Avaros: In the Combat Zone

[C.T. Caine 0]

Caine's grey eyes squeezed shut in fury and she lashed out with a kick at the young medical officer dressing her wound. "Careful, you idiot! I have to walk on it eventually!" she snapped.

 

The man swallowed and loosened his collar a little bit, the fear of her in his eyes growing deeper. The poor fool did not realize that if she'd really wanted to hurt him she would have done so; the mere fact that her foot had missed suggested that her mind was not really on the threat, but on other, more important things.

 

Her first few weeks as CSEC aboard the Agincourt had been...eventful, to say the least. The Avaros colony situation had more or less exploded rapidly, and while Caine had initially hoped this might be evidence of some new fold of the rebellion plots constantly sizzling at the fringes of the Empire, it had turned out to be nothing more than a few overeager citizens with too much time and illegal weaponry on their hands. Just something to be slapped down; all of Caine's investigations suggested that there was no deeper plot here than a bit of frustration.

 

A bit of frustration could go a long way, of course. Some of Caine's team were down, some from the firefights, some from hand-to-hand combat. One had, it appeared, been emasculated by a particularly vindictive member of the resistance group equipped with a pocket knife. Two had lost their nerve in the face of battle and had to be incapacitated by their teammates to prevent them from getting in the way. Caine herself had been taken down in hand to hand combat by a young fighter feeling his oats who had taken to her thigh with his teeth; she had broken his jaw and limped, furious, back to the medical tents.

 

So, all in all, they were no more than bees. Small, insignificant, but with enough of a sting to be...very annoying. They would be smoked out, however, one way or another.

 

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant," the medico whined placatingly as he finished with the treatment of the bite wound. "But one never knows what kind of diseases they might be carrying. The disinfectant stings but--" He was cut off as Caine's hand took the weight of her frustration out on the badge on his shoulder.

 

"How is that for a sting?" she asked coldly as he writhed, then released him with a jerk. "Finish your job."

 

He wrapped her leg in double time and had her back walking normally within ten minutes.

 

Midshipman David Decatur was at her side as soon as she had exited the tent. Decatur had come aboard the Agincourt at the same time as Caine; he too was finding his bearings in the chaotic situation in which they now found themselves. There were two ways most officers carved a place for themselves in Imperial crews. The smart ones became leaders, making themselves known and dominating where they could. The dumb ones found a smart one to latch onto, or they didn't get very far at all.

 

Decatur was a dumb one; young, tall, broad in the shoulders, and thick as a brick. He was clever enough, however, to peg Caine immediately on their arrival as the one he needed to attach himself to if he wanted to move up the ranks, and he had hardly left her side in the intervening two weeks. Another annoyance, but one that had its uses. Caine was not unaware of the value of personal loyalty, since the professional sort could be hard to come by.

 

"Lieutenant!" he said eagerly, falling into step with her.

 

"You've got word from the front, Mr. Decatur?"

 

"Yessir. The regroup order is in progress, sir; casualty numbers are up but the militants are falling back somewhat. You called it right, sir!"

 

His eagerness to give her this bit of good news was painful, but at least the words were welcome ones. The change of dynamic in the skirmish front had been a calculated risk on her part; had it not worked she might have found herself in the booth for a time rather longer than she would consider pleasant. However, the fallback was a good sign -- good timing for it, as it would solidify some authority with her teams who were now coming to know her command style.

 

Decatur of course didn't seem to need the proof. "We're tearing 'em to pieces, Chief," he continued proudly, like a pup begging for a treat. "Some of the Cait's people were speccing that maybe you were talkin' out of your ass, sir, but we've got it tied up like a neat package."

 

Caine smiled coldly. She had already begun to notice a slow progression among the security officers newer to the ship, of merely referring to Commander JoNs as "the Cait." Apparently her cold dislike of the ship's executive officer had not gone unnoticed, and lines of tension were beginning to be drawn between those in her department loyal to the former-CSEC XO and those loyal to Caine.

 

Caine didn't mind tension; it kept her men on their toes, made them pay attention to their surroundings. For the time being, things were at something of an equilibrium; as long as JoNs's intentions remained more or less in line with the orders of the Empire, Caine could count on her entire team's full support. If JoNs strayed off the beaten path...well, then things could get a little hairier. Caine would have a smaller team to work with, but in the long run it was better to know well in advance where her best allies lay among her department. As a matter of fact it was something of a blessing. One was rarely so sure in this line of work.

 

"Don't get overconfident, Mr. Decatur," she murmured, turning the corner around a line of tents and walking into the armory, where she was handed one of the phaser rifles and a couple of extra power cells which she hooked to her belt. "We don't walk away until the job is...completely finished."