensure we all make it home safely."

With that aside, he set to work on the PHAs. It only took him a few minutes to complete. He submitted it the moment he had finished and then crossed his arms over his chest, waiting to be called to an examination room. "If anyone has any problem with staying after, let me know now so I can log you down as the next volunteers for duty in the galley. I'm sure the cook staff would love to have a few extra dishwashers."

[Faust, M.]

 Faust had never been one for doctors, too many bad memories. She tolerated Corpsmen and medics because they helped prevent her fellows from dying. Her own life had been saved by a few. All of this however did not mean she was happy to be here. Merely, she wanted to be in and out as swiftly as possible. Get it over with and go back on with the day. She was sat towards the rear, an old habit of her's. One she never managed to shake, nor could she readily recall where it came from. 

Grudgingly, she answered all the questions, though with all the speed as if she were being forced to her execution. She kept her negative thoughts to herself, Michelle preferred to keep such emotions locked away. Save for the one instance where she made a bad call and got some good marines killed for it. Despite her talks with Durant, shame and guilt still lay heavy upon her heart. She would not make such a mistake again. She was certain of that. Her team would make it home on this one, even if she needed to pay with her own life for it. 

[Chambers, T.]

The med bay was quite tightly packed with everyone now in there. Though he was happy this time being to cramped it wasn't also covered in the blood and entrails of a the small number of survivors form Archangeslk... or that his back with riddled fragmentation from an exploded warthog. Sure he still had the scars and sometimes the ache, he was never quite sure they had fished it all out of his back, but there was little use in complaining, he wanted to get on with the job of being a marine and hopefully surviving it.

That however, considering this last minute refresher plus it being mandatory and the plans scuttlebutt had brought down didn't give him too much hope. This time he was just hoping to make it a nice soft touch down in a pelican not a crash landing in a bumblebee escape pod. That was not an experience he would care to repeat.

Tom listened as the Corpsman went through his spiel, all the standard BS that was to be expected. The surprising part was the mans reference to November, sure he hadn't been here but he'd seen the repercussions and been around just long enough to get the story. First time of Furby, Ward and Avery plus then corporal Davis had given them the good old razzle dazzle. Beaten that many of them the rest of the company was put on ice to protect them. Oscar had been a rough bunch and still was, but Melfa and transfers had changed the landscape, now he was an old hand in the company and second platoon.

With the Lieutenant confirm it was all mandatory Tom got to work filling out the PHA on his datapad. The usual fare of questions. Drinking habits, while off duty, too much but when it was go time, not really. so he put down light to moderate. Smoking, now that got to him, he'd only taken it up since his unfortunate fall from space but it was more for stress relief than anything else. Again he fudged it and put it somewhere in the middle, his mind wondered to just how Sergeant Stone might answer it all. What disease would find that mans body an appealing place to infect, he didn't know.

The questionnaire moved in to medical history. he filled it out specifying his Injuries on his back, certainly they would already know or be able to look it up, but best not to leave it out, the vampires never liked that sort of assumption. It got to the mental state section and Tom filled it out, some might consider him optimistic or nihilistic, perhaps he was but it didn't really effect him. The Covenant were in the process of exterminating the human species. So he had put aside his self doubts as best he could and focused on that.

With it completed he looked over at his team leader. "Last time we did this, we got the nurses this time we get the ugly end of the stick." He paused thinking back to when he first joined Oscar. "Did you ever meet up with that sheila?"

[Temple, S.]

Temple stood just outside his assigned examination room as the platoon lined up in alphabetical order. The room itself was fairly standard as far as could be seen. A few counters and cabinets containing a variety of medical necessities lined the walls of the room. In the center of the room sat the generic exam chair that could be adjusted as needed, either for the patient or the examiner. A pack of Nitrile sterile gloves hung on the wall, ready for the Corpsman's use. Two additional Navy medical assistants occupied each exam rooms, one male and one female, the purpose being to establish a buddy system as well as provide assistance as needed by the Corpsman. Looking over the PHAs one last time, Temple went through Second Platoon's roster. Rather than list them alphabetically, he divided the platoon by squads to make the process slightly easier and quicker. Headquarters was first.

