Olympus Mons: The Hounds of Sirius

[pio1776]

I want to see if this idea will come into anything further, it is set in 2154 and it involves my take on the Romulan War. The Olympus Mons is an Iceland-class starship. Feedback welcome . . .
-----

PROLOGUE


Iceland class starship, designation Olympus Mons
Near Sirius, United Earth Territorial Space
0548 hours Sol Standard Time--Wednesday, 20 November 2154

“We got incoming!” shouted Ezra Hackett from the weapons stations.

Lieutenant Commander Ambler Furry looked over his shoulder, and raised an eyebrow. “You do realise that I can see things just fine.”

The middle aged noncom just stared blankly back at his commanding officer, but missed his opportunity to respond when Furry looked back at the view screen in front of Lieutenant Junior Grade James Patterson. Shaking his head, he in turn concentrated on his own instrumentations while the junior lieutenant and Olympus Mons’s primary pilot turned their spacecraft hard to starboard and barrel-rolled to avoid what remained of the Neptune class starship Thalassa’s half-saucer.

He then watched as the enemy vessel, sporting a blunt nosed vessel with protruding antennas, came into view.

“Hack!” Furry called out. “Shove a torpedo up their arse.”

“Roger that,” replied Hackett, and grinned when Oly’s targeting sensors corresponded with an affirmative lock-on. He punched the command, and watched as an anti-starship torpedo leaped out onto the screen and raced towards the alien vessel.

“Belly up!” yelled Furry, and Patterson reacted with precision by exposing the ship’s underside as the torpedo homed in and ripped the other vessel apart. Unfortunately, it was a close call and the entire ship jumped. “Damage report.”

“We lost the cargo holds Beta to Felix!” announced the young ensign seated at Damage Control, paused and sounded relieved as he pressed on. “No casualties at this stage.”

“Good to know,” replied Furry dismissively as he eyed the screen. Not that Hackett blamed him. The Oly came into the fray with a crew of thirty-three and thus far only Lieutenant Gamble and Crewmen Carter and O’Neill were in sickbay for minor burns and a fractured wrist from an earlier run with an identical spacecraft. “Hack, talk to me.”

“Eight of those tangos left,” replied Hackett as he scanned his readings, and swore before looking up. “Three shooting through towards Sirius!”

“And the others?”

Hackett blinked when the remaining five vanished off his screens. “Gone.”

Furry turned around. “Gone?”

Hackett nodded.

“Out of sight, out of mind I say.” Furry turned back to eye the back of Lieutenant Patterson’s head. “Let’s see if we can beat them to Springboard. Punch it.”

From the helm station, Patterson grinned. “Punching it.”

 

[admiralelm11]

Interesting. Will you be adding more so you can flesh out the characters more? What does an Iceland class starship look like and why is a Lieutenant Commander in command?

Anyways, I hope you'll write and add more to this story. It looks like it could turn into something interesting.

 

[CeJay]

Never a bad idea to start thinks of with action. And there aren't many fanfic I've come across set during the Romulan War which makes this story immediately intriguing. Good start curious to see where you take this.

 

[pio1776]

Thank you for taking an interest in the story, admiralelm11. The Iceland is a flying wing design, built around an arrowhead design. As for Furry being a LTCDR, it's because it's a small crew.

Hi CeJay, you're right.. there ain't any good ones, maybe one may stand out. Hope you'll like the next installment, and if it's good enough I'd be game to incorporate elements of United Trek in future stories.

 

[pio1776]

ONE



Moana Rua Fleet Station
Dunedin, Sirius A
0602 hours SST--Wednesday, 20 November 2154

The ground car came to a stop just outside the slab of reinforced concrete that impersonated the Starfleet Mission Control Centre, and Rear Admiral Abraham Stellingatti stepped while still zipping up his uniform jacket.

“We have a situation off-world,” his attache announced the moment Stellingatti came close enough to handover a flat-screened clipboard. “About seventeen minutes ago, Captain Chapman commed ahead that over a dozen unidentified spacecraft appeared along her route, and that they were turning on an intercept course with Thalassa.”

Almost twenty minutes, three fourths of which Stellingatti nodded as he took the clipboard, scanning it as he did. Thalassa was the only ship of her class assigned to Sirius Command, the other three being Icelands and an Enterprise--as the NX were now classed as. The Enterprise, namely the Atlantis, was on patrol with one of the Icelands and part of an Andorian task force.

“Heck of a time to have stood down all the transporters,” grumbled Stellingatti to himself, and then to his aide. “And?”

“The good news is that Olympus Mons went on to assist,” the attache announced.

“Furry never could walk away from a good skirmish,” replied Stellingatti offhandedly as he ventured deeper into the centre, ignoring the various purplish blue jumpsuited personnel.

“Yes sir,” the attache said as he hurried after his commander.

“Anything else, Lieutenant?”

“CAPCOM lost communications with Thalassa about the time you arrived, and the Andorian liner Kanuuk isn’t responding either.”

