Conrad was introducing himself to his squad. "Alright Marines! I have one thing to say to you all! Remember that this is NOT LIKE ANOTHER TOUR OF DUTY DO YOU FIND SOMETHING AMUSING LANCE-CORPORAL???"
"Sir, no, sir! I was not laughing at your size at all, sir!"
"Keep in mind that I am not some snuggly pushover because of my size! I will not tolerate dissent in my squad! *deep breath* Now on a lighter note, My door is open. If you have problems with anyone, come to me. I will pass it up the chain of command if it is necessary, and deal with it myself if possible.
"Continuing in this vein, I have certain expectations of the members of my squad. You don't need to address me as "Sir" unless a superior officer is in attendance. Otherwise, refer to me as "Sarge."
"I expect you all to pay attention to your weapons and to your shape. Just because it is unlikely that we will have to repel any enemy forces doesn't mean it couldn't happen. There are giants out there in the canyons, and, worse, pirates. This ship has little weaponry. We are almost the only line of defense for this ship. Keep yourself in shape! You have no excuse! This ship has the finest gym I have yet seen on a naval vessel, much less one that goes underwater.
"Now, the Captain of the sub has given orders to mingle. Get to know your bunkmates and squad mates. You will be living with them for the next 2 months. DIIIIIIIIIISSSSSSSSMIIISSSSED!!"
As the grunts spoke among themselves, Hawkeye moved away. He had to maintain a certain professional approachability that made the rank of Sergeant particularly difficult. He was the liaison between the squad and the commissioned officers. As such, he had to make sure both sides trusted him. The grunts' trust was easy to get, he just had to treat them like their Drill Sergeant used to. The officers, however, were a different kettle of fish. They were often smart, and difficult to understand. They occasionally were actually good at what they did, but more often than not, they were just rich daddy's sons. There were fewer of that kind than there had been before the War, he understood (from the older Sergeants), but they were still there. he just hoped that the Captain had enough sense not to have hired any of those. He decided to follow orders and go mingle with the other personnel, not that he would actually be interacting with these men much if there was call for his services...
Not that he couldn't keep up with their intellect, he had enough education to know how little most men who are considered smart actually knew, himself included. Hell, he had two degrees, a baccalaureate in Latin and a masters in Physics, both from the University of Toledo. He could probably hold his own in an intelligent discussion, but these were all specialists, their knowledge minutely detailed within their own subject, merely minute beyond that, in his experience.
He thought about the University. He reflected that his military career was the first thing he had done because it was something he felt he had to do. Everything else had been decided by his father. From his marriage, to his first house, to his university, that man had controlled every aspect of his sons life. Not that that was all bad. His wife was a wonderful woman, his house was a great investment, and his degrees had earned him some respect within the military community. But still.
He hoped that some pirates tried something. He still hadn't had a chance to test out these new skills he got from training. And frankly, he was already bored, though that might be carryover from his civilian life just prior to this mission.
As he walked down the corridor, lost in his thoughts, he wandered quite a ways from his quarters and found himself again near the bridge. He quickly turned around, feeling slightly chagrined for allowing himself such a lapse in consciousness and began to make his way back towards the Marines quarters when he nearly ran into a tall man who he remembered as the commander from all the dossiers on the high ranked personnel on board. That reminds me, I need to clean off my desk. Mental note: clean desk before 2100 hours
"Commander," he gruffed as he saluted and stood to attention.
