Fic: "The Needs of the Few" (2/23)
Title: "The Needs of the Few"
Canon characters/Pairing(s): Kirk & McCoy, Pike, Finney
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 6,742 for chapter 2.
Warnings: Foul language, political situations, military stuff.
Summary: As cadets on a summer internship, Kirk and McCoy are supposed to keep their eyes open and their mouths shut. As far as Bones is concerned, that’s just plain wrong on Jim Kirk, but Jim seems determined to follow orders and fall in line for a change. After all, they’ve both seen enough trouble in two years at the Academy, and this is the Peace Mission of Axanar. However, when a mystery starts to weave itself around the mission, and the senior officers don’t seem interested in investigating, how far can Kirk and McCoy let it go?
Notes: This fic is part of my Academy Series, and is the 4th story in this arc. While this story CAN stand on its own, a lot of things (particularly character development and history) will make a lot more sense if you read the whole thing. The other stories in the Academy Series can be found on my LJ, or more conveniently, at my AO3, HERE.
Previous chapters: One
Chapter 2
“Incoming!”
Jim hit the ground hard, facedown, with the pack of gear on his back knocking the wind out of him as the sound phaser fire mingled with disruptor blasts overhead. A nearby explosion shook the ground beneath him. He raised his head, coughing through the smoke and dust and trying to see what had happened to the rest of his team. Another explosion kicked up more debris, and something hot and sharp glanced off his cheek.
“Fuck!” he hissed, pressing himself flat against the ground again. He low-crawled through dry leaves and tangled brush until he reached a large fallen tree trunk a few meters ahead, then shrugged out of the straps of his pack and rolled onto his back. He coughed again as he simultaneously hoisted his phaser rifle and activated his comm.
“This is Kirk. All units report in!” Jim yelled over the turmoil of weapons fire.
“This is Stuart. Fire Team Alpha all present with visual. Minor injuries only.”
“Fire Team Bravo has lost commo with Pierce and Thaleb. Their position took a direct hit.”
“Fucking Klingons,” Jim growled to himself before shouting back into his comm unit. “Fire Team Charlie?” He waited a second. “Kalen? Second Squad, Fire Team Charlie, report in!” Still no response. “Second Squad, Fire Team Delta? Xu? Report!”
After a few more tense seconds, punctuated by more weapons fire and flying dirt, the comm activated. “Patrol Leader, this is Douglas. Second Squad took direct fire. Lost both fire team leaders. There are four of us left, two injured. We’re still laying down suppressive fire. Waiting for orders, sir!”
Jim clenched his teeth. How the hell could he give orders? He had no idea what was going on. With the first volley of the ambush, every unit had taken cover, and Jim still wasn’t completely sure where the teams had ended up.
He risked a peek over the tree trunk, only to have a phaser shot hit so close to his head that he could feel the heat from it. “Shit!” He dropped back down, his back pressed against the solid bulk of the trunk. With a rough brush of his arm, he wiped the sweat that was beginning to ooze into his eyes, noting with detached amusement that the smear on his sleeve was red, then he yelled into his comm again. “All units, continue laying down suppressive fire and stand by for instructions!”
A chorus of responses came back over the comm. Jim crawled to the end of the tree trunk where he’d remain obscured by the dense upended roots, and tried to get a visual on the small wooded valley that had become a chaotic battlefield. Within thirty seconds, he’d located everyone on his patrol team, and the small band of Klingons on the ridge. Ducking back down behind the tree trunk, Jim took a moment to think.
The patrolling assignment had been to trace a specific route through a narrow valley to towards a Klingon bunker. The facility was reportedly under minimal security, but had control of the regional power grid. If his team could take the bunker, they could disable the shields over a nearby Klingon command post and allow the beam-out rescue of several high-profile Federation prisoners. At least, that was the story behind their mission.
Simply put, Jim knew that they were being set up for an ambush. The terrain had made the setup obvious. He’d immediately requested permission to take a different route, to have his patrol unit trace a long trip around the valley and along one of the ridges so he could maintain the high ground. The request had been denied, of course. The instructors wanted to see how they’d hold up to an ambush.
Seeing as he’d already lost a quarter of one squad and most of the other squad, he’d say the mission was a spectacular bust. Still, some people were alive, they still had a power grid to disable, and he still had a decision to make. Swallowing tightly, he activated his comm unit.
“Kirk to Douglas, you’re leading Second Squad now. Reform into a single fire team and consolidate your position if possible. Continue to lay down suppressive fire between vectors 260 and 310. Grab the weapons from anyone who’s incapacitated and double up your fire. Make it look like we’ve got more people than we do.” He flinched as another explosion rocked the tree trunk. “First Squad, Alpha team, lay down fire along vectors 280 to 350, aiming high. And Bravo Team - you're our assault team. See that draw along the northeast corner of the ridge? That’s one of our two routes up to the bunker. Be ready to move up that draw towards the bunker on my orders. Alpha will cover you. Hold your ground until further notice. I’m setting up a diversion. Confirm orders, over.”
Every team reported in quickly. He knew they had no idea what he was planning to do, but he knew they expected him to have a plan. He had one. He just had no idea if it would work.
Quickly, he pulled his water canteens out of the pouches on his harness and dropped them by his main pack. He wouldn’t need them for the moment, and they’d just weigh him down. Then he grabbed several thermal grenades from the weapons compartment of his pack and tucked them into the empty canteen pouches. Leaving his main pack and extra gear behind, he slung his rifle along his back then slapped his comm unit. “This is Kirk. I’m heading up the west ridge and planting a set of grenades. That will be your diversion and your signal to move on the bunker, Bravo Team. Alpha Team and Second Squad will provide cover while you move. All teams confirm orders.”
“Kirk, this is Stuart. What do we do if we lose contact with you? How long do we wait for your grenades to go off?”
Jim felt himself freeze. He wasn’t sure how long it would take him to get up the ridge. He also didn’t know if he’d make it without getting shot first. But Stuart was second in command of the patrol team after himself, and if he were in Stuart’s shoes, he knew exactly what he’d want to hear. “Stuart, trust your instincts on this one. If you feel like you need to move, or I’ve taken too long, take command of the whole unit and send Bravo team to take the bunker.”
There was a pause, then, “Orders received. First Squad confirms orders.”
“Second Squad confirms orders. We’re ready.”
Jim nodded, hoping it was good enough. “Good. Patrol Leader is on the move, heading vector 310. Lift fire, lift fire! Don’t shoot me, guys.”
Staying low, Jim crawled through the thickest patch of brush he could find, heading due west towards the base of the ridge. It wasn’t a large valley, but it was enough for just a few Klingons on the ridge to effectively ambush and trap the patrol team. But Jim wasn’t with the rest of the team. He could move alone, unseen. He’d never make it all the way to the bunker, but if he could get to the ridge, he could cause some damage, and create a diversion so Bravo Team could complete their movement.
The valley floor began sloping up along the western ridge. The branches scratched his face as he crawled, sticks and rocks dug into his knees, but he had to stay low. After several arduous minutes, he was in position for the first grenade. He synchronized the grenades to detonate together, and left the first one in place. Crawled another ten meters, and placed the second.
After a few minutes, he’d placed six thermal grenades along the area of the ridge just below the Klingons’ position. Grinning with satisfaction, he hurried back down the ridge, just far enough to get out of range. Sure, it was training, and the explosion from the grenades wouldn’t be nearly as strong as from real weapons, but he had to play it as if they were real. Only an idiot would stay within range of a thermal grenade as it detonated. Besides, even the fakes would leave him with one hell of a headache if he was too close when they went off.
Finally out of range, Jim pulled out his comm unit. “This is Patrol Leader. All units, report in. Have we lost anyone else?”
“Fire Team Alpha has one minor casualty. Still at full firepower.”
“Fire Team Bravo has regained contact with Pierce. Pierce is incapacitated, Thaleb is still missing.”
Jim bit his tongue. Bravo Team was the only team in place to move on the bunker, but could he have them leave a wounded person behind? They had to complete the mission, and time was short.
“Second Squad reporting - no further casualties. Holding position.”
