ST:O – Warzone
Story two of the Fizzgig crew, and what horrors, what unnameable terrors shall I release upon them this time? We shall have to see. I think I'll start off with something nice, at least!
Chapter One
The battlefield was rife with the dead, the green grass turning red as the life slowly drained from the men laying down their lives to protect their way, their fellows. There was screaming from soldiers all around the front lines, as men were run through, and shot. Some were cries of victory, some of defeat, and loss, and pain. At this point in the fight, where the uniforms were tattered and hung limply from soldiers on both sides, it was nearly impossible to tell who fought for which 61,132 invaders, weak and tired from a six day march to get to their position, tried to force their way forward, whereas the defending army, of merely 36,520, did their utmost to hold their ground, vastly outnumbered, but fighting with the righteousness that comes with knowing you're defending your home.
The weapons were exceedingly primitive by 25th Century standards. However, with thousands dead or wounded on both sides, one would concede that those primitive weapons, powered not by battery packs but small controlled explosions, were just as effective. They were also more brutal.
Ball bearings loaded into a small tube, and propelled at a high velocity didn't just incapacitate, they ripped. Tore into the flesh, where they sat, slowly poisoning the victim – if they survived the onslaught of having their bodies forcibly penetrated, they could almost certainly die from a long, painful, and lingering death.
Lieutenant Samuel 'Sammy' Edwards watched the forces below fighting, slaughtering one another, and had to avoid a wayward cannonball that missed his head by mere inches. As much as he was a physician, and trained to heal, there was nothing that could be done to help the poor wounded officers all around him. As such, he turned to his right, and asked the only question he could.
"Please pass the salt?"
The woman next to him silently slid a small crystal shaker over to him, engrossed in the scene playing out from under them. If any of the soldiers were to look up the area they called Telegraph Hill, they would be surprised by the sight that greeted them, and mostly because of that woman. It wasn't just that she was a woman close to the front lines in a battlefield, because such things were almost unheard of. It wasn't the shock of white hair on her head, giving an almost aged look to one so obviously young. However, none of the troops had ever seen a woman who was blue, or had antennae on top of her head.
Lieutenant Commander Corspa Zhen shook her head. "This is brutal. Barbaric, even. Why're we even here?"
"Because we're having steak." The other man said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "If we were having fish, we'd be on the ocean."
The three sat at a beautifully laid out table, white linens practically glowing as they flapped around the large mahogany table, upon which their dinner sat.
"No, I mean, why're we eating at the site of a battle? During the battle?" Corspa shook her head. "It just seems a little odd."
"It's tradition!" Sammy said, nodding to his Captain. Jason nodded back.
"Tradition, like trying to outperform your Captain and failing miserably."
"Huh?"
Jason stroked his goatee, and continued his meal. Sammy, glowering at his friend, brushed his burgeoning moustache with an index finger. Corspa shrugged off the idiocy of the rivalry between her boyfriend and his best friend, and pointed down at the firearms the troops were using.
"What did you call those projectiles?"
"Minié balls", Jason supplied, steak halfway to his mouth. "Something you should be intimately familiar with, given your choice of bedroom companion."
"Har har." Sammy mock-glared, then turned his attention to Corspa. "The Minié ball projectile was amazingly lethal, for its day. This was the first real usage of them, and the power they represented was staggering. They could shoot through two boards of wood two thirds of an inch thick, and half a metre apart. They should certainly shatter bones, and the lead used in their construction would poison anyone who survived getting shot. Doctors of that day would rather amputate a limb that had been shot with a Minié, rather than risk a secondary infection." He shook his head. "A disgusting, vile contraption that provided more and more blood being spilt for no good cause." He looked at Jason. "Good wine."
Jason merely nodded back, savouring it. "It's Portuguese. Crasto Douro."
"Ah. Wasn't this the same wine we had that time the Italians invaded Provence in 1537?"
Jason thought back, and chuckled at the memory. "You were convinced the wine wasn't synthehol, and showed up for a test fully believing you were drunk."
Corspa looked between the two. "I haven't heard this story."
Jason grinned evilly at Sammy. "Want to tell it?"
"Nah, you tell it much better than I do." Sammy waved him off.
"Well, alright then." Jason set down his wine glass. "Picture the scene – Sammy, having a psychosomatic reaction to what he believes is real alcohol, stands up in the middle of the test, announces his allegiance to…what was it?"
"'The almighty Kingfish.'"
