Marine Captain's Personal Log - Stardate 74063.9

Posted on Wed Jan 25th, 2023 @ 7:27pm by Captain Samuel Woolheater
Edited on on Wed Jan 25th, 2023 @ 7:36pm

Mission: Season 6 : Episode 1: Circinus
Location: DECK THIRTY-SIX - DROP HANGAR BAY
Timeline: MD03-0800
1049 words - 2.1 OF Standard Post Measure

[ON: MD03 – 0800 – DECK THIRTY-SIX – DROP LEVEL HANGAR BAY]

Captain Samuel Woolheater was working to get the troop transport and the working star fighters airborne. He was working alongside mechanics and engineers. Support crew and technicians. These were the survivors of decks thirty-seven to thirty-four. Just forty-four persons. Just forty-four! . Not just forty-four persons…forty-four heroes. Injured, but not broken. They worked with eight marines including Sam from the first platoon to salvage what they could. It was hard work. There was little power. And what there was had to be preserved for powering the craft for immediate flight. It was heavy, sweaty work. Finally, after about two hours, they had gotten what could be salvaged ready.

Sam sat down and gulped some water. He reached into his combat armor and pulled out a small pouch from his upper chest area. It was cinctured shut in a black pouch. He opened it into his hand. Eleven marine dog tags spilled onto his palm. He looked at them.

(Voice Over) “Personal log, stardate 74063.9.

So costly a sacrifice! I’ve lost marines under my command before. But not like this. And I never want to get used to losing marines. They say that Space doesn’t give a damn about you. Space doesn’t care who you are or what you did or what you will do. Space doesn’t know you or want to know you. In space, you don’t matter. In space, you are nothing. Coming from nothing and going to nothing. When people realize that we’re stranded. I mean really stranded; will they think they will die? Yes, absolutely. And that's one you need to know, going in, because it's going to happen to you. This is space. It does not cooperate. Did these marines think they were going to die. Yes. But probably not in their beds. Asleep on a starship. In a place and a time, they thought they were safe. At some point, everything's gonna go south on you... everything's going to go south and you're going to say, this is it. This is how I end. Now you can either accept that, or you can get to work. That's all it is. You just begin. You do the math. You solve one problem... and you solve the next one... and then the next. And if you solve enough problems, you get to come home. But today feels different. This was my watch. I was supposed to protect…them. And I never saw this coming.

Everything now depends on getting the crew evacuated. I heard it on the comm. It doesn’t matter anymore the divisions we created. Marine, pilot, scientist, cook. It doesn’t matter what species you are anymore. Human, Vulcan, Trill…all that matters is that everyone, more than ever, will depend on everyone else. Just to survive. Just to make it to the next day. This is space. And it has proven that it will not cooperate. All our hopes, like the dust we are, cast to the winds.

Everybody has their part to play. Science, physics, astro-physics, stellar cartography, geology, biology, botany…we need you. We all need each other. It’s simple as that. We either pull together, or we aren’t going to last long out here.

These eleven in my hand, I wish that they were the last; I’ll do everything I can do to make sure that we don’t die out here. As I look around, will I ever see this place again? Will I ever see Andrinn again? I hope so. I promised him I would find him. I find myself truly feeling small and insignificant. We thought we were masters of our fate. Masters of space and travel. And we’re not. You know? The universe has just kicked our feet out from underneath us with one hell of a body blow. The important thing is that we keep getting backup. Knock me down? I get back up. We…will get back up.

The Selkans have a saying. The native Pacificans. A prayer really. My sister would often say it to me. And I don’t think I ever really understood it until now. They say, in Selkan of course, ‘The ocean teaches us how little a person needs, not how much. So, let the sea make a noise and all that therein is!’

And I think that all of us are about to find out just what it is like to be marooned and stranded so far from home. We are a resilient people. And so, I say to the universe. You haven’t killed me yet. And if you want any more of this crew; you’re going to have to come through the 62nd Company.

Maybe we are…insignificant. Maybe we don’t matter. We’re smart and we’re capable. And we survive. You lot are about to find out what makes us Starfleet. And you will rue the day. You have not heard the last of Elysium. And these eleven; good marines all of them. They go before us as heralds go before the first light of a new day. Do you hear those horns? They are the voice of them that go before us and come after us? They call the blood of ancients that courses through the blood of every member of this crew. Do you hear those drums? They beat for the rhythm of the lives you took from us. Drums of thunder you have awoken. And they will be repaid. You may be cruel, cold, and empty space. But we are not alone. We are Starfleet. And we will survive.”

Sam got to his feet. He put the eleven dog tags back into the pouch and cinctured it closed again. He put it back into his armor and sealed it close again. As an auxiliary craft powered on, a cheer went up. Beaten, damaged and hurting. But not defeated. It was time to leave. The onboard computer in Samuel’s combat armor chirped.

“Computer, save that personal log. That one is a keeper.”


[OFF:]

Captain Samuel Woolheater
“Saepius Exertus, Semper Fidelis, Frater Infinitas”
Division VI, MARDET 62nd Company "Spartans", 1st Platoon CO
=/\= USS ELYSIUM - NCC-89000 =/\=