This story is currently being rewritten with the help of my wonderful new beta rmuller723. I'll be replacing the published characters with new versions as soon as possible.
A few words to the wise: some graphic violence in the prologue and some fighting later on. Men developing chemistry with one another and perhaps more. Not much StarTrek in the prologue but we do meet our hero. This story revolves around two men, neither of whom are a major character on The Next Generation. I feel this is more interesting than forcing let's say LaForge and Riker together all the frigging time. It also gives me more freedom to range all over the ship and doesn't force me to keep my hero in the centre of the action all the time.
Disclaimer: Nothing you recognize is mine.
Rating: a certain M
Prologue
Little drops of sweat kept inching their itchy way down hot human skin. Even covered up against the Iranian sun, they were sweating. Temperatures had soared during the long desert day but were now coming down again as the shimmering air darkened. Gavin breathed in and out through his nose, battling against the dryness that just wouldn't let up. He reflexively checked his weapon. It had its safety on, just as the last time he'd checked. The unit was waiting, facing him, at parade rest. Small whorls of sand blew across everybody's faces, clogging every single minute slit or gap.
Bounding footsteps heralded the arrival of the last and now severely late member of Bravo Team. Gavin secured his M16A1 and glared at his men. "A-ten.. HUT!" They all snapped to attention. Acceptable.
"Listen up, shit bricks. Today's enemy is called Heydar Toshkaspi. You all have a pic uploaded to your comms. This guy is the local warlord and arms dealer. We're not dealing with some sand rat here, this guy is dangerous. The compound we're visiting tonight has about fifteen guards, armed with Khaybar KH2002's. Basically a Chinese M16 clone. Old as fuck but accurate. Small arms, mostly AK-47s and RPK machine guns, mortars. Bound to have grenades and lots of other stuff to play with. Word has it they have a Misagh2 surface-to-air missile. We're therefore approaching on LPC's."
Some of the men groaned, but only slightly. Gavin gave them a death glare. "Shut up. Red one, red two, you will arrange cover fire on the gates, at least try to take out some guards this time. Red three, red four, red five, you're with me. We grab Toshkaspi. I want him with a heartbeat so no fuckups. Red six, red seven, you're on the perimeter. I know we've just been on our feet for 36 hours but I expect perfection. Nothing less. Do you copy?"
"SIRYESSIR!"
"Alright. Red three, if you are late again, so help me, I'll bust you right down to recruit! You're on GI party today. And tomorrow! You can consider yourself lucky." The private did. "Get some food into you and grab some shuteye. Move out at oh-two-hundred. Dismissed."
Oh no. Gavin could see his personal nemesis swooping in from four o'clock. The man stumbled over some loose gravel. His gaunt, frowning face dripped with sweat. "Yes, Mister Walker?" Gavin groused. The rather noticeable stress on the word 'mister' wasn't lost on the embedded journalist.
"Lieutenant Barnett. A question, please?" Walker didn't wait a second. He knew that if he gave the marine now towering over him even a sliver of a reason to brush him off, he would. "What are LPC's and why don't the men like those?" Lt. Barnett grunted. Walker tentatively classified this as a #3 (you again?).
"LPC's are Leather Personnel Carriers." The skinny civilian looked confused. When didn't that sap look confused? "Boots, moron. Boots. We're gonna be walking tonight." He grinned nastily. "That means you too. Before you talk my ears off, again, a GI Party is cleaning duty. Now go away."
"And what is a Jeep? I thought it was a, you know, sturdy car but the way the men we're talking about it, I thought-" Grunt #21 (please kill me now!) cut off his rambling.
"JEEP. Joint Emergency Evacuation Plan. Why don't you just read the fuckin dictionary, numbnuts?"
"Sorry sir. I was rambling again, eh? I tend to do that when I'm a bit nervous, like.." Walker watched the lieutenant stalk off.
"Lieutenant?"
Gavin looked up from his paperwork. Private Gonzalez, at 18 years the team's Benjamin, came to attention, almost painfully straight. He liked the scrawny kid. Bit too enthusiastic but hey, that's how he'd started out too. Most of them did in fact, especially the ones who didn't stay alive for very long.
