Disclaimer: Star Trek Enterprise is the property of Paramount Pictures, not mine.
Chapter 9
Zero hour
"We are here to destroy it. Give me the charges." Archer commanded his Armory officer impatiently.
"I will take care of it, sir." There was no trace of hesitation in Malcolm Reed's voice.
"I want the four of you to get to the outer framework. Beam back to Degra's ship." Both automatically looked over to where the two MACOs were covering access points, Hoshi huddled next to them.
"As Chief Tactical Officer…" Malcolm tried to reason with his stubborn, self-sacrificing commanding officer, who still didn't get the fact that Captains were more important than mere Lieutenants in the grand scheme of things through his head.
"This is not open to debate, Lieutenant."
Reed hoped that at least this once, his captain would listen to common sense and save himself. He was irreplaceable to the ship and Earth. Certain tactical officer was very much expendable, on the contrary. There was a solution for every situation, though. The Section had seen fit to beat that axiom through his skull on more than one occasion. Due to this, he always went prepared for any scenario that might happen – in this case, his solution was a small unmarked hypospray in his shoulder pocket, ready to dispatch anyone injected to the land of dreams. He would usually prefer to load it with something stronger and far more deadly than the strong sedative he nicked from the ship's CMO, but weeks in the Expanse, as well as spatial anomalies, had seen fit to rid him of the poisons he had available. Its original use was intended to dispatch any guards they met on their way in quietly and efficiently, saving them energy on their weapon's energy cells.
Well, in for a penny…Reed thought sardonically, opening his shoulder pocket, ostensibly to hand over the first charge.
He grabbed the primed hypospray and jabbed it into the outstretched hand of his commanding officer.
"Mal…" Archer didn't manage to say anything else, as the fast-acting sedative caught him unaware. His legs folded underneath him, Reed barely catching him before the limp form hit the floor grating.
You can court-martial me afterward for this, sir…he thought ironically.
"Romero. Get the Captain and get the hell out of here." Reed snapped.
The MACO turned from his watch, noticing that the Lieutenant was supporting the Captain, who had fallen unconscious. MACOs were not in the habit of questioning their superiors, when on enemy territory, so he immediately moved over the pair and pulled the Captain into rescue carry, leaving his arms free to operate his rifle.
Malcolm spared a glance after the group leaving the command center. Woods was leading them, vigilantly sweeping forward for any sign of enemy activity. Sato was in the middle, following his lead a bit dreamily, as if not able to decide if this was a dream or reality. Romero was last, carefully balancing Archer on his back and covering their retreat.
There were precious few moments to place the charges to make the center inoperable. Malcolm Reed was no naïve recruit – he knew that once he detonated the set charges and sabotaged the core, his chances of making it off the weapon on time were minuscule at best.
He grimly set about his task, carefully placing the available explosives to maximize damage.
Charges fired, Malcolm quickly crawled under the shaking floor gratings to finish what his Captain started.
The alarm started immediately, grating on his nerves.
Time to try and beat the odds, he thought gloomily.
Dragging himself out of the narrow passage quickly, he was suddenly overshadowed by an entirely different problem – an ugly Reptilian, they had to have missed on their previous sweep of the area, had decided to introduce himself via an ugly knife with a serrated blade. Through Malcolm's chest.
He smiled mirthlessly, bright red blood already painting his teeth red. Time for plan B then.
"Let's dance, lizard," he rasped and activated the modified grenade he had in his other hand, hidden from the Reptilian's gaze.
The explosion took out most of the command center, shortly followed by the whole weapon.
Captain Jonathan Archer felt as if he was suffering from a heart attack, swamped as he was by all the pain he witnessed. He had already met the families of almost all of his lost crewmembers – the Expanse had been brutal and unforgiving in that aspect.
There was one family left. And he was not sure if he was strong enough to face them.
There was a ceremony beforehand, where all the lost were memorized publicly. The Starfleet flags that were standing in for the lost ones were carefully folded and lovingly passed to the families, whose loved ones died during their mission. This particular family asked for a private handover.
Archer snapped to attention when the door to the room where he was waiting finally opened. He dimly registered Trip and T'Pol mirroring his posture.
A man in Royal Navy Captain uniform entered, stone-faced, followed by two women clothed in black, even wearing the old fashioned semi-transparent veils covering their faces. The older one was supported by the younger, quietly weeping.
There was precious little to be done now, outside of ceremoniously handing over the flag to the man, who accepted it without a word.
Archer felt the need to say something. Anything. He breathed in.
Captain Stuart Reed beat him to it.
"Don't, Captain. Don't say anything about heroes. My son did his duty as any Reed would have done. Nothing more, nothing less."
Captain Reed's hold imperceptibly tightened on the case with the folded flag.
"And now, this is all that we have left of him."
Author's note: Sorry for the delay in updating, people. My life just went crazy in the last few days.
