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ORIGINS: USS Hood Story Only Post Archives: Difference between revisions
ORIGINS: USS Hood Story Only Post Archives (view source)
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<CENTER>Last Updated: 2260.175</CENTER> | <CENTER>Last Updated: 2260.175</CENTER> | ||
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MED, USS Hood NCC-1703 | MED, USS Hood NCC-1703 | ||
ASR ORIGINS | ASR ORIGINS | ||
</PRE> | |||
==[Origins] HOOD: Hell, Delivered== | |||
===by [[Belin_Daniel|Belin, Daniel]]=== | |||
<PRE> | |||
Mission Date: -One Month | |||
[[Location: Samael IV]] | |||
The hum of transporters rang throughout an old ruin on Samael IV. Not that, by any Earth standards, the ruin was old. In fact, it was no more than a year old. A year ago, this planet had been a thriving civilization, an oasis on the barren edge of the quadrant. Now, it was wasteland, irradiated terrain stretching miles upon miles upon miles. Inside one of the derelict buildings, six beings materialized, all in Starfleet hazard suits and carrying tricorders. A female, who materialized near a burnt corpse let out a scream which rang through the building. | |||
"Amazing. To think this was a civilized, populated planet maybe six months back," said the tall, black haired man in the front. His name was Captain Lord, the commanding officer of the Federation starship Adams. | |||
Then the female vomited, and sank to the ground sobbing. One of the security men, Richards, went over to assist her. The Vulcanian executive officer hailed the Adams, "Away Team to Adams, medical assistance required on planet. Repeat, medical assistance required on planet." | |||
Silence emanated from the communicator. | |||
"Adams, do you read? We require medical assistance" | |||
Again, Silence. | |||
"Adams, Please acknowledge." | |||
At this point, the Vulcanian looked at Captain Lord. Captain Lord shrugged, muttering something about the Vulcan not checking the communicators before they beamed down. Then, he gave the Vulcan his communicator. Then the Vulcan repeated the hail, "Adams, please acknowledge.We require medical assistance." | |||
Silence, long continued silence. | |||
"Is the channel open, Commander?" Asked Captain Lord, looking at the Vulcan's communicator with interest, no status or diagnostic lights were lit. It was a perfectly good communicator, and it seemed to be working fine. Captain Lord said, although it seemed a bit unnecessary, "Now thats damn peculiar." | |||
Suddenly, a whining noise permeated the whole room and the woman asked, "Does anyone else hear that?" | |||
No one had time to answer the question as the room had burst into flames around them and one of the walls had been knocked down. Disruptor fire hit the Captain before he even could draw his phaser, and he was reduced to a shriveling pile of limbs and organs, immobilized and lying in his own blood. Two of the security officers and the Vulcanian were quicker on the draw, and they set their phasers to maximum and opened fire through the hole. | |||
Richards took the nearest communicator and set it to all channels broadcast. At the same time he shot a long burst through the hole into what appeared to be a low-level shield, he screamed into the communicator, "HELP!! SOMEONE, PLEASE REGISTER THIS COMMUNICATION. TAKING FIRE, NEED ASSISTANCE!" | |||
It seemed hopeless, two more of the walls fell, and the two security officers met a terrible fate. They had been lifted up and thrown to the wall by a massive disruptor blast. Only Richards and the Vulcan seemed unscathed, but that was apparently soon going to change. Richards seemed to have taken leave of his senses, and yelled out, "We are done for! Dammit!" | |||
Suddenly, three black shuttle crafts flew out from behind a hill. They didn't look federation, so it seemed like these were the attackers, coming out from their hiding place. They shot their phasers, but not at Richards, they were shooting at where the disruptor fire came from! | |||
They landed near Richards, and Humans in the black equivalent of Starfleet Hazard gear streamed out. There were at least a dozen people, and a whole buffet of weapons, some of which have not been seen outside of a museum in one hundred years. A man in Lieutenants stripes approached Richards and the Vulcan and said, as if from a script, "We are the Starfleet Special Forces and we are here to get you out!" | |||
"It's impossible!" moaned Richards, abandoning all bravado, "They some shield up, it stops all our weapons flat." | |||
