FORECON OPS Initial Planning Session 001

[Cassie Granger 0]

FORECON OPS*

Initial Planning Session 001

USS Comanche Creek

Stardate 2260.56 - 0500 hours

A Silver-Granger Log

 

The main FORECON OPS table monitor spread a 3D image of a mix of jungle, temperate rain forest and marsh across the board. Assorted rivers, streams, & sharp chasms cut through at odd angles making it look like the insane creation of some deranged mind... and the perfect place to hide. The mercenary compound was sequestered in a valley surrounded by concealed emplacements atop sheer cliffs.

 

Even with limited surveillance available, FORECON’s construction team had gathered enough intel to form a preliminary working mock-up of Slaver Central. Thermal tracking over several 22.6-hour days led the team to pinpoint likely sleeping quarters, mess, outhouses, and general use buildings, including an...

 

“Ammo dump?”

 

“You got it,” said Gonzales, a point of his finger drawing Cass’s gaze from the mockup to the ridgeline on the flat table monitor. “Fifties here... here... and here. Two-forties there... and there. Hell of a thing. Like stepping back a few centuries.”

 

The M2 .50 BMG (Browning Machine Gun) was earth-manufacture, used through the 20th and well into the 21st century. Generally referred to as a 50, it came in several variations and was effective against infantry, light armored vehicles and boats, light fortifications, and low-flying atmospheric craft. The M240 was a medium belt-fed machine gun, but extremely reliable and just as effective. Given their emplacements, they had the entire valley well covered.

 

“Doesn’t make a whole lot o’ sense to put a compound buried like that,” she said, stretching her back out. “Even with the amount of firepower cliffside there’s no easy egress, plenty of cover for infil, and it’s pretty much open to attack from orbit. Hell, one moderate blast would take the limestone cliffs down and bury the compound.

 

“A trap? False compound rigged to look like the real thing? Maybe they held the ‘Fleet prisoners there before taking them to Penthe? Or an escape route? Maybe inside the mountain? Something we can use for infil? CQB* inside a tunnel isn’t exactly the best plan.”

 

She paused, giving Silver the once-over. He didn’t seem to be on his usual game.

 

Gage stared at her for a good thirty seconds. “Or maybe it’s exactly what it looks like,” he finally offered.

 

Cass nodded. “A compound. Secluded. Hard to get in, hard to get out, easily defended.”

 

“By scumbags who don’t think we’re crazy enough to risk war to get ‘em.”

 

A tick of her head showed Cassie’s agreement. “Heard an idea along those lines. Like to run it by you, Sir?”

 

“Shoot.”

 

“Intel suggests we go in as a rival slaver band, and they have a few good reasons for that one. Wind of Starfleet in the area can raise all kinds of red flags.”

 

Gage gave her a blank there’s-something-growing-out-of-your-head stare. “You been on this ship too long, Cass.”

 

“Just repeating Intel’s suggestion, Sir. Actually, more than just a suggestion; pretty convincing argument. ‘Fleet intrusion might trigger an interstellar war. Don’t think we want that with the Klingon Empire being just a mite more advanced than we are, and you can be damned sure Vulcan wouldn’t help us out on that one. That, and if the Klingons get wind of ‘Fleet infil, they’ll ratchet up their security on Penthe big time, make the second part of the op near impossible.

 

“We don’t know much about Rura Penthe,” she continued, not letting Gage get a word in edgewise, “but we do know it’s a helluva place. Chatter says it’s a dilithium mine, deep underground, a labyrinth of passages patrolled by the rats of the Klingon Empire for guards with pet predatory animals that look like saber toothed tigers. No stockade, no guard tower, no electronic frontier, but there’s no need. A magnetic shield prevents beaming to most of the surface and what’s left is so frozen it freezes flesh well before the 30-30-30,* so if you’re put topside you don’t survive long. I’m sure they’d at least put a few warbirds in orbit if they knew we were coming. A few more ‘Fleeters to interrogate, work the mines, or use as a bargaining chip would be a pretty good deal I expect.”*

 

Gage exhaled and faintly scowled, but it seemed like a good sign when he didn’t have an immediate reply. He pensively stared at the map for a good minute.

 

“We’ll go as mercenaries,” he resigned. “Fewer details to mess with this late in the game. Fit right in when we shoot whoever can’t give the password.”

 

Cass gave a nod. “Altering the ROE,* Sir?”

 

“I don’t care what some desk jockey says,” Gage remarked with a hint of irritability. “This is what the plan is.

 

“No prisoners, no questions. If they don’t give the right password, they’re a threat. You shoot to stop the threat. Get it?”

 

“Got it.” Her eyes flicked to Gonzales, tongue in cheek.

 

“Good.” Gage’s shoulders dropped and he rubbed his face. “Gonzales, say words.”

 

“Words.” He grinned.

 

A slight shudder rolled through Gage’s shoulders as he grinned at no one and then grimaced at the intensified headache. “A’ight, listen up. We’ve got a few weeks at best. Time for a walkthrough; start at the top. Uh--” He paused, leaning on the tabletop and staring intently at the map.