"Durant, Michael. Mason, Isiah. Wilkas, Grace. Please step forward." Temple waited for the trio. "First Lieutenant Durant, as Platoon Commander, you'll be the first to go through. Express lane." Temple winked, ushering the Lieutenant inside the examination room. "Staff Sergeant Mason, you'll be the next to go." A curt nod from the Sergeant was the only response. Turning his attention towards Wilkas, Temple continued. "Private First Class Wilkas, step aside for a moment." Temple drew the RTO away from the line and away from perked ears, to give her some privacy.

"I don't mean to be abrupt, but this is legality. A female practitioner, one of my assistants, will be the one doing the physical exam. Just wanted to give you a heads-up so you aren't uncomfortable with this situation. Once she's done doing the physical exam, I can handle the rest." Temple spoke matter-of-factly, before sending Wilkas back to her place in line. Before Temple could enter the examination room, his datapad vibrated with a sharp Ping!. A new message from the Company Chief Medical Officer, Lieutenant Xander. It was rather important, by the looks of it. Briefly skimming through it, Temple made his way back to the front of the platoon's line.

"Sorry to rain on your parades, folks. Turns out I lied about no needles for today. The CMO just sent out a FRAGO and has authorized a mandatory, emergency-use Immuno-Booster for this upcoming deployment. Without going into extreme scientific detail, it's essentially a jack-of-all-trades, all-in-one 'shot'. Think of it like a vaccine, except instead of your immune system adapting to one specific disease, it adapts to all of them. Though it's actually a lot more complex than that." Temple finished his briefing, turning towards the exam room. "Now to break this to the LT." The Corpsman muttered under his breath.

[Wilkas, G.]

 The names were started to be called, for all her desire to get this done with, now with the names being spoken allowed all she could think was not me. Sadly for the young redhead, it seemed her time was up or her luck had run out. The doc had called for her and she possessed no real choice in the matter. As she walked forward, she realized it happened to be the platoon headquarters, which she supposed made sense. She froze when Temple asked her to step aside. Oh no, oh no, oh no, whatever this was it could only be bad news. Had she answered something wrong on the form? Did he think she was nuts? Maybe he had spotted a spelling error? She followed him over, feeling as though every eye happened to be on her. Wilkas felt her skin crawl from the thought and shuddered as a result. 

"More uncomfortable than I already am Corpsman?" Wilkas commented nervously, her voice quiet. Yet Temple soon sent her back to the line. She knew the medical reasons for everything going on, but it did not mean she wanted to face it. Grace felt heart her drop at the mention of needles. Something else the young marine happened to be terrified of. The imagine of the needle shone before her mind and she shuddered. "Just don't let them see you throw up or faint and you'll be fine." She whispered under her breath to herself. She could only hope that her words proved enough to prevent either of her two most common symptoms of her phobia. Though admittedly needles had always been something even baby Wilkas feared, so on the plus side it was nothing knew to face. "Why is it always needl..." She had been about to whisper when the survival part of her brain kicked in, reminding her, somewhat urgently that she was directly behind Mason, so she should be shutting up rather than bellyaching. She closed her mouth and hoped he had not heard her comments.  

[Durant, M.]

Lieutenant Durant heard his name called by the corpsman and stepped forward. His examination would be the first to be performed, it seemed. He clasped his hands in front of him and awaited to be directed to an examination room. The fact that there would, in fact, be needles involved did not seem to concern him in the least. Perhaps it was a side effect of having served in the military for a little while thus far. Getting the jab to receive innoculations against all kinds of nasty stuff was pretty typical these days. The unfortunate truth about traveling to different worlds was that there were a whole slew of viruses and diseases on other planets that their immune systems simply weren't accustomed to. It made sense that the Marines were regularly given vaccines and immuno-boosters to ensure that they could survive and stay in the fight on these strange new worlds.

Michael could recall rather vividly the whole slew of concoctions he was unceremoniously injected with during his first week of Officer Candidate School. Half of them he couldn't pronounce if his life depended on it, and he had underwent some fairly mild reactions to some of the injections. One particular shot had given him a fever and chills for about three days, where he'd had to remain in the barracks under medical supervision until the illness passed. Of course, the DIs that were in charge of their in-processing found creative ways to keep him busy whilst he felt miserable, which only made him curse the whole situation even more. There had been no sympathy for him when he felt under the weather, and it seemed to precipitate his feelings on how OCS would be going forward. It had been an excruciating journey, that's for sure.

