War Relic

A story of time travel in Star Trek TNG universe

Star Trek fan fiction by Dee Waldron

Prologue

"Captains Log, star date: 44012.8. The Enterprise has now left McKinley Station ship dock and entered high Earth orbit. The machinists and technicians at McKinley have worked wonders on the Enterprise to repair the extensive battle damage sustained in our running combat with the Borg. Systems testing and minor bug fixes will continue for another 24 hours before we leave orbit and continue on to our next assignment. All ship visitors have now disembarked. Crew rotations are still underway, so shuttle traffic to and from the ship is still quite heavy. Likewise, the ship's transporters are working under a heavy schedule bringing aboard personnel and Class III cargo".

Captain Jean-Luc Picard reviewed the log entry briefly before saving it into the log database. Then he turned at his desk to peer out the window at the Earth passing around, and around It'll be good to finally get underway he thought. He still wore some of the bandages that covered the healing scars. Scars from the removed Borg devices that had been implanted in him, that had made him into… "I've got to stop thinking about that." he said out load to no one but himself. It'll be good to finally get underway he thought.

In Transporter Room 1, Electricians Mate 2nd Class Ricardo Bolyjack worked the transporter controls with the ease of long experience. A six year veteran of Star Fleet, he would soon be going before the promotion board for his 3rd class rating. A tall slender black man from New Orleans, he was looking forward to being a full fledged NCO, and the chance to attend Star Fleet's NCO Leadership Academy.

He had just beamed-down three crew members who were rotating off to new assignments. After receiving the "clear" signal from the receiving station, he began working the controls to lock onto the next cargo package beam-up that was on his schedule. In the very next moment something happened that was completely out of sync with his well organized work routine and schedule. The ship's computer locked the transporters down into "standby" mode and there was a "Buffer anomaly" message on his display. As if he'd been shocked, he jerked his hands away from the console.

"That's crazy"! he said out load.

"What's up BJ?" his transporter assistant asked, clearly confused with the situation.

"I don't know. Its crazy. It says we intercepted a 'transporter signal type 6A' and stored an encrypted package in the transporter buffer. Then it locked down"!

He was shaking his head side to side. "This is not right, cuz there's no such thing as a type 6A transporter signal". he said matter-of-factly. He hated this kind of situation. He was senior enough, and with enough experience to know how to handle any problems that occurred during his watch over the transporter room. But this problem was beyond him and so, he was going to have to ask for help. He really hated this. On the other hand, knowing when to ask for help is a sign of good judgment. He touched his comm badge.

"Transporter Room One to Chief O'Brien".

"O'Brien here. I know you've got a problem there. The whole system is down and Commander Riker is on my back already! Can you get it cleared and restarted"? Senior Master Chief Petty Officer Miles O'Brien was already walking at a fast pace toward the turbo-lift when Bolyjack had called him.

"Negative Chief. I've got a message on the display requiring override by 'command authority' only".

"Blimey!" Miles whispered under his breath. "I'll be right there!" he called out. He ran into the turbo-lift car and the doors wisped closed.

Part 1 (approx 250 years earlier)

Field of Honor, Field of Horror

Chapter One: Prelude to Battle

Just after dawn he looked out across the park towards the northeast. Devastation was everywhere, and the battle had yet to be fought here. Oh, but it would be. They were coming, of that he had no doubt.

It was cold, and despite it being early spring there was much snow on the ground. More would fall. The sunshine had almost been blotted out by all the dirt and ash blown into the upper atmosphere. They called it "nuclear winter".

Looking towards the east now, Major George W. Pierce (U.S. Army, Airborne Ranger, etc.) could see the wreckage of the once great city of St. Louis in the dim light of morning. Five large-yield nuclear hits, all within a few minutes of each other, had reduced the city to ruble. That was Khan's reply when the military commander of the city had refused to surrender. Several more low-yield tactical nukes had struck military targets within the last several days, but none within the last 24 hours. Khan and his military commander, General Greene, had realized their mistake almost too late. But the Army Corp of Engineers was now finishing what Khan and Greene had almost done for them. Destroying the bridges over the Mississippi River. Soon, only one would remain.

The only other good news: the wind had blown east, taking most of the fallout with it and dropping it right on the enemy lines.

"This damn war" George mumbled to himself. He watched the men and women of his battalion working on the last ambush positions ahead of their primary defense line. There were two fallback lines behind that one. Wishful thinking he mused.

The how and why of the war, he couldn't care about any more. So much of it was unclear, and everyone you talked to had a different conspiracy theory.

George wasn't even sure of the exact date today. That's how focused and intense the fighting had been over the last several weeks. He was pretty sure it was still the month of March. Probably late March, 2043. Can't be sure of the day, but the month and year… yeah, that's right.

Sgt. Major Clarence Reynolds approached him while wiping the sweat off his brow. Tall, Black Afro-American, he was much too young to be that senior NCO rank. But such becomes the norm during warfare.

"We're finished here sir. Better get up into the Alpha-line and get set up now".

"Right Sgt. Major. Lets do it then. Get the detail cleared out and I'll follow you up".

