Second Place Winner Stardate 20403.14
Taming the Beast - Cdr Haren Mormel
© 2004 by Federation Space and the author pen Haren Mormel
Set ten years before current Federation Space events
Colonel von Reuszel, Star Fleet Marine Corps, looked out from behind the bulkhead he’d taken shelter behind. As disruptor fire flashed past his lined and weathered face, he ducked back again. The textbook storming of the engine room hadn’t gone exactly to plan, and now the 25-strong strike team he led was being pinned down by a rag-tag crew of pirate engineers. In the low-light conditions, Edwin’s keen green eyes could just about pick out a group of five of the enemy, armed with a mixture of disruptors and the heavy projectile cannons that were preventing much in the way of movement. However, each time the enemy fired they gave away their position in the barely lit room, and they lacked the discipline to move to a new vantage point.
“Von Reuszel to Alpha Team. We have to move, or the rest of the crew of this ship will be here and we’ll have to abort. 1 Section, suppression fire. 2 Section, when I give the order, advance. 3 Section, cover our backs, and let me know the minute anyone else shows up!” Before the Colonel had finished issuing the orders through his comm-link, the eight men of Section 1 had started to fire, lighting up the dank and rusting aft section with blasts of energy from their phaser rifles. When he was happy that the crewmen were more concerned with ducking for cover than returning fire, Edwin hissed “2 Section, go!” down the comms.
Keeping themselves as low as possible, von Reuszel and 2 Section emerged from behind the various drums, debris and pieces of metal they’d taken cover behind and moved purposefully towards the engines. One of the ship’s crew spotted them, and bullets ricocheted from the railings as he fired wildly. A clinical shot from the Colonel’s type II put him on the floor. Without any further problems, 2 Section reached the blue glow of the warp core, and executed the same plan they’d used many times before. Six members of the section formed a protective ring, whilst the remaining two drew thermic mines from pouches, and clamped the powerful explosives to the core. Erwin watched as they set the timers, before giving the thumbs-up sign. He returned the gesture, and the demo troopers activated the timers. Two minutes to detonation.
“Von Reuszel to Claymore. Charges set. Get us out of here!” No sooner had the Colonel finished speaking than he and the Marines under his command faded in the blue afterglow of the transporters.
Re-materialising on board the USS Claymore, Edwin looked round. Of the 25 men that had beamed over, all 25 had beamed back, their fatigues streaked with dust, dirt and oil from the poorly maintained engine room. Sgt Blenkinsop was cradling a nasty wound to his arm, and von Reuszel didn’t hesitate in ordering the man to the Sickbay. For his own part, the Colonel headed for the bridge, after congratulating the men on another job well done.
As he boarded the turbolift, Edwin had time to reflect on the success of the mission yet again. The 2nd Fleet had started using q-ships, heavily gunned Star Fleet vessels disguised as freighters, with onboard complements of Marines, to crack down on the growing threats from rogue pirate elements on the loose after the General War. The light, fast attack craft the pirates preferred could dance around and evade fleet actions forever. However, they were seemingly unable to the resist the lure of a nice, fat, unguarded transport, and swooped in for the kill. Unluckily for them, the cargo bays of the refitted ships packed shield generators and phaser banks, which disabled the attackers just long enough to send over a Marine team who’d blow the warp core before returning to their ship and fleeing the area. It had worked time and time again, and due to the disparate and suspicious nature of the enemy there was no reason it couldn’t continue to work.
With a chime, the lift doors slid open and the Colonel stepped onto the bridge.
“Captain Mirfield, mission successful.” He said, addressing the CO.
“Excellent Colonel! Leaves us with just one more to go before we can return to base.” The captain was rather keen to return, where he hoped to be assigned a real ship to command. Anti-pirate duties were important, but not quite the glamorous role he’d hoped for. “We’re heading for the Belial system now – 17 attacks in the past six months, so pretty likely to throw us our last target wouldn’t you agree?”
Von Reuzsel’s eyes glinted in the harsh lights of the bridge. “Definitely, Captain.” Edwin pulled his beret off and scratched absently at his shaved head. “I could use some leave about now, as could the troops. How long before we’re there?”
“Three and a half hours. Will you be ready by then?”
