The Storm's Never So Very Far

Posted on Sat Mar 11th, 2017 @ 4:27am by
Edited on on Sat Mar 11th, 2017 @ 4:47am

Mission: All the Kings Men: Wargames
Location: Marine Country - COs quarters
Timeline: BACKPOST: Prior and Concurrent to Bang You're Dead

First Lieutenant Christian Rogers felt out of sorts. He didn't know why but there was something bothering him. Something he couldn't quite pin down. He figured it might have something to do with the upcoming 'war games' but that wasn't it. The Marines weren't going to be affected overly much by these games. They were to 'standby' on the offchance there might be a simulated ship invasion, but judging from the parameters Captain Beihn showed him, that was unlikely to happen.

So, the entire Marine command was basically sitting around, waiting to play games. He knew a thing or two about sitting around, waiting to 'play' and he knew it was one of the worst things about being in the Corps. Especially when it came to simulated war games. Often times, since it wasn't a "Oh gods, oh gods we're all gonna die" situation, security conveniently 'forgot' to activate them for boarder repel.

Maybe it was that. Maybe.

"Lieutenant?"

Rogers turned, noting the young Trill corporal that was Captain Beihn's aide. "Yes, Corporal?" he asked, only slowing down as he was on his way to the Marine version of CiC, their 'staging area'. He pulled on the tacvest to vent it while he waited for the corporal to catch up.

"Have you heard from the Captain?" Corporal Sanger asked, his thoughts whirling that he was just being worried over nothing and stupid at the same time. But there was the dark undercurrent that was genuinely worried.

"Not this morning," Rogers said, thinking back. It wasn't like he and Beihn were joined at the hip. Sometimes they might meet for breakfast to go over the day's duty schedule, sometimes they met for lunch. Captain Beihn was a 'hands off' kind of guy, allowing his officers to carry out their duties as they needed to do. He stepped in when necessary, but otherwise Rogers felt he had a lot of autonomy. A privilege he tried his best to not abuse. "But you should know more about his schedule than I."

"That's just it, he didn't show up for our morning meeting. And he's not answering his comms." Sanger said, stopping and facing Rogers directly. "Ship scans say he's in his quarters, but he's not answering his chime."

Rogers took a deep breath. The corporal's worry was turning from fretting to near panic. "He told me last night he wasn't feeling well, maybe he went to see about treatment?"

Corporal Sanger nodded, but he wasn't at all convinced. "I saw him late last night, some last minute communiques arrived and he wanted to respond. He told me he was feeling better and maybe he was fighting off the bug. I've already checked Medical. He wasn't there yesterday night or this morning."

Rogers looked at his chrono. It was nearing time for their 'part' of the exercises. Which meant the Captain should be in CiC. He clapped Sanger on the shoulder, putting on a smile he didn't feel and spoke, trying to keep his tone as natural and calm, remembering what it sounded like when he was still a young Marine and things were going sideways. "I'm sure he's just in CiC. Let's get there and we'll both feel stupid for worrying."

"Yes, sir," Corporal Sanger said, but still wasn't convinced. Rogers didn't believe it was because he failed in his playacting but because the worry was that intense. Out of deference, he quickened his pace to CiC, making sure that he didn't seem to be in a hurry. A quick way to get others to worry or panic was making it appear as if there was a reason for panic.

However, on entry to CiC, his worry started growing. Captain Beihns wasn't there and nobody there had heard from him. At which point the crew in CiC realized that it was odd he wasn't there. Beihns was quite fastidious about punctuality.

"Computer, locate Captain Beihns," Rogers said.

"Captain Beihns is in his quarters," the matriarchal voice returned.

"Rogers to Captain Beihn," Rogers tried switching the comm channel. He waited for twenty seconds, counting carefully lest it seem too long when it wasn't near long enough. He repeated the hail with the same results. "Corporal, gather the MAA and a couple other grunts and meet me at the Captain's quarters." He turned, "Lieutenant," he said, indicating the command's other first lieutenant and operations officer. "You're in charge here, such as it is, until I or the captain returns. Hopefully both."

