We All Fall Down – Who Will Remember You?
by Colonel James Darson
Post Details
ON:
Darson leaned back in his office chair, the heavy leather creaking against the persistent cold that pervaded the ready room. Little puffs of frost flowed from the air vents and left marks on the icicles that had taken up residence around them. The dreariness of the climate control matched his general mood, as he was in the middle of a task…no, a tradition, which he did not relish. And yet…it must be done.
He palmed the terminal on the desk as he resumed reading the PADD in his hands. Audio files began to play, the helmet logs of the fighter sortie during the GUARDIAN platform incident. It started from inside the hanger, with each of the pilots checking in with their controller before being scrambled out into the inky blackness of space, some never to return. As the recording continued, he swept his fingers across the PADD, scrolling down and intently taking in all the information carried on that tiny screen. As he was focusing the door chime sounded, discordant with the recording. Without even looking up, Darson called for the person to enter. The hatch hissed open and Captain Flynn walked in already wrapped in a heavy parka, one of several left for convenience outside the office. Being careful not to slip, she made her way to one of the two chairs on the opposite side of the desk and sat down.
Darson spared her a split-second glance before returning to the PADD. She was disheveled, but in the good sort of way that let the CO know that she had been working hard following his orders for the rescue and salvage operation. A hard task, but Darson had let her know that she had his complete faith. The recording started to pick up as the fighters got into formation and moved to engage and interdict the platforms. Darson reached out languidly and lowered the volume, letting it continue in the background.
“Report?” he said, not even looking up from the PADD.
Flynn eyed the laptop with no small amount of apprehension as she launched into it, “Sir, the rescue portion of the operation is complete as far as we can tell. All of our fighters have been recovered…one escape pod as well, pilot intact. We also managed to take in debris from one of the destroyed fighters, but the other was caught in the anti-matter explosion...there was nothing left,” She paused for a moment, but Darson gave no reaction, so she continued on, “As for the passenger ship, we towed it into dock. All those left alive are being seen to and giving medical attention. Per your orders, all of our doctors and trauma surgeons were dispatched to Starfleet Medical here to render assistance. We told sick bay to keep them as long as needed. The freighter…well, there wasn’t much left. Salvage teams are recovering what they can. Any bodies…anything really. The platforms that were disengaged have been returned to their housing and are being kept under heavy guard by Starfleet, but the ones that were destroyed, their salvage has been moved to one of our docks.”
“Post a guard on it,” Darson said evenly as he scrolled again, “24 hour patrols, nobody goes in there that doesn’t have clearance from me or is an approved investigating agent. Have Lieutenant Chau’Saura compile a preliminary report and have that forwarded to me by tomorrow morning. Important we get the facts out to all relevant agencies so we can begin investigating this…I think somebody from IO will probably be along, especially considering the brass that was here to witness it.”
Miranda sat silently for a moment, the only sound between the two of them the space battle going on inside the terminal, all muffled thumps and whines of weapons, and the shouts of pirates barking orders and dodging from threats to many. Like many would, Miranda found this very distressing. To hear people dying once was bad enough, but to willingly subject yourself to the same feeling again, and she knew that they were coming up on when the first fighter was blown out of the sky.
“Sir,” she said haltingly, “Permission to speak freely?”
“Yes?” Darson intoned as he scrolled again, armored finger gliding across the PADD with ease.
On the recording, they could both hear the frenzied screaming of one of the pilots, =^= “Phaser firing, no effect! Switching to torpedoes. Ahh! I’m hit, Secondary buffer gone, I’m bailing-“ =^= A keening scream echoed through office as the fighter disintegrated with the Marine. Silence reigned for a moment, heavy and cold.
The lithe Marine blurted out, “What are you doing?”
“What do you mean?” Darson asked, slightly nonplussed.
“Just…just sitting here! Why aren’t you out looking for who did this? The sooner we start, the sooner we have a chance of catching those bastards!”