"Yes, private?"
"Message for you, sir. Personal and private. Life feed."
"Life feed? For fuck's sake, you can call it a phone call, Private." He glared at the private. "Well, where is it?"
Gonzalez took a crappy mobile phone out of one of the pockets in his BDU's. "I've eh.. taken the liberty to switch it through to a handheld set, sir."
Gavin snatched the phone from the nervous private's hand and walked off. "Barnett, not secure."
"Son? It's me."
"Mom!" For some reason, the sweat on his back turned cold.
"Are you alright, out there?"
"I'm fine, mom. How are you?"
He moodily chewed a bit of pound cake. Fuckin' hell, was he getting soft? It used to be so simple. The Corps had been his first real home, at least the first place he really felt at home. Mom and dad.. sure, he loved them. Meh, they'd done what they could. Not better, not worse. Once signed up, he'd had stability, orders to follow, something to do with his life. It had also helped that he was so damn good at it all. A born soldier. Point him at a target, he'd take it out. No stupid complicated social crap like at school anymore. No bullies anymore, no more pop quizzes and, best of all, no stupid school counsellor. Once a marine recruit, he suddenly found himself calculating ballistics in his head, could assemble and disassemble an M4 Carbine in under six minutes and new the Guidebook for Marines by heart. Soon enough, he'd decided to be a lifer. He felt alive, brimming with energy and capable of anything.
That was four years ago. Since then, he'd seen more carnage than he'd seen in all the action movies he ever watched. Combined. He never really gotten used to the smell of gore, ripped open bodies, especially if they were kids. You dealt with it. Simple as that. It wasn't that. He'd simply lost sight of his goal. What was his goal anyway? Hang out in jungles, deserts and savannahs with a constantly changing bunch of jarheads and shoot people? To boldly go where no one has gone before, to meet new life and new civilizations and kill them?
"You okay, Gav?"
He looked up from his musings. Lt. Akari. He was a good friend. Usually, he'd be happy to see him. Not so now. "I'll be fine."
"Come on, Charger, talk to me."
Gavin sighed. "My brother died yesterday."
"I heard you got a personal call.. uh hey, I'm sorry for your loss, man." Akari stuck out a grubby hand and Gavin shook it. "Gimme some of that geedunk, will ya? I just got back."
Gavin shoved over some pound cakes. He couldn't really face the thought of food anyway. "Shit storm tonight. Not in the mood for talking."
"Too right. But you never talk, do you?" Akari grinned. "You alright for the mission?"
"We are marines, " Gavin intoned. "This is what we do." Lieutenant Akari shook his head and bit down on his snack.
The world exploded in sound and blinding light, debris zipping around everywhere. They'd evidently been found out. Gavin felt no fear, he felt absolutely nothing. He dropped down, totally deaf. Sand was fountaining up in strange patterns. It took him a couple of seconds before he realized it was machine gun fire running over the ground. Occasional sparks and some tracer rounds made it crystal clear. He unslung his M16 and opened up in the general direction of the enemy, not really caring for the moment whether he hit anyone or not. He had to get his men back together. Luckily, his hearing was coming back. The szft szft of the bullets was clearly audible now.
He looked around cautiously and noticed his men firing their own weapons. Signs seemed to say everyone was okay but it was hard to see with all the dust. He thumbed the comm grafted into his arm for confirmation and got six. One short. Which one? Red 7. Mickey. Where was the guy?
Damn the bastards! He needed more firepower. Just emptying clips into an enemy that was doing exactly the same wouldn't get them anywhere. He crawled over to Red three and four and shouted to be heard over the din.
"Break 'em up in there, mortars, then grenades. We'll cover. GO!"
The two men crawled off. Gavin got up and ran over to the rest of his men, upper body bent down as much as possible. He tripped and got a mouth full of sand into the bargain. Cursing, he tried to get up again but his gun sling had hooked itself around something. It was a dark, wet mess that he barely recognized as Mickey. Yuck. Stone dead, from the look of it. Poor bastard. Mickey did have a 40mm grenade launcher mounted underneath the barrel of his M16. Gavin took it. He shouldered it and fed the enemy some grenades. Mourning could be done later.
