Getting Underway...

Posted on Fri May 6th, 2011 @ 4:49pm by Captain Nathan Cowell MD & Lieutenant JG Paul Akron & Lieutenant JG Matthew April

Mission: Renegades
Location: Bridge, USS Arizona
Timeline: Shortly after 'A Moment of Compassion'

Commodore Nathan Cowell arrived on the bridge of his ship, only to find it still in the sorry state of repair that he had left it in. Such a discovery, under normal circumstances, would have been upsetting... Actually, when Nathan thought about it, he came to the conclusion that he might have been out right furious had the ship not just survived a merciless assault. That fact alone made everything else going on around him seem like penny ante. Oddly enough, with the exception of two lone crewmen who were slowly clearing the debris.

"Where are we at, boys?" Nathan asked, stepping fully inside the compartment.

One of the crewmen jumped at the sound of the Commodore's voice and snapped to attention, "We're trying to get the debris cleared out of the area so we can start repairs, sir."

"Sounds good, keep at it over there, I'll start over here," Nathan said, indicating to forward section of the bridge that had not been touched. The two engineering crewmen exchanged glances and shrugs, then proceeded to return to work. The Commodore, true to his word, began pulling scraps of metal off the forward console, clearing the way for someone to eventually use it.

After leaving Lieutenant Lischka in a recovery room, Marc took a minute to head to his quarters only to discover that his section had been sealed off. Nonplussed, he went to Supply and requisitioned another uniform and a quick shower in an unused room. He was tired - ready to drop after twenty-eight hours on the go and no adrenaline handy.

Putting his new uniform on and attaching his combadge, he headed back to the Bridge a little refreshed. He wasn't about to lie to himself and say that he felt great, but there was still work to do.

The destruction on the Arizona was incredible and he didn't know how long they were going to be at DS10 before heading out again, but as long as as many people as possible chipped in, the magnificent ship would be under way once more. Running his fingers through his hair, he stepped off the turbolift and paused; he hadn't recalled there being so much damage on the Bridge. Seeing the Commodore, he stepped over some debris and stood before the man.

"Commodore Cowell, sir. I owe you an apology."

"What for?" Nathan asked flatly, still dragging hunks of bulkhead and ceiling fragments out of the way of the forward console.

Ensign Schenk cleared his throat and stood at attention. "For celebrating in the face of so much destruction. It was uncalled for and unbecoming of a Starfleet Officer, Commodore." His face held the same chagrin that he felt at his behavior, especially in the light of remembering seeing the man carrying Lieutenant Marion off the bridge.

"Yeah, it was pretty stupid of you to be that happy..." Nathan said, dropping the debris he had been holding, "And if you breathe a word of what I'm about to say to anyone... I'll stuff you in a torpedo tube and launch you like a photon..."

Nathan paused for effect before continuing, "Pressure does weird things to a man. Some people collapse into a ball, others panic and run... but you... you get all fired up about the good things. Nothing inherently wrong with it, but screaming 'woo hoo' in the middle of a battle is just... fucked up..."

It was then that the Commodore did something utterly unexpected... he started to laugh.

As the Commodore started off, Marc imagined that his rank was about to be that of an enlisted once again. He swallowed back any objections, knowing that he had been wrong and was about to apologize again. His chest hurt at the lack of air in his lungs due to the fact that he was was holding his breath and he very slowly let it out as Commodore Cowell continued. He wasn't being stripped of rank and thrown into the Brig. One weight lifted off his shoulders and he replaced it with a weight of ceiling panel in his hands that he swooped to pick up off the floor of the Bridge. "I understand, Commodore and it...." He stopped as the man started to laugh. Perhaps it was the pressure of the situation that caused it and he didn't know what to say for a long moment.

Finally, he decided that the best thing to do was laugh even though he wanted to scream, cry, and demand answers to all the questions that he had. A brief chuckle escaped his lips. "Sir... if you ever see me do something like that again, and there's time to do it... just smack me. I'd much prefer that to being launched out a torpedo tube."

"Well, we can't all get what we want," Nathan countered with a smirk, gathering a handful of wreckage.

The turbolift doors opened and Matt stepped over the threshold onto the bare deck plate. He was taken quite off guard at the laughter he heard on the bridge. Normally a stern place, the bridge seemed rather lighthearted. He wasn't sure if he totally understood the joke, although he thought it was ironic that the crew were laughing as they picked up debris on the shattered remains on the bridge. Matt did the only thing he could think of. "Need a hand sir?" he asked the Commodore, as he approached them.

Nathan looked up to see a new face... Well, that wasn't exactly correct. The Commodore recognized him from earlier... he just never bothered to learn his name. The old man tossed some of the trash behind him, "You engineering?"

"Operations sir." Matt said, avoiding the flying piece of trash, "But I dabble in engineering." Matt had never actually spoken to the Commodore personally, just a brief report when he came onboard. But the Commodore had other things on his mind at that point.

"You'll do. Once Mister Schenk and I uncover this main console here, hop on it and get it back working. If you can't get anything else up today, I want Flight Control back," the Commodore ordered before glancing over at the aforementioned Ensign, "You got something else on your mind, boy? You've been eyeballing me for a good ten minutes."