“What should I do?” Darson responded, a trifle of annoyance sneaking into his tone, “Just go off and bash some heads together? I was asked to coordinate the rescue operation first off, which I have done. Second, whoever did this…if it was deliberate and not an accident was careful. Very careful. They’ve probably gone to ground. If they’re still on the station, they’re laying low, waiting for the heat to die down. All transit has been suspended for the day, and we’ve locked down all sensitive areas. The investigation will commence as scheduled and, and I have sent out feelers to some of my own contacts to find out what, if anything, this was about. And you will do as ordered, nothing more and nothing less. People, important people, will be looking at this situation very closely.”
The situation on the recording was quickly arriving at its explosive climax, the destruction of the freighter, and Miranda’s anger was growing as well. She rose out of the chair and violently smashed both of her hands down on the table, scattering PADD’s wildly, “So what if they’re looking at it closely? All the more reason for us to be pro-active! And this does not explain why you are sitting around here, doing nothing but listening to this fucking disaster happen again you FUCKING METAL BASTARD!” At that exact moment, Miranda knew that she had overstepped her bounds by about the whole nine yards.
Darson was up like a shot from the chair, slamming it backwards into the wall. To Miranda, all she saw was a black blur flying at her. From across the desk, Darson’s arm that wasn’t holding the computerized slab shot out and gripped like a vice to the side of the younger woman’s head. The thumb over the mouth to silence her, the index finger gripping the bottom of her eye socket to fix her gaze. And the rest of the large metal gauntlet surrounding her skull holding her in place with nary a tremor. Darson leaned forward eying her with the blank slate of his mask, an aura of mixing indifference and indignance.
Miranda took a shallow breath through her nose. The Colonel’s hand held firm and steady, forcing her to remain still. The digit kissing her lips tasted strongly of ionized metal and grease, and the rest of it was a steely promise of pain if she moved. For the first time since she had met him, she felt fear creep into her. A very un-marine like feeling, but one that seeped into her every pore starting from her chest and extending into the extremities, a feeling that the parka could not dispel. She had been crass and offensive, sure…but was this the response she had been expecting? No, it was not. It was considered extremely poor form to strike a subordinate officer (though corporal punishment not allowed, it was tolerated off the books sometimes), and could even result in a court martial. But she had been putting up with Darson for years, and even though she could detect annoyance from him at times, he had never acted this way. She steeled herself and stared straight at his mask.
Darson held her there for a moment, before raising the PADD to his mouth and saying “Shh. I want to listen to this. And you will listen too,”
They both listened quietly to the ending of the recording as the freighter’s warp core detonated sending the ship into an inferno, with another two fighters being caught up in the resulting destruction. After the screaming had subsided, the platforms disabled, and the mop-up began, Darson reached command the recording to cease, then looked hard at his angry XO, “I explained to you once before, but it appears you have forgotten. While you are the XO, the conduit between me and the other officers and the Marines as a whole, ultimately the responsibility of command rests on my shoulders. I was the one who ordered them to scramble, and while I do not blame myself for the passing of those who did not make it back, I do hold a measure of responsibility. And I know that every marine, from the highest lofts of High Command to the lowest swab enlisted took an oath, solemnly swore to support and defend the Federation against all enemies…foreign and domestic. To give their lives in defense of the Federation citizens. I have seen many do it without hesitation, and today was no different.”
“I have lived a long time Captain…I have seen too many battlefields, too many Marines cut down. And for each and every one, I do the following. I remember how they died. I take their lives that they so bravely gave, and I make sure that their deaths were not in vain. In my time as CO, I have lost 1,263 of those brave souls…current as of now. And I remember. Every. Single. One.”
Darson waved the PADD in his hand around, “Do you know what this is? This is the dossier, the life and times, of 2nd Lieutenant Briscoe Dent, the first pilot who perished today. He was too close to the platforms and his automatic countermeasures failed to deploy in time. A mistake on his part? Perhaps. Or maybe the platforms were more agile then our pilots were expecting, as they haven’t trained extensively against units with these capabilities. I know everything there is to know about Mr. Dent. Where he was born, where he grew up, went to school. What his life was like, what his instructors said about him, his psych evals. Everything. Do you know that he had no next of kin?”