“Nice work, team,” Jim said into the comm, trying both to keep his voice down and to still ensure that his team could hear him. “I’ve placed grenades along the west ridge, less than one minute until detonation. The blast should create enough of a diversion to disrupt the Klingons. Fire Team Bravo, prepare to move up the northeast corner of the valley as soon as you hear the grenades blow. Confirm.”
“What about Pierce?”
Jim steeled himself. He knew the right answer - the one his instructors would want to hear - but that didn't mean he wanted to give the order. “You’ll have to leave him for now. Confirm orders.”
“Bravo Team confirms orders. Ready to move.”
Jim checked his detonator, which was time rigged. Twenty seconds. He grinned. Then he heard the whine of a disruptor charging behind him.
“Drop your weapon, human.”
Jim dropped his phaser rifle. It didn’t matter. He’d done his part already. His team could move without him now. But that didn't mean he was going to go down without a fight.
“Turn around.”
Jim turned to see one Klingon aiming a disruptor squarely at his chest. “I’m sorry, did you want something?”
The Klingon sneered. “Honor and glory for the Klingon Empire!”
“Oh, well, if that’s all, then I can’t really help you. I was gonna offer some deodorant. Is there anything else I can do for you?” Jim asked, killing time. Nine seconds.
He gestured crudely with the disruptor, fingering the trigger, taunting him as Jim had expected. “Die.”
“Mmmm... not today.”
“Today is a good day to die!”
Jim shrugged. “Maybe for you. But I’ve got other plans.”
Jim saw the split second of confusion on the Klingon’s face before a deafening explosion rocked the ridge. Startled by the blast, the Klingon looked back over his shoulder just long enough for Jim to launch himself at him.
The disruptor went flying, landing nearby as Jim attempted to land a blow to the Klingon’s cranial ridge. The Klingon blocked the blow and threw Jim head over heels. Jim landed on his back with a heavy thud, and hadn’t recovered from the landing before he saw the Klingon rushing at him. Bracing himself, he kicked out with his feet and sent the Klingon flipping over his head. Fueled by adrenaline, Jim lunged for the disruptor, only to fall short as the Klingon grabbed his ankles. His face snapped down into the dirt, and he felt the Klingon crawling over him, holding him down as he scrambled for his weapon.
Jim couldn’t let him get his weapon back. He had not gone on a fucking suicide mission. He was in this to win. Desperately, he used the slope of the hill to push the Klingon off of him, sending them both rolling, grappling. He was starting to feel the thrill of the fight when his momentum slammed him into a tree, with the weight of the Klingon landing on top of him. A searing pain lanced through his shoulder.
He tried to move, but he couldn’t. The Klingon was off him now, but he still felt like he was being crushed. His eyes were watering from the pain, which was shooting from his shoulder up his neck, and he couldn’t see clearly. He heard the whine of a phaser charging up, not a disruptor. The fucking Klingon must have gotten his phaser. He braced himself for the blast - it was only set to low stun for the training exercise, but getting shot fucking sucked - and heard the shot.
But it never struck him. Through his hazy vision, he saw the Klingon fall forward. A tall, blue blur was standing behind where the Klingon had been.
Feeling oddly giddy, Jim grinned. “Thaleb... you... are a lifesaver,” he gasped. A surge of pain from his shoulder made him wince. “Ow.”
In a second, Thaleb was in front of him. “My communicator was damaged, so I was unable to regain contact with my team, and I could not regroup without exposing myself to open fire. However, I saw you moving, and thought you could use backup.”
“You... are awesome.” Jim tried to nod, but his shoulder hurt too much.
“Are you injured, Kirk?”
“Just my shoulder,” he said, trying to breathe evenly through the pain. “Grab my comm. Check on the others. See if they’ve reached the bunker.”
Thaleb nodded and took the comm unit from Jim’s harness. Jim only half-heard the conversation between Thaleb and the other units. His blood was roaring in his ears, and his shoulder was throbbing
“Kirk,” Thaleb said, his voice ringing with triumph, “the rest of Bravo Team has reached the bunker. The one Klingon guarding it has been taken prisoner. The power grid has been deactivated.”
Jim grinned, feeling delirious. “Mission accomplished?”
“Mission accomplished.”
He squeezed his eyes shut. “Good. Call for beam out.” He thought he heard Thaleb call for a beam out, but with the knowledge that the mission was over, and that they’d been successful, Jim let his body sag against the ground in relief. A moment later, the pain faded into unconsciousness.
*********
“Ow.” Jim clenched his teeth as the field medic pulled on his shoulder.
“Did that hurt?” she asked.
“No, it tickled,” Jim said flatly. “Did you have to wake me up before you set the damned thing?”
“Yes,” the medic said with a smirk that almost reminded him of Bones. “Shock is more serious than a separated shoulder, cadet. Having you regain consciousness was more important than putting your AC joint back together.” Without warning, she did something to his shoulder, and that time, he felt a distinct shifting of bones and muscles.
“Mother fu- OW.”
“Much better,” she said pleasantly.
He glared at her. “Your bedside manner is charming.”
“Your vocabulary is charming. Besides, what did you expect after getting into a tussle with a Klingon? You know that some of our best Security personnel play those roles, right?”
“Yeah. I know.” He blew out a slow breath in annoyance as she stuck a regen unit on him, then secured his arm with an immobilizer.
“Thirty minutes ought to put you back in working order, cadet, but it’ll be sore, and you’ll need better treatment once the course is over. Now go to your debriefing.”
“Thanks.” He meant it. Really. At least they weren’t sending him back to campus.
With a sigh, he walked over to the clearing where everyone was gathering around Commander Mendoza for the debriefing. The rest of the team had already been mostly fixed up from their injuries. Similar to the aftermath of several of their other missions, there was an assortment of mild phaser burns, scratches, and bruises. Pierce had a large patch of dermagel on his neck where the phaser shot had hit him, but the damage had been superficial. Other than that, the worst injury of this particular mission had been Jim’s own separated shoulder. In all honesty, the damage to the team had been pretty modest today compared to some of their missions earlier in the week. Sometimes, it was hard to remember that none of this was real. Of course, that was the point.
There were several groups taking the course simultaneously, but each team of 20 cadets trained in complete isolation from the others. Aside from the officer leading and evaluating their training, the “enemies” they encountered, and their team’s medic, they were cut off from civilization. Technically, they didn’t even know where they were. Based on the types of trees and wooded terrain, Jim figured they were somewhere in the middle of North America, but that was all he really knew.
Even though they had an officer there to give them their assignments and evaluate their performance, they were effectively out there on their own. They went on missions during the day, slept in shifts to maintain a defensive position at night, and woke up frequently to the sound of phaser fire and explosions. They’d been sent out on one-cadet and two-cadet assignments as well, doing individual reconnaissance missions as well as overnight survival excursions. All of their supplies were in their packs, and they were expected to survive on minimalist gear. No resupply was allowed, so food had to be carried, and water had to be found and sterilized. Everyone had been injured at least twice, with access to only basic medic services. If an injury was severe enough to require a medevac, they failed the course, and had to wait until the next cycle to try again. So far, they’d only lost one person, and it was because he hadn’t properly sterilized his water. He’d be fine.
Still, it was better to fail the course because of a medevac than to fail because your decisions or leadership ruined a mission. In the Tactics and Survival capstone, cadets took risks and laid it all out on the line. Even though it was technically just a course and a credit, everyone knew that commanding officers looked closely at the cadet evaluations from this course when accepting new graduates for shipboard postings. This was the chance to show people what they could do. How much they could take. Whether they would hesitate or give it their all.
Every cadet on the team took turns in different roles for each mission. They’d be evaluated on their overall capability and performance in basic survival, but also how well they performed their duties as team members, fire team leaders, squad leaders, and patrol leaders. It wasn’t merely good enough for the mission to succeed; it was about how the mission went. As the patrol leader for this mission, Jim was in the hot seat. And he’d learned one simple fact about these mission reviews: there was no such thing as a perfect mission. At some point, he was going to get grilled.
“Ah, welcome back, Sleeping Beauty,” Commander Mendoza said lightly as Jim approached the group. “Have a nice nap?”
“All the beauty sleep in the world wouldn’t fix my ugly mug, sir,” Jim replied with a grin. He appreciated Mendoza’s sense of humor. The man worked them hard, but he kept the atmosphere from getting too dark. Jim stepped into the center of the small clearing, surrounded by the rest of the cadets. Most of them were seated, but he needed to stay on his feet for this.
