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Survivors

Posted on Wed Oct 28th, 2020 @ 10:27pm by Lieutenant Commander Dina Vossiborn

Mission: Gods of War
Location: Planet surface
Timeline: MD 01, 1437 hours

The shimmering light faded, depositing the team planet side. They'd beamed down a short distance away from their target, trying to remain inconspicuous - both not to startle the Starfleet personnel as well as to avoid the planet's natives. Quick orders were given for the team to spread out a bit and stay out of sight, and to follow the team leader, the large, tan-furred, Sirram form of Lieutenant Commander Dina Vissoborn.

The team armed with compression rifles and type II hand phasers - though Dina carrying her pulse-modified Type IV phaser cannon - carefully made their way forward, through the lush terrain. Prime ambush terrain, Dina knew. Ridges and rises, trees and bushes, underbrush galore. Their scans had revealed the refugees to be hiding in a small - even better ambush terrain, easily defensible.

The going was fairly slow, even though they only had a kilometer or to go. As they approached the final ridge Dina motioned for her team to halt. She'd go first. Carefully she made her way up, and peered over. There was the mouth of the cave. No signs of the Federation refugees. She continued forward, cautiously - startling as fiery orange lances pierced the air, most going wide or over - though one impacted her thigh, ripping through the fabric of her uniform and the thick muscle underneath.

"Friendly fire, friendly fucking fire!" she bellowed, her voice thunderous. She'd recognised the particular orange glow as Federation hand phasers - lucky at that, anything bigger would've done a serious number on her with a hit like that. "Fucking - eldhúsfífl sorðinn - skitr! Fuck that hurts. Ow!" was added in an impressive mix of Federation Standard and Sirran, a waterfall of expressions transcending language.

At her rant the incoming fire ceased, and some ragged, weary and concerned looking Federation crew emerged from the cave. Malnourished, their uniforms torn and dirty, some stained with blood. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry! Are you alright?!" a young security ensign, eyes wide, blurted, but was silenced by Dina holding up a hand. "Fuck. Good aim. I'll be fine. Could use some first aid." Dina replied, gritting her teeth as she sat down, motioning for her team to follow her up to the refugees as she did.

"Dina Vossiborn, Chief Security, USS Minerva," she added. "Ship's in orbit. Couldn't get a lock - ow. Couldn't get a lock on to your people, so we brought pattern enhancers." As she spoke a nurse - recognizable by the color of her tattered and torn uniform - tended to the Sirran's leg. "How many survivors?"

"John Charleston, Security. Nine survivors. There were twelve, but - " the ensign trailed off, shaking his head. "We have wounded, we're starving, we're - very glad to see a friendly face." he spoke quietly, sitting down next to Dina, feeling small besides the massive Sirran. At his words some of Dina's team started handing out rations and blankets, offering the nurse tending to Dina's leg a first aid kit to aid her.

Soon the rest of the survivors had joined the group outside. Nine in all as Charleston had said. One or two on make-shift crutches made from sturdy branches, favoring one leg over the other. A few with bandages made from leaves. One missing an arm. A young child even, a girl, scratched and her dress torn and bloodied. Dina's team busied themselves with setting up the pattern enhancers. Hopefully these would be enough to allow the Minerva to lock on to them.

As the survivors wolfed down their rations and huddled under their blankets she slowly approached Dina, looking scared. The Sirran smiled softly, making sure not to show her teeth. "Hello little one. What's your name?" she spoke quietly, ears upright and focused.

"Gwen. You're scary," the little girl said, remaining a safe and respectful distance away.

Dina gave a nod. "I know I look scary but I'm actually really friendly. My name's Dina. How old are you, Gwen?"

"Eight," replied the girl, inching forward, hesitant, but a bit less afraid now. "Is your fur real?" She asked, pointing.

Dina chuckled softly, though wincing at the sudden movement sending a jolt of pain through her leg. "Yeah. It's soft too. You can feel if you want to, I won't hurt you. I'm here to save all of you," she offered.

"Can I, really?" Gwen asked, looking from Dina to ensign Charleston and back. At his approval she moved closer, reaching out to touch the hand that Dina extended for her. The scared, worried expression soon faded away, replaced by a smile, as the girl relaxed and sat down next to Dina as well. "Soft," she quietly repeated, stifling a yawn.

The pattern enhancers set up and activated, the survivors and Dina's team talking, catching up on events, Gwen falling asleep cuddled into Dina's side, the massive Sirran smized.

 

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