Executive Officer’s Personal Log, Stardate 51080.7

Posted on Fri May 20th, 2016 @ 3:29am by Commander Elliot Drake

It’s only been three months since the start of this God forsaken war, but it feels like so much longer. The casualty reports keep coming in, full of young men and women I have never met, and will never have the chance. Full of names of those I have known, good friends and colleagues. This war has already taken so much, and I fear that it may only take more. Every day another list is sent to my attention, and every day I’m reading more and more names. But the worst part, the most devastating part, is that I’m getting used to all of this. Reading the daily casualty list is becoming my routine, just another part of my day.

I wish I could say that was it. I wish I could say a lot of things. But none of them would be true. The sight of the flashing warning of yellow alert used to be a sign of concern, a warning that something was wrong. Now the sight of yellow alert is a comfort, reminding me that it could be worse, that we could be in battle. My hip once felt heavy from my phaser once carrying a sidearm became regulation. Now I nearly feel naked without it. I use to find it strange to see a new face on the bridge. But with so many officers being promoted and given their own commands, I just take it all in stride. It’s not even something I notice anymore. Half the time I don’t even bother with names. I just point and give orders. It’s just easier that way.

It’s only been three months, but it’s easy to think that even if we make it out of here alive, none of us are going to be the same. The Manoora has been one of the lucky ones. We’ve avoided the heaviest of the fighting so far. But I can’t imagine that will last. Every report I see that tells of another retreat, another system lost to the Dominion, I can’t help but wonder how long we have before our names get added to that list. When another first officer skims past my name, hardly taking notice since it’s all just part of his routine. Will we have made a difference? Will we have died in vain? I don’t know. I may never know.

For now, the only consolation I have is that we’ve mostly managed to stay away from the front lines. Our mission to Faidon IV might have its challenges, and this close to the front is always a high risk, but it’s better than being under constant fire. I suppose my mother would take some comfort in that. It’s funny how excited she was when I said that I was joining Starfleet. Now that feels like a lifetime ago. Now she’s sick with worry and losing sleep. Dad isn’t much better. He’s doing his best to stay strong for her. Somehow my sister is holding it together, but I don’t know how. I guess Michelle figures someone has to. I don’t know what’s harder though, watching my family crumble with fear of losing me and fear of the Dominion, or trying to keep a straight face and tell them that everything is going to be all right. Maybe the worst part is that it’s becoming routine.

I really can’t imagine what they are feeling. Every day I’m waiting to hear news from the front, but my family can sometimes wait days or even weeks for that same information. Every day is a constant struggle against the fear of not knowing. For my mother especially, I don’t think reading the new wire will ever be routine. She reads every casualty list, praying that she doesn’t see my name. She checks her mail timidly every morning, terrified that she will find a letter, or be greeted by a man in a Starfleet uniform. It’s the fear of losing someone close, a fear that I never really understood until recently.

In any case, I need to keep fighting, whether it’s to protect my family back on Alpha Centauri, or simply to avoid all of this madness from becoming routine. I don’t want to take comfort in having a phaser at my side. I don’t want to feel relieved at the sight of a yellow alert. And I certainly don’t want to keep skimming over those damned lists. Death should never be routine. So I’ll keep fighting, in case one day my name does end up on that list. At least then, maybe it will be worth something.