 

Cass watched him for a few, exchanging an occasional glance with Gonzales. When Gage didn’t continue she turned to Gonzales. “Bring me fresh?” she said, raising her coffee mug toward the briefing room.

 

As soon as the sergeant was out of earshot, she stepped closer to Silver and spoke in a confidential, though direct tone. “Accident in engineering, Sir?”

 

“Huh?”

 

“That nasty knot on your head’s still bleeding, and your lack of concentration says a lot about how hard it was.”

 

Brow knitting, Gage brushed a hand over the lump hidden in his hair with a grunt and scowled at the red streak on his palm. He cursed under his breath.

 

“You had it checked out yet?” she pressed, eyes fixed on his.

 

“Didn’t know it was bleeding, to be honest-- Why are you looking at me like that?”

 

“Think it’s damn obvious why.” At a look from Cass, Gonzales made a sharp about-face with her coffee, back to the briefing room.

 

“My devilish smile and new haircut?”

 

Cass leaned a hip against the table monitor, arms folded, her tone even and non-confrontational. “I’ll be blunt, Sir. No bull. Major’s put you in charge of this mission. He knows you’re capable. I know you’re capable. But the big undercurrent on the team? Do you know you’re capable and are you gonna keep your head in the game. I can tell you right now, if you’re sporting any kind of concussion beneath that thick skull of yours, he’ll jerk you off this mission so fast you’ll have more than a concussion to think about.

 

“Sir,” dropping her arms to the side, Cass turned to face him full on, eyes sharp, voice low, “we need you on this. You’re trained for this and have more experience than any of us. Get your sh*t straight and your head in the game.”

 

“Gee, didn’t know you cared,” Gage retorted and slipped into a nearby chair. “It’s just a headache and a little blood, Cass.”

 

“Look at me,” she said, following him with an eyes-on signal.

 

“Cass,” he tried to ward off her concern as he lounged in the chair, closed eyes veiled by his hand.

 

“Look_at_me,” she said, her tone intense, still low. “What’s wrong? Pupils dilated so you can’t stand the light? Headaches? Can’t focus or think straight, not even for a normal conversation? Damn, Gage, cut the crap. Even I can diagnose that.”

 

“You’re blowin’ it outta proportion, Cass. It’s just a bump,” he said, refusing to give in.

 

“Uh huh,” she said, planting her hands firmly on the armrests. “You want out of proportion, I’ll show you out of proportion. You need to be checked out or not?”

 

“Why, Cass,” Gage remarked in a Georgian drawl. “This is neither the time nor place to lay hands on your superior officer. But if you need an excuse, I can think of a time and a place.” He grinned widely at her, clearly amused with his wit.

 

Cass waited a beat before pulling herself slowly to a stand and, without a word, she returned to the table monitor.

 

“He’s fine,” she growled to Gonzales, who had returned and was pretending he wasn’t watching... by sipping her coffee. “Get me another cup and we’ll move this along.”

 

Gage exhaled and returned to the tabletop. “You said you had an idea for insertion, right? Let’s hear it.”

 

“Aye, Sir.

 

Cassie’s hand flicked through a few images, finally settling on a wide-angle, a good distance from the compound. “Insert here, about five... maybe five and a half klicks from slaver central, which will make a good hump through pretty dense terrain. We’d go in light, grab and go.” She stepped back from the board to grab her coffee, allow Gage access, and get his take on the matter.

 

“Good contingency,” Gage nodded. “Gonzales, what’d intel say? Any chance we can disrupt that shield for beam in?” He gestured at the compound on the tabletop. “Go for the surprise - not that I’m allergic to long hikes through unfamiliar territory.”

 

Hector stepped to the monitor and arranged several images for a closeup of the shield generator. “Would be easy enough if we had a team on the ground or could get word to the assets... but from orbit, not all that easy,” he began, then paused suddenly at one image. “Here’s something,” he said, “shield’s not powered in this image, then...” he pulled up another, “it’s operating here. Not sure why it’s on and off. Remote activation? Doubt it; generator’s too old. Piece ‘o crap, really. More likely there’s a glitch or a power issue. Maybe they use it during certain times of the day or night? Makes me wonder what shape the rest of their equipment is in.

 

“What’d you have in mind, Sir?”

 

“Beam in here.” Gage pointed at a blind patch within the compound and then slid his finger across the map and tapped. “Alternative would be here, just outside. Less time we spend on the ground, the better. Harder to see or hear us coming. Quick in and out.”

 

“Definitely doable,” Hector replied with a firm nod. “We can monitor the use, see if there’s a pattern, and if there isn’t, monitor until we hit an off sequence, then beam in.”

 

Gage nodded. “Since we’re doing most of the footwork, hook up with sci while we’re at it. They’ve got the hardware for the job.”

 

“Roger that, Sir.”

_________________

 

Notes:

FORECON OPS: Force Reconnaissance Operations Center

CQB: Close Quarters Battle

30-30-30: the 30-30-30 rule; at 30 below with a 30mph wind, flesh freezes in 30 seconds

Rura Penthe: Information on Rura Penthe taken from Memory Alpha and Memory Beta

ROE: Rules of Engagement