A Difference of Opinion
A Difference of Opinion
Summary: Altercations in the Marine Enlisted Berthings
Date: 19ACH
Related Logs: None

Marine Enlisted Berthings Genesis - Deck 10
19 ACH 6735 Souls

Marine Enlisted berthings are setup with bunks on either side of the area. Each bunk holds two marines and lockers are between the bunks for their personal items. A table sits in the center of the room with six chairs around it for use in recreation or studying. There is also a shower and changing room off this area.
----< Condition Three - Duty Area >----—-
Contents: D'Artanion Eli Farkas Marine Bunks Triad Deck Wireless 1425
Exits: [O] Corridor

Farkas is laying in his bunk, reading the -tome- he began some days earlier. "Well, if I made the Corp of the MP's look like uppity people..Then the Brass is more fraked then I gave them thought to be..I -am- not the Corp, nor the entire MP division..I did what I did, because some frakhead at the CiC is a frak'ing fraker that doesnt know frak about fraking anything." he mutters as he speaks with Eli.

Eli just slams her locker, whirling around. "You STOP being an individual when you join the goddamn corp! Sergeant! Everything you /do/ reflects on the corp and the MP division, it has nothing to do with the Brass! Or the Officers or a frakhead in a CiC who may not know something, you report your reservations to /your/ superior then shut the frak 'up!" She throws up her hands before moving a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose. "I'm sorry Sergeant, I am." She turns back around, clutching a roll of ace bandages in one hand and leaning against the lockers, closing her eyes. "Like I said, it doesn't matter. You did what you thought was best, and I hope like frak more people don't take the liberty to follow your example and say 'Sergeant So and So did it'. Cuz I know you wouldn't want that and gods know we can't afford it."

The door to the barracks opens and D'Artanion hobbles in just in time to hear the SLAM and Eli's comments. She shifts a glance to Farkas, then back to Eli. While her movements are more free than they have been, she still moves with some pain. Reaching her bed, she opens the curtains and eases onto the bunk. Drawing the cane she usese with her, she hangs it on a hook and leans back against the wall. For the moment, she remains silent for she only knows one side of the discussion.

"Eli, that is what I did..You may wish to check your intel." Farkas grunts. "Orders like those is what gets people killed." Farkas mutters as he closes his book and rises up to sit in his bunk. "Still, water under the bridge..I'm not the Master at Arms anymore and I dont have to deal with those frakheads no more." He runs a hand over his face and sighs deeply. "How's the leg, Doc?"

Eli grumbles, tossing the ace bandages back into her bunk and re-opening her bunk to pull out another uniform shirt for some reason as she just shakes her head. She just grunts. "But you still are under their command." Then she looks towards D'Artanion when she enters, nodding firmly and looking towards her with some concern, lifting a hand politely as she retrieves her bandages.

Shortly after D'Artanion, the door opens once more, and Gars steps in. As he does, he unzips the jacket and lets it open up freely to bear the t-shirt and tanktop, along with the dogtags. He glances across the room and gives all present a nod, "Marines" he says and closes the hatch behind him.

D'Artanion shrugs, her gaze flickering between the two. She lifts a hand in reply to Eli. Looking back to Farkas, she shrugs a little, "Doing better, thanks. If all goes well I'll be on light duty for a week starting tomorrow. We'll see." She angles a little, the better to look at the two already here. "Need help with those bandages, Eli?" Concern touches her tone, "Are you injured?" Hearing the door, D'Artanion glances that way and spots Gars. Her expression does not change particularly, though some of the warmth in her gaze freezes. "Corporal." Refocusing on the others, she stills to give Eli a chance to reply.

