[OTA] Gotta be a space anomaly...right?
It had happened a year into their five year mission. The failure that it seemed that everyone in Starfleet had been waiting for from the Enterprise’s terribly young crew. The mission was flawed from the start, they’d gotten bad intelligence, and they’d basically warped into a trap that neither Jim nor Spock nor any of the other bridge crew had been able to predict. It was a massacre, the like that Jim had never seen before and they’d gone into it completely under prepared.
The cargo bay had been turned into a triage unit for the wounded, and Jim honestly wasn’t sure if they’d ever get the blood stains out of the chrome. He was sure his own arms were stained to the elbows in blood, because while there wasn’t much he could do when it came to medicine, there was even less the medical crew could do when they were completely overwhelmed with a body count and were already understaffed with most of them planet-side helping the natives. And he could hold what Bones told him to, and apply pressure where it was needed.
In the end the body count of Enterprise staff was thirty. Thirty kids. Jim knew that he wasn’t too old himself but these had been ensigns and enlisted men and women who were Chekov’s age. The oldest kid had been 22, the youngest 18 and suddenly 26 seemed ancient. He raised an arm and scrubbed over his forehead with a shoulder, stepping to the impromptu washing station and tried not to think as he watched the water soaking off the red stains. He hadn’t slept in three days, none of them had, and now, now that it was done as it was going to be, there was the clerical, the clean up and the most challenging part to be done.
Clean, he moved stiffly over to stand by Spock’s side, looking down at the kid, who almost just looked like he was sleeping. His hand reached out and grabbed the white sheet, pulling it over the final still figure, and gave his commander a tight grimace. “I’m going to go make the calls,” The Vulcan looked up, like he was about to say something, but then changed his mind and Jim nodded, stepping back and walking stiffly towards his quarters.
According to Starfleet Admiralty , thirty dead crewmembers in a crew of 500 was a tragedy, but wasn’t one worth a return to earth. It meant there’d be thirty kids without an honest burial on their home planets, thirty empty coffins lowered into the ground while they buried thirty bodies in pathetically marked graves on a class M uninhabited planet. It made him want to vomit. It made him want to scream. But instead of doing either, he simply moved to his closet and changed into his full dress uniform, before making his way towards his ready room. The halls of the ship were quiet, no noise but the thrum of his girl’s engines, and his boots echoed loudly against the white walls.
He sat in the chair of his office, turning slowly to face the holovid as he punched in the first number of his fallen crew member. She’d been a fantastic woman, Ensign Carrasco, young and vibrant - liked languages and telling her weeping mother that she’d died a noble death had been the hardest thing James Tiberius Kirk had ever done. There was nothing noble about her death, nothing noble about any of their deaths. Ensign Carrasco had been cut down by a random phaser fire as they tried to get the native people out of the trenches. Not one of them should be dead, and it was Jim’s fault. Jim’s fucking fault.
Twenty-nine calls later and he felt like he’d aged nearly fifty years. His eyes were blood-shot from holding back tears and he wasn’t sure if he’d preferred the parents that had yelled at him or the ones that had simply thanked him and wept. His head fell back and he flung an arm over his eyes, wishing he could be anywhere but here. Anywhere but the place where he, alone, was responsible for the lives of thirty kids who’d never grow to see their twenty-third birthdays.
He sighed, dropped the arm and opened his eyes. And blinked. There wasn’t supposed to be sun in space. Certainly not in his ready room, certainly not surrounded by white sands and the soft sound of water on a beach. Where…he stood, shading his eyes and turned in a slow circle. Either Scotty had been at his unauthorized transporter experiments again, or Jim had finally lost his mind, either way, he was willing to enjoy it as long as it lasted.
...as soon as he figured out where he was.
The cargo bay had been turned into a triage unit for the wounded, and Jim honestly wasn’t sure if they’d ever get the blood stains out of the chrome. He was sure his own arms were stained to the elbows in blood, because while there wasn’t much he could do when it came to medicine, there was even less the medical crew could do when they were completely overwhelmed with a body count and were already understaffed with most of them planet-side helping the natives. And he could hold what Bones told him to, and apply pressure where it was needed.
In the end the body count of Enterprise staff was thirty. Thirty kids. Jim knew that he wasn’t too old himself but these had been ensigns and enlisted men and women who were Chekov’s age. The oldest kid had been 22, the youngest 18 and suddenly 26 seemed ancient. He raised an arm and scrubbed over his forehead with a shoulder, stepping to the impromptu washing station and tried not to think as he watched the water soaking off the red stains. He hadn’t slept in three days, none of them had, and now, now that it was done as it was going to be, there was the clerical, the clean up and the most challenging part to be done.
Clean, he moved stiffly over to stand by Spock’s side, looking down at the kid, who almost just looked like he was sleeping. His hand reached out and grabbed the white sheet, pulling it over the final still figure, and gave his commander a tight grimace. “I’m going to go make the calls,” The Vulcan looked up, like he was about to say something, but then changed his mind and Jim nodded, stepping back and walking stiffly towards his quarters.
According to Starfleet Admiralty , thirty dead crewmembers in a crew of 500 was a tragedy, but wasn’t one worth a return to earth. It meant there’d be thirty kids without an honest burial on their home planets, thirty empty coffins lowered into the ground while they buried thirty bodies in pathetically marked graves on a class M uninhabited planet. It made him want to vomit. It made him want to scream. But instead of doing either, he simply moved to his closet and changed into his full dress uniform, before making his way towards his ready room. The halls of the ship were quiet, no noise but the thrum of his girl’s engines, and his boots echoed loudly against the white walls.
He sat in the chair of his office, turning slowly to face the holovid as he punched in the first number of his fallen crew member. She’d been a fantastic woman, Ensign Carrasco, young and vibrant - liked languages and telling her weeping mother that she’d died a noble death had been the hardest thing James Tiberius Kirk had ever done. There was nothing noble about her death, nothing noble about any of their deaths. Ensign Carrasco had been cut down by a random phaser fire as they tried to get the native people out of the trenches. Not one of them should be dead, and it was Jim’s fault. Jim’s fucking fault.
Twenty-nine calls later and he felt like he’d aged nearly fifty years. His eyes were blood-shot from holding back tears and he wasn’t sure if he’d preferred the parents that had yelled at him or the ones that had simply thanked him and wept. His head fell back and he flung an arm over his eyes, wishing he could be anywhere but here. Anywhere but the place where he, alone, was responsible for the lives of thirty kids who’d never grow to see their twenty-third birthdays.
He sighed, dropped the arm and opened his eyes. And blinked. There wasn’t supposed to be sun in space. Certainly not in his ready room, certainly not surrounded by white sands and the soft sound of water on a beach. Where…he stood, shading his eyes and turned in a slow circle. Either Scotty had been at his unauthorized transporter experiments again, or Jim had finally lost his mind, either way, he was willing to enjoy it as long as it lasted.
...as soon as he figured out where he was.