“I guess I’d better be. Let me know when we get close.” The Colonel left the bridge again, heading for the refitted cargo bay that now served as a makeshift barracks and training area for two companies of the Star Fleet Marines. A short trip on the turbolifts later, he arrived, and started rousing a fresh strike force for this last mission.
Three hours later, the Claymore arrived at the Belial system, following the same trade route that so many victim ships had taken. In the transporter room, von Reuszel was ready and waiting. On the bridge, the Tactical officer manning ops watched the sensor readout screen like a hawk, and when he saw readouts showing a craft decloaking just behind the Claymore he yelled out.
“Captain! We have our target! It’s on an intercept course, weapons hot! Looks of Orion origin, about the size of a frigate!”
“Raise shields, charge phasers, aim for their weapons and engines and open fire when they get close enough!” Captain Mirfield spun his chair round, his eyes fixed on the viewscreen, and watched as the wasp-like ship overtook them and cut across their path. Heavy disruptor fire lashed out, intended to slow the ship down, but it was stopped by the shields. The Claymore’s phasers bracketed the raider craft in reply; although short-ranged and unable to function for very long without overheating, the weapons packed similar punch to a cruiser’s, and within the space of two minutes the enemy ship had been disabled.
“Drop the shields! Mirfield to von Reuszel – you’re clear to go. Target is an Orion frigate. Good hunting, Colonel.” The CO cut the channel. “Have they gone?” he asked the ops officer.
“Confirmed, sir. The Marine strike team is aboard.” The man blinked. “Sir, I’m picking up another ship on an inbound vector. Judging by this readout, they’re aiming straight for the pirate craft!”
Mirfield’s blue eyes bored straight into the tactical officer. “What are they doing?”
“I’m reading an energy surge – they just sent their own team aboard, sir! But I’m not reading any active weapons – they’re ignoring us.”
“Can we contact the Marines?”
“Negative, they’ll know in an instant, and the Colonel would go ape if we broke radio silence!”
Vernon Mirfield rubbed his head. “Then I hope he’s ready to deal with unexpected extra guests.”
Aboard the target vessel, the Marines were having problems, but at the moment those were nothing to do with visitors they knew nothing of. The Claymore had beamed them onto the wrong part of the ship, and they were now having to find the engine room. The three sections of the strike force were advancing as fast they could whilst still protecting themselves. One section would move forward, the other two covering, before a different section would leapfrog them and advance further. It was hardly fast, but von Reuszel wasn’t in the mood to throw men away.
This is still taking too long, he thought to himself. He’d stuck with 1 Section, and as they scurried along the corridors he kept pace, constantly scanning for any signs of the enemy. A luckless Orion technician ran into view, and his jaw dropped before a phaser shot blasted his chest away.
“OK, we’re getting close. Be on your guard.” The colonel spoke into the comm link. “I can smell that warp core.” The strike force kept up their advance, and within minutes they’d located the engine room. Awkwardly, it had three entrances in a T-shape, and the Marines had stormed in from the right. Golden bolts of energy leapt from their rifles and connected with any Orions they saw moving.
Edwin and the demo team closed on the core, but before they could get there there was an almighty roar and the soldier next to him was punched off his feet, his left side torn away by the impact of a shell. Soldiers had entered straight across from the Marines, wearing effective camouflage and carrying projectile weapons. There were no more than ten of them, but they were very well trained and laid down a storm of fire that drove the colonel and the remaining trooper back into cover.
“Where the frell did they come from? And who in the name of all that’s holy are they?!” Von Reuszel stuck his head up over the crates he’d taken cover behind, and loosed several shots from his type II – he wasn’t aiming, he just wanted to silence them temporarily to get a better idea of what he was up against before he was sent ducking again. The enemy were human and of varying ages, led by a massive kid, barely if at all out of his teens and carrying an equally large shotgun; every time he fired the weapon the floor shook. Mercenaries? the colonel thought. Guess some people will fight for anyone for the right amount of latinum.
As he prepared for another attack, Edwin realised he was taking casualties; whoever they were, the enemy had taken down at least five Marines.
He rolled around the side and fired twice, the expertly-aimed shots hitting a trooper in the chest and then the head, pitching him to the floor. Before he was sent ducking again, there were several bright flashes behind the other force’s position, and they whirled round. Orion troops had entered the engine room, and were cutting down the other force as they attacked their exposed rear. They put up a brave fight, but soon only the leader remained. The kid could fight – anyone coming close enough was either blasted into pieces by that cannon of his or hammered into oblivion with the stock of the weapon. As Edwin watched, he drew a grenade from a pouch and threw it, using the resultant explosion to jump clear of his cover and sprint towards the Marines who’d stopped firing.