"Aye, XO," First Lieutenant Greene said as he moved to the Ops table, which only showed the Victory floating alone in space. All the readings alongside the holographic projection read in the green, indicating normal operations.

Rogers turned to send the corporal off, but noted he was already gone. Approving, Rogers set out for the Captain's quarters, making sure to keep his pace, body language and facial expressions set as if there were nothing wrong. So far, as far as any of them knew, there wasn't.

Even though the ship was large, the Marine section wasn't. It only took a few minutes to get from CiC to the Captain's quarters, even so, he was still the first to arrive. He kept trying to hail the Captain on the way with similar negative results. Arriving at the door, he didn't waste time and hit the chime.

It took less than a minute for him to see Corporal Sanger jogging along the corridor, a few others in tow. Rogers glared at the obvious appearance of panic but but that to the back of the list of things to accomplish.

"Corporal, open this door," Rogers said, "I've tried and it's locked."

Sanger's eyes widened as he looked from Rogers to the door and back. "I...I don't have the entrance code. Captain Beihn never gave it to me."

Rogers's jaw clenched as he heard that. He'd never heard of an aide that didn't have access for necessities. Though, Beihn was Bajoran and often expressed that he sometimes hated having an aide; it was too reminiscent of the 'servitude' many of his people experienced under Cardassian tyranny.

"Computer, override lock on Captain Beihn's quarters, authorization Rogers Alpha One."

"Security clearance not valid for requested function, First Lieutenant Christian Rogers does not have sufficient authority to override this doorlock."

"Dammit!" Rogers said, the frustration evident in his outburst, but he was trying to keep himself controlled and that wasn't easy with five other Marines getting more and more anxious. "I'm the Company Executive Officer, I have authorization to unlock any door to any Marine quarters!"

"Negative. First Lieutenant Christian Rogers does not have sufficient authority to override this doorlock."

"MAA," Rogers instructed the short Terran woman behind him. He indicated the door. She attempted her authorization code.

With the same results.

"Fine," Rogers said as he hit the chime again followed by the entry control. As he thought, still no results. But, he was already moving past, counting the panels until he found the one he wanted.

"You want us to try to cut through?" the MAA asked, her hand on her sidearm. As the MAA she was one of the Marines still carrying a normal duty weapon while most of the others, Rogers included, were carrying 'simulations'. He hated these 'war games' more and more because they were more like 'play games' and not war at all.

"Negative," Rogers said as he pulled off the indicated panel. Circuit boards, ODN lines and chips were revealed, all with a pale golden glow. Rogers stared at the configuration for a moment, making sure to orient himself to the correct positioning. Then, when he was sure he got it right, he pulled out three chips in a specific sequence.

"What's going on?" Sanger asked.

"Overriding the door controls manually," Rogers said. "Don't worry, someday you'll be taught this as you train on how to infiltrate starships."

He put the isolinear chips back in the proper sequence and heard the cracking of the door seal. Turning back to the door, he and one of the other Marines pushed against the door, opening it far enough they could make entry.

The smell was the first thing to hit them. The sick, sour stench of confined illness. "Computer, lights," Rogers said as they moved through the quarters, Rogers making directly for the bedchamber. The stench grew worse as he made his way, causing him to pull his undershirt over his nose and mouth.

It didn't help to keep the greasy smell from coating his tongue and the back of his throat. It wasn't quite the greasy, thick smell of dead, rotting flesh, but it was close.

"Captain?" he said, opening the door to the bedchamber. Gagging, despite the makeshift filter, he took a step back. One of the other Marines, and Rogers would later identify it as Sanger, wasn't so lucky as he moved to the corner, expelling his breakfast.

"Captain?" Rogers said, steeling himself to brave the stench and sight of the bedchamber. Beihn lay on the floor, obviously fallen there. He'd hit his head some time ago, the blood gelled and dried on his scalp. Aside from the blood, though, he was covered in his own vomit and waste. A strange, gurgling gasping was coming from him.