Miranda managed a small negative shake of the head.
“Neither did I. No family at all…his life was the military. Joined to ‘see the galaxy’. Well isn’t that noble. What did that get him? A memorial flag and a casket out the airlock. And yet, even though they don’t know it, the survivors of that ship owe their lives in no small part to him. But they won’t ever know, they just don’t want to. His squad mates will mourn him for a while, but then there will be somebody to take his place. You’ll probably be thinking about him for a while, but then you’ll move on, get you own command. But me…I’ll remember him for the rest of my days. You think that I do not desire vengeance? You’re wrong. I have already sent out requests for information and intelligence to the furthest reaches of the quadrant. If I get even so much as a whiff of who did this, I will hunt them down and make the disappear. But this exact moment is not the time for that.”
Darson leaned in close, his mask level with Miranda’s face, “I will forgive your outburst this time…it never happened. You will go and follow up on the orders I gave you, and I will be out in a few minutes to address the regiment…You’re a good XO Captain. And you’ll make a fine CO one day. But you have to learn to learn,”
Darson released her and she stood up, rubbing her jaw and nodding, “Yes sir. Understood sir. May I be dismissed?”
Darson regarded her for one more moment and then nodded. She saluted and turned to leave the room. As she approached the hatch, it opened and a warm gust of air invited her out into the corridor. As she departed, leaving the Colonel in his desolate tomb of an office, he sat down heavily. The chair joints creaked again as he leaned back and was motionless for a moment.
As he leaned forward, something stirred in him. Perhaps it was something of a conscience, perhaps a memory. It whispered into his ear, as if to a lover: “But who will remember you?”
Darson paused, contemplating a moment, before reaching out and starting the recording again.
OFF
Colonel James Darson
Marine CO, DS5
by Colonel James Darson
Post Details
| Title | Who Will Remember You? | |
| Mission | We All Fall Down | |
| Author(s) | Colonel James Darson | |
| Posted | Fri Aug 22, 2014 @ 4:59am | |
| Location | Marine HQ | |
| Timeline | Day 1: 2150 |
Darson leaned back in his office chair, the heavy leather creaking against the persistent cold that pervaded the ready room. Little puffs of frost flowed from the air vents and left marks on the icicles that had taken up residence around them. The dreariness of the climate control matched his general mood, as he was in the middle of a task…no, a tradition, which he did not relish. And yet…it must be done.
He palmed the terminal on the desk as he resumed reading the PADD in his hands. Audio files began to play, the helmet logs of the fighter sortie during the GUARDIAN platform incident. It started from inside the hanger, with each of the pilots checking in with their controller before being scrambled out into the inky blackness of space, some never to return. As the recording continued, he swept his fingers across the PADD, scrolling down and intently taking in all the information carried on that tiny screen. As he was focusing the door chime sounded, discordant with the recording. Without even looking up, Darson called for the person to enter. The hatch hissed open and Captain Flynn walked in already wrapped in a heavy parka, one of several left for convenience outside the office. Being careful not to slip, she made her way to one of the two chairs on the opposite side of the desk and sat down.
Darson spared her a split-second glance before returning to the PADD. She was disheveled, but in the good sort of way that let the CO know that she had been working hard following his orders for the rescue and salvage operation. A hard task, but Darson had let her know that she had his complete faith. The recording started to pick up as the fighters got into formation and moved to engage and interdict the platforms. Darson reached out languidly and lowered the volume, letting it continue in the background.
“Report?” he said, not even looking up from the PADD.