"Which most likely will lead to mine and others deaths.." Farkas mutters as he looks over towards Eli. "I know I fraked up, but I wont stand for Orders that only signals their leadership will get good Marines killed…I'm to old to learn new tricks." He then looks back towards D'Artanion and nods his head slowly. "Define light duty for a field medic as yourself…"

Eli nods firmly to Gars as he enters as well, shrugging out of her first shirt once it is unbuttoned, still wearing those tanks and toying with her roll of bandages, giving a tiny shake of her head…then a nod then a shake of her head to D'Artanion. "I'm not…injured, it's cool." Then she looks back towards Farkas and arches an eyebrow. "That's what /you/ saw. Doesn't mean it is the actual situation, Sergeant." She grimaces before removing her belt, stuffing that into her locker as well for the time being.

Gars moves on over to his bunk and locker, opening the locker as he hangs his jacket inside. Not saying anything, he justs eyes the others as the conversation goes on, leaving the open locker behind as he moves on over to have a seat by the table, removing his bottle of water from the belt as he sits down.

"I dont deal in grey scales." Farkas mutters as he sits there in his bunk. "And damn straight that is what 'I' saw, I have it in fraking writing..So no need to go defend the XO Eli." He brings a hand up and snubs his nose with a gruffing sound, before he looks over and nods his head towards Gars.

D'Artanion nods to Eli, "Okay." Scooting back, she considers Farkas' question seriously. "Rotations in sickbay, primarily, Sergeant. Making up med-kits for the medics to take on missions. Uh. Planning first aide classes… And whatever else Major Gaelan or Major Zaharis authorize." She flickers a glance between Eli and Farkas again, curiosity edging her gaze, "Uh. What's the discussion? Or do you want to keep it between the two of you?"

"I'm not defending anybody. I'm being frustrated about having to clean up, clear up and fix a reputation before it gets completely skewed." Eli shakes her head again, keeping her locker door open for some privacy as she tugs her tanks up and over her head, unrolling the ace bandages as she speaks and works on unwrapping something else from around her. "It isn't anything really seriously, Gunny, just whether or not it is better to just say sir yes sir and shut the frak up once an order has been given, or to endeavor to reeducate a superior officer based on what you think they don't know and end up giving people the wrong impression of the corp as a whole cuz we keep gettin' folks arrested. Idle, casual conversation to pass the time." She really does seem rather mellow about the whole thing.

Farkas glances at Eli. "You really need to get your shit straight, Eli." he mutters and shakes his head slowly. "It is not the first time I've been demoted..I dont stand for orders like that. Wont get no Sir Yes Sir from me, when it leads to people dying." he then looks at D'Artanion and nods his head slowly. "We are in the berthing, nothing private here."

Gars sips some water from the bottle, swallows and sucks his teeth as he places the bottle on the table. "I dont know jack about what you two are argueing about" he says, "But… I know from experience that Brass are prone to making decisions that looks good on paper, but gets marines killed on the line. Decision makers rarely are the ones to take the first blow when their decisions dont add up with reality, and often blame the folks killed for not understanding their orders." He shakes his head as he taps a finger against the table. "Sometimes, an NCO has to question orders in order to save the men under his command, otherwise marines would die for frakkin no reason what so ever."

D'Artanion looks between Eli and Farkas, then over to Gars. "Gotta say that from here, you're all right. Sometimes, orders are frakin' stupid and we'd all die following them. Then again, there's a time for 'sir, yes sir' and a time for discussion. Usually, folk're willing to talk things out if they aren't made a fool of in public. A polite, considerate approach, in private, will sometimes work." She shrugs, "Then again, some of the brass're more wedded to their own ideas than they should be. I don't know the order in question, so can't say whether it's fraked up or not. Just… approach can mean the difference between success and failure." She pauses to rub her thigh lightly through the fabric of her slacks. "But, the XO? He seems pretty stand up, to me. What happened?"

