Cheleb'khor
Vulcan
"What? That's loco." Marisa exclaimed. "The worst thing you can do in the desert is run around in the sun. We should wait here."
P'Trell shrugged. "That is what she said."
"Jenny's in no shape. And it has to be at least five miles, probably ten, to the border." Marisa argued.
"And we don't even know where any of those 'hostels' are." Jenny supplied. "Even if we made it out of the dampening field, the desert doesn't stop there. It's a desert planet. Not that we'd even make it that far anyway…"
"It's the first rule of desert survival." Marisa insisted. "We all took the same survival course. Stay in the shade, move at night. And that's assuming retrieval's not coming, which it is. In which case, you stay put!"
P'Trell frowned, looking back and forth between the two. "Why are you arguing with me? I'm not the Captain."
The sound of footsteps in the sand outside. Marisa steeled herself, obviously preparing to launch her objections in the right direction.
When T'Pril appeared, stepping through the breach in the hull…
"Captain, we can't hike out of here in broad daylight…!" Marisa began, urgently.
"Marisa's right." Jenny agreed. "And I'm pretty banged up. I can barely move…"
"I think we have dissention in the ranks, Captain…" P'Trell smirked.
T'Pril examined the trio, as they began to speak over one another. Their arguments growing in volume.
None of them had donned desert suits, as she herself had, she noted. Though at least the gear had been apportioned among them. Or near them, rather.
"…with retrieval on the way, you stay put…!" Marisa continued.
"…finding one of these hostels, or end up wandering around…" Jenny argued.
"…perhaps reconsider whether we're really…" P'Trell suggested.
"Attention!" T'Pril said. Loudly.
Silence descended. With some reluctance.
"Your orders were to ensure preparation for an extended hike through this environment." T'Pril said, evenly. "You have not done so. It would seem it is because you disagree with my orders. Or at least, your assumptions regarding them. What other orders can I expect you to disobey because you do not agree?"
Everyone fidgeted a bit but no one had a response to offer.
"I see." T'Pril said at last. "You will prepare for an extended hike under these conditions. Those are your orders. You will obey orders without question. If you have questions, you may present them. After you have obeyed orders. Concerning those questions…it was not my intention to leave the shuttle at this time, only that we be prepared to do so if necessary."
She spared a moment to examine each of the three, to be sure they'd gotten the point.
Then kneeled down to claim one of the packs at her feet, standing again as she slid it into place on her back. "Which would have been convenient, had you obeyed my order. It has now become necessary."
Marisa startled slightly. "What? But you just said…"
"We must leave." T'Pril insisted. "Gather your gear and prepare. Everyone. Quickly."
To their credit, they paused only slightly before grabbing desert suits and began changing. Though T'Pril was forced to remind P'Trell, with a stony stare and sharp gesture, to turn away. Humans preferred modesty in such matters.
Jennifer West was clearly having difficulty moving efficiently, after suffering multiple contusions, so T'Pril aided her in donning her suit.
"Can we ask questions in the process of obeying orders? Captain?" Jenny asked, somewhat bitterly.
"Of course." T'Pril replied, helping her with one sleeve. "So long as it does not impede your efforts in doing so."
"Then why is it necessary?" She asked. "Marisa's right. It's the last thing we should be doing."
"At least three of the crew of the attacking shuttle have survived the crash." She answered, stepping forward to help zip her up in front.
"They are on their way here, arriving in approximately twenty minutes." She said. "Having observed their approach, it is clear they are well acclimated to this environment and well prepared. And so, pose a significant threat."
"Are they Vulcan?" P'Trell asked instantly.
No. T'Pril was quite confident they were not Vulcan. So she paused.
"Apparently." She answered simply.
Which was accurate enough.
"Ensure your headgear covers your neck." She ordered. "Utilize the fabric covering located in the inner headband. Secure pant cuffs inside your boots and sleeves within gloves."
Having helped West as much as she was able without impeding further progress, she turned her attention to the group as a whole.
"Quickly. We have little time."
NX-35 Vigilant
Vulcan Orbit
"Vigilant, Shuttle One."
Summers tapped the comm. "Shuttle One, Vigilant. Go ahead."
"Vigilant, we are combat drop in three."
