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Great Minds

Posted on Thu Aug 3rd, 2017 @ 4:48am by Major Storr Garlake & Lieutenant Arkady Sjet Dr

Mission: S2E1 - Secrets
Location: USS Vindex - Deck 25 (Marine Barracks)
Timeline: Mission Day 100: 0930

Arkady was far from the usual corridors he travelled, and sickbay was a few decks and partitions above his head. But in his heart this deck seemed more to his liking. Here were men and women who were honest with their intentions, who did not beat around a bush and try to pretend their actions were anything other than the violent means to an end.

"Eto pakhnet kak dom." Arkady said pleasantly, standing in the middle of the hall way before knocking on the door to Major Storr Garlake's office.

The small office was made all the more so by its occupant and a desk nearly overflowing with PADDs containing SITREPs, performance reports, duty schedules, a disciplinarian recommendation, two acquisition requests, an environmental impact survey (who the bladdie hell on this ship devised such an inane waste of time?!), a "Talosian heritage month" flyer from the ship at large, and a litany of other administrivia which had piled up during his wedding leave. Bella had done her best despite his new MXO having not yet reported in...he could only imagine what the pile would have been like had she not helped.

Looking at the pile, his mind wandered to his purple haired, copper-skinned First Sergeant sitting in his office chair, her uniform unzipped in the rear and lazily undraped over her right shoulder, the Caliasian's toned and smooth hand and arm hung over the back of his chair while the other held a PADD up to her lips. Bella gazed at him from under trusses of tousled hair, a come-hither look smoldering behind her purple eyes. Her tongue flicked provocatively at the datapad, sensuously tracing its corner while she maintained searing eye contact with Storr. Bella let the PADD clatter to the desk before running a hand through her hair and began to lean forward, the uniform threatening to shift and expose her entire upper body as more and more flesh revealed itself at her chest...

The MCO jerked with a start at the knock, his body rocketing forward as he grasped the desk out of sheer instinct. Luckily, he caught himself in time before inadvertently administering himself the Heimlich maneuver and leaned back in the chair, his hands now over his eyes and slowly dragging themselves down over his face.

*Where the FRACK did THAT come from?!* his mind reeled as Storr willed his heart rate to slow and the rest of his body to...come down from the daydream. Was that what it was? He had never thought that way (okay, maybe once) about his First Sergeant but unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately), he didn't have the time to analyze as someone was on the other side of the door.

Shaking his head, Major Garlake took a quick look at himself in the mirror and satisfied, called to his visitor. "Come."

The pause between the knock and the acknowledgment was telling, and Arkady filed it away for later thought.

The door opened and Storr was greeted by the large man (Eastern European? Russian?) that he had sat next to at the staff meeting; the new doctor, if he remembered correctly. Standing, he leaned on the desk with one hand and offered the other in greeting.

"Hello. Have a seat and please excuse the mess...paperwork never sleeps."

"And here I thought paper work making gremlin was locked in sickbay, I must do better job laying traps," Arkady said, taking the Marines hand. His accent was peculiar, but then again anyone not from Mars had a strange cadence to their words by Arkady's measure. He shook the hand, his grip not the expected knuckle crusher. It was firm, respectful.

It showed off the scars on the doctor's knuckles.

Major Garlake chuckled at the man's odd turn of phrase though he hoped that if indeed was a gremlin leaving all this asinine work that the good doctor would know what to do with such a creature. As to the scars on the man's hands, they were not those that came from precision medical instruments but from hard, physical labor and potentially...rougher things. He made a mental note to talk to the doctor about it over a malted beverage.

He released the Marine's hand and maneuvered a pile of reports from a chair and onto the coffee table.

"I hope you mind not intrusion to busy schedule, but I thought that you might wish to have say in small thought I am having," Arkady said grimly. "A small partnership between Marines and Medical. A chance is put? Pull our weight? Is correct?"

Storr nodded slowly. He had always had a close relationship with the corpsmen in his battalion but with all the recent personnel shake-ups on the Starfleet side, the relationship between medical and the 2/5 had frayed. Shuffling a few of the PADDs around on his desk, he found the object of his search and made a few annotations.

