(TGG) "Anatomy of a War - Homefront"

[Big Steve]

So, to go with the recently-reposted "Anatomy of a War", here's a brief short story written by our own @LordSunhawk about a BTech RPG character he adapted into TGG and what she experienced during said conflict.




New Appalachia - Alliance of Democratic Nations
Universe Designate AR-12
26 November 2153

The early morning air was crisp and clean, the chill of winter rustling the tough mountain grasses that clung tenaciously to the thin soil of the mountainside. There were only a few puffy white clouds floating in the sky, and some thin contrails etched trails behind passing aircraft. Some winter flowers were in bloom amidst the tough grasses, lending a bit of cheerful color to the tableau.

A narrow, but well-marked, hiking trail ran along the face of the mountain, lazily meandering about. A foot trail, old but maintained, that led to an overlook. Along the trail, here and there, were wider areas, often used in the summertime for picnics, but nearly totally deserted now in the chill winter.

But not totally deserted, a single figure sat on a large boulder, pensively staring out at the landscape. A new hiking pack rested against the boulder as the figure sat there, as she'd sat there for the last couple hours, silent and still. A fairly young girl, not quite 13 but fairly small for her age, eyes gazing out steady and intent, a deep sea-blue that seemed to shift and sparkle with her moods, but were now pensive and a bit sad.

In the distance a shape rose into the sky, the morning sun glinting off of it, rising on a pillar of fire as it thundered towards the heavens, almost directly over where the girl sat. As the shuttle drew closer, the Marine Corps markings could be made out, the girl finally standing as it approached... coming to her best attention, and snapping off a salute.

Then it was past, and the girl's shoulders slumped a bit, then she hopped off the rock, shouldering the pack, adorned with a few unit badges and other gifts from the Marine's at the New Appalachia base, and started hiking back down the mountainside, tears glistening in her eyes, while above her adopted father was going back to war.




11 December 2153 AST


It was a quiet evening, but a tense one, the Maxwell family all sat in the family room of their small house, glued to the holovid as Fox Interstellar broadcast from the front, live footage of the fighting on Bajor from an embedded reporter. Despite the censorship, the family was tenser than usual, because for all that the newsies were careful they still were able to recognize friends and neighbors. Their Marines...

Hecate and Bethany sat on one couch near the window while Gilbert, at 8, had claimed a pillow on the floor. Wanda Maxwell, their mother, sat in the recliner. While Bethany and Gilbert both were simply fascinated and, to be honest, more than a little excited, both Hecate and Wanda were much more subdued, Wanda had seen her husband come home more than once from battle scarred and injured, and Hecate, well, Hecate had already lost her birth parents to the cauldron of war, and was terrified of losing another.

The footage faded to a commercial break when suddenly a knock sounded on the front door, three firm knocks. Silence. The holovid shut off as Gilbert lept to his feet and ran to the window to look outside then froze, eyes bulging a bit. Wanda and Hecate both went pale, while Bethany simply looked confused, trailing behind.

A pause, and after a deep breath Wanda opened the door, then paled even more. Standing there, in uniform, was one of the staff officers from the Base, carrying a briefcase. But he was alone, and looked a bit startled, beneath his professional demeanor, at the reaction, before understanding lit his eyes and he smiled, looking apologetic.

A short pause, broken by the Lieutenant "Hello, Mrs Maxwell."

Before he could continue, Wanda interrupted, her voice remarkably steady considering her pallor, "What happened? Is he alive?"

The lieutenant looked a bit sheepish at that, and quite hastily held up the briefcase. "Oh, my apologies, Mrs Maxwell. It's not that at all. I came to give this acceptance letter from the Prep School to Hecate, since it came in a bit late I wanted to make sure she got it as soon as possible. I didn't mean to scare you at all."

Wanda relaxed, taking a deep breath and looking just a bit sheepish herself. "Oh, do come in, Lt Johanson." she said, smiling now, as Hecate stood behind her, eyes shining at what she had just overheard.

Lt Johanson nodded, smiling at the obviously excited teenager, "Certainly, Mrs Maxwell, I also have some papers that would need to be signed, and the Student Handbook that Hecate would be expected to familiarize herself with before the next form starts." he replied, stepping inside.

Hecate trailed behind, stars in her eyes, almost jumping about but restraining herself, just barely. Then a thought crossed her mind and she paused, swallowing, and looked down, murmuring something to herself in her native tongue.

"Jeg skal fly Pappa, akkurat som du alltid sa jeg kom til å gjøre"[1]





18 December 2153 AST





"Norchester Alpha Five, you are number one for takeoff under VFR, wind 12 from 310. Over"

"Copy that, Tower, Norchester Alpha Five is number one for takeoff at the threshold, VFR. Over"

The single turboprop purred as power was smoothly applied, the light plane, a refurbished T-10 primary flight trainer, picked up speed and rose into the air. The faint murmor of radio chatter in the local airspace, the soft purr of the turboprop and the sound of rushing wind outside the only sounds as Hecate Maxwell guided the old trainer into the sky with a maestro's delicate touch, her skill and confidence belying her youth.

