Change Of Scenery

Posted on Sat Jan 7th, 2012 @ 5:14pm by Colonel Damon Raine

1,244 words; about a 6 minute read

Mission: The Race for the Lost Treasure
Location: Captain's Ready Room

ON

Damon leaned back heavily into his leather chair with his eyes closed and a relaxed expression on his face. Music filled the air, a light acoustic set by one of his favourite bands; it punctuated the calm nature of the few stolen moments he could hide away in peace. A cup of coffee was cradled in his hands, a light wisp of steam emanated from its inky black surface and the smell of fresh ground beans seemed to envelop him. In a word, it was perfect...well...almost.

Damon's eyes lifted open as he once again felt the familiar pain of being away from Samantha. When he had received his new orders he had barely enough time to tell Sam he was leaving, let alone give her a proper explanation for why a duffel bag was packed and a shuttle waited to take him off the Calypso. Truth was, he only really figured out the reason for his immediate departure once he arrived at his destination; a Vikrant class carrier on its way to a war zone.

The people of Pirean II recently entered a state of war when their military attempted a coup under the command of a Field Marshal. Although failing to secure the seat of power, the vast majority of their armed forces defected with him.

Almost immediately Starfleet was called in to support and defend the legitimacy of the current government. An entire division of Marines were rushed in and hit the ground running; setting up a forward operating base in the capital.

After weeks of fighting, the Field Marshal's experience with the terrain and devastating use of heavy mechanised/ air support started taking its toll on friendly numbers. Starfleet's response was to send a carrier to equalise the battlefield by providing the Marines and local assets with air support of their own. Additionally, the ships advanced medical center would provide much needed assistance to those seriously injured.

The USS Ontario, a Vikrant class carrier was rushed out of the space dock ahead of schedule to meet the demand. Unfortunately, while the ship was able to be rushed, the crew was not. Many of the key appointments had yet to be made and Starfleet was met with the challenge of staffing the giant vessel last minute.

Damon, having extensive knowledge with Marine tactics and being a ranked officer with Starfleet, was requested last minute to command the massive ship and its large compliment of fighters. As Damon was led to believe this would only be a temporary assignment while they work out who would make up its permanent command structure.

This thought ran through his head as he sat comfortably in his office. ~Temporary office~ he reminded himself with a slight smile. He had to admit that he was enjoying being back in command, it seemed to come naturally to him and it didn't hurt to feel really needed. While a portion of the day was spent fending off attacks on the ship itself, the majority of it was spend corroborating with ground forces on strategic air strikes and offensive manoeuvres. His tactics proved effective and, although he had only been there a few weeks, it was starting to make a positive mark on the battlefield.

His office door chime went off eliciting a deep frown from Damon. He gave his bridge staff explicit orders that he was not to be disturbed unless it was a serious matter. "Enter". He simply said.

A tall officer walked into his office and stood at attention. "Commander, the fifth regiment has requested immediate air support in grid G5."

Damon quickly stood and left his coffee on the table. With only a few strides he had made his way out of his office and on to the bridge. "The grid map on screen." He ordered. "Magnify G grid."

The screen flashed up the real time overhead image of the ensuing battle. Thin lines of allied troops hunkered down in their fox holes as streaks of lights raced over them.

Damon examined the image for a second. "This doesn't look right." He said cryptically. After a moment he spoke again. "Scramble the Fourth wing, support payload." His eyes darted to his tactical officer. "What assets do we have in the area?"

"We have two fighters flying screen for a supply convoy in F2". Came the easy response. It was obvious he had anticipated the question.

"Put that area on screen."

The screen shifted to show the motorcade travelling on an isolated route. Large trees coated the surrounding terrain, obstructing the view of anything beneath.

Damon's brow furrowed. It didn't look right here either. Something was up and he had a hunch as to what it might be. "Scramble the First and Second fighter wings. Get them to grid F2 immediately. Open a link to our fighters currently in that grid."

The officer said nothing as the link opened.

"Whiskey One reporting." The lead pilot answered.

"We need you to redirect immediately to grid G5 and offer soft support to our ground forces there until our bombers arrive. Tactical data is being sent to you now." Damon ordered. He looked to his tactical. Officer who nodded and quickly and sent the details off.

"Packet received, Colonel. Redirecting to grid G5 to offer ground support, Aye."

Damon couldn't help but allow a quick smile. "Happy hunting." He signed off. The marines on the planet had taken early to calling him by his old SFMC rank, a title perpetuated by the ground forces General, Logan Jonds, in charge of the mission. In the last few days it seemed the moniker had travelled to the marine pilots on board this ship as well.

His eyes darted to his comm Officer. "Open a priority link to General Jonds."

"Go ahead, Colonel." The weathered voice responded.

"General, I have reason to believe that the convoy in sector F2 is in imminent danger of being attacked."

Damon could see the man quickly look over to his console and pull up the grid.

"I'll divert ground forces to that location now." The gruff man looked to a Major who quickly ran off to follow through. "I suspect you have good reasons for this hunch." He looked suspiciously.

"I do. With the combat action happening in G5 and the amount of recourses they have committed to it... seems to me like a bait and draw. I had to pull the fighter escort off the convoy to support our lines. I'll bet that once the fighters get there they will face a retreating enemy. I've already sent two fighter wings to rendezvous with the convoy."

The General seemed to look at the grid for a long few moments before speaking again. "I agree with your assessment. " He looked back to Damon. "If you are right about this, there is a bottle of scotch in it for you." He grinned.

"You know my brand." Damon smiled back.

The switched back to the grid as the General terminated the link. Damon sat down in the command chair. "Let me know when our fighters reach their marks." He said to his tactical officer.

"Aye, Commander. Fighters are three minutes out now."

Damon sat patiently as he watched the grid and all of the chaos that ensued on far below on the planet surface. Despite himself he thought of Sam again. ~I hope your day is going better than mine.~

OFF

Commander Damon Raine
Commanding Officer
USS Ontario

 

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