Combat Is No Privilege

[Crash Calestorm 0]

The following log takes place during the 10 minute TBS...

 

Harrington Sectors

The Widows Run

 

“I haven't as yet had the privilege of combat.” – MAJ Malcolm Powers, Heartbreak Ridge (1986)

 

The core values of the Federation Starfleet are peacekeeping and exploratory campaigns and missions. With few exceptions, the charter recordings haven’t changed since the maiden voyages of the NX-class starships way back in the 2150’s.

 

Following the attack on the home and allied systems by that crazy so and so Nero, resulting in heavy losses for the Starfleet, updates were incorporated into the Starfleet defense charters and divisions, including the Starfleet Border Patrol.

 

An expansion program for the Border Patrol was immediately fast tracked - ya ever notice how a proposal gathers proverbial dust for months sitting in some Colonels or Admirals electronic mail inbox then all a sudden it’s the next best thing to the transporter? - and approved by the Admiralty Board.

 

The First Threat Response division responds to issues that no one else wants to touch and that’s how we damn well like it and we’ve more freedom and range than your average BP vessel. Occasionally, missions take our FTR vessels and crews beyond the established Federation borders, but that stuff is all very hush hush. I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you and all that sort of Section 31 spy stuff.

 

The USS Comanche Creek’s current assignment should have been a fluff ball run: show the colors, patrol the surrounding sectors and assist Starbase Harrington with an upswing in pirate and smuggler activity. And speaking of fluff balls - but don’t tell Lieutenant Honor-Scar I said that since she’s right considerate ‘bout my jaunts into the Black in ol’ Hornet 20 - the Commander of the Aero Group is kinda concerned right now, as is the XO, the prize crew* dispatched to the Lucky Devil, not to mention myself.

 

Ya see, the situation has started to go to all kinds of hell in a hand basket right quick.

 

A cruise ship known as the Olympic Carrier went off course ‘bout nine months back and ended up in the Bad Lands. Search and rescue teams turned up nothing and eventually the vessel and its passengers and crew was listed as lost in space.

 

Well, the dang thing just popped out of the Widows Run like a ghost ship.

 

Oh, and did I mention the ‘Carrier is coming in hot and we’re getting all kinds of radiological alarms going off ‘cause of it? Sensor scans and tracker programs have confirmed that the pleasure vessel is carrying some nuke nasties.

 

So, I got starfighter and shuttle patrols out, a prize crew over there checking out the not so lucky cargo hauler the Lucky Devil, the Comanche Creek standing by, and this giant bomb zooming straight towards all us.

 

Combat is not a privilege. It never has been and never will be. Anyone tells you different ain’t never served on anything resembling a front line smack dab in a planetary skirmish or a forward operating fort or ship or had a rigged pleasure ship comin’ right at them.

 

Starfleet service is a privilege. You serve ‘cause it’s your calling, not to willingly get yourself shot up or look for trouble. You ever run into anyone in your squad, unit or department who’s way too gung ho, you got yourself some problems.

 

A story made its way among the command staffs couple years back. Chief Engineer Olsen of the USS Enterprise had been deployed by HAHO* insertion to disable the drill platform Nero was using to tear the planet of Vulcan apart. The unofficial word was Olsen was a damn fool and put himself and his teammates at risk; he ended up plastering himself off the drill.

 

Thrill seekers need not apply, know what I’m sayin’ there Hoss?

 

Command is earned, not given. And with command there’s responsibility. And right now I gotta figure out what to do with a pleasure ship converted to a giant nuke and keep my people safe. Hell, a part of me wants to dive under the Helm and Nav consoles and stay there for the duration but that ain’t gonna happen. It might be easier if someone was shootin’ at me.

 

I start spoutin’ off orders at warp 10 to the bridge crew on duty…it’s all I can do. The bridge tracking programs estimate the trajectory of the Olympic Carrier in system, headin’ straight for Starbase Harrington.

 

“Flight Ops!”

 

The woman stationed at the FOPS console whirls toward me, half turned in her seat. I reflexively point my finger towards the young enlisted officer.

 

“Tell Jumper to get all her patrol squads nearest ‘Creek to move their tails back into the barn and warn the hanger crews to prep for hot landings. Any patrols out along the perimeter are to hold position until further notice; warn ‘em and they are not to approach the Olympic Carrier!”

 

My voice works in tandem with Commander Wesley's as we both snap off instructions.

 

I wing my attention to Communications so fast I hear and feel a bone crack in the back of my neck. “Maya! Get Staff Sergeant Vega or Lieutenant TAral on the line! Prize crew is to beam back to ‘Creek immediately if not before!”

 

(TBC in Sim)

 

= = =

* Prize Crew: Detail of officers…from the captor placed aboard a naval prize to take her into port for adjudication (Merriam-Webster)

* HAHO: High Altitude High Opening Insertion (Wikipedia)