The platoon was formed up in the Virgo's docking bay, receiving the briefing for their first bona fide mission since the action on Xenon III.
All except one man. Private Ivan Zelansky staggered into the docking bay.
"Zelansky!" Sergeant Barek shouted. "Get in formation right now!"
Zelansky dutifully stumbled into his assigned slot in the formation. The Marines on either side of him twitched slightly as they caught the smell of his breath. Barek stepped up to him and smelled his breath.
"Private, you've been drinking!"
"Yes, sir, you bet I have!!!" Zelansky slurred, then proceeded to empty his stomach onto the deck.
This has got to stop! Johnny thought to himself. We've given him chance after chance after chance! "Private Zelansky is unfit for duty," Johnny instructed the sergeant. "He is to be thrown in the brig to await further discipline! Sorek, van der Merwe, get this piece of trash out of here!"
The two privates; Sorek, a Vulcan, and van der Merwe, an Afrikaaner with a decidedly mean look to him; grabbed Zelansky by either arm. Zelansky struggled against van der Merwe's grip, but suddenly collapsed. "You shall have no trouble incarcerating our misguided comrade, Private van der Merwe," Sorek responded, withdrawing his hand from the juncture of Zelansky's neck and shoulder. Van der Merwe nodded and drug the limp form out of the docking bay. "Report to Transporter Room One as soon as he's disposed of," Barek ordered. "You'll be briefed there."
"Aye, sir," van der Merwe responded.
"Now, before I was so rudely interrupted," Johnny continued, to the subdued laughter of the rest of the platoon, "the bridge has picked up a distress signal from the USS Kirk, believed lost during the Dominion War four years ago. While it is extremely unlikely that there are survivors, there is important intelligence data aboard the Kirk as well as evidence that the T'rais raiders who attacked us nine days ago are in the area." Johnny informed the platoon. What they don't need to know is that the T'rais are homing in on the distress signal and are less than ten light-years from here: not even a hop, skip, and jump with transwarp! A slight, stifled grimace went across Private Bren Maxon's face. ~You did not hear me think that, Private, do you understand?~ Johnny immediately thought, reminded that his command now included a Betazoid.
Maxon raised both eyebrows in a tacit acknowledgement of what Johnny's "order". Unlike some other people, Private Maxon knew how to obey an order.
"The Kirk is a Defiant-class vessel: much smaller than the Virgo. Those of you who were on the Ilion are familiar with the layout. Preliminary scans indicate the vessel is torn nearly in half and show no life readings. Nonetheless, you are to be on the lookout at all times! Not all hostile life forms show up on scanners!
"Our mission is threefold: (One) Ascertain the condition of the Kirk and determine whether or not the ship can be salvaged. We can expect some personnel from Engineering to help us with this part. If the Kirk can't be flown or tractored out, we'll have to destroy it in place. (Two) Retrieve the intelligence data in the Kirk's computers. (Three) Determine, as much as possible, what happened to the Kirk and its crew. We are to meet the Engineering personnel in Transporter Room One and prepare the way for them. Okay, people, you know what to do! Assemble in the transporter room in fifteen minutes!"
The platoon returned to the quarterdeck and began pulling gear out of lockers, preparing for the mission. Full body armor, tactical tricorders, Type V phaser rifles, concussion grenades, a photon antitank weapon: everything the well-dressed Marine needs to wreak havoc on unsuspecting planets.
You'll enjoy seeing the ruins, both ancient and recent! Johnny chuckled to himself as he strapped on his armor, recalling an ancient joke. Humor was Johnny's way of distracting himself from the fact that this mission, like every other, could well be his last.
The platoon, as was tradition, trotted in formation to the transporter room. "Olivares, your squad's with me," Johnny ordered. "Sergeant, bring First Squad with you as soon as the people from Engineering show up. Brief van der Merwe and put him with Maxon on the heavy firepower." Maxon had come into the platoon as a file clerk from Starfleet and had all of five days' experience as a Marine. Apprenticing him with one of the people who had had real boot camp training was the best way Johnny could think of to avoid writing another letter home.
The squad assembled on the transporter pad. "Okay, Chief: energize!"
"GUNG HO!" the squad shouted, as per tradition, as they shimmered out of existence...
...and back in again. The planetoid the Kirk had landed on was just marginally Class M, with an atmosphere more akin to mid-20th century Los Angeles than anything remotely breathable. The wind was so powerful it made simple voice communication next to impossible. [Okay, squad, let's fan out and scout the perimeter of the wreck!] Johnny ordered. The squad formed into a broad, 100-meter-wide arc and advanced toward the wreckage that was once the USS Kirk.
And wreckage it was. The vessel was nearly torn in half by the force of its crash, and sat in a crater roughly half a kilometer across. A gigantic hole running through what was the center of the ship indicated where the warp core used to be. Superstructure torn up, no warp drive: no way this ship's going anywhere! Johnny thought as he watched his tactical tricorder. No mines were indicated in his sector.
