Reserve Training
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I don't know anything about real basic training, or reservist retraining, so this is a giant ass-pull on my part. Enjoy it for what it is.
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A platoon is 16 to 25 men
a platoon is usually divided into squads of 4 to 8 men.
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I combined some of the mess jargon as it's just too confusing for civilians. Just take it as there are three messes, or galleys. One for enlisted, one for Non-commissioned officers and one for Officers. Remy is eating in Officer's mess as Tony's guest.
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Beta-ed by Jake and Jordre. As usual, thanks so much.
Chapter 1
Gibbs eyed the paper in his hand with disgust. He was still a Reserve Marine and had to report for two weeks retraining every year. He'd just gotten his "summons;" this was the reason he was well known for not taking days off. He saved his vacation time for this, never mind that he had weeks of paid overtime on the books.
Tim looked up from doing routine maintenance on his computer to ask, "What put that look on your face, Jet?"
"Reserve Refresh." He scowled at the paper in his hand. "Well, I'll tell Vance. Good thing things are slow right now."
Tim shook his head. "Glad I don't have to mess with that. I'd probably smack the TO. I hate having anyone scream in my face." He frowned for a moment, then added, "Except for AJ."
Gibbs shrugged. "Get used to it after a bit. First day's always a bit rough." He smirked. "Besides, I'll be the one doing the yelling."
Tim grimaced, "Asshole."
"Nope, bastard ... second b for." Gibbs grinned at Tim who just grinned back.
Tony strode in just then with a scowl on his face. "Been recalled." He slammed a drawer then flopped into his chair. "Shit."
Remy sat at his desk and grumbled, "An' I'm not? Don't like it."
Dean shrugged, then offered, "That new HRC Assignment Officer is a screaming thunder cunt. Probably just did it for spite. We're assigned here as TDA's until you're done with whatever impossibly necessary dumb-assed thing you're assigned to. Belt finds out and he's gonna throw a bitch fit." He grumbled off into dire muttering about how he wasn't going to be the one who bitched, but he hoped someone did.
Tony shrugged. "I'm all over it. I sent in a complaint but haven't heard anything yet. Never mind. Won't be the first time I've been on detached duty."
Remy rolled his eyes. "An' you never gon' on any duty wit' out me ever again. Just no."
Tony shook his head, "Don't side-oogle me, jerk."
Remy just grumbled wordlessly and flopped into his chair. He opened his email and began to sort through the mess. "An' why do I have a box full of fuckin' Viagra adds and other weird shit?"
Tim overheard him grumbling, snickered, and said, "If you'd stay off the porn sites, that wouldn't happen. I'll set up some filters if you'd like."
Remy announced, rather indignantly, "Do'an visit dat shit. Like my women live an' willin'. No idea where this shit is comin' from. An' even if I did, I too smart to do it at work."
Tim motioned for Remy to trade places with him. He started to sit in Remy's chair but Remy rolled his over instead. "Don't mess ma chair up, dude."
Tim chuckled. "Okay, okay. Can't help it if you're a long drink a' water." He plopped down in his chair and checked Remy's account over. "Someone did access porn on this computer, which accesses your general email account. You're tagged. I'll fix it, but don't leave your computer on when you leave your desk. I'll set your screensaver to turn on in five minutes and set a password to turn it off. You should have done this months ago."
Remy frowned. "I thought I did."
"Well, if you did, someone turned it off." Tim typed for a moment. "There ... screen saver ... I wrote the password on a post-it. Read, remember, destroy. And the filters should keep all the crap out."
Remy looked at the post-it for a moment, mumbled the password to himself, then ate the post-it.
Tim eyed him for a moment then mumbled, "Show-off."
Remy grinned, "Betta dan burnin' it."
"Jerk." Tim flopped into his chair.
"Bitch." Remy tossed a wad of paper at Tim. "What's got your shorts in a bunch?"
"Tony's gonna be gone for two damn weeks. You're gonna be gone too. Gibbs is gonna be gone. Abby's gonna flutter around like a broke-winged chicken." Tim made a face. "Yeah, shorts are definitely in a bunch."
Remy sighed, "Not to mention that you're gonna sulk and Jimmy and Ducky are gonna droop around like wet rags."
Gibbs returned to the bullpen just in time to hear the last exchange. "We're all gonna miss everyone. Email, letters, text ..." he shrugged irritably, "just don't do it. But ... we'll survive. So ..." he turned on his computer and grumbled, "Who the hell? And why am I gettin' fuckin' ads for Viagra? Someone explain that." His indignant expression made the group snicker.
