An Order is an Order

Posted on Mon Apr 6th, 2015 @ 5:46pm by Captain Brenda Sinclair

Mission: Now Boarding.......
Location: 66th Regiment HQ - Fort Stewart

ON

The air carried a crisp sharpness to it this time of year. Not quite a chill, but a temperature that could be felt all the same. In the coming weeks, the temperature would drop, and the wind would begin to pick up, adding more of a bite to the cold.

That wouldn't be for a few weeks to come, though. In the meantime, Brenda could enjoy the briskness she had. It reminded her of home. However much she may have wanted to forget, and be forgotten by Scotland, she could never escape it entirely. Whether it be a cool breeze, or a scent, or something else, she would always be reminded of where she came from.

The Marine garrison that housed the 66th Regiment was a sprawling compound. Buildings of all sizes were dotted sporadically around the place, a design that allowed for a number of paved quads to be found across the base. Three Battalions, nine Companies, one Regiment. All told, approximately five thousand Marines called Serat III home.

In the centre of it all, the large landing platform was surrounded by a series of hanger bays, and maintenance workshops. While the 66th Regiment - nick-named as Viktor's Vikings - was an entirely Infantry-based Regiment, with no specialised air-group attached to it, it did have a number of shuttles, transport vehicles, and of course, the MARGOS. A Marine variant of the Argo, it was reinforced with duranium plating, and a swivel-mounted weapon emplacement on the top. In short, it was a miniature tank. Training exercises out on the Serat Desert was always a fun event.

Still, despite it's size, the base felt far more crowded than it probably was. Training drills taking place in the main Quad, a firing range that was never quiet, and an almost constant commotion taking place in the enlisted Mess hall. All in all, it gave the place an atmosphere of activity, despite the actual lack of anything going on.

For Brenda, that was an entirely intolerable situation. Her Company - named the Fighting Angels, for the unusual number of women assigned to it - had been tasked with responding to border situations with the Cardassians. Being deployed in a series of shuttles, and dropped off on whatever world was being hassled, to let the Cardies know they were still around, and keeping an eye on things.

The Dominion War was a memory now - albeit not entirely a distant one, and it seemed the loss the Cardassians had suffered was also a memory. The Union had started pushing their luck again, and a few skirmishes had broken out. Even so, putting out the few fires that sprang up was never a satisfying job. She wanted to be actually accomplishing something, not dong the same thing day in day out.

At least she was away from Earth, Brenda mused, crossing the compound and saluting as she needed to; returning those from junior officers and enlisted, while offering a salute first to the occasional Major she passed. Whatever the job, getting away from Earth and her mother was worth it.

Entering ComOps - the nerve-centre of the base, Brenda flashed her ID to the guard at the door and breezed through - the majority of security was on the front gate. It was assumed that once you were inside, you belonged there.

Ascending one of the Turbolifts through the building, the young Captain did have to wonder why Colonel Grant had called her. It was unusual for her to by-pass the usual chain-of-command, and see the Colonel, without first going through her Battalion CO. All would be revealed soon, she thought, as the doors opened on the right floor, and Brenda stepped out.

Coming to the Colonel's office, Brenda stepped into the outer room, and saw the woman sitting behind her desk, working away at a console. A Gunnery Sergeant, the brunette saw, not out of place for an O-6's secretary. "Captain Brenda Sinclair. The Colonel asked to see me." She said, when the Gunny looked up from her work.

Opening the appointment calender, the Gunny checked, and saw that, indeed, a 'Captain Sinclair, B.' was listed. Still, she checked the ID all the same. It wouldn't do to let someone n who shouldn't have been.

Announcing herself at the inner door, Brenda waited to be called in, and stepped forward. the door sensor opening the way for her.

It was as she had expected it to be. A plush, yet functional office. A large bay of windows looked out on the compound, and from this vantage point, Brenda could see a formation running through Drills in the Quad.

A small coffee table sat in one corner, surrounded by chairs. Presumably, for those less-formal meetings. Yet, the man himself was sat behind the curved desk, going through a series of PADDs.