Eli pauses in mid-unwrapping to arch an eyebrow from behind her locker door. "I have my shit straight, Sergeant." She replies calmly. "When we get enlisted, there isn't a 'if I want to' clause. This isn't about demotions or personal opinions, it just means…" She just sighs and shakes her head, looking up as she finally clears her throat when D'Art speaks up almost relieved, draping the ace bandage she just removed over the locker door and then starting to awkwardly wrap the newer bandage around her chest as is her habit. "Look, ignore me okay? I tend to believe unless a force is united, we stand more at a risk of being defeated and all wiped out. And if you get caught up in being big, and bad and disrespectful to get a point across…and then get very valid points ignored cuz folks are all caught up in the disrespect of name calling that they don't even CARE what you said in the first place." She shrugs. "We're badassed and we're damn good at what we do or we wouldn't be here, some of us know more than other people, but it doesn't give us the right to endanger or spit in the face of the code of uniform justice to try to get that knowledge across. I'm sorry, it just doesn't…look good. And then we die, the marines they get killed cuz nobody cares…what say. Just like the Gunny said, there's a time and place for everything. It is like…offering the Cylons hugs and your COs bullets. Kiiiinda messed up." Another sigh. "Just ignore, okay? I'm getting tired of it, and hoping it all stops…and Gunny? It is a long story, very long story with many sides."

"He's a fraking idiot." Farkas mutters with a shake of his head. "Stepping over the MP department, ordering a murder investigation of Military personel to the JAG and the laywers." he shrugs his shoulders and looks over towards Eli. "Did you say something, cause all I keep hearing is my promisse to you, Eli." he mutters.
Gars shrugs his shoulders at Eli's speech. "Well, if Brass takes a piss on the marines under my command, I have no problem with taking a spit in Brass's face" he says and drinks some of the water in his bottle. "I have a responsibility to keep my men alive for as long as possible. I know that death is apart of what I do for a living, but when Brass fraks up and people die for no reason… I will voice an opinion. And that has saved the lives of my marines in the past."

D'Artanion licks her lips slightly, then nibbles the lower as she listens. Eli gets a nod and a glance, "Got it. Most of 'em are, really. More sides than a geometric funhouse ride." She turns to Farkas then, and to Gars, "I don't think the issue is that opinions are being aired, really. It's that they are being aired in ways that cause greater conflict between the ranks. We don't need that. We need to be pulling together to fight the frakin' toasters… Yeah, if an order is stupid, it needs to be looked at again, but the way to get it looked at isn't to challenge the brass in front of everyone. They just dig their heels in and get bullheaded. They'll say that we're not pulling our weight or that we're insubordinate. If you want to talk to the brass about an order, go through channels. More than half the time you'll get a fair hearing. Sometimes, the order can be remanded. But, if they don't change the order?" She shrugs, "Hope to the Gods that you can work it in the situation to keep folks alive." Shaking her head, she looks highly troubled, "Thing is… We have too many people willing to take 'one for the team' not realizing that it makes us look fragmented and insubordinate when we need to more than look like a team. We need to be a team. And not just us… not just the Marines. All of us. Because… Frak… We might be all that is left of the Human Race."

Eli nngs softly from behind her locker door, pulling on a new tank now that she's freshly re-bound, adding the second tank and then retrieving her…next shirt, damn shirts to button up over as she shuts her locker door and nods firmly to D'Artanion in her silently agreement before just looking between Gars and Farkas and quirking an eyebrow. And then continuing buttoning up.

Farkas looks over towards Gars and narrows his eyes. The old Marine grits his teeth, and then looks towards D'Artanion. "And by private you mean, like in the JAG office..between four eyes. If that is the case, then I did it in private..The JAG escalated the matter, infact Salins assistant did by being fraking slow witted." he shakes his head and runs a hand over his face once again. "Funny thing is, Salin and I had sorted out the matter of the XO's fraking order of Hades ass..Lieutenant Isabeau who arrived once we were done, now she on the other hand." he grits his teeth once again.