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"Lima Three, Flight Ops. You are cleared for a record run. Wind is 15 from 218 true, over."

"Copy, Flight Ops, commencing record run now."

"Good luck, Lima Three."

The crowds were loud and boisterous, as they always were at the Annual Runstadt Air Races, the atmosphere electric as the Junior Division Time Trials progressed, young pilots, many sponsored by local corporation involved in Runstadt's local VTOL market, had been racing all day in timed trials. With as few roads as Runstadt had, and with how rugged the terrain was, small VTOL's were the primary method of transportation, and most citizens of the planet learned to fly at an early age. The Free Rasalhage Republic flags snapped in the breeze, static displays of the FRR's Aerospace fighters were proudly gawked at while pilots strutted about, the center of attention during the Races.

At the main field, a highly modified racing version of the ubiquitous Lockheed-Boeing Transit light VTOL sat light on the skids, then, as the starting light turned green, it positively lept off the ground, going vertically upward for mere feet before surging forward in a quick climb. The twin turboshafts roared, exquisitely tuned for maximum power, the VTOL accelerating rapidly, the pilot confident... certain...

Hecate Radick-Gustafson was behind the controls, firmly handling the cyclic and collective with a level of skilled competence rare even for pilots three times her age, the youngster a prodigy, already sponsored by the local brance of Lockheed-Boeing.

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"New Westland Control, this is Norchester Alpha Five, on VFR. Requesting clearance to Angels 4, destination Pliune Township. Over"

"Norchester Alpha Five, clearance granted, be advised there is a minor stormfront coming in at 13 from 310, expect turbulence."

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Smoke drifted lazily over the town, the large tank farm to the east burning while the shattered remnants of the local militia desperately struggled against the elite warriors of Clan Wolf. The giant OmniMechs stalked about, contemptuously shrugging off any attacks and blasting the outclassed infantrymen. A single star of heavy Omni's pursued one of the few militia mechs still standing as it fled into the surrounding forest, the Trueborn Warriors cocky, they had taken no losses so far.

Almost unnoticed, and certainly not classified as a threat, a lone civilian VTOL raced overhead, painted in the bright gaudy colors of a racing VTOL, the Lockheed-Boeing emblem emblazoned on the fuselage, but there was more, a pair of infantry Inferno SRM launchers were rather crudely bolted to the sides as well, exposed wiring leading into the cockpit.

The VTOL swooped down behind the Clan Omni's and smoke trails connected the two crudely mounted launchers to their targets... the forest itself, incendiaries spilling out, lighting the dry forest ablaze. The VTOL raced away, too fast for the Clanner's to get a lock on it, as flames roared, turning what had been an 'easy' pursuit into a descent into hell, not even Clan Omni's able to long resist the furious heat of this inferno.

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"All flights, this is New Westland Control. Be advised that the stormfront is strengthening."

"New Westland Control, this is Norchester Alpha Five, request clearance to angels 5 and routing east around front, over"

"Clearance granted, Norchester Alpha Five."

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The sky was darker now, heavy with lingering smoke and ash, the forests burned out wastes, here and there littered with the scorched remains of burned out Omnimechs. The Clanner's took out their frustration on the local inhabitants, unable to stop the stinging attacks from that lone VTOL that had bedevilled them for days now.

In a residential area of town, an Elemental patrol stomped up to a small, rather unassuming house and simply kicked in the door, spraying the interior with gunfire. A cut off series of screams, then the point departed, leaving the house to burn behind them, a tarnished brass plate proudly proclaiming the residence of the Radick-Gustafson family.

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"Pliune Township Control, this is Norchester Alpha Five, under VFR from Norchester. Requesting landing instructions"

"Norchester Alpha Five, you are cleared to enter the landing pattern, you are number three in the pattern."

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A small electric heater struggled against the chill, warming the battered tent in which the young girl huddled, tears streaking down her cheeks. Outside, hidden from easy view thanks to the blind canyon she was in, sat her VTOL, a bit scorched from a few near misses, but undamaged. The Clanner forces still hadn't found her hideout, hadn't managed to track her here, but she was low on fuel, and almost out of Inferno SRM's for the jury-rigged launchers... that, and discovering what had happened to her parents, were what drove Hecate to tears, tears of grief. Tears of rage. The sky gradually lightened, the VTOL not having good enough sensors for night flying. Hecate looked up, blinking a few times, fists clenched, as the primary rose above the canyon walls. Finally she stood, and picked up her helmet, the bright colors almost mocking her as she stalked to the cockpit. The red rocks of the canyon walls glowed in the early morning light, almost crimson... almost blood.

