Author's Note

Well, after four months, I have finally finished.  You are gonna love this story, although, I highly suggest that before hand you read at least one of Jonathan Rofeta's Star Trek Swiftfire and Richard Merk's Banshee Squadron stories, before reading this, They are very good and alot more of mine will make sense.
Happy Reading,
Josh Wilder

Episode Fourteen

Star Trek New Order

Episode 014

“Convalescence”

 

Captain’s Log; Star Date 58145.1, Repairs are almost complete; we are only waiting for a new space wing.  The war seems to be going badly for us, as we are loosing ground in the Tomed Sector, I am worried that we will be missing some of the action while we wait here at Earth, but Starfleet assures me that we will come out stronger than ever when we receive our new wing.  Dranz has reservations about the new pilots however.

“You are the sorriest bunch of Frakkers I have ever seen!” Chavin exclaimed as she paced in front of the assembled pilots in the Starfleet Academy parade ground.  All of whom were still wearing their gray and red Academy uniforms. “This has to be a joke!” she exclaimed to Commander Dace who was watching the proceedings.

“Command told me that the Fleet replacement squadrons are over taxed, so they gave us Cadets instead of Commissioned pilots,” Dace explained, “They assure me that each of them has some flying experience, and most of them are Nova squadron pilots.”

“I don’t care if one of them is Pete Mitchell, I will not let a group of plebes fly my birds,” she said as she stormed off, toward the quad.  Dace followed her out in an attempt to calm her, leaving the green cadets standing at attention.

“Commander,” Dace yelled after her, “Commander!”  He picked up his pace to catch up to her.  “These are the best pilots that we could get on such short notice,” he assured, “it is our job to train these men and women to be the best.”  She slowed down, “I know you have experience training pilots,” he continued reaching out and stopping her by grabbing her arm, “Come on, Give them a chance Dranz.”

“Okay,” Chavin relented, standing in mock surrender, “You win, I’ll go back in.”  She turned around and walked back toward the waiting Cadets.

                        *                                  *                                  *

The Inspection pod glided towards the massive skeletal structure of a dry dock, looming in the distance, inside was a heavily modified Galaxy class starship.

“There she is,” announced Fleet Admiral Benjamin Cage, “USS Excelsior, the last ship of the Galaxy class.”

“I’d be sorry to see her leave space dock,” Captain Jonathan Hunt replied from the controls.

“Even the most state of the art, super-ships, must become obsolete someday,” Cage said, “but Excelsior will serve as a test bed for a new series of technologies, which will be incorporated into the next series of class refits.”

As they approached, Hunt could make out more details, “Is that a third nacelle?”

“Yes, it’s necessary to counter the mass of the new weapons cluster.”

“What is this universe coming to?”

A short time later, the inspection pod docked and Cage stood to disembark, he thanked Hunt for the ride, then pulled a small bundle out of a storage compartment and handed it to him.  Hunt unwrapped the bundle, and found a bottle of whiskey inside.

“Whiskey,” Hunt said, “bottled in Belfast, 2289, where do you get this stuff sir?”

“I heard what happened to your last bottle,” Cage Explained, “I have an old friend, who has a few cases of it.”

“Well, thank you sir,” Hunt said as he opened the docking hatch, the two bid each other goodbye, and Cage walked off the pod.

                        *                                  *                                  *

Major Dergos hobbled through the doorway of the clinic on his crutches, a Tellarite Doctor who identified himself as Dr. Seklar.

“Well, Major, How is your prosthesis working?” Seklar asked.

“It is working alright, I would hope that I can be cleared for duty soon,” Dergos replied.  Then the Major set the crutches aside and attempted to put weight on his artificial foot.  Immediately, he lost his balance and stumbled.  Seklar moved to catch him, but Dergos shoved him away, he than managed to pull himself up and into a nearby chair.

“It doesn’t look like your adjusting very well, major,” the Doctor warned, “why don’t you come back with me.”

 

                        *                                  *                                  *

When they arrived on the ship, the new pilots assembled in their squadron’s briefing room.  When Chavin entered through a side door, the group was busy chatting in the room’s stadium style seating.  In her most commanding voice, Chavin called for order.  On queue all but one of them immediately snapped to attention.  The remaining Cadet just continued to sit, and if anything assumed a more relaxed pose.  Chavin glanced down at her PADD and found the name of this disobedient trainee.  “Cadet Singer,” Chavin asked, Singer glanced at Chavin, than continued to ignore her, “You did learn the meaning of ‘Attention’ at the Academy, didn’t you.”  Singer shrugged nonchalantly.  Chavin stepped down from the podium and walked over to her.  “Why are you her?” Chavin asked her.