But a journey well worth the price of admission.

One of the hospital corpsmen flagged Durant down with a wave of the hand and gestured for him to follow. He did as he was directed and followed the individual through the lobby area and into the back. The corpsman pointed to an examination room and he stepped inside, finding a bed in the center of the small room with the curtains pulled back. He immediately removed his blouse and set it down on the bed in preparation for what was to come. He hoped that the majority of the shots could be administered in his arm. He'd experienced a few in his time that had to be administered via the "land down under," and it had been a wholly unpleasant experience, as he recalled. It definitely was not something that he recommended... to anyone. He exhaled a sigh and sat down on the bed next to his blouse and nodded to Corpsman Temple when he finally entered the room. "Good evening, Doc," the officer greeted. "What do you need me to do?"

[Temple, S.]

Entering the examination room, Temple gave a brief but crisp salute to the Platoon Leader, First Lieutenant Durant. "Good evening, sir. I won't take up much of your time today; this will be short, sweet and to the point." Temple said, attaching the sphygmomanometer - otherwise known as a blood pressure gauge - to the Lieutenant's upper arm. Pumping the gauge, Temple checked Lieutenant Durant's pulse in his wrist via palpation. The gauge and the pulse both gave a good reading. "So far, so good. Lift up your shirt, please." Once the Platoon Leader obliged, Temple ran his stethoscope over the LT's chest and abdomen. Everything sounded normal. "Blood pressure looks good and within normal limits, not hearing any irregularities in your heartbeat or internals. If peak medical performance had a mascot, you'd be it." Temple chuckled. "Let's get your height and weight." The Corpsman ushered the man to the scale after he tucked back in his shirt and squared himself away.

Once Durant stood on the antiquated scale, Temple recorded the height and weight on his TACPAD and updated the Lieutenant's medical record to reflect it. "Six-foot-one, hundred-and-eighty-two pounds. No difference from your last assessment. Impressive." Temple grinned. "Most Marines tend to fluctuate, especially when they've just come back from shore leave. Not a lot of people can avoid the temptation of a good ol' fashioned Moa Burger." The Corpsman's favorite fast-food joint back on Reach served a galaxy-famous avian-sourced 'bird-burger' that has gradually out-competed the traditional hamburger made from bovines back on Earth. It was a delicacy that he rarely got to enjoy.

"Next up is vision. Just need to look at the back of your eyes, see if your retinas are in healthy condition." Temple continued his assessment, walking to a counter on the other end of the room. On the counter, he opened a heavy-duty case containing a variety of medical instruments. Pulling out an ophthalmoscope, he walked back over to the Lieutenant. "Tilt your head back for me." Temple said, looking through the LT's pupil and observing the rear of his eyeballs. "Look to the left." Nothing abnormal. "Look to the right." Again, nothing abnormal. "Look forward." Both retinas appeared to be healthy, no scarring present nor was there any cloudiness within the lenses themselves. "Everything looks good. Just need to get a retinal scan real quick." Temple said, putting the ophthalmoscope back in the case and grabbing a recently developed instrument. Holding the instrument to each of the LT's eyes, Temple was able to obtain a full scan of both retinas that went straight to the LT's medical record on the Corpsman's TACPAD. If Temple had potentially missed anything with the brief manual examination, then reviewing the digital scan later when he wasn't busy would reveal any type of irregularities or abnormalities.

"Last before the Immuno-Booster is hearing." Temple spoke, putting away all of his ophthalmology instruments. Retrieving an otoscope, he looked into both of the Lieutenant's ear canals. They were fairly clear of wax, the eardrums looking fairly typical. No inflammation or redness. Once he was sure that nothing could potentially obstruct the hearing test, Temple returned the otoscope to its resting place and handed the Lieutenant some earmuff-shaped headphones, along with a very basic, cylindrical button press. "I'm going to play some sounds from my TACPAD. They will be of varying frequencies, from really high to really low. They can sound like anything from a tinnitus-like ringing to a warbling melody. Even describing it sounds weird, I know. If you even think that you're hearing some type of sound, I want you to press that red button. Don't hesitate, but also don't rush. Easy to say, hard to do. Don't sweat it, no pressure."

"Ready? Go." Temple said, tapping a key on his TACPAD to play the first high-pitched frequency.