"Well, thats just LT's for ya, isnt it?" Gars says and looks on over at Farkas. "LT's dont know shit and still gets to make decisions… I just dont know how an LT, fresh out of the Gods damned academy, can overrule a Sergeant Major with 20 years under his belt." He simply shakes his head, "Hell of a world" he says and drinks some water. "And by the way, Gunny; If we are the last ones left… All the more reason to make sure as many as possible survive, right? Or would you rather keep your mouth shut and see young men and women die just so the CO will be happy with you?"

D'Artanion shrugs, "Nope. I mean one on one, Sergeant. Take your reasoning to the officer and request a private meeting. State your case in a civil manner and listen to their reasoning in turn. It's almost a guarentee that one of you'll learn something." She listens, then, and both brows raise, "Oh? I don't know anything about the situation, so can't say as to what happened. Wasn't there… But, I hear she's not an LT anymore. She's a Captain now." Turning to Gars, she lifts a brow slightly, "Did she overrule him? Were you there to see it happen? Or are you spreading rumors?" Finally, she breaths, slowly, "I think I have already stated my position about saving lives, Corporal. And, made my position on how irrational orders should be handled. I do not need to justify that position with you anymore."

"…gods, it is like being the frakkin' girls locker room at school again cuz they wouldn't let me use the boys. Alot of mouth, alot of accusation, alot of bitching, but nobody ever saying what the /frak/ they are gonna do about Susan sleeping with Pollo under the bleachers then lying to Mars about it and feeling /totally/ bad but if the whore can't keep tabs on her boyfriend, she shouldn't be dating, blahblahblah I've been in a long time so obviously I know better than everybody else, respect be DAMNED." Eli finally replies incredulously, making a face as she works on re-fastening her belt around her waist. A pause. "…was it the same in the boys locker room? If so, there probably isn't hope. Look, I have a problem with disrespect…you two obviously do not if you feel it is justified, what happened happened and lets just try to keep it from happening again so we don't all get blown to smithereens cuz we have our heads shoved up our own asses to avoid the possibility of having to kiss somebody else's." Then she turns back to her locker, shaking her head.

"Another reason to cheer for my house arrest..Fraking Captain for what, singing documents well..or bending the truth to get their point across..Officers." Farkas mutters and lays back down in his bunk. "I don't regret a thing, and I stand by my word…It is fraking joyful to know half of the human race is ran by pencil pushers..They fraked us in the first war, wont hold my breath in this one." He opens up his book once again with a deep sigh. "Next thing they add high heels to the fraking uniform.."

Gars looks at Eli with stern eyes as she goes on her rant, sucking his teeth and fingers tapping the table while listening. "Sergeant" he then says. "I have been in this uniform longer than you. I have seen people die more often than you. I have been shot more often than you. I have seen officers frak up more often than you. You tell me; Should you trust experience, or your blind faith in the chain of command? I trust a Sergeant Major a hell of a lot more than I trust an LT, for one simple reason; TheSergeant Major has earned his rank for doing his job in the field. The Lieutenant earned his rank simply because he was good at school. Now, you may not like it, but dont you rub you're frakked up mouth in my face again… You havent earned the right to do so, Sergeant. Not by a longshot."

D'Artanion chuckles a little at Eli's locker room analogy. The sound is wry and mirthless, and she nods, "That's the best plan I've heard so far. Let's quit kvetching and bitching about it and move on. Try to learn from it…" She pauses, one brow lifting a bit as she turns to Farkas, "Are you accusing the Lieutenant… er… Captain… of bending the rules, Sergeant? Or is that just blowing off steam? Cause the one…? Meh… Whatever lets you sleep at night. The other? That's serious. Especially as she is JAG." Then? She hears Gars go off and she turns to face him, one hand slamming down hard on the table next to her bed, "Corporal. That is enough." She does not raise her voice, though her gaze is focused entirely on the man, "First of all, the rank of Lieutenant can be earned in a variety of ways, either by time served, service to the military or through classes. Unless you've illegally looked at someone's files, you have no frakin' idea why the rank is awarded. Second, get down off your high horse, Corporal. The Sergeant," and here she indicates Eli, "outranks you and is the Master at Arms. That means that yes, she Gods damned does get to order you around and you will follow her orders, should she choose to issue them. Further, you will show her, and all higher ranked folk proper respect, or you will face the consequences. Colonel Regas asked everyone just the other day if they were willing to behave in appropriate ways. Everyone was given the choice to take their walking papers or stick around and play nice. Since you are here, you clearly chose to follow orders and behave in appropriate ways. Now. Either you live by your word, or leave. That is your only option."

