The past two months since the action at Xenon III had been very busy for Johnny Chee.
After the action on Xenon III, Johnny had nine Marines of his original command still alive. One of his priorities had been to somehow get more personnel into the unit. The significant lack of recruiting offices in the Gamma Quadrant made this rather difficult. Four personnel had transferred from the Starfleet enlisted ranks to the Marine command, allowing him to reach the combat strength he'd had upon arriving on the Virgo. The platoon still lacked a corpsman, but with the ship's considerable medical facilities only a transporter beam away, that wasn't a critical need.
Since the Virgo had embarked on its current mission, Johnny had made sure the platoon was drilled and redrilled via holodeck simulations. Currently, the platoon was working through a recreation of the Battle of Guadalcanal, with updated weaponry and Jem'Hadar replacing the Imperial Japanese troops. Just the thing to keep green troops on their toes! He still had the survivors of his original platoon: Barek, now confirmed as a sergeant, ensured the daily operation of the company; while Nkrumah and Olivares had been promoted to lance corporal and functioned as squad leaders. Because the Virgo was deep in the Gamma Quadrant and far from communication with Starfleet Command, Johnny made the decision to restructure the platoon as an autonomous Special Operations Unit rather than part of a larger command. The original Marines handled the transition (which involved more intense drill and training) without a hitch; three of the newbies (who had all been in support roles in Starfleet: maintenance workers or clerks) were adapting quite well. One, however, posed a minor problem...
"Sir, Private Zelansky is presented for discipline," Sergeant Barek announced as he led in the unit's troublemaker.
Johnny had read over the details of Ivan Zelansky's latest escapade earlier; still, however, he consulted his PADD. "Private, you were fourteen minutes late for formation this morning. Have you any explanation for yourself?" Of course there was no explanation, but Johnny wanted to give the man a chance to redeem himself. Besides, someone like Zelansky was probably up to something else. Since coming to the Virgo, Zelansky had committed every possible misdemeanor from leaving his post to attempting to start a food fight in the mess hall.
One in every crowd, Johnny thought. I'd like to get my hands on the drill instructor who didn't catch this clown back in boot camp! Unfortunately, we can't just discharge him at the nearest starbase.
Zelansky, as Johnny expected, tried to bluff his way through it. "Sir, I was late coming from an appointment..."
"With whom? Commander Maruu has no record of you being in sickbay. There is absolutely no other reason for you to miss formation!"
Zelansky looked down at the ground.
"Look up here, Private. Is it not true that you were caught engaged in an illegal gambling activity last night off-duty? Do you know the rules about gambling aboard Starfleet vessels? And do you know the penalties for being late to formation?"
"I didn't know what harm it would cause..."
"You didn't know?! Only the Captain of this vessel can authorize gambling on board, and only in designated areas and at designated times. A craps game in Cargo Bay Three at 0230 is not one of those authorized activities," Johnny replied, reading over the report forwarded to him from Security. "As for not showing up to formation, there are reasons why we do things here, and you'd best learn them or else someone's going to end up getting killed on your account! I do not want to write a letter home to some grunt's family explaining that he was killed because Private Zelansky 'didn't know what harm it would cause' if he chose not to be there to provide cover or evac!!! Sergeant, this man is to have five days' punishment detail in the ship's waste recycling plant. Make the appropriate arrangements. And get this pathetic excuse for a Marine out of my office!!!" The letters home to the families of his comrades who had fallen at the hands of the Kelvans and on Xenon III were still very fresh in Johnny's mind. Transmitting them when (or if) they returned to Federation space would be even more of a nightmare.
"Yes sir!" Barek responded, leading the accused out of the office.
One of the things Johnny absolutely hated about being an officer was disciplining his troops. Barek had an eye for spotting troublemakers; that was one of the reasons Johnny selected him to be the unit's Staff NCO. Zelansky had evidently been a problem for his previous commanding officer, and Johnny had had reservations about accepting his transfer request. Barek, however, seemed to think he could turn Zelansky around; it was upon the hard-bitten former Bajoran resistance fighter's recommendation that Zelansky was there at all. But there was only so much a sergeant could do to discipline true troublemakers. Barek had exhausted his options and now Zelansky's reputation as a miscreant was undermining the unit. More stringent discipline was called for. I hope he gets his act straightened out. I have no desire to convene a court-martial, particularly not while the ship's an entire quadrant away from the Judge Advocate General's office!!!
Johnny now turned his attention to other reports on his desk. His desk was the epitome of efficiency, bearing only the helmet he'd worn on Xenon III as decoration. Behind his desk, mounted on the bulkhead, was the bat'leth he'd found on that forlorn planet, awaiting the day when Johnny would be able to return it to the descendants of its owner. The terminal contained all the clutter which, in an earlier time, would have been created by memos, reports, and other assorted paperwork.
He sighed as he looked over the reports. His requisition of gear for his command had been received by the ship's quartermaster, who was even now replicating battle armor for everyone in the company as well as the crew-served weapons the company would ordinarily stock. While the heavy weapons would take a few days to deliver, the armor would be ready by 1700: after the normal duty shift, but that's the way things go. The pace at which routine orders were often processed by Starfleet tended to infuriate Johnny. And a minor little detail like the fact that four members of the company were non-humanoid and therefore needed special accommodations for armor tended to cause the requisition system to go completely haywire. Six hundred years later, and some days it seems as if nothing has changed since Valley Forge, Johnny thought.
More messages...notification from the Captain that the Virgo was investigating a distress call from an alien settlement suffering from an unknown plague (something for Security to handle if necessary; the platoon would only be needed if something went seriously wrong)...an invitation from Jenara to meet her in the Day's End Lounge after duty (he smiled as he read that one, although with the disbursement of the new gear it would probably be more like 1900 or 1930 before he could take up the invite)...another from Richard regarding a "post-mission assessment" they'd planned (a euphemism for getting stinking drunk and exaggerating war stories: the traditional catharsis of warriors from Qo'noS to the Kremlin)...just routine stuff...
Then suddenly the ship rocked with a massive explosion!!! Johnny was thrown from his chair, his half-warm cup of raktajino splattering all over his desk and the deck. The bat'leth was knocked from the bulkhead, narrowly missing Johnny's head as it fell to the deck. Red alert signals began sounding.
"Son of a bitch!!!" Johnny swore, then tapped his com badge. "Major Chee to all Marines: battle stations!!! Prepare to receive boarders!!! First squad to Main Engineering; second squad report to me!" Another tap: "Chee to Benton: does Security require backup?"
[The bridge reports engagement with an alien boarding party. They appear to have the situation under control but keep your men ready: they beamed through our shields as if they didn't exist!]
"I've dispatched a squad to Main Engineering and I've got my second squad in reserve. Let me know if you need any heavy firepower," Johnny replied. While Security typically had many more crewmembers than the Marine contingent aboard a Starfleet vessel, the Marines had access to and training with much heavier weapons than the average redshirt (though Security had stopped wearing red two generations earlier, the name had stuck).
[Let's coordinate with Lieutenant Wallace. From what he's reported, these people can give us a run for our money and can show up on board anytime, anywhere!]
"Good idea. Chee out."
Suddenly the day no longer seemed routine...