Brass Hats

[RAdm S.Coyote 0]

With the senior command crew off ship and playing at mercenary, Rear Admiral Shauna Coyote* had assumed temporary mission command of the USS Comanche Creek, with Colonel Craig Tigard taking on the temporary duties as the ships XO. The fact that the Navy rear admiral and Marine colonel were away from their regular ‘desk duty’ postings planet-side attested to the scope of the mission to the Outer Rim.

 

And, the two senior officers were also ‘out of uniform’ – Coyote wore the command gold field tunic instead of her regular charcoal and white admiralty uniform. Tigard had replaced his black beret and BDU’s in favor of the marine green tunic.

 

Craig and Shauna had been sequestered in the main briefing room for the last few hours, going over the latest Intel transmitted by the Outer Rim team.

 

“Shauna, you ever think about taking command of a ship again?” Tigards question was half serious, half banter, but he still asked it as he was curious. While not necessarily good friends, the two were familiar enough to use first names.

 

The admiral kept her attention on the hard copy report printout that she was reading as she answered. “Oh yeah Craig; CO of Comanche Creek with Calestorm as my XO? I don’t think so….”

 

“Who said anything about taking command of the ‘Creek?”

 

Now Coyote winged a curious look at the Marine colonel, her eyebrows up.

 

He shrugged. “The Border Patrol’s FTR program is successful enough and the Federation borders aren’t going to calm down any time soon. At the rate your program is going, you can take command of another ship within the next six months, easy.”

 

She shook her head in the negative. “Crash is a true quarterdeck breed. She’s at home out here, and at this point in my career, I’m perfectly happy flying a desk. Remember that.”

 

Tigard made a gesture of mock surrender, and he smiled. “Sorry I brought it up.”

 

Her curiosity sparked and she ran with the figurative ball. “Are you getting itchy for some action Craig?”

 

His smile waned and he didn’t answer right away, his gaze wandering away from Coyote and she couldn’t immediately read the look in his eyes. All Tigard said in response was, “Vulcan changed a lot.”

 

“Aye. It did.”

 

He nodded and continued, his mouth set in a displeased line. “According to the after action reports pieced together from all the surviving officers, the Farragut was the first ship to really get nailed by the Narada. Blew apart,” he snapped his fingers, “just like that.”

 

Now his gaze went wistful, more like Craig. “Farragut was my first posting. Good ship. I was a green 2^nd El Tee. That’s when I met Crash – she was an Ensign on the Warlock. Both of our ships had been deployed to Draconis Delta. Draconis was hell, but we stayed in touch afterwards and had some good times when we could take leave together…”

 

He got up from his seat and wandered the room, hands clasped behind his back. “We’ve got Starfleet people - active, reserves, retired, senior brass - taking field assignments and field commands to repopulate our ranks and replace the people we’ve lost. I keep thinking maybe I should re-up as well, take on an active platoon or battalion.”

 

“I disagree Craig. You – and I -- are needed right where we are now, just as much as those who are opting for re-assignment or re-enlistments. You can’t have field personnel without command administrative personnel.”

 

Tigard was convinced, but not convinced. “This Rim mission is important, I know that. But, it sure feels good to get out from behind that desk. Hell, look at Calestorm! We’re both about the same age and she’s still jumping around out here like a wired cadet on an energy drink.”

 

The conversation, while somber, had taken on a joking tone with that last statement. Coyote ran with it, as she could tell he was attempting to lighten the mood – and that was a good sign; her mouth quirked up in a smile as she responded. “Colonel, when Crash does jump around like a cadet? She needs to take aspirin injections continually for about two days afterward.”

 

‘I’ll be sure to tell her you said that Admiral.”

 

They both laughed. A ping from the intercom interrupted them and the two officers immediately sobered. Coyote reached out to activated the inset comm on the briefing table with a tap. “Coyote here.”

 

The young sounding voice of the communications officer on duty answered, voice filtering through the inter-ship communications system. “Ma’am. We have an incoming transmit. Heavy encrypt, plain text, coordinate attachments. Command eyes only.”

