Marine Country

Posted on Thu May 14th, 2026 @ 1:10pm by Captain Remy Johansen & Major Clay McEntyre III & 1st Lieutenant Ángel Martinez & Lieutenant Jean-Baptiste Dorsainvil & Josef Forstinger & Gunnery Sergeant Ragnar Grymblöd & Corporal Eden McKenzie
Edited on on Thu May 14th, 2026 @ 1:11pm

2,103 words; about a 11 minute read

Mission: Peril at the Unification Accords
Location: Deck 17 Crew Lounge
Timeline: MD 11, 1200 Hours

* * * Deck 17 Crew Lounge (Marine Hangout) * * *

"That must have cost you a pretty penny," Simon commented as Corporal Shin passed around a bottle of Romulan ale to share. "I can't imagine they are even still making this are they?"

The arms specialist shrugged. "Vashti's trying to get some interstellar trade up and running. Some people can taste a difference, I'm not old enough to remember the vintage stuff."

Ragnar approached from the direction of the crew showers wearing the standard PT Uniform and gave a hearty deep chuckle that rumbled through the room. "Oh; they still make it, nothing beats the old vintages though... Time really lets the flavor develop." The bear of a man settled into a chair after spinning it out so the back faced the rest of the marines.

9 Days, it has been 9 Days since Josef had woken up in the future, and somehow he had already gotten himself stuck in "Daycare", at least, that's what he was beating himself up about-when it was nothing more than getting him amongst other people-which in this case, according to the captain's choice, was the marines. Some of whom may be able to relate to him-as much as one can to a person at least 300+ years older than them. Hell, maybe it wouldnt be so bad ! But there was still this nagging voice in the back of his head that just would not shut up.

Eventually being able to find the Marines Hangout on Deck 17 thanks to directions received via PADD he had promptly left behind in his quarters.

At least he finally figured out the sliding doors, he entered the room, standing out perhaps due to a lack of uniform of any kind--or modern clothes for that matter. The same jeans, combat boots and wife beater he had worn almost every single (so far rare) time he had appeared outside his quarters.

Corporal Trevor "Patches" Pacioretty was already there when the bottle made its gradual, democratic rounds. He spied the non-marine step into the lounge and turned his attention back to the table.

He sat sideways on a scuffed and worn bench that had seen better days. One boot planted, the other hooked under one of the decorative rungs. There was a strip of medical tape wrapped three times around his left hand. Nobody had asked about the tape--they never did. He fixed things, or broke them neatly enough that someone else could fix them later. That was the job, more or less.

"Pretty penny?" Patches echoed, his voice low and parched. He took the bottle when it came his way. "Depends who you ask."

He took a small drink and handed it off to Shin. "Well, it's still blue."

Martinez was sitting in the far corner, a PADD in their hand as they read over some reports. Even down time meant paperwork once you reached a certain rank. They had clocked the civilian entering, making a note of it before refocusing.

They glanced over to the bottle being passed around, a small smile tugging at the corner of their lips. They could crack down on it. Establish authority that way...but no. Not their style...also, they had once been one of them, just...in a different force. Hurry up and wait was the hardest thing a soldier could do...that also went for the Marines. Even so... "That best be the sort of drink you can shake off in an emergency," they said, voice pitched to be heard, not looking up from the PADD. But there was clear amusement in their voice as well.

Ragnar flashed the LT an amused grin at her comment and offered a reply for the rest of the Marines, despite being relatively new to the Astrea himself. "Aye, LT... I have no reason to doubt these lads and lasses will be able to perform as necessary... even if they are a little buzzed."

Martinez looked over at Ragnar, watching him for a moment. "I'll count on it, Gunny," they said before raising a scarred eyebrow for a moment. They glanced over at Josef, shutting the PADD off. "We don't bite. Come and get settled."

"Unless you're into that sort of thing," Simon piped up. "If so, we can tell you where to go," he added before letting out a hearty laugh.

Josef had only observed the Marines so far. Seeming a little detached, as if analysing the situation--but as soon as he was spoken to, that detachment seemed to vanish. He approached the table. "Sorry, I didn't want to interrupt anything," he responded to Martinez's offer, his hand raising and lowering as he approached.

He chuckled at Simon's quip. "Wouldn't you like to know? But I'm afraid I've already been told. Captain ordered me to report to Major McEntyre--or well, talk to him about PT," he explained, grabbing himself a chair.

Patches grinned at the Major's name. "He will break you down and put you back together, that's for sure."

He dragged his thumb along the edge of the tape on his hand and looked over at Josef. "Don't let the fur fool you either. First time I saw him, I figured--" he shrugged, deciding the thought wasn't worth finishing. "--well, I don't figure much anymore."

"Nothing against the Major, he could probably kick my ass. But I've been through PT before, though its been a very long time-at least technically." Josef responded to Patches. "Active Combat Duty somewhat makes up for it I suppose." the man shrugged.

Ragnar chuckled, eyeing Josef up; the quiet confidence, the stance of a soldier, and the touch of arrogance. His mouth maintained a thin line the entirety of the moment. After a moment he chuckled to himself and spoke. "How many hours shipboard have you done in your time? The gravity on board starships is slightly different."