"Yeah, that was it. The almighty Kingfish. And leaves, declaring that the test is beneath him. He nearly failed the semester, and only a blood alcohol test convinced him he was sober. He re-sat the exam the next day, and aced it." Jason shook his head at the memory.
"What's a Kingfish?"
"I have no idea." Sammy said ruefully. "It just sort of rolled off my tongue."
Corspa speared a bit of beef with a fork, and chewed on it thoughtfully. "And we're in…Criminy?"
"The Crimea." Sammy gently corrected. "On September 20th, 1854. This is the Battle of Alma, named for the Alma River." He gestured down the hill. "The first battle of the Crimean War, on Earth."
"I don't understand why you two celebrate the warlike traits of your species. Especially when you consider that, by that time in your history, Andorians had been utilising warp flight for 700 years. My people travelled the stars, where yours just rolled around in mud and killed each other over land disputes."
Sammy rubbed her back affectionately. "Do you ever wonder what would have happened if your people had made First Contact, and not the Vulcans?"
"Oh, I don't wonder at all." Corspa smiled brightly. "We would have enslaved your kind, and you'd be bowing to me as your owner."
Sammy arched an eyebrow. "I do that anyway."
Corspa grinned. "Resistance is futile." She kissed Sammy, trying to ignore the feeling of his moustache tickling her face. She turned her attention back to Jason. "So, what's the point of this dinner?"
Jason blinked. "I needed a point to share a meal with two friends?"
"No, but it seemed like you had something you wanted to say earlier."
Jason shook his head. "Now isn't the time for that. We're having fun."
'Fun. Right.' Corspa glanced around her, and down the hill. 'Casually eating a meal whilst your ancestors slaughter each other like butchers for a scrap of land.' "We're here, now, Captain Jay." She said, smiling at him. "Spit it out."
Jason sighed, and put his napkin on the table in front of him. "I was going to call this a celebratory dinner. My file came up before the review board today."
"And?" Sammy prodded him. "Did you get it, or not?"
"I didn't, no." Jason shook his head. "I can't take off this Brevet pin just yet. It's still Commander Whyrens."
Sammy felt sorry for his friend. In the six months since accepting promotion to Commander, and heading up Task Force Bright Light to weed out deep cover Section 31 operatives, Jason had suffered setback after setback. He was falling behind in his reports, his sense of humour was waning, and he constantly seemed stressed. How much of that was down to the job, and how much was down to Jasons' brutal induction into command, he couldn't say. He did, however, have a notion as to part of the reason Jason seemed constantly down.
"Jay, man…I'll be the one to say it, if you want, but you need a First Officer."
Jason shook his head. "Why? So they can work with me for a few days, shoot me, help put me on trial for murder, realise their mistake and then leave without apologising, or even saying goodbye?" He laughed bitterly. "I'm better off without. If I have to wait another six months, or another, I'll make it to Captain by myself, without any need for someone to stab me in the back like she did."
Sammy noted the venom in his friends' voice, and shook his sighed inwardly. 'I knew it. Of course, that doesn't make it any easier.' "Jay, you can't run this ship single handedly."
"Do you honestly think I don't know that?" Jason frowned. "I'm pulling double shifts, and I can barely concentrate. And what does the Fleet do to help me out? They're sending me a counsellor."
Corpsa rested a hand on Jason's arm. "Jay, you do need one. You had a serious psychological attack, and need counselling. I studied it a little, but there's only so much I can do."
He nodded. "I get that, but it just feels like I'm giving up. Like I'm announcing to the galaxy that I'm not capable of captaining a Starship."
"Everyone has problems, Jay." Sammy chimed in. "Remember when we were kids? You talked me into seeing someone a few years after that stuff happened with my parents."
"You were 11. We're in our 20's now, Sammy, we're supposed to be past the time when we need someone to listen to how much our lives suck and nobody understands us."
"Do we ever get past that point?" Corspa looked at him. "When you're young, your elders don't get you. When you're a young adult, nobody gets you. When you're young, the kids have no respect and don't get understand you. Everyone feels alienated and alone, Captain."
"You two have each other."
"And we argue and nearly break up at least once a week." Sammy shrugged. "She's a trained thug who, because of her Andorian physiology, can pick me up one handed-"
"-And he never listens, acts like a kid, and leaves his socks all over our quarters." Corspa completed. "But yeah, we have each other, and it helps."
'But I have nobody', Jason thought bleakly. His friends, picking up on his mood, looked away as Jason studied the rolling fog that started to cover the blood soaked field below.
Sammy broke the silence. "So, when does the Counsellor arrive?"
