From: Takako Nagumo
Date: Sun, 13 Apr 1997 17:39:23 -0400
Subject: USS CHESAPEAKE: Marines/Departure
SD 90413.2235
MD 5.0900
Scene: Marine Deck
Brennan stepped out on to Deck 14, and a split second later, a
Marine running down the corridor collided with him. As Brennan
recovered, the Marine started muttering, rubbing his shoulder.
"What the..."
Then he saw who it was, and snapped straight up.
"Sorry, sir."
"No problem, Corporal," he nodded. "Carry on."
"Yessir!"
The Marine continued his jog down the corridor. Brennan observed
the general flow of people, and proceeded to follow the crowd.
He eventually followed them into a large assembly area, where the
CHESAPEAKE's three platoons that made up her rump company were
quickly gathering. Brennan stood off to the side, watching the
activity.
He spotted 1LT David Shachor about the same time he spotted him.
The MCO squinted, then nodded, acknowledging his presence. The
Marine whispered something to his three companions... most likely
the platoon commanders. The three started to get the semi-chaos
into something resembling order, shouting admonitions.
The Marines quickly left their banter and ran into formation.
Their speed was quite astonishing. So, he thought, this is what
Marine training is. The platoon commanders took their place with
their units.
Suddenly, a voice rang out.
"COMPANY, ATTEN-TION!"
David Shachor's voice brought everything, including their
thoughts, to attention. Nothing, no one, moved.
It was certainly an impressive sight.
Brennan approached Shachor, stood at attention behind him. The
MCO executed a sharp about-face.
"Alfa Company formed for inspection, sir!"
"Thank you, Lieutenant." He gestured for Shachor to lead the
inspection.
The MCO nodded, and proceeded to lead him down the columns of
marines.
They certainly looked ready. They were an experienced company,
with excellent platoon commanders, returning to starship duty
after close to five months on shore. Their uniforms were quite in
order, their shoulders squared, their eyes straight ahead, and the
expression on each soldier said only one thing: "I am a Marine."
But he had read the reports; looks were deceiving.
Brennan whispered minor comments to Shachor as they walked, column
after column. Finally, as they came to the end, the two officers
walked back to the front of the formation. As Brennan stood
aside, Shachor came to attention in front of them.
"Alfa Company, you have your training orders. Platoon Leaders,
the troops are yours."
"Aye, sir!" the three voices responded, almost as one. The three
Second Lieutenants turned to their charges, and soon, the three
platoons were jogging off in different directions. Shachor turned
around.
"My office, sir?"
"Please," nodded Brennan.
They quietly proceeded to the MCO's office. Shachor walked around
his desk and sat down, and Brennan took the chair in front of him.
Sensing that the man across from him had no need for small talk,
the Commander started without preamble.
"I've read your report, Lieutenant." He looked carefully at
Shachor. "What's your assessment?"
"The platoons are not in shape," he replied, bluntly. "The morale
of the unit is low. Extremely low."
"After their last posting, I don't blame them," the XO
acknowledged.
"You've read the reports of their previous MCO." It was more
statement than question.
"Yes." Brennan nodded, his eyes not moving from Shachor. "You
have your work cut out for you."
"Yes, sir." He stopped speaking, and returned his gaze.
"And their combat readiness?"
Shachor exhaled sharply.
"They lack initiative and aggressiveness. They need constant
guidance, prompting, direct orders. Some are too inflexible, and
fight by-the-book, unable to adapt to sudden non-textbook
situations.
"But they also exercise excellent team work. They trust each
other, and trust their platoon leaders. They refuse to abandon
their fellow troops, and they will stand by each other whatever
happens."
"You have the beginnings of an excellent company, Lieutenant."
"I already *have* an excellent company, sir." Shachor's voice was
carefully controlled. "I just need them to remember that."
"Of course," Brennan nodded, wincing inwardly for his faux pas.
"Mission briefing is at 1500 hours, Observation Lounge. The
mission, as currently outlined, will not require a heavy military
presence."
"Currently outlined?" Shachor's tone took on an edge.
"It's mainly a diplomatic mission. But," he said, raising his
eyebrows, "*anything* can happen at the negotiation table."
"Yes," he nodded, "it can." His reply spoke of personal
experience, or at least of serious study. Brennan thought back...
of course. Shachor's Academy MOC had included diplomacy.
"But," said the Commander, "as I said, the mission profile
certainly does not indicate the need for military maneuvers. It
is unlikely that your troops will face combat on this mission...
and if they do, it will not be major."
"Yes, sir."
"However," Brennan continued, "you may be asked to detach some
units to details with other departments -- Security, most likely."
"I've spoken to Ensign Keyrin." Shachor shifted in his chair.
The tension in his shoulders decreased dramatically. "She seemed
easy enough to work with, and indicated that my troops and her
people can work closely together."
"Good. Very good, in fact." Brennan smiled, and Shachor returned
it, albeit briefly.
"Well," said Brennan, getting out of the chair, "I won't take up
more of your time. Excellent inspection, Lieutenant. I will see
you at 1500 hours at the briefing."
"At 1500 hours," he nodded. "Good day, sir."
MD 5.1345
Scene: Bridge
Brennan and th'Tellan emerged from the turbolift. The Romulan
officer quickly sat at his station and called up his console
layout as the Exec looked on. Brennan glanced at the viewscreen,
then looked back down at the OPS station.
"Is it working, Commander?"
"It's working," he nodded, "just like Ensigns Gann and Sereh said
it would."
"Good work," smiled Brennan, and he walked back to take his seat.