Tim sighed. "Well, shit. I bet that little dick from IT was up here last week and ... I'm gonna kill the little ..." He checked something then announced, "He was. That jerk has some sort of fuckin' hate on for filters, blockers, and screen savers with passwords. I'm going down to IT and have a few words with the DH."
Tim made a point of putting his ID around his neck, pulling the bead-chain out of the back of his wallet then patting it into place against his A-TAC shirt. He was wearing A-TAC's, like most of the Pod. They'd developed the habit to match the SEALs' required black uniform; it didn't hurt as they were usually dealing with military or dependents. Vance had only said to make sure that they weren't wearing something they weren't entitled to.
After getting his Sig out of the drawer and tucking it into his thigh holster, Tim stormed off to the elevator and jabbed the up button. Contrary to popular belief, the IT Department wasn't in the basement. The Cyber Crimes Department was.
No one wondered at Tim taking his sidearm, as Gibbs had decreed that no one left their desk without theirs. They'd been called out a couple of times and been delayed while someone returned to their desk from somewhere else in the building.
Dean eyed Tim then said to Cosmo, "Digimon's on a real ass-on-fire rampage lately. Why's that?"
"Some dumb-ass greenie up in IT keeps messing with our damn computers. No idea why. He's taken off almost everything Tim put on. Deleted his personal programs and algorithms and, in general and specifically, made a PITA out of himself. Hide-bound as a jarhead ... without the excuse." Cos smirked at Gibbs. "Jet's the exception, of course."
Gibbs just snorted then said, "Better hope Tim handles him. If I have to go up there, there's gonna be bloodshed. I've got over two thousand damn emails to get through because he ripped out my filters and I have no fuckin' idea how to get 'em to work after the fact." He eyed his monitor with disgust.
Dean grumbled, "I don't either, and I've got nearly three thousand emails to sort through." He started to get up.
Remy barked, "Sit!" before he got too far. "No killin' the new IT guy. Looks très mal, ami."
Dean sat back down but mumbled, "If Digimon can't fix this, I am ... slappin' him around, at least."
Gibbs, still deleting emails, offered, "I'll hold 'im."
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Tim ambled into IT with alarming calm. He wasn't going to cause a scene unless he needed to but, if he needed to, he was going to tear someone a new one.
Mr. Jackson, the department head, looked up when Tim entered his office and cringed. He liked Tim but, when he was on the war path, all he wanted to do was run. Tim never yelled but his awful politeness was like a cold shower. And he was obviously on the war path; his green eyes were flashing and his face was pale around a hectic flush.
"Mr. Jackson, we have a situation." Jackson cringed. "Yes, cringe. Your newest fuckin' IT Tec is a knuckle-dragging, mouth-breathing waste of air. I've got damn good backups or you'd be trying to fuckin' recreate some very damn complex beta software for the SEALs. If that come stain even fuckin' looks like he's gonna touch any damn computer in my fuckin' bullpen again, I'll fuckin' shoot his dumb ass."
Mr Jackson did what any wise department head would do, he called the offending tec to his office. He notified his secretary by intercom, then settled back. "Coffee?"
Tim shook his head. "No, thank you. I'd be too tempted to drown him in it." He settled into a chair. "And, just so I know ... what the hell is this fuckwad's name?"
"Howard. Jason Howard. He's ... ivory tower, at best; a recent acquisition from ... some tec firm. Lazenby headhunted him." Mr Jackson settled back. "Now ... Lazenby is a good man, but he's enamored of big brains. Not necessarily with common sense." He reached back to his personal coffee maker and poured himself a cup. "Sure?" he waved the pot at Tim.
"I'm sure. You have good coffee, it'd be a shame to waste it by tossing it at someone." He rubbed his face. "I have personal software on my machine, and test software that I'm beta'ing. He also removed all the damn filters from everyone's email ... Gibbs is screaming pissed because he's got thousands of email ads for God only knows what. And he's got to sort them by hand. Now ... I've got written permission from SecNav to have anything I want on my computer or any computer in Gibbs' bullpen. So ... Keep that ASVAB waiver recipient away from my machines."
"I'm sorry. He's been told ... but he insists on applying his rules. I've just about had it with him, but he's got a damn contract Lazenby signed. I've complained to Vance, but there's not much to be done until the contract runs."