"The center is clear," Johnny reported, speaking into the com unit in his helmet: much more convenient when both hands were needed, as in operating a weapon or piece of heavy equipment.
[No mines on the left wing,] Corporal Olivares responded.
[No mines on the right wing,] Private Volex, the unit's sole Tellarite, replied.
Slowly they advanced toward the ship, closing the arc. Once inside, they saw in graphic detail what had happened.
Skeletons, both Jem'Hadar and of various Federation races, lay scattered about the decks of the Kirk. From all indications, it appeared that the Kirk had been boarded and fighting had gone hand-to-hand before something, either a deliberate attempt by the Kirk's captain or a malfunction, caused the ship to crash into the planetoid. "Okay, Marines, start pulling weapons off all the bodies; don't be squeamish; this is what we're paid for. Also get any reserves of Ketracel White you can find," Johnny ordered. Desperate Jem'Hadar would have no compunction whatever about scavenging off their fallen comrades!
Meanwhile, Johnny proceeded to his part of the mission. He climbed over what must have been tons of wreckage to get to the bridge. The body of Captain Nash was still in her command chair, decomposed to a skeleton clad in rags of Starfleet uniform. Way too many ghosts in this place, Johnny thought, the beliefs of a lifetime surfacing once again to clash with the rational mind trying to run a mission which was still very dangerous. A blinking light on the arm of the command chair indicated a portion of the ship's computer was still functioning.
"Computer, play back most recent ship's log. Authorization Chee Omicron Two One Six."
<Please state the current stardate.> the computer, in a slurred voice, responded. Starfleet authorization codes were assigned according to a top-secret algorithm based on the stardate at the time of assignment. If the given code wasn't valid for that stardate, then no access would be granted. Johnny read off the stardate. "The stardate is 60471.6."
<Access granted. Playback commencing.>
The ship's viewscreen was still intact by some miracle and displayed a static-filled image labeled with a stardate from four years earlier. The captain of the Kirk, a very attractive redhead who reminded Johnny vaguely of someone else he knew, appeared on screen.
[...Jem'Hadar forces have overrun 85 percent of the ship... ...can't hold out much longer... ...dispatch probe destroyed by... ...warp core ejected... ...am going to scuttle the ship... ...may God have mercy on us all...]
And that was it.
Having seen the living face of Captain Helen Nash, Johnny did not want to look at the skeletal remains any longer. Instead, he moved to the science station and activated its computer link.
"Computer, access all data in the following files," Johnny ordered, listing the file names supplied to him in his briefing. "Authorization Chee Omicron Two One Six."
<Access granted to all files except 04172 Beta.>
"Computer, what access level is needed for 04172Beta?"
<04172 Beta is restricted to personnel with access level seven or above.>
I thought there were only five levels. This gets more interesting by the minute! "Computer, download all requested files to my tricorder," Johnny ordered. Just because he couldn't access it didn't mean he couldn't copy it. Besides, the intelligence data was for the Captain and Lt. Sinclair to sort out; he was just the poor grunt whose job it was to retrieve it.
<Download complete except for file 04172 Beta.>
Dammit! Well, if the computer won't give me the file, I'll just have to go get it the old fashioned way!
The com unit in Johnny's helmet distracted him momentarily from his frustrations. [Barek to Major Chee. First Squad is dirtside. We are establishing a defensive perimeter. The Engineering personnel are headed your way.]
"Copy that. Let me know if anything changes. Chee out." Then, on a separate circuit: "Landing party to Virgo."
[This is the captain. What is your progress?]
"The Engineering team has arrived and is beginning its assessment. From the looks of it, it would appear that the Kirk was boarded by the Jem'Hadar and scuttled by its captain to prevent capture. My men are busy stripping the bodies of weapons and other technology. No sign of the T'rais this time."
[Very good. Keep us posted], Captain Maruu replied.
"Oh, one more thing!" Johnny continued. "I've retrieved all the intelligence data requested except for one file. Should I pull the circuit manually?"
A moment's hesitation. [No, that won't be necessary, Major. Bring what you have. Virgo out.]
Not usually like the captain to hold back like that, but that's the order." He paused. "Squad Two, report!" he ordered
[All crewmembers and 24 Jem'Hadar bodies have been accounted for. All small arms aboard the ship have been gathered and stacked outside. The torpedo tubes appear to be empty], Olivares replied.
[Major, this is Chief Wixtrom from Engineering. This ship's a wreck: it'd take the Yards at Utopia Planatia to put her back together again!]
Wixtrom? What's he doing here? Not that I'm complaining... "Wasn't Chief McDermott supposed to be on this mission?" Johnny asked.
[McDermott's, shall we say, indisposed,] Wixtrom replied, sounding more than a little embarrassed. [I think you may know why.]
Terrific!!! No doubt one of Zelansky's playmates. "Very well, then, let's pack up and head out of here," Johnny ordered.
He was just climbing out of the wreck when another set of transporter beams appeared inside the defensive perimeter. The T'rais had arrived!