"Understood sir." Matt responded, "Shouldn't be hard, already rebuilt the operations console yesterday after it exploded in my face." He picked up a large piece of debris and threw it into the pile next to him.

Having been putting his muscles to good use while the Commodore spoke to the man who came off the turbolift, he looked up at the Commodore's words. "No sir... just thinking." Moving aside a large panel, he yelped as a jagged edge cut his forearm, causing him to drop it with a curse. Checking it, he decided that it wasn't worthy of Medical and put his back to the task again while keeping an eye out for more sharp edges.

"Yeah, and your thinking that much is making you careless..." Nathan said with a frown, "So you might as well start talking."

The Ensign started to shake his head, then sighed as he heaved the scrap that was once part of the ship aside. "With all due respect, Commodore, something doesn't strike me as right about those Romulan scout ships. Not that we'll ever get a chance to investigate them now considering that they're wreckage."

He paused for a breath, "The Temperance was blown to pieces before we could get there, and the MT Hawl followed hot on the heels of that. Then we were attacked with such savagry that half the Arizona's crew is likely dead or missing. Doesn't that strike you as odd, Sir?"

"Yeah, it does," Doc Cowell said without much elaboration.

"Well, Deck Seven is in bad shape," Matt said, picking up another piece of chared metal, "I led a team down there yesterday, it was exposed to space during the fighting. We had to manually find the hole, as internal sensors were down. Engineering has a team on it right now, since that hole compromises the structural integrity of the ship." He sighed, "We found some human remains, sir, but most were completely unidentifiable, smashed into a pulp by the suction of space... And we lost a man." He looked at the Commodore and realised that he was starting to babble.

The old man just shrugged, "Hazards of the job..."

As unenthusiastic as the words came out it was obvious by the sag of the man's shoulders, a slight motion that might have gone unnoticed had the Commodore not been so damn tired, that the weight of it all was indeed having an affect on him. The gruff mannerisms were starting to show for what they truly were... a way to deal with the stress... with the burden of command.

The uninformative answer given by the Commodore got the Ensign's hackles up and before he could think better of it, his mouth opened and he started speaking. "Sir, I'm the ship's Investigation Officer. Is there something that I'm unaware of considering that a lot of people just died?"

He flicked a glance at Matt and back to the Commodore and bent down to grab another piece of debris, flinging it towards the pile of trash with more strength than he had intended. Then he saw the look and posture of the Commodore and bit back his next words. "It's just... bothering me, sir. I'll shut up now."

"Son, there's something you need to learn about wearing that uniform... You're never going to know everything that's going on. Hell, the one I wear doesn't give me any more insights into the inner workings of life. If I had answers for you, you'd have them. But to be perfectly honest, I couldn't tell you a damn thing beyond what you've already imagined. Those ships were souped up, their crews were experienced, and we damn near didn't win this one. Now that they're dead, and we're heading off to the Delta Quadrant... who the fuck cares..." Nathan snapped.

It took a second for him to calm down, "Can we not talk about this shit right now? Can't we just... have a nice conversation about something that doesn't involve those fucking shitheads..."

Marc nodded and blew out a hard breath. "Yes Sir. Who do you think is going to win this year's Parrises Squares tournament?" It was the only thing that he could think of to change the conversation. Groaning and nearly dead on his feet, sweat dripping from his forehead as he bent to the task of cleaning up more debris, he didn't bother to look at the Commodore.

"The who-what-now? I don't follow those damn sports... I'm six hundred years old, boy. If I can't drink it, read it, or watch it on a screen, I can't be bothered with it," the El-Aurian said as he finally freed the Helm side of the forward console from debris, "All yours, Mister Ops..."

"Six...hundred?" Marc asked, a look of awe on his face. He knew there were species that were long lived, but to be in the presence of history, he stuttered for a minute before regaining his composure. "It's a brutal sport that people played when I was at the Academy, sir."

"Yeah, it's a bit brutal." Matt admitted as he knelt down infront of the console, "I personally played Rugby at the academy, well in between brawls at the tavern." He pulled his toolkit from his belt and quickly pulled the panel off of the console. He manipulated some of the wires in the console. He tapped the black glass panel with the tips of his finger. Nothing happened. He smacked the console.

Almost instantaneously the console came to life. Matt sat down in the chair. "Still locked out sir, engineering must be doing some high level diagnostics," he said as the console made a static noise.

"Now see, bar brawling I can identify with. Though, back in the day, when I was with the the union Army, we all just got plastered in the field and kicked each others' asses until we passed out. Now those were the days..." Nathan began, turning to the young men, "Have I told you guys about the time we were doin' a movement and I got stabbed?"

"The Union Army? What Union was that?" Marc asked, curious as to who would use knives other than Klingons or other species who used such weapons. He cleared the area around a console and began seeing if there was any life left in it as he listened, his attention divided.

