SNAFU

Posted on Sat Jun 21st, 2025 @ 12:37am by Rear Admiral Rebecca Talon & Romulan Commander Tomarah T'Sei & Captain Riandri Nalam & Lieutenant Commander Angel Blake & Lieutenant Commander Isabella Reyes M.D & Major Marcus Ming & Lieutenant Gabrielle Mailliard & 1st Lieutenant Gus Viat & Lieutenant Arin Jones

3,483 words; about a 17 minute read

Mission: Mission 9: When the Stars Went Silent
Location: Oberservation Lounge
Timeline: TBD

Rebecca had called a meeting for the senior staff. They deserved to know what was happening, even if she could barely stand to say it out loud. She stared at the PADD in her hand, her jaw tight. Then she shook her head and let it clatter onto the black glass of the lounge’s conference table, the sound loud in the quiet room.

“Fuck.”

She reached for her coffee. The cup was empty.

Figures.

She set it down with more force than necessary. Just one more thing gone to shit. She thought about replicating a fresh cup, maybe a whole pot to get her through the next hour, but the others would be here any second. No time. No comfort.

“Fuck,” she muttered again, quieter this time.

Riandri stepped into the room just as the Captain muttered under her breath. She grabbed a seat beside her and snorted, "You can say that again." The whole situation made her dizzy for several reasons and she couldn't quiet believe what lay before them.

Rebecca smirked and shook her head. "You heard that, did you? Sorry."

"I feel the same way, but I will kept it between us," Riandri said with a sad smile.

Marcus was the next to arrive in his green tunic and major's insignia on his collar. It was still a little surreal but he put that to the back of his mind. His gaze shifted between Riandri and Rebecca for a sec before muttering, "Oh, this can't be good. Shit," before taking the seat next to Rebecca and across from the XO.

The next two to arrive, couldn't have been more different. Angel was first, taking a seat without offering so much as a nod to anyone. She slouched, resting her right arm in her lap and offered nothing in terms of an overt mood. Gabrielle on the other hand offered a beaming smile to everyone, coupled with various "Hi"s and "Hello"s before she too took a seat.

Isabella walked in, not bothering to change out of scrubs. Since she would need to put them back on afterwards, screw protocol. Lives were more important. As was coffee, she set a large thermal carafe in the center. "Buenos Diaz everyone. Cafe Cubano. Consume at your own risk." Next to it were a set of tiny ceramic cups. Taking one, Isabella poured herself a shot, the black liquid looking like a mix of crude oil and caramel. She downed it, and poured a second before sitting down unceremoniously.

Gus brought up the rear. He had a nearly immaculate uniform despite the chaos around him. "My apologies, everyone." He took a seat. Seeing Tomarah, he nodded when he caught her gaze.

With the hum of the holographic projectors, the form of Commander Tomarah appeared in her disheveled uniform with dark smears of carbon and grease. The Romulan woman looked around, taking in Denver's conference lounge. "This is very disconcerting. I know I am on the Xoval, but it feels like I am actually on your ship."

"I know how you feel. Thanks for coming." Rebecca said, exchanging a glance with her XO. The Romulan commander nodded curtly before selecting a seat at the end of the table across from Rebecca.

Marcus was a bit surprised by the the fact a Romulan was joining the command crew by holograph but it was a weird damned war. He watched the Rihansu with curiosity and gave the other man a courteous nod when the gaze appeared to cross him. He ensured he kept his poker face intact.

"Okay, let's get this party started," Rebecca announced. "For those of you who are new to the crew, this is Commander Tomarah. We had a brief joint mission with her shortly after the Romulan Empire joined the Alliance. While we were licking our wounds, she rallied what remains of the 7th Fleet. Why don't we start with that?"

The Romulan woman nodded, "Thank you, Captain Talon. Yes, once the Dominion reinforcements broke our lines and with Admiral T'Rel's flagship destroyed, there was no way to save Vulcan at that point. Of the 98 ships of the 7th Fleet that entered this engagement, I was able to save twenty-two. The rest were captured or destroyed. Several ships, such as the Texarkana, Andromeda, and Denver, were able to escape the worst of it by being pushed out of the orbit of P'Jem and cut off from the rest of the fleet."