Stellingatti grunted and picked up the pace as he walked into the business side of the centre; a fully dedicated strategic operations room, much like the ones used by generals and admirals back a hundred years. Except here he had an iconised representation of both Sirius A and Sirius B, along with the three gas giants, two hunks of rocks that impersonated Earth’s moon despite being planets, and a half dozen natural satellites--one of which was Dunedin--and at least 3.5 astronomical units outside the system.

“Get in touch with General Th'rhiathroq if you’ll please. Tell him that we’re monitoring the situation,” he said to the attache, and turned to see the Flight Director approach. “Captain Preston. Anything new?”

“Only that Commander Furry’s pursuing the remaining three unknowns,” the woman replied, not bothering to salute.

“Are they coming this way?”

Preston nodded.

“ETA?” demanded Stellingatti.

“Unknown,” Preston replied. “We’re trying to track them with our long-range sensors, but we’ve got difficulty locking on. What we do know is that they’re hitting over warp factor 3.7 and the Olympus Mons is barely keeping up.”

Stellingatti grunted as he eyed the massive screen, and searched out the icon representing UES Olympus Mons NC-144. Sure enough, it was just passing the outer reaches of the system. He started to turn to Preston, but she held up a hand.

“Tactical.” she turned her attention to a bulky looking African. “Activate the hunter-killers if you’ll please.”

The African glanced over at her, and gave her a thumb’s up gesture.

Stellingatti waited. Hunter-killer satellites were not new, as humanity had fielded them since the late twentieth century. However, the ones Captain Preston was setting loose were new, upgraded with the latest technology available to Mankind presently.

“Another ten minutes at least, sir,” Preston said. “Long enough to go to ground.”

“No thanks.” Stellingatti shook his head. “But put the Prime Minister on a shuttle.”


Iceland class starship, designation Olympus Mons
On fast approach to Dunedin, Sirius Binary
0612 hours SST--Wednesday, 20 November 2154

“Damnit!” Furry slapped the side of his command chair with an open palm, and winced. Whatever the trio of unidentified spacecraft were, they were just as fast as Oly--if not a tad faster. So far they had managed to outpace the pursuing Starfleet vessel, and the first of them were a few minutes out from Dunedin’s exosphere.

“Overpass,” the lieutenant commander said, massaging his hand. With a damaged underbelly, Furry had no intention of risking atmospheric entry.

In turn, Lieutenant Patterson angled Oly’s nose to rocket over Dunedin’s south pole while shutting off the warp drive.

“Hunter-killers moving in to intercept the trio,” Hackett continued with his commentary.

At first Furry said nothing, focusing now on the main viewscreen that depicted the Earth-like moon’s southern pole. Besides, he had options to consider. Not that he had many options available.

“We in range of any of those tangos?” Furry asked.

“One’s on our four o’clock, 2.8 km below us.”

“What’s Moana Rua doing?” Furry asked next, referring to the Starfleet military installation south of the Twin Saints City.

“Ah,” Hackett called up the latest feed from Mission Control, and frowned. “They’ve got the Prime Minister airborne, and two ’pods are on intercept course from Helensburgh with a full compliment of troops.”

Furry grunted at the news about the Prime Minister. Whilst Sirius was considered an Earth Offworld Territory, much like Alpha Centauri, its government was more or less autonomous around self-rule, foreign trade and domestic policy. Earth, and most importantly Starfleet, provided system defence in the form of Sirius Command.

“Bridge to Shuttlebay,” Furry called out after flicking a switch.

“Shuttlebay here,” sounded Warrant Officer Gina Duvall.

“Get the ’pod prepped for immediate launch. Hack and I will be there momentarily,” instructed Furry.

“You think that’s a good idea, sir?” asked Hackett.

Yes, the delta-shaped Icelands were designed for atmospheric operations--largely to escort Sarejevos in- and off-planet--but there was no way Furry was risking it.

“All I want is to get close enough to shoot that damn thing down,” offered Furry.


*

Despite artificial gravity dampers, Vera Hernandez barely caught the container with one hand as things got bumpy.

“This is the Captain,” Furry’s voice sounded over the ship’s intercom, making the nurse-come-medical chief stare sharply at the nearest speakers built in the sickbay’s bulkheads. “Doc, need you and Pierre in the ’pod.”

“Bloody strap you onto a ’pod,” she told the speaker, and surveyed her little corner of the ship. Three of the four beds were occupied already.

“Should go with you,” intoned Oly’s first officer, swinging his legs off one of the beds.

Vera turned to him. “The hell you are, Sean!”

“But it’s my job.”

“Not with that fractured wrist it’s not,” countered Vera as she reached for her ever ready backpack.

Lieutenant Sean Gamble had other ideas.

 

[admiralelm11]

Nice addition.

 

[pio1776]

Not that there was far to go, as the shuttle bay was situated on Deck 5 and nestled between Main Engineering and the one remaining cargohold not damaged.