"Shuttle One, copy." Summers replied.
Commander McArthur spared a glance away from overwatch on Shuttle Two's crash site. Roselyn was the most experienced shuttle pilot he had. Maybe, maybe, Rodriguez could give her a run for her money. On a good day. Rosie sure as hell knew her business and didn't share Marisa's penchant for getting excited about it all. Hell, she'd be the obvious choice for bridge flight, hands down…if she had a clue how to fly the big birds.
She was purely a shuttle jockey. Damned good one. This was probably the sixth or seventh combat drop she'd flown for the MACO, in fact.
Still…as much as she didn't need a CO over her shoulder just now, he couldn't stand not being plugged in, so…
"Summers…"
She nodded, already prepared. "Shuttle Two, stand by for Command." She said, looking back at Henry. "Code comm, sir?"
Henry considered, then shook his head. "No, leave it in the open. We've spooked Vulcan Fleet enough for one day."
"Vigilant, go ahead, Command."
"Stone, eyes on." Henry spoke into the air. "How's it look?"
"Command, Major Morales gives thumbs up, all green. Good to go." She replied evenly.
"Shuttle One, copy." He replied.
She was a cool customer, and Henry was glad for it.
Summers kept the channel open. 'Eyes on', after all.
"Tac', report." Henry said, over his shoulder. Achilla had recovered well but was still a bit shaky. Best to keep her busy, he figured.
"Still tracking two, sir." She said, calmly. "Although I think we've got three more coming up from the northeast. Could just be a routine patrol, though."
Henry scowled. The Vulcans couldn't verify a real time Tactical data share or launch a damned search and rescue in under an hour…but they could field recon to spy on them at the drop of a hat…
"Keep on 'em, Chilly." Henry nodded. "Science, anything?"
"Negative, sir." Duvall responded. "That dampening field just eats everything you throw at it…"
"Vigilant, Shuttle One. Be advised, we're tracking two bogeys low, at five and seven."
"Shuttle One, copy." Henry replied. "Vulcan Air Defense drones. We've got 'em, Stone."
"Vigilant, understood…approaching drop…"
Henry was tempted to switch overwatch to the drop. He was sure Achilla was wondering why he hadn't. Standard procedure and all. But that was ten full minutes, minimum, with eyes off Shuttle Two. Plenty of time for…well, who knows what trouble the Captain could get into in ten minutes.
Apparently quite a lot.
"Vigilant, doors out…"
The faint sound of rushing air could be heard over the open channel.
"…two away…four away…all away, doors clear…"
The howling air diminishing quickly, then cut off.
"…we're secure, all green."
Henry smirked. "Ensign Stone, how's the weather?"
"Command, Shuttle One. It's raining men. Hallelujah."
He nodding, satisfied. "Shuttle One, outstanding. Continue to the pick-up point, report on arrival. Vigilant, out."
Summers looked quizzically over at McArthur, who just shook his head and grinned.
Cheleb'khor
Vulcan
They were moving far too slowly. Ensign Rodriguez had begun gasping for breath almost immediately and P'Trell was forced to support Ensign West several times before they were even out of sight of the shuttle.
P'Trell, of course, showed little sign of discomfort at all. Andorians were renowned for being highly adaptable to environmental extremes, especially temperature…but their higher metabolism resulted in their succumbing to fatigue from sustained exertion far more quickly than either Humans or Vulcans. Adaptability aside, hiking through this environment should have had a marked effect on his stamina by now. Enough that his continuing to offer support to Ensign West was remarkable.
Sooner or later one of the two Humans would spare enough attention from their own discomfort to make note of that fact. T'Pril could only hope it was later, as the situation was not conducive to resolving that matter just yet.
She stopped atop the dune they scaled, waiting for the three to catch up. Using the pocket binoculars P'Trell had lent her, she scanned behind them for sign of their pursuers. And, admittedly, she was growing somewhat fatigued herself so the small rest was welcome.
P'Trell, drawing near, still supporting West by one arm, didn't like her in the open like that.
"Captain, you should move further on, behind the bulk of the dune." He advised sternly. "They may have ballistic weapons."