Rebecca frowned. That had been Riandri's order as she was in sickbay at that point. It wasn't an order she would have given, but it was one of those fifty-fifty things. Maybe Denver could have rallied the rest of the fleet, giving reinforcements from Earth time to arrive... or they would all be dead.

Fuck, Rebecca thought. I don't see a flaw in Riandri's orders.

Escape the worst of it Angel repeated in her head. If Denver had escaped the worst of it, given the shape she was in, the 'worst' could only be destruction.

"So what's the direction for this new, smaller fleet?" Angel asked.

"Earth," Rebecca replied.

Tomarah nodded, "Remnants of the 2nd Fleet should link up with us by the end of the day. The Vulcans took the worst of it. Five ships out of one hundred and thirty-five."

At the staggering losses, Gus didn't look any different, but his heart sank a bit. The Vulcan fleet was decimated beyond reason, and it didn't make logical sense.

Marcus kept his poker face going as the meeting progressed. He sensed the others' growing dismay, increasing hopelessness, and mounting stress. He felt some of that on his own. He also felt an increasing amount of frustration and cold anger. He did what he often did by directing the feelings into coming up with new ideas. He knew the Dominion ships were well-engineered, but so were the Federation and allied vessels. The issue seemed to be the tactics being used. As all that crossed his mind he continued to listen to the exchange. He hoped that either he or someone else came up with a potentially winning game plan sooner versus later.

"Starfleet has dissolved the 2nd and 7th Fleets. Some ships will be unsalvageable, like the Texarkana. Ships like the Denver will go into dry dock for emergency repairs, and we'll be integrated into the 1st Fleet. Command is pulling the 4th and 10th Fleets to reinforce Earth." Rebecca said flatly, but inside it was like acid eating away at her insides.

An uncharacteristic wave of fear spread through Gabrielle's chest. Was this how things would finally end for her? Somehow she had always imagined that she, like her father would go out on her own terms. For him it had been musket fire at the Battle of Salamanca. That was his decision. But Gabrielle had always supposed she had a few hundred years left at least. Did she really survive the horrors of the fifteenth century, plagues, global pandemics, the persecution of witches and women, three world wars and decades of service in starfleet just to die at the hands of the Jem'hadar?

Riandri sat quietly and watched the others as knew what was coming. The whole situation and war had turned on its head.

"There's more bad news," Rebecca said, her voice heavy. "The same Dominion fleet that hit Vulcan just overran Tellar Prime. The planet fell in five hours. Andoria is likely next, and frankly, we don’t expect it to hold. There’s talk of abandoning Deep Space Nine and pulling the 9th Fleet back to Earth to protect the core worlds."

Silence fell on the gathering, and tension hung in the air like a looming thunderstorm crossing the plains.

Marcus couldn't stay quiet at this point as he was thinking what at least a few here were. He said, "That's disturbing news. While we definitely need to protect and take back our core worlds, if we evacuate DS9, we lose all hope of controlling the wormhole. Things are bad now....I find he idea of what kind of reinforcements will come through an undefended wormhole to be one of the more horrifying concepts of an already horrifying war. There MUST be some sort of other and better options."

Rebecca’s jaw tightened. She bit her lip, measuring her response, then slowly exhaled. The soft hum of the ship’s systems filled the silence; a gentle soundtrack playing in the background, masking the fragility of peace.

"Major," she said, voice steady but not unkind, "there are a lot of moving parts right now. Starfleet Command, the Council—they’re all in reactive mode. The Dominion is dictating the terms, and we're trying to catch up. I understand your concern, but right now, we need to steady the ship before we start second-guessing every order. One step at a time."

"I understand. I am just concerned as history is repleat with losers who react, react, react. I'm not second guessing. I'm seeing a pattern which I have seen before in my historical studies. I know we have good leadership and am eager to see things finally click into place to where we can take the initiative to start landing effective attacks that'll help start turning the tide. None of us want to see us lose this war. I know there are a few good ideas bouncing around upstairs. Eager to start seeing them in action," Ming said thoughtfully. He knew he was dancing on a thin line and sounding aggressive rather than concerned wasn't going to help.

She shifted in her seat and folded her hands before her on the expansive conference table, projecting a more informal posture. She offered Ming a sympathetic smile, trying to bridge the gap between the realities of the situation and his concerns. "With all this said, Command will need intelligence to move forward. How is your intelligence mission coming
together? The sooner you get that intel, the better, Major."