"That is far enough, Corporal..There is only Marines in here, just cause they dont view things the same way you do or I do, doesnt make them less of a Marine. You -will- respect Marines." Farkas says in that gruff rasping voice of his as he lays there in his bunk. "Frak me on this, and the Commander wont have a body to toss in the brig..Now stand the frak down." Not once does he raise his voice, keeping his levelled and rasping that way only someone whom has drank to much whiskey and smoked for to long can. He isnt as long winded at the women of the Corp. "And no Doc, I'm not accusing anyone."

And it's at that precise moment, that Desusa decides to make his presence felt in the berthings. He's holding a deck of cards and is shuffling away merrily, as he lays sideway by the hatchway. "Afternoon, people." No telling how long he's been there, or what's been heard by his ears.

Eli's jaw sets as she takes a deep breath, and then another deep breath trying to remember all the things they told her the last time she had to go to anger management classes. Inhale, exhale. I may have been born in the wrong body, but this is why it is okay to hate members of the opposite sex, ommmmmmmm. Violence is not the answer unless on the battlefield or there is no other choice. Ommmmmmmmmmmmmm. You are not your feelings, your feelings are not you. Ommmmmm. Open communication is better than broken noses. Ommmmmm. You cannot remove your uterus and use it to gag people you don't like. Ommmmmmmmmm. Then she's more than thankful for D'Artanion speaking up, turning around as she secures the 'MP' brassard around her arm. She's even thankful for Farkas speaking up and then Desusa is there, so she's greeting him respectfully with a, "Sir." Standing up a bit straighter, and her face might be a little red, those ice blue eyes even colder and her jaw set but! She hasn't hit anybody.'

Looking over his shoulder, spotting Desua, Gars gets on his feet, although not in any rush. "Officer on the deck!" he calls out though as he stand at attention.

D'Artanion blinks as an unexpected voice chimes in. Scooting to the edge of her bunk, she unhooks the cane she is still using to ease mobility and rises. As the Officer on Deck has been called, she comes to attention and snaps a salute, "Sir."

Farkas puts his book away and rises up from his bunk, to stand at attention and offer a salute towards the car shuffling Officer.

"Caparzzo," says Raul, and a tiny marine jumps out from a bunk and runs towards Desusa. "Sir?" He asks. Desusa looks between all the marines and slaps the card deck on Capz's hands. "Here you go, son. Thanks for lending it to me." His black eyes land over the Gunny and he nods to her, "As you where, Gunnery Segeant." He doesn't order anyone else to stand down, and continues to lean there all cool-faced. It's a good three minutes before he says, "Have a pleasent afternoon, marines." The major turns around slowly, to walk out from the room.

Okies! Still at attention, Eli is able to slowly work down from his/her raised blood pressure. Another reason to be thankful to the officers.

Gars remains at attention unil such time Desusa leaves the area, since he hasnt yet been dismissed. His posture is strict and he barely breathes.

As she was given leave, D'Artanion lowers her hand, "Sir." Slowly, she returns to where she was sitting, her leg lifted back onto the bed. Leaning back, she watches the others in the room for a moment, then turns as Desusa walks out. She inhales slowly, holds it, then releases the breath softly. Reaching down, she lifts a guitar case from beneath the bunk. When she draws it onto the bed, she snaps it open and removes the instrument.

