Meeting and Greeting, 9th June

it was only just under a week since Thompson had received his promotion, and he was still finding he needed to pinch himself on occasion just to make sure he wasn't dreaming it all.

The officer, the Sergeant and the two Corporals had finally reorganised Terpsichore's detachment into two squads, one under each corporal, Thompson and Johnson.

Thompson had felt a fraud at that meeting, with the officer and both other NCOs all having been in their ranks far longer than Thompson himself. He was still in awe of Sergeant Quinn (and thought he probably always would be in awe of those with three stripes on their sleeves) but thought that he had managed not to make too much of a fool of himself.

He hoped.

He wasn't entirely sure that what he was doing wouldn't be frowned on, but he wanted to do it anyway. He had never personally had a section commander who'd been promoted from within the detachment and wanted to get off on the right foot.

It was to that end that he'd gathered his section (and how strange that sounded!) in one corner of the Marines' part of the messdeck. The point of this exercise was not to introduce himself (after all, if they didn't know him after being in the same detachment since Terpsy was commissioned, he'd be very worried) but for them to get to know him as a Corporal. Not that he'd quite figured that out himself, yet, but he knew the sort of Corporal he wanted to be.

He looked around the expectant faces of the men around him, Marines he trusted and respected, and took a breath. "A'right, y'know me an' I know you, so this oughta be pretty quick an' all. I jus' wanted to lay it out how I want things to run round here."

Allen had to refrain from cracking a smile as Thompson spoke. He couldn't help it; he was just pleased as punch to have been shuffled into the squad. Even so, he did not want to get on the newly-promoted corporal's bad side by appearing as though he was not listening. Though being as he had never seen any evidence that Thompson even had a bad side, there was probably nothing to worry about. Still, he managed to keep a straight face as he listened and thought about how much better this was than being stuck with Ol' Cross Johnson again. Whatever Thompson's attitude might now be, it would certainly be an improvement over Johnson. Somehow Allen couldn't picture Thompson hollering at everyone either, which was quite good too.

Thompson was going to say something and thought better of it. Letting his men - and that sounded all wrong, even in his thoughts! - know that he was aware they were probably as pleased as Punch that they were in his squad not Corporal Johnson's... Well, that'd be sounding disloyal to old Cross-eyes, at the very least.

He suddenly wondered what nickname he was going to get landed with.

"I'm goin' to do me best to be fair an' all, so if there's summat you've got a problem with, let me know an' I'll sort it out - or tell the Sar'nt, who'll get it sorted."

Springfield's eyebrows quirked slightly at that, his expression shifting momentarily from bored to dubious. Let this'un sort it out? Not likely. He knew one way of solving problems and it didn't involve running crying to some corporal. Nor peaching neither.

And he'd just suggested he meant for them to split on folks, possibly, which wasn't what he'd intended at all.

"I don't mean to interfere if you've got gripes with other folks, not unless it's goin' to mean a proper low-down brawl, but the usual grievances about food an' stuff, or if someone's interferin' with your duties."

In some ways, McIntyre knew this corporal had the right idea. Laying things out the way he wanted them to be done and letting the lads know how the chain of command was to work. It was more than his last corporal had done anyway.

At the same time, he couldn't quite squash a grin at the slightly fumbling the poor bugger ended up doing, having to clarify his meaning. That was right in the face of the supposedly-serious nature of the gathering.

This was going to be an interesting ship, he could tell.

"You don't give me no grief for no good reason, an' I won't give you none, neither," Thompson continued, wishing he'd planned this out properly - he was no hand at speeches, really. "You'm all good men, an' there's nobody I'd rather have at me back in a pinch than alla you."

The last comment took Springfield by surprise to say the least, though he was careful not to let it show. It was the first time anyone -- let alone a corporal -- had told him anything of the kind. Even if it was in a speech, and even if the man really meant the lads who'd been here all along -- Springfield hadn't been aboard much more than a week, if that. Still, it was....odd.

That was a stretch, wasn't it? He didn't know this bugger and sure the corporal didn't know him. But maybe optimism was part of this detachment's operating theme? McIntyre didn't know but he reckoned he'd find out soon enough.