"The final plan revisions will be within your inbox within 30 minutes after this meeting. I've already got people pretty much picked out and will be meeting with all related parties within an hour of that. I've already put in a requisition for a Warhammer class as it's specifications fit this mission better than the Danube and it seems we don't have any Defiant classes at my desposal at the moment," Ming said putting a spin on his tone at the very end indicating a professional jest.

"Sadly, at the moment, ships, especially something like a Defiant class, will be on the front line. The best we can hope for are ships that are just finishing refits or haven't been through the it yet," Riandi said as she looked over at the other crew members.

"Overly hopeful thinking, as I expected. The Warhammer isn't a full warship but it's the next best option. The pilots will be myself and Sh'iv if Dr. Reyes clears her by then....Otherwise I'll bring Mr. Abara as we have the most experience flying together," Ming started turning to Dr. Reyes adding, "Thoughts on that Doctor?"

After several days of straight surgery and triage, Issabella had looked better. Sickbay was at a dull roar. "I'll clear Lt Sh'iv."

Marcus nodded and replied, "Very well. I've selected Lt. Nix Doa-Harain from Intel to act as our intel and computer expert," before turning to Gus and saying, "Lt Viat, think you and a couple of your marines may be up for this little incursion?"

Looking over, Gus offered. I'll hand pick the other two myself." Gus added with an overly wide grin.

Marcus nodded and turned his gaze toward the XO and Captain, "There we have it. If you greenlight the final plan, Captain, I'll call a meeting involving the mission specialists so we can review the detals and get this op underway within an hour of the official OK."

“No time like the present to put the Marines to work. Good call, Mr. Ming,” Rebecca said, then looked around the table. “With that said, do the rest of you have anything else to add?”

Raindri just let out a sigh and shook her head, " We have our work cut out for us here. But I know everyone here is up for the task."

Riandri was right, and Rebecca nodded to her XO. The Denver had a good crew and so far they had weathered whatever this damn war had thrown at them, but there were some new faces. “Everyone we rescued after the battle is now officially assigned to this ship. Riandri, make sure they’re settled into permanent quarters. The rest of you—integrate them into your departments as best you can.”

"Already started, they should all have rooms assigned within the next couple of hours," Riandri remarked.

Angel cleared her throat. "Anyone in Security who came aboard and is fit and able has already been assigned a shift," she added, without really moving except her eyes, which were directed at Rebecca. "I'm sure they'll be very happy to get their quarters assignments."

"Of that I am sure," Rebecca said with a tired smile. "Your efficiency knows no bounds, Ms. Blake."

Rebecca looked around at her assembled officers, quietly impressed. Despite everything they'd been through, even with this latest defeat, there was still fire in their eyes. They sat tall, their shoulders squared, carrying themselves with the quiet pride expected of Starfleet personnel.

Marcus was already charting the next move in this damned war. Angel had wasted no time putting her people to work. And the doctor, somehow, kept them all on their feet, a miracle given the scrapes and near-misses they’d endured over the past eighteen months.

And then there was Aoife. Sweet, bright-eyed Aoife, back in command of engineering, her hands steady despite the weight on her shoulders. She was too young for this war, too unseasoned for command, and yet she wore that lone officer’s pip with an earned defiance and proof that the Academy didn’t always bestow leadership.

“One last thing before I let you go. Once we reach Earth, I’m authorizing shore leave, with no more than 100 officers at a time. Everyone must be able to report back to the ship within an hour if recalled. Questions?”

Rebecca glanced around the room, gauging their expressions.

"I'd suggest the usual minimum level of Security and Marines aboard during leave be increased," Angel said, her eyes falling on Gus. If agreed upon, she was sure both departments would hate her for it, but she almost couldn't have cared any less if they did.

"Lieutenant Viat?"

"We'll be ready. If anything, we want payback." Gus offered.

“Okay, people, we have work to do. You’re all dismissed—except for Counselor Mailliard. A quick moment, please.”

Marcus stood up before nodding to the XO and Captain. He then left, heading for his office to finish the plan revisions and set up the meetings.

Rebecca leaned forward, her coffee mug clasped between both hands as she watched her senior staff file out of the conference lounge. The brew had long gone cold and sour, but she didn’t sip it. The weight of the cup was familiar, comforting in its own way.

