"Cohesion of the Battalion"

[Kansas_Jones 0]

10.25.07

USS Agincourt NCC-81762

“Cohesion of the Battalion” (set sometime after the 0710.24 sim, during second shift)

Kansas cautiously peeked around the doorframe into the main barracks of the NNC; it was a sea of marines and loud noise. The whole situation, for lack of a better term, really snarked her off. The feline backed off and slumped against the bulkhead dividing the barracks from the corridor, catching her reflection in a training mirror set off in the distance.

 

She grasped a pile of clothes in her paws – standard issue camo fatigues, with a knife and her own personal Padd set on top of the pile. The device was set to pause, and her new internal assignment orders were displayed on the screen – fulfilling her normal security duty rotation, then remanded to marine basic training for second and third shifts, confined to the NNC barracks for the remainder of the night or any ‘free time’. Her bunk assignment was G6.

 

The gold feline wore urban camo training fatigues, and it was quite a sight to see the chief of security wearing the marine uniform. The name sewn onto her left breast pocket read “JoNs” and the rank designation sewn onto her sleeves showed her at a flippin’ lieutenant rank.

 

Snarked. Off.

 

The thing about a marine battalion was that nothing was private. The showers were co-ed (not that she really had to worry about stripping; she had fur, and was never truly naked), the training was public, the barracks were open with no privacy partitions. You sneezed, and everyone knew about it. JoNs had always felt that the openness had something to do with the entire battalion becoming a cohesive group so they could fight and survive in a battle together.

 

Eh, whatever. Adapt and move forward right? The duty of an officer was to adapt and overcome. The security feline gathered her resolve and moved forward into the barracks area – she was about to invade that cohesion. It took three seconds flat for the entire compliment of the barracks to eyeball the Caitian; the noise died down dramatically.

 

Oh, happy day.

 

She really, really… really… shouldn’t make a comment. No. No. Refrain. Stop it. Just. Stop.

 

“Hiya – is this the meeting place for the on line fiction gaming group? Can I be an Admiral? Oh wait – how about tactical and helm? Then I could fly the ship AND shoot things!”

 

You could have heard a pin drop. In a sandstorm. On Vulcan. During the implosion of the planet.

 

JoNs began her walk down the main aisle separating the bunks, not really making eye contact with anyone. The marines were a mix of human, alien, and other. Blue skin, pink skin, black skin, antennae. She already knew they had one Caitian; she had been half hoping to spot the big feline M’Ryll. Not that he would have helped her any probably, but it would have been comforting to have another furred being somewhere nearby. She was also a bit relieved that the marine officer known as ‘M&M’ wasn’t present; JoNs herself had never had any direct dealings with the petite marine, but had heard she could be a spitfire. The assembled marines gave her ‘just enough room’ to walk, and no one said a damn thing. It felt like an eternity, but finally she located her assigned sleeping area.

 

The bunk was plain, with a dark gray blanket and a simple olive-silver colored footlocker set at the foot of the bunk. The gold feline began to quietly unpack the equipment she had been given, setting it in the footlocker.

 

Finally, the mutterings of ‘squid’ and ‘security chief’ began to filter into her sensitive ears. Three….two….one…. A shadow fell across the Caitian, and she sensed a presence behind her. And it was not everyone’s favorite energy being. The displaced security officer turned and stared at a rather large chest of the male variety. A big dark skinned man, clad in green fatigue trousers, black tee shirt, and shaved head. Oh my dear gods. The man was a small tank. Troll was a tank; this guy was the smaller variety.

 

“I’m the designated speaker for the battalion.” His voice rumbled in the open space. “Recruit Lieutenant JoNs.”

 

“That’s the rumor.”

 

“You being funny?”

 

She stayed silent and backed off a few paces, only to back into two other marines, whom she glanced back at. One male and one female, and the female wore a high and tight cut and had a lurid skull tattoo on her bare left arm. Oh, jeez. She was effectively blocked in.

 

The big man continued. “Word has it you got busted and sent here for some training.”

 

JoNs merely nodded.

 

“Is it also true you countermanded orders and messed with our Medusa and Paradox?”

 

“Aye, and I’ll probably do it again if a particular situation warrants it.” The thought manifested itself too late for her to stop herself: Ix-nay on the impulsive answers-ay.

 

Less then five minutes later Kansas found herself sailing through the air, fully clothed and yowling at the top of her lungs. The feline security chief turned marine trainee landed with a rather unceremonious splash in the deep end of the NNC training pool.

 

Wash, rinse, and repeat.

 

Twice. Indeed.

[Guest Laarell]

Cats seem to be having such an awful time with water lately! It's rather a shame.

[LeftEar JoNs 0]

Cats seem to be having such an awful time with water lately! It's rather a shame.

 

This is true.

 

Demoted? Sent to marine basic? The girl's in trouble when I get my paws on her. :-P

[Col. C.E. Harper 0]

At least there was no flea bath involved