In the Pale Moonlight - Part Two of Three

Posted on Thu Nov 30th, 2023 @ 9:41am by Captain Samuel Woolheater

Mission: Season 6: Episode 4: Memory Lane
Location: USS Elysium - Deck Thirty-Two - Marine Country
Timeline: MD04 - Early that day
3710 words - 7.4 OF Standard Post Measure

[ON: “In silentio habitem”]



It was early morning when Samuel Woolheater awoke. The cabin that he had built was warm and cozy. The morning light streamed through the slits in the wood. His bed, also handmade, was comfortable. The skins of animals he had fashioned into blankets, and they kept him warm enough. He took a deep breath and sat up. Rolling his legs over and out of bed, his feet touched the wood floor. He looked at the morning light and got dressed for the day. He put his well-worn marine boots on. They looked very well worn.

He was dressed in what used to be marine camo’s. His marine green t-shirt underneath a shirt that he had made from an old camping tent. It’s made of red and black with a stiff fabric even after years of wear.

He got a fire going in the small kitchen he had built and started to get some water heated as he finished dressing. He washed his hands and face. He was mostly clean-shaven – about three days from having to shave again. On the mirrored surface of this shiny metal, a figure stared back at him. He looked about twenty-years older. He finished up his morning routine.

He made something hot to drink and had a hot bread like slice on a plate. He opened the window slats to the outside. He exited the cabin and into the front. There was a workshop of sorts, a place to cut and work wood. And a simple forge. There was a beehive oven for using the forge and for cooking food.

Near the workshop, there was a table and two chairs. There was also a crude looking paper “journal” that he kept. He set his hot beverage down on the table and sat down on a chair before opening and writing in the journal.

There were a few animals here. Not quite a cow, but cow-like and a few odd-looking ‘chickens’ in a nicely apportioned coop. There were four wolf-like canines that sat at the edge of his homestead. They had been watching him for quite some time. Sam noticed them and greeted them, “Good morning” he said. All four wolf-like creatures tilted their heads to the right or the left and their ears perked up. Sam stopped writing and took a drink from his mug, “Company? Report” he said.

The four canine like creatures came up closer. Their tails held high, and they sat smartly down a few paces away from him. He said to them as he went back to writing in his journal, “I heard something from you sentries at two bells. You sounded busy? Anything I should know about?” Sam said as he paused and looked at them.

The wolf-like creatures had bright grey and yellow eyes. There was one that had a mixed coat of white fur and grey and brown ticking in his coat. This dog was the offspring from the marin sapper Cpl. Evan Griffin. Samuel had named the fours animals after the famous Earp family of the American Southwest. Virgil was the tallest one, Morgan was the meanest, ‘Doc’ Holliday was the one with spade like markings and this one, the one that was from that original Saoyed – this is Wyatt. Wyatt was the closest he had to an animal companion. So many years ago now, the dog had bred with other canines and this was one of the pack now. They all watched Woolheater with intent eyes – borderline domesticated they were. Certainly not “pets”. Sam looked at them and with military decorum said, “Well. If there’s nothing to report, then I ‘spose you’ll want your breakfast?” Two licked their chops.

Sam unlatched a wooden box and reached into it and removed four slabs of what looked like dry jerky. He tossed to each of them, which they caught in mid-air, a slab that was about a quarter pound of meat. Each “dog” trotted away to a special spot where they would eat in peace. It was only Corporal Griffin’s Samoyed descendant that came closer for a petting and then trotted off. “Hey Wyatt…good job…You’re a good sentry pooch. Good boy.”

It was later that afternoon that Sam got his hunting gear already. Tonight, there will be a full two moons. Perfect night to hunt for some game to eat.

His TR-116 was kept clean and in perfect condition. There was no way to charge it so he had to use it sparingly. In the years of isolation, Samuel had become a decent archer and hunter. His skill as a sniper was keeping him alive. That and his training in survival skills from SFMC. Sam touched the metal of the TR-116. He lingered there a moment in some distant memory. Then he selected his trusty bow and arrows.

He spent that afternoon making new arrows and forging arrowheads and making sure his bow was in good working order. When he was kitted out, he slid his K-bar into the sheath on his thigh, got his gear and called for Wyatt. In the late afternoon, they left cabin and the three remaining sentry dogs would guard the place. Together, Sam and Wyatt walked to the edge of the range and entered the grasslands.