"Actually Major sir," Reynolds said with a wry smile, "I'd prefer you lead the detail up, and I'll follow you out".

The two stared at each other in a brief moment of silence.

Then to explain and break the silence, Sgt. Major Reynolds said "The kids need to see their battalion commander up front of them sir, leading."

George shook his head in exhausted agreement. "Yeah, that's a good point. Okay then, lets do it."

So the Major shouted out so all could hear "Lets go people! Up to the line and finish digging in your positions. Sgt. Major, bring up the rear. Lets move out!" And so they did, climbing the short distance up to the hastily made berm to their "alpha-line"

As they marched up, George looked west towards the Mississippi and saw the remains of the great St. Louis archway, once the tallest monument in America. All that remained were the two shattered stubs of its legs at the base. Stainless steel debris littered the ground. Large chucks of the structure were still visible laying in the water off the river shoreline. The concussion wave of the first nuke to hit the city had blown it over like a house of cards. The underground Visitors Center between the legs of the arch had briefly been used as a division CP. That was abandoned now, moved across the river, overseeing the "strategic" withdraw of the combined American and Canadian armed forces. Actually, the shattered remains of those armed forces.

"This damn war" George mumbled to himself. "Damn Khan and all of his unnatural kind". Everything has changed. Nothing is as it was. Nothing will return to normal, even after the war ends. Whatever 'normal' turns out to be after the war ends, he wasn't sure he wanted any part of it. Normal only existed right now, for this moment.

So, at this moment Major George Winslow Pierce (U.S. Army, Airborne Ranger, with a list of decorations so long he couldn't even remember them all) was commander of 1st Battalion, 15th Infantry Regiment (composite). In fact, it was the remnants of 1st and 2nd battalions and actually only formed up into 2 slightly over-strength companies of three platoons each. It was a ragtag assortment of Army regulars, National Guard and Reserves, a squad of Marines, and a few Air Force types. There had been some local civil militias that had lent them 'support', especially for building their defensive positions within the park. But the militia people had all disappeared now. Didn't hold it against them. Really was better that they'd gone. Because this is was going to be the First of the Fifteenths' last stand. This was going to be what the military calls 'a delaying action'. They were going to butt heads with the first waves of Khan's 'Narco-merc' army, that was supported by Greene's 'Ultimate' forces. Buying 'North American Defense Command' the precious time they needed to evacuate the remaining intact armor and mech-infantry units west across the Mississippi. At the last possible moment, the Army Corp of Engineers would blow-up that last remaining bridge. After that, whatever units couldn't escape across the river, would form up with whatever was remaining of 'First of the Fifteenth' (some kind of bad joke?) and fight it out, extracting however much of the enemy blood they could before they themselves had no more to spill.

Being taken prisoner was not an option. Khan didn't hold POWs. He converted them. Converted them into his 'Narco-mercs'. It was a hellava situation. Many soldiers had been faced with later shooting dead their own best buddy, after the buddy had been captured alive days before. Khan never needed to worry about getting fresh recruits.

The planned action was actually quite simple. Three large east-west berms had been constructed in succession across the park. The northern most was the 'alpha-line'. The middle fallback position was 'bravo-line', with 'charlie-line' the most southern. George didn't actually expect to ever live to use the fallback 'charlie-line'. But all the same, had ordered ammo and other supplies to be buried in charlie's trench… Just in case.

The battalion would fully man the alpha-line and fight the enemy tooth & nail for as long as they could. But before being overrun, they would quickly withdraw from 'alpha' and take up new positions in 'bravo'. If anyone was left to fight before bravo was overrun, they would withdraw to charlie.

The Air Force would provide whatever air support they could to keep the sky clear of enemy air units. The 6th Infantry Division still had some gunships in their aviation battalions that could lend some much needed direct air support.

George's biggest headache was not having any real artillery support. No big guns. All he had available were three 120mm mortars and four of the much smaller 80mm mortars. He didn't expect any of the mortar units to last very long in the fight. But he had a plan for using them anyway. Luck was a fickle lady, and you just never knew when or if she'd wink at you. Better be prepared.

When George got to his position in the alpha-line, he noticed somebody had already dug him a spider-hole. How thoughtful. Every man and women fighting the line had their own spider-hole dug and ready. You never strayed far from it. You only had seconds to jump in after the EMP warning. The spider-hole was the soldiers personal fallout shelter in nuclear warfare. Roughly the size of a grave (maybe a little on the shallow side), the dirt shoveled out was carefully piled onto your spread out rain poncho. The EMP meters, closely watched by the NBC specialists (Nuclear, Biological and Chemical), would spike at mere seconds before a nuclear detonation. When the EMP warning horn blared, you jumped into your hole, grabbing the corner on your poncho and pulling it over on top of yourself. If your set it up correctly, all the dirt covered you, burying you alive. If you were lucky, you could push out of your spider-hole later (before running out of breathable air?) and continue to fight. Good ole mother earth was the best protection from radiation and fallout. So, if you could survive the blast concussion, and the initial rad-pulse, you could probably continue to fight for several hours after digging out, maybe even a whole day. If not, the spider-hole doubled as a nice and neat battlefield grave.

