3 June; Promotions

Quinn had no problems with saluting. He merely took his hat off and stood there impassively. "You wanted me, sir?"

"Yes. I'm sure the word has already passed that Private Thompson is now Corporal Thompson. The change in station is no doubt overwhelming him. I'd be obliged if you offered whatever assistance he might need in adjusting to his new duties."

It was probably unnecessary to ask, but the alternative - that Corporal Johnson might offer his own form of advice - was not at all desirable.

"I wouldn't go so far as to say the word is out, sir. He's sitting at his mess-table looking as though he's been hit over the head with a belaying-pin," Quinn replied. The situation was rather out of the ordinary, of course, and the officer's request was, strictly speaking, unnecessary. No need to let him know that, of course. He schooled his features back to their usual expression. "Aye, aye, sir. Is there anything else, sir?"

Another smile was threatening. Cartwright fought it back. "No. Thank you, Sergeant."

He would keep his own news to himself for the time being. At least until Foley was able to set his jacket to rights.

There seemed to be something wrong with the Lieutenant's face, but Quinn wasn't one to argue with officers. "If you're sure, sir," he said instead, preparing to leave unless he was mistaken and there really was something else.

Cartwright only nodded, thinking he was about to burst out laughing any moment. That was the last thing he needed to do.

"Very well, sir," Quinn said, wondering if the officer was sickening for something. "I shall go and see that Corporal Thompson is acquainted with his new duties, sir."

"Thank you, Sergeant."

Out out out. Quick! Cartwright turned his attention to the open muster book, hoping to cover the half-grin that had succeeded in breaking through his mask.

That was dismissal enough for Quinn, who discreetly backed out of the door, closing it behind him before putting his hat back on and leaving the wardroom.

The look of bemusement was still there on Thompson's face, although he'd begun rubbing at his crossbelt plate. It was a far more absent-minded action than was usual with Thompson, and Quinn shook his head before crossing to the petty officer's berth and opening his sea-chest. There was something in there that he wanted.

It was a few moments later that he crossed to where Thompson was sitting, staring into space, his polishing abandoned for a moment.

"Corporal? You'll be needin' these," he said, and laid a set of Corporal's chevrons on the table in front of Thompson, who blinked up at him in confusion. Obviously, he'd been wondering if he'd imagined it all.

Corporal? Branning looked up from the shoes he was attempting to blackball and grinned.

"What's that, then?"

Oxley was trying to sew a button back onto his jacket. Sergeant Quinn's words were so unexpected that he ran his needle into his finger, and swore, shoving his finger into his mouth for a moment.

He removed it only long enough to say, "Looks like ol' Thompson's got made up to Corp'ral to me, Brannin'," and shoved it back it to suck it for a moment. That hurt!

Thompson looked down at the two chevrons lying on the table in front of him, and looked up at Sergeant Quinn.

He hadn't imagined it, then. He went pink under his tan and grinned, slightly shy at having had the news made public like that.

"Thanks, Sar'nt," he said, picking the chevrons up, still in a slight daze.

"You come down to the arms locker at the end of the watch, and we'll have a bit of a talk then," Quinn said. "Congratulations, Corporal."

"Thanks, Sar'nt," Thompson said again, glancing up from the bit of cloth in his hand.

Branning's grin broadened. "Who'd've figured it? 'Grats, Thompson." He offered his splinted hand out of habit, then chuckled and set the blackball side to stick his left hand out instead.

Thompson grinned and then had to switch hands himself to shake hands with Branning. "It don't feel quite right - it's goin' to take some gettin' used to," he said.

That was an understatement, of course.

"Aye, well. S'a good thing to be gettin' used to, ain't it?" Branning chuckled. "Dunno's I'm s'prised though."

One of the Shepherds popped up from nowhere, like they were so good at doing, and peered at the white stripes on the table. "Sommody gettin' new bits for their uniform, eh?"

It seemed that he was more surprised than the others were. He grinned self-consciously at Shepherd - whichever one it was.

"Ah, that'd be me," he said, and thought of something. "Um, Sar'nt... I'm s'posed to be goin' on sentry at eight bells. I... Would it be all right if I still did that?"

He'd never seen Corporal Johnson on sentry duty, and for some reason he wanted to do one final watch on sentry, just to help gather his thoughts.

Quinn considered the request. "Don't see why not, jus' come and see me afterwards, all right?"

There were grins from Marines around the messdeck. Word had spread fast.

"I'll stan' sentry for you," Andrew offered, smirking.

"Cheeky wotsit! I can do me own duty, thank you - an' haven't you got duties of your own, anyhow?" He looked at the stripes. He'd need to sew those on at the earliest opportunity, wouldn't he? And what on earth was the Captain going to say? Because really, whether this promotion stood or not depended on him.

"The hell's all this?" Johnson enquired in his usual cheerful way, returning from his check of the sentries.

"Ah. Mister Cartwright has just promoted Thompson here Corporal, to assist you. He will take the opposite watch to you."

And very likely Johnson was not going to like that piece of news. Still, Quinn was pretty sure that Thompson would do his best not to step on Johnson's toes in any way, if possible.

Really. Johnson regarded Thompson sceptically. About time their officer did something worthwhile.

"Be nice to not have to do all the work," he commented with a slight shrug. "Maybe!"

Thompson was rather relieved that Johnson didn't seem annoyed to hear of it, and he would certainly do his best to help the Corporal, rather than get in his way. And maybe now they could have two sections properly, rather than having Sergeant Quinn doing a Corporal's work as well as his own.

It was rather strange to be thinking in that way and realise that he was the other Corporal in question. Still, he was going to have to tread carefully and try to learn his new duties as quickly as he could.

"You won't be doin' all the work, Corp'ral," he said, the address slipping out simply from force of habit. Johnson had been doing that for far too long as it was.

Wouldn't he? Johnson grunted. They'd see about that. "Maybe," he repeated. Then, with a nod to Quinn, he moved off toward his hammock space. They'd give stripes out to just anybody these days, it seemed.

Or maybe not. Thompson shrugged. Johnson was just a prickly sort, that was all. He hoped he could find some way of working alongside the other man - in a way, it was easier when you only had to reply 'Yes, Corporal,' rather than trying to talk with him.

Still, Johnson's bad temper was not going to dampen his mood. And he did need to think things over - he still couldn't quite believe that Mister Cartwright had thought he was suitable to be an NCO.

Andrew peered at the two chevrons, a grin on his face. Oh but he could have some fun with those. If he could manage to sneak them off the table before Thompson sewed them onto his jacket...

"The 'tenant must be off his nut," Albert Ware teased.