The kid vaulted the crate and landed next to the colonel. He was truly massive – probably six and half feet tall and 300lbs of muscle. Von Reuszel felt small in comparison.
“The name’s Mormel. I don’t know what you guys are doing here, but it’s probably the same thing I am – to blow this ship. Now, can we help each other here?” His voice suggested someone much older – deep, powerful but quiet and measured. A jagged scar ran across his right eye, and his stare was that of a man who has seen too much.
“Colonel von Reuszel, Star Fleet Marine Corps. Yes, we’re here for the same reason as you, although you’ve delayed us for so long I don’t know how we’re going to get to the warp core.” Pirates had flooded the engine room from all three entrances, and had engaged the Marine rearguard.
“Not my fault. All I could see was green, and on an Orion ship that generally means bad guys.” Mormel was unrepentant, and racked the slide on his shotgun before looking over the crate and firing. Three pirates creased at the waist and fell. Edwin had a retort prepared, but didn’t get the time to use it as the pirates charged and the engine room devolved into a hand-to-hand brawl. The Marines and their new ally were much better trained and equipped, but for every Orion they knocked down there seemed to be three ready to take his place. Von Reuszel ducked a clumsy bayonet thrust and replied with a point-blank shot to his attacker’s throat. The next Orion to approach him received a vicious kick to the groin for his trouble, and the one after him was pistol-whipped into the middle of next week.
In the split-second break, the colonel looked around. A growing pile of dead pirate scum surrounded Mormel, who was fighting like a demon, snarling with anger as every blow fell. Elsewhere, the Marines were winning, but it was a slow and bloody struggle. Edwin’s attention was brought back to his own fight as a disruptor shot flashed past his ear. The return shot punished the firer’s incompetence. Next thing he knew, von Reuszel was on the floor, and the back of his head was throbbing. The Orion who’d hit him was aiming downwards with his weapon, and the Marine steeled himself for the shot to come. But the shot never came – the alien’s chest exploded, and then Mormel was standing over the fallen colonel. Von Reuszel felt a hand grab his collar, and he was hauled roughly to his feet.
“Time we made our move. Together, we fight to the warp core, then I hope you’ve got those flashy Star Fleet transporters locked on because we’ll have seconds.” Mormel’s voice was strained and hoarse, but still carried easily. Edwin just nodded, and followed the much bigger man as he started to carve himself a path towards the core, using fists, feet and blasts from his cannon to clear the way. The colonel found himself running backwards, discouraging pursuit with rapid bursts from his phaser and relying on that shotgun to remove any threats.
After a few tense moments, the pair reached the warp core, and Mormel spun round.
“Once I do this, we haven’t got thirty seconds before it blows. Call your transporters now!” he yelled over the din of the firefight, and rammed his gun into the coolant pipes. Realising his intentions, von Reuszel activated the comm.
“Von Reuszel to Claymore. Beam me and all remaining Marines the hell off this death trap!” As he finished, he was almost deafened by the sound of the shotgun going off again, this time in close proximity as the coolant pipes weren’t just severed but shattered. The Colonel grabbed hold of Mormel’s tunic as the transporter beam caught, ensuring the kid was beamed away to safety.
After all, he did save my life, Edwin thought as they disappeared.
What remained of the strike team re-materialised on board the Claymore. This time, only nine bruised, battered and bleeding men had made it back, and all glared hard at Mormel.
“Sir, with all due respect, why save him? He killed Hawkes, Kr’tash and Seor. He deserves to fry along with the rest of the pirate scum!” It was Private Ertas who’d spoken, and von Reuszel looked at him sharply.
“Because this pirate scum completed the mission and saved my damned life, that’s why! You’re all dismissed; get to Sickbay and get yourself checked out. I don’t care if you think you’re fine – go anyway.” Nobody moved. “Get out of my sight!” the colonel bellowed. “Now!” Eventually, and muttering under their breath, the Marines left, leaving Edwin alone with the towering Mormel. The younger man’s eyes were aflame with rage, and his shotgun was aimed. “You, come with me. I want to talk to you. And you’re leaving that here. No-one’s going to steal it.” Slowly, reluctantly, the gun was leant against the wall, and Mormel trailed von Reuszel to the turbolift.
