TBD

Posted on 04 Oct 2019 @ 1:03am by Lieutenant Talrian Bran & Lieutenant Talee Malena

1,501 words; about a 8 minute read

Mission: Tyr's Hand
Location: Earth - Dirtside
Timeline: Minutes after "FUBAR"

[Hidden Base Camp]

Cindreth remained sitting, bent over, his hands holding his head. There was pressure against his temples and it felt as if he were trying to keep his head from exploding. This was even after Kawolski gave him something that was supposed to minimize the pressure of so many thoughts. It wasn't the amount, though, but the content. The depravity, hopelessness, negativity, savagery. How Terrans ever survived this time period he didn't know but, and as a Betazoid it went against every grain he had, he was coming to realize this war was so very necessary. The level of violence and outright savagery of this time period and these people had to be stopped. What kind of galaxy would we have should these Terrans have discovered faster than light technology and joined the galaxy at large?

It was these people's descendants, the ones who would have to survive in the world to come and pass on those lessons, that helped temper the galaxy with the formation of the Federation - balancing the warrior aspect of the Andorians and the pure logic of the Vulcans. It was the Terrans that were the linchpin that kept those disparate forces in balance.

But so much pain. Misery. Death.

Tears fell from the squeezed lids and onto his trousers. He couldn't help it. None of it. It overwhelmed him to the point where he had to choose what he could turn out and block. The pain of this world had to be let in. If only so he could pinpoint those who didn't belong here. His fellow crewmates.

The earth shook as the explosion ripped through the shuttle. Erikson was also tired his body hurt all over the place. And well dealing with this pig of a security officer was also taking it's toll on him.

[Militia Camp]

They were approaching the guardpost and their enemy. The ground transport was that which was sent out, the uniforms the Starfleet personnel wore - with the exception of Bakkar - were theirs. Taken from those who were sent to the crash site to investigate. Those would never need them again.

Talrian made sure their bodies would never be found.

It happened quickly. Talrian approved of Erickson's expertise in staggering the explosion of the shuttle, giving them that extra bit of time to get to cover. Talrian staggered behind the others, carrying Cindreth's near dead weight across his shoulders. He felt the snap, he heard the hitch in his breathing and wished he still had his armor. Carrying the security officer caused a problem to exacerbate. He saw the way Kawolski - sitting in the back - between the two security officers - often looked at him, but so far he was able to put the medic off.

Honestly, he had to admit, it was easy considering how much the medic despised him.

But they were all alive, still, so far. That condition remained in jeopardy. They had to get on this base and get to and take one of their air transports. That was the only way they could begin rounding up the crew deposited on this planet.

"Pull just up and stop several meters before the gate," Talrian said, speaking to the pilot who was currently driving. He had his phaser pistol in his hand, prepared to use it at the merest provoccation. Nobody in this transport was going to die. The weapons, as they found when the militia found them very shortly after the shuttle blew, were nasty and designed for maximum pain and maximum damage against those they were used. It answered the question, however, when Earth developed directed energy weapons.

But, Starfleet weapons were better. Talrian and his security team were better.

Starfleet personnel were better.

The battle lasted only long enough for the militia to disembark from the transport. They fired several shots, but the worst damage Starfleet suffered were from richochets and parts of their cover rocks blown off by the weapons.

It was much different to fight people on the ground than from a plane.

This wasn't the first time he'd faced it, or done it, but the difference in how it worked, how it felt, and how it affected him never changed. He did what had to be done, though. He was going to find his sister, no matter where she was on this godforsaken rock...

When it was done, he wiped some blood off his cheekbone from where a flying, sharp rock shard crossed him. He barely noticed beyond that, however, as he silently checked the rest of the team and turned toward Bran.

"We're returning to report," Talrian said, "the invaders are dead and their transport completely destroyed on impact."

Talrian spoke to the guards that came toward them. They'd deliberately came to a different gate than their attackers departed in order to, hopefully, not be recognized as those who left. It was a large base and Talrian hoped that the sentries couldn't know everyone.

"Kinda odd ya coming this way," the guard said, trying to peer into the vehicle to see everyone. If he saw Bakkar still in his armor, then Talrian had his phaser ready. No doubt it would go through the side of the vehicle and still be powerful enough to take out the guard. But that could very well start a firefight which he hoped to avoid.

"Damned slag got away and ran, we hadda chase'em down." The words were coming from Cindreth, in the same inflection and slang of the time, as known by those on the base. Talrian slipped his finger over the trigger of the gun, waiting.

"Wish I coulda been there to fry'em," the guard said as he straightened and waved them through. Talrian didn't relax his grip on the gun until they were through, and even then it was just to slip his finger off the trigger. He was still prepared to go through and kill everyone on the base if necessary.

"Take us to the aerial transports and find the one we need," Talrian ordered, rubbing his head. Every contact with Cindreth pushed a part of his experience out to those with whom he communicated. Talrian didn't know how the man could do it. But...in a way he did. He knew how strong Betazoids could be. At least, the symbiont did but that meant Talrian did as well.

Right, take us to the aerial transports...like I know what the layout of this place is... Quinn muttered inwardly, but as it turned out, military was military. It wasn't as hard to find what they needed as he thought it might be.

Of course, Quinn was not an expert on craft from this time, especially considering just how disparate and jury-rigged it could all be... As they moved between the planes there on base, there were really only three that looked viable. He eyed each one and picked a medium-sized black-coated one that looked like it had some cargo space for transporting their people but also some teeth if the shit hit the fan...again...

"This one," he rumbled, nodding to it and then cautiously leading the way.

Talrian put Kawolski between Johnson and Bakkar while he took up the rear, watching for anyone to notice what they were doing. The fact that they even got on the base bothered his military sensibility, but it was working in his favor. And quite frankly, if these people lacked even basic military discipline, they deserved what they got. Though, he tried very hard to keep from equating the same principle to Starfleet. Eventually, they boarded and he hit the ramp control while the others began taking up their positions.

There were no guards watching the bird since they didn't anticipate anyone taking it who wasn't supposed to. This made it easy to board, and the cockpit was easy to find. Quinn threw himself into the pilot's seat and looked over the controls, learning them as quickly as his human mind was capable of. "Shutting the ramp. Find a seat," he announced as he worked.

"Johnson, Bakkar," Talrian ordered, "Weapons systems are there and there," he pointed to the most likely looking panels while he moved forward to take the co-pilot seat. "Kawolski, be prepared for casualties. Everyone gets triaged when we bring them aboard, do what you can for the most serious physical injuries. Anything mental and well...they'll just have to wait."

He swiveled in his seat, facing forward. He felt oddly vulnerable and exposed. He knew this cockpit window was just that, a window...a hole in the construction of the plane filled with super tough glass, but still glass. He didn't like it one bit. But it was the best option they had at the moment.

"Cindreth believes he's got a fix on your sister," Talrian said as Romanov worked to start the plane. "There are several others between us and them, however. Let's get them picked up and complete our assignment."

 

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