"Tomorrow, late shift. I'm taking the day off, so Corspa'll be in command. I really need some rest and relaxation." 'And', he added mentally, 'Time to try to get Katharine Hill out of my mind once and for all.'
"Damage report!" Captain Katharine Hill barked to her tactical officer, trying to be heard over the alert sirens, and the crackling of bridge console set aflame.
"Long range sensors out, torpedo bays out, communications out, engines non-responsive." Lieutenant Anson reported. "The Klingons are demanding we power down our phasers, or they'll destroy us."
"They'll do that anyway, Lieutenant." She looked over the short range sensor scans. "Can we mask our sensor signature?"
T'Vral, her newest science officer, checked her console. "Yes, Ma'am, but it wouldn't do much good since we've got plasma fire burning across our hull. We're lit up like a Lopno' DIghna'" T'Vral caught the confused expression on her captain's face. "A Christmas Tree." She explained.
Kat shook her head. "I'm sorry, Ensign. I don't speak Klingon."
T'Vral blinked. "I heard the captain of the Fizzgig spoke ta' Hol fluently."
"That was our last Captain." Ensign Jonas, the helmsman stated, glancing at Kat, who scowled. "Belay that talk, Ensign, we need to focus on the here and now."
"Yes ma'am."
"What can we do?" Kat looked around. "Anyone?"
When nobody spoke, Kat took a deep breath, taking in the scent of the smoke that filled the air. For the last few months, she had captained the Fizzgig with honour and integrity, trying to live up to the example that she'd set for her crew, including a certain Lieutenant who'd come aboard some time ago, as her new Captain. Transferred away, Kat had maintained control of the Fizzgig, which, despite her best efforts, was nowhere near as capable a front-line vessel as some others. She was old, and underpowered, and Kat both loved and hated the ship for it. And now…
"This is the Captain to all hands." Kat said over the intercom. "Abandon ship. Repeat, abandon ship."
She looked around her diminished bridge crew. "All of you to escape pods, now. We'll rendezvous at point Alpha Charlie One. It's a small M Class planet not far from here – we can hopefully hide from the Klingons long enough to be rescued. The nebula's barely charted, we should be safe."
As the bridge crew ran to the lifepods, one thought rammed itself home into Kat's mind. 'And, knowing my luck, I know who's going to show up to rescue me. Assuming he doesn't hate me, anymore…'
Jason was in the shower when the call came in.
"Captain, this is Corspa."
He grumbled, and turned off the shower. "Go ahead."
"Sir, the shuttle Chance is requesting permission to dock. The Counsellor's on board."
"Understood. Send permission and direct them to shuttlebay two, assemble the senior staff, and give me a few minutes."
"Aye, sir."
As Jason towelled himself off, he tapped a button on his computer. "Computer, play the latest Federation News report."
As Jason got dressed, he heard the latest reports. Mostly about how the war was going, with a few puff pieces thrown in to lighten the mood, the FNN was a welcome link back home for a Starfleet officer in deep space.
"…with Defence Minister T'Valt demanding a less active role for Vulcans in the war, relationships with Earth are being strained. Today's casualty reports list four ships as destroyed in battle, and one destroyed whilst attempting to transport Seismic Stabilisers to a planet in the Rolor Nebula. The ships that were destroyed in battle were the USS El-Batalam, the USS Gotham, the USS Hentaiprice, and the USS Okrand. The ship destroyed in the aid attempt was the USS Fi-"
"Channel off."
The news report shut off, and Jason shook his head. Four more ships, gone. Hundreds of men and women, lives lost in some ridiculous war because the Klingons wanted to invade what was left of Romulus. 'At least I didn't know anyone on those ships.' Jason thought to himself, taking a small measure of comfort in that.
Checking himself in a mirror, he undid the top of his uniform, so that the top corner folded down, showing a splash of bright red against the jet black of his shirt. "There." He said out loud. "A little more festive for a welcoming party." He smiled briefly to himself, and exited his quarters.
Had he left 30 seconds later, he would have been present to receive the message that came through on his terminal, which arrived seconds after the door closed.
To: Captain Jason Whyrens, USS Thenardier.
From: Admiral Jorel Quinn, Starbase One
Priority One Message: After investigation, USS Fizzgig confirmed destroyed in Rolor Nebula. All hands lost, presumed dead. Condolences to yourself and your CMO and Chief of Security, who served on the USS Fizzgig with you. Please see attached video file, in accordance with the Last Will and Testament of Captain Katharine Hill, Commanding Officer, USS Fizzgig.