"I think that that would do very well for us both," he began, returning the small digital reader to the desk with a clatter. "Bref, a Bolian, is our only current corpsman. While I can't make him absent for too long, I'm open to ideas." he paused, steepling his fingers just under his chin as he spoke. "We could either have an exchange with one of your sickbay personnel or start training up a new corpsman for the battalion. I would like to think it would give your men a deeper understanding of combat-care-under-fire while boosting my dismal corpsman numbers."

The MCO let out a small breath, looking over his shoulder to the 2/5 standard. Bref was an agreeable enough sort but he was low-density-high-demand and Storr didn't want him wasting his time on any ephemeral projects. Turning his gaze back to the CMO, he continued.
"I'll preface all this by saying that expectations are low on my side due to unfulfilled promises...nothing personal, but my men haven't had much reason to put a lot of trust in sick bay recently."

"So have been told by Marines who have seen fit to make visits to sickbay," Arkady said agreeably, leaning forward in his chair slightly. "Allow me to please clarify? I do not wish to augment your ability. I do not wish to give you extra body to protect, one that is in need of such. What I am proposing is safer for your Marines, and for my Medical staff. I wish to train them alongside your Marines. Make them..."

Arkady's words trailed off as his hands groped the air for a word. The word in Russian was simple, it was right there on the tip of his tongue. But its English counterpart had wandered off to find a coffee machine.

"Bylo by proshche, yesli by ya byl telepatom!" He snarled angrily, standing from the chair and stepping behind it, finding the room fit for a few meters of pacing. Enough to get a thought in one's hands and squeeze out the meaning. He then stopped beside the 2/5 Standard, baring its battle honours with pride alongside various unit citations.

"These places," Arkady jestered to the battle honours. "These places taught me that a doctor in a war zone is as active a combatant as any Marine. And no enemy we face shows much honour in keeping their fire friendly, da?"

Storr watched as the burly Russian stood and paced to grasp his thoughts. As Arkady spoke, the Afrikaner couldn't help but smile...the man was speaking his language.

"Da," Storr replied with powerful intonation, exhausting his entire Russian vocabulary in the response. "Doctors, and my corpsmen, let us live to fight another day and leave no Marine behind. That is a great honor in itself. Now, I think," the MCO began, bending down and opening up the bottom drawer beneath his desk. Fishing out a capped glass bottle and two crystal cut old fashioned glasses, he set all three on the table and poured two fingers of a warm, amber liquid into the glasses before sliding one towards the CMO. "we can work the details out over a drink, yes?"

"As your doctor, I must say that I disprove of this," he said gravely, before smiling. "Will need to source bottle of good Martian vodka. Is very much like bad Russian vodka, except is poured by man I respect. Is lesson in bottle."

The two raised their glasses.

"To Violence, Honor, and Doctors and Marines that deal in both."

"K samym bol'shim ispytaniyam. To the greatest tests," Arkady said in return and tipped the glass back. There was fire to it, and a sweetness that helped bring the burn down to tolerable levels. Arkady nodded in appreciation to the glass, having gained something of a scholarly interest in spirits from a young age.

"You know, you are not like other Marines I have fought with," Arkady commented, gesturing to the Major. "For instances, you do not wear skirt as part of your kit. For longest time I thought was unusual, now I think I fell in with wrong crowd."

He chuckled.

"Though on Draconis Minor I do not there was wrong crowd with Breen energy mortar's across the horizon."

Storr couldn't help but chuckle at the thought of his men, let alone him, wearing a kilt into battle. "A wrong crowd indeed, though I'd take any fashioned Marine if there were indeed Breen mortars involved." Draining the rest of his glass with a single pull, he placed it back on the desk. "Reminds me of a joke I heard back in Sandhurst...'what's worn under your kilt? Nothing, everything works just fine!'"

Violating the first and oldest rules of jokes, the MCO laughed at his own and slid the two glasses to the side, placing a PADD between them. Details remained to be worked out and there was still plenty of time (and whiskey) left in the morning...


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