“I didn’t ask to be assigned here,” Singer shot back, “I wanted to be off flying the new Banshee fighters, not crawling around the sector in your old Biplanes!”

“So you wanted to be a Banshee?” Chavin shot back, “Too bad, because we need you here.”  Now Singer was beginning to get riled up.  Chavin continued to push her buttons, “you know, I went to the academy with Max Vasser,” she explained, the Cadet was starting to tighten up, “She is an uncontrollable hotheaded pilot with no respect for authority, do you really want her as your role model?”  This got Singer’s attention; she stood up to face Chavin.  Her fists tightened.  “Oh, you want to follow in her footsteps?” Chavin asked, “Go ahead; hit me.”  The Cadet swung at Chavin’s jaw, but before she made contact, Chavin stepped aside and grabbed her arm by the wrist.  Then she twisted it, and put Singer into a hammer lock, slamming her into the deck.  “Think you’re so tough now?”

                                    *                                  *                                  *

Bruised and battered, the Officer and the now humbled Cadet, stood at attention in front of Hunt’s desk in the Captain’s ready room.

“I should have both of you court marshaled,” Hunt reprimanded, unfortunately the ship needs the two of you.  I will remind you, Cadet Singer that striking a superior officer and acts of insubordination are not tolerated on any Federation Starship or anywhere else in the Federation, as Commander Chavin is your flight instructor, it is imperative that you do everything she says, in or out of the cockpit.”  Singer nodded and acknowledged, “You’re dismissed, Cadet.”  Singer turned on her heels and left the room.

“Thanks Jon,” Chavin sighed after Singer left.

“Oh no,” Hunt replied, “Don’t thank me yet.  Dranz, you are these kids’ superior, and instructor, you need to be a positive role model.  Which means you can’t go around decking every Cadet who looks at you funny.”

“Yes Sir,” Chavin retorted.

“Alright, I am going to post a marine at your next couple of training sessions, until I am sure that you can be a proper role model.”

“Fine, send your Marines,” Chavin responded, and she walked out.

                        *                                  *                                  *

A short time later, Chavin lead her trainees, and their escort; a short Acamarian Marine named Gunnery Sergeant Velnerk, toward the ship’s hanger deck.  Chavin opened the door to reveal a peregrine fighter being suspended by tractor beams, while maintenance teams in orange jumpsuits scurried around it and laser welding pylons under the wings.  One of the workers walked up to Chavin and introduced herself as Senior Chief Petty Officer Laura Nakita, the ship’s new Chief of the deck.  She announced to Chavin that the modifications she had requested were nearly complete.

Chavin turned to her recruits and began to speak, “Everybody,” she said, gesturing towards the fighter “meet your steed, the F/A-24C Peregrine Three strike fighter; this baby might just save your life someday.”  Chavin continued to describe the craft as she led the cadet’s into the bay.

“Excuse me for asking this ma’am,” Singer interrupted, “But the Peregrine design is nearly forty years old, why are we flying these when we could be flying newer fighters?”

“Well,” Chavin responded, “The Peregrine may not have the maneuverability of a Valkyrie, the speed of a Banshee or the punch of a Scorpion strike fighter, but she got the best of all three all rolled into one spaceframe.  Trust me, in a fight, I would much rather be in a Peregrine than anything else, this thing will take care of you.

                        *                                  *                                  *

Doctor Seklar soon had Dergos hobbling about the recovery room; he directed the major to a railing and told him to try walking on his leg while using the railing to steady himself.  The Doctor’s plan was to force Dergos to gradually adjust to the new limb.  To the Doctor’s dismay, the stubborn Angosian Marine still insisted on pushing himself more than he was ready for.

Soon Seklar excused himself and retired to his office, where he could set up a comm. line with Captain Hunt.  “I am afraid I am going to have to recommend Dergos not return to duty at this time, Captain, I am sorry,” He explained.

“Why not Doctor?” Hunt asked over the comm. link.

“He just isn’t making progress,” Seklar protested, “He thinks he doesn’t need to do the exercises I have asked of him.”

“Well,” Hunt replied, “we’re goanna need him, tell him to get better, that’s an order; Hunt out.”  The Channel closed and Seklar returned to the ward to keep working with his patient.

