Joining Recon

[GSgt Mike Hefner 0]

Joint Log

Pvt Karo Veras

GSgt Mike Hefner

USS Agincourt NCC 81762

 

The room was empty, save for the Veras and Hefner. The two Marines sat on stools opposite each other. The Gunny had just offered the private a chance to join the Agincourt's recon team, an opportunity Veras was more than happy to pursue.

 

"So, what recon experience do you have?" Slick asked the private, leaning back up against the lockers behind him, his look suggesting more than a casual interest.

 

Veras leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Well, I was trained by Master Sergeant Ennios," he began. "During training exercises, I usually ran point. Master Sergeant trusted my instincts and such. He liked how I could operate without the use of the high tech auditory and visual enhancement tools that some of the other newer recruits relied upon. . .A product of my upbringing I guess." Veras glanced up at Slick, who was still reclined against the lockers, obviously waiting for more operational experience.

 

Veras took a breath and began again. "My first operational assignment was with the 3/8, Charlie Company. I was placed on the Special Tactics Team within the Recon Platoon. The 3/8 was assigned to Starbase 214 and essentially was responsible for the control and deterrence of pirate activity in the area. Penthara IV was where Charlie Company was assigned. It was located on the fringes of Federation Space, not far from both the Talarians and Cardassians and was prime spot for smuggling both into and out of those territories."

 

"The assignment of the Special Tactics Team was to be the eyes and ears of Charlie Company within the settlement of New Seattle, which was home a major Orion Syndicate smuggling hub. This hub was lucrative enough to warrant the Syndicate to carry its own mercenary militia. It was the job of our team to accurately track the wherabouts and strength of that militia, while working to "discourage" illegal activity by any covert and clandestine needs necessary."

 

"During my 6 month training assignment there, our team was directly responsible for the 'tip-off' of 12 incoming shipments and 7 outgoing shipments to local authorities. While disrupting a total of 5 shipments via. . . .other means. We were responsible for a total of 124 arrests and subsequent deportations and extraditions, which included 5 high ranking officials from various nefarious organizations, as well as the elimination of 47 more criminals, including the superintendent of the Penthara operation for the Syndicate, and a Penthara government conspirator."

 

"Not long after I returned for my graduation, Charlie Company and local officials conducted a simultaneous raid of the Syndicates New Seattle locations, which will effectively hamper their Talarian and Cardassian operations."

 

Mike eyed the young man for a long moment - long enough to call it an awkward silence. Veras didn't flinch. The silence grew into several minutes as Mike passively met Veras' gaze, his breathing slowed to nearly imperceptible. Veras remained immobile, his eyes fixed, his hands relaxed, his breathing slowed.

 

Five minutes passed. Ten. At 12 minutes 23 seconds, someone entered the room behind Veras, crossed to a locker behind him, retrieved something from the locker, then left. Two minutes later Mike leaned forward. "Full description. Now."

 

Veras drew a breath "Subject entered approximately 160 seconds ago from the entrance located over my left shoulder. Subject was male, 6'3 to 6'3 1/2 between 215 and 220 lbs. He was in his standard duty uniform. He pulled an item from his locker, something small, a weapon, most likely a phaser by the sound of it being holstered. As he exited through the same door he entered. Total time elapsed between entry and exit was approximately 45 seconds. Judging the lack of pause in his progress from entrance to exit, this was possibly a staged event, as he did not even give second thought to two men staring at each other for apparently no reason." He managed a smile "That or such moments are exceedingly common here on the Agincourt."

 

"The subject also needs to clean the bottom of his boots," Veras added "He must have been assisting in the cleanup of one of the non-quarantined areas."

 

* * * * * * * * *

"Kid's got potential," Mike replied to Gus's query. Stripped to the waist, a slow, methodical hand wrap was preparing them for the upcoming gym session.

 

"Taking him on, then?"

 

"Not my decision."

 

Gus paused in wrapping to give Mike a hopeful glance. "Recommending, then?"

 

"Yep." Mike shifted his weight to grab another roll. He peeled a section off and layered it carefully over the last on his left hand, then took another for his right.

 

"More on-the-job training." Gus sighed, punctuating his non-question by forcefully tearing the last length of wrap off the roll. He tossed the remnants into his locker and kicked it closed.

 

"Only kind we got." Mike's gut knotted. Veras wasn't exactly green, but he was relatively new to recon and really new to Agincourt. Just out of the gate in a manner of speaking. Thinking about losing someone on a mission never set well, and losing someone so young.... he just didn't. Unfortunately, the Soltan situation left no training alternative but the holodecks, and that didn't quite cut it. Mike finished off the last wrap, checked it over, adjusted it a bit, checked his fingers for range of motion, and turned to Gus, giving him a two-count before getting his full attention.

 

"He picked up scent from the boots you used on Corianis," said Mike.

 

Looking like his eyes would come out of his head, Gus gave a hard swallow. Mike's tone and glare shifted his eyes forward and brought him to stiff attention. Gus was regular recon. Didn't have the senses Mike had and for damned sure didn't have the senses Veras had either. Whatever Gus stepped in on Corianis was not going away, and Mike had told him. Telling him twice was totally unacceptable for a Marine. He stepped within an inch of Gus's ear for privacy and intensified his whisper, calculated to cut Gus to the core. "You're a walking target with those on. Lose 'em!" The locker door slammed shut.

 

A brilliant flush crept up Gus's neck. This gym session was not going to be ordinary.

 

"Now move!"

 

* * * * * * * * *

Back at his quarters, Veras was finishing the adornment of his walls. It was nothing much, mainly photos of his family. There was one of his little brother Lylo, holding the most recent Springball Championship trophy over his head. The look on his face always brought a smile to Veras. Lylo had found his battlefield, and was one of the best at it.

 

There were photos of his older brother, sister, and himself, taken at their respective graduations, with their parents at their sides. The look on his father's face was the exactly the same in each of them. There was no smile, but a look of pride. His chin was raised, his shoulders were high. It was almost as if he felt honored to be standing next to each of them.

 

The final one was taken of the Panas Resistance cell at the end of the Occupation, with his mother and father kneeling next to each other in front of a group of 20 others. It was old and faded, but its grainy quality added a sense of history and heroism, an epic memoir of a generation past.

 

Veras laid down, looking away from the photos, thinking about the "test" that Hefner had given him in the secure storage room. It ended not long after he gave his description of the fellow Marine who had came in. Afterwards, there was no confirmation, no corrections, no explanation of what the next step would be, just an ever so slight out-of-place blink after his comment about the boots, and the subsequent dismissal from the room.

 

Now, based the rumors floating down from the bridge, they were headed to the borders of the Romulan Empire. Whatever for, Veras figured that he'd learn soon enough. By then, hopefully his roll would be somewhat defined. If not, he would find a way to fit in as best he could, filling in wherever he was needed. He was a Marine, that was Marines do.

 

Yet he couldn't bury that nagging hope. He wanted to be part of the Recon team. His mother and father served in that capacity while in the Resistance. Both his brother and sister led companies geared towards it. While he refused to believe it was his purpose or destiny to serve in Recon, he felt he owed it to each of them. Especially to his father, who had spent years teaching him the value of his senses, and the importance of being consistently aware of his surroundings.

 

At this point, however, he could only wait. He wouldn't dare ask Slick if he passed his test. He wouldn't approach any of the command staff and ask them either. The last thing he wanted to do was earn the call sign of "Nag" because of him asking a bevy of unnecessary questions. He'd find out soon enough. If it was a Recon assignment, he had something to write home about. If it wasn't, he'd take it stride, and do what ever he was told.

 

He was a Marine, that's what Marines do.