The pair stepped out into what passed for a canteen. As the ship was a refitted cargo vessel, all there was was a food replicator bolted squarely to the wall, and rows of tables and chairs. Currently, it was empty, and Edwin tapped the codes for a simple mug of coffee.
“Would you like anything?” he asked Mormel. The man shook his head, so the colonel picked up the mug from the pad and lead the way to a table. Pulling the chair out, he sat down, and the new arrival did likewise, sitting opposite.
“First, I want to thank you for saving my life. Although I am intrigued as to why.”
“Simple. If you died I’d have never got off that ship.”
As Mormel spoke, von Reuszel watched him carefully, taking in every movement. The colonel had been around for a very long time, and he knew what he was looking for. The glimmer of a fierce intelligence behind hazel eyes, short but unkempt brown hair, the lines and scars on the face of a young man still not yet in his prime, but still extremely heavily built, the fabric of the ragtag fatigues he wore barely holding him. Mormel sat in a very defensive posture, his arms folded and held close to his body.
“I think we both know there’s more to it than that. And you can cut the ego – I’m not a threat to you. If I was, you’d still be on that Orion frigate.” Initially, there was no reaction to Edwin’s words, but the colonel eventually saw a slight softening of the expression.
“Because I felt you’d have done the same for me” Mormel said eventually.
“OK. Now you’ve told me that, who the hell are you and what were you doing on board that crate?”
“My name’s Haren Mormel. Son of Kravin.”
“Impossible. Kravin Mormel was born an evil bastard and has only got worse. I don’t see him taking time out to have a family.”
Haren slammed a fist onto the table and leaned down. “Don’t call me a liar. I know who my father is, and I know what he is. Who do you think gave me this?” He pointed angrily to the scar over his eye as he leant back again. “I got that running away from his ship at Banakari.” Von Reuszel had heard of the Banakari incident, when Kravin Mormel had attacked a convoy which had heavy support nearby. It had been the closest anyone had come to stopping him, and was highly classified within Star Fleet. So unless this Haren was an intelligence officer, which was unlikely, he was telling the truth.
“OK, let’s assume you are who you say you are. Shouldn’t you be off somewhere else following your father’s footsteps?”
“I’m not like him. Someone has to atone for what he’s done, and if it has to be me then it has to be. I’ll find him, and then I’ll kill him.” As he talked about his father, a bestial snarl twisted Mormel’s face, and to see such anger on someone so young made Edwin’s heart sink.
“How old are you?”
The question seemed to throw Haren totally, and the anger was replaced by confusion. “I… don’t know. 19, I think. 20 maybe.” He paused. “Nobody’s ever asked me about things like this before.”
“What, finding out about you?”
“No. All they care about is can I fight, and how much do I want to fight. Nothing else matters.”
“You look pretty capable. I haven’t seen anyone fight like you in all my time as a soldier.” The colonel wasn’t exaggerating; Mormel had been genuinely scary as he fought on the frigate.
“Haven’t stopped. All I’ve known is fighting, that or fixing things.”
“Brought up as a warrior?”
“What’s ‘brought up’ mean?”
“You don’t know that?” Von Reuszel looked sideways at the man. “Are you joking with me?” He got the same totally blank look. “It’s hard to explain. Your parents? Going from a child to a man?”
“I don’t know my mother – I’ve no idea who she is or even where. And I don’t remember ever being treated differently – it’s always been the same. Fight or fix. My father was always somewhere else, and when I did see him all he showed me were his fists.”
“OK, so no parents. Friends?”
“Nope. Never needed them. Always been told what to do, and I take others with me to make it happen.”
“So you’ll do anything you’re told? Shoot anyone, take anything?”
“NO!” Haren leaned down, but his expression was a strange one, as though he was at war with himself. “No. Not any more.” The voice was weaker now, more like a child’s. “But I’ve done things; things I shouldn’t have done. I won’t do them now – I only do what’s right, fight those who can fight back.”
