Command Training, Part I

Posted on Sun Jan 18th, 2026 @ 1:41am by Master Chief Petty Officer Vashti Rao & Major Clay McEntyre III

1,141 words; about a 6 minute read

Mission: Peril at the Unification Accords
Location: Holodeck 3, Deck 7
Timeline: MD 10, 0556 Hours

Vashti arrived a minute early, as she always did. Maybe it was habit, maybe superstition. Maybe a bit of both. Holodeck Three was to the right in this quiet part of Deck Seven's corridor. She approached the holodeck's program panel and was about to program the link to Starfleet's Enlisted Command Qualification Program which tied straight into Starfleet Academy's virtual classroom, but was surprised that the link was already active and running.

The doors parted for her and inside, the grid waited. Everything was bare and square: solid yellow lines stretching horizontally and vertically. She was not alone.

Major Clay McEntyre III stood at the center of the room, hands clasped behind his back and shoulders set with that firm marine geometry. He looked like he'd been waiting for her.

Vashti stopped just inside the doorway, a surprised expression on her face.

"Major?" she said, more careful than she had meant to sound.

"To attention, Master Chief!" Clay ordered with firm, stoic professionalism.

He was geared for combat, wearing full plate Starfleet Marine battle armor, a Marine Phaser rifle by his side. On a crate near to the hulking Caitian, a similar set of armor and a phaser rifle, assumingly for the Master Chief.

"You have three minutes to gear up. This will be a combat simulation, to test your combat skills, leadership potential and adaptability. Oo-Rah?" Clay nods as he takes up his rifle.

Vashti snapped to attention before her mind had fully caught up, her boots locking together, spine straight as though someone had run electric current up and through it. The title he used--Master Chief--struck her like a thrown spanner. It was aspirational. Premature. Maybe that was the point.

"Yes, Major," she managed, though it came out far softer than she would have preferred.

She didn't know the Caitian well enough to be casting aspersions, but might venture that Clay wouldn't react to softness.

The crate waited beside him. Armour plates stacked in neat and intimidating layers, one of those phaser rifles she'd seen the marines departing Astrea with ahead of the Accords. All of it brought back the memory of her training days and qualification hours from the Academy Annex.

Three minutes, he'd said.

She moved.

The armour was heavier than she remembered. Battle-ready, no hollow shells. She lifted the breastplate first, its interior cool against her hands. The silence of the holodeck seemed to disappear between the pieces clicking together--greaves, pauldrons, boots, each fastening itself with a satisfying seal of smart-locks. She felt her pulse in her wrists and temples. It wasn't quite fear. Something more like stepping onto a wire and trusting it to hold steady.

She could feel him watching her.

Vashti snagged the helmet last, cradling it for a moment before tucking it under one arm. The rifle came next. It was sleek and balanced. Also dangerous. She tested the safety with her thumb--one of the few memories in her muscles that remained from annex training.

It felt an awful lot like three minutes had passed when she straightened herself and looked at McEntyre.

Clay nodded, coming up to inspect the armor, checking the seals and straps and making sure it was secured before nodding again in approval, and stepped back from her.

"Most first timers get the straps wrong, you got it down pat, Chief." He commented before he smirked with that kind of devious smile where plans were formulating.

"Computer," The computer trilled in response. "Load holo-program Delta-Four Six." The computer trilled again before the environment around them changed to the interior hall of what appeared to be a Dominion Battlecruiser. Behind Vashti, a small squad of Starfleet Marines in similar armor to Clay's and Vashti's.

"This is a Dominion Battlecruiser. At present, it is attacking the Starbase near Sector 243. We are to disable it with haste before the U.S.S. Sovereign commences attack."

Vashti adjusted her grip on the rifle, The plating on her forearms caught the sickly violet light, a shimmer like oil and stale water.

The Marines behind her shifted, a quiet chorus of armour settling. They were taller than she was--most people were--but she felt their eyes, or their expectation, sitting squarely on her back.

Clay was just a pace ahead of her, rifle angled down but ready in a way that suggested it had never truly been lowered.

"Is there an objective or am I expected to use whatever means at my disposal?"

"Objective is to disable the shields or engines, render the enemy battleship combat ineffective. The starbase is holding civilian refugees from destroyed colonies in this sector. They must evacuate." Clay elaborated.

Vashti breathed once, bracing herself the same way she would before crawling into a smoky Jefferies tube with a spanner between her teeth. Except this time it was a Jem'Hadar warship, and the spanner was a phaser rifle she had no business wielding.

"Aye, Major," she said.

The corridor ahead sloped gently in that typical way the builders of Dominion vessels seemed to favour--not overly dramatic but enough to keep outsiders guessing which way was level. Purple light pulsed in sequence through the ribbed conduits overhead, throwing shadows in every direction.

So, a shield generator. Or engines. She had no convenient map beyond the one in her head: every ship, hostile or friendly, hid its beating hearts in the farthest, most inconvenient places. Between bulkheads. Behind coolant injectors and manifolds. Under catwalks that always smelled more industrial than any other part of a ship.

The ship shook. Perhaps taking a hit from the Starbase's defenses or maybe phaser fire from the Sovereign.

She swallowed and pointed toward the wider corridor branching to the left. "Their power distribution won't be near the outer hull," she murmured. "Too exposed. We should move inward. Toward structural supports."

Turning to the assembled Marines behind her, she spoke. "All right, two-by-two formation. Keep your spacing tight--Jem'Hadar like to use choke points." She hoped that sounded like something a leader would say. Or perhaps an experienced tactical officer. Or at the very least, someone who'd passed more than the minimum holodeck modules back at the Annex.

The Marines obeyed instantly. She tried not to think about how strange this all was--soldiers nearly twice her size, twice her experience, taking their cues from an engineer who still checked over her shoulder before giving an order, as though expecting permission she technically didn't need.

And then they moved as one.

The sound of boots swallowed by the acoustics made her ears itch. Vashti kept her rifle up, finger curled safely beside the trigger guard. Her breathing sounded too loud inside her helmet, as if she were somehow inside her own skull.


~To Be Continued: Command Training, Part II~

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