The Commander nodded in approval. “Well, Kirk, seeing as you’re already well on your way to an accurate self-assessment, let’s get started here. Re-state the mission.”
Jim took a deep breath. Time to play the game. “Sir, the mission was to follow the valley route to a reportedly poorly guarded Klingon bunker, secure the bunker, and disable the power grid. This would drop the shields at the main Klingon command post, allowing the rescue of the Federation’s political prisoners.”
“And what was your plan?”
Jim barely managed to keep the annoyance from his expression. “My plan was to take First Squad by a route to the east of the valley, along the ridge, with Second Squad following at a distance of 500 meters as a reinforcement team. However, this plan was rejected.”
“Why did you propose a route that specifically contradicted the one assigned in your orders?”
Damn, but he hated justifying the obvious. “Because, sir, the specific assigned route wasn’t essential to the completion of the mission. Putting ourselves in a valley like that, which was bordered on the east, west, and north with high ridges and hills, was setting ourselves up for an ambush. It’s bad tactics to take the low ground, especially with only one escape route.”
“Noted. Your observation of the terrain is being taken into account for your assessment. But without the option of changing the route, what did you do?”
Jim looked around at his team, catching the supportive nods of the cadets who had been assigned the roles of his squad and fire team leaders. He stood straighter at the boost of confidence, despite the fact that it made his shoulder ache. “We moved into the valley in two columns by squad, staggered by fire teams. That way, if we got ambushed, we had four separate reinforcement positions. First Squad took the east side of the valley, Second Squad moved along the west side of the valley floor. Alpha and Charlie teams were to get into place to provide suppressive fire, and then Bravo and Delta teams would overtake them and move on the bunker.”
Commander Mendoza nodded. “Why the redundant plan? Two prongs of the attack essentially mirroring each other?”
At this, Jim smiled. He knew he’d gotten this part of his planning right. “If one team was wiped out, the other was ready to move into position. Based on the topographical data we were given about the valley, it would be hard for an ambush from a single location to hit both teams at once, given the small rise in the center of the valley. I positioned myself in the middle for command-control and to keep visuals on both squads, and I could order either team to move depending on who had the advantage.”
The Commander tapped something into his PADD. “So, what happened?”
“We moved into the valley as planned, and took fire as we approached the bunker at the north end of the valley. Bravo Team of First Squad was hit, and most of Second Squad went down. At that point, I reassessed our fields of fire, the position of the Klingons on the ridge, and personnel available to complete the mission. We needed enough suppressive fire to keep the Klingons on the ridge down until we could create a diversion, thereby allowing the rest of Bravo Team to move up the ridge and take the bunker.”
“A reasonable idea, Kirk... but let’s discuss a few possible problems with that. First, what if there had been a squad of Klingons in the bunker? You only sent three cadets up that ridge. If they’d met resistance inside the bunker, they would have been taken out.”
Jim took a deep breath. Let the grilling begin. “Sir,” Jim said with more confidence than he felt, “Klingons like to meet an attack up front. It doesn’t match their species’ psych profile for them to stay in the bunker. They’d be outside, participating in the ambush. If anything, there would be one Klingon in the bunker... maybe two. And I trust my team to be able to handle those numbers.”
Mendoza raised an eyebrow, tapped something else into the PADD, but said nothing.
Jim felt his face flush with the pressure. “Additionally, sir, Alpha Team knew from the pre-mission briefing that they would to follow Bravo Team if there was a problem in the actual assault.”
Mendoza turned to Stuart, the tough-looking woman who’d led Alpha Team. “Stuart, was your team ready to move if Bravo Team had failed to take the bunker?”
Cadet Stuart nodded immediately. “Yes, sir. Cadet Kirk had thoroughly briefed us on various contingency plans. If any movement in the mission failed, the backup team would move in immediately. We already knew that second squad was immobile, so we were ready to follow Bravo Team if they didn’t manage to secure the bunker.”
“If that was in your briefing to the team, I’ll take it,” Mendoza said, jotting something else onto his PADD. When he looked back up again, his expression was even more critical. “Kirk, how strongly do you feel that this diversion tactic of yours was necessary to the mission? Do you think that setting up some pyrotechnics on the ridge made a significant contribution to the success of the mission?”
“I certainly think it gave them a better chance,” Jim said firmly.
“Did it?” Mendoza challenged.
Jim opened his mouth, but he really didn't have any proof that it had done anything to help the team. He had just been so sure that it was necessary. It had been... hadn't it?
“Sir, if I may?” Thaleb spoke up.
Mendoza tilted his head. “Go for it.”
Thaleb stood. “From my position, I was able to pay close attention to Klingon activity on the ridge. As soon as the grenades went off, the intensity of the disruptor fire dropped significantly. The grenades created a significant amount of smoke and dust. The Klingons couldn’t see through it, which gave me sufficient cover to move to Kirk’s position and offer him aid. I assume it also gave Bravo team enough time to move on the bunker with less incoming disruptor fire. Kirk’s diversion did indeed give the team a much better chance.” Without hesitation, he sat back down.
Mendoza looked down at Stuart. “Did you notice any change in the amount of incoming fire on your squad's position after the charges went off?”
Stuart nodded. “I did, sir. Significantly. Bravo team had to travel across almost 100 meters of open terrain to reach the bunker. We would have been sitting ducks if the Klingons had a clear line of sight, but nobody got shot.”
Jim felt himself release a lungful of air in relief.
Mendoza finally gave a nod of approval. “I’ll accept that.” Again, he tapped something into his PADD, then shifted his stance. “Kirk... when you said that Bravo Team would move when ‘we’ created a diversion, you actually meant you... and only you. Didn’t you?”
Jim frowned. Mendoza’s tone was unexpectedly critical, even more so than before. “Yes, sir.”
Mendoza nodded slowly. “And can you explain to me why you, as the patrol leader, decided to undertake a one-man mission up the side of the ridge to plant a set of grenades, right under the Klingons’ noses?”
So that was it. As the leader, he should have been giving orders, not putting himself in the line of fire. It was standard operating procedure for Starfleet... but as far as Jim was concerned, it was protocol that he didn’t particularly like. Especially when he had the best - and only - chance of creating a diversion.
Jim took a half-step closer and looked evenly at Commander Mendoza. “Because, sir, there were no other reasonable options. I needed the larger teams to lay down suppressive fire and to move on the bunker, and I didn’t want to split them up. I was already moving alone, and a single operative, staying low, had the best chance of planting the charges unseen.”
“Uh-huh.” He didn’t sound convinced. “But you still had a responsibility to your team. Did it even occur to you to try to delegate that mission... planting the charges... to someone else? You felt that the best way to lead your team would have been to potentially leave them without a leader?”
Knowing that self-confidence was part of the evaluation, Jim pushed forward. “I have an entire team of leaders, sir. That’s what the chain of command is for. And I felt that my job, as a leader, was to give my team the best possible chance to complete the mission successfully. If that means I end up getting ripped to pieces by a Klingon... I guess that’s what’s got to happen.”
“But Kirk, that would only be true if you succeeded. You were a single operative, moving directly towards the enemy. Recognizing tactical errors is part of why we have this course. What do you think were your odds of succeeding?”
Jim refused to look away. “Better than anyone else’s, sir. I was in a position where I could reach the slope easily. Maybe someone else could have done it, but I wanted to keep the teams together. It made tactical sense. If anyone was going to do it, it had to be me.”
“Even if your little stunt had turned into a suicide mission?”
Jim felt a surge of anger, hot and tight, welling up in his throat. He hadn't gone on a damned suicide mission. He had been playing to win, and he'd won, hadn't he? “Sir... I took a calculated risk. This is Starfleet. Risk is our business. I knew I was in no position to directly aid the assault on the bunker, and everyone on the team already knew their jobs. I had two tactical choices: I could either attempt the diversion, or just sit there and bark orders into the comm. If I made the attempt and failed, the team lost nothing in a tactical sense. But if I succeeded, I gave them a better chance.”
“So... playing the martyr to give your people a chance at survival... that’s a habit that runs in the family, is it?”