Tim shrugged. "The contract only ensures he doesn't get fired?" Jackson nodded. "So ... set him to doing some damn thing ... nasty ... like data entry or something. Maybe reconditioning old units for sale. Or sweeping management computers, you know how messed up they can get and no one likes dealing with that shit. Just keep him out of the fuckin' squad room or someone's gonna really hurt him."
The tap on the door was perfunctory, at best, then the door opened to reveal the quintessential computer nerd. The man was dressed in a sloppy suit with his tie askew. His shirt was stained with some unidentified brown substance, probably coffee. He had a tablet in one hand and a phone in the other.
Tim eyed him as he sidled into the room, messing with his phone at the same time. "Put that away." Tim stood up, suddenly looking a lot more like a SEAL and a lot less like a geek. "Mr Jackson has called you into his office because we, Mr Howard, have a huge problem." He pointed at the man. "You."
Jason blinked for a few seconds then put his phone into a pocket and addressed his tablet instead. Tim cleared his throat pointedly but Jason held up one finger in a 'wait' gesture that reduced Tim's ability to tolerate him to nil.
Tim took a deep breath then barked, "Okay. Let's do this again. Put up your damn phone, fuckin' tablet, blue tooth, hand-held game, and any other damn electronic distraction." He waited while Jason managed that. "Now that I have your undivided attention," he took another deep breath, "What the ever lovin' fuck do you think you're doin'? When did anyone give you fuckin' permission to touch my damn computer? Especially try to mess with my personal machine? Or delete filters from every damn machine in my bullpen?"
Jason realized that he'd somehow offended this rather fierce looking man, so he looked to Mr Jackson for help. "But ... sir ... Mr. Jackson. Rules are rules for a reason. You're not allowed to lock IT out of your computers. Or have unauthorized filters or un-vetted software on your machines. As to a personal computer ... if you bring it into the office ... it has to be up to spec." He nodded his head in an infuriating 'so there' gesture that made both Tim and Mr Jackson grind their teeth.
Tim eyed Mr Jackson then said, "One, you're going by rules created by a company for ignorant users; I'm not. And they don't apply to NCIS. Two, email filters are always authorized. Three, I'm vetting the damn software. Four, personal machines are exactly that, personal; thus the locks on my case. Jerk. And I'm insulted that you have the unmitigated gall to imply that my machine is less than absolutely cutting-edge." He talked right over Jason's sputtered protests. "Now, here's what we're going to do. You're going to stay the fuck out of our damn bullpen, keep your greasy hands off our computers and, in general and particular, forget we even exist." He glowered for a moment. "Or I'm gonna erase your electronic life. Got me?"
Jason appealed to Mr Jackson. "He can't do that. Can he? I mean, he's not allowed."
Mr Jackson just replied, "He can. He will. And I'll sit back and applaud. Do you realize how many complaints I've gotten in the last twenty-five days? The amount of time you've been working here, I might add." Jason started to say something then shut his mouth and shook his head. "Forty. All for the same thing. Deleted necessary software, interference with filters, and general stupidity. Now ... since you managed to get a contract, I can't cut your walking papers ... but I can get you out of my hair. We received a shipment of new computers for the fourth floor. I don't want you anywhere near the new computers, but the old ones are going up for sale ... as soon as you scrub them. I'll have you assigned a workroom and you're to stay in it, not approach any of the Special Agents, most especially Gibbs, and stay out of further trouble. Got me?"
Jason nodded. He wasn't happy, but he'd been warned by other techs that he was headed for a fall. He'd ignored them as he knew best; he was a genius, after all. Now he was effectively fired. "But…"
Jackson snarled, "Yeah, butt, get it out of my office ... now!" He turned to call his secretary to take Jason to his new digs, turning his back on him.
Tim eyed the man for a moment then just pointed to the door. "If I have to help you, you won't like it."
Jason slumped, sighed, and left.
Tim watched then turned and said, "And now ... I get to go down and help all my co-workers sort email. I'm going to upload a filter and sort program to the mainframe; all you have to do is leave it the fuck alone. It's in beta right now. If anyone wants to experiment with it, feel free."
Mr. Jackson was well aware that every single person in NCIS hated their company email program. It was outdated by several generations, but no one seemed to be willing to find something better. As a government agency, they didn't use unsecured email providers like Gmail or Thunderbird. He was glad that Tim was being generous enough to allow them to have a copy, even in beta. He didn't realize that it was self-serving in that Tim got more people to beta his program.