“Conceal me what I am and be my aid” Sam said with a nod to the moon’s high overhead. That night, late, in the pale moonlight, Sam did his best hunting. He laid low for hours until the wild deer came out. They would be foraging for the berries and getting ready for the shorter days ahead. Wyatt, the Samoyed mix, was quiet by his side. And they waited in silence.

A small family of deer slowly wandered through the thicket of berries. Sam was upwind of them so they could not smell him. He was silent, so they did not hear him. He threaded an arrow from his quiver into the bowstring. He kneeled and rose slightly as Wyatt sat on his haunches. Sam’s muscled arm pulled back on the bowstring. He aimed for the buck; held his breath and released it slowly as his aim came to bear. He said quietly, “…may you be swift and my aim true…” then he released it.

The arrow sped from the bow with such speed! The deer heard the release and looked around, the buck, there to protect his family, turned his head to listen and the arrow found it’s mark. The deer scattered, The wounded buck, mortally wounded also tried to run, that’s when the dog, Wyatt, waited for Sam’s signal and then, “HUNT!” as the keyword was said. The animal raced toward the wounded buck as he tried to run. Wyatt caught up to the buck and wrestled him to the ground by grabbing the feet and then the back of the neck to hold the buck down as Sam ran after them. He only hunted what he knew he needed to survive. He never hunted for sport. He was from Pacifica. And the Selkan’s were attuned to Nature as much as one could be.

Catching up to the wounded buck and knowing that the family of deer had made it safely away, Sam came alongside them. “Good boy….Wyatt. That’s enough. Release…good boy….release” Sam said as he kneeled down next to the buck. “Oh, you’re a beauty!” he said to the buck.

Sam slung his bow over his back and placed both hands on the buck. In the pale light, he looked into those big eyes. There was no fear there. The buck, if he could, would have kcked Sam’s ass. Sam placed both hands on the buck. It struggled but his strength was bleeding out. Woolheater calmed the deer and spoke soothingly, “You’re so strong. You did your duty. You did…brother deer…forgive me. I need your meat to live, your hide for leather and your skin for warmth. You have the bravest heart…”

Sam slowly withdrew the K-Bar from his thigh, keeping it out of sight of the deer, “…you are strong and I need your strength. What I take from you; one day will be taken from me…be free from pain…” Sam soothed the deer with gentle strokes and soft words said with reverence and dignity. “You go ahead of me…wait for me there brother…in Elysium fields…”

Sam thrust the knife into the heart. After a moment, the buck died and the hunt was over. Sam wiped the blood off his knife. Still panting from running. He praised Wyatt the dog for helping. Then, he cupped his hands in gratitude and said a Selkan prayer of thanks, “Let this spirit now rejoice and let the ground beneath my feet be glad. Let the sea make a noise and all that there in is.”

Unrolling a skin tarp and binding poles to it, he made a carryall. And placing the buck on it, Sam and Wyatt returned home. It would be dawn soon and he would spend the day dressing the deer for food and for warmth. Just as he said he would.


TWENTY-YEARS EARLIER

The Elysium computer classified the planet designated GCC-23:46 as Minshara class. Habitable and Earthlike. And so, the decision had been made to send down a landing party. The battles with the Thaih'ea had not been going well. And the ship and her crew had taken a heavy toll these past nine months. It was thought that if the ship could no longer support the crew, that they would have better chances here in hiding than they would on a badly damaged starship.

The landing party was assembled and dispatched to the surface. The marine complement was now down to just thirty marines. Total. Their mission was to find an encampment and fortify it so that the rest of the crew might find shelter when the order was given to abandon the ship.

They no longer had enough marines to constitute four platoons. There was only one platoon left, the First Platoon and Captain Woolheater was in command. He did his best to rally their spirits. But the Thaih'ea were relentless. Nothing worked against their transporter capabilities. One by one the crew had been picked off. Fighting them only resulted in getting pounded by the Thaih'ea weapons. There were only four working shuttles left, three of them filled with seven marines each for a total of twenty-one marines deployed to GCC-23.46 were enroute to the surface.