Jim felt like someone had just kicked him. In the gut. With a steel-toed boot. Mendoza had never mentioned his father or the Kelvin incident. In fact, in the past year, that issue had died down around campus and almost nobody mentioned it. This had come out of the blue, and it had blindsided him. “I don’t think that’s relevant to this situation, sir,” Jim said as evenly as possible, even as he felt his blood running cold.
“It’s relevant if it’s part of your decision-making process,” he said plainly. “Part of this course is for every cadet to understand why they make the decisions they do. You can’t lead until you understand the decisions you make. So, did you go on your solo mission to give your team a better chance of succeeding, or to stand out and play hero in the woods?” Mendoza’s tone was oddly light, and Jim didn’t like it
Sure, the guy had a sarcastic sense of humor with the cadets, but Jim had never thought that he’d say something like that. Maybe it seemed like a small deal to Mendoza - a tease to challenge Jim’s motivations - but the Commander had no idea about the can of worms he’d just opened up.
There were a million things racing through Jim’s mind, and he didn’t want to say any of them. My father played the hero, and it got him killed. I’m not here to play hero, I’m here to do a fucking job and try to get out the other end alive. I’m here to prove what I can do, and that I can survive it, not die in some ridiculous hero’s mission. I’m not my father. I'm in this to win.
Instead, he stood a bit straighter and said, “This wasn’t about me, sir. It was about the mission, and it worked.”
“It did.” Mendoza’s expression was unreadable. “And you believe that the extra risk to your own life was a fair trade for the mission working?”
Jim forced himself not to clench his hands into fists. “Absolutely.”
“Would you make the same choices again?” Mendoza’s tone left no room for wavering.
Despite the rushing blood in his ears and his growing desire to raise his voice, Jim was too well-trained to let it show. And he had only one answer. “Yes.” Then, considering this, he shook his head. “Almost.” He indicated his shoulder with a nod of his head. “I would have rolled the Klingon into the tree instead.”
The whole team chuckled lightly, and even Commander Mendoza cracked a smile. “Okay. Not too bad. Successful mission, but keep in mind what I said.”
“Yes, sir.” Jim said, trying to act as though it hadn’t bothered him at all. Just another mission review comment. Nothing more.
Mendoza looked at him for a moment, then nodded. “Okay, Kirk, take a seat.” He looked out over the whole squad. “Now, let’s look at squad-level movements and tactics. Stuart, describe the mission for First Squad.”
Taking a deep breath, Jim sat down on a rock just outside the main circle of trainees and half-listened as Cadet Stuart launched into a discussion of her squad’s mission.
He needed to shake this off. This course wasn’t just about physical and mental challenges; everything was on the table. Emotional and psychological cracks were there to be explored and exploited. If it was something that could be a weakness for a Starfleet officer, it would be prodded, poked, and razed open to bleed out to see if a Cadet really had what it took to lead other people out in the black. It was the difference between an officer and a crewman. It was what made them leaders, and why Starfleet entrusted them with the lives of not only their crews, but of the many beings they would encounter.
Jim felt confident that he’d made the best decisions possible for today’s missions. Yes, he knew that he’d bent protocols more than just a little bit. Mendoza was right; if he’d gone by the book, he would have sent someone else up the ridge. He wouldn’t have moved alone. But damn the book, because he knew he was right.
He’d done things like that during other missions - moving on his own, taking advantage of opportunities when he saw them, even if he didn’t have orders. And, naturally, he’d been reminded a couple of times that he was supposed to be part of the team, not a solo operative. He’d been lauded on his creativity and ability to think on his feet, but he knew that wasn’t everything. He was still at the Academy, and Pike had been right - Starfleet didn’t have much of the leap-without-looking mentality. They wanted their cadets to play by the book, and dammit, hadn’t he done exactly that? Hadn’t he pulled back enough? Wasn’t he playing as part of the team? Did they really want him to fall in line like everyone else and lose what made him Jim Kirk?
I guess so, he thought bitterly.
And now, to top it all off, he was being compared to his father. After everything he’d been through in the past two years, between Terra Prime and the fucking shuttle crash and his crazed roommate and everything else, they were actually asking him if he was doing this shit to play the hero or follow in his father's footsteps? Did they have any clue what actually drove him?
Screw them.
His memory flashed back to a miserable night in Iowa and a drunken, dazed conversation with a pushy Starfleet Captain. Pike had been talking about his father, sanctimonious and preachy, about no-win scenarios and leaping without looking and hero crap, and damned if it hadn’t gotten to him, but he’d never told Pike why the message had hit home.
“Sure learned his lesson,” Jim had replied.
And that’s exactly what he’d meant. Pike had dared him to do better? Well fuck it all, of course he was going to do better, because if his father had done it right, the bastard would still be alive, wouldn’t he?
It felt like his dirty little secret. He hadn’t joined Starfleet to live up to his father’s name. He’d done it because he had been running all his life and it just seemed like another way to run. He’d done it because the vision of the Enterprise against the night sky had kindled a fire in his brain that he didn’t want to put out. He’d done it because he wanted to be good enough, a mantra that he’d still never quite been able to get out of his head, even after he’d understood where it had come from. And, buried deep in a part of his psyche that almost never saw daylight, he knew he’d done it because he wanted a chance to do things right where his father had royally fucked up.
Sure, in the two years since then, he’d taken on other reasons, and his own drive to succeed had been tempered by his experiences. Immersed in a world he couldn’t have understood from the outside, he’d become part of a something bigger than himself with Starfleet. It hadn’t been all about him anymore. It was about the people around him, the team, and the mission. He had even told himself he understood why Captains sometimes go down with their ships.
But that didn’t mean he’d been able to forgive his father. Not completely.
He’d been a young boy with a distant and depressed mother, an angry older brother, a broken family, a history of fuck-up after disaster after catastrophe, and a surname like a damned yoke around his neck. Of course he’d been angry. And on some level, even though it was buried deeply, he knew he still was.
He’d studied the Kelvin. He’d read Pike’s dissertation. He’d gone and found records and recordings and reports. He’d considered everything from a cold, calculating, and objective point of view. Tactically, he’d come to the conclusion that his father had done the rational thing. His childish fury at the father-who-wasn’t-there had finally dimmed, but there was an anger still smoldering. Because as much as he tried to rationalize it, at the end of the day, he still couldn’t make himself understand it.
And he’d never been able to admit that to anyone... including himself.
The heat of the afternoon had sweat dripping down his face, and he brushed his forehead with his good arm. This time, there was no fresh blood - the medic had already mended the cut - but there was still a smear of dry blood on his uniform sleeve. It matched the smear from yesterday. He’d already destroyed one of the three uniforms he’d packed, and he’d have to wait until they found a river or stream if he wanted to clean either of the two that hadn’t been shredded. Not that clean uniforms were technically a priority, but fuck, they were filthy. And then, of course, he doubted he’d have enough time to actually clean them even if he found a river. There was usually barely enough time to sterilize water and refill canteens before they had to start moving again.
Damn, he was thirsty.
Jim blinked and realized he’d completely zoned out, and quickly grabbed one of his canteens and downed half of it. One of the first rules of leadership was that if you couldn’t take care of yourself, there was no way you’d ever be able to take care of anyone else. Out in the field like this, it was harder than he’d expected it to be.
He had to admit, he was exhausted. Hell, maybe that’s why he was plowing through memories and dark thoughts he didn’t need to be considering just then. They’d covered well over a dozen kilometers of rough terrain each day, although it was hard to keep track of the actual distance. Sleep had been scarce, and ration bars were definitely not good for morale.
But really, he was glad to be out here. If he passed this course, he’d become a Cadet First Class. Technically, he wouldn’t even need the courses he’d signed up to take over the summer. He’d start the autumn semester on the same standing as the rest of the cadets graduating that year. However, even more importantly, passing this course made him eligible for an internship posting on a starship for the summer.
Jim finally allowed himself a small grin at the thought, letting his dark mood fall away.
Pike had presented him with the opportunity during their meeting, and with a list of all the ships still accepting cadets for training missions that summer. Jim had only one ship he wanted: the USS Athena. The approval had come through to his PADD before he’d left his dorm the morning the Tactics and Survival course had begun. Therefore, in five days, he’d get back from his course and barely have enough time to shower and re-pack his bags in order to catch the shuttle to the Athena in space dock.
Oh, Bones was going to piss himself.