Once Desusa leaves, Farkas gives a look over of the gathered Marines. He is rarely openly enraged but he holds an aura of mere menace and violence. Its like his shadow towered up towards each an everyone he looked at and tried to strangle them, the old Fart is just scary looking. He gives Eli one of 'those' looks before he fetches a towel from his locker and turns to move towards the showers.

Shower. Somehow, that sounds like just the ticket. Looking up, D'Artanion nods once to Farkas as he heads that way. Her gaze flickers to Eli then as the Master at Arms goes on duty. Slowly, she begins tuning her guitar, her movements deft and relaxed. Finally, she looks over to where Gars stands. Maybe she is looking to see if he are still at attention. Her gaze is mild, relaxed, and fairly unconcerned.

Gars stands down and finds his seat once more as Desusa leaves. Glancing only briefly at Farkas and Eli as they leave, he picks up his waterbottle once more and has a sip. He seems to be trailing off into his own thoughts as some invisible dark cloud seems to roll in over him, overshadowing his emotions. As if deeply disturbing memories slowly rises to the surface within his mind.

The dark cloud is noted, in a way. D'Artanion seems to recognize the look, at any rate. That sort of introspective brooding look that so many career military folk seem to get from time to time. The trouble with it is that handling it can be tricky. Some want to talk. Others want to be left alone. No matter what is done, it is almost always the wrong thing. Her fingers continue lightly on the strings as she weighs options. Finally, she sighs ever so softly and looks up at the man, "Anything you wanna talk about there, Corporal?"

"Such as, Gunny?" Gars mutters as the standard issue waterbottle is brought to his lips once more. "What's to talk about?" he then continues as the bottle is brought back down. "Im corporal these days and my CO hates my guts for all I know… And because of that, I cant call the shots next time the boys around me enter a combat-zone… And people will die, because some frakhead will give the wrong orders, or no orders at all." He drinks from the bottle again, a frown growing on his face. "So many will die… because frakheads always gets the last word… So what is there to talk about?" The cloud seems to linger, even growing darker as it is reflected in the mans eyes. Dark eyes that look almost to be windows to nightmarish memories.

D'Artanion shrugs, her fingers continuing to pick out a melody. The chords are minor in key, "What to talk about? That's up to you, Corporal." She lifts a brow as Gars begins to speak. She listens, then draws in a breath, "You were demoted because you haven't learned how to show respect, actually. I doubt that Gaelan hates you, though I suspect that you make him tired." The song continues to weave while she pauses to consider. Finally, knowing deep down that it is probably pointless, she speaks. "Look… If you want to get to a position where your ideas will be listened to, you can. Just… probably not on your terms. For good or ill, that isn't the way the military works. Frak, that's what the private sector's for." She glances up, her attention mild but focused. She does notice those dark eyes and; just maybe, has a ration of nightmarish memories of her own. "So, it's up to you. Get back to where you should be? Or languish as a Corporal."

"I guess I come from a different background" Gars then says, leaning with his elbows against the table, playing with the capt to his bottle between his fingers. "A different mindset back on the Hoplon. Different mindset back in Laconia. Different people." As he says the last words, he pauses as memories flood his mind, but only briefly, as he clears his head after closing his eyes for a moment. "Back then, everyone knew what to expect of me, and I knew what to expect of them. No medic would pull me off the line until it was damn well necessary. No officer would question my judgment if I made a call, even if they did not agree. But here… I guess Im back to square one, arent I?" He shakes his head and drinks another mouthful from the waterbottle and swallows, leaning back in his chair as he returns the bottle to the table. Looking over at D'Artanion as she plays the instrument, he takes a moment to simply study the scene. "Frankly… Im not used to the way people act around here. I dont know… maybe its because of the attack, or something" he finishes with a sigh.