Regards,
Admiral Jorel Quinn.
Jason joined Corspa and Sammy on the shuttlebay, and watched the Chance land. Sammy turned to him, sadness evident on his features, as he squeezed Jason's shoulder.
"Hey, man."
Jason blinked. "Uhh….hey." He looked at Sammy's hand. "What's…uhm…what's up?"
"Did you catch the FDN report?"
"Yeah, I listened to it before I got here." He shook his head. "Such a waste of life."
"Yeah." Sammy agreed. "If you need someone to talk to, and don't want to talk to the counsellor about it, I'm here for you."
Corspa leaned over. "We both are."
"Uhh…thanks, but I'll be okay."
Sammy squeezed his shoulder again. "You don't have to keep it bottled up."
"Okay, Sammy? What the hell're you talking about?"
"You know…the news? About…a certain someone from your past?"
Jason cast his mind back over the news report. 'Ah, yes. T'Valt. I hate that guy.'
"I'm not too fussed about what happens with that stuck up pain in the arse, Sammy." He barely noticed as Sammy took his hand back, as he and Corspa recoiled in horror. "To be honest, I've been expecting something like this." Jason shook his head, a smile growing on his face. "Everyone gets what's coming to them eventually." He noticed the look his friends were giving him. "What?"
Corspa was about to answer, when the door of the shuttle lowered. "Later." He whispered to her, and gave his full attention to the newcomer.
"Counsellor, welcome aboard…the…"
"Oh, wow." He heard Sammy mutter under his breath. Expecting Corspa to punch him, Jason was surprised when he noticed she, too, was staring. It was hard not to, really.
Clad in what Jason recognised as a light blue and extremely tight 23rd century Starfleet uniform, thigh high boots, and stockings, was a fairly tall, statuesque Betazoid. Brushing the light brown hair from her eyes, she smiled at the Captain and his two friends.
"Captain." Her melodious voice echoed slightly through the bay, as she looked down at him. "I'm Commander Mara Olsoff, from Starfleet Medical. I believe you've been expecting me for some time, now."
"Commander." Jason greeted her, extending his hand. She took it, and shook it lightly. "I'm Captain Jason Whyrens. Allow me to present my Chief Medical Officer, Samuel Edwards, and my Chief of Security, Corspa Zhen."
Corspa blushed. "Hi."
Mara smiled at her broadly, and winked. "It's a pleasure to meet the three of you." She looked around them. "Who's going to show me to my quarters?"
"I think it's best if I do that myself, actually." Jason said, mindful of the looks their new Counsellor was getting from both Corspa and Sammy.
"Wonderful." Mara purred, taking his arm in hers.
As they walked along the corridors of the Thenardier, Mara turned to look at him. "Captain, a question, if I may?"
"Of course." Jason replied genially.
"Why 'Thenardier'? I get named like Endeavour, Challenger, even Enterprise, although it's a name I find gets used far too often…but I don't recognise the significance of Thenardier."
"Ah. 'La Devise du Cabaretier'."
Mara blinked. "Pardon?"
"It's French. An old Earth language, still in use today in some areas. Thenardier was a character from an old novel…one of the best from our 19th century…called Les Misérables. Thénardier was the villain of the piece; an inn-keeper, grave robber, looter, child beater, and general low-life."
"Then why name a ship after such a terrible person?"
Jason shrugged, as they got to her quarters. "I honestly don't know, but I suspect that, by remembering the worst that humanity can become, we can strive to overcome it." He paused. "Either that, or the guy who named this ship really has a strange sense of humour."
"I see." Mara smiled. "Well, thank you for walking me to my door, Captain. It's good to know there are still some gentlemen in the Quadrant." She paused. "Would you like to come in?"
"I…don't think that's a good idea, Counsellor."
"Why not?" She frowned. "I'd like to review staff files right away, and arrange a meeting with everyone, on an individual basis."
"Oh! Oh, I see. Well, it's late, and I should probably get to bed." Jason bluffed. Judging by the look he received from his telepathic counsellor, he knew she wasn't buying it for a second, but she played along.
"Very well. I'll see you tomorrow, then."
"Good night, Counsellor."
"Good night, Captain." Mara replied, a twinkle in her eye, and one eyebrow arched. After she retired to her quarters, Jason let out a breath he didn't realise he had been holding in.
"What was that?"
He shook his head, and started to walk to his quarters. Halfway there, however, he decided to put together a preliminary request for a new First Officer, to be sent to Starbase One. Turning around, he headed for the bridge.
