Flashback
Magazine, Sight rail, Rear Pin, Fore Pin, Top cover, Mag coil, Barrel...
Thatch continued his mantra grumbling under his breath. Why was it always the damn “skinny” who got stuck with the grot jobs cleaning the rifles? Grabbing another cleaning brush he started clearing residue from the barrel. Trying not to think about the other 6 still waiting.
“Hey Nerd” a voice cut through the silence of the armoury. Thatch looks up “That’s “Hey Marine” to you. Slime” he finished with a little smirk before the scowl returned. Vanessa came in from the open doorway. “That’s “Staff Sergeant Slime” to you. Geek” she finished their usual greeting smiling as she perched on the other end of the bench. “So. You got Grot duty again? What did you do this time?”
“Exist” Thatch said with a snarl. “Get the fuckin’ Skinny to do it” he says in an exaggerated impression of Sgt Venkat. “You know he didn’t say that” placated Vanessa, a touch of exasperation in her voice. Variations of this conversation were common. “Might as well have. “Thatch, looks like you’re on maintenance duty. Hard luck” Funny that. Strange how the Rota seems to always
somehow put me on Maint Duty on the Fridays isn’t it? They’re all out getting pissed while the closest I get is high of the fucking gun oil!” Thatch breathed. Visibly trying to calm himself down
as Vanessa looked on. The look of sympathy she was trying to hide somehow making it worse so he grabbed a brush and focused on the bolt carrier in his hands.
“I’ve put my papers in” he stated, eyes locked on his work. “One more year and they can get their wish and be rid of the “skinny” imposter marine”. Vanessa sighed. Resigned but not surprised. She took him in as he worked. Growing up on Luna, with it’s gravity even lower than most Belter habitats, had definitely had an effect on him but, like all Lunan kids, spending his formative years travelling down the well to Earth as well as treatments to aid growth followed by years of hard Marine training had mitigated most of it but even see had seen how often he was assigned as “Op-for” in training missions or boarding parties.
“Lunan or not you did the same training as them and most of those jarheads could never get their head around your technical skills. Once a marine always a marine don’t forget that. I just wish you’d stay. I told you I’m trying to get a word in for you. Get you transferred with me to that new posting I’ve got coming up. Put that brain of yours to use.” “Thanks ‘Ness but it’s too late. As it is they are going to make me do every second of my final year and I just can’t bring myself to live for a “Maybe””.
She bit her lip. Smartly realising that whatever she said would just make things worse so choosing to accept defeat. For now. “What are you going to do when your times up?” she asked. “Think I’ll go work at the shipyards back home. They are always looking for comp techs or ex-service” he replied, silently thanking her for the change in topic. “What’re you doing here on a Friday night anyway? Don’t all you intelligence pukes work part time anyway” he asked while giving the bolt carrier a final inspection. “Fuck off” she replied. Emphasising her well crafted retort with a smack on the arm. “I had to finish up a report on last weeks stop and searches. Was just on my way home when I saw the light on. But if you’re going to be a dick I’m out of here” she finished with a smile. Unfolding from the bench before making he way to the door. Reaching it she turned back “Hey Thatch” she stated as he finally put the rifle back together and racked it before looking up. “Keep your head up. It’s only a year. Just play the game. See you Monday” she finished with a companionable nod before leaving. “You too” thatch responded as she retreated down the corridor before sighing and grabbing the next rifle from it’s cradle.
Magazine, Sight rail, Rear Pin, Fore Pin, Top cover, Mag coil, Barrel...