Matt didn't know whether to laugh or to smack his head, he chose the latter for the sake of the Commodore. "The Union Army as in the Army of the United States during the American Civil War, 1861-1865 Earth date," he said, looking over from the console.

"Yeah, that one," Nathan said, "Well, we were on a move, heading toward... oh shit, some little Podunk town or another to occupy and resupply. Anyway, we've been marchin' along for about a day now, and I think I got a hold of some bad grub the night before because my stomach was just fightin' me. Well, I decided I'd take me a shit break, so I wonder off into the woods to find me a nice spot to pop a squat and handle business."

Nathan moved over to the Command cluster and started pulling debris away from his chair as he spoke, "So there I am, takin' a mean shit, and these Confederates come running out of the woods. So yeah, here I am, squatin' over a hole, shit hangin' out of my ass while those grey bastards are charging toward me. I'm lucky they couldn't shoot worth a damn, they wasted as least four or five balls in my direction without hitting even a tree. Well, this one bastard comes up, bayonet at the ready, and he sticks that fucker in my right cheek. When I tell you that hurt like a bitch, I'm really down playing it... So yeah, with my pants around my ankles, I take out my revolver, special made, about a hundred years ahead of the times, and go to blastin' them new holes in their heads. I actually still have that revolver in my desk..."

"Interesting story, sir." Matt said, as he attempted to override the security protocals in the console lockout, "Something similar happened to my great-grandfather during the battle of Khitomer. He was stationed on the Enterprise and was on the pot when the first torpedo impacted with the ship, spent the rest of the battle with his pants down to his ankles." He smirked.

Marc looked at him in disbelief at such an obviously tall tale until the Commodore's words came back to his mind. Despite himself, he had to laugh before he regained his composure. "What was it like living in that time?"

"It was..." Nathan said before shrugging, "Hell, it's like living in this time. There's things you can do that you couldn't years before, things you wish you could but can't... Just a different set of circumstances. History doesn't really change much, just the faces and the reasons behind things. But, I will say things were a lot less complicated back then. No communicators, no transporters... man could get lost for decades and be forgotten about. Made being so longed lived less unusual. I was just a new face every time I hit a new town. And the Sweet Tea was better back in the day. Natural, pure... not that thin muck these replicators call tea..."

"Sir..." Matt interrupted, "Sorry to interrupt, but the helm console is back in action." He tapped a few more buttons, "Your orders sir?" Matt asked.

If Ensign Paul Akron had done it on purpose, it wouldn't have been timed any more perfectly. He stepped out to the sound of 'the helm console is back in action' and hurried over to where the three men were standing. Nathan was about to say something before took note of the newcomer, his right arm in a sling.

"What they hell are you doing out of bed?" Nathan demanded.

Despite the sudden lurch in his stomach over being yelled at, Ens. Akron didn't shy away from the task at hand, "I'm here to get back to work. I still have a working arm... I can at least man a console."

Nathan frowned for a second before sighing, "Take your station, son. Give me a status report on propulsion systems."

"Aye!" the Ensign said happily, waiting for Lt. April to vacate the chair before reclaiming it. He tapped in his preference configuration preset and began the slow task of calling up the statistics regarding propulsion one handed.

"We're limited to impulse power currently. Warp drive is offline thanks to damage taken to the Secondary Hull. Engineering reports they've made that a priority, but it will be a few hours before we can attempt even warp five..." the Ensign said.

"Fine... engage impulse drives, get us as far from here as you can until we're up. Mister Schenk, sent word to the Casey to follow us," Commodore Cowell ordered before looking over to April, "Keep working on the rest of these consoles. I need to attend to things in my Ready Room. The bridge is yours for now, Lieutenant."

Marc tapped at the Tactical console in front of him and finally managed to bring it up and online, "We have approximately thirteen torpedoes left, Sir. I estimate we have enough power to get our shields up for a time in the event that we need them." He didn't say that they would be useless in the event of an attack like that just faced, "Phasers are going to be our main defense until then."

Tapping into Communications, the Ensign hailed the Casey, "This is the U.S.S. Arizona to the Casey. We're moving out at impulse. Please follow our lead and godspeed. Arizona out." He terminated the communication after receiving acknowledgement.

"Understood." Matt said, sitting down in the center chair, something he had never done, not even on the Orion, "If we can get the engines repaired we won't need to worry about shields or weapons." He looked out at the starfield, "We better hope that there are no more surprises on this trip..." he thought to himself.

A chunk of soft debris smacked Lt. April against his head. It crumbled on impact, doing little more than stunning him, "Un-ass the chair..."

"Yes sir." Matt said, brushing the pieces of debris out of his hair. He jumped out of the chair so fast that he tripped over the raised deck plate and fell face first against the ops console. "Dismounted sir..." He said, his nose still planted against the console.

Marc couldn't help but laugh, which he quickly stifled with his left hand over his mouth as he continued checking the weapons systems and anything else which kept his concentration. Even he, a relative newcomer to the Arizona knew better than to do something like that to the Curmudgeon. Sooner or later, everyone knew.

"Carry on..." was the last thing the Commodore said before disappearing into his Ready Room.