“Warrant’s in the ’pod, sir. As is Pierre,” announced Crewman Gene Teo from the booth overlooking the bay, and referring to one of two warrant officers aboard.

Furry, who had managed to grab a battered looking brown baseball cap from his quarters, nodded and started towards the short gangway. Hackett was close behind, carrying a spare plasma rifle, when Vera appeared with Lieutenant Gamble in tow.

“Where you want me?” the lieutenant asked, catching both Hackett and Furry off guard.

“Vera discharged me,” the lieutenant added.

Furry raised an eyebrow at Vera.

“Oh don’t you look at me at me like that, Ambler,” she growled.

Furry’s eyebrows went higher. In the eight months he had commanded Oly, the nurse practitioner had been a constant thorn at his side. She was always annoyed about something, whether it be his command style--or “lack thereof” if she was to be believed--to the lack of supplies.

On his bad days, the thirty-one year old endeavoured to get rid off her. Starfleet Personnel had other ideas, stating that there weren’t enough qualified medics in the rapidly expanding fleet.

Today however was an okay kind of day.

“There’s a tango not far from us,” Furry announced as Hackett pushed by him. “CAPCOM says they’ve calculated its trajectory.”

“Gonna hit a populated area?” Lieutenant Gamble asked as he followed the last of the away team into the shuttle, and noting that Duvall and Pierre were already aboard.

“Not by a long shot,” replied Furry as he settled into one of the fold-down seats and strapped himself.

“It’s mostly farming country there,” offered Hackett.

“And ‘there’ being where?” demanded Vera.

“New Scotland,” replied Hackett matter of fact as the shuttlepod separated from its berth in a gut wrenching turn, with Duvall pointing the ’pod directly down.

Furry just grinned at her. “Hope you brought sunblock.”

Vera just glared at him as she held on for dear life.

 

[pio1776]

TWO



Unidentified spacecraft, ballistic course
On flight trajectory into New Scotland Desert, Dunedin
0616 hours SST--Wednesday, 20 November 2154

The shaking and bouncing was not something to write home about, but neither did it distract the almond eyes behind the black visored helmet from studying the tactical displays that showed their remote-controlled drone’s ballistic course. The eyes themselves were hard and uncompromising, and their owner wished he had never agreed to this. Glory for the Empire be damned. This was suicide, suitable for the animal Remans.

The black clad soldier watched as a small shuttle disconnected from the delta-shaped flying wing, and started chasing their drone. A part of him wanted to know what had made his superiors to decide to wage war on the humans, as nothing he had seen convinced him they were a threat to his people.

“They’ve launched two more aircraft, Centurion,” the communications specialist announced, snapping the officer out of his reverie.

The Centurion turned his eyes on the specialist, and nodded curtly before eyeing the other eight similarly clad figures. Besides, there was nothing really to add. They were the elite, the cream of the Teth Koros. The whole point of their existence was to wreck havoc behind enemy lines, scouting forward prior to first contact assignments and working alongside the Tal Shiar.

The Centurion continued to ignore the rattling of the troop transport’s interior, instead held onto the Vulcan plasma rifle as it rested between his legs. His second-in-command held onto a Coridan model, while the remainder had a mix of Vulcan, Andorian and Tellarite weaponry. The idea was to confuse the humans and have them look at their allies, hence breeding suspicion.

“Stand by for impact!” the specialist suddenly called out, and the Centurion tensed.

As the drone smashed into the ground, the centurion was grateful for the restraints holding him and his squad in their seats, and swore when he found himself hanging upside down when the drone came to a stop.

“Here,” the communications specialist, who had been the right way up, unbuckled themselves and helped him.

Grateful for the assistance, the Centurion landed on his feet and pointed at the nearest trooper.

Shuttlepod Kilo
New Scotland Desert, Dunedin

Furry held onto both seats as the shuttlepod arced around under Duvall’s expert hand, a bullpup EM-50 electromagnetic rifle hung off a sling over his left shoulder. He also wore a partially zipped anti-plasma vest, as did every other member of the away team bar Duvall. The brown baseball cap sat with its beak on the back of his neck.

Not that he paid much attention to the warrant officer or his away team, his attention on the dust cloud that enveloped the crashed vessel, and obscuring it from view. He had read reports of unidentified vessels striking out against Vulcan and Andor real-estate, with Captain Archer suggesting they were drones. The one thing that Furry would like to know if the trio were any connection to what was going on throughout the sector.

“Land us.” Furry said, blinking in surprise as he heard uncertainty in his voice. He frowned when both Duvall and Pierre spared him a glance.

“Land us,” repeated Furry after clearing his throat, and patting the warrant’s shoulder before pointing. “There.”

Duvall nodded, and gently arced the ’pod in a descent.

“We going to wait for reinforcements?” Pierre wanted to know.

Furry grinned down at the petty officer. “Why would we do that?”