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"Pliune Township Control, this is Norchester Alpha Five. Approaching the threshold, Over."

"Norchester Alpha Five, we show you good on approach."

The T-10 flared over the threshold of the runway, a textbook landing, marred only by a slight jarring as a gust of wind from the oncoming front caught at the trainer, but other than that, smooth as silk, rolling out and braking smoothly.

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The VTOL screamed through the air, mere feet from the ground, moving so fast to be almost a blur. The canyon had been left behind minutes ago, and now the brightly painted racer hugged the ground, charging straight towards the only spaceport on the planet. Turboshafts screamed at maximum power, the pilot deftly weaving around obstacles, with only enough fuel to reach the spaceport...

Above a pair of Omnifighters had spotted the racing VTOL, but they were too far away for an interception, although the warriors piloting them turned in, radioing in a warning. On the tarmac a Union-C sat, loading the remains of the Trinary that had been trying to pacify the world, while a pair of Broadswords sat farther away. Technicians were loading ammunition into the open Mech Bays while alarms screamed, a few Omni's racing into position, while a full star paused near the terminal, guarding a party of Clansmen who were on foot.

The VTOL screamed in, Hecate barely believing her luck at seeing the open bays, the belly of the VTOL almost touching the ground as Clanners tried to lock on to the blur. A few shots came close, but still the VTOL was untouched. It rose up, slightly, lining up the shot, and again smoke marked the flight of the pair of Inferno SRM's... without a targetting system other than Mark One Eyeball, with only luck and piloting skill, the two missiles whistled home, right into the bays... detonating right on top of several tons of 170mm autocannon ammunition.

Hecate intended to follow the missiles in, to use the VTOL as a missile itself, a kamikaze... but at the last instant, after launch, instincts took over, and she wrenched the stick over, the VTOL turning aside, even as the Union-C started to explode in a chain reaction. But the VTOL's charmed life was over, a single ruby spear slammed into the tailboom, staggering the fragile craft. And it was so low, that even the slightest staggering brought it into contact with the ground. It hit, spinning on the tarmac, sparks flying as metal and composites collapsed, followed by darkness...

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"Tower, this is Norchester Alpha Five requesting taxi instructions, we will be staying overnight."

"Norchester Alpha Five, take Taxiway Beta 2 South to the tarmac, a follow me truck will meet you. Welcome to Pliune Township"

"Understood, Tower, thanks for the welcome."

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Light. Soft, perhaps, but light. Hecate blinked her eyes, slowly regaining conciousness. Confusion, not recognizing where she is, followed by pain, as her body started reporting in.

"Ughhhh.... unfamiliar ceiling...." she managed, still confused, wincing as she tried to move, able to turn her head, and realizing that she was in some sort of hospital, but not like any she'd ever seen. An orderly walked over to her, the harried smile of somebody who was extremely busy, but a genuine smile nonetheless.

"Wh... where am I?" she managed, focusing on the orderly, as two Clanners entered her field of view, both Clan Wolf MechWarriors, causing her to stiffen, eyes darting to them, then back to the orderly.

"The sickbay aboard the Dire Wolf, Hecate" said one of the warriors, a hint of grudging respect in the clipped, precise tone, the orderly stepping back respectfully. "Khan Ulric Kerensky ordered you brought here for treatment for your injuries."

A pause, as the girl blinked, mind slow, fogged with the drugs that flowed through her battered body. Realization setting in, that she hadn't been killed, but was a prisoner. More words were said, barely heard over the pounding in her ears, before she passed out again.

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The old T-10 parked at the indicated spot, and Hecate jumped out, drawing out tie-downs and chocks to secure the light trainer in place in anticipation of the incoming storm. She then turned, smiling and waving as she saw her adopted mother approaching. The first few fat drops of rain fell as the pair headed for the terminal, smiling the entire way.

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Hecate was still confined to the hospital bed, too many broken bones, too many internal injuries. It had been a minor miracle that she had survived long enough to get to sickbay. She spent most of her time drugged with painkillers, or suffering from the constant pain of her wounds, but not all the time... and she wasn't so oblivious as to not notice the increasing panic amongst her captors. Something was happening, but, in some ways, she was coming to understand the Clans, to see their viewpoint. The deaths of her parents still burned within her, but she found that she could no longer hate like she had.

One night things changed, she awoke to chaos, alarms screaming as the Dire Wolf was boarded, soldiers in strange armor battling in the corridors, sickbay secured by a group of them...