Before Josef could respond to the Gunny Sergeant, yellow lights began flashing along the ceiling, the computer calmly announced, "Yellow Alert."

Ragnar's demeanor changed in an instant; gone was the good humoured and laid back Gunny that could crack a joke and give shit with the worst of them and in his place was every bit the seasoned military professional; a firm grimace had taken the place of the small smile that had graced his face. He rolled out of his chair and was on his feet in a fluid motion. "I presume I don't need to state the obvious. Let's move; gear up and into standby status. Find your positions for reactionary force!" The command was given in a sharp voice that echoed through the room briefly after his mouth had stopped moving.

Patches was already moving when Ragnar finished the sentence. His locker snapped open and he immediately had part of his vest on in less than three seconds. He always kept his gear neat and ready to be donned for this very reason. No Marine ever wanted to be called to action unprepared.

For the next forty seconds, Pacioretty's world narrowed down to straps, seals, and unspoken checks. Everyone around him was moving in the same urgent but unhurried rhythm. He slammed the locker shut and glanced over at the other marines, his expression now all business.

McKenzie moved with the same urgency as everyone else - her vest straps were tightened and she rolled her neck around, hearing the pops of vertebrae, before closing her eyes and exhaling through her nose to center herself. Within a minute her gear was on and secured and her thumbs were tucked into the vest for comfort. She was more suited to behind the scenes, more like tech support than anything, but still she waited for orders if they were going into a combat situation.

Within minutes the Red Alert klaxons began to sound, signalling a new level of threat.

The Captain's voice came over Major McEntyre's commbadge, [Major, coordinate a deck by deck sweep for possible intruders. We need identification of everyone aboard, and all areas secured. Pull personnel from other departments as necessary.]

"Aye, Aye, Sir!" Clay spoke as he entered Marine Country.

"YOU HEARD THE LADY, MARINES, SADDLE UP!! I want a full compartment by compartment sweep of the ship! 4 man chalks, do not lose contact with your squadmates!"

Clay barked his orders with precision. "Phasers on Heavy stun! Let's Move! McKenzie, Guns and Mr. Forstringer with me. Martinez take Second Platoon, move in opposite of my groups, oo-rah?"

Clay moved with purpose before stopping before Josef. "I'm goin take a chance on you. Captain said you got combat experience, even if it is a few hundred years out of date. Grab a suit of armor from the racks, Ms. McKenzie will issue you a phaser rifle. Stick to my ass like glue, got me Marine?"

As the yellow alert had begun, Josef was-a little confused. Well, he tried not to show it physicaly, the only indicatiuon would be there to someone who knew him well-for he...did nothing. He was silent and unmoving, simply observing how the others reacted.

The Klaxons of the Red alert however-that triggered something in him. The hairs stood up on the back of his neck in alert. Danger, adrenalin immidiately entered his system as his brain KNEW what Klaxons meant. An Alarm-and he was unarmed, unarmored. No, that was not good. Having no weapon meant death. He had to find something, do something, anything-

For Clay, he seemed to have just stood still until he was adressed. Snapping to attention from instinct alone. "Yes, Sir. My last deployments a week ago or less-wont be a problem," he reassured the large....cat ? Moving to the racks with a few quick steps before picking out armor that fit his size.

He did find the right one rather fast. Fiddling with his dogtag and crucifix, he just put it on over his tank top and jeans, keeping his black combat boots on. He had no clue WHAT a Phaser was, but he knew how to shoot a rifle, and figured that that would be enough. In his mind, he slightly chuckled at being called a Marine, for he very much did not consider himself one by HIS definition. He wasn't one of those American Marines the Movies always pumped up as THE BEST THERE EVER WAS-he preferred the mountainside to the sea. But then again, these weren't the amphibious type of marines neither.

Martinez was already moving before the Major had finished speaking, setting the PADD down on the nearest table with the screen turned inward before crossing to the armour racks. The easier warmth from earlier had gone, replaced by something quieter and more focused as they pulled on the armour, fastening buckles and seals with quick, practised hands. They checked the sidearm by touch, then the rifle, thumb brushing over the setting before locking it to heavy stun, their eyes moving over the room as they counted bodies and caught the shape of people under pressure. McKenzie looked steady, Patches was already sharp, and Josef had that too-still look for a moment before the alarm seemed to hit something old in him and got him moving. Martinez caught Ragnar’s eye and gave him a small nod, trusting him to know what needed doing without making a speech of it. Second Platoon would take the opposite sweep from the Major’s group, closing the ship down compartment by compartment until there was nowhere left for anyone to hide. Martinez tugged their gloves tight, flexed their fingers once, then stepped into position with the others, shoulders squared and jaw set as the deck plans moved through their head.

---

Major Clay McEntyre III
Marine Commanding Officer
USS Astrea


1st Lieutenant Ángel Martinez
Marine Officer
USS Astrea


Gunnery Sergeant Ragnar Grymblöd
Marine
USS Astrea
(NPC of Alexandra Blackstone)


Corporal Eden McKenzie
Combat Engineer
USS Astrea


Corporal Trevor "Patches" Pacioretty (by J.B.)
USS Astrea
(NPC of Eirly Andersen)


Private Simon Marks (by Remy)
USS Astrea

 

RSS Feed