Zoey hated being ignored, especially by someone too busy when they were in grave danger.  The slanted deck only made it difficult, but she was determined not to die because some fuckwit with a gun was too busy pretending he had the biggest penis in the room.  Turning, she was about to go when another of the group asked, "Which is your compartment, miss?  We'll go and get it."<br/><br/>Taking a look at the man, Zoey was sure she'd seen him before, getting on or off the plane.  Not one to resist an opportunity, she said, "Come on.  I might need someone with me when I explain in exacting detail what happens when someone needing medicine runs out and how they'll be lucky to be scrubbing toilets in a 7-11 if they don't let me have it."<br/><br/>Ignoring the soldier in return, she headed for the compartments again, hoping she could recall which was hers.  They were mostly identical, but she knew what she was looking for and where it was, so maybe that would help.  Assuming they didn't get shot by some trigger-happy neanderthal.  Her opinion on the intelligence on these soldiers was dropping faster than the deck of the aircraft, so she held out no hope one wouldn't demand they get moving again before she found her bag.