“Could be dangerous,” offered Pierre.

Furry’s grin turned lopsided. “Didn’t sign up to play it safe.”

 

[admiralelm11]

Even more interesting. I like how you added the Romulan side of the story. I almost thought it was going to be one-sided. It was a cool surprise. Keep up the great work.

 

[pio1776]

Thank you admiralelm11. I'm sure you would recall the remote controlled drones the Romulans were using to try and bring conflict between Andor and Vulcan in STE? I just figured that the Romulans would try and slip through commandos as well.

 

[pio1776]

THREE


Shuttlepod Omaha
On route to crash site, New Scotland Desert
0622 hours SST--Wednesday, 20 November 2154

Lieutenant Ciara Marquette eyed the assembled men and women under his command--well--half of them anyway, as the remaining six were aboard Ensign Rowe’s Shuttlepod Juno. Like her, they came from numerous disciplines assigned to the small Starfleet outpost near Helensburgh, hastily brought together to assist.

“Fifteen minutes out,” Omaha’s copilot announced.

“Fifteen minutes and it’ll be all over,” grumbled Chief Warrant Officer Jamal Bashir, drawing Marquette’s attention.

She eyed Bashir thoughtfully, glad to have been settled with the athletically built armoury officer. Rumour around the base was that Bashir had been with Starfleet Intelligence in a previous assignment, but the cool composure the fifty-year old displayed reminded Marquette more of a soldier who had perfected the art of killing.

“You in a hurry, Jamal?” she teased.

Bashir just stared blandly at her.

Marquette sighed, and turned away from him and wondered if the Olympus Mons away team were faring better than she was . . .


Near unidentified spacecraft
New Scotland Desert, Dunedin

The centurion kicked the airlock hatch aside with a heavy boot, and grunted with satisfaction as it came off its hinges with a resonating thump. He then moved aside, and let one of the other soldiers take lead. Not that the centurion shrunk from his duties as leader, just checked the drone’s sensor feed.

“The aircraft’s coming about on our far left,” he spoke into his helmet’s built-in mic, confident his people would hear him as they raced out. “Vureet, take Belex and Vivee and see if you can set up a killzone before our cover dissipates!”

“As you will, Centurion!” the senior noncom barked in the centurion’s ear.

With that said, the centurion did his best to relax.

He knew his orders well, as did his team. They were to split in two and make haste towards the nearest settlement, disguise themselves as Vulcan migrants and make haste to the colony world’s capital city. And after that? Well, it didn’t take a genius to comprehend what the Teth Koros were to do next.

“You know what to do?” he turned to the communications specialist.

“Yes sir.” The specialist’s feminine voice now filled inside the centurion’s helmet, while his holographic heads-up-display feed showed Vureet moving into position. Thanks to the link with all his troopers, the centurion could clearly make out the alien aircraft as it landed.

“I hightail it the moment you engage the enemy,” the specialist’s remark brought him back to focus on her.

The centurion nodded and put a hand on her shoulder. “For the Empire.”

And with that, he followed his soldiers out.

 

[pio1776]

*

The ’pod landed on its small skids, and Furry moved away to join Vera, Hackett and Lieutenant Gamble.

“You know you don’t have to go out there, Sean?” Furry countered the lieutenant, watching as Vera finished off the makeshift sling that kept the lieutenant’s wrist in place.

“And miss the fun?” offered Gamble.

Furry frowned. In turn, Vera just glared at the two of them. For his part, Furry did his best to pointedly ignore the nurse practitioner. He was having an okay day after all, and there was no way Vera was going to spoil it.

“Just be careful, okay?” Furry went on, knowing that there was no point in getting Gamble to stay put.

“You know me, sir,” the younger man smiled as he reached for the airlock hatch with his good hand, and pushed it open.

“Yeah, that’s the problem,” intoned Vera as she pushed by the two, and stuck on leg out onto the ’pod’s hull, “you’re two peas from the sa--”


*

Flat on her back and covered up with a dusty blanket the same khaki colour as her surroundings, the soldier Vivee raised the scope of her Vulcan manufactured sniper rifle to her visor, and centred it on the human female as she stuck her leg out.

Vivee then breathed in as the human stop and regard someone still inside.

“I have visual on the cockpit,” hissed Belex through her helmet.

“I got eyes on the hatch,” she reported. “One alien in sight.”

“Let her venture out,” instructed Vureet, just as the centurion lay onto his stomach next to Vivee.


*

“--me pod you are,” said Vera.

Furry just rolled his eyes, and watched as she tentatively stepped out onto the ’pod’s sleek hull.

Figuring he had enough room himself, he stepped out after Vera and checked the magazine capsule of his EM-50. Satisfied, he palmed the capsule back into place and looked about.

“Looks serene, doesn’t it?” he offered as he was joined by Hackett and Gamble.

“Just be glad there ain’t a dust storm near by,” intoned Hackett.