On the wall behind him, Brenda could see a number of frames, certificates, commendations, and even a holo-shot of him standing next to General Denning, former Commander of the 3rd Heavy Infantry Division during the D-War. The General had been seriously wounded, and kicked back to Marine HQ Command at Earth.

Stopping at the desk, Brenda rendered a snap salute, as she waited for the man to finish his work.

Coming to the end of the PADD that currently held his attention, Colonel Viktor Grant looked up at the woman before him. He critically looked her over for a moment. The hair was becoming slightly longer than regulations provided, but she kept it in a neat pony-tail, so he could over-look it. The forest camo pants and matching utility jacket - the current Uniform of the Day - showed she kept herself in shape, and, as required, she had pinned the rank insignia to the collar of the jacket.

"Captain, have a seat." Grant said, his words highlighted by the accent of his native land. Turning to his console, he switched it on, logged into the secure server that held all their classified files, and was kept running by some Fleet Tech that could waltz around his base.

Calling up her record, Grant scrolled through, even though he had already seen it, read it, and done so the day before again. Competent marine, capable combat officer, little information about family. A list of awards, and qualification records. She was, he had to admit, the typical Company Commander.

Brenda had sat while the man worked, now feeling somewhat nervous. If she had done something wrong, she would have been chewed out by Major Haines, her Battalion CO, or even the Regiment Exec, Lt Colonel Pollock. Instead, she was here, sat in the office of the highest-ranking marine on the planet.

Without thinking, Brenda began picking at a cuticle with her thumb, and when she realised what she was doing - a habit that dated back before she had joined the Corps - she forced herself to stop. Finally, when the tension was becoming an intolerable level, Brenda spoke up.

"Sir, if I may, why-" She never got a chance to finish the question.

"I've had orders from FleetMarCom." He said, referring to Fleet Marine Command. It was a strange department, that liaised Marine Operations with the Fleet, and generated co-ordinated joint operations between the two. "It seems Marine Detachments Afloat-" an archaic term referring to Marine units attached to Starfleet ships "-are getting harder and harder to come by, especially in some of the larger classes."

The Sovereign and Galaxy classes could easily hold a full Company, to say nothing of the Normandy class Carrier Escort. It seemed, that while Starfleet Academy was churning out enough Ensigns to fill out the ranks for the ships lost, the Marine units weren't being re-made nearly as fast.

With a sigh, Viktor went on. "FleetMarCom has decided it would be best to transfer a currently full and active Marine unit to operate out of some of the ships."

Brenda had a feeling where this was going, and grimaced. "My Company is one of them, I take it?" Why else would he be talking to her about it?"

Grant gave a nod. "3rd Battalion in it's entirety is being transferred to the Gamma Exploration Fleet, attached to Ninth Fleet Command. Your specific assignment orders will come when you report in." He handed over one of the PADDs on his desk.

Taking it, Brenda frowned as she skimmed through. He had given her all the information, and she had no reason to doubt, but it was nice to double check this wasn't some sick joke. "Sir, with all due respect, is there a way to-" Again, she was cut off.

"Short of resigning?" He asked and shook his head. "That comes straight from the office of a 3-Star General, on the recommendation of a 4-Star. Only the Commandant could over-ride that, and she'd have my head for asking."

Brenda had to smile at that, and nodded. An Order was an Order, and had to be obeyed, as the regs said. "Aye, aye sir. When do we leave?"

"0900 tomorrow. There's a Carrier Group inbound. She'll load up on supplies on her arrival, and take all of you out there."

Figuring there was no way out of it, without having to return home, Brenda nodded and rose to her feet, offering another sharp salute. "Aye, aye sir." She said in a crisp voice.

"Dismissed, Captain." Grant said, watching her leave, and hating the fact he was loosing a large chunk of his Regiment. Didn't Command realise they were the front line? With a shake of his head, he went back to his work, trying to do his job while being jerked around by Command.

OFF

Captain Brenda Sinclair, SFMC
Company Commander
C Company

Colonel Viktor Grant, SFMC
Regiment Commanding Officer
619 Regiment
-- NPC'd by Brenda