~

Well. This was only a little different, John Webb thought. The last time he'd seen Thompson was before the Peace. Now here he was, sporting stripes. It was a small, strange bloody world and all.

Thompson had got several of the rescued Marines in his squad - he wasn't sure how many Marines had been held aboard the French ship, and thought they'd been divided equally between his squad and Corporal Johnson's. He looked around the group, trying to catch as many eyes as he could, and started a little as he saw a Marine he'd last seen aboard Temeraire, wearing a Corporal's shoulder knot. That badge of rank had only been changed two years before, to follow the Army practice of chevrons, such as Thompson now wore.

He had to make a conscious effort to get back to what he was saying.

"I'll do me best by you, but it'll mean you helpin' out by doin' your best too." What else was there for him to say? "I ain't goin' to be a hard-horse type but I won't have folks slackin' an' makin' other folks work harder. Everyone has to pull his weight - fair's fair, after all."

That very quick start was all the sign Webb needed. Thompson recognised him as well. Whether or not that would make things interesting remained to be seen, though. For his part, Webb wanted only to get on with his duties.

In particular, this odd sort of meeting. Hopefully it would be over soon.

Thompson was half-tempted to let them know that they could talk to him if they had any concerns about anything, but then that could lead to thoughts that he was asking them to peach on their mates. No, it would not do.

"Anyone got anythin' they want to know?" he asked instead, looking around.

"Can we go?" asked Springfield laconically.

Thompson couldn't help raising an eyebrow at that. "Y'mean, can we go, Corp'ral," he corrected.

Whatever, thought McIntyre. The corporal had a point, he knew, but at the same time the man's response smacked just a little too much of nitpicking for his taste. Anyway, the point of this gathering had been made. The way things were to run had been laid out. Now it was time for the lads to go back to what they'd been doing before.

For once, it hadn't been an intentional slip and Springfield felt himself bristle. But no matter. He smirked. "Aye, some'at like that. Corporal."

Thompson still felt awkward being addressed as Corporal, but couldn't allow the slight to pass, not in front of everyone else.

It didn't seem as though anyone else had anything to add. "Well. Carry on, then," he said, and reached for his undress cap. He had no doubt that they all thought he'd gone soft in the head, or something, and would much prefer to talk about him among themselves, without interference.

Besides which, he could do with a smoke.

As the assembled group began to disperse, somebody behind them offered a grumpy-sounding, "School's out, then?"

Webb kept a smirk off his face and made his way topside. He didn't know who'd spoken but the remark had just enough barb to it to flirt with insolence. But he wasn't a corporal any longer, so addressing such things was none of his concern.

Thompson whipped round at the anonymous voice. "I jus' thought you might like to know how things are goin' to be round here, is all. Seems I was wrong."

Well, it was nice to know people's real thoughts, he supposed.

In response to that, Johnson merely lifted an eyebrow.

And damn. It seemed that Corporal Johnson had witnessed it, too. He could only hope he hadn't made too big a fool of himself in front of the senior Corporal.

It was probably best to let the bugger get on with fumbling his way along. Johnson shrugged, refraining from further comment, and turned back toward his hammock space.

Oh well. It was early days yet, of course, and Thompson knew that they were going to try pushing till they found his snapping point because then they'd know his limits and how he would deal with things when pushed.

Thompson could only hope to earn their trust before it got that far, because if it did get to that point, someone would end up suffering, probably at the grating.

He headed topside, feeling more and more as though he was walking a tightrope in trying to work out how to assert his authority without becoming a tyrant.

A noise that could mostly be called a cough came from Albert Ware. "You gonna have a chat like that with us, Corporal?"

Johnson didn't bother looking up. "Shut up."

The exchange drew a grin to McIntyre's face as he settled down near his sea-chest, his shoes now off and in hand, ready for blacking. These two corporals were worlds apart in their manners, clearly.

~

Topside, Webb had retired to the foc's'le, his old clay pipe in hand. It felt good to be out in the open air. Especially when one was off-watch and turning up for a smoke.