Different Career Paths

Posted on Wed Jun 24th, 2020 @ 3:08am by Lieutenant Nicholas Boucher & Lieutenant John Sandoval
Edited on on Fri Jul 10th, 2020 @ 5:44pm

Mission: Death in Paradise

ON

After another long day in the office, John decided to spend an hour in the Luna Eclipse and enjoy a pint before dinner. He decided against calling Aeryn, as he wanted to either enjoy some alone time, or possibly make a new friend. In the weeks since coming aboard, he really hadn't gotten to know too many of his coworkers.

So he pulled up to the bar and ordered a pint of a bitter pale ale that they had on draft.

Nick was sitting a few seats down and hadn't noticed the other gentleman arrive. He was currently multi-tasking, trying to finish a sandwich, drink a glass of wine and read through a duty report. He skimmed a line of the report while taking a sip and went to set his glass of wine down without looking, as he continued reading.

Unfortunately, his aim was a bit off and the glass spilled to the floor.

"Merde!" he exclaimed softly, looking down at the glass. In his frustration, he cursed the glass. "Fous-toi."

He always found that universal translators had difficulties picking up swear words in his native French and usually resisted to those profanities when in the company of others.

John looked over to the man he heard swear and smiled. "You know, the last time I heard someone curse in French, it included words like osti and câlisse. I'm guessing you're from France, then, mon ami?"

Nick turned from cursing his glass to the man who'd spoken. His accent was a bit tough, but he couldn't tell if the man was from off-world or perhaps Quebec.

"Sure am," he replied, returning the man's smile. "Judging from your question, I assume you aren't? You still speak the language quite well."

He embellished a bit at the end there, to be polite and fighting against his first nature. Despite the years and how progressive society had become, the ingrained... Distaste the French had for their colonial counterparts remained quite firm.

“I’m Canadian,” John confirmed. “English-Canadian, but so many of us learn both.” Making sure his cane was leaning stably against the bar, he reached over to the new man for a handshake. “Lieutenant John Sandoval. Chief Diplomatic Officer.”

Nick shook the man's hand. "Lieutenant Nicholas Boucher, Alpha Squad. On temporary duty here as an escort for the Pandora."

“Ah, I saw the report of your unit coming in,” John remarked. “It will be good to have safe escort out of here once our mission ends. I’d prefer to end our visit to Paradise without a fight, but we probably won’t be so lucky.” He took another sip of his drink. “So what do you fly?”

Nick chuckled. "Whatever they order me to, to be honest, but at present time, Valkyries. They may not be the newest fighters in the fleet, but I have a soft-spot for them. Versatile, can be used for just about any mission. They may not excel in specific areas like Starfleet's newer, more mission-specific fighter designs, but she's a jack-of-all-trades."

He signalled to the bartender for another drink and turned back to the other man. "I imagine you must be a busy man these days, what with the political situation here in the Expanse."

“That’s the challenge for both of our lines of work,” John mused. “We’re never busier than when the galaxy is going to Hell. It’s like when I was a Marine, only with fewer people shooting at me.”

Nick raised an eyebrow at that statement. "3rd Marines, 2nd Division. Yourself?"

“4th regiment, 3rd Divison,” John replied. “Operating off the Belleau Wood. It’s how I got this.” He gestured to his cane.

Nick nodded solemnly. "I mostly avoided any kind of external damage, luckily, aside from a few near misses. The Dominion?"

“That’s right,” John said. “Survived Betazed, New Victoria, and Rhaandar. Anti-air fire, gravity, and a jagged outcropping at Chin’Toka did this. How about you?”

"I enlisted soon after Torros III," Nick replied. "I was at Benzar, First Chin'toka, did a tour on AR-558 and would have been in the invasion of Cardassia had the Dominion not surrendered."

He paused. "Dark times."

"Not many people can say they saw the beginning and the end of the war," John observed. "Too many of us died or were badly injured partway through, or joined later when the call for Marines and Fleeters became more serious. So I hope you count your blessings every morning, Nicholas." He lifted his glass to his new friend. "I'm just glad I can still walk at all. And the pain helps me focus my peacemaking efforts."

Nick chuckled. "I wasn't quite there from the very beginning. I enlisted after the first few engagements. I lost someone close to me and wanted to... I don't know, avenge them? For lack of a better word. I am very grateful I made it through."

He paused. "Quite the 180° shift to become a diplomat after being a Marine, if I may say so."

“That’s what I was going for,” John said. “I’d prefer to end wars with words than with phasers. More people go home to their families, able to walk properly, this way. I do still enjoy studying military history. There are a lot of good holographic depictions of ancient battles. Plenty to learn.”

Nick nodded thoughtfully. "That's certainly an honourable goal. I don't think I'm enough of a thinker for a career move like that. Not that I enjoy fighting, I've just never been much of a man of words."

“Being in a fighter,” John mused, “I’d imagine you’ve come to trust your reflexes. Snap judgments that need to be correct. Planning happens before you strap in, and remember what they say about plans and first contact with the enemy.”

Nick inclined his head to agree with Sandoval. "Sometimes my hands do things before my brain even registers it. You can't second-guess a single decision in a dogfight. You can certainly plan how the initial engagement starts, but almost moreso than even a ground engagement, the landscape shifts unbelievably quickly."

“Do you...” John began speaking, but paused to take a long sip of his drink. “Do you know how many you’ve had to kill, on the ground and in your fighter?” John looked at his new friend, not with any sort of judgment, but a deep sadness as he contemplated his own past deeds.

Nick paused and reflected in the question. "To be very frank, in my fighter, no one. I took up an instructor role at the Academy after graduation."

"I was a bit older than the average cadet," he laughed. "So they felt my presence as someone older, who newly graduated, would be beneficial to the students."

His laugh faded and was replaced with... Almost a sadness. "As a Marine... I... I truly don't know. Too many. Not enough. I had comrades who counted kills. I could never bring myself to join them."

John nodded. "Fourteen confirmed, with another twenty highly likely. Mostly Jem'Hadar." He took a sharp breath in. "At least one Betazoid civilian who couldn't get out of the blast radius of the mortar I was firing. During the war I didn't count, but in grad school I was given access to files related to my unit's actions. Our sensor logs were...too detailed."

Nick nodded solemnly. "I... Had a hard time after the war. It probably would have been harder had I had those statistics."

John couldn't help but chuckle and gestured to his cane. "You and me both, mon ami. Thankfully we have good doctors and counselors. If you do need to speak with anyone here, Counselor Kaleri is a friend. And I'm always up for a beer and a few words."

"Oh, I had my fair share of time with counselors," Nick replied, joining John in laughter. "That's how I met my ex wife, to be honest."

“Ex-wife? Yeah, that would sour one’s opinion on counselors,” John agreed. “Well, Nick, I hope you’re not offended when I say that I hope you find this mission extremely boring and have nothing to do at all. But I’m glad you are here, because I’d rather have good air support than none.”

"Oh, no no, don't get me wrong: We're on amicable enough terms," Nick corrected. "It's just that once you've been a long-term resident of a psychiatric care facility, counselors are... Just not your favourite people anymore."

"And as for the mission, I happen to agree with you there. As much as I enjoy flying, I'd rather not want to get into a fight out here, so far from any support or reinforcements."

With only a mouthful of beer left in his glass, John lifted it towards Nick. "To having what's necessary for survival, and to never needing to use them."

"Here here," Nick replied, raising his own glass and clinking it off of Sandoval's. "An honourable sentiment."

John finished his drink, set the glass down, and looked at his new friend. "I thought so."

OFF