| Author | Message | ||
     Capt. Craig |
"Atten-HUT!" Staff Sergeant F'nor'k D'Shan'nik called the room to attention as their captain entered. A small collection of Marine officers and enlisted men stood in perfect formation as the cleanly cut captain made his way down the aisle that split the two rows of chairs. The Thunderbirds' pilots and their support crew saluted until Marine Captain Craig Serrold stood at perfect attention before them in his dress whites and shot off a crisp salute. "At ease," Serrold said with the voice of one trying to portray confidence and failing. "Please, be seated." As only a well-trained unit can, the Thunderbirds quietly eased into their seats as one body. The other two pilots of the team, 2nd Lt. Liz Hesteande and the newly promoted 1st Lt. Trace Murphy, remained standing for a moment longer. Seating themselves at the forward corners of the Thunderbirds crew, the two lieutenants closed their eyes sadly. Behind Serrold sat a long, black tube - a photon torpedo casing, hollowed out for this special purpose - draped with a royal blue flag bearing the Great Seal of the Federation. Serrold took a place beside the tube, laying a hand upon it. Once he had fully composed himself, Serrold finally spoke. "Second Lieutenant Robert David Marshall - 'Dave' to his friends and wingmates - gave his life doing what he loved best. Dave was a pilot, through and through. He was as loyal a Federation citizen and Starfleet Marine as I've ever met. The man was courageous. Dedicated. And the second best pilot I've ever met." A wry grin upon Serrold's lips with the last comment brought a small chuckle from the assembled personnel. When the room had quieted down, Serrold took on a much more serious demeanor. Few had seen him so serious. While he was speaking, Serrold looked up at the back of the room as he heard the doors part. In stepped Colonel Ironside, Captain Prescot, and Lt. Stylus. Serrold allowed a tight smile to play across his features for a brief moment, and he nodded to his fellow officers, come to pay their last respects to a man most had probably barely known. Marshall had only arrived aboard Coronado just three weeks ago from Gryphon's fighter contingent. But the sentiment was greatly appreciated. Telling tales of his wingmate's adventures on Coronado and Gryphon, Serrold hoped to make those who had not known the man as well to see the man beneath the Marine. "And so, to our friend, our fellow Marine, Dave Marshall, we offer our final salute." Serrold drew his magnificently crafted dress saber - a true Marine Corps mamaluke design - and brought it up in a sharp salute. Every other Marine in the chapel did as well. Serrold held the hilt just centimeters away from his nose for nearly a full minute before nodding to the small crowd. As one, every Marine in the room brought their sabers down sharply in salute. "Oo-rah, Marine," Serrold said in a low voice. "OO-RAH!" The crowd echoed Serrold with a shout. The officers at the back of the room merely nodded to Serrold before following Ironside out of the chapel. They had come to pay their respects, but they were acknowledging that this was Serrold's team and Serrold's ceremony. The young Marine Captain couldn't help but be touched by the gesture. Closing his eyes for a moment as he laid his hand again on the torpedo tube/casket, Serrold said his own private farewell to yet another fine officer lost in the destructive conflict with the Pfhor. Though Marshall's remains had been incinerated by the Pfhor when they had destroyed Marshall's Spectre, Serrold still felt as if there was some connection here with Marshall's spirit. "So long," Serrold whispered, his eyes still closed, "Devil Dog." ==================== Christian D. Clem '01, aka "Aggie" Capt. Craig "Snowball" Serrold, SFMC Wing Leader, TFW-47 "Thunderbirds" U.S.S. CORONADO NCC-97901 |