Outside the Callessus system at high warp
D-20 days

The USS Cherokee, a Cheyenne class superscout, flashed through space at Warp 9.4 toward the Callessus system, on a course that would take her relatively close to the third planet, or at least close enough to get an accurate scan of the planet.

Such a high speed through a relatively closely packed planetary system was exceedingly dangerous, leaving the possibility of striking an asteroid or comet or other body too big for the deflector to push aside. But a slower speed would be just as dangerous because that would allow the enemy ships to intercept her, and in a stand-up battle, the lightly armed superscout was no match.

The four nacelles of the sleek vessel strained as the warp field pushed aside normal space, propelling the subspace bubble containing the starship through normal space at impossible speeds. Already her captain had ordered all of the Cherokee's sensitive sensors to be trained on the system, sniffing out every starship, orbital platform, and troop emplacement.

The ops officer on the bridge called out to the ship's captain, "Ma'am, the Dominion ships have set themselves up in a line across our flight path. They know we're coming."

"Helm, change course to nav-plot alpha," she said. Immediately the starship corkscrewed away from the waiting Dominion ships, and as soon they began their pursuit, the Cherokee changed course again, to a new vector slashing across her previous course. By the time, the chasing ships were able to gather themselves together to follow, the Cherokee would be long gone.

The tactical officer, who had been studying the incoming scans, spoke up, "Captain, our current course will take us within weapons range of at least two of those sensor platforms between the third and fourth planets." He looked hopefully at the captain, already programming in weapons lock on them, anticipating her command.

She looked to her first officer silently. He answered her unspoken query, "Command, didn't say we shouldn't attack any targets of opportunity."

Nodding, the captain replied, "And it would give us valuable data on what type of protection those platforms have. All right Ensign, target those platforms and fire torpedos as we come into range."

Seconds later, a torpedo lanced out from the starship to strike the first sensor, causing it to explode in a satisfying blast. A few seconds still later and the second sensor was an expanding cloud of gas and debris, too.

The Cherokee swooped out of the star system, changing course once again for Starbase 390, already preparing its sensor logs for transmission to Fleet Command, and leaving its pursuers far behind.

The Cherokee preparing to enter the Callessus system. Image courtesy of Andrew Hodges.

Bravo Company, Recon Battalion, 8^th Division
Starbase 18
Vega system
108 light years from Starbase 390
D-20 days

"Where do you think we're going, Lieutenant?" asked the young dark-skinned soldier, walking down a corridor in the part of the huge starbase dedicated to the 8^th Marine Division. The wide corridor was filled with other soldiers, all rushing from place to place, arms full of gear.

"What's that, Heredia?" replied Lt. Tony Martinez. He too had a load of gear slung over one shoulder, a phaser rifle in one hand, pushing his way through the mad rush of people. The mobilization order had been given just six hours ago and the division's transport would be moving out in just another six hours.

"Where are we going? To the front, you think?" the young soldier repeated.

"I don't know, but wherever it is, they want us there in a hurry." Martinez had been in Starfleet for six years, not counting the Academy; he had been posted to the security department on a very actively exploring starship for four of those years; and he had undergone extensive training in the two years he had been assigned to the Marine corps. He was, by any measure, a veteran. But even he was worried about his uncertain near-term future.

Martinez had seen the news reports, the casualty lists, the battle reports. He knew that the Dominion was inflicting heavy losses on the Federation-Klingon Alliance and that they were being pushed back. He also knew that the recapture of Deep Space 9 was a major victory for the good guys and a step in the right direction.

But he knew as well that once the Alliance started to attack the Dominion in force, it would be up to the ground-pounders like him to take and hold the dirt that defined the borders of the conflict. And that type of work piled up bodies, enemy and friendly, very quickly.

Heredia was still talking, asking questions. "But do you think we're getting a front line assignment?" The young man had the eagerness of the untested soldier—he was both excited by the prospect of putting all that he had trained and prepared for into practice and scared by the idea that someone would be trying to use deadly force against him, and yet he had no idea of what that would feel like, to have someone gunning for him. Martinez knew what that was like, to have someone aiming a weapon at him, trying to kill him while he tried to do the same—or at least incapacitate—the other. He didn't relish the feeling, it intimidated him a little, but not so much that he couldn't do the job. There was no false bravado in him, just a quiet professional attitude.

"Heredia, right now, I don't think there's such a thing as a rear-area assignment. The closer we move to the border, the more likely it is we'll see combat, but the Dominion could attack wherever we are. They took Betazed." He paused a moment, as they prepared to enter their barracks room. "Of course, if they're mobilizing the whole division, I think the odds are good that we're getting a combat assignment."

Martinez entered the barracks for the first platoon of his Bravo Company, 8^th Recon Battalion. His recon Marines were the best of the best. Their job was to infiltrate an area prior to a large-scale orbital assault, quietly determine enemy strength and positions, secure landing zones, and if necessary, disable shields, transport inhibitors, and surface-to-air batteries. It was dangerous work without much hope of back up or support if something bad happened, but it was what they trained hard for, day in and day out. His company was confident, competent, and well-trained.