Sgt. Major Reynolds met up with the Major at his CP position. Both Alpha and Bravo company First Sergeants were with him. First Sgt Talus and First Sgt Freeman. Talus was a white Texan who didn't talk much to officers. Just nodded his head and said "Yes sir" whenever necessary. Kept his explanations to a minimum. Freeman was black, from Philly, George thought he remembered. Soft spoken and thoughtful, he never answered right away when he spoke. Always making sure his "ducks" were lined up in a nice neat row.

"Well sir", Reynolds started off. "I think we're as ready as we're ever gonna be. The 120's are set up and their ammo is ready. They'll fire across the preplanned grid line just like we worked it out. The 80s are gonna be mobile and flexible in their positioning. They'll drop a few rounds and then move. The heavy MGs are set up and their ammo supplies are ready in place. All the comm lines are set up, the whole net has been tested and is working. The NBC guys and gals got their equipment set up and checked out. Every one is in their position, ready to fight." Reynolds looked over at his two First Sergeants and grinned when he said "The only thing we need now is somebody to shoot at!"

That got a chuckle out of all four of them. Its weird the kind of dumb humor that'll cause you to laugh at a time like this.

"Soon enough" George said while still grinning, "that won't be a problem."

They continued to chuckle for a moment more. Then George said "First Sergeants, I'm not going to bore you with how to do your jobs. You know". He paused before saying "So… I'll be saying a few words soon, over the net to everyone. Be sure they're all on-line". And then adding "And make sure everyone pulls out an MRE and has something to eat".

"Yes sir" they both said almost in unison. Then, they both saluted and held it.

Major George Pierce stood at attention and returned their salute in the honored military tradition. "Post!" he said, indicating that they were dismissed to go about their duties.

The Sgt Major stood quietly with his battalion CO, while the two company First Sergeants moved off down the trench line. When they were alone, Clarence said "Anything else ya wanna tell me before this show gets started"?

"Nah" George shook his head, feeling tired. "You know the drill". He took a deep breath, then said "Just keep your eyes open for their incoming guided missiles. We gotta keep our mortars moving, before they get hit. That's really important"!

"Yes sir," Clarence said. "I'll take care of it".

"And keep the wounded up and fighting as long as they physically can" George added.

Clarence shaking his head up and down. "Yes sir, I'll keep the medics moving. We'll patch'em up and keep'em fighting".

There was a short silence while they looked each other in the eyes. Then George said in a low hushed voice "And Clarence… if any of the severely wounded ask for help, you know… doing it…"

Eyes locked on each other in another silent pause, Clarence then answered crisply "Yes sir. I know the drill".

"Yeah, we all do" George exhaustedly replied. He reached out his right hand and offered it to his Sgt Major. Momentarily startled by the offer, Clarence reached out his own and they shook hands firmly. "Thanks Clarence".

"See ya after the show, sir" Clarence replied with a grin.

"Yeah, after…"

Sgt Major Reynolds turned and started to move down the trench line when George called after him. "Hey Clarence…"

The Sgt Major stopped and turned with a questioning look on his face (now what?).

George shrugged his shoulders and ask "Did you notice we had no deserters, even after briefing what kind of mission this was going to be"?

"Did you expect any sir"? Clarence said grinning.

"No. I guess not".

"Neither did I". Still grinning, Sgt Major Clarence Reynolds turned a walked away.

Captain Nancy Foster, the battalion XO approached her CO with a salute.

"Major Pierce sir, I just walked the whole line. Both company COs and all the platoon leaders report ready".

He quickly returned her salute. "Okay captain. Lets settle in and play the waiting game".

"Sir, I figure about a quarter of our battalion fit the definition of 'walking wounded'. I worry about our ability to quickly fallback to the bravo line when the time comes".

"Understood captain". George rubbed his jaw, thinking for a moment. "Nancy, tell ya what. I want you to stay close to the Sgt Major. When it gets bad, he' gonna need your help, and you're gonna need his".

Grateful to be given a real job to do (such as it was), Nancy saluted the Major again with a smile. "Yes sir" I'll be right there with him sir".

George returned her salute. "Carry on Captain".

She shouldered her M-18 assault rifle and hurried down the trench line to find the Sgt Major.

George started checking his own weapons. He carried three Sig 9mm Automatic slide-action 'Military Special' handguns. One holstered across his chest, and the other two either side of his load-bearing belt. All had full magazines, a round chamber, cocked and safety ON. He had extra magazines in both his lower pants pockets. He lifted his M-18A1 assault rifle, slid back the bolt and let it slam forward. That always felt good, doing that. He checked that the fire selector position was set to semi-auto, so it would fire the big ten-penny nail size darts one at a time. Then he clipped the weapon to his harness. "Rock & roll, ready to go" he mumbled.

Better get on-line and talk to the troops he thought to himself. Didn't really know what to say to them. It always came out so cliché. But they needed to hear something from 'the old man', cliché or not. He pushed on his VOX box and spoke. "Listen up people!" And he began talking.