USS Vanguard

Vanguard Class Battleship NCC-99000

Flagship of Task Force 57

In orbit above Mars


─•~:~•─


Brigadier Jack Marshall – a title that would take him an even longer time to get used to than S1 – stepped out of the turbo-lift and onto Vanny's truly massive main bridge. Since the Battleships were intended to both be individual fighting ships and flagships in the same moment, additions were made to accommodate those functions, something that made even the Grey Ghost look like a runabout in comparison.

On a raised pedestal that the crew of the battleship called "the loft" sat the centre seat, three lower chairs for the XO and two guests, and finally a recessed helm station to control the piloting of the truly staggering Vanguard, which along with her three sisters had now become the single largest starships ever built by Starfleet.

Below the command pedestal was another raised platform, about five feet off the deck plate. That station had one purpose, to control and fire Vanny's near absurdly over-equipped weapons array. Unlike the Grey Ghost, standing orders for all four Vanguard class battleships required that the "Gunner's Table," as the crew called it, was to be manned at all times, with no exceptions. Jack politely nodded at the young Vulcan girl manning the table and looked around at the rest of massive bridge.

In the middle of the deck was a table which contained a holodisplay, turning the lower part of the bridge into a proper CIC, something that most Starfleet Ships lacked. From that table, an Admiral – Like Mark's "Aunt" Alynna – could coordinate fleet actions while still keeping an eye on his or her flagship's status. Around the rest of the bridge were numerous terminals and consoles to keep an eye on the massive battleship's status and systems.

For as huge as Vanguard was, Jack was surprised to learn from Alynna that she only carried a crew of two hundred and fifty, not counting the two or three divisions of bootnecks camping out in the aft cargo bay.

Much like the Titan class Europa that had been destroyed this morning, Vanguard and her four sisters were meant to operate alone, far from the Federation and for a long time if necessary.

Much of the systems that would have an entire department dedicated to their operation on other ships were automated, and Jack also had to remember that a battleship was built to fight wars first.

All of the crew had their own quarters, and reasonably comfortable ones at that, but that was where the luxuries ended. There were no recreational holodecks on Vanguard, no swimming pools, no lounges, no games rooms, only a single scientific lab meant to support warfighting actions, and none of the other vanities that had doomed Galaxy class heavy cruisers.

For being three kilometres long and weighing 980 Million Metric Tonnes, Vanguard was almost hollow, with 75% of her internal volume being empty or dedicated to space for weapons, armour, and redundant power systems.

Jack didn't quite know what to make of it. The fighting Marine in him loved it, as did General Castle and all the other bootnecks that would now answer to him. But a part of his formally Fishie heart was sad that Vanguard had to exist. His first Captain, Jean-Luc Picard, was disgusted by the concept of a Starfleet Battleship, however necessary it was to build such things.

But politics were tomorrow's wars. Today, Brigadier General Jack Marshall had a different war to fight.

Vanguard's Captain, young and fiery Jackie Fishier, hopped down from the Loft and hopped up into Jack's arms with a smile, "You remembered! Fuck Jack, how many years has it been?!"

Jack couldn't help but smile back. After helping a full six Academy instructors restrain the girl from punching the Tactical Instructor over her unique solution to the Kobayashi Maru exercise (blowing the damned thing up with torpedoes instead of making any attempt to rescue the freighter from the Cardassians), He decided to get to know this tough young lady, and the pair became surprisingly close friends in the Academy.

It was strange for Jack. Him and Jackie had almost nothing in common. She liked ancient Earth Rap Music, he liked Terra Nova's collection of Metal-Jazz Fusion. She drank Gin, while Jack preferred Wine. Jackie supported the Detroit Red Wings in both Hockey and Abu-Jitsu, while Jack held seasons tickets to the Terra Nova Terrorizers Parsee Squares team, a game Jackie hated as much as Jack hated Hockey. In fact, the only thing they had in common – and to Jackie's upmost chagrin – was the fact that they both preferred blonde men in their beds.

Every time Jackie saw Jack, she would leap into his harms and wrap her legs around his waist, while Jack in turn supported her with his hands holding her hamstrings up, "You don't forget things like this Jackie, and it's been too long. You look like you haven't aged a day."

She teasingly smiled and rubbed her hands seductively on Jack's MDU, "You have! Look at you, all muscles and shit now. Are you sure I can't change your mind about chicks? I got my own cabin now, ya know?"

Jack simply shook his head, "Sorry girl, you still don't have the right parts for me. But I gotta say, this is a great looking boat you have. I knew eventually you'd end up with something nice. Proud of ya, Jackie."

Still keeping her legs wrapped around Jack, she leaned back and waved her hand around the massive bridge, "She's big, she's mean, and she's all mine. I wanted Warspite though. She's the cutest Blue Wave girl with those lil' corgi hair tails. But Vanny's got those boots that are just," she licked her lips, "mmm, perfect!"

Jack finally set the Captain down and followed her up to the loft, taking a seat to her left and just below, "I'll take your word for it. Have to ask, is she gonna be ready for a fight?"