She awoke again in a different room, to a different ceiling. Feeling far better than she had. The room was crowded with beds, evidently part of a ward. She found she could move a bit more easily, the pain no longer immobilizing her, the drugs no longer fogging her. She turned her head, to look at the next bed over, occupied by a grizzled older man, a tough guy, hair cut extremely short, recovering from surgery, much like her... he looked over in her direction, and smiled at her, the sort of smile that tough guys have when hurt.

Hecate cleared her throat finally, smiling back at the tough looking guy. "Ummm, hi there" she murmured, before wincing a bit at how silly she sounded.

"And hello to you as well, young lady. Good to see you awake again." he replied, voice deep and just a bit gruff, but friendly all the same.

Hecate glanced away, then back at the man. "Well, thanks. Where am I now?" she asked, a bit confused.

"Ahhh, this is DNS Mercy, one of our fleets hospital ships. You were in pretty bad shape when we got you off of that Clanner ship." he replied, still smiling, before he held out one hand across the gap between the beds "Master Sergeant Horace Maxwell, Alliance Marines."

"Alliance? Are you from the Outworlds?" Hecate asked, a bit baffled, but taking his hand, then looking even more baffled at his sudden bark of laughter.

"No no no, Alliance of Democratic Nations, kiddo, not from around here at all." he replied, looking up as a doctor approached, looking a bit harried and busy, like any doc in a busy ward would be.

------------------------------

Note:

[1]"I'm going to fly, Pappa, just like you always said I would."

 

[Big Steve]

The air was crisp and fresh, new snow glistening from the recently passed storm. A few high clouds were all that remained, otherwise the day was bright and clear, if a bit chilly. There was only a slight breeze, just barely rustling the branchs and pines as icicles slowly grew from eaves and branchs. It was the sort of day one would think could only exist on a postcard, the light just right, the snow just so... quiet and peaceful.

The main shopping area of Pliune was rather quaintly old-fashioned in appearance, conciously so, the storefronts made to look as if they had stepped out of the ancient past, hiding the modern equipment within. There were festive decorative lights, and garlands, and mistletoe, and all the other signs of Christmas. Carols played from hidden speakers, there were decorate trees... it was all quite festive. With just one jarring note. In each window was a small yellow ribbon, the ADN Flag flew from each pole, here and there Old Glory flew alongside the younger flag... this was the hometown of Marines, and it showed as well, the steel beneath the garlands, the muscle beneath the smiles.



Lyle Markham hadn't quite seen anything like it. A son of Alpha Centauri, he had grown up in the basic unit home for a Federation citizen in the large residential areas established by the Basic Necessities Act over half a century ago. The twenty-four year old reporter was on his first assignment, sent by the Federation State Press to Camp Pliune and the town beside it to mingle with the locals, the loved ones of Alliance Marines mobilized and sent to the front to fight Cardassia. Lyle was a handsome young man with dirty blond hair and a body kept athletic by holodeck sports. His camerawoman was a Rigelian girl, Fauna, a thin, shy young girl given to her people's numerology superstitions (she had been irritated that the third member of their entourage, the technician, was another Human male, Yoshiro Tagawa - she felt that two males and one female was a bad omen). Fauna was fidgeting with her equipment when Lyle, seeking another local to talk to, spotted a young-looking woman and an adolescent girl walking down the street from a local store. He motioned to Fauna, who glared at him before following him up to the locals.


Wanda hesitated as the reporter approached, glancing down at Hecate for a moment, but then smiling as Hecate winked at her, grinning like an urchin. Obviously the flying had been good for her, and she had a spring in her step that had been missing. Recognizing that Fauna was Vulcanoid, her eyes narrowed a little, putting two plus two together quite swiftly indeed. Settling her pack, festooned with pins from the units at the base, she waited, next to her adopted mother.


Lyle was pleased the girl looked so eager. "Ma'am, I'm Lyle Markham, Federation News Service. I was hoping for a moment of your time?"

Wanda nodded "Certainly, Mr Markham. We're just doing some last minute shopping" she replied, a genuine warmth in her voice.


"Well, first off, if I may have your name?"

"Wanda Maxwell, and this is Hecate" Wanda replied, resting one hand on Hecate's shoulder.

"Ah, Mrs. Maxwell. Now, I'm here because I want to get to understand the people of the Alliance, the civilians who have family fighting on the front. Do you have any loved ones serving in the war?"


Wanda nodded, looking a bit more sober. "Yes, I do, Mr Markham. My husband is Master Sergeant Horace Maxwell, with the 6th Marines" Hecate nodded at the same time, shifting her pack, the medals flashing in the sun.

"You've been married how long to you husband, Mrs. Maxwell?"

"14 years in January" she replied, smiling a bit wistfully.

"Well, congratulations. This is your daughter?"

Before Wanda could respond, Hecate piped up "Well, sorta, I'm adopted, Mister", eyes dancing a bit. Wanda nodded, smiling "Adopted daughter, yes."