Flynn eyed the laptop with no small amount of apprehension as she launched into it, “Sir, the rescue portion of the operation is complete as far as we can tell. All of our fighters have been recovered…one escape pod as well, pilot intact. We also managed to take in debris from one of the destroyed fighters, but the other was caught in the anti-matter explosion...there was nothing left,” She paused for a moment, but Darson gave no reaction, so she continued on, “As for the passenger ship, we towed it into dock. All those left alive are being seen to and giving medical attention. Per your orders, all of our doctors and trauma surgeons were dispatched to Starfleet Medical here to render assistance. We told sick bay to keep them as long as needed. The freighter…well, there wasn’t much left. Salvage teams are recovering what they can. Any bodies…anything really. The platforms that were disengaged have been returned to their housing and are being kept under heavy guard by Starfleet, but the ones that were destroyed, their salvage has been moved to one of our docks.”
“Post a guard on it,” Darson said evenly as he scrolled again, “24 hour patrols, nobody goes in there that doesn’t have clearance from me or is an approved investigating agent. Have Lieutenant Chau’Saura compile a preliminary report and have that forwarded to me by tomorrow morning. Important we get the facts out to all relevant agencies so we can begin investigating this…I think somebody from IO will probably be along, especially considering the brass that was here to witness it.”
Miranda sat silently for a moment, the only sound between the two of them the space battle going on inside the terminal, all muffled thumps and whines of weapons, and the shouts of pirates barking orders and dodging from threats to many. Like many would, Miranda found this very distressing. To hear people dying once was bad enough, but to willingly subject yourself to the same feeling again, and she knew that they were coming up on when the first fighter was blown out of the sky.
“Sir,” she said haltingly, “Permission to speak freely?”
“Yes?” Darson intoned as he scrolled again, armored finger gliding across the PADD with ease.
On the recording, they could both hear the frenzied screaming of one of the pilots, =^= “Phaser firing, no effect! Switching to torpedoes. Ahh! I’m hit, Secondary buffer gone, I’m bailing-“ =^= A keening scream echoed through office as the fighter disintegrated with the Marine. Silence reigned for a moment, heavy and cold.
The lithe Marine blurted out, “What are you doing?”
“What do you mean?” Darson asked, slightly nonplussed.
“Just…just sitting here! Why aren’t you out looking for who did this? The sooner we start, the sooner we have a chance of catching those bastards!”
“What should I do?” Darson responded, a trifle of annoyance sneaking into his tone, “Just go off and bash some heads together? I was asked to coordinate the rescue operation first off, which I have done. Second, whoever did this…if it was deliberate and not an accident was careful. Very careful. They’ve probably gone to ground. If they’re still on the station, they’re laying low, waiting for the heat to die down. All transit has been suspended for the day, and we’ve locked down all sensitive areas. The investigation will commence as scheduled and, and I have sent out feelers to some of my own contacts to find out what, if anything, this was about. And you will do as ordered, nothing more and nothing less. People, important people, will be looking at this situation very closely.”
The situation on the recording was quickly arriving at its explosive climax, the destruction of the freighter, and Miranda’s anger was growing as well. She rose out of the chair and violently smashed both of her hands down on the table, scattering PADD’s wildly, “So what if they’re looking at it closely? All the more reason for us to be pro-active! And this does not explain why you are sitting around here, doing nothing but listening to this fucking disaster happen again you FUCKING METAL BASTARD!” At that exact moment, Miranda knew that she had overstepped her bounds by about the whole nine yards.
Darson was up like a shot from the chair, slamming it backwards into the wall. To Miranda, all she saw was a black blur flying at her. From across the desk, Darson’s arm that wasn’t holding the computerized slab shot out and gripped like a vice to the side of the younger woman’s head. The thumb over the mouth to silence her, the index finger gripping the bottom of her eye socket to fix her gaze. And the rest of the large metal gauntlet surrounding her skull holding her in place with nary a tremor. Darson leaned forward eying her with the blank slate of his mask, an aura of mixing indifference and indignance.
