Meeting and Greeting, 9th June

Thompson was calmly filling the bowl of his own pipe as his old corporal came up. This was pretty strange, how things had turned out. He nodded companionably at the man, finding that he still wanted to address him as 'Corporal' as he'd used to do, aboard Temeraire.

Bugger. He was going to have to be polite, if not sociable, wasn't he? Brilliant.

"Corporal," said Webb with a slightly-jerky incline of the head. He wouldn't properly nod - couldn't, anyway, as he was busy lighting his pipe.

Thompson got his own pipe lit, took a cautious puff to make sure it was properly alight, and gave the other Marine a wry smile. "Feels like it's me as oughta be sayin' that," he said ruefully, and turned to look at the horizon to give the other man his own space if he wanted it.

Yes, thought Webb, it oughta. Only it wasn't. He shrugged and drew in deep on his pipe.

"Aye, well..."

It was none of Thompson's business and he wasn't going to pry. Especially not now that their roles were reversed - if Thompson had still been a Private, maybe he could have asked, eventually. It was probably just one of those things, anyway.

Keeping his silence was maybe the wisest thing the lad had done thus far today. Webb puffed at his pipe for a minute or two, unable to stop himself pondering the oddity of Fate.

" 'Gratulations, I s'pose," he said presently.

Thompson glanced across at Webb. "Thanks," he said. Now, if only he could manage not to make a complete hash of it...

Don't muck it up, Webb thought, but he thought better of saying so much. He blew out a ring of smoke and settled for a simple "New to it, then?"

Even though the answer was almost painfully obvious.

Can you tell? Thompson thought. Stupid question. Of course you can. "Yeah. Had the stripes about a week. Never expected to get 'em, neither."

He'd settle in and get used to it eventually. Maybe. If he didn't screw up too much in the foreseeable future.

Ah.

"Well." There wasn't a whole lot to say to that, really. "Takes time, I s'spose."

"Yeah." He took another couple of puffs on his pipe. "S'pose it took you some time, too?" Of course, if Webb didn't want to talk about that, well, fair enough. Thompson wouldn't push where he wasn't wanted.

He shrugged. "Sorta." But he'd had a lazy jack's arse for a sergeant, so he'd had to learn fast.

"Ah. Well, I hope it don't take too long." And that he didn't screw up too much, but he wasn't about to say that to anyone.

"It didn't." No thanks to Sergeant Turley, though. Webb drew in on his pipe and shrugged again. " 'Pends on the sergeant."

Of course it would. "Sergeant Quinn ain't bad, as Sergeants go," Thompson said. He'd had worse, after all... far worse.

Good news, that, Webb supposed. "Bit of luck there." He paused, considering, then asked, a bit grudgingly, "How'd you swing it, then?"

Thompson shrugged. "Was involved in the fightin' at Oporto. Whole mess of folks went in through the tunnels, 'cludin' the officer." He gave the other man a wry look. "S'pose I must've caught his eye somehow." He was still of the opinion that the other Marines had fought just as well as he had and any one of them could - deservedly! - have been promoted in his place.

That was perhaps the best way to go about it, really. At least if the lad getting the promotion wasn't deliberately angling for it.

"S'pose there's as good's a way to take a measure of a lad's steadiness."

Thompson couldn't help grinning at that. "Wasn't like I expected it, either. Give me the shock of me life when he offers it to me, an' all."

Hm. Maybe the lad had not been wholly out for it. Time would tell more surely.

"Officers is like that."

Thompson couldn't help a rueful grin crossing his face briefly. Some of them were, anyway.

"We'll have to see how it turns out," he said, unwilling to risk commenting further on what officers were and weren't like.

"Aye." Webb didn't care to voice his reservations about the ship and its detachment. He'd find out one way or the other if his instincts were correct.

"The same one as what's aboard now, is it?"

Thompson shook his head. "No, the one we had afore Mister Sewell come aboard. Mister Cartwright - good sort he was, 'specially in a pinch. Went up through the sewers when we took the fort at Oporto."

Ah. Whoever this Mister Cartwright was, he sounded like he was a card or two short of a full deck. But, Webb grudgingly amended, any officer who was that willing to lead from the front was probably worth having around.

"He's a rare one, then," he grunted. There weren't many officers of such bold character in the Corps. That was for sure.

"Mmhmm," Thompson said, non-committally. He agreed with the other man, but was very conscious of the new rank that meant that he could not admit as much now because he had to set an example. Or something like one - though of course Webb had been a corporal long before Thompson and probably needed the example less than some others in the detachment.

"You seen much action since Temeraire?" he asked, reluctantly finishing the pipeful and knocking the dottle over the side before stowing his pipe again.