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Tim returned to the bullpen just in time to hear Tony swear up a storm. It turned out that he was being called to Great Lakes Naval Training Station to replace a TO who'd managed to break his leg. The station was now in need of two TO's to work with Reservists, and Tony and Remy had drawn the short straw. No one was best pleased.
Gibbs offered to pull in a favor or two, as did Vance. Remy shook his head, joined by Tony. Tony explained, "No, save 'em for something good. We'll go. Just hate to leave you short-handed."
Vance eased that fear. "I'll put Cale and Richter on as TDA's. They're both good enough. McGee can train them up a bit while they're here. Can't hurt for SEALs to have a few trained investigators on hand."
Dean and Cosmo eyed Gibbs with some concern. They weren't worried about his having a fit over their being assigned to his team; they were worried about Tony's having a fit about taking over as a TO. He wasn't fond of the job, about as fond as he was of taking SERE for the third, or was it fourth, time. In other words, he was going to pitch an epic fit.
Only, he didn't. "Guys, I'm okay with it. I've managed to avoid giving SERE training for two years. I knew I wasn't going to manage to get out of training someone for something much longer. Being a TO is much better than being a SERE trainer. I really fuckin' hate that job ..." he smirked. "Although I wouldn't mind if I got my hands on a couple of people. But that's just me being an asshole."
Gibbs eyed the group for a moment, then said, "Okay, Leon, one condition."
Vance, used to this sort of thing, said, "Depends. What condition?"
"Tim needs a real computer expert, not that Dean and Cos aren't good, but someone really up to Tim's standards." Gibbs nodded to Dean and Cosmo. "No insult intended."
"None taken." Dean leaned against Tony's desk, ankles crossed. "But who?" He also crossed his arms over his chest.
Cosmo bit his lip in thought. "AJ?"
Tony gave the idea the consideration it deserved. "Okay, why does Tim need someone beside himself? He's not going anywhere."
Gibbs nodded. "I know. He needs to train someone to do what he does. He's overloaded. Since he's now Team Lead, he can train someone up."
Tim nodded. "I am. I've been helping Balboa's team; they don't have a geek, or even a nerd. And I get calls from Hetty from time to time to help out Eric Beale. I do need help, but ... who?"
Vance had also been thinking. "How about Ned Dorneget? He's good; he just lacks experience. So?"
Tony nodded. "He's good. No attitude. Smart. And quick."
Gibbs gave the group a quick glance-over. No one seemed to have any objections. "Tim?"
"Okay by me. How soon do we have to deal?"
Vance sighed. "Since no one answered any email, the Navy has assumed that you're available for immediate deployment. You've got 72 hours to get gone. Sorry."
Tony snarled. "Well, shit. Gibbs, can you inform Ducky and Jimmy for me?"
Gibbs nodded. "I will. You better put wheels under this bitch."
Tony and Remy shook hands with Vance then manly hugged around the group, grabbed their gear, and were gone.
Gibbs rubbed his face. "Well, shit."
Tim agreed, "Yeah, Jet, shit."
Gibbs set himself to organizing things before he had to leave on Monday.
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Remy took his truck back to Gibbs' place and packed his duffel. Tony did the same at his place, leaving a note for Ducky and Jimmy in case Gibbs missed them. He drove his Hummer to Gibbs' place, picked up Remy, and headed for their flight to Recruit Training Camp in Great Lakes, Illinois, leaving the Hummer there for Dean and Cosmo to pick up later.
The flight was everything they expected from a military transport to anywhere: cramped, cold, noisy, and annoying. Remy leaned against Tony and slept. Tony did the same, leaning back against Remy.
Everyone on the flight avoided them carefully. They all knew that the two sleepers weren't going to just jump up and shoot someone or something, but waking them by accidentally kicking their feet or jostling them wasn't really a good idea. So they were careful.
Due to all the stops on the way, a flight that should have taken a maximum of three hours took nearly five.
Remy woke at each landing, poked Tony, whispered, "Whistle stop, AJ," and they both went back to sleep.
When they deplaned at O'Hare, they found that they were being met by some greenie who informed them that he was their driver. Tony eyed the over-eager new grad and rolled his eyes. Remy just patted him on the shoulder and sighed. They followed him to the car and settled in for the hour-plus drive from the airport to Great Lakes. Neither one was happy that they weren't driving but knew better than to pull rank and drive themselves; that way lay badness and an ass-eating from someone high in the Motor Pool. They tended to get pissed when someone hi-jacked their stuff.
