Outpost 5004 pt 2

Chapter II: Conversations

2394 – January 13th

“Sir?”
Hunter awoke from his sleep hurriedly. Though none of his staff would begrudge him a little rest, he was still on duty and had to set an example.
“Yes?”
“The fleet’s ground force report – you wanted it as soon as it was completed.”
“Yes, thank you.” Hunter surveyed the information on the padd with discontent. The various groups of marines onboard the task force’s starships didn’t even compare to a single cube’s crew compliment in terms of numbers and given the low morale throughout the fleet, he had no doubts about which would be most effective in battle. Though he hadn’t spoken of it to his superiors or his own staff, he knew the system would fall to the Borg and it would fall soon. The only question was how many lives would be lost in the evacuation.
Knowing that pouring over the new yet familiar data would serve no purpose, he left his makeshift office and stepped outside of the command headquarters of Task Force Pericles. Though the building was considerably larger than the science station it encompassed, its build quality was low and exposed support beams and tense lashings held it in place. The main facility was protected by a small deflector field though its power was limited and parts of the base were left unsecured.
Hunter was moving into one of those areas now. The field hospital, despite holding hundreds of personnel, was a lower priority than the TFHQ and so survived without the benefit of shielding. Luck alone had kept the Borg from beaming down or worse, beaming people out, but if and when that day came, the hospital would be defenceless.
Hunter had brought this point up before with the Cinc of the task force but had been cut off midspeech – the working theory being that you couldn’t protect anybody if your COs were all dead. The issue hadn’t been raised again.

Entering the hospital was something Hunter had tried to avoid in the years he had spent on the planet’s surface. Plasma burns, radiation poisoning and severe physiological trauma were the most common sights but there was a long list of hurts that Starfleet had endured in the defence of this system.
The patient that Hunter was most interested in had escaped the worst however. Elisabeth French had ejected from her fighter moments before its destruction on Christmas Eve though the discharge motors had overblown due to the stress of the tractor beam and ugly burns covered the left side of her body. As soon as she got to a real hospital, the scars could be removed without any fuss but for now, they served as a reminder of how close to the edge she came.
Hunter tried not to stare. He failed.
“With a face like that you probably look worse than me,” said French, softly smiling.
“You mean the fact that I haven’t shaved or that I look worried?”
“Neither. You’re just plain ugly.”
Hunter allowed himself a small smile. “How are you?”
“I’m not a teenager anymore, that’s for sure. Boot camp seems like a long time ago.”
“It was. Over fifteen years ago.”
“Doesn’t time fly when you’re having fun?”
“That’s one way to put it.” A silence settled on the two and Hunter sought to break it quickly. “How’s the Paladin?”
French made a face. “Same as the rest of the fleet. She’s been smacked around like a drunken boxer for the last ten years, has a hull that looks filthier than any ground warzone you’ve ever seen and the only things holding her together are rope, spit and sticky custard.”
“Sticky custard?”
“The replicators haven’t worked in months. Rations for the entire crew and passengers morning, noon and night. Supplies are running low.”
Hunter frowned. “Passengers?”
“We dropped off all the families near Sol years ago. We’ve just got a few civvy analysts and tacticians and some idiot journalists.”
“Reporting live from the front?”
The stricken pilot scowled. “Exactly. All they do is provide one more hazard for everyone else onboard to look out for. Almost killed two of them myself.”
Hunter grinned, picturing the image of the short yet tough-as-nails French yelling at a couple of pencil-necks. “How’s the crew?”
“A lot smaller than it used to be. Sometimes, you can walk the entire circle on deck ten and not see anything more human than a patched-up bulkhead. It can be like a ghost ship sometimes.”
“Doesn’t sound like the old days.”
“Nothing does these days. But then not many people talk about the old days anymore. It doesn’t do to dwell.”
“We can’t forget what it was like though. We need a blueprint for what to do after the war is over.”
The two marines stared at each other and Hunter guessed Lizzie’s words before she said them. “You really think we’re going to win this war?”
Hunter took a brief pause. “I know I won’t be assimilated. For now, that’ll have to do.”
“It’s not much of a goal.”
“I don’t get out as much as I used to. Tied to the job; career man, me.” Neither laughed at the joke. The job was all that was left; defend what they still had and take the fight to the enemy. It wasn’t easy and sometimes it was impossible, but what else was there? Hunter had heard of an Earth colony that had shut itself off from the entire galaxy, knowing full well what was happening. Willful ignorance was not something that endeared itself to the marine and if the stories were true, it hadn’t saved the people of the colony from assimilation.
No, not everyone’s cut out to be a soldier but you can’t just ignore these things. Even if all you do is run, you can’t ignore something like this. Not when it could mean…
He didn’t want to finish the thought. Only after seven years of watching countless Starfleet vessel be destroyed by the Borg with no more effort than he would expend regarding a bug, had he really begun to consider the possibility that this could be it for Humanity. The entire species – gone. Looking over at Lizzie, he wondered if she shared his thoughts.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“I think you’re right.”
“About what?”
She waved her burnt hand and took in the large ward that they were in. “Out here, you can’t have many goals but if nothing else, cling on to the memories because at the end of it all… they may be all we have left.”
Hunter scratched his head absentmindedly. “Being a teenager does seem like a long time ago now. Things were simpler back then.”
“You think?”
“You don’t? Survival isn’t a very nice occupation but it’s as simple as it gets. Back then I had to worry about school, my future prospects and even girls now and again.” He pulled a lop-sided grin. “But the way things are now…”
“What?”
“It makes me wonder about destiny.”
“You’ve never believed in destiny. ‘There isn’t a tarot card, constellation or magic bunny that can tell me my future,’ – was that it?”
“I’m good at this. Over a decade of fighting the Borg, sometimes hand to hand and I’ve never been seriously injured. In seven years of daily war, I’ve only lost three fighters, one whilst it was on the ground. I’m popular with the troops and they’ll follow me anywhere, besides which, I’m respected by my superiors for tactical planning ability. I crash landed on this hell-hole planet eight years ago when it was nothing more than some irrelevant research station. Now I’m the commander of the ground and fighter defences of an entire task force. Maybe I was destined for war. Maybe this is me.”
“I think you’re selling yourself a bit short. I remember you before this happened. You had far too many other talents just to be meant for war.”
“Such as?”
Lizzie grinned. “Well, none come to mind immediately but I’m sure you were good at something.”
Hunter laughed in response. “That was me being deep there, and you just blew it out the water.”
“Well you’re a marine. Pull yourself together and start thinking about guns for Pete’s sake.”
The couple’s laughter was interrupted by the base intercom. The Fleet was at Red Alert. The final battle was about to take place and no one in the command centre believed that TF Pericles would live up to its name another time.

After quick deliberation with the other commanders present, Admiral Mendoza lifted up the microphone on the communications desk and spoke to the entire ground complex as well as the Fleet, ready and waiting in orbit.
“We have just received a communiqué from the I.K.S. Negh Singh which was patrolling the sectors outer limits. A force of twelve Borg Cubes is headed towards this base and there is no way we can stop them. As of this moment, Outpost 5004 is lost. We will not give our lives needlessly and the only resistance the Borg will encounter today will be our last defence as we leave this system. I am ordering a full evacuation of the outpost and sector. The fleet will begin transports from the surface immediately. I don’t need to tell you how to conduct yourselves today; you are Starfleet and that speaks for itself. Good Luck. Mendoza, out.”