“Why?” asked Gamble, as he sat down and started to slide down the ’pod’s side.

“Oh, just that’s when the hounds come out to play,” replied Hackett with a smile.

Gamble blinked and looked at Furry. “Huh?”

“The local wildlife, Sean,” offered the lieutenant commander.

Gamble just raised an eyebrow.


*

Vivee refocused her rifle on the human who opted to slide down, and and then breathed out before pulling the trigger.

 

[admiralelm11]

This is getting intense. Yes, I do remember the drones that the Star Empire used to get the Andorians and the Tellarites at each other's throats. Thankfully, a third party, namely Captain Archer and the crew of Enterprise, was able to set them straight and get them to see common sense.

Even if it did involve a fight with ushaans and a severed antennae.

 

[pio1776]

Thank you, admiralelm11. This is where I got my idea from. Please note that I refuse to acknowledge the very last episode in TKE as it felt wrong. I like the whole tension that Terra Prime brought into the show and thought they missed out a good sub-plot there, especially with the forming of the Coalition of Planets in early 2155.

 

[pio1776]

FOUR


Near unidentified spacecraft
New Scotland Desert, Dunedin
0625 hours SST--Wednesday, 20 November 2154


“The loc--” Gamble started with a worried expression, but never got to finish as one third of his face was vaporised.

Furry watched wide eyed and not comprehending as the back of what remained of the lieutenant’s head smacked against the shuttlepod’s hull, and slid down onto the dusty desert sand.

Master Chief Ezra Hackett, who was halfway out the hatch, raised his rifle instinctively before succumbing to a dozen balls of ionised energy as they slammed against his left arm, chest and face. More shots whizzed through the air, striking and shuttering the canopy into the cockpit.

Furry dove to the ground, cursing as more plasma shot past where his head had been only moments ago. Scrambling towards a resemblance of cover, he untangled the EM-50 bullpup rifle and returned fire in the general direction of the crashed ship.


*

Aboard the ’pod, Coxswain’s Mate Petty Officer 1st Class Pierre Caudell grunted in satisfaction as he checked Duvall’s neck, and sensing a pulse. He keeped his head low while reaching for the comms.

“This is Kilo to Oly!” he called into the mic. “Shots fired. I repeat, shots fired!”

Not that he waited to see if anyone aboard Olympus Mons heard him. If anything, he prayed they did. Instead, he opened the weapons locker near his seat and grabbed a spare EM-33 pistol and energy clip. Palming the clip into place with a satisfying slap, the Frenchman winced as plasma slacked against the hull and rocking the ’pod.

Still, someone from their away team was returning fire as he heard the familiar ‘whoop, whoop’ of electromagnetic fire. Now on his stomach, Pierre moved towards the opened hatch and frowned when the firefight intensified. Risking a quick peek, he saw Hackett slumped over the hull and the Lieutenant’s body on the ground. Neither Commander Furry nor Lieutenant Hernandez were visible.


Mission Control Centre
Moana Rua Fleet Station, Dunedin
0628 hours SST--Wednesday, 20 November 2154

The Lieutenant Commander serving as the Capsule Communicator bolted out of his chair, and nearly fell back down. Realising that he still had his bulky headset still on, he took it off and looked about.

“Admiral!” he then called out, not caring if he was breaking decorum as he spotted Admiral Stellingatti with his counterpart from the Andorian Consulate-General’s office and Captain Preston.

“What is it Commander?” Stellingatti asked, while Preston looked livid.

In turn, General Th'rhiathroq looked in curiousity.

“It’s Olympus Mons’s away team, Admiral,” the Commander started, and then reminded himself. “Sirs. shots have been fired.”

“Shots?” the Andorian looked back to Stellingatti.

“Evidently,” Stellingatti replied smoothly, and gestured for the Lieutenant Commander to make his way to his station. “What kind of shots, and who was involved?”

“Firefight from what Lieutenant Patterson could ascertain.”

“Patterson?” asked Stellingatti, frowning. “Why does that name ring a bell.”

“That’s because you’re thinking of Rear Admiral Earl Patterson, the current head of Solar Command,” replied Preston. “Lieutenant Junior Grade Patterson is his grandson.”

Stellingatti narrowed his eyes at Preston, wondering why the Flight Director stressed the rank.

“Where are Omaha and Juno?” he asked.

“Still nine minutes in,” replied the Commander.

“Tell them to hurry up,” instructed Stellingatti next.

The Commander nodded as he resumed his seat, and put the headset back on his head.

“Captain, apart from the Olympus Mons, what other ships do we have available in-system?” Stellingatti asked as he turned to face Preston.

“That would be the Vietnam and . . .” Preston hesitated as he glanced at Th'rhiathroq.

Stellingatti frowned. “Spit it out, Captain.”

“And the . . .” Preston cleared her throat, “. . . ah, the Gagarin.”

Th'rhiathroq looked at Stellingatti in askance. “I’m not familiar with this ship.”