They arrived with little fanfare; the driver had given them their official papers and pointed them to their quarters. They went in, dumped their stuff in their room, and went to examine the barracks.
On the way they met the Base Commander. Tony stopped him, saluted, then asked, "Sir, I was wondering if you could explain why I, as a LtCmdr, have wound up a TO? If you don't mind."
The Base Commander sighed and replied, "I don't mind. In fact, I was coming to speak to you about exactly that. This group is a bunch of ... most of them are at least a CPO and have managed to get out of reserve training for at least the last two years. We need your rank and experience on board."
Tony nodded. "Thank you for that explanation. I'll go make some plans now." His smile reminded the CO of a shark― a pissed-off one.
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Special Agent Tobias Fornell eyed his junior agent. "Okay, why didn't you tell me sooner? I realize that you have an obligation to do your two weeks training but you should have known at least three weeks in advance."
Agent Ronald Sacks shrugged slightly. "I know. I tried to get out of it. I guess it pissed off the PTB so they moved the date up on me. I only found out about it yesterday. I'm really sorry. I have to leave in two days ... this Friday."
Fornell nodded. "Got it in one. Good luck. I hear they're really cracking down on skippers this year."
Sacks winced. He'd managed to skip two years in a row, pleading press of duty to the FBI; this year he wasn't getting away with that. The deputy director of their unit had made sure that he got a list of everyone in any reserve, and when they were supposed to report he made sure that they got the time off.
Fornell smirked at his least favorite agent. He knew Sacks was a good agent, but he tended to jump to conclusions then try to force the facts to fit his conclusion. He was not a fair-haired boy in more ways than one. He was actually treading on rather thin ice; his attitude toward Tony DiNozzo had gotten him very much out of favor with some rather important people. Tobias had tried to pry the reasons out of Gibbs over the phone but had only been told, "Toby, I've got a house full of men and I'm not in the mood to hold your hand, especially over Slacks. Got to go before the burgers burn." Gibbs had cut off in his usual fashion, leaving Tobias snarling into a dead phone.
Ron Sacks eyed the pile of paperwork on his desk with disgust; it was bound to be twice as high when he got back. He'd been bumped down a grade after that fiasco where he'd arrested DiNozzo for murder, never mind that it had been an almost perfect frame by Charles Sterling. It had been his attitude that had done the damage, not the charges. Now, he was doing his best to get back in Fornell's good graces and regain the respect he'd lost.
As he left the floor, Ron Sacks had no idea what was waiting for him.
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Tony read the brief then handed it to Remy. "Well?"
Remy grumbled, "Damn it, AJ. Gi' me a sec." He read quickly, then tossed the folder on Tony's desk. "Fuck. We got a bunch a' damn slackers an' don'-wanna-be's. We got our damn work cut out for us." He rubbed his face. "Lucky they's only 25 a' 'em."
Tony grumbled, "That means there's twenty-five damn files to read before we meet the fuckers."
Remy frowned. "Do'an see files."
Tony pulled the file drawer of his desk open and got the pile of files out. "Here," he slapped them down on the desk top and picked up the top one. "Get busy."
They spent the rest of the day reading files, grumbling now and then over the antics that their men had gotten up to to get out of their reserve responsibilities. They both realized that most reservists lived up to their responsibilities with dignity and even enthusiasm; these men― didn't.
Tony nodded to Remy. "We'll split the group; you keep an eye on one through twelve; I'll keep an eye on the rest. Joint double team."
"Good. I know we're supposed to be patient with this bunch a' jackwads ... but ... Christ on a Cracker, don't fuckin' sign up if yo' not gonna do your due. Right?"
Tony mumbled something as he read the CO's recommendations. The CO was of the opinion that the whole bunch should be treated as raw recruits; they'd all managed at least two years of non-attendance. Tony tended to agree.
Remy sighed, "Nearly done. Only four more to read. Coffee?"
"Please."
Remy wandered out of their office to see if the coffee pot was still in the same place. He was pretty sure it was, as things didn't tend to change much.
It was, and it was evidently the local scuttlebutt as there were several men, all dressed in the regulation blues with ball caps tucked into their belts or back pockets. They were all getting coffee so Remy asked, "It okay if I help myself?"