Colonel Azhul blamed herself for the loss of so many marines. Not rightly so. It was not her fault. That morning, Commander S’hib succumbed to his wounds and died. She was a single mother now. Just one more thing to add to the pile. She had fought a hard battle against another attempt to steal the ship. Captain Tonelly was killed weeks ago defending the bridge from pirates that sought to take advantage of the Elysium’s weakened posture. There were only two Security officers left and they were now bodyguards to the Commodore. Commodore Lawlor-Richardson was a shadow of her former self. The loss of her husband, her best friend, Mattias, was devastating. And how much more the loss of the ship’s XO as well. Captain Taylor had been taken prisoner along with sixty more of the crew. Most of the Elysium was empty now.

Sam’s thoughts turned to the Chief Diplomatic Officer, Andrinn Orin, who was now both Communications and Diplomatic functionary.

The shuttle was buffeted by wind as they entered the atmosphere of GCC-23.46. And Sam stopped day-dreaming. They had a job to do. Lieutenant Miraj Derani called from orbit and ordered the return of the shuttles. Elysium would attempt to lure the rest of the Thaih'ea fleet into a type IX gas giant. The planet consisted of large volumes of deuterium gas. Large vertical columns that with the proper placement of a photon torpedo could ignite.

The landing party was dropped off and Sam made sure everyone was accounted for. Then, they watched the three shuttles head back for the ship and shortly after that the ship left orbit.


THE PRESENT

In restless dreams

Sam woke up to the screams of his crewmates as their home exploded. He looked around and realized he was here, home, safe…on GCC-23.46. Wyatt, looked up at him from the floor as if to ask, ”Yo? You okay dawg?”

“Sorry boy. Just a bad dream.” It was still dark outside. But Sam couldn’t go back to sleep. He splashed water on his face, dried it and got dressed early. He did his morning routine.

The wind was up today. ~Storm’s coming~ Sam thought to himself. He spent the next hour getting things anchored down. That afternoon and all night, the winds were up and the rains were heavy. By morning, the storm had let up and he emerged from his cabin.

It had been three months since the last hunt. He would go fishing this time and catch some duck or ‘wabbits’ if he were lucky. He could use some new mitts for his hands and ‘wabbit’ fur sure was soft.

It meant, of course, going ‘up there’ near the place. But he hadn’t been there for so long. He needed to check in on it anyway. He brought tools to make repairs and gathering his hunting gear and fishing gear, he rode a horse-like creature that he affectionately named “Commander S’hib” in memory of the Chief of Security.

It was a day’s ride and he and Wyatt and Doc Holliday made their way up the hillsides and into the mountains. There the fishing was good, the air was crisp and clean. That night they arrived at the campsite he always used and settled in for the night.

That night, it was clear and cold. Sam lay looking up at the stars as the fire died down. He kept it low. Wyatt and Doc were by his side. He looked up into the night sky and wondered how the Elysium crew was doing? Was Andrinn OK? Did he meet someone new? Had they found a way back home by now?

The next morning, he set the ‘wabbit’ traps and set the net for the fishy’s. Hefting his tools onto his back and shoulders, he set off towards…that place in the glen. It wasn’t far. Wyatt ran on ahead, sniffing and peeing on as much as he could along the way. Doc Holliday stayed a dozen paces behind bringing up the rear. Still very much a wild animal. “C’mon Doc…stay with us” Sam would say as he turned and made sure Doc was still there.


NINETEEN YEARS AGO

Now there arose a new chief over the Thaih'ea, which knew nothing of the Elysium. And he set about surveying new territories and resources to exploit. Using taskmasters and afflicting many worlds by burdening them with tribute demands. And he made them serve him with rigor.

It was months after Elysium had left that this Thaih'ea chieftan came along. The marines assumed that when the Thaih'ea landed, that their home, their ship had been destroyed. All their friends and families were gone now. And there was no way for them to ever get home. For weeks, they put up a hell of a fight against the Thaih'ea. But, there were too many of them. And not just the Thaih'ea. They had enslaved people to fight for them.

It was now a process of attrition. And when Sam did the math; they were losing. Twenty-one marines could not hold out for long against these overwhelming numbers. And when it became clear that the ship was not coming back for them, Sam made the call to abandon their position and set their hopes somewhere else. Somewhere far and away from the Thaih'ea on this planet.

That was a mistake.

The Thaih'ea picked them off one at a time. Now, there were just seven of them left. They made their stand in the cliffs and caverns not far from this spot. Sam gave them the last injections of the INEPTI that Doctor Mora-Heath had given him. At that time, they did not know that the INEPTI was not that great of a mask.