“She’s a new class derived from the Enterprise,” replied Stellingatti, and nodded to his attache. “Please ensure that the General has the information on the Series 200 Programme, Lieutenant.”

While the attache nodded, Stellingatti turned to Th'rhiathroq. “She’s still being tested of course,” he said. “But we’re hoping to introduce her in the new year.”

The Andorian grunted.

“We also have the Andorian cruiser Sazami in-system,” offered Preston.

“Get both Vietnam and Gagarin to establish a defense perimeter around the binary system,” instructed Stellingatti, and turned to Th'rhiathroq. “Eke, may I ask for the Imperial Guard to assist?”

Fleet General Ekethel Th'rhiathroq nodded his ascent.

 

[pio1776]

Near unidentified spacecraft
New Scotland Desert, Dunedin

Ambler Furry kept his head down as the attackers continued using the shuttlepod as target practice, and showering him with plasma sparks and electrical residue. Someone aboard Kilo was returning fire, and getting punished for it.
Still, Furry was unashamedly grateful for the fact no one was paying him any attention for now. If nothing else, it gave him a chance to think. Firefights were not his idea of fun, even if his mother initially believed that he would follow in her footsteps and enlist in the MACOs. Enlist he did, but in Starfleet, as he figured his anthropology degree would be better suited there.

The fact that he had done very little exploring since his enlistment was not lost on him either, as the Exploration branch of Starfleet opted to go for those who asked questions first before shooting--or something like that. At least that was what Furry thought as he heard that his old classmate, Malcolm Reed, was appointed her Armoury Chief back in ’51.
The shooting abedded.

*
Vivee looked away from her scope, and eyed her commander.

“At least three confirmed dead,” she said flatly.

The centurion turned his helmeted head at her, only to freeze when he heard someone groan. “Not all it seems,” he intoned, and started to his feet. “Cover me. Vureet, with me.”

*
Furry’s head snapped up as he heard the groan.

“Vera?” His heart skipped a beat, and he started to rise when something stopped him. He watched as two figures rose to their feet, dropping the camouflage netting they wore to reveal matching combat fatigues with exaggerated shoulders, harness and helmets that covered their faces.

“Interesting,” mused Furry, not recognising the uniforms. The weapons on the other hand, them he recognised. Furry frowned as he focused on the one right in front of him some 200 meters away. “Vulcan?”

Not that it mattered. The enemy may be a Vulcan for all he knew, but the problem was that Vera was somewhere between them and no doubt hurt.

Still, Furry was curious what the attackers would do next.

*
Vureet cradled the compact Vulcan carbine in his hands, his eyes on the inside holographic displays of his helmet. In addition to seeing the Communications Specialist scuttering away, the veteran noncom could make out two unknowns between him and the pockmarked aircraft. His acute hearing heard someone moan in pain, and Vureet raised his carbine towards the first of the contacts.

*
Furry’s eyes went wide upon realising what the enemy had in store for Vera.

Still flat on his back and hidden from view, Furry took careful aim squarely at the soldier’s broast chest. He selected rapid burst on his EM-50 and waited, watching as the soldier took a cautionary step forward with his carbine up and aimed at something--though Furry assumed it was Vera--while his compatriot hesitated. Finally, he fired and rolled.

As he did, the enemy soldier took a step back and crumbled.

Thankfully for Furry rolling over, he missed the incoming fire as he rose to his feet, firing the EM-50 in full burst and moving to the left while more of the soldier’s compatriots opened fire.

 

[pio1776]

FIVE


Near unidentified spacecraft
New Scotland Desert, Dunedin

The centurion cursed, not expecting such ferocity as the human rose to his feet and continued firing. The fact that Vivee, Belex and the remainder opened return fire did little to slow the human down. Still, it kept the human from missing him.

“Heads up,” the communications specialist sounded as the centurion went to one knee. “Two aircraft incoming, five minutes.”

The centurion didn’t like the sound of that.

“Keep him pinned down,” he snapped, confident that Vivee and Belex would carry out his orders. “Chokix, throw a couple grenades into the compartment--”

Chokix, who served as the explosives expert, acknowledged with a single tap of his mic.

“--Bokat, Omob and Civeexo,” the centurion went on as two consecutive thumps sounded behind him, followed by a third. “Scatter. We meet in Twin Saints.”

As the supportive fire slackened, the centurion started to go backwards and duck behind a dune.


Shuttlepod Omaha
Flying over Ambler Furry’s position, New Scotland
0636 hours SST--Wednesday, 20 November 2154

Lieutenant Ciara Marquette barely held on as the ensign overshot the crash site, and frowning as she looked out the cockpit windows. The young shuttle pilot was quietly conferring with his counterpart aboard Juno, and both were linked to the Starship Olympus Mons in orbit.