Lyle nodded, noticing that the girl had a different accent from her mother. "Oh? What's your name, young lady?"

"Hecate, originally Radick-Gustafson but now Maxwell" she replied, hooking her fingers in the straps of her backpack.

"Let me guess, you're eleven years old."

Hecate shook her head. "Nope, thirteen in..." a short pause "19 days."

"Ahhh. Out shopping for Christmas, I see? Getting gifts for the family?"

Wanda fielded that one. "Oh yes, some last minute shopping, had to drop some papers off at the base, nothing much." she shrugged.

Lyle nodded, but his hook was the girl, not the mother. "Hecate, are you missing your father?"

Hecate nodded, eyes clouding just a little. "Oh yes, definately." a short pause as she glanced away for a second "Both of them."
At that Wanda lightly squeezed Hecate's shoulder, comfortingly, but the girl had already rallied, grin returning.

"Something happened to your birth father?"

Hecate nodded, taking a deep breath. "Yeah, my birth parents were both killed by Elementals during the Clan Invasion."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Not quite sure what an Elemental was - he would have to look it up later - Lyle was genuinely sad for the girl. He couldn't think of what it would've been like without his mother and grandmother. Having lost your birth parents in a war, I imagine you're scared you'll lose your adopted father too?"

"Well, a little." she replied, shrugging just a bit. "But he's really tough. We met in sick bay, you know, I know how tough he is." she smiled then, a fond memory, looking up at the reporter. "But yeah, I'm scared I'll lose him, but I'm pretty sure he'll be just fine."

"I understand that." Lyle gave a reassuring grin. He'd been hoping for something like this - a cute, photogenic girl that he could show to the people back home, fearful for her loved one and confused, maybe upset, that he had to be dragged away to war. "I bet you wish that there wasn't a war, huh? That your dad could be home for the holiday, not out fighting a war so far away against an enemy that can't even threaten your homes here."


Hecate blinked, tilting her head slightly as if the reporter had just grown a second head or something equally odd. "In a perfect world, sure! But if my dad hadn't gone off to fight a war far away against an enemy who couldn't threaten this place here, I'd be either dead or a slave to the Clans. I'm not gonna be so mean that I'm not going to want other kids who are being threatened by evil to be hurt just because I want me dad home for Christmas!" she took a breath, shaking her head. "Look, war is bad, kay? People get killed, stuff gets broken. But I know evil. And I know good. And mister, I know the difference too! My dad and the Marines are fighting for a good reason, I wish they didn't have to, mister, I wish that everybody would be able to get along and nobody got killed, but that's la-la land, not the real world."
Beside her, Wanda had stiffened, almost glaring at the reporter, but let Hecate speak, pride glowing in her eyes.


For a moment, Lyle just stood there, speechless. It wasn't what he had wanted to hear, but it made too much damned sense. Oh well, my bosses will never let me show that one. "You... you have a point, young lady."


Hecate subsided, taking a breath, then smiled again. "I'll tell you what I really wish for, mister. I wish that I was old enough to be with him at the front. I'm gonna be a Marine when I grow up, mister, just like my dad."


There was no more use with this interview. So, to be gracious, Lyle smiled and said, "I'm sure you will, young lady. Good luck, and Happy Holidays." He smiled a bit wider, nodded at Wanda and repeated the holiday well-wishing, and walked away.
As they stepped out of earshot, he heard Fauna mutter, "I told you we needed to replace Yoshiro with a woman and that you should wear black. Then we would have been in balance. But noooo, it's silly superstition..."
Lyle moaned.



As the reporter and the holocam operator walked off, Hecate just shook her head, while Wanda chuckled softly. "You handled that real well, Hecate" she murmured, ruffling the girls hair.
"Thanks, Mom!" Hecate replied, beaming at the praise as the pair walked towards the airfield.

 

[Big Steve]

So, this was IIRC started while I was still writing "Anatomy", but it was one of those slow-burn collabs we TGG writers used to do. Hecate is an RPG character of @LordSunhawk that he enjoys writing, and he decided to explore how her fate changes in this timeline.

Virtually all of the scenes are his alone, but I did co-write the second bit, as I covered the reporters' side. The most unique bit is that my take on the Rigelians comes from the novel "Mind Meld" by John Vornholt, in which they're Vulcanoids with a cultural lean toward numerology (among other tics).

 

[Big Steve]

A light dust of snow fell lazily from the morning sky, not enough to be all that inconvenient, just enough to lend an atmosphere of peace and tranquility to the air. At the center of Pliune was a large gothic style cathedral, soaring into the sky with delicate buttresses and archs, the stained glass windows glowing from inside. The archaic splendor of the cathedral contrasted with the modernity of the vehicles in the parking lot, but Pliune was like that.