*********
To Chapter 3
Canon characters/Pairing(s): Kirk & McCoy, Pike, Finney
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 6,742 for chapter 2.
Warnings: Foul language, political situations, military stuff.
Summary: As cadets on a summer internship, Kirk and McCoy are supposed to keep their eyes open and their mouths shut. As far as Bones is concerned, that’s just plain wrong on Jim Kirk, but Jim seems determined to follow orders and fall in line for a change. After all, they’ve both seen enough trouble in two years at the Academy, and this is the Peace Mission of Axanar. However, when a mystery starts to weave itself around the mission, and the senior officers don’t seem interested in investigating, how far can Kirk and McCoy let it go?
Notes: This fic is part of my Academy Series, and is the 4th story in this arc. While this story CAN stand on its own, a lot of things (particularly character development and history) will make a lot more sense if you read the whole thing. The other stories in the Academy Series can be found on my LJ, or more conveniently, at my AO3, HERE.
Previous chapters: One
Chapter 2
“Incoming!”
Jim hit the ground hard, facedown, with the pack of gear on his back knocking the wind out of him as the sound phaser fire mingled with disruptor blasts overhead. A nearby explosion shook the ground beneath him. He raised his head, coughing through the smoke and dust and trying to see what had happened to the rest of his team. Another explosion kicked up more debris, and something hot and sharp glanced off his cheek.
“Fuck!” he hissed, pressing himself flat against the ground again. He low-crawled through dry leaves and tangled brush until he reached a large fallen tree trunk a few meters ahead, then shrugged out of the straps of his pack and rolled onto his back. He coughed again as he simultaneously hoisted his phaser rifle and activated his comm.
“This is Kirk. All units report in!” Jim yelled over the turmoil of weapons fire.
“This is Stuart. Fire Team Alpha all present with visual. Minor injuries only.”
“Fire Team Bravo has lost commo with Pierce and Thaleb. Their position took a direct hit.”
“Fucking Klingons,” Jim growled to himself before shouting back into his comm unit. “Fire Team Charlie?” He waited a second. “Kalen? Second Squad, Fire Team Charlie, report in!” Still no response. “Second Squad, Fire Team Delta? Xu? Report!”
After a few more tense seconds, punctuated by more weapons fire and flying dirt, the comm activated. “Patrol Leader, this is Douglas. Second Squad took direct fire. Lost both fire team leaders. There are four of us left, two injured. We’re still laying down suppressive fire. Waiting for orders, sir!”
Jim clenched his teeth. How the hell could he give orders? He had no idea what was going on. With the first volley of the ambush, every unit had taken cover, and Jim still wasn’t completely sure where the teams had ended up.
He risked a peek over the tree trunk, only to have a phaser shot hit so close to his head that he could feel the heat from it. “Shit!” He dropped back down, his back pressed against the solid bulk of the trunk. With a rough brush of his arm, he wiped the sweat that was beginning to ooze into his eyes, noting with detached amusement that the smear on his sleeve was red, then he yelled into his comm again. “All units, continue laying down suppressive fire and stand by for instructions!”
A chorus of responses came back over the comm. Jim crawled to the end of the tree trunk where he’d remain obscured by the dense upended roots, and tried to get a visual on the small wooded valley that had become a chaotic battlefield. Within thirty seconds, he’d located everyone on his patrol team, and the small band of Klingons on the ridge. Ducking back down behind the tree trunk, Jim took a moment to think.
The patrolling assignment had been to trace a specific route through a narrow valley to towards a Klingon bunker. The facility was reportedly under minimal security, but had control of the regional power grid. If his team could take the bunker, they could disable the shields over a nearby Klingon command post and allow the beam-out rescue of several high-profile Federation prisoners. At least, that was the story behind their mission.
Simply put, Jim knew that they were being set up for an ambush. The terrain had made the setup obvious. He’d immediately requested permission to take a different route, to have his patrol unit trace a long trip around the valley and along one of the ridges so he could maintain the high ground. The request had been denied, of course. The instructors wanted to see how they’d hold up to an ambush.
Seeing as he’d already lost a quarter of one squad and most of the other squad, he’d say the mission was a spectacular bust. Still, some people were alive, they still had a power grid to disable, and he still had a decision to make. Swallowing tightly, he activated his comm unit.
“Kirk to Douglas, you’re leading Second Squad now. Reform into a single fire team and consolidate your position if possible. Continue to lay down suppressive fire between vectors 260 and 310. Grab the weapons from anyone who’s incapacitated and double up your fire. Make it look like we’ve got more people than we do.” He flinched as another explosion rocked the tree trunk. “First Squad, Alpha team, lay down fire along vectors 280 to 350, aiming high. And Bravo Team - you're our assault team. See that draw along the northeast corner of the ridge? That’s one of our two routes up to the bunker. Be ready to move up that draw towards the bunker on my orders. Alpha will cover you. Hold your ground until further notice. I’m setting up a diversion. Confirm orders, over.”
Every team reported in quickly. He knew they had no idea what he was planning to do, but he knew they expected him to have a plan. He had one. He just had no idea if it would work.
Quickly, he pulled his water canteens out of the pouches on his harness and dropped them by his main pack. He wouldn’t need them for the moment, and they’d just weigh him down. Then he grabbed several thermal grenades from the weapons compartment of his pack and tucked them into the empty canteen pouches. Leaving his main pack and extra gear behind, he slung his rifle along his back then slapped his comm unit. “This is Kirk. I’m heading up the west ridge and planting a set of grenades. That will be your diversion and your signal to move on the bunker, Bravo Team. Alpha Team and Second Squad will provide cover while you move. All teams confirm orders.”
“Kirk, this is Stuart. What do we do if we lose contact with you? How long do we wait for your grenades to go off?”
Jim felt himself freeze. He wasn’t sure how long it would take him to get up the ridge. He also didn’t know if he’d make it without getting shot first. But Stuart was second in command of the patrol team after himself, and if he were in Stuart’s shoes, he knew exactly what he’d want to hear. “Stuart, trust your instincts on this one. If you feel like you need to move, or I’ve taken too long, take command of the whole unit and send Bravo team to take the bunker.”
There was a pause, then, “Orders received. First Squad confirms orders.”
“Second Squad confirms orders. We’re ready.”
Jim nodded, hoping it was good enough. “Good. Patrol Leader is on the move, heading vector 310. Lift fire, lift fire! Don’t shoot me, guys.”
Staying low, Jim crawled through the thickest patch of brush he could find, heading due west towards the base of the ridge. It wasn’t a large valley, but it was enough for just a few Klingons on the ridge to effectively ambush and trap the patrol team. But Jim wasn’t with the rest of the team. He could move alone, unseen. He’d never make it all the way to the bunker, but if he could get to the ridge, he could cause some damage, and create a diversion so Bravo Team could complete their movement.
The valley floor began sloping up along the western ridge. The branches scratched his face as he crawled, sticks and rocks dug into his knees, but he had to stay low. After several arduous minutes, he was in position for the first grenade. He synchronized the grenades to detonate together, and left the first one in place. Crawled another ten meters, and placed the second.
After a few minutes, he’d placed six thermal grenades along the area of the ridge just below the Klingons’ position. Grinning with satisfaction, he hurried back down the ridge, just far enough to get out of range. Sure, it was training, and the explosion from the grenades wouldn’t be nearly as strong as from real weapons, but he had to play it as if they were real. Only an idiot would stay within range of a thermal grenade as it detonated. Besides, even the fakes would leave him with one hell of a headache if he was too close when they went off.
Finally out of range, Jim pulled out his comm unit. “This is Patrol Leader. All units, report in. Have we lost anyone else?”
“Fire Team Alpha has one minor casualty. Still at full firepower.”
“Fire Team Bravo has regained contact with Pierce. Pierce is incapacitated, Thaleb is still missing.”
Jim bit his tongue. Bravo Team was the only team in place to move on the bunker, but could he have them leave a wounded person behind? They had to complete the mission, and time was short.
“Second Squad reporting - no further casualties. Holding position.”
“Nice work, team,” Jim said into the comm, trying both to keep his voice down and to still ensure that his team could hear him. “I’ve placed grenades along the west ridge, less than one minute until detonation. The blast should create enough of a diversion to disrupt the Klingons. Fire Team Bravo, prepare to move up the northeast corner of the valley as soon as you hear the grenades blow. Confirm.”
