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Posted on Wed Feb 17th, 2021 @ 1:33am by Captain Brenda Sinclair
Edited on on Tue Feb 23rd, 2021 @ 7:01am

Mission: A New Legacy
Location: Taurus III, Starfleet Marine Corps Staging Post
Timeline: Prior to arrival on USS Arcadia
1278 words - 2.6 OF Standard Post Measure

ON

The morning sun peaked up above the building complexes of the Marine compound. The buildings encircled a compacted dirt quad – a rectangle of two hundred by four hundred feet in size, scattered with obstacle barriers, and demarcated for the formation of squads, and platoons. Even at such an early hour, there was already such a formation in place, all 40 Marines lined up by squad, with the Platoon’s Lieutenant, and Staff Sergeant standing to one side.

Passing through the Quad, Captain Brenda Sinclair, SFMC watched as one of the Battalion Sergeant Majors gave the troops a morning dressing down. No doubt the Sar-Major enjoyed this part of his job, she mused, getting closer and being able to recognize the thunderous tone. This was the very man who had ‘welcomed’ herself to the facility. He was good at it, she remembered. When she had arrived, and taken command of her own Company, the grizzled enlisted veteran had taken a full twenty minutes to expound upon the dangers of their tenure. He hadn’t been exaggerating, to his credit.

Not wanting to interrupt the man, but wanting to have a little fun all the same, Brenda adjusted her course across the quad, on her way to the Admin building, a course that would take her close by the assembled Platoon. The Lieutenant had clocked her approach, even as the Sergeant Major continued on, his opening speech as unstoppable as a Quantum Torpedo. For most things, anyway. “Attention to orders.” The Lieutenant called, when Brenda was finally within range.

The Sergeant Major actually stopped, mid-sentence, turning to salute whoever was approaching. If a Lieutenant was interrupting him to call the Platoon to attention, whoever it was deserved a salute. “Captain.” He said by way of greeting, dropping the salute when she returned it to him. “Come for a refresher of the orientation?”

“Stand at ease.” Brenda gave the Platoon a salute, and saw them move in unison. Good to know Boot Camp was still doing its job. “No, Sar-Major. Once was enough for a life-time. You got to the lions, tigers, and bears yet?” She asked as a joke, and saw a couple of the fresh privates exchange looks. “In truth, I’m on my way to see the Old Man.”

“Maybe you’ll find out what the fuck they’re doing at Pad D.” The Sergeant Major nodded over to the side. “They’ve been loading since about 2600 hours.”

One of the weirder things about Taurus III was the 28-hour day cycle. It always took some getting used to. Brenda raised a hand, shielding her eyes against the sharp rays of the morning sun. In the distance, she could see a collection of large, angular shapes. Cargo haulers. Activity bustled around them. Loaders and their operators moving containers, crates, and even a few tracked vehicles. “The hell they want with a Mobile Command Module?” The MCM was a tracked vehicle, with enough communications equipment to run a small war.

“Fuck if I know, Captain. Was talking to a Gunny up in Regimental S4-” the logistics branch of the Regimental HQ Company “-he says they’re packing up enough gear and equipment to mobilize an Infantry Company. Now, you say you have a meeting with the Boss, bypassing Major Hughes.”

That one caught Brenda off guard. If her Battalion CO wasn’t in on this, whatever it was had to be major, and unconventional. “He doesn’t know? Shit.”

“If I didn’t know, Captain, you bet your ass he don’t.”

“Shit. Well, best not keep the Colonel waiting. Have a good one, Sar-Major.” Brenda gave the Lieutenant a quick wave as she departed.

“Watch your ass, Captain.” The Sergeant Major called back. The still air was shattered by a sneeze that sounded like a bomb. Brenda turned to see one of the Marines almost doubled over. The Sergeant Major advancing on the poor man like a bear. “What is your major malfunction, Private!? At parade rest, you do not move until you are told to do so. This includes needing to sneeze. If you are shot, I want your dead, sorry ass to remain standing until told otherwise-“

Brenda let the rest of the tirade fade into the air as she made her way to the Admin building once more. Passing through the doors, she made her way through the building to the office of the Base Commander. Outside, working at a desk, a buck sergeant glanced up from his terminal. “Captain Sinclair?” The NCO asked, and got a nod in return. “Colonel’s waiting, you’re cleared to go in.”

Letting out a small breath, Brenda faced the doors, and stepped forward, watching as they parted, permitting her entrance. The office had a large bay window that looked down onto the Quad. She could see the Platoon still being put through their welcome. Colonel Davydov was sat at his desk, reviewing some files. On the wall behind him, Brenda could see a large wall dispay, a map of the local region. Approaching the desk, Brenda rendered a snap salute. "Colonel. Captain Sinclair, C Company, 2nd Battalion. Reporting as ordered, sir."

It was about a minute before the Colonel looked up. "At ease, Captain." He leaned back in his chair to regard her. "I wish I had good news to go with the bad, Captain."

Brenda forced herself to resist the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose. If The Colonel only had bad news, then this was not going to be fun. "This have anything to do with the equipment being loaded? I hear it's enough to mobilize a Company?"

The Colonel let out a tired sigh, almost a growl. "Goddamn Scuttlebutt. Just once I'd like to keep something quiet." He knew it was impossible. A Marine base was a fairly insular community. Talk was inevitable. Speculation even more so. Well, his Marines were not picked for their stupidity. At least not the Officers and NCOs. "Yes is the short answer. We're shipping an entire Company out in one block unit. You're it."

A small shake of her head, Brenda held back her initial reaction. "Why me? Why my Company?" Pulling an entire Company out of a Battalion was madness.

"Only the REMF who cooked up this half-baked idea knows. Odds are it was chosen entire at random - not a single shit given about what it'd do to what was left behind. Wanna know the best part? You're being made mobile. USS Arcadia, Odyssey-class."

"A Goddamn ship billet?" At that, Brenda did slide into one of the chairs, and face-palmed. "I really hope I never meet the moron who cooked this up."

Davydov offered a chuckle. "Likewise, Captain. Likewise." He offered her a PADD. "It's gonna take us a day or two to get everything locked and loaded, but officially, you're hereby transferred from my Command. Unless things go FUBAR."

Taking the file from him, Brenda skimmed through the heading contents. Sure as hell wasn't lying about the ship. Bloody hell. "Cause how often does that happen, Colonel?" She rose to her feet and came to attention. "Unless there's anything else, I'd like to brief my Company."

"Of course, Captain. You are dismissed. Our Logistics people are at Pad D getting everything secure. A personnel transport will come by to pick all of you up when the supplies are ready. Good luck, Captain." He offered her a handshake.

Taking his offered hand, Brenda nodded. "Aye, Colonel. Thank you." Turning on her heel, Brenda left the office. A goddamn Ship post? Some mobile Marine Detachment? Someone at Command had lost their mind.

OFF