Shunting aside the condition and stench, Rogers was by his side, automatically reaching for the blood crusted skin of the Captain's neck. There was a pulse, light, slow and fluttering.

"Get the corpsman!" Rogers ordered as he inspected the wound on the Captain's head. It wasn't deep, but was long and bled plenty. "Captain?" Rogers asked, pinching the underside of his arm as he'd seen corpsmen do on occasion with unconscious patients.

The gasping rattled deeper but Beihn seemed to respond as his eyelids began fluttering. "Get some water, rags to clean this up," Rogers said, trying not too look to hard at the Captain's condition. He never wanted to remember Beihn in this state. It was undignified for his commanding officer to be this way.

"Roshers?" Beihn said, his voice thick and raw, each syllable followed by the agonizing, gasping breath.

"No, don't worry, Captain, we've got the corpsman on the way, then we'll get you to medical." He looked up and snapped out the order for two of the Marines standing around to get a gravsled to transport the captain.

"Don't...feel..." his eyelids fluttered before his eyes rolled up into his head. There was one long, grating breath and then silence. The smell rushed in to fill it.

"Captain?" Rogers asked, shifting position to shake Beihn by the shoulders. He was rewarded with another, agonal breath but he didn't feel a pulse. "Where's that damned medic!" he called out.

"On his way!" one of the Marine grunts called as they were making way to get the gravsled into the room.

"Captain!" Rogers called, shaking him again. Not even that agonal breath. No response at all. His hand already covered in the gore and filth that covered his captain, he thought nothing of ripping open the tshirt the captain was wearing before placing the heels of his hand on the sternum at the nipple line.

"What's the current procedure?" he asked, more to himself.

"Thirty and two," Sanger said, staring wide eyed at the door. He still appeared green and was wiping his lips.

Rogers nodded and began counting as he pumped, hard, ignoring the cracking. He stopped at the thirty mark, staring at the vomit and blood crusted lips of his Captain. Without a barrier...he went back to chest compressions.

"What happened?" the corpsman asked as he dropped his bag several feet away. "Clear, lets get him moved so we have room to work."

"You don't move people in accidents!" Rogers shouted even as the corpsman grabbed Beihn's feet and pulled him away from the bed and out the door. In the living area, there was much more room.

"Here," Corpsman Hannah said as he threw a bag attached to a triangular mask to Sanger, "two squeezes every thirty compressions, you got that?" He didn't wait for a response. "Lieutenant, you good to continue compressions?"

"Yeah," Rogers said, not even considering stopping.

Hannah tapped his commbadge. "Medical alert, Bajoran male appears to be in cardio-pulmonary distress, will be arriving in approximately four minutes." He worked to place two small silver discs on the top and side of Beihn's chest.

"We've got the sled," others called back, bringing it through the still open door.

"Good," Hannah said, physically knocking Roger's hands out of the way at the command to clear so the small cardio stimulators could analyze.

Rogers glared at the corpsman but held his breath and tongue while wiping sweat from his forehead. As much as it irritated him to be knocked aside, he had to admit the corpsman was more knowledgeable in this area and so Rogers had to defer to him.

The modules advised a shock and Beihn twitched.

"Okay, on three we're going to get him onto the sled," he said, indicating Rogers and a lance corporal should help him turn him to his side. With a quick countdown, the sled was quickly put under Beihn.

"Continuing compressions," Hannah said, straddling the captain on the sled. "Continue with the breaths on thirty, don't wait for my mark."

"Yes, sir," Corporal Sanger replied, too out of it to realize he'd just 'sirred' an NCO corpsman.

"The rest of you, get us moving to medical, time's wasting," Hannah said as he pumped on the Captain's chest.

Rogers directed the lance corporal opposite him and the other to grab the foot part of the sled. With the anti-grav field activated, they had no problem lifting it. "Double time," Rogers stated and, when the corpsman didn't contramand him, he gave the order to move out.

Rogers didn't care who saw them running the sled through the corridors toward Medical at this point, the captain dying would cause worse moral problems than seeing him in this state.

to be continued...