Jackie made a point to slap his shoulder, "The fuck you think I am, some pussy lil' yeoman with Billy Riker chasing comets around asteroids? I've been downright itching to start throwin lead at a real target! Fuckin pointy-eared Rommies are gonna get their shit rocked"

She stood up, and called out to her bridge crew, "Ain't that right boys?!"

"AYE!" the bridge crew replied, loudly.

Jack smiled at the response. The one bowl of Fishies who took after the Sharkies, at least in bravado.

"Well, at least they don't look scared. I'm personally hoping that the Puddle Pirates just stand back and let us do what we have to do. I've fought beside Romulans before. Don't let them trick you, Jackie, they're tough sons of bitches when they have to be."

Jackie sat cross-legged in her chair, "How tough can they be though, really? I mean, they paint their shitty little Warbirds green, for fuck's sake. And those names they pick? Alehal? Valdore? The fuck is a Valdore anyway? Sounds like something I'd name my fuckin dog."

Jack had to smile again.

Even a Captain's pips hadn't changed his friend's confidence, or her choice language, "Gaius Valdore was a Praetor in the mid-24th Century. Specifically, he was the Praetor that conquered Khitomer from the Klingons and blew up Cherry C Enterprise over Narendra III. Like I said, tough sons of bitches when they want to be"

"You're a fuckin nerd Jack," Jackie teased, "Well, don't matter to me if they call it Valdore, Doggie Breakfast or fucking Big Swinging Rommie Dick. You saw what Repulse could do yesterday. I'll put a pair of three-thousand-pound tritanium 'fuck you' shells straight through any of em that get in our way. How about your guys, y'all ready to kick some ass on the ground?"

Jack nodded, "Absolutely, Skipper. You get us on the ground, we'll take care of the rest."

Jackie smiled, "Well, better you than me anyway. I can't fit into one of those fuckin tin cans y'all wear. I'd probably trip over just trying to get my legs in!"

Jack reached into his pocket and help up the micro-block containing his armour. Now having the star on his collar to do so, Jack decided to switch over to the insanely cool XOF style suit worn by Rain and the Ninjas, "Actually, when you push the button, the Molotok forms up around you to your exact size. Feels damn weird the first time you do it, but you get used to it after a while, even grow to start liking it."

Jackie leaned over and whispered, "The same thing applies to makin love to a chick, Jack. Don't knock it till you try it."

Jack sighed, but before he could accept – or decline – The Captain's invitation, Rear Admiral Nechayev arrived from the turbo-lift and began walking over to the Loft.

The Vulcan Girl manning the Gunner's Table shot to her feet instantly, "Admiral on deck!"

Auntie Lynna, as she insisted Jack call her as well, shook her head, "No, no, no. None of that. This isn't my ship, I'm just here for the ride. At ease, Ensign."

Jackie rose to her feet anyway, "Don't mind T'Pella, she's just bein' polite. Welcome to Vanny, Rear Ad. Happy to have you here!"

Alynna walked up to the Loft and took a seat to the Captain's right.

Smiling back, she replied, "Thanks for having me, Captain Fishier. I haven't had a chance to see the BBs in person yet. And to think thirty-five years ago, I thought Excelsiors were huge. They don't make them like they used to."

"Nope. We make 'em way fucking better, Ma'am. We about ready to head out?"

Alynna nodded, and unlike the balance of the Admiralty, took no offence to the fiery young Captain's language. She was a maverick, after all, "Just about. Would you be so kind as to raise Repulse for me?"

She snapped at a station below the Loft and to the left, "Tick, tick, Jonesy. Brass don't wait for anyone!"

Jonesy at the comm's station bristled, but seconds later brought up Vanguard's fellow battleship on the main viewer, a massive and picturesque screen at the end of the staggeringly huge bridge.

Captain Micheal Tovey, the handsome and no-nonsense master of Repulse was on the screen first, sitting on his own Loft. Beside him from another seat was a man that Jack had not yet met in person, but what he had heard hadn't impressed him.

"Vanguard, this is Repulse," Quinn said, in exacting and perfectly formal tones, "We are receiving your transmission. Go with your message."

Jack assessed Quinn over the view-screen. He was in his late fifties, or whatever measure of middle age held for Trill men. His dark spots, indicative of a joining with a symbiote, stretched down his neck and disappeared into his perfectly pressed uniform.

Unlike "Auntie" Alynna Nechayev, Quinn was wearing an older but still regulation white Admiralty uniform jacket, along with the newer design of ranking pips that he and the Admiralty had planned to bring into service. Alynna wore the usual single gold pip on a field of black, while Quinn was wearing two gold bars on a red patch above his left breast, where the new Starfleet Duty Uniform planned to move rank to.

He had a perfectly trimmed goatee, with just a touch of distinguished grey, and experienced – if not combat experienced – brown eyes, looking into Jack's own blues.

"Hello Tom," Alynna began, not caring about the formalities of inter-ship communication protocol, "How's it going over there?"