As things went, this was not the way Marquette had planned for her nightshift in the small Starfleet outpost to end; rocketing across Dunedin’s southern hemisphere and responding to a distress call, along with leading an ad hoc of collection of communications specialists, administrators to a culinary chef in addition to the trio of masters-at-arms and an Ordinance Disposal Technician that came with Bashir.

“Lieutenant, Olympus Mons have pinpointed several signatures that are scattering,” Ensign Rowe said, snapping her to the here and now.

But it was Bashir who responded. “Ours or theirs?”

“Ah.” the pilot looked up, puzzled and startled. He was not expecting Bashir. “Six of ours, two in the ’pod.”

Marquette considered that tidbit of information. By ‘signatures’, Rowe didn’t necessarily mean ‘life signs’. Technology hasn’t reached that far ahead, and if it has neither the Vulcans nor Coridan Prime shared it with Earth. Starfleet took a page out of the MACO handbook and therefore had a homing beacon built into each communicator.

“And the enemy?” demanded Bashir.

“Err . . .”

Marquette looked to the chief warrant officer. “Surely you don’t think?”

Bashir just gave her a hooded stare.

*
The stubby aircraft shot overhead, turning left as the Centurion ran.

A couple heartbeats later, another followed. Whatever their intent however, the end result was one of his troopers opened fire on the trailing aircraft.

“Cease fire!” the centurion swore as more of his troopers joined briefly. “Cease fire.”

*
Marquette lost her footing as Rowe banked hard.

“Someone’s shooting at us!” the young ensign called out.

Marquette found herself staring at Bashir’s hand, frowning, she grabbed it and pulled herself to her feet. “Can you pinpoint where they are and return the favour, Ensign?” the big warrant officer asked casually as he helped Marquette.

“Can do,” Rowe breathed, not caring that he was being bossed around by a junior ranker. Suddenly, Rowe grinned as he called the other pilot. “Juno, time we honour the goddamn threat. You got their heat sigs? . . . Yeah bro, them heat signatures that are moving. That’s them. Go for kill.”


Furry’s position
Between Shuttlepod Kilo and unidentified vessel

Whomever had been shooting at them stopped when the two ’pods showed up, and attracting attention as the attackers focused on them. Not wanting to miss out on the reprieve, Ambler scurried over to where Vera Hernandez had fallen.
Upon spotting her lying flat on her back, he moved to Vera.

“Please be alive,” he muttered to himself as he checked her neck. Feeling a pulse, albeit a weak one, Furry started to relax--only to look up startled when the two ’pods opened fire. It was then that Furry spotted Vera’s communicator. “Furry to Oly!” he called into it after snatching the communicator. “Furry to Olympus Mons, come in?”

“This is Patterson,” sounded through the communicator’s tiny speakers. “Go ahead, Captain.”

“Good to hear your voice, Lieutenant.” Furry grinned, relieved to hear a friendly voice for a change. He liked the kid, and saw much potential in him.

“Now tell those two ’pods to stop shooting dirt!” Furry’s voice hardened as he looked at the barely conscious Vera. “We’ve got dead and wounded here.”

 

[pio1776]

SIX


Furry’s position
Between Shuttlepod Kilo and unidentified vessel
0641 hours SST--Wednesday, 20 November 2154

Chief Warrant Officer Jamal Bashir held onto the handrail, one leg on the ’pod’s hull as Omaha circled about. Whomever had shot at them had stopped immediately after Ensign Rowe and Juno’s pilot responded in kind, but with much heavier firepower.

“Tom,” the Algerian turned to face the passenger compartment and at the men and women, and focused on the bearded fellow that did a pretty good impression of impersonating a Tellarite. “Assess the Kilo when we land. If she can fly, all and good.”

The engineer grunted acknowledgement.

“Barb,” Bashir turned to the heavy set but muscular woman next to Marquette. “You’re to check on the Commander.”

“What about the other casualties?” she demanded.

“Let’s preserve the chain of command first,” said Bashir, and ignoring the glare Marquette was giving him.

The ’pod landed and Bashir hopped off, his EM-50 at the ready and the trio of masters-at-arms forming a semicircle while fanning out.

Barb and Marquette were next out, both following Bashir.

*
Satisfied that Vera was alive, Furry rose to his feet to watch the newcomers get off the other shuttlepod. They wore anti-plasma tactical vests over their fatigues, and were armed to the teeth. However, only the heavy set woman and the hulk of a man, his caramel coloured face weathered and in need of a shave, looked comfortable in their loadout.

“Commander Furry.” The big man, sporting a chief warrant officer’s insignia on his zipper, stopped in front of Furry.

“That depends.” Furry frowned.

“On?”

“Who wants to know?” demanded Furry.

“That would be me,” the behemoth said simply.

Furry stopped and eyed the warrant officer, and rolled his eyes in annoyance. He was tired and thirsty. “Well, good for you.” Upon seeing Barb, and surmising her job, he waved her off. “See to Vera.”

The medic spared a glance at the warrant. Seeing him give her a nod, the woman went to check on Vera.