The blasts and the shrapnel from the grenades were doing some real damage to the enemy position. OO-RAH. Private Johnson turned up, holding a bloodied K-BAR. He grinned wrily, put the knife away and offered his lieutenant a canteen. Gavin accepted it gratefully, trying to think of what to do next. Simple. Drink. He noticed Johnson's BDU's were soaked.
"You're wounded, Private."
"Ah, nothing much. Just some shrapnel. Bleeds like a bitch, though."
"I'll get you some b-". Gavin froze in place. 'I'm hit', flashed through his mind. Time slowed to a crawl. There was surprisingly little pain. The ground coming up knocked the air out of his lungs.
On opening his eyes, Gavin decided he was blind. There was only white. Whiteness against a white background. He closed his eyes again and remembered he'd been killed. 'Fuck!'
Just as he was foggily trying to figure out how he could be dead and - barely - conscious, a voice boomed out of the whiteness. It was low, authoritative and carried awesome power. "Gavin Barnett. Your life is at an end. Stand to meet your doom." It even reverberated even though Gav couldn't see anything any sound could reverberate against.
A man dressed in flowing white robes somehow managed to be visible against the whiteness. The apparition strode over to him. His face was lined with age but the dark brown eyes sparkled with brilliance, energy and something.. sly, wily. His face and dark hair were the only color Gavin could see besides all the white. He had the immediate feeling that this man was very, very dangerous to know. His ears and chin prickled with sudden fear.
Not knowing what else to do, Gavin rose to his feet. The big blood stain on his chest was still visible but seemed to have stopped spreading. The pain had also vanished. Gavin found himself fumbling for something to close the wound with when he realized there was no blood on his skin. Also no wound. Just the torn hole in the uniform fabric where he had taken the hit. 'Hot diggity, what's going o-'
"Is this how you greet your God?", the white Gandalf lookalike demanded. Gavin fought the urge to snap to attention.
"This is me not knowing what the fuck's just happened."
"Well, you're dead, jarhead. And I am God."
Gavin felt his frustration growing. This was too much. "Sure. I don't believe in any god. For all I know you're some crap thrown up by my dying brain," he spat.
A hint of amusement flickered in the eyes of the self-proclaimed deity. The white clad apparition had apparently lost interest in looking wise. The pale face, close up now, showed a far less comforting emotion. Snarkiness.
"I know that one." The white man smiled, taking on a dramatic posture. "You may be an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of an underdone potato. There's more of gravy than of grave about you..." He laughed. "Lots of fun I had with that fellow, zipping back and f-"
"Say what?", Gavin blurted. "What are you going on about?"
The white man bent over him, their faces too close for comfort. "Puny. A puny mind in a puny body. What do you know of the universe, tiny mammal?"
Gavin unconsciously balled his fists. Warmth colored his neck and face. "More than you. You're a figment of my imagination!"
"Oh dear, oh dear. And here I was, thinking you had actual potential," the white man said, not intimidated in the least. He leisurely leaned back against a bit of whiteness. "I didn't save you from that pathetic little brawl for nothing. You had the chance to finally reach beyond those boundaries you humans love so much... to broaden your minuscule mind!"
"Potential for what? No, don't, fuck... why didn't I take that bullet to the brain? That way I wouldn't have to listen to all this crap." Gavin grew angrier by the second. "If you really are some sort of god you can leave well enough alone! Lemme go!"
The white man whirled. "Is that what you want? Fine!" He snapped his fingers theatrically.
'Fuck, I'm hit!'
The burning pain of a bullet to the chest flashed through his body as he fell once again, hitting the ground hard. His hands reached up to touch warm blood. Soft... Lying on his face, Gavin felt carpet under him. He clenched his teeth against the agony threatening to blot out his consciousness. 'Carpet?'
A female voice called out. "What is the? Doctor, I need help in here!"
"What is it, Alyssa?" another answered. Doctor Crusher walked out of her office to the sight of a profusely bleeding military man on the floor of her sickbay.
A/N: And so we've arrived on the Enterprise D. Lots of StarTrek from now on. Any comments? Any questions? Remember people, reviews are love!