It took three days to kill seven marines. Sam was knocked unconscious and was buried alive under rocks and sand. The INEPTI hid his lifesigns just enough that the Thaih'ea never found him.

When he awoke a day and half later, the Thaih'ea had left. Satisfied that these ‘invaders’ from across the galaxy were dealt with. Either they were all dead or they were slaves.

Sam crawled and clawed his way out from under the rubble. He dragged himself out from certain death and out from the collapsed cave. He lay there until a four-legged bird-like creature tried to eat him by pecking the flesh off him.

The Thaih'ea had gathered all six marines and left their bodies lined up on the ground. Sam shot the animals that had eaten away at their dead bodies. He was too weak and in too much shock to do anything but collapse a few hundred meters away near some bushes.

People talking without speaking. People hearing without listening.

And, he remembered, it was like a dream. It was night. But there was so much light! He saw…so many people. He could hear them talking and searching. But he couldn’t speak. The injection, the INEPTI, it did shit in hiding from the Thaih'ea. But the damn drug was working perfectly in hiding Sam from the crew looking for him.

He wanted to scream and couldn’t. He dragged himself into a seated position.

They were leaving!

He called to them, his voice was raspy and weak. But he was calling to them. He managed to get out of the bushes and wave his arms. Waving them in desperation for someone to see.

He stumbled, clumsily to his feet. He saw three shuttles, they were lifting off. There was one more shuttle. He saw Andrinn. He called to him, but his voice was silent and parched. Andrinn didn’t hear him. They couldn’t see him. They couldn’t find him.

His cries and calls were like silent raindrops; echoes in a great well of silence.

It was the most horrific thing he saw. He stumbled out of the bushes as the last of the shuttles lifted off and climbed higher and higher.

“…andy! Don’t leave me…you guys….i’m here….i’m right here…come back….andy…come back! “ Sam called after them. But at long last the lights of the shuttlecraft faded away. And through his tears, he saw a streak of light warp away as the Elysium left him behind.


ELYSIUM FIELD

Before him, lay the empty graves of the last six marines who stood with him and fought to the end. The seventh grave was dug for him.

What was so terrible was the loneliness. He didn’t bring books; he didn’t bring much except combat gear. And so, this was his life? He sighed and adjusted the sign he had carved denoting this place.

ELYSIUM FIELD it read in carved wood.

It was a wooded glen, off the beaten path as it were. In a quiet place.

The thought entered his mind that the dogs would be OK. They could fend for themselves. There were no more reports to write. No more commands to issue or orders to obey. He looked at the open grave with his name on it and thought about the TR-116 back in the cabin. He could stand at the foot of the grave, with the sawed-off end of the rifle and it would be quick. Relatively painless too.

Or, a lifetime of loneliness. He walked the short distance to the foot of those six graves and kneeled in front of his. The sound of the river in the background was faint. As was the sound of the wind blowing through the fir trees of the forest. It was the loneliness these past nineteen or twenty years that was killing him. Slowly, the silence deafened him. The solitude and the isolation wore him out. He hadn’t heard another voice in nineteen years.

Only in his memory did he hear them. His crewmates. What he would give now to hear them just one more time. His k-bar knife was on his thigh. Helplessness led to hopelessness. Hopelessness led to the depression he suffered from the last decade. When no one was coming for him. No one knew he was here. There was no way to get a signal out. He was far, far away from the Federation and in twenty-years was MIA.

He knelt there a long, long time. He thought about Andrinn and wished him well. He thought about his friends and fellow marines during those last nine months of terror twenty years ago now.

He held the k-bar in his hands and turned it over and over again.

===================================


“Captain?” Corporal Evan Griffin said. “You OK sir?” the sapper asked. By his side was his rescue dog, Wufftan, named after one of the titular characters of the Klingon opera, “Wufftan & Muttalan”.

Sam was startled awake. His k-bar knife was drawn and in his hands. “Nyuhh!” he said as he awoke. “What?” He looked around. Another nightmare.

“Yeah…fine. Griffin? What…what year is it?” Sam asked.

Evan looked at him surprised, “It’s 2398 Cap. You sure you’re OK? Doctor Mora-Heath hasn’t left yet.”

Sam shook his head and put the knife away. “No. I’m fine. Just…dozed off. Had a hell of a dream too.”





[OFF:]

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