They were seated in the officers' mess hall, which was located just off the main mess hall on the third deck of the superstructure. There, they had fashioned two of the tables together and were eating in luxury, well, as much luxury as the food replicator could produce. Considered an early Thanksgiving dinner, the captain thought it would be a good idea to get familiar with his command crew over a meal. It was a typical American Thanksgiving feast with all the trimmings. He had even thought to include apple butter for the rolls as well as a lit candleabra as a centerpiece.
"Yeah, me, too." Tom replied. The meal had been underway for some time. Tom, being Australian, didn't celebrate Thanksgiving, but with this much food, he was considering changing nationalities. He heaped a generous second helping of potatoes onto his plate, then reached for the gravy. Each of the rest of the crew nodded their heads in agreement.
The captain took a long drink from his wine. With his glass still in hand, he pointed around the room. "You know, considering everything that has happened to you people, you've gone beyond exemplary in your accomplishments. You should be very proud." He smiled warmly. Andrei knew a little about Lydia Velasquez, the former captain of the then-in-construction Warlord. She was a motherly type... fearless in battle, but nurturing to her crew. Although he wasn't like that, he knew he had to do something to minimize the culture shock of such different leadership styles. His forty years in Starfleet told him that. Besides, their accomplishments WERE something to be proud of.
"Thank you, Captain," Kirk replied. "A lot of this crew had to grow up pretty quickly in the past couple of weeks." Kirk wasn't sure what to make of 'Crash' Bolerov. He knew virtually nothing about the captain, except his nickname. He was dying to hear the explanation.
"Well, here's hoping our presence in the alpha quadrant will be a deterrant and not an inspiration." He raised his glass.
"Here here." Everyone said in agreement. They raised their glasses as well.
"Captain... I am curious." T'Nia began.
Bolerov set his glass down. "About what, Lieutenant Commander?" He sensed the question coming. It was a question asked of him at least a hundred times.
"Your nickname, Crash... how did it originate?" Kirk was actually glad T'Nia asked.
Bolerov smiled again. "I was wondering when someone would ask me that. It was... oh, my... twenty-three years ago, during the Cardassian War. I was the recently promoted captain of the Vigilant, one of the old Excelsior mark 2 ships. We were patrolling an area near the badlands when we were ambushed by two Galor-class cuisers. We managed to defeat one, but the other one was getting the upper hand. It got so bad between the two ships that we lost most of our weapons. The weapons room was a mess and firing control was destroyed. We had three torpedoes in launch tubes, but my chief engineer was going to have to fire them manually and without a targeting system. Our shields were almost gone, but so were the Cardassians'. I had our helsman spin us around and loop us underneath the Cardassian ship. With less than a thousand meters before we hit, I told the engineer to fire the remaining torpedoes. I had the navigator increase speed to full. The torpedoes hit the belly of the Cardassian ship, its least armored part. Then, we rammed the exact place we shot. We cut completely through the ship, and took out most of the saucer section I might add. But... at the end of the day, we limped away the winner. I swear... ever since that day I haven't rammed a single ship." He winked. "But... it was too late. I have been stuck with the nickname 'Crash' ever since." He shrugged his shoulders for emphasis.
The group seemed satisfied with that explanation. They resumed finishing their meals, each contemplating the story they had been told and the man who would command them.
Bolerov could tell there was still an uneasiness to the group. It would take awhile before he would fit in with the rest of the crew relations. Back in his 'strictly military' days, it really didn't matter whether the crew liked you or not. It wasn't your job to be popular. However, these were different times and Starfleet vessels weren't strictly military extensions any more. Gone were the days of the battleships, the cruisers, and the destroyers. More desireable, and more populous, were the researchers, the deep space explorers, and the relief ships. The Dreadnaught project had been a tough project to sell. It was the resurrection of a bygone era that most people wanted to forget. The project had actually been rejected twice before the Dominion War. That finally made believers out of many who 'rode the fence.'
"Captain," Kirk began slowly. "I realize you have no reason to answer to us or even answer questions..."
Bolerov smiled. "What's on your mind, Commander?"
"Well... you were promoted to captain twenty-three years ago. You're still a captain. Was there something you did to keep you from being promoted?" Stephen was hoping he didn't imply any wrong-doing.
"Ah." Andrei thought several moments on how to phrase his words. "Actually, I did do something." The group now listened intently on his words. "Shortly after the Dominion War, I retired. I was an author for several years. As a matter of fact, you've probably been forced to read a book or two that I wrote in the Academy... most likely starship combat tactics." That statement brought a light of revelation to several, including Stephen, who then instantly remembered where he had seen the captain's name. "My apologies if they were boring." He offered.
"Anyway, I was asked to rejoin a little over five years ago as part of Strategic Planning. I accepted, because they told me the Dreadnaught Project was restarting. The tactical design of this ship was my first project." Bolerov pointed to Kirk. "Up until a couple of weeks ago, I could have safely said I know more about what this ship could do than you. That, however, has obviously changed. Once Warlord was under construction, I got the bug back in me to command. I asked the 'powers-that-be' if I could apply for the captaincy. To my surprise, they said 'yes'. Apparently, I was their second choice." Everyone smiled politely.
"Look, ladies and gentlemen. I know I'm not Lydia. She and I have very different command styles. I'm old school and military. She came from a science background. She's a grandmother and I never married. I'm a chess player and she's a rock climber. Although I never knew her personally, I knew her professionally. She was spontaneous and clever. No matter what ship she served on, she was their best friend. If I do say so myself, I'm a pretty good person, too. Where she was thrust into combat situations and proven herself capable, that was my life. It's been awhile since I've commanded a starship, but as long as I know where the bathroom is, we'll be alright. What do you say?" He raised his glass. "To the Warlord and her crew, past, present, and future."
Everyone smiled and toasted, feeling better about the new captain. One thought kept going through Kirk's mind for the remainder of the evening. This made two captains in a row brought out of retirement. What was going on?