"No…" West gasped, stumbling. "Won't work…"
P'Trell frowned. "A dampening field won't stop a simple chemical reaction…"
West nodded weakly. "Sometimes…a little…" She gasped. "…not…"
She bent over further, struggling to catch her breath. "…reliable."
P'Trell grunted. 'Not reliable' was hardly the same as 'won't work'. Granted, the odds that their enemies just happened to bring ballistic weapons along were very slim but…assumptions like that are what got you killed more often than not.
But he wouldn't waste her breath arguing the point.
"I accept the risk." T'Pril remarked, still scanning to the north. "We require awareness of our pursuers."
Nodding agreement, P'Trell compelled the other two forward, getting them at least behind cover on the far side of the dune. There they could seize the opportunity to rest for a moment while the Captain was occupied. Which they promptly did, collapsing to focus exclusively on gasping for oxygen.
T'Pril lowered the binoculars, dropped them in one pocket and turned to join the group down the far side of the dune. There she turned her attention south.
"There are three and they are gaining ground significantly." She announced. "I estimate they will come within range of physical assault in less than one half hour. I require options, Ensign P'Trell."
He shook his head. "There are none in that direction." He said, pointing directly south. "It's more or less open terrain and even the dunes themselves become shorter from here. However…"
He indicated the broken ground extending to the southeast. "…there the ground is much more difficult. A lot of broken stone. Shallow, narrow canyons probably. Very difficult to traverse."
He looked at T'Pril then. "But no more for us than for them. It will even things out somewhat and provide many of those options you require."
T'Pril mulled it over for a moment. Then nodded. "Agreed."
She turned to assess the two Humans sitting in the sand. They were both still barely able to extract the oxygen they required from the air, even at rest. Both displayed the tell-tale reddening of sunburn on their cheeks, from only passing exposure to Vulcan's sun beneath the visors of their headgear.
Ensign West especially, having already suffered trauma and contusions from a missile strike mere feet away from where she'd sat in the shuttle. She had undoubtedly suffered additional physical injury from the hike as a result.
Further, both had already consumed the water not only in their own survival gear but hers and P'Trell's as well.
And they had only traveled two miles so far.
T'Pril Tucker began to acknowledge and accept that the two would die before they reached aid. Assuming any of them did. Logically then, the needs of the many…
…
…but it was their life and so, their choice. She was their Captain, and would act in accordance with that.
And it was not her responsibility to make them aware of the matter either.
Part of her mind objected to her reasoning, insisting…but she ignored it, put it away. Clearly she had more pressing matters that required her attention.
"We must go now." She announced.
West immediately groaned, almost whimpering. "Captain…I…"
"I understand it is difficult and painful, Ensign." She said. "I regret the necessity. But we must continue moving. If we are able to reach the relative cover of the rock quickly enough, I can assure you an opportunity to rest for three minutes there."
She waited. Soon Rodriguez began climbing slowly to her feet, saying nothing.
T'Pril then moved to offer her hand to West, surprising P'Trell a little, and the two helped her slowly, stumbling, to her feet as well.
Morales lay under the Vulcan sun, gasping in pain through his chin mask. He'd underestimated the forces involved in parachuting in thin atmosphere under 1.4Gs.
Pain don't hurt. Suck it up, buttercup. Fight through it and assess yourself for injury. Right now. You've got people depending on you.
He flexed and forced his legs to extend…slowly…getting his feet out of the awkward position he found them in. Alternating between keening in agony and gasping in pain the whole while…nothing broken at least, it would seem…until his feet were more or less pointing in the proper direction.
Someone was approaching…couldn't tell who yet behind the chin mask and goggles…it was Ensign Schaffer, the medic.
Rico spared a single sharp laugh at that. The damned Starfleet geek was hiking it just fine. The combat jump hadn't slowed him down one bit. Well, that was delightfully ironic.
"Hold still, Major." He said, his voice muffled. "Let me check you out."
"Oh, I'm fine, doc." Rico chuffed, painfully. "Just got hit by a planet. No biggie."
"We'll see." Schaffer said, though Rico could hear the humor in his voice.
Schaffer set about scanning him for injury the old fashioned way. By prodding and poking him mercilessly.