Furry arched an eyebrow as he caught the subtle exchange.

“One of your people?” he then asked the warrant.

“You could say that.”

Furry nodded, decided to drop his line of questioning. He had his suspicions of course, but this was not the time nor the place. “Very well,” he started while readjusting his baseball around, surveyed the Kilo and its swarming Starfleet rescuers, frowned and then refocused on the crashed vessel. “Take it you’re here to secure the site.”

The warrant nodded.

Furry took a step back, and spread his arms to envelope both Kilo, Omaha, Juno and the alien vessel--as well as a dozen Starfleet personnel. “Secure away.”

 

[pio1776]

Prime Minister’s office
Parliament House, Twin Saints City
Dunedin, Sirius A
0830 hours SST--Wednesday, 20 November 2154

“Hell of a morning I hear,” announced Brigadier General Carter Schimpff, offering his hand while Stellingatti jogged up the flight of stairs.

“You have no idea,” grumbled Stellingatti as he joined the MACO one-star.

*
The blinds were pulled and the lighting turned off as Rear Admiral Abraham Stellingatti eyed the large screen, in what constituted an entertainment centre in most households. However, it was no daytime soap he and Brigadier General Carter Schimpff and Prime Minister Nahi Arepata and Ministers Walker and Strakosha, responsible for Defence and the Interior respectfully, were watching.

“We’re still effectively securing a cauldron around both the Shuttlepod Kilo and the crashed object,” the young reddish blond woman was saying.

“Good call, Lieutenant,” announced Arepata, making it out the idea had been Marquette’s. “I understand that a media ’pod is on route.”

Stellingatti blinked and eyed the Prime Minister. This was not he had in mind when he was first summoned to Parliament House. Still, Dunedin may be an Earth Offworld Territory, but it had been self governing for as long as he had been in uniform.

“Has Commander Furry or Warrant Bashir made any progress with the crashed spacecraft?” Schimpff demanded.

Marquette’s expression thinned out, but otherwise shook her head.

“Very well, Lieutenant,” Stellingatti said, deciding to terminate the call. “Instruct Commander Furry to maintain the fiction that meteors struck. I don’t want to alarm the general populace unnecessarily.” He stopped, and allowed a slight smile despite the situation. “I would appreciate very much for Commander Furry to report directly henceforth.”
No fool, Marquette sensed she was being dismissed and signed off.

“Preliminary reports from the Canterbury Sea, near Somfield Island, confirm the Commander’s story,” Stellingatti said as the E-Centre screen winked off, turning to Arepata. “The salvage team discovered eight bodies when they recovered the spacecraft from underwater, no doubt drowned when their airlock opened. They’re Vulcan, or Vulcanoid in appearance.”

“That doesn’t help us much,” grumbled Defence Minister Walker, indicating with the clipboard styled Personal Access Data Display. “Those uniforms don’t match anything we’ve seen of Vulcan or Rigel soldiers, but that doesn’t mean anything. It’s the weapons they had. Andorian, Tellarite and an assortment of Vulcan and our own.”

“Special Forces,” offered Schimpff.

“Special forces?” Walker asked, looking skeptical. “As in, commandos.”

“It’s standard practice to familiar yourself with the weapons of both allies and potential enemies,” offered Schimpff, “comes in handy when you’re behind enemy lines.” the one-star turned to the prime minister. “I’m not going to speak for Admiral Stellingatti, but you’ve got an entire MACO Demi-brigade. I recommend you put us on high alert, and got local law enforcement to round up any Vulcan suspected of anything illegal.”

Stellingatti frowned. “Bit drastic, don’t you think?”

“Is it, really?” Schimpff looked directly at him. “Our so called Vulcan allies are nothing more but arrogant, self assuring know-it-alls. They’ve hindered our technological advancements at every term, and now this mess with their government?” Schimpff shook his head. “For all we know, it’s some pointy eared General’s idea. I understand General Casey will be presenting the same case to President Littlejohn and Prime Minister Samuels.”

“As well as Admiral Gardner recommending caution,” offered Stellingatti.

“Whatever the case, Prime Minister,” interjected Walker, “System defence is the purview of the federal government after all, and that’s where the President and the UE Security Council come into play. The only thing we can do is deploy the Demi-brigade and Sirius Command defensively.”

“And the potentiality of a Vulcan threat?” demanded Arepata, frowning.

“If they are a worry, sir,” offered Stellingatti, “then let Commander Furry’s people handle it . . .”

It was a gamble, one Stellinatti only had.

 

[Gibraltar]

That was a tense skirmish, but the Romulans successfully broke contact and lived to cause more chaos at a later time. Bashir strikes me as a man who knows war, and I'm guessing we haven't seen the last of him.

Furry's going to have to explain why it was so damn important to engage the intruders before backup got there. His decision got people killed and wounded. Here's hoping he can back it up.

Great stuff so far!