D'Artanion nods, "Likely." She flashes the man a glance, then looks down to the instrument beneath her hands, "That's true for all of us, though, to be honest. Coming here, we have to build bridges. Figure out whom we can trust. Whom we can't and why. That knowledge'll save your life or end it on the field. But, none of us know each other. We don't know each other's strengths or weaknesses." She pauses for a moment, her thoughts returning to times past and; for just a moment, her own demons are there to see. But, only for a moment. Shaking her head, she begins to shift the melody away from that minor key. Away from the song that plays over and over in her mind when she thinks of home. Looking over once more, she lifts her chin slightly, "Look… I know that you don't give a flying frak about me or my notions, but… I'll give you this for free. If you honest to the Gods want to make that kind of difference, then start getting to know the troops one by one. At least… those in your squad. Know what they're good at. Know what they're not good at. Then? Take the time to get to know the officers. If they know you… know that you have a good understanding of your own abilities and the battle situation, they might listen more. Also?" She pauses, then half shrugs, "Learn that there are different levels of respect. You can respect someone because they are alive… Everyone gets that. Then, you can respect a title. Like, Major or Lieutenant. That's fairly superficial, but suffices for what we're doing. Those? You can give for free. The final level of respect, though? That's the bone deep respect that you give to the person who has earned it through blood, sweat, tears or intelligence. That's when it truly matters. That's when it's personal. See?"

Gars sits silent and listens to D'Artanion, eyes studying in great detail the shape and form of the bottle on the table as he sits slumped in the chair by the table. "You're right, Gunny" he eventually says, after a minor moment of silence after the Gunnery Sergeant finishes talking, "I dont give a frak about your notions." He turns to look at D'Artanion, and it seems as the dark memories have faded to a degree. "But I'll tell you what; After what I saw on that first mission with you people, and from what I've heard took place when you got hit… You people need a strong arm to lead you into combat. Im not saying Im the one to do it, but I know when FUBAR becomes SNAFU." He turns to sstudy the waterbottle once more as he shakes his head, "A squad-leader needs a tight leash, a quick mind and a sharp voice; otherwise an MG will leave his spot to run off to block friendly fire and give the enemy a break since his own gun aint firing. Otherwise people will start shooting at targets of opportunity instead of concentrating their efforts to systematically bring the enemy down. Otherwise the squad splits up as Marines run off on their own and frak the squad." He sighs heavily, eyes ever on the bottle on the table. "Thats how people get killed, Gunny; and yes, last time you were lucky… But you, and two other Marines could just as easily have been killed outright, and then we would be three men short for the next mission. Like my old Drill Sergeant said; There is no I in Team. You dont run off, you dont make your own decissions. You listen to the squad-leader and let him make the call… Keep the unit. Maintain the unit. Get people back home alive."

While she listens, D'Artanion's fingers continue the melody. It dips and weaves based, somewhat, on what she is hearing. When he finishes, she nods, her expression thoughtful, "While you are not entirely wrong, Corporal, you are not entirely correct, either. You are right that the squad needs to have an organized, disciplined approach to the battle. You are right, for the most part, that a concerted, concentrated fire pattern has a better chance of getting everyone out of there alive with the threat ended and the enemy dead. But… It is clear that you do not understand or respect my job. You need to come to terms with it before you can tell me squat about how I should behave in a battle situation. If you weren't as good a shot as you are, I'd suggest that you become medic for a battle. Maybe I will recommend that you do my job during a simulation." She pauses as the com sounds and her presence is requested in Sickbay. Looking up at the speakers, she sighs and puts her guitar away. Once that is finished, she stands with the aid of the cane and begins to hobble out. Pausing, she glances back at you, "Maybe I'll also recommend that you lead a squad during a simulation. Put your knowledge to the test and see what comes of it." Her tone is thoughtful, still and; while there is no affection in her gaze, there is neither hatred nor animosity either. Unfortunately, the complete indifference is probably more dangerous and harder to improve than anything else.

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