Despite the deliberate effort to make the cathedral appear as authentic as possible, the building still fully benefited from modern technology, cunningly disguised heating and cooling systems kept the interior at just the right temperature, the chandeliers that lit the interior looked for all the world to be candlelit but were anything but. The cathedral itself was in it's Christmas best, bright and cheerful decorations proclaiming the season.

Dressed in their Sunday best, Wanda Maxwell entered the cathedral with Hecate, Bethany and a fidgetting Gilbert, who was probably not quite as focused on the Mass as he should be, since, after all, he had seen the presents wrapped under the tree and just couldn't wait to start opening them. Bethany and Hecate were both old enough to hide that, in the interest of looking as grown up as possible.

Finding a seat, the family waited, while more and more worshippers streamed in, eventually packing the cavernous building tight. The authentic old pipe organ played while they waited, but despite the beauty all around, the merry decorations and the well-loved old songs, there was a somewhat somber pall over the congregation. Many families had but one parent present, many others were missing sons and daughters... this was a Christmas in wartime...

Above the bells began pealing, a glorious bronze clamor that shook the air and quieted the crowd. The organ fell silent while the bells played, proclaiming the Mass. Then the organ began again, a more solemn tone, the ancient Processional, as the congregation stood.

The small party of priest and attendants paced down the aisle, following the proudly raised golden crucifix and upheld bible. The old, golden tones of the organ played, washing over the cathedral. The priest mounted the steps towards the altar, facing away from the congregation, flanked by a deacon and two altar boys... both boys today, by almost pure chance.

The organ ended as the priest came to a halt and the cross and Bible were in their appointed places. The congregation remained standing, heads bowed.

"In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti" the priest intoned, begining the Tridentine rite mass.

"Amen" came the reply, as the Priest and the congregation crossed themselves.

"Confiteor Deo omnipotenti, beatae Mariae semper Virgini, beato Michaeli Archangelo, beato Joanni Baptistae, sanctis Apostolis Petro et Paulo, omnibus Sanctis, et tibi Pater: quia peccavi nimis cogitatione verbo, et opere: mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa. Ideo precor beatam Mariam semper Virginem, beatum Michaelem Archangelum, beatum Joannem Baptistam, sanctos Apostolos Petrum et Paulum, omnes Sanctos, et te Pater, orare pro me ad Dominum Deum Nostrum."

"Misereatur tui omnipotens Deus, et dimissis peccatis tuis, perducat te ad vitam aeternam."

"Amen" replied the priest.

"Confiteor Deo omnipotenti, beatae Mariae semper Virgini, beato Michaeli Archangelo, beato Joanni Baptistae, sanctis Apostolis Petro et Paulo, omnibus Sanctis, et tibi Pater: quia peccavi nimis cogitatione verbo, et opere: mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa. Ideo precor beatam Mariam semper Virginem, beatum Michaelem Archangelum, beatum Joannem Baptistam, sanctos Apostolos Petrum et Paulum, omnes Sanctos, et te Pater, orare pro me ad Dominum Deum Nostrum."

"Misereatur tui omnipotens Deus, et dimissis peccatis tuis, perducat te ad vitam aeternam."

"Amen"

"Indulgentiam absolutionem, et remissionem peccatorum nostrorum, tributat nobis omnipotens et misericors Dominus" continued the priest, in the ancient latin words, memorized from a lifetime of use. The congregation relying on their own memories and the hymnals that they held as they replied in the same ancient tongue.

"Deus, tu conversus vivificabis nos.."

"Et plebs tua laetabitur in te."

"Ostende nobis Domine, misericordiam tuam."

"Et salutare tuum da nobis."

"Domine, exuadi orationem meam."

"Et clamor meus ad te veniat."

"Dominus vobiscum."

"Et cum spiritu tuo."

"Oremus."

The priest continued speaking, too softly to be heard, as he stepped closer to the altar. After a moment, he bends forward, kissing the pristing altar cloth before rising again, still speaking softly. He then steps back slightly, reaching out and taking a censor from which a light fragrant smoke curled from burning incense. The censor waves over the altar as the priest continues to murmur, then is handed back to the deacon.

"Kyrie eleison"
"Kyrie eleison"
"Kyrie eleison"
"Christe eleison"
"Christe eleison"
"Christe eleison"
"Kyrie eleison"
"Kyrie eleison"
"Kyrie eleison"

"Gloria in exceslis Deo."

