De-Stress

Posted on Thu Mar 24th, 2022 @ 10:52pm by Captain Natalya Markova

Mission: Lower Decks
Location: Holodeck 1, Deck 2

ON

The repeated crack of the pistol splintered the otherwise silent range.

It had taken some time, but Nat had managed to program her own pratice range. Quantico, Virginia. Once the US Naval Academy, where Naval and Marine Midshipmen learned to be Officers. The armory had had its own range, dating back to almost perpetuity.

She often came here, when she needed to clear her mind, to re-settle her nerves. Drink had once been that sweet, sweet embrace of foggy forgetfulness. She couldn't allow it. Not anymore. The number of days sober was stuck next to her door, scribbled on a note, and replaced each night. A reminder that she could do it. That even one was too many.

Natalya had used the drink to forget. To forget the pain, her guilt, and the fact she had survived. It didn't take away any of those things, but for a few blissful hours, she could have fun, enjoy herself, and have dreamless sleep.

Now she came here. Now, she came to the range, and allowed herself to fall into the zone. Fall into the quiet, dark cloud of simply 'doing'.

A fresh clip was inserted into the weapon. Her shoulders square, feet slightly apart, left hand around the grip, and right supporting it. Foresight centered in the notch of the rear, and squeeze. Bring the weapon down from recoil, and repeat.

The target was in a rough person outline, head, shoulders, torso. A printed Q was ringed in the centre of the chest, and a smaller X was ringed in the centre of the head. Today, Not was aiming for the head. She sighted on it, her hands doing the movement by memory, her brain almost not even registering as the front and rear sights lined.

Crack-crack.

Doth rounds were fired, fast enough to be in the air at the same time.

Crack-crack.

The centre of the head was simply an inch-wide hole.

Nat set the weapon on the table in front of her as the target was replaced with a fresh one. She finally caght movement out of the corner of her eye, and glanced sideways. Corporal Oscanian was looking at the target, but shifted his gaze to her as she removed the ear protectors. "Yes, Corporal?"

"Sorry, Lieutenant, I didn't mean-"

Nat cut him off with a wave of her hand. "If I wanted privacy, Deadeye, I'd have locked the door."

He regarded the target again, the fresh one. "You have good technique. Glad the Corps trains its Officers as well as us." He was the unit's crack-shot - hence the nickname, and had often taken to offering some advice to all the Marines on board, including his Lieutenant. "Didn't know you knew how to handle a slug thrower."

"Hobby." Nat replied, leaning against a support beam, and regarding him casually. "Sometimes, a phaser just..."

"Doesn't have the kick?" He grinned at her "I hear ya. Sometimes, ya just need something to eat at the stress."

"Sometimes, you just need to let yourself have a fantasy." She answered, staring down-range, but not really seeing anything.

"That damned terrorist?"

Nat didn't answer. She had seen the man's face every time she sighted on the target. Every time she pulled te trigger, it was his head. "I once made an oath to myself, Corporal. Never to lose another Marine. That man made me break it."

"Fort Yarrick?" He took a step back at the look he got from the woman. "I heard scuttlebutt about it, and your record ain't secret."

"Two thousand, and eighty-seven." Nat replied, losing herself in thought now. "That's the number I keep coming back to. Two thousand, and eighty-seven. Between the Marines, and Fleet pilots. Now, two thousand, and eighty-eight. How many people can I loose, Corp? How many do I mourn?" This should rightly have been a conversation for a therapist, or Gunny Hijani. The Corporal needed to see his Lieutenant as capacle, fearless, determined.

"You don't count the dead, Lieutenant." Oscanian took a step closer, and picked up the weapon, taking a shot himself.

The sound range even louder without the ear protection, and Nat was shook out of her reverie. "What?"

"I said you don't count the dead, ever. You start doing that, you end up not being able to do anything useful." Oscanian offered a reassuring grin. "You count the living. You count the lives that are here, still. That Away Team? They're on the ship cause we went in. That Ensign? He's on the ship because of what we did." He gave the Lieutenant a light-hearted fist to the shoulder. "They may teach you Officers how to lead, but they teach us grunts about what surviving is. It ain't being lucky, or chosen, or some other cosmis bullshit. It's about keeping your head, it's about knowing what to do. The Civvies may constantly bitch about who was lost, but the ones in green? Least ways the ones I speak to? They all say the same thing. Those who walked outta that hellhole on Yarrick kuved through the worst night anyone could ever imagine. You kept your head, Lieutenant."

Nat looked at the man, only a few years younger than she herself. She could see thw wisdom of his words, but it would take awhile to fully accept them. "You sure you're just a Corporal?"

"Sergeant's school by correspondance." He replied with a grin.

"You just got a letter of recommendation, Corporal." Nat pulled herself up to standing straight. "Thanks."

The man managed not to look embarrassed at the news. "You're a good commander, Lieutenant. If the Breen had never attacked Yarrick, you'd be lined up for Company Command."

Nat snorted. "Ain't gonna happen now. Command ain't gonna promote a recovering alcoholic. Fucking surprised they ain't booted me yet."

"PR saved your ass on that one. They can't can one of the three dozen survivors of Yarrick."

"They can - and did - re-ass me to the back end of nowhere."

"Rather be at bthe back end of nowhere with some Pirates to find." Oscanian retorted with a chuckle. "Less boring than Earth."

"Earth can be exciting." A little too much, though, she remembered. "Thanks for the pep-talk, Corp. Program's yours if you want it, I'm gonna head out."

"Have a good one, El-tee."

OFF