                        *                                  *                                  *

Chavin sat in the pilot seat of a Peregrine fighter, leading a formation of six other fighters each piloted by one of her rookies.  In her Back seat was the youngest member of the group, sophomore Cadet Adora Percival, she was top of her class in almost every subject, but she chose to become a Weapons Systems Officer instead of a pilot.  Most of her classmates called her ‘Einstein’, not because of the great 20^th century scientist, but rather, in reference to an obscure 21^st century French cartoon character.

“Commander,” Percival announced, “I have a contact bearing 090 mark 5, ten thousand kilometers.”

“That’s alright,” Chavin said as she swung her fighter into a course towards the contact.  As they neared it, the crew could make out a heavily modified Danube class Runabout.  Chavin then opened a comm. channel with all the other fighters, “Alright boys and girls, one of the most important skills you need to know is how to refuel on a mission, there are going to be many cases where you will be to far from your ship to take on fuel, so Starfleet has assigned each wing a few tankers to help with that.  In our case, we have been assigned some modified Runabouts, when the new Cats Eye class is deployed in the fleet, we will likely receive two or three of those, but in either case, the tankers provide our wing with a mobile Rest, Refueling and Rearming facility.  In this case the Danube carries several kiloliters of antimatter, bunks for six pilots, and a small weapons magazine.”  Chavin then guided the trainees through the link up and tanking process, first she moved her fighter into position behind and to one side of the Runabout, then she closed in and hooked up to a trailing hose and basket, which clamped down, allowing for safe transfer of antimatter.  Afterward she backed off and allowed the next fighter, crewed by Singer and Dace, to approach and dock.  Once each of the fighters had completed the maneuver, Chavin ordered them to rendezvous at a marshalling point not far away.

Soon after they arrived Cadet Percival’s console began to beep, she glanced down at it and then opened a channel to the entire squadron, “I have five contacts on a bearing from Earth, approaching fast.”

Chavin breathed a sigh of relief, “finally, they’re here,” She said, “I have arranged a little tactical demonstration for some of you, that formation is from a fighter test squadron on Earth, it contains two Valkyrie fighters, a Banshee fighter, a Scorpion strike fighter, and a Venture class scoutship.” As she watched, the formation broke up as each of the craft took up an attack vector, then Chavin gave the order to engage the new comers.  Chavin lined up one of the Valkyries in her HUD and closed to fire her phasers.  Just as she depressed the firing button, the Valkyrie sideslipped out of the way of her Phaser fire.  It flipped over backwards and bore down on her, unleashing a barrage of Phaser pulses.  Chavin then pitched her fighter over and threw it into full afterburner.  The fighter shot clear of the incoming fire and Chavin swooped in behind the Valkyrie, unleashing her own volley of pulses.  The Valkyrie’s Engines shut down as it dropped out of the fight.

Singer was not having as good of luck, the Scorpion pilot had picked her out and was harassing her fighter.  The Scorpion fighter was easily keeping up with her every move, almost before she made it.

“What the hell,” Chavin said, as her pursuer followed her through yet another nearly impossible maneuver, “It’s almost like that thing is thought controlled, he moves so damn fast.”

“That’s because it is,” Dace answered, “it is nowhere near as complex as the Romulan version, but those Scorpion’s do have a neurointerface.”

Then the Bandit surprised her again by firing a micro-torpedo.  “What the Hell?” she said as she jinked and released several drones to decoy the torpedo, “How come he gets torpedoes and I don’t?”  The torpedo continued to follow her fighter through her maneuvers.

“I am going to let you in on a little secret; Commander Chavin had the torpedoes removed because they are useless against the Romulan fighters, because they have new countermeasures.”

“Holly Shit,” Singer said as she made a realization, she had just completed a maneuver that took her clear out of the Torpedoes field of view, yet it continued to follow her, “I think this pilot is controlling the torpedo with his mind to.”  Dace nodded, this cadet was starting to think out of the box.  “Time to give him something else to think about,” Singer said as she swung her fighter around and flew straight at the Scorpion.  She fired her Pulse phasers and watched as the pulses deflected off the fighter’s armor.  Then at the last second before colliding, she veered off.  The Pilot, who was now distracted by the simulated damage to his systems, realized too late that his torpedo was flying right back at him.  The projectile clanked against his hull as his systems went dark.  By then two of the other adversaries had been dealt with, and only Chavin and Singer remained ‘alive’, leaving them, against the sole Banshee fighter.

