Of Bajor

Posted on Wed May 27th, 2015 @ 12:27am by Lieutenant Commander Weld Sardal

Mission: Prelude to War
Location: USS Manoora - Deck 9 - Flight Control Center

The air of Starfleet command was hectic. It looked as if someone had kicked an ant pile. Officers and enlisted entangled in a throng of comings and goings. In the chaos of the oncoming storm that is the Dominion War, there is an island of serenity. That island is Sardal Weld. A recent graduate of no particular accomplishment from Starfleet Academy save commendations for pilot skills and a penchant for bucking what ever rules he didn't feel applied to him. As he walked to the shuttle departures he looked down at his PADD. Orders that he requested, a ship that was directly on the front lines.

As many of his kinsman were, Sardal Weld was a survivor of the Cardassian Occupation and was an active terrorist. He had no delusions of what he did. He never labeled himself a hero, a freedom fighter or any other thing than he was; a terrorist. He did awful things to drive off the people that had hurt him, hurt those he cared about. Now he was free to do so again. So much was taken from him in their time on his home world. He was certain that no amount of Cardassian blood would slake his sanguine thirst, nor would it bring ease to the minds of those left alive with the memories of what happened. This would however not stop him from trying.

He stepped into the shuttle. Along with him came a few junior officers also who hesitantly saluted him. Due to his time in the resistance forces he was given a promotion to Lieutenant Commander and a wing to lead. This had caused quite a bit of resentment in his immediate class mates, and for a few classes after him. He was certain that the feeling was justified. But as he learned as a child when strip mining his own world, life isn't fair. If having to salute someone you didn't think deserved your salute was the worst problem you faced, then their life was a fairly easy one.

There was a little shudder as the shuttle took off. Looking out his window, the Academy, San Francisco, they all became a blip off in the distance. Soon approaching was a small flotilla of dry docks. So many ships being refitted, Starfleet was an exploratory force, not a war fleet. That is until the Dominion and Cardassians decided to make such a change necessary. He was glad for the change, under the banner of the Federation Bajor could seek protection. The Cardassians couldn't stand up to the sheer power of the Federation. Neither could the Dominion as far as he could gather. There was no way in his mind that this war would last longer than a year. At which point the Cardassians would be brought to their knees and Bajor could finally be free.

The Manoora rapidly moved into view. Sardal stood to look over his new home for the next foreseeable future. He had never seen an Akira class so close. In point of fact, it was the largest Federation vessel he had been this close to, much less served aboard. His stoic face hid it well but he was impressed at the vessel, and it was nothing he knew size wise to the mighty Galaxy class or the Sovereign. Truly, the Federation was owed all the fear and respect it was given.

The shuttle lands on the flight deck of the Manoora. A hiss and the door flips open, the two Junior Officers take their leave, Sardal sits in the shuttle a moment.

“Sir, we have arrived at the Manoora” the ensign says uncomfortably after a few minutes. He shifts in his seat and makes little busy hand gestures for no reason on the control panel of the craft.

Sardal finds a small amount of amusement in this, but again says nothing. His blank face and distant stare come to focus on the young Bolian. “Thank you Ensign, I am capable of seeing that myself. I would ask that next time you allow a superior officer a moment to gather themselves before pressing them to leave your shuttle” it came out as more of a correction than a suggestion. He didn't care enough to make a correction or clarify the point. In the coming war this junior officer was going to have a cushy assignment ferrying people to and from the surface. So if an errant unearned attitude was the highlight of his ugliness, than so be it.

After a moment to let the ensign stew in his faux pas, the Bajoran stands up and takes his leave of the shuttle craft. The deck was quite similar to the air of Command. People running every direction possible to get the ship ready to deploy. He found such a hurry pointless as they as far as he knew had no marching orders even. As one of the enlisted scurries by, he grabs them by the shoulder.

The Tellarite woman appears ready to snap at him until she sees the pips on his neck. She then snaps to attention. “Sir” is all she barks out waiting for the Lt. Commander to speak.

“I am Lieutenant Commander Sardal Weld. I require an escort to my office or quarters. Then when that has been done I require an immediate sit-rep of the Gold Squadron” he eyes her seriously.

The Tellarite hems and haws, clearly she was either on some sort of important errand, or she thought the errand was important. Either way, who it was not important to was Sardal. As such he took her from her current task and she led him to the control room. Here he found his station with no problem. As he sat down and started through his terminal to see the personnel of his wing and the other wings, the same Tellarite comes and drops a PADD off to his desk. It was the sit-rep that he had asked for.

He ready it attentively. He was happy to see that they were using the latest of Federation fighter technology. The Peregrine far outstripped his re purposed freighter that he flew on Bajor. He had every confidence in the vessels. What had his concern was the status of his wing and fellow wings. There were many untested pilots that ran the gamut of untested to under performing in the Academy. He fought back his initial judgments on his subordinates until he saw them in action.

He stood from the terminal and straightened his uniform. At once he set back out to the flight deck to find his Tellarite shipmate. After a moment he did. She was barking at some of her colleagues about securing a rack of microtorpedo ordnance with out taking out the whole flight deck. He had a feeling that he would like her, and that they would have an excellent working relationship.

After she was done dressing down her shipmates, Sardal once again approached her. She snapped to attention once again. “Sir, I hope that the report was the information you needed. If not I will immediately gather a more up to date status or more in depth status”

Sardal raises a hand placatingly, “That will not be necessary if possible I would like to speak with Captain Whitlam at his earliest convenience in a place that would suit him best” he pauses. “In the mean time” he rolls up his sleeve, “I will be assisting with the preparations for departure on the deck” he nods to her and sets off to lend a hand where he can.