Momentary Reprieve
Posted on August 5th, 2003 by Douglas McKnight

It was an impressive ship, this Atlantis, and no doubt about it. McKnight had made the observation earlier when he beamed up to enjoy a shower and change of clothes as he prepared his report, and once he’d filed out of the conference to oversee the requisition and distribution of body armor for the Mreian troops, he made it again. The change of pace was what really got him, as he had to imagine it got to Ellis; he’d have to ask her when he got a second. During the previous year, when he’d served aboard the long-range scout Cervantes he had been, as he was now, part of important work on behalf of the Federation that had sent him. But unlike then, he was aboard a ship that sent him to sleep each night secure that Star Fleet had rationally evaluated this particular mission, and taken the steps, committed the resources necessary to ensure its success. Sure, the Cervantes would have provided a safe haven if a newly discovered enemy decided to get out in space suits and chuck ro cks at them, but who was Star Fleet kidding? A 12-man crew sent without any idea of what lay ahead, isolated from any potential backup? Commanded by an admiral who might as well have been Headmaster of the Picard school of thought? McKnight’s survival to present seemed like something of a miracle in retrospect.

The Atlantis on the other hand, was a ship where a combat marine could feel at home, perhaps even expect that a suggestion of shooting their way out of a hazardous situation would yield more than a lecture on the socio-political implications associated. Granted, the Federaton’s mission was still peaceful, and Admiral Blackthorne seemed reasonably restrained in his use of high explosives, but still, McKnight couldn’t even glance at this ship’s schematics without getting a happy. 14 phaser banks, powerful shields, a strong compliment of marines, and enough torpedoes to give a good-sized planet a serious face lift. Exploration may have been its primary goal, but this was a bona fide ship of the line.

It was a real shame that once assigned to a ship and crew so splendidly fit for battle, his first combat experience had left such a taste in his mouth. Not to sound too blatantly Klingon or anything, but it was a matter of honor. The very point of a Sovereign class ship was to make clear to friend and foe alike the might of the Federation. Clearly, if McKnight and his colleagues had any role in such a venture, it was to make damned sure that every son of a bitch out there knew that properly supported, the Star Fleet Marine Corps was unbeatable.

Thus, the moment McKnight had suggested to the Mreian liason that his troops man the front line against any renewed offensive, he was neglecting that mission. Still, he wasn’t a Jem’Hadar, and as much as he valued the honor of the Corps, his first priority was the lives of the men. And when he’d received to order than none of the enemy were to be killed…well, his course had been set, and his guilty spell, while significant, was brief. This was a local problem, so let the locals do the dying, and if they wanted to wear the kid gloves, that was their business. If the Mreians found manning the front line to be an honor, that was bloody fucking good for them, but from where McKnight was sitting, it wasn’t important in the least. His troops and the rest of the Atlantis personnel would be providing all the support humanly possible, but they were a stone’s throw out of harm’s way, where the restraining rules of engagement wouldn’t put them at undue risk, and in the absence of con flicting orders from Major Zinthys, that’s where they’d stay. It may not have been in line with the finest Boy Scout traditions of Star Fleet, but to hell with it. He was doing his job, and if that wasn’t good enough, then the locals could just go ahead and buy themselves a goddam alarm clock.