"Et in terra pax hominibus bonae voluntatis. Laudamus te. Benedicimus te. Adoramus te. Glorificamus te. Gratiam agimus tibi propter magnam gloriam tuam. Domine Deus, Rex coelestis, Deus Pater omnipotens. Domine Fili unigenite, Jesu Christe. Domine Deus, Agnus Dei, Filius Patris,. Qui tollis peccata mundi, miserere nobis.. Qui tollis peccata mundi, suscipe deprecationem nostram. Qui sedes ad dexteram Patris, miserere nobis. Quoniam tu solus Sanctus. Tu solus Dominus. To solus Altissimus, Jesu Christe. Cum Sancto Spiritu in gloria Dei Patris.. Amen."

The congregation was quiet when not speaking the ritual words, words that had more meaning now than on other Christmas'. Even the children were hushed as the majesty of the ancient rite carried on. Here there was safety, warmth, despite the solemnity an undercurrent of good cheer on Christmastide. But every person there, as the prayers were said and the responses given, knew that elsewhere their 'boys and girls' were probably not safe, or warm... but instead were sacrificing safety, and comfort, and good cheer for something greater than themselves.

Some families wore black, or black armbands, and were even more subdued than others in the knowledge that their loved ones had perished while fighting to bring freedom and liberty to an oppressed peoples in another galaxy. Sorrow, yes, but also a deep pride, the pride of those who know that such sacrifices are not in vain, but are the sad burden placed on a free people so long as evil still remains.

As the deacon began the reading of the epistle, his was the only voice to be heard, the well-worn, well-loved words of the ancient bible somehow still fresh and new in the air. Responses that may have been rote and memorized took on new meaning this year, new focus.

As the Gospel was read, the ancient Christmas story, of a birth, of the dawning of an age of hope and joy, the congregation listened, drawing strength from the ancient words of a millenia dead man, the words ringing through the ages. Much had their ancestors listened, in other cathedrals, in other worlds, in other times and other places.

The priest finally turned to face the congregation as he began his homily. His warmth almost infectious, bringing smiles to the faces of the people in the congregation as he spoke of the message of Christmas often lost in the commercial hustle and bustle of the modern society. Lost, perhaps, in the din, but never forgotten, always there for when such messages are needed by a people. As it was needed now...

The priest stepped back, and turned again to the altar.

"Credo in unum Deum, Patrem omnipotentem, factorem coeli et terrae, visibilium omnium et invisibilium. Et in unum Dominum Jesum Christum, Filium Dei unigenitum. Et ex Patre natum ante omnia saecula. Deum de Deo, lumen de lumine, Deum verum de Deo vero. Genitum, not factum, consubstantialem Patri: per quem omnia facta sunt. Qui propter nos homines, et propter nostram salutem descendit de coelis. Et incarnatus est de Spiritu Sancto ex Maria Virgine: ET HOMO FACTUS EST. Crucifixus etiam pro nobis; sub Pontio Pilato passus, et sepultus est. Et resurrexit tertia die, secundum Scripturas. Et ascendit in coelum: sedet ad desteram Patris. Et iterum venturus est com gloria judicare vivos et mortuos. cujus regni non erit finis. Et in Spiritum Sanctum, Dominum et vivificantem: qui ex Patre Filioque procedit. Qui cum Patre, et Filio simul adoratur et conglorificatur: qui locutus est per Prophetas. Et unam, sanctam, catholicam et apostolicam Ecclesiam. Confiteor unum baptisma in remissionem peccatorum. Et exspecto resurrectionem mortuorum. Et vitam ventura saeculi. Amen."

"Dominus vobiscum."

"Et cum spiritu tuo."

"Oremus."

More glorious organ music washed over the congregation, before the priest began again.

"Suscipe, sancte Pater, omnipotens aeterne Deus, hanc immaculatam hostiam, quam ego indignus famulus tuus offero tibi, Deo meo vivo et vero, pro innumerabilibus peccatis, et offensionibus, et negligentiis meis, et pro omnibus circumstantibus, sed et pro omnibus fidelibus Christianis vivis atque defunctis. ut mihi, et illis proficiat ad salutem in vitam aeternam."

"Amen"

"Deus, qui humanae substantiae dignitatem mirabiliter condidisti, et mirabilius reformasti: da nobis per hujus aquae et vini mysterium, ejus divinitatis esse consortes, qui humanitatis nostrae fieri dignatus est particeps, Jesus Christus Filius tuus Dominus noster: Qui tecum vivit et regnat in unitate Spiritus Sancti Deus. per omnia saecula saeculorum. Amen."

"Offerimus tibi, Domine, calicem salutaris tuam deprecantes clementiam: ut in conspectu divinae majestatis tuae, pro nostra et totius mundi salute com odore suavitatis ascendat. Amen."

"In spiritu humilitatis, et in animo contrito suscipiamur a te, Domine, et sic fiat sacrificum nostrum in conspectu tuo hodie, ut placeat tibi, Domine Deus."