One of the men nodded. "Yeah. We take up a collection on Monday that we hope will last the week. If not, it's GI until the next collection."
Remy dug out his billfold and produced a couple of twenty's. "I'm puttin' in for me an' AJ ... DiNozzo."
There were nods around the group and a few smiles. Remy easily read the name strips so he knew the man's name when he said, "And AJ DiNozzo would be Honey Badger DiNozzo?"
"Oui." Remy eyed Catterson for a moment.
"So, what did he do to get sentenced to this mess?"
"Rank hath its privileges ... and obligations. We been blessed wit' all the high-ranking slackers." Remy didn't bother to try to hide his disgust. "Dis gonna get ugly quick, I tink."
A CPO named Wilks shook his head. "Lucky you. I do not envy you ... at all. A couple of those men ... well, bless their hearts, they're just lookin' for an out that isn't there."
Remy rolled his eyes. "We got a Sheriff's Deputy, three FBI, an' a couple a cops. An' you did not just bless their hearts. Seriously?"
"Seriously did. Good luck with that bunch. And remember ... we can't lay hands on 'em no matter how badly they deserve it." And with that, he took his tray of coffee and ambled off.
Remy snorted. "I know. An' I know ... if they made ya mad enough ta hit 'em, they too stupid ta learn from it." He grinned wickedly. "Dat do'an mean we can't run 'em inta de groun', oui?"
A PO named Duprix nodded. "Right, cajun. Just remember ... any runnin' they do, you do too."
Remy shrugged. "So? I'm in shape. So's AJ ... we got a ol' Marine friend, a real RED, dat can run circles around all a' dem an' dance all night." He finished pouring coffee, stuffed creamer cups and sugar into a pocket, and walked off.
Tony looked up when he walked into the office. "Coffee?"
"Yeah. An' you owe me twenty. They got a coffee kitty so we don't drink GI. Glad, me. GI's just that. Here," he handed over the cup. "Creamer? Sugar?"
Tony swallowed a slug of hot, black coffee and shook his head. "Nope. Black all the way."
Remy grimaced but didn't say anything. He was a bit on guard himself.
Tony picked up a file then snickered, "Oh, man. I do not fuckin' believe this. We've got that FBI jerk Ron Sacks. I'm gonna ruin his mood, big time."
Remy frowned for a moment. "Who?"
"Slacks. The jerk who put me up on fuckin' murder charges then got all pissy when they were dismissed. That jerk Chuck set me up. Sterling. Remember?"
Remy frowned for a moment then exclaimed, "Yeah! Yeah, I do." He smiled wickedly. "An' you goan do it without violating any rules, regs, or traditions."
"Am. Don't need to. I'll bet he's in horrible shape and has an attitude that needs adjustment."
Remy snickered and went back to the file in his hand.
They finished their reading, made some personal notes, then headed out to the Officers' galley. All Training Officers ate there. Without even thinking about it, they trotted in step.
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The Officer's galley was just that, a bit more elegant than the enlisted, with a bit better food; but it was still GI: bland and beige. They got saluted a bit, especially Tony; and Remy got a couple of looks.
They showed ID at the door and headed for the serving line. Tony nodded to Remy to go ahead. He claimed it was so that Remy acted as taster for him but everyone knew that Tony always went last in the Pod, unless Gibbs forced the issue… then he went last.
They went through the line of servers, selecting what they wanted. After settling at a table and starting to eat, they were joined by a couple of other officers who just wanted the scuttlebutt on why someone of their rank was being brought in to TO a bunch of reservists.
Tony offered his hand to the man across the table from him while Remy did the same. They told their tale of woe, commiserating with the other officers as they realized that they too were taking on a gaggle of slackers. All four of them got together to make plans on how to handle their groups; they wound up agreeing with the CO that treating them like a bunch of raw recruits might get through to some of them. They were all on the verge of being 'Other Than Honorably' discharged, which would be a giant black mark in their jackets; the reasons were everything from chronic insubordination, to refusal to report, to late to station.
Remy shook his head. "What a waste of resources. NCIS is slow, as is Team 6, but damn we got bedda thing ta do."
Tony poked him. "Ease up there, Sailor; you're goin' all cajun on me."
Remy eyed him for a moment, shoved a forkful of potatoes into his mouth then mumbled around them, "Bitch."
"Jerk."
There were chuckles from nearby but no one commented. They were all well aware that everyone here was in for two weeks of long hours, frustration, and short nights; not to mention reams of paperwork.
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