Behind him Rico watched Private Jasper North stalking down the dune, coming toward them. Chambering a finger-sized cartridge into the ballistic rifle he carried.
He was grinning like a maniac by the time he arrived to stand over the two.
"So…need me to put him down, doc?" North asked, hopefully.
"Yeah, laugh it..ah!..." Rico grunted in pain. "Laugh it up, dumbass."
Schaffer smiled and patted Morales once before standing.
"No, I think that won't be necessary." He said. "Although I'd be happier with an actual scan…I'm fairly sure he's just banged up a good bit."
"Banged up?" North asked, a bit more seriously. "That your professional opinion, doc?"
Schaffer nodded, with mock seriousness. "Yes, of course. The result of the best medical training Starfleet has to offer, I assure you."
North considered, then shrugged. "Alright, then."
"But I'm afraid he won't be able to..." Schaffer began, until he noticed Morales was...injecting himself with something?
"Uh, Major...!" He exclaimed, uncertainly.
North grabbed his on the arm. Politely, but firmly. "Don't worry about it, doc."
"What's...?" Schaffer asked.
"You don't want to know." North said seriously.
Morales soon began the slow, painful process of getting to his feet. Trying to make as few girly noises as possible.
"Uh...at least…Major." Schaffer said quickly. "You should probably…"
"S'fine, doc." He grunted, forcefully. "Just give me a minute."
North snorted, shaking his head ruefully. "Alright. Look who's the dumbass now." He muttered.
Wincing at the Major's attempt to stand up without embaressing himself, he turned his attention to Schaffer.
"Well, let's leave the guy some dignity, doc. Look here." He said. "Let me introduce you to an old friend of the MACO."
Jasper put the strange looking weapon forth for display.
"This is the Saxon Twelve-Niner." He said. "Also known as the 'Sexy Nine'. Also known as 'Miss Gruesome'. She was the standard MACO service weapon for longer than you or I will probably live. And for good reason. Nine millimeter binary propellant system, fixed cartridges, armor piercing, low-friction ablative sabot. Integral short barrel dual purpose twelve-gauge shotgun and type two grenade launcher."
"You don't get to play with that on the first date, though. Sorry." He said, then offered the weapon to Schaffer.
"Introduce yourself, doc."
Schaffer took the rifle carefully, unsure what to do with it. "I…didn't understand a thing you just said to me." He admitted.
North grinned. "Big gun. Point at bad man. Go boom. Bad man fall down."
Schaffer's brow furrowed in confusion. "It booms?"
"And kicks like hell, if you don't brace it correctly…"
"It kicks?"
North stared at the medic for a short moment, then looked over at Morales, who'd finally gotten more or less to his feet.
Morales just shook his head.
"Yeah, hand her back, doc." He said. "Before you hurt yourself. We'll let you two dance some other time."
Morales unclipped the LED from his belt, pointed it skyward and began flashing.
"Alright, ready line." Stetson barked from behind him. "Last up, ass up!"
R-E-A-D-Y-G-O
Immediately one small dot high in the sky began flashing white.
Huh. You really could see it from the surface.
"North, you've got the pack, so you hug the medic." Stetson continued in the background. "Simms, you're with me. Miles, you're on point."
N-O-R-T-H-N-O-R-T-H-E-A-S-T
"Hell, I've always got point." Miles grumbled quietly.
"You need a hug, Miles?" Stetson snapped
M-O-V-I-N-G-S-O-U-T-H
"That's a no-go, North. Back in the pack." Stetson announced.
"No grenades?" North asked.
"We've gotta hike through the desert at half-over G. How far can you throw? Do the math."
"Right, right. Back in the pack, guys."
T-H-R-E-E-M-I-L-E-S
Morales turned to his team. "Alright, North by northeast, approximately three miles. They're on the move, so we'll be…
"Major." Stetson, nodding skyward. Morales turned back.
I-L-E-S-
Morales flashed back quickly.
R-E-P-E-A-T-L-A-S-T
The flashing stopped…then resumed.
H-O-S-T-I-L-E-S-O-N-F-O-O-T
C-L-O-S-I-N-G-O-N-E-M-I-L-E
Morales turned quickly back to his team, barking. "Skip the foreplay. They've got hostiles. Let's move!"