“What about Pierce?”
Jim steeled himself. He knew the right answer - the one his instructors would want to hear - but that didn't mean he wanted to give the order. “You’ll have to leave him for now. Confirm orders.”
“Bravo Team confirms orders. Ready to move.”
Jim checked his detonator, which was time rigged. Twenty seconds. He grinned. Then he heard the whine of a disruptor charging behind him.
“Drop your weapon, human.”
Jim dropped his phaser rifle. It didn’t matter. He’d done his part already. His team could move without him now. But that didn't mean he was going to go down without a fight.
“Turn around.”
Jim turned to see one Klingon aiming a disruptor squarely at his chest. “I’m sorry, did you want something?”
The Klingon sneered. “Honor and glory for the Klingon Empire!”
“Oh, well, if that’s all, then I can’t really help you. I was gonna offer some deodorant. Is there anything else I can do for you?” Jim asked, killing time. Nine seconds.
He gestured crudely with the disruptor, fingering the trigger, taunting him as Jim had expected. “Die.”
“Mmmm... not today.”
“Today is a good day to die!”
Jim shrugged. “Maybe for you. But I’ve got other plans.”
Jim saw the split second of confusion on the Klingon’s face before a deafening explosion rocked the ridge. Startled by the blast, the Klingon looked back over his shoulder just long enough for Jim to launch himself at him.
The disruptor went flying, landing nearby as Jim attempted to land a blow to the Klingon’s cranial ridge. The Klingon blocked the blow and threw Jim head over heels. Jim landed on his back with a heavy thud, and hadn’t recovered from the landing before he saw the Klingon rushing at him. Bracing himself, he kicked out with his feet and sent the Klingon flipping over his head. Fueled by adrenaline, Jim lunged for the disruptor, only to fall short as the Klingon grabbed his ankles. His face snapped down into the dirt, and he felt the Klingon crawling over him, holding him down as he scrambled for his weapon.
Jim couldn’t let him get his weapon back. He had not gone on a fucking suicide mission. He was in this to win. Desperately, he used the slope of the hill to push the Klingon off of him, sending them both rolling, grappling. He was starting to feel the thrill of the fight when his momentum slammed him into a tree, with the weight of the Klingon landing on top of him. A searing pain lanced through his shoulder.
He tried to move, but he couldn’t. The Klingon was off him now, but he still felt like he was being crushed. His eyes were watering from the pain, which was shooting from his shoulder up his neck, and he couldn’t see clearly. He heard the whine of a phaser charging up, not a disruptor. The fucking Klingon must have gotten his phaser. He braced himself for the blast - it was only set to low stun for the training exercise, but getting shot fucking sucked - and heard the shot.
But it never struck him. Through his hazy vision, he saw the Klingon fall forward. A tall, blue blur was standing behind where the Klingon had been.
Feeling oddly giddy, Jim grinned. “Thaleb... you... are a lifesaver,” he gasped. A surge of pain from his shoulder made him wince. “Ow.”
In a second, Thaleb was in front of him. “My communicator was damaged, so I was unable to regain contact with my team, and I could not regroup without exposing myself to open fire. However, I saw you moving, and thought you could use backup.”
“You... are awesome.” Jim tried to nod, but his shoulder hurt too much.
“Are you injured, Kirk?”
“Just my shoulder,” he said, trying to breathe evenly through the pain. “Grab my comm. Check on the others. See if they’ve reached the bunker.”
Thaleb nodded and took the comm unit from Jim’s harness. Jim only half-heard the conversation between Thaleb and the other units. His blood was roaring in his ears, and his shoulder was throbbing
“Kirk,” Thaleb said, his voice ringing with triumph, “the rest of Bravo Team has reached the bunker. The one Klingon guarding it has been taken prisoner. The power grid has been deactivated.”
Jim grinned, feeling delirious. “Mission accomplished?”
“Mission accomplished.”
He squeezed his eyes shut. “Good. Call for beam out.” He thought he heard Thaleb call for a beam out, but with the knowledge that the mission was over, and that they’d been successful, Jim let his body sag against the ground in relief. A moment later, the pain faded into unconsciousness.
*********
“Ow.” Jim clenched his teeth as the field medic pulled on his shoulder.
“Did that hurt?” she asked.
“No, it tickled,” Jim said flatly. “Did you have to wake me up before you set the damned thing?”
“Yes,” the medic said with a smirk that almost reminded him of Bones. “Shock is more serious than a separated shoulder, cadet. Having you regain consciousness was more important than putting your AC joint back together.” Without warning, she did something to his shoulder, and that time, he felt a distinct shifting of bones and muscles.
“Mother fu- OW.”
“Much better,” she said pleasantly.
He glared at her. “Your bedside manner is charming.”
“Your vocabulary is charming. Besides, what did you expect after getting into a tussle with a Klingon? You know that some of our best Security personnel play those roles, right?”
“Yeah. I know.” He blew out a slow breath in annoyance as she stuck a regen unit on him, then secured his arm with an immobilizer.
“Thirty minutes ought to put you back in working order, cadet, but it’ll be sore, and you’ll need better treatment once the course is over. Now go to your debriefing.”
“Thanks.” He meant it. Really. At least they weren’t sending him back to campus.
With a sigh, he walked over to the clearing where everyone was gathering around Commander Mendoza for the debriefing. The rest of the team had already been mostly fixed up from their injuries. Similar to the aftermath of several of their other missions, there was an assortment of mild phaser burns, scratches, and bruises. Pierce had a large patch of dermagel on his neck where the phaser shot had hit him, but the damage had been superficial. Other than that, the worst injury of this particular mission had been Jim’s own separated shoulder. In all honesty, the damage to the team had been pretty modest today compared to some of their missions earlier in the week. Sometimes, it was hard to remember that none of this was real. Of course, that was the point.
There were several groups taking the course simultaneously, but each team of 20 cadets trained in complete isolation from the others. Aside from the officer leading and evaluating their training, the “enemies” they encountered, and their team’s medic, they were cut off from civilization. Technically, they didn’t even know where they were. Based on the types of trees and wooded terrain, Jim figured they were somewhere in the middle of North America, but that was all he really knew.
Even though they had an officer there to give them their assignments and evaluate their performance, they were effectively out there on their own. They went on missions during the day, slept in shifts to maintain a defensive position at night, and woke up frequently to the sound of phaser fire and explosions. They’d been sent out on one-cadet and two-cadet assignments as well, doing individual reconnaissance missions as well as overnight survival excursions. All of their supplies were in their packs, and they were expected to survive on minimalist gear. No resupply was allowed, so food had to be carried, and water had to be found and sterilized. Everyone had been injured at least twice, with access to only basic medic services. If an injury was severe enough to require a medevac, they failed the course, and had to wait until the next cycle to try again. So far, they’d only lost one person, and it was because he hadn’t properly sterilized his water. He’d be fine.
Still, it was better to fail the course because of a medevac than to fail because your decisions or leadership ruined a mission. In the Tactics and Survival capstone, cadets took risks and laid it all out on the line. Even though it was technically just a course and a credit, everyone knew that commanding officers looked closely at the cadet evaluations from this course when accepting new graduates for shipboard postings. This was the chance to show people what they could do. How much they could take. Whether they would hesitate or give it their all.
Every cadet on the team took turns in different roles for each mission. They’d be evaluated on their overall capability and performance in basic survival, but also how well they performed their duties as team members, fire team leaders, squad leaders, and patrol leaders. It wasn’t merely good enough for the mission to succeed; it was about how the mission went. As the patrol leader for this mission, Jim was in the hot seat. And he’d learned one simple fact about these mission reviews: there was no such thing as a perfect mission. At some point, he was going to get grilled.
“Ah, welcome back, Sleeping Beauty,” Commander Mendoza said lightly as Jim approached the group. “Have a nice nap?”
“All the beauty sleep in the world wouldn’t fix my ugly mug, sir,” Jim replied with a grin. He appreciated Mendoza’s sense of humor. The man worked them hard, but he kept the atmosphere from getting too dark. Jim stepped into the center of the small clearing, surrounded by the rest of the cadets. Most of them were seated, but he needed to stay on his feet for this.