"Veni, Sanctificator omnipotens aeterne Deus. et bene dic hoc sacrificum tuo sancto nomini praeparatum"

"Lavabo inter innocentes manus meas. et circumdabo altare tuum, Domine. Ut audiam vocem laudis. et enarrem universa mirabila tua. Domine, dilexi decorem domus tuae: et locum habitationis gloriae tuae. Ne perdas cum impiis, Deus animam meam: et cum viris sanguinum vitam meam: in quorum manibus iniquitates sunt: dextera eorum repleta est muneribus. Ego autem in innocentia mea ingressus sum: redime me, et miserere mei. Pes meus stetit in directo: in ecclesiis benedicam te, Domine."

"Gloria Patri, et Filio, et Spiritui Sancto. Sicut erat in proncipio, et nunc, et semper: et in saecula saeculorum. Amen."

The old latin words flowed easily from memory as the priest prepared for the Eucharist.

"Suscipe sancta Trinitas, hanc oblationem, quam tibi offerimus ob memoriam passionis, resurrectionis, et ascensionis Jesu Christi Domini nostri: et in monorem beatae Mariae semper Virginis, wt beati Joannis Baptistae, et sanctorum Apostolorum Petri et Pauli, et istorum, et monium Sanctorum: ut illis proficiat ad honorem, nobis autem ad salutem: et illi pro nobis intercedere dignentur in coelis, quorum memoriam agimus in terris. Per eumdem Christum Dominum nostrum."

"Amen"

He then turns, facing the congregation once more.

"Orate fratres, et meum ac vestrum sacrificium acceptabile fiat apud Deum Patrem omnipotentem."

"Suscipiat Dominus sacrificium de manibus tuis ad laudem et gloriam nominis sui, ad utilitatem quoque nostram, totiusque Ecclesiae suae sanctae."

The congregation then stood, while the priest turned back to the altar, murmuring softly once more.

"Dominus vobiscum"

"Et cum spiritu tuo."

"Sursum corda"

"Habemus ad Dominum"

"Gratias agamus Domino Deo nostro."

"Dignum et justum est."

"Vere dignum et justum est, aequum et salutare, nos tibi semper, et ubique gratias agere: Domine sancte, Pater omnipotens, aeterne Deus. qui cum unigenito Filio tuo, et Spiritu Sancto, unus es Deus, unus es Dominus. non in unius singularitate personae, sed in unius Trinitate substantiae. Quod enim de tua gloria, revelante te, credimus, hoc de filio tuo, hoc de Spiritu Sancto, sine differentia discretionis sentimus. Ut in confessione verae sempiternaeque Deitatis, et in personis proprietas, et in essentia unitas, et in majestate adoretur aequalitas. Quam laudant Angeli atque Archangeli, Cherubim quoque ac Seraphim: qui non cessant clamare quotidie, una cove discentes"

"Sanctus, Sanctus, Sanctus,
Dominus Deus Sabaoth.
Pleni sunt coeli et terra gloria tua.
Hosanna in excelsis.
Benedictus qui venit in nomine Domini.
Hosanna in excelsis. "

"Te igitur, clementissime Pater, per Jesum Christum Filium tuum, Dominum nostrum, supplices rogamus ac petimus uti accepta habeas, et benedicas haec dona, haec munera, haec sancta sacrificia illibata; in primis quae tibi offerimus pro Ecclesia tua sancta catholica; quam pacificare, custodire, adunare, et regere digneris toto orbe terrarum: una cum famulo tuo Papa nostro Gregory XIX,et Antistite nostro John et omnibus orthodoxis, atque catholicae et aostolicae fidei cultoribus."

"Memento, Domine, famulorum, famularumque tuarum Michael Nicie et Katherine Olafsky et omnium circumstantium, quorum tibi fides cognita est, et nota devotio, pro quibus tibi offerimus. vel qui tibi offerunt hoc sacrificium laudis pro se, suisque omnibus, pro redemptione animarum suarum, pro spe salutis, et incolumitis suae; tibique reddunt vota sua aeterno Deo, vivo et vero."

"Communicantes, et memoriam venerantes in primis gloriosae semper Virginis Mariae, Genitricis Dei et Domini nostri Jesu Christi: sed et beati Joseph ejusdem Virginis Sponsi, et beatorum Apostolorum ac Martyrum tuorum, Petri et Pauli, Andreae, Jacobi, Joannis, Thomae, Jacobi, Philippi, Bartholomaei, Matthaei, Simonis, et Thaddaei: Lini, Cleti, Clementis, Xysti, Cornelii, Cypriani, Laurentii, Chrysogoni, Joannis et Pauli, Cosmae et Damiani, et omnium Sanctorum tuorum; quorum meritis precibusque concedas, ut in omnibus protectionis tuae muniamur auxilio. Per eundem Christum Dominum nostrum. Amen."

The Mass went on, the