Silence settled over the room, filled only by the low hum of the ship’s systems. Gabrielle remained seated across from her, waiting with quiet patience, giving Rebecca space to speak first.

Rebecca didn’t rush her thoughts, letting them percolate like a quality coffee. Something was soothing about the pause, like the eye of a storm. Outside these walls was a raging tempest, but in here, and in this moment, there was peace, even if it was as fleeting as a first kiss.

At last, she broke the silence. “How is the crew doing?” Her voice was soft and measured. There was an undercurrent of concern in her tone, and for once, she let the façade of command slip just enough to reveal the woman behind the rank.

Gabrielle shrugged in French.

"They are... 'ow you would expect. Contemplating the destruction of one's society puts anyone on edge. I 'ave observed increased tension but... I think we are 'olding together. They focus on their jobs. I think for those 'ose jobs are not so relevant to war it is 'arder but they pitch in. They are active people, they find something to do to 'elp. Morale 'as taken an 'it but... they rally around one-another. I 'ave not yet started requests for counselling, I 'ave to concentrate on those 'oo are dying, or 'ave lost relatives on board, those in the 'ighest stress positions, or those 'oo are referred to me by Isabella. Extreme cases. I think we 'ave not seen a fall in discipline. A few personality clashes between old and new crew but nothing worrying. Angel would know for sure."

Rebecca sighed and rubbed her temples. "How do I hold this crew together? I expect that when we are on Earth, there will be deserters. How do I handle that? Back in the day, it was a firing squad or keel hauling, but something tells me Starfleet would frown on that, even assuming I thought that was an option."

Gabrielle took a beat to cconsider the question and the psychology of comeraderie, of loyalty and of deserting. All of these were touched upon when training counsellors, the last least of all. Generally it didn't happen much.

"Let them 'ear you, is my advice," she responded, trying to increase the emphasis in her voice, to make sure she was really heard. "Make an announcement ship-wide every day with the latest, even only a minute or two. Start to build trust in you for the new crew and re-inforce that with the current crew. They know you were 'urt. Let them know you are strong, that we are strong and we are doing what we can to fight. Make all possible steps to integrate the new crew as much and as fast as possible. I know this sounds like propaganda almost, but the crew they need to 'ear these things and most important, they need to feel Denver is a community, a siblinghood 'oo 'as their backs no matter what. You must define those behaviours you expect, tell them you know they can achieve great things and that you 'ave confidence in them. It may be uncomfortable and I know you do not want to be their friend and that is inappropriate. But now you must put that aside, you must talk to them and inspire them, be visible to them, and make every single one of them proud to be 'ere and feel like they belong to something special."

"I'm not sure I even believe that bullshit. Besides, I'm a terrible liar," Rebecca muttered.

Gabrielle shrugged.

"You take the advice, you don't take the advice. Up to you. You are the boss! Per'aps another way to lead is to be a mystery. Be strong, be a legend. As long as the decisions you make are right and take us down rhe right path, this is fine too. The crew will just want to know they 'ave a good leader."

Rebecca sighed and let her gaze drift out the window beyond, the warp effect streaking by. It had been a long war. First with the Klingons, which the Dominion was behind, and now this. The last year and some had felt like four years. Every Friday, there was a name on that casualty list she knew. An Academy classmate. Someone she'd served with on the George Washington or Saratoga. Then there were the ones she'd put on that list herself. Denver had been mostly lucky, but there had been losses, and when you play the game of war, eventually you will throw snake eyes.

"Perhaps we should let them go... Forcing people to stay could damage our already tenuous morale."

Gabrielle considered this, but shook her head.

"In my opinion, if you do, then what is left of our Morale will evaporate. This could be interpreted as you admitting defeat. If their Captain admits to this, then they will too, no matter your real intentions."

As Rebecca thought, she drummed her fingers on the table, her nails making soft clicks on the hard surface. "Yeah... you're probably right." Standing, she stretched the stiffness out of her legs and took a deep breath, letting the cool recycled air stretch her lungs. "Thank you, Counselor."

Gabrielle stood slowly, wearily. But what was obvious in her body language didn't get a look into her expression or her chirpy manner of speaking.

"Anytime, Captain, I am only a com-tap away." Her eyes creased as she offered the Captain a reassuring smile and departed, seemingly unaffected by any of what was going on around.

 

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