Sector Divisional Games Sucker Punch

[Crash Calestorm 0]

The following events take place at some point during the Captain’s shore leave and prior to the events in the 10.01.12 ‘Strange Bedfellows’ log…

 

“Any job that gives you rank and a gun is going to attract its share of psychos and a**holes who get off on throwing their weight around.” - The Prophet in Crysis: Legion by Peter Watts (2011)

 

Starfleet Command

San Francisco, Earth

 

Or those people who got off on throwing a punch around…

 

The protective helmet absorbed most of the blow, but the impact was enough to eject the mouth piece in a spray of saliva. She dropped to the mat on her side and then reflexively rolled on her back. The hit was clean. But, there was way too much force behind the punch for a friendly little charity match.

 

When she’d been a young buck officer, Crash would have gotten right up and hard charged her opponent. But you know what? That was then, this was now and she was perfectly content to lay there as the happy sparkle fairies danced in her field of vision.

 

The Sector Divisional Games attracted all divisions of the Federation Starfleet and promoted individual accomplishments, teamwork, achievements, and a healthy level of competition among those participating. Several charity events were taking place, such as the Starfleet Veterans Recovery Kick Boxing Charity Tournament that Cale had been participating in. The proceeds went towards assisting officers, enlisted and crew wounded in the line of duty. The tag line for the event was ‘Navy vs. Marines’, with the Squids and Sharks squaring off against one another in the ring. Calestorm had co-opted her leave from Comanche Creek in order to compete this year.

 

Lance Corporal Joseph Vega’s* face swam into her line of sight and his mouth was moving, but she couldn’t hear anything…all she could hear was a whooshing in her ears as it slowly faded away. Vega was competing in the marksmanship division; Crash had been tracking his progress as he tracked hers, of course.

 

A second face materialized and somewhere in her addled mind, she recognized the Major in charge of the on sight medical for the competition. The dark skinned woman cupped the downed officer’s chin in a firm hand and then forced Cale to concentrate on her as she spoke. “Calestorm? Calestorm? You understand what I’m saying?”

 

“Y-yeah, I understand…”

 

“What’s your full name?”

 

“…Ashton Marie.”

 

“Rank?”

 

“…Captain.”

 

“Call sign?”

 

“Crash.”

 

“Serial Number?”

 

“148905.”

 

The medical officer nodded, satisfied with Calestorm’s level of awareness and with assistance from Vega and the CMO, the Captain was helped back to a standing position.

 

A spark of anger pushed through the diminishing haze and Crash whirled on her opponent; as a young officer, she’d tangled with Marines and then got a clue about the time she got promoted to senior grade Lieutenant. A rivalry was one thing, and for the most part it was a healthy competition between the Navy and Marines, but being out for blood was a whole other matter entirely.

 

The Marine officer in question, a Lieutenant Colonel out of Fort Mifflin, smirked and asked “How was your meeting with Mister Mat?”

 

“Hey! What is your problem? You better have a damn good explan-“

 

The combination of the sudden movement and the adrenaline rush of anger upset her stomach, which was still trying to come to terms with the initial blow that had laid her out. Crash lurched to one side and dry retched.

 

Vega held onto her and half carried the Captain as the medical officer led led the way out of the ring and through the gathered crowd. Her voice was a clear soprano that ordered, “Make a hole people! Out of the way!”

 

= = = =

The medical write up would be transmitted to the Comanche Creek CMO, but the news was good; no damage or concussion, Calestorm’d be sore for a while and should take it easy for the next few days. Her opponent had been cited with unsportsmanlike conduct and ejected from the remainder of the kickboxing competition.

 

Crash sat upright on a bench in the locker room, pulling on a bottle of water. Corporal Vega leaned casually against one of the lockers and grinned at her.

 

“You feel up to greeting some fans?”

 

“Wait…what? I have fans?”

 

In response he whistled, and about a dozen cadets jockeyed into the room. Even without the various tee shirts that proclaimed ‘Fleet Navy’ or ‘Fleet Marine’ with colorful designs and slogans, the black and white boxing trunks indicated that the kids were competing as a joint team.

 

Vega spoke over the rumble of Warp 10 greetings winged at Crash, who happily complied with her own greets to the enthusiastic cadets.

 

“Captain Calestorm, may I present the Starfleet Mixed Martial Arts Team. I’ve been putting in some training hours with them for the competition.” His smiled broadened. “They’ve been lurking outside for the last hour.”

 

A fair skinned girl who looked as if she might have some Centauran ancestry spoke up for the group. “Corporal Vega, we never lurk. We were preparing for a joint deployment into the locker room to assess Captain Calestorm’s condition.”

 

A burly, dark skinned Human cadet sauntered over to Calestorm with an uninhibited, “Hi Captain,” and offered a hand to shake, “I’m Cadet Carr.” He then turned to face the little group and placed an arm across her shoulders. Jesus, he was a big boy; his one hand was about the size of Cale’s thigh.

 

“I know exactly why the Colonel tried to take out Captain Calestorm here,” he paused for dramatic effect, “…she’s Navy and the Marines fear us, of course!”

 

The Navy cadets on the team hooted and hollered with appreciation at the remark, while the Marine cadets collectively flipped the bird at the big cadet.

 

Vega roared with laughter while Cadet Carr and Calestorm exchanged high fives.

 

*USS Comanche Creek MARDET, heavy weapons specialist