He saw Ensign Keyrin doing last minute checks on weapons and
communication systems. Behind her, he could see Lieutenant Murray
and Lieutenant Fielding working at the Science stations. Brennan
turned back around and sat down.
Three hours before launch, Ensign Gann had called up to report
some problems adjusting energy flow and output to the Multi-
Mission Pod they had installed earlier in the day. th'Tellan had
already arrived when Brennan got to Main Engineering, and they had
just finished the last minute adjustments.
Brennan tapped his communicator. "Bridge to Engineering."
"The power flow seems to be within normal working parameters. Any
other problems?"
"Good. Thank you. Bridge out."
As he finished entering the incident on the log, the turbolift
doors opened and Ensign O'Graeach and Counselor Tats-Marush walked
onto the Bridge. The FCO had a spring in his step as he took his
seat at Helm, but the Counselor seemed -- well, not seemed, was
more like it. She quietly took her seat on the other side of the
conn. Brennan would have asked if anything was the matter, but
with launch less than fifteen minutes away, he could not spare the
attention at the moment.
He looked up at the Ready Room door. He and Captain Bell had met
the previous evening to discuss the mission briefing materials.
Although he was quite impressed with her grasp of the situation
and respected her extensive experience, he had sensed something
missing from the discussion -- a lingering feeling he could not
shake from his first conversation with her.
Emotional involvement? Perhaps. There seemed to be a wall
between herself and the world around her, something that she had
begun to build when her husband died at her own hands, and
finished building when she lost her child. Certainly, anyone in
that situation would've done the same. But even after Calliope
IX, the HOOD, the BURKE, the wall was there, immovable,
indestructible.
He heard the beep from his console, and he looked down at it, his
mind coming back to the present.
Flight Control: Green. Sciences: Green. Sickbay: Green.
Security/Tactical: Green. Engineering: Green. Operations: Green.
He tapped in acknowledgments as the Ready Room doors opened and
Amanda Bell emerged. As she sat down in her chair, she threw a
glance at the Counselor -- Brennan knew something had happened
that morning, though he couldn't fathom what. After a brief
moment, she turned to looked at him.
He nodded and hit his comm badge. "Bridge to Engineering..."
[Engineering, Gann here.]
"Status, Ensign?"
[All systems functional, sir,] Gann affirmed. [We're ready when
you are.]
"Understood, Ensign. Bridge out." Brennan looked to his CO
questioningly. Bell nodded and turned to OPS.
"Mister th'Tellan," she said, "inform Starbase DELTA of our
status."
"Aye, sir." The Romulan spoke quietly to the station, and nodded
as the confirmation was received.
Bell again looked at him, and he nodded acknowledgment. He had
watched launches many times, a few of them from the Bridge. But
he had never done it himself, and he used all his willpower to
stifle an ecstatic grin.
"Ops," he said, facing forward, "sever all umbilicals. Tactical,
charge main deflector."
"Aye, sir," he heard Ensign Keyrin reply. "Charging main
deflector."
"All umbilicals to DELTA severed," reported th'Tellan. "We are
operating under our own power."
"Acknowledged," Brennan nodded. "Secure all decks and prepare for
departure."
th'Tellan responded a few moments later. "All decks secure. All
stations are manned and ready for departure."
"Acknowledged." Brennan turned to O'Graeach. "Flight Control,
clear all moorings. Thrusters at station-keeping."
"Aye, sir," O'Graeach complied. "Clearing all moorings.
Thrusters at station-keeping."
"Back us away from the station."
He watched the CHESAPEAKE slowly moving away from Starbase DELTA.
Yes, he told himself. They were really leaving.
"Flight Control, starboard thrusters, heading 198 Mark 32."
The view of Vulcan changed, and as the starship slowly shifted
direction, the planet disappeared from view.
A few moments later, Brennan looked to the Captain.
"All clear, sir."
She nodded.
"Mr. O'Graeach," she said, "set a course for the primary Delta
Corellis star system, heading 108 Mark 32."
"Heading laid in, sir..."
"Engage, warp 6."
The next forty-five minutes was spent testing the warp propulsion
systems, weapons systems, the sensor arrays... no sense in leaving
themselves unprepared for contingencies.
They were well underway when Captain Bell finally stood, signaling
to the senior staff that the briefing was to begin. The relief
officers immediately stepped in to take their places as they stood
and proceeded to the Observation Lounge. As Brennan waved the
other officers in ahead of him, he looked back at the viewscreen.
The streaks of starlight was familiar, but somehow, this time, it
was a little different. He turned back around, and, seeing the
Captain waiting, he smiled a thank you and entered the lounge,
with Bell following close behind.
Respectfully Submitted,
Takako Nagumo,
CDR Daniel J. Brennan
XO, USS CHESAPEAKE (NCC-31813)
Task Force Bravo, Green Fleet
NRPG:
A bit with the Marines, as well as Brennan's take on the
departure. I confess, I've *always* wanted to do that....
Naomi: I hope I did all right with Shachor. :) Any reactions on
his visit?
Special thanks to JP and Trevin. Couldn't've done it without
them. :)
--
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Takako Nagumo
http://www.oocities.org/TimesSquare/6318/
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CDR Daniel J. Brennan XO USS CHESAPEAKE, Green Fleet
LCDR Sian-Mairead Flynn, MD CMO USS ALEXANDER NEVSKY, Green Fleet
LCDR Duncan A. Morrell INS ALB Holodeck 4
CDR Julianna M. Sforza COMREC Commander, Starfleet Records
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"So *that's* what LCDR stands for... 'Librarian, Cyberbabe,
Dominatrix, Riotgrrl.'" -- an ASR writer who remains unnamed
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