The colonel scratched his head. He wasn’t a counsellor, he was a soldier, but it was still going to take something major for this kid to ever amount to anything. He’d lived totally on his own for most of life, and brought himself up as he went. But there was definitely potential. Potential to go a long, long way. Beyond his obvious physical attributes, he clearly possessed a sense of honour and a powerful mind, despite the simple vocabulary.
“Have you ever considered joining Star Fleet? Making the most of the skills you have?”
“Hell no. You’re more likely to try me for murder and piracy than welcome me in. And anyway, I give orders. Can’t take them.”
The reply didn’t overly surprise Edwin. He’d figured Mormel had been fighting for a very long time, judging by the number of scars he had and the ease with which he fought. And the Federation had a habit of outlawing anyone shooting at any of its members, so chances were there was a warrant somewhere with the kid’s name on. But, von Reuszel thought to himself, I doubt any of it is likely to be cast-iron, so it could be set aside without too many problems. But I need to get him interested, and there is only one way that’s going to happen, and that’s to show him.
“Right. Come with me. We’re going to go train with the rest of the Marines.” The colonel got to his feet and walked away, and probably more out of curiosity rather than anything else Haren followed. As the pair boarded the lift and headed for the training deck, von Reuszel carried on talking. “Maybe if I show you what we do I can change your mind. On your own, you won’t make much of a difference. Just another hired gun in a universe full of them. But as one of us, you’re a part of something greater. Something out there protecting people, stopping the Kravin Mormels from ever getting any further.”
The lift arrived, and the colonel and the mercenary walked out into the middle of 150 training Marines.
“Whatever you think you’re good at now, we can make you better, stronger” Edwin said, trying to appeal to whatever part of Haren would be making the decision. “True, you’re strong now. Very strong. But you can take it to another level.” They’d reached the firing range, and von Reuszel stooped and picked up a phaser rifle. He passed it to Mormel, who accepted it wordlessly, understanding immediately what was being asked of him.
The mercenary aimed the weapon down the range, settling it against his shoulder as if he’d been using it all his life. The first shot pulled slightly to the left, and Haren compensated and Edwin watched as the second, third, fourth and fifth rounds, at varying distances and angles, all slashed through the edge of the bull’s eye.
Impressive, von Reuszel thought, particularly seeing as he’s probably never picked up a type III phaser before in his life.
Still remaining silent, Mormel let himself be led towards the close quarters drills. As the massive mercenary approached, the practises stopped as he strode onto the central mat. Private Ertas, the Marine who’d given Haren grief earlier, stepped out to face him, his lank blonde hair and keen blue eyes studying his opponent for any obvious weaknesses. Not finding any obvious angles, Ertas charged, at the very last minute changed direction, hoping to skirt around behind. It didn’t work – Mormel saw the move coming a mile away and contemptuously chopped the private’s legs out from under him with a kick. Ertas sprawled face-first on the mat, but bounced back up again. As soon as he was upright, he realised Haren had thrown a punch, but it was far too late to move out of the way. The private was lifted off the ground and hurled across the deck by the blow, which had been driven by a lust for vengeance, and Edwin had to step in to prevent the mercenary being assaulted by every Marine present. He walked into the centre of the ring, and purely by his authoritative glance he kept the troops back.
“Mormel, we don’t take things so seriously during drills. There’s no point – if we cripple each other practising, how many are going to be left to face the enemy?”
“If it’s a game, why bother? It doesn’t matter.”
“The aim is to practise new techniques. We can all see you’re strong; the muscles are there for everyone to see. But I bet I can put you on the floor.”
“Not a hope.”
“Right then.” The colonel moved back, and squared his shoulders. “Come get me.”
Haren approached, moving slowly at first. He darted forward suddenly, but von Reuszel was ready and leapt sideways into the big mercenary, who found himself on the back foot. He wasn’t given time to react as he was pushed again, overbalancing and hitting the mat on his back.
“You see?” Edwin said. “Skill is just as important as strength. Now get up and try that again.” Mormel stood, and this time von Reuszel came for him. In an exact reverse of what just happened, the colonel was dumped onto the mat in double-quick time.
Haren extended a hand, and hauled the other man to his feet. He would have said something, but the chime of a comm-badge interrupted the conversation before it could start.
“Mirfield to von Reuszel. We’re less than ten hours away from Starbase One – can I suggest you begin preparations to disembark. It has been a long mission, and I for one am looking forward to the leave. Mirfield out.” The message, in the Captain’s disembodied voice, brought a smile to Edwin’s face, and he addressed the Marines.
