Happier Times

Posted on Fri 18th Aug, 2017 @ 9:02am by Colonel Horatio Drake & Commander Zachary Hunt

1,271 words; about a 6 minute read

Mission: For The Uniform
Location: USS Bretagne: Deck 7, Main Enginering
Timeline: MD-01: 2230 Hours

“Red Alert! We are being attacked by massive chocolate bars! Major Drake... fire the chocolate melting ray!”

Horatio burst out laughing. Patrick, who up until a few seconds ago had been lying next to him, had suddenly jolted up, thrown on his tunic, which was lying on the floor next to the bed, and entered into one of his characters.

“Don’t be stupid” Horatio said in a mock stern tone “if we were attacked by giant chocolate bars I would fire the chocolate melting torpedoes... everyone knows the melting ray would do nothing...”

Patrick broke into a huge grin, he loved it when Horatio played along with one of his stupid characters, he loved the fact that they made him laugh so much... he leant over him and looked deep into his eyes.

“I love you Horatio.” He said, his voice quivering slightly.

“I love you too, Patrick” Horatio replied, embracing him in a tight hug after gently kissing him.

“Listen” he continued “I’m sorry I was late coming home on shore leave... that phaser array installation took longer than we thought and I had to be there to oversee the removal of the old one... you know what these starbase engineers are like... they’ll just as soon...”

Patrick placed a finger over Horatio’s lips... “Don’t worry, I know how important it is to you, what’s important is that I’ve got you now” He said, once again smiling... he tucked his head under Horatio’s arm and placed his arm over him.

He smiled but it soon disappeared, he could have sworn he saw a glimpse of sorrow in Patrick’s eyes. He had been gone too long this time... then, to top things off, he had been four days late in his arrival.

Enough was enough, Starfleet wasn’t going to come first anymore, he couldn’t keep putting Patrick second, something had to be done... action had to be taken.

The smile returned and he held Patrick tight. He inhaled his smell, deeply, that unique smell that filled him with a feeling of devotion and protection. Patrick fell asleep in moments, but Drake lay there with his eyes open... his decision was made.


Drake coughed, his mouth was dry and he head felt like he had just gone ten rounds with a Klingon. As he opened his eyes he could see the strobing effect of the red alert lights in engineering, how on Earth were they working?, he thought to himself. Hunt was knelt over him, holding a tricorder in one hand and a hypospray in the other. He tried to speak, but nothing came out.

"Don't talk yet or move, give yourself a couple of minutes to get back to me," Hunt said, continuing to monitor Drake. The ship had lurched and he had also gone flying, but managed to avoid a collision with anything substantial. Drake hadn't been so lucky and knocked himself out cold. It looked painful, but he knew Drake would tell him he was all fine.

"I'm fine" He pushed his hands away with a sweeping motion and summoned all the reserves of strength he had to pull himself to his feet. He used the incriminating console to support him, one corner of it now covered with a healthy splattering of his blood.

Hunt went behind him and administered the hypospray, "That should help a little. We need to get you back to Vanguard for a proper medical opinion."

Drake nodded, perhaps salvaging a ship of this age and in this condition was too big a task for just two people. He tapped his comm. badge, "Drake to Ryan." The channel was quiet. "Drake to Ryan." He tried again, to no avail. "Sergeant Ryan, respond." He locked eyes with Hunt, something was wrong. "Let's get back to the docking port." Slowly he knelt to pick up his helmet and rifle, something told him he'd be needing both of them.

Hunt nodded back to Drake, "Agreed."

The journey back to docking port four was uncomfortable and strenuous. Despite not having to wear their helmets for the return journey, the air felt thick and sticky and was getting worse by the minute. Every ten minutes of so the two of them had to stop, Drake had been getting incredibly out of breath and simply couldn't keep the pace up - something that made had made Hunt worry even more.

Presently the final jeffries tube hatch was opened and the two stumbled out onto the deck. The strobe of the red alert lights gave the corridor an even more eery feel than when it was just pitch black. Ahead and to the right Drake could see the boots of their friend they met earlier, his body slightly obscured from sight due to the bend of corridor. His subconscious registered it before his conscious, the adrenaline started pumping seconds before he realised why.

He had clipped his helmet to his belt some time ago so was now only holding the rifle, which he raised to a firing position and powered up, setting to maximum stun. "Behind me, tight formation, weapon." He almost whispered.

Hunt did as the Colonel commanded, his heartbeat raising slightly.

Slowly and carefully Drake proceeded down the corridor in the bladed-off stance, reducing his body mass and target opportunity. His rifle darting everywhere in an attempt to cover every possible angle. They reached the body of the Lieutenant, his face still puckered and white.

"His legs" Drake was still on alert and focusing his attention further down the corridor.

Hunt raised his eyebrow towards Drake, the confusion was setting in. It was clear he was in a different position compared to when the corpse first time. He gulped quietly so Drake couldn't see the fear oozing into him.

"Well either a hundred and fifty year old corpse got leg cramp... or someone moved him. When we saw him earlier his left leg was bent at the knee... now both his legs are straight."

"I prefer the leg cramp idea," Hunt quipped, raising the smallest smile.

"I think it's time we get off this ship... we'll come back with a full Marine compliment and find whoever's here. It's probably scavengers." With Drake's rifle still poised, the two of them proceeded further down the corridor.

Within minutes they reached the airlock and once again yet another avalanche of adrenaline shot through his system, but this time he was in time with his mind and knew precisely why.

He turned to Hunt, his tricorder was already out. "We've taken a wrong turn?"

"No, we are where we are supposed to be!" Hunt exclaimed.

As much as Drake wanted to believe they had... he knew they hadn't. To add to this certainty, the panel on the door clearly read, 'DOCKING PORT 4'.

"Drake to Ryan"

"Drake to Ryan, come in"

"This is Colonel Drake calling anyone in the vicinity, respond"

As he moved closer to the viewport he understood why Ryan hadn't responded. Huge chunks of the shuttle now floated around the secondary hull of the Miranda class, as if some giant had come and torn it apart effortlessly.

"What the-," Hunt stopped in his tracks, mouth wide open.

"We need to get comms. back up and running and get a message to Vanguard or the Warspite, let's get to the Bridge."

Hunt nodded towards Drake, following him back to the bridge. He had only just got back to Vanguard and on this away mission, and this was already more than he bargained for!

 

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