The Commander nodded in approval. “Well, Kirk, seeing as you’re already well on your way to an accurate self-assessment, let’s get started here. Re-state the mission.”
Jim took a deep breath. Time to play the game. “Sir, the mission was to follow the valley route to a reportedly poorly guarded Klingon bunker, secure the bunker, and disable the power grid. This would drop the shields at the main Klingon command post, allowing the rescue of the Federation’s political prisoners.”
“And what was your plan?”
Jim barely managed to keep the annoyance from his expression. “My plan was to take First Squad by a route to the east of the valley, along the ridge, with Second Squad following at a distance of 500 meters as a reinforcement team. However, this plan was rejected.”
“Why did you propose a route that specifically contradicted the one assigned in your orders?”
Damn, but he hated justifying the obvious. “Because, sir, the specific assigned route wasn’t essential to the completion of the mission. Putting ourselves in a valley like that, which was bordered on the east, west, and north with high ridges and hills, was setting ourselves up for an ambush. It’s bad tactics to take the low ground, especially with only one escape route.”
“Noted. Your observation of the terrain is being taken into account for your assessment. But without the option of changing the route, what did you do?”
Jim looked around at his team, catching the supportive nods of the cadets who had been assigned the roles of his squad and fire team leaders. He stood straighter at the boost of confidence, despite the fact that it made his shoulder ache. “We moved into the valley in two columns by squad, staggered by fire teams. That way, if we got ambushed, we had four separate reinforcement positions. First Squad took the east side of the valley, Second Squad moved along the west side of the valley floor. Alpha and Charlie teams were to get into place to provide suppressive fire, and then Bravo and Delta teams would overtake them and move on the bunker.”
Commander Mendoza nodded. “Why the redundant plan? Two prongs of the attack essentially mirroring each other?”
At this, Jim smiled. He knew he’d gotten this part of his planning right. “If one team was wiped out, the other was ready to move into position. Based on the topographical data we were given about the valley, it would be hard for an ambush from a single location to hit both teams at once, given the small rise in the center of the valley. I positioned myself in the middle for command-control and to keep visuals on both squads, and I could order either team to move depending on who had the advantage.”
The Commander tapped something into his PADD. “So, what happened?”
“We moved into the valley as planned, and took fire as we approached the bunker at the north end of the valley. Bravo Team of First Squad was hit, and most of Second Squad went down. At that point, I reassessed our fields of fire, the position of the Klingons on the ridge, and personnel available to complete the mission. We needed enough suppressive fire to keep the Klingons on the ridge down until we could create a diversion, thereby allowing the rest of Bravo Team to move up the ridge and take the bunker.”
“A reasonable idea, Kirk... but let’s discuss a few possible problems with that. First, what if there had been a squad of Klingons in the bunker? You only sent three cadets up that ridge. If they’d met resistance inside the bunker, they would have been taken out.”
Jim took a deep breath. Let the grilling begin. “Sir,” Jim said with more confidence than he felt, “Klingons like to meet an attack up front. It doesn’t match their species’ psych profile for them to stay in the bunker. They’d be outside, participating in the ambush. If anything, there would be one Klingon in the bunker... maybe two. And I trust my team to be able to handle those numbers.”
Mendoza raised an eyebrow, tapped something else into the PADD, but said nothing.
Jim felt his face flush with the pressure. “Additionally, sir, Alpha Team knew from the pre-mission briefing that they would to follow Bravo Team if there was a problem in the actual assault.”
Mendoza turned to Stuart, the tough-looking woman who’d led Alpha Team. “Stuart, was your team ready to move if Bravo Team had failed to take the bunker?”
Cadet Stuart nodded immediately. “Yes, sir. Cadet Kirk had thoroughly briefed us on various contingency plans. If any movement in the mission failed, the backup team would move in immediately. We already knew that second squad was immobile, so we were ready to follow Bravo Team if they didn’t manage to secure the bunker.”
“If that was in your briefing to the team, I’ll take it,” Mendoza said, jotting something else onto his PADD. When he looked back up again, his expression was even more critical. “Kirk, how strongly do you feel that this diversion tactic of yours was necessary to the mission? Do you think that setting up some pyrotechnics on the ridge made a significant contribution to the success of the mission?”
“I certainly think it gave them a better chance,” Jim said firmly.
“Did it?” Mendoza challenged.
Jim opened his mouth, but he really didn't have any proof that it had done anything to help the team. He had just been so sure that it was necessary. It had been... hadn't it?
“Sir, if I may?” Thaleb spoke up.
Mendoza tilted his head. “Go for it.”
Thaleb stood. “From my position, I was able to pay close attention to Klingon activity on the ridge. As soon as the grenades went off, the intensity of the disruptor fire dropped significantly. The grenades created a significant amount of smoke and dust. The Klingons couldn’t see through it, which gave me sufficient cover to move to Kirk’s position and offer him aid. I assume it also gave Bravo team enough time to move on the bunker with less incoming disruptor fire. Kirk’s diversion did indeed give the team a much better chance.” Without hesitation, he sat back down.
Mendoza looked down at Stuart. “Did you notice any change in the amount of incoming fire on your squad's position after the charges went off?”
Stuart nodded. “I did, sir. Significantly. Bravo team had to travel across almost 100 meters of open terrain to reach the bunker. We would have been sitting ducks if the Klingons had a clear line of sight, but nobody got shot.”
Jim felt himself release a lungful of air in relief.
Mendoza finally gave a nod of approval. “I’ll accept that.” Again, he tapped something into his PADD, then shifted his stance. “Kirk... when you said that Bravo Team would move when ‘we’ created a diversion, you actually meant you... and only you. Didn’t you?”
Jim frowned. Mendoza’s tone was unexpectedly critical, even more so than before. “Yes, sir.”
Mendoza nodded slowly. “And can you explain to me why you, as the patrol leader, decided to undertake a one-man mission up the side of the ridge to plant a set of grenades, right under the Klingons’ noses?”
So that was it. As the leader, he should have been giving orders, not putting himself in the line of fire. It was standard operating procedure for Starfleet... but as far as Jim was concerned, it was protocol that he didn’t particularly like. Especially when he had the best - and only - chance of creating a diversion.
Jim took a half-step closer and looked evenly at Commander Mendoza. “Because, sir, there were no other reasonable options. I needed the larger teams to lay down suppressive fire and to move on the bunker, and I didn’t want to split them up. I was already moving alone, and a single operative, staying low, had the best chance of planting the charges unseen.”
“Uh-huh.” He didn’t sound convinced. “But you still had a responsibility to your team. Did it even occur to you to try to delegate that mission... planting the charges... to someone else? You felt that the best way to lead your team would have been to potentially leave them without a leader?”
Knowing that self-confidence was part of the evaluation, Jim pushed forward. “I have an entire team of leaders, sir. That’s what the chain of command is for. And I felt that my job, as a leader, was to give my team the best possible chance to complete the mission successfully. If that means I end up getting ripped to pieces by a Klingon... I guess that’s what’s got to happen.”
“But Kirk, that would only be true if you succeeded. You were a single operative, moving directly towards the enemy. Recognizing tactical errors is part of why we have this course. What do you think were your odds of succeeding?”
Jim refused to look away. “Better than anyone else’s, sir. I was in a position where I could reach the slope easily. Maybe someone else could have done it, but I wanted to keep the teams together. It made tactical sense. If anyone was going to do it, it had to be me.”
“Even if your little stunt had turned into a suicide mission?”
Jim felt a surge of anger, hot and tight, welling up in his throat. He hadn't gone on a damned suicide mission. He had been playing to win, and he'd won, hadn't he? “Sir... I took a calculated risk. This is Starfleet. Risk is our business. I knew I was in no position to directly aid the assault on the bunker, and everyone on the team already knew their jobs. I had two tactical choices: I could either attempt the diversion, or just sit there and bark orders into the comm. If I made the attempt and failed, the team lost nothing in a tactical sense. But if I succeeded, I gave them a better chance.”
“So... playing the martyr to give your people a chance at survival... that’s a habit that runs in the family, is it?”