“You heard the man. Clean it up and pack it up, for in ten hours we drink!” The colonel’s trademark end-of-mission announcement drew a ragged cheer from the Marines. “Haren, you come with me. We still have much to talk about.”
It had been 24 hours since the USS Claymore had docked at Starbase One, 18 hours since Mormel had sat in a JAG office whilst von Reuszel had sweet-talked the Judge Advocate General’s representative into issuing a formal pardon for the mercenary’s previous actions, and 16 hours since the colonel had left Haren in some temporary quarters with a simple decision to make.
“If you want to give it a try, if what I’ve shown you has meant a damn, then meet me at 1100 hours in the Thirsty Fish Tavern. If not, and you’re still convinced that, on your own, you can achieve more, then get on the next shuttle out of here and I’ll forget I ever met you.”
Sitting on the barstool in the tavern, Edwin checked his wrist chronometer. 1059 hours. He ordered himself another gin and tonic, and reckoned he’d wait until he finished the drink before leaving. As the glass was placed in front of him, von Reuszel saw a bulky figure sit next to him and order a pint of beer. He turned, and Mormel looked him in the eye.
“You made your decision?”
“Yeah. Thanks, but no thanks. It was a very good of you to make the offer, but I wouldn’t fit.” Haren’s words sounded wooden and rehearsed to the colonel, so he decided to probe a little further.
“You’d be surprised” he said, all the time gauging the other man’s reaction.
“No, I wouldn’t. You don’t know what I’ve done.” The beer arrived, and the mercenary drank deeply. “Everyone else would be normal, would know more words, be able to talk. I’m not like that. I get angry. Very angry.”
“A good counsellor with some body armour would work wonders. I know you have it in you – you saved my life, and showed the kind of courage and honour most Star Fleet captains would kill for.”
An officer in a red tunic sat down in the stool next to Mormel, and jostled his arm as he raised his glass again. Haren didn’t say anything; he put the glass down on the bar, then with a slow and careful precision picked up both stool and startled Bajoran and threw them backwards about six feet.
“But you stop that s**t right now!” Edwin warned, pointing sternly at Mormel. “I don’t care about your temper, you do that again you’ll get arrested, pure and simple. I can’t protect you from that forever.”
“If people leave me alone, I’m fine” came the reply, in a tone of voice laden with menace.
“Whatever.” The colonel was totally unphased. “I’ve seen worse anger problems than yours in my time, admittedly in Klingons, but they’ve been worked out. And so what if you don’t have a huge vocabulary. I’ve noticed you learn fast, very fast, and within a year nobody will be able to notice. There is nothing stopping you signing up but you.”
Haren sat down again. He looked straight ahead, and sat there unmoving, thinking. Von Reuszel had finished his drink and two more before the mercenary turned round again.
“I’ve thought about it.” Mormel paused, thinking how to phrase his final decision on how the rest of his life would go.
“Come on, out with it! Don’t keep an old man in suspense!” Edwin joked.
A further week had passed, and now it was a warm, pleasant morning in San Francisco, Earth. The days had flown by, in special meetings and committees. There had been interviews, and medicals, and arguments aplenty. But now Cadet Haren Mormel, dressed in olive green Star Fleet Marine Corps fatigues and with a duffel bag slung easily across one shoulder, stood at the gates of the Star Fleet Academy. Like a proud father, Colonel Edwin von Reuszel stood behind him.
“Through those gates lies your future. In four years’ time, you graduate as a Marine officer, a better man and able to do something to change the universe we live in.” The colonel’s voice was sincere, and his words weren’t lost on the former mercenary. “Just learn to tame the beast, and you’ll be fine. Now go. We’ll speak again, of that you should have no doubt.”
Mormel turned, and offered his hand. It was the first gesture of friendship he’d ever made, and von Reuszel couldn’t help but grin wolfishly as he took the hand and shook.
“Thank you for everything, colonel” Haren said, sincerity showing through in his every move and lighting up his eyes.
“Just you go in there and do your best. You’re better than any of them. Now prove me right.”
“I will. See you in four years. Sir.” The cadet turned around and walked through the gates, nervously at first, but then with a determined stride, into the Academy and into Star Fleet.
