Marines Remembered

Corridor leading to Forward Lounge

Gunnery Sergeant Richard Sharpe and Major Jon Phanan clad in Marine combat fatigues strode proudly down the corridor of crewmen ignoring their stares, or the aborted conversations as their eyes sought them out, the motivations of their thoughts seemed to be shock. The shock of seeing two Marines in combat dress walking through the ship was something akin to seeing a Ferengi roaming unescorted aboard the ship. Of course this wasn't the view most of the Starfleet personnel took, but their presence seemed to add a touch of darkness.

Especially these two men, combat hardened, their gaze was cold, their demeanour curt at times. They were the hired killers, an anachronism that should have perished with the rise of the Federation. It took episodes such as the previous attack to remind people why the Marines still existed. Richard Sharpe's thoughts turned back to the day he had awaken in the sickbay; his first concern was for his troops. The next was in getting the session done so he could check up on the survivors and then start writing the letters and arraigning the transportation of personal effects to their families. As if sensing his thoughts Major Phanan spoke quietly.

"Gunny, I have forwarded my condolence letters to you for Fredericks and the others." Major Phanan's face stayed without expression, as if talking about the weather.

"Aye, sir. I will have mine attached to them." Sharpe answered the same, but inside the two hardened men, there was sadness, regret.

The two Marines ignoring the stares and curious looks walk into the Forward Lounge.

At the moment they entered, Sharpe felt out of place but understood the need to make some of the Starfleet personnel see that Marines are aboard and are damn proud of it. Also he knew the Major wanted to help promote a sense of co-operation between the two groups locked away. However both Sharpe and Phanan resisted letting Marine non-coms visit the Lounge. There were too many chances for something going wrong and it would rip apart the facade of co-operation they were even just hoping to help bring about. Phanan and Sharpe sat at the bar because it was more open than sitting at the table.

"Gunnery Sergeant Sharpe ?" The Major's voice was conversational; the tone carried a little into the bustling room.

"Yes sir ?" Sharpe glanced reflexively at the bartender who watched them with interest while filling an order. Richard then glanced around the room seeing some heads pivoting their way. Major Phanan retrieved the drinks he ordered for both of them, sliding one of the drinks to Sharpe. He raised his a little in salute as he spoke a dirge.

"To the fallen Marines of our unit. Fredericks, not the best marksman, but a damn fine Marine." Sharpe knew this of old and raised his.

"To the fallen Marines of our unit. Jamieson, a fine father and husband to his family on Ceta IV, a damn fine Marine." Then it rotated back to Phanan, then back to Sharpe until all the Marines were accounted for.