Jim felt like someone had just kicked him. In the gut. With a steel-toed boot. Mendoza had never mentioned his father or the Kelvin incident. In fact, in the past year, that issue had died down around campus and almost nobody mentioned it. This had come out of the blue, and it had blindsided him. “I don’t think that’s relevant to this situation, sir,” Jim said as evenly as possible, even as he felt his blood running cold.
“It’s relevant if it’s part of your decision-making process,” he said plainly. “Part of this course is for every cadet to understand why they make the decisions they do. You can’t lead until you understand the decisions you make. So, did you go on your solo mission to give your team a better chance of succeeding, or to stand out and play hero in the woods?” Mendoza’s tone was oddly light, and Jim didn’t like it
Sure, the guy had a sarcastic sense of humor with the cadets, but Jim had never thought that he’d say something like that. Maybe it seemed like a small deal to Mendoza - a tease to challenge Jim’s motivations - but the Commander had no idea about the can of worms he’d just opened up.
There were a million things racing through Jim’s mind, and he didn’t want to say any of them. My father played the hero, and it got him killed. I’m not here to play hero, I’m here to do a fucking job and try to get out the other end alive. I’m here to prove what I can do, and that I can survive it, not die in some ridiculous hero’s mission. I’m not my father. I'm in this to win.
Instead, he stood a bit straighter and said, “This wasn’t about me, sir. It was about the mission, and it worked.”
“It did.” Mendoza’s expression was unreadable. “And you believe that the extra risk to your own life was a fair trade for the mission working?”
Jim forced himself not to clench his hands into fists. “Absolutely.”
“Would you make the same choices again?” Mendoza’s tone left no room for wavering.
Despite the rushing blood in his ears and his growing desire to raise his voice, Jim was too well-trained to let it show. And he had only one answer. “Yes.” Then, considering this, he shook his head. “Almost.” He indicated his shoulder with a nod of his head. “I would have rolled the Klingon into the tree instead.”
The whole team chuckled lightly, and even Commander Mendoza cracked a smile. “Okay. Not too bad. Successful mission, but keep in mind what I said.”
“Yes, sir.” Jim said, trying to act as though it hadn’t bothered him at all. Just another mission review comment. Nothing more.
Mendoza looked at him for a moment, then nodded. “Okay, Kirk, take a seat.” He looked out over the whole squad. “Now, let’s look at squad-level movements and tactics. Stuart, describe the mission for First Squad.”
Taking a deep breath, Jim sat down on a rock just outside the main circle of trainees and half-listened as Cadet Stuart launched into a discussion of her squad’s mission.
He needed to shake this off. This course wasn’t just about physical and mental challenges; everything was on the table. Emotional and psychological cracks were there to be explored and exploited. If it was something that could be a weakness for a Starfleet officer, it would be prodded, poked, and razed open to bleed out to see if a Cadet really had what it took to lead other people out in the black. It was the difference between an officer and a crewman. It was what made them leaders, and why Starfleet entrusted them with the lives of not only their crews, but of the many beings they would encounter.
Jim felt confident that he’d made the best decisions possible for today’s missions. Yes, he knew that he’d bent protocols more than just a little bit. Mendoza was right; if he’d gone by the book, he would have sent someone else up the ridge. He wouldn’t have moved alone. But damn the book, because he knew he was right.
He’d done things like that during other missions - moving on his own, taking advantage of opportunities when he saw them, even if he didn’t have orders. And, naturally, he’d been reminded a couple of times that he was supposed to be part of the team, not a solo operative. He’d been lauded on his creativity and ability to think on his feet, but he knew that wasn’t everything. He was still at the Academy, and Pike had been right - Starfleet didn’t have much of the leap-without-looking mentality. They wanted their cadets to play by the book, and dammit, hadn’t he done exactly that? Hadn’t he pulled back enough? Wasn’t he playing as part of the team? Did they really want him to fall in line like everyone else and lose what made him Jim Kirk?
I guess so, he thought bitterly.
And now, to top it all off, he was being compared to his father. After everything he’d been through in the past two years, between Terra Prime and the fucking shuttle crash and his crazed roommate and everything else, they were actually asking him if he was doing this shit to play the hero or follow in his father's footsteps? Did they have any clue what actually drove him?
Screw them.
His memory flashed back to a miserable night in Iowa and a drunken, dazed conversation with a pushy Starfleet Captain. Pike had been talking about his father, sanctimonious and preachy, about no-win scenarios and leaping without looking and hero crap, and damned if it hadn’t gotten to him, but he’d never told Pike why the message had hit home.
“Sure learned his lesson,” Jim had replied.
And that’s exactly what he’d meant. Pike had dared him to do better? Well fuck it all, of course he was going to do better, because if his father had done it right, the bastard would still be alive, wouldn’t he?
It felt like his dirty little secret. He hadn’t joined Starfleet to live up to his father’s name. He’d done it because he had been running all his life and it just seemed like another way to run. He’d done it because the vision of the Enterprise against the night sky had kindled a fire in his brain that he didn’t want to put out. He’d done it because he wanted to be good enough, a mantra that he’d still never quite been able to get out of his head, even after he’d understood where it had come from. And, buried deep in a part of his psyche that almost never saw daylight, he knew he’d done it because he wanted a chance to do things right where his father had royally fucked up.
Sure, in the two years since then, he’d taken on other reasons, and his own drive to succeed had been tempered by his experiences. Immersed in a world he couldn’t have understood from the outside, he’d become part of a something bigger than himself with Starfleet. It hadn’t been all about him anymore. It was about the people around him, the team, and the mission. He had even told himself he understood why Captains sometimes go down with their ships.
But that didn’t mean he’d been able to forgive his father. Not completely.
He’d been a young boy with a distant and depressed mother, an angry older brother, a broken family, a history of fuck-up after disaster after catastrophe, and a surname like a damned yoke around his neck. Of course he’d been angry. And on some level, even though it was buried deeply, he knew he still was.
He’d studied the Kelvin. He’d read Pike’s dissertation. He’d gone and found records and recordings and reports. He’d considered everything from a cold, calculating, and objective point of view. Tactically, he’d come to the conclusion that his father had done the rational thing. His childish fury at the father-who-wasn’t-there had finally dimmed, but there was an anger still smoldering. Because as much as he tried to rationalize it, at the end of the day, he still couldn’t make himself understand it.
And he’d never been able to admit that to anyone... including himself.
The heat of the afternoon had sweat dripping down his face, and he brushed his forehead with his good arm. This time, there was no fresh blood - the medic had already mended the cut - but there was still a smear of dry blood on his uniform sleeve. It matched the smear from yesterday. He’d already destroyed one of the three uniforms he’d packed, and he’d have to wait until they found a river or stream if he wanted to clean either of the two that hadn’t been shredded. Not that clean uniforms were technically a priority, but fuck, they were filthy. And then, of course, he doubted he’d have enough time to actually clean them even if he found a river. There was usually barely enough time to sterilize water and refill canteens before they had to start moving again.
Damn, he was thirsty.
Jim blinked and realized he’d completely zoned out, and quickly grabbed one of his canteens and downed half of it. One of the first rules of leadership was that if you couldn’t take care of yourself, there was no way you’d ever be able to take care of anyone else. Out in the field like this, it was harder than he’d expected it to be.
He had to admit, he was exhausted. Hell, maybe that’s why he was plowing through memories and dark thoughts he didn’t need to be considering just then. They’d covered well over a dozen kilometers of rough terrain each day, although it was hard to keep track of the actual distance. Sleep had been scarce, and ration bars were definitely not good for morale.
But really, he was glad to be out here. If he passed this course, he’d become a Cadet First Class. Technically, he wouldn’t even need the courses he’d signed up to take over the summer. He’d start the autumn semester on the same standing as the rest of the cadets graduating that year. However, even more importantly, passing this course made him eligible for an internship posting on a starship for the summer.
Jim finally allowed himself a small grin at the thought, letting his dark mood fall away.
Pike had presented him with the opportunity during their meeting, and with a list of all the ships still accepting cadets for training missions that summer. Jim had only one ship he wanted: the USS Athena. The approval had come through to his PADD before he’d left his dorm the morning the Tactics and Survival course had begun. Therefore, in five days, he’d get back from his course and barely have enough time to shower and re-pack his bags in order to catch the shuttle to the Athena in space dock.
Oh, Bones was going to piss himself.
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To Chapter 3