Chavin took the lead and engaged the Banshee first, but the nimble fighter proved a difficult nut to crack.  The Banshee easily evaded each burst of Pulse Phaser fire.  When Singer attempted a head on pass, the Banshee met her with a pair of blue-white pulses which shot out from its wingtips.  Fortunately the unguided energy spheres were easy for her to evade, but as soon as she did she was met by a volley of pulse phaser fire.

“We’ve lost forward shields,” Dace reported, “one more hit and we’re out.”  In response, Chavin Brought the fighter back around and made another run straight for the Banshee, this time approaching from the side.  At close range, she began to fire her Phasers at the Banshee, but when she did, a relay overloaded.

Chavin watched as the trainee and her Deputy CAG hurdled towards the Banshee, and shouted for her to veer off.  Singer attempted to veer away, but found her stick non responsive.  She then tried to slow down the fighter, but the Throttles had failed also.  “I can’t maneuver,” she shouted Dace reached for his ejection handle, ready to eject both of them before they hit.  Fortunately they did not need to, as the Banshee accelerated out of the way, just in time.

                        *                                  *                                  *

“That’s it, keep going,” Doctor Seklar urged, “you’re doing fine Major, with any luck, we’ll have you walking within the week.”  At that moment, Dergos was walking down the track with one hand just barely sliding over the rail, ready to grab it at a moment’s notice.

Suddenly, Seklar’s Bolian nurse rushed into the room, “I’m sorry doctor,” she interrupted, “but you should see this.”  The Nurse moved to a nearby console and activated the viewing screen, which displayed the Federation News Service, and a program already in progress.

“…reiterate our ongoing coverage of the story already in progress,” The anchor woman continued, “We have received word that the Romulan Imperial Forces have just landed troops on several planets near the neutral zone, in the region known as the Tomed Sector, for those of our viewers who are just joining us, or don’t know what that is, The Tomed Sector is a hotly disputed sector of space, along the Romulan border, which was the focal point of the Tomed Conflict which lasted from 2306 to 2311.  This sector is home to several federation colonies and member worlds.  Word was only received minutes ago from the front lines, but it seems that the Third Fleet has been completely wiped out by Romulan Forces, opening the entire sector up to Romulan assault, Starfleet command refuses to provide further details, pending notification of the families.”  The nurse turned off the display at Seklar’s request.  Before he could speak, Dergos leapt over the railing and grabbed his jacket.

“Major,” Seklar pleaded, “Wait, I have not cleared you for duty.”  But the Major was already jogging out the door, Seklar looked around and noticed that the Major’s crutches were still where he had left them, leaning against the wall.  “Nurse,” he asked, “get the Major’s CO on the horn, tell him, I think I will be clearing Major Dergos for duty.”

 

                        *                                  *                                  *

“Cadet Singer, front and center!” Chavin Bellowed, then she turned to Gunnery Sergeant Velnerk, who was standing off to the side watching the squadron’s debriefing, “Gunny, Hand me your sabre,” the marine looked at her, unsure what to do, “You heard me; sabre, here now!”  The marine unclipped his scabbard and reluctantly tossed the weapon to Chavin, keeping his other hand on his Phaser.  Chavin extended the blade and examined it for a moment before addressing the Cadet who was now kneeling before her, “Cadet Singer, you are reckless, undisciplined, insubordinate, overly aggressive and dangerous,” She paused for dramatic effect as she poised the sword over the cadet, “You remind me of a cadet I once knew.”  Chavin tapped Singer on both shoulders with the blade, “I dub the ‘Banshee,’ welcome to the club.  Hand me her helmet,” She directed to Dace, who tossed the white pilot’s helmet to her.  Chavin manipulated a few controls on the inside of the liner, and the helmet’s skin turned jet black and a stylized Banshee appeared on the front.  Chavin handed the headwear to Singer and she stood up.  “Now, ‘Banshee,’ you owe us a round of drinks.” Before they could leave the room, and head for Ten Forward, a klaxon sounded and Hunt’s voice came over the intra-ship, “All, hands, this is the Captain, we have been ordered to immediately join the second fleet at Starbase 237, all hands, immediately report to Departure stations, This is not a drill.”  Chavin, Dace and Velnerk, immediately rushed out of the room to their stations, leaving the cadets alone, not sure what to do.

In the surrounding fleet yard, many other ships were also getting ready.  Among them, the USS Beliskner slipped clear of her moorings and sped away, towards the front lines.