"If it isn't too much trouble, I'd appreciate you addressing me as either Vice Admiral Quinn, or simply Quinn, Rear Admiral Nechayev. As to your somewhat vague question, Bravo Group of Task Force 57 has been issued their operational orders from Earth, and we stand ready to move out upon receiving instructions to do so," Quinn replied, chafing his collar.

Technically, the two-star Vice Admiral Thomas Quinn (who would be a Major General had he been a Sharkie) outranked the solitary star Rear Admiral Alynna Nechayev, or the lone star Brigadier General Jack Marshall, and if the Admiralty had had their way, he would have been in command of the sizable task force floating above Mars at the moment, given seniority and raw rank.

However, the four stars of Douglas Mitchell as Fleet Admiral of Starfleet and Mark Castle as General of the Marine Corps had both decided that combat experience was more important than seniority and raw rank, and thus Alynna Nechayev held authority over Thomas Quinn as COMTF57 (Commander, Task Force 57), despite being outranked.

And since the sea of stars had also decided that Jack would hold equivalency with Alynna, the OC-BESG (Officer Commanding, Boxer Expeditionary Strike Group) in turn held authority over the DC-TF57 (Deputy Commander, Task Force 57).

"I wouldn't worry so much, Tommy. If I know my General as well as I do, we won't be waiting too much longer for the go codes" Jack said, stretching his own authority.

Quinn scoffed, "Three years ago, Mr. Marshall, you were barely an Ensign on a repair ship. Amazing what a bit of authority will do to someone's attitude. Is there something I can do for you, Brigadier?"

Jack found himself surprised at Quinn's correct informal use of Jack's new rank, but kept his composure nonetheless, "How are my Marines settling in on your side of the Task Force, Sir?"

"Well enough, I suppose. To be honest, the intricacies of your service aren't really a concern to me, provided they don't do anything to hinder Starfleet Operational tasks and adhere to our rules of conduct-" Quinn said before Jack cut him off.

He stood up, rose from the Loft, walked across the massive bridge, stopped in front of the view screen, and spoke up in a sharp tone, "I'll say this once, and only once. On this particular operation, you answer to me, Sir. And I've just about had it with this holier-than-thou bullshit from people like you, Sir. The Federation Marine Corps works with Starfleet. We don't work for you."

"If you do have any problems with my Marines, please let Major Kaimeao know about it, as soon as it's convenient for you, of course. But you don't tell my people what to do without running it past me first. Is that understood, Sir?"

Quinn stared Jack down for a long moment, but sighed and replied, "Of course, Brigadier General Marshall. I meant no disrespect. I was simply concerned with carrying out the wishes of the Admiralty Board and Fleet Admiral Mitchell."

"And I'll take care of that, Vice Admiral Quinn," Rear Admiral Nechayev added, taking a spot next to Jack, "You just make sure your group is ready for action. I'll call the CIC in a short minute and keep you posted."

Behind Quinn, Rain appeared and placed her chin on the older man's shoulder, clearly making the strait-laced Vice Admiral uncomfortable, "Bravo Jack. You really do make a fine show of leadership. Mark would be proud."

Jack sighed, "Thanks, Major. Look after our Sharks alright?"

Rain snapped a salute off and returned to her seat, as did Quinn.

Tovey, at last, got his final word in, "Repulse stands ready, Vanguard. We'll be happy to follow you into Heaven or Hell. Tovey out."

As the channel closed, Jackie joined the brass on the deck plate, and once again leaped into Jack's arms, "Holy Shit Jack! It's a fuckin tragedy that you don't like chicks. Testosterone like that really gets me going."

Jack laughed, "Well, if your big ship impresses me enough in a few hours, I might be talked into a little experimentation."

Alynna shook her head and mockingly sighed, "Alright kids, let's not get ahead of ourselves. We've still got a job to do before any experimenting goes on. Skipper, do you mind hopping off my nephew's number two there and starting the final checks for me?"

"Aye, Ma'am," Jackie replied, lowering herself off Jack and heading back up to her Loft.

Before the single stars could join her, however, Jonesy at the comm's station interrupted, "Captain Fishier, I uh, I think we might have a problem here"

"What is it Jonesy? Didn't order enough Tanqueray for me?" replied the Captain.

"We've lost contact with Louis Pascal on Sedna, Ma'am. And it's not subspace interference. If I had to guess, I'd say someone is jamming the comms array. There's a signal in the transmission line I don't recognize," Jonesy said, pointing at the indicated status screen.

Alynna walked over and looked at the screen. She gasped.

She recognized what that signal was.

"Put me through to the CIC on Earth right away," she ordered quickly, before turning to look up at Fishier, "Captain, I suggest you sound battle stations and get ready to move on my next signal."

Jackie did so. With a single tap on her chair, the massive bridge of Vanguard darkened to tactical lighting, and the deep klaxon sounded battle stations throughout the massive ship as the automated computer spoke next, "General Quarters, General Quarters. All hands, man battle stations for anti-ship warfare. This is not a drill"

"Hell's going on, Admiral?" Jack asked, one hand on his assault phaser and another preparing to raise his wrist-comm.

Alynna looked back, and her face was less confident than usual, "In one word Jack? Borg!"