Miranda took a shallow breath through her nose. The Colonel’s hand held firm and steady, forcing her to remain still. The digit kissing her lips tasted strongly of ionized metal and grease, and the rest of it was a steely promise of pain if she moved. For the first time since she had met him, she felt fear creep into her. A very un-marine like feeling, but one that seeped into her every pore starting from her chest and extending into the extremities, a feeling that the parka could not dispel. She had been crass and offensive, sure…but was this the response she had been expecting? No, it was not. It was considered extremely poor form to strike a subordinate officer (though corporal punishment not allowed, it was tolerated off the books sometimes), and could even result in a court martial. But she had been putting up with Darson for years, and even though she could detect annoyance from him at times, he had never acted this way. She steeled herself and stared straight at his mask.
Darson held her there for a moment, before raising the PADD to his mouth and saying “Shh. I want to listen to this. And you will listen too,”
They both listened quietly to the ending of the recording as the freighter’s warp core detonated sending the ship into an inferno, with another two fighters being caught up in the resulting destruction. After the screaming had subsided, the platforms disabled, and the mop-up began, Darson reached command the recording to cease, then looked hard at his angry XO, “I explained to you once before, but it appears you have forgotten. While you are the XO, the conduit between me and the other officers and the Marines as a whole, ultimately the responsibility of command rests on my shoulders. I was the one who ordered them to scramble, and while I do not blame myself for the passing of those who did not make it back, I do hold a measure of responsibility. And I know that every marine, from the highest lofts of High Command to the lowest swab enlisted took an oath, solemnly swore to support and defend the Federation against all enemies…foreign and domestic. To give their lives in defense of the Federation citizens. I have seen many do it without hesitation, and today was no different.”
“I have lived a long time Captain…I have seen too many battlefields, too many Marines cut down. And for each and every one, I do the following. I remember how they died. I take their lives that they so bravely gave, and I make sure that their deaths were not in vain. In my time as CO, I have lost 1,263 of those brave souls…current as of now. And I remember. Every. Single. One.”
Darson waved the PADD in his hand around, “Do you know what this is? This is the dossier, the life and times, of 2nd Lieutenant Briscoe Dent, the first pilot who perished today. He was too close to the platforms and his automatic countermeasures failed to deploy in time. A mistake on his part? Perhaps. Or maybe the platforms were more agile then our pilots were expecting, as they haven’t trained extensively against units with these capabilities. I know everything there is to know about Mr. Dent. Where he was born, where he grew up, went to school. What his life was like, what his instructors said about him, his psych evals. Everything. Do you know that he had no next of kin?”
Miranda managed a small negative shake of the head.
“Neither did I. No family at all…his life was the military. Joined to ‘see the galaxy’. Well isn’t that noble. What did that get him? A memorial flag and a casket out the airlock. And yet, even though they don’t know it, the survivors of that ship owe their lives in no small part to him. But they won’t ever know, they just don’t want to. His squad mates will mourn him for a while, but then there will be somebody to take his place. You’ll probably be thinking about him for a while, but then you’ll move on, get you own command. But me…I’ll remember him for the rest of my days. You think that I do not desire vengeance? You’re wrong. I have already sent out requests for information and intelligence to the furthest reaches of the quadrant. If I get even so much as a whiff of who did this, I will hunt them down and make the disappear. But this exact moment is not the time for that.”
Darson leaned in close, his mask level with Miranda’s face, “I will forgive your outburst this time…it never happened. You will go and follow up on the orders I gave you, and I will be out in a few minutes to address the regiment…You’re a good XO Captain. And you’ll make a fine CO one day. But you have to learn to learn,”
Darson released her and she stood up, rubbing her jaw and nodding, “Yes sir. Understood sir. May I be dismissed?”
Darson regarded her for one more moment and then nodded. She saluted and turned to leave the room. As she approached the hatch, it opened and a warm gust of air invited her out into the corridor. As she departed, leaving the Colonel in his desolate tomb of an office, he sat down heavily. The chair joints creaked again as he leaned back and was motionless for a moment.
As he leaned forward, something stirred in him. Perhaps it was something of a conscience, perhaps a memory. It whispered into his ear, as if to a lover: “But who will remember you?”
Darson paused, contemplating a moment, before reaching out and starting the recording again.
OFF
Colonel James Darson
Marine CO, DS5