The lieutenant was the perfect example of the recon soldier. He wasn't tall and bulky like the kind of soldier they showed in holo-novels and recruiting posters, but lithe and of medium height. His muscles were wiry cords, not huge building supports, and he could move as silently as a cat. He could blend into any crowd and no one would give him a second look, but it was his eyes that gave him away. His eyes were those of a man trained to break things for a living, to do jobs civilized people weren't supposed to do.

The soldiers in his company were like him. They were professionals, not like the flabby reservists or the wide-eyed conscripts who made up most of the division. They would do the job given them, and do it well, no matter the cost.

"All right people. I want a status report. How soon before our company is loaded up and beamed aboard the transport? I want to be there before Alpha or Charlie companies."

The company's senior non-commissioned officer stepped forward. Chief Vanya "Nik" Nikodouris looked at a padd as he addressed the lieutenant, "Most of the equipment is ready and is being moved to Cargo Transporter 18. That should be aboard in 35 minutes. Second and Third platoons are ready to go, but our transporter slot is in an hour and a half. And we're behind Alpha Company."

Tony suddenly grinned from ear to ear at his chief, thought a moment, and drawled mischievously, "Really? What transporter room are they assigned to?"

Nik suddenly understood what Tony was thinking. "Twenty-three. It's on level 18, section 31," he said looking at his padd. "Their slot is in 25 minutes."

The entire company was ready, everyone sitting on their bunks, gear prepared, just waiting to go. Martinez didn't want to wait, and certainly didn't want to wait for Alpha Company. The recon marines were intensely competitive in everything they did, and they all looked for ways to show each other up, whether it was individual marines or entire divisions. Tony knew he was going to be on the transport ship ahead of Alpha or Charlie companies, whatever he had to do. And the first aboard would get the best bunkrooms, that is, those closest to the mess halls and training holodecks.

"Okay, everybody up!" Tony yelled. "I want all platoons to Transporter 23 in five minutes! Let's move!" With his command relayed to the other two platoons, recon marines began pouring out of the three barracks assigned to the company and running down three separate corridors toward access ladders nearby, all the while yelling "Make way! Make way!" sending startled people to the hugging the walls. The soldiers hit the ladders at a dead run, grabbed on and slid down one, two, three levels to Level 18, and began running through corridors again, on their way to section 31.

Martinez was one of the first to arrive, only slightly out of breath, and he passed by a line of soldiers waiting to move into the transporter room. Approaching the transporter chief, he said, "Bravo Company, Recon is ready to transport, chief."

Consulting his console, the chief said, "Uh, sir, you aren't scheduled to transport yet. You're supposed to beam over in an hour and a half."

Martinez sidled up next to the confused man, leaning on the console. "Look chief, my company is ready to go. We're sitting on our butts in our barracks, playing with our phasers and knives, just getting more and more frustrated with the inefficiency of the transport plan. I try to explain to them that it's not your fault, it's just the system, but they don't seem to understand."

As he spoke, the transporter chief began to look distinctly uncomfortable, both because a backlog of transports was building outside the room every second he was distracted by this marine and because he didn't like to think of the dangerous-looking recon guys being mad at him.

"Well okay, Lieutenant. Is your whole company assembled?" he asked dubiously. Maybe he could get this crazy marine out of his hair by fudging things a little.

"They await your command," Martinez replied expansively.

"I'll move them to the head of the queue then. Start bringing them in." Martinez motioned at Nik to send the first group of six soldiers into the room to position them on the transport pad.

Just as the last soldiers of 1^st Platoon beamed off the pad twenty minutes later, Lieutenant Claire Maclean of Alpha Company pushed her way into the room. "What the hell is going on, Martinez?" the tall, well-muscled woman with short brown hair demanded.

Tony just looked at Maclean with an innocent look, as if to say, Why, what do you mean? She shot back at him heatedly, "You know exactly what I'm talking about! Why is your company transporting in my slot?"

"Lieutenant, my company was ready to go and didn't want to dawdle around, waiting unnecessarily. I determined this was the most efficient use of our time, especially if your company was not ready to go. And if we get aboard a few minutes early, we'll be able to get right into the training holodecks."

Maclean's face became even redder than before. "Don't give me that! You just want to get aboard first to have your pick of the best barracks and to show up the rest of us. No one's buying your juvenile tricks, Martinez."

Tony let the smile slide off his face as he leaned in closer to Claire, so that only the two of them could hear what he had to say. "Look Claire, we're most likely going into combat soon. My company—and yours too, I suspect—is on edge and tense. What better way to direct that anxiety and tension than some inter-team rivalry?" He stepped back and resumed his smile. "Don't worry Lt. Maclean. We'll be out of your way in about 40 minutes. See you on board."

Maclean stayed where she was for a moment, as if she wanted to say more. Instead she glared quickly at the transporter chief and stormed out of the room.

At least the trip to whatever battlefield they were being sent wouldn't be boring, Martinez thought. He expected Maclean's Alpha Company and Jaz Miyasaki's Charlie Company would provide plenty of distraction for his recon marines during the long journey.