 

She glanced at Tigard. “Sounds like the word we’ve been waiting on. Decrypt and send it through Ensign.”

 

“Aye Ma’am. Give me a few.”

 

Tigard walked around the briefing room table to stand beside Coyote, who remained seated, They both read the memo styled message that appeared on the tabletop mounted tri-flatscreen, bit by bit and then full text as the comm officer ran it through the digital computer and security program filters.

 

===== Begin Text Message =====

 

To: Blue Suns Corporation

CC: Supervisor Seananne Cote

From: Marie Lightwind

Subject: SS Imperious - Outer Rim Deployment

 

Supervisor Cote:

 

The SS Imperious continues to sweep the Outer Rim sectors. Job offers have come in, though business is slow as typical towards a new professional security ship.

 

Our communications specialist and medic have recently left to seek employment elsewhere. As they left without completing their agreed upon assignment duration, I do plan on crossing paths with the two again to deal properly with the matter.

 

Our next stop is colony planet Nova AC to canvas for available jobs and replacement crew. I plan on taking passengers this run, as Nova is a travel hub for the sectors.

 

According to the local talk, there’s also a notorious nightclub and gaming complex called ‘The Maze’ and I’m sure some of the gamblers and thrill seekers in the crew will check it out. It’d be nice if I didn’t have to bail them out in the morning though. For a change, that is.

 

Otherwise, I’ll be on the lookout for any jobs to forward onto additional Suns crews in the sectors. I estimate we’ll remain at Nova for a couple weeks, give or take.

 

Lightwind out.

 

===== End Text Message =====

 

Tigard gave a small ‘hmmmph’ of approval. “It would seem we just received new orders from Captain Lightwind, Sir.”

 

“Yes we did Colonel, and it sure looks like we’ll be getting some of that field action we were discussing. Get the crew ready to move out. We hug the border, stay on the Federation side until we get a second signal from the field team to move on Nova.”

 

“Aye Admiral.”

 

----

* Note: RADM Coyote is not of the STSF GM Council; she is an NPC for use by the Comanche Creek Sim

Edited September 17, 2011 by RAdm S.Coyote

[Crash Calestorm 0]

Calestorm pinched the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger.

 

When exactly had it become so easy for her to not be truthful with her FTR commanding officer and a SPECOPS colonel. These people were friend and comrade to her. Why in the hell was she even bothering to protect a mutinous first officer who slugged her, held up the Arms NCO at gunpoint for her phaser, and then stole a shuttle?

 

…because Wesley was hers.

 

A rogue executive officer was definitely something that should be reported, even in a coded message. But she hadn’t mentioned the incident…so screw it.

 

A short while later, Crash had found her way down to the hanger bay. She was speaking quietly to Ensign ‘Jumper’ Honor-Scar in a darkened maintenance office set off the main deck.

 

“I have need of your tracking skills. Rather, I need you to check in with some of your family mercenary contacts.”

 

The young Caitian pilot nodded and flipped an ear back in curiosity. “Aye Captain.”

 

“You know about Commander Wesley.” This wasn’t a question.

 

Jumper glanced down at the deck plating for a second, then back up at Calestorm, almost apologetically. “Sir, it’s not all over the Imperious. Not yet at least. You know I grew up mercenary - I just have a way of finding things out is all…”

 

Yeah, and I bet you’re a good supply scrounger as well. Crash gently waved a hand. “Never mind.”

 

Murphy’s Law: Rumors + Gossip + Starship Crew = Warp 20. Most starships were worse then an all-girls Catholic high school when it came to any kind of news being spread at a fast pace.

 

“Just see if you can get any pings on her movements. Report any sightings to myself and Commander JoNs.”

 

The felinoid responded with an affirmative purr and then started to leave the office area. At the open doorway, she turned. “Captain?”

 

“Jumper?”

 

“You might want to duck next time.”

 

Next time? Calestorm closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger. Honor-Scar wisely scooted after that little remark.

 

Out loud, what the captain said was, “Oh. My. God. It’s genetic. God help the future commanders of the JoNs/Honor-Scar descendants.”