"Its an EM field, great for stopping phaser blasts, but it doesn't do squat against projectile weapons," said the Lieutenant, who then identified himself as Lieutenant John De Simms, head of Team Three. He picked up a long cylindrical tube with a grip of sorts and a trigger jutting out about two thirds of the way to the back, with a laser pointer on the end. | |||
"What the hell is that?" asked Richards, some of his bravado now restored. | |||
"A laser guided rocket launcher, used back in the early 21st century, the rocket will go wherever you point the laser. It's a beautiful system if I can say so myself," said De Simms, who after this nice educational conversation decided to give a demo. He mounted it on his shoulder and pulled the trigger. Just for the fun of it he let the rocket do a few corkscrews before it going through the shield like it wasn't there, and impacting a mounted disruptor. After a large boom and copious amounts of smoke, there was no disruptor there, almost if some magician had made it vanish in some 10-cent magic act. All that was left was a tiny dent in the earth. De Simms yelled out, "Okay, the disruptor is down. Hit the Sierra-Golf with a PIP round from the Elephant Gun!" | |||
"The Sierra Golf?" asked Richards, confused. | |||
"The shield generator, that shield generator gets hit, the whole kit and caboodle will go down, in defensive terms," said the Lieutenant, as a Crewman behind him brought out a giant gun and bullets the size of long, fat cigars, "And in case you are wondering, PIP stands for Pyrotechnical Ignition of Plasma, it is a bullet that on contact creates Plasma, explosively." | |||
Suddenly, a huge boom came from the gun, as the 'PIP' headed towards its intended target. However, it hit something that looked like a shield generator, but was actually scrap metal. It let out a huge flare of Plasma as well as a loud roar as the bullet impacted, leaving the scrap metal in shreds. The gunner yelled, "Target misidentified, miss!" | |||
"Wow," said Richards, looking at the smoldering slag left over from the impact. | |||
"You should see what happens when we actually hit a generator, it looks much better than that," said De Simms, firing a volley of | |||
machine-gun fire into the place where a volley of phaser hits had just come from. Another boom emanated from the elephant gun, and this time it impacted the actual shield generator, and De Simms was right, that last hit had nothing on this. The shield generator groaned and let out a flame of ignited coolant as the bullet tore into it. Then the plasma ignited, and took the path of least resistance through the control circuit connection and the actual emitter array. It shot through those two holes, static electricity leaping from it as miniature flashes of lightning, the whole front plate crumpled, and then the machine imploded and shot ten meters into the air as if escaping some invisible restraint. This time the gunner yelled, "HIT! WE GOT IT!" | |||
Now De Simms wasted no time on Richards, and yelled to his men, "Charge! Lets move out," Now, no weapon was not picked up, most of the men had disruptor rifles or phaser rifles, one was firing a old-style M60 from the hip, shooting indiscriminately into the fray. | |||
Finally, five green rusty ships lifted up and screamed away. No one could tell what kind of ships they were, or distinguish any logos. | |||
Then, a Admiral Leisserson stepped off a black shuttle, and said to De Simms, "It's time. I have been delaying for you for two years, but it is really time for you retire from Special Ops. You are two years above the age limit, and a less amiable admiral wouldn't spend a second on you, he would just throw you out. However, I have found a good post for you, on board a Constitution-Class ship, the Hood. You will be the new security chief." | |||
"Great, King of the Redshirts," said De Simms, grimacing already. However, he wouldn't give up a life on the frontier for anything, so he accepted the post. | |||
"Great. So, by the power vested in me by Starfleet, I hereby reassign SFSF LT. John De Simms to the U.S.S hood as the Chief Security Officer on board. He is required to report to the before mentioned position after one month of R&R. Compute," The Admiral said to the tricorder, which sent the order to the shuttle computer, which then sent it to Starfleet CENTCOM for processing, "I also bestow the following acknowledgments upon the before mentioned Lt. De Simms. The Starfleet Medal of Honor, the Meritorious Service Award, the Special Operations Star Honor, and hereby recommend him for the Federation Gold Service Award." | |||
"Great. Awards." | |||
-- | |||
With all due respect, | |||
Daniel F. Belin | |||
Lt. John De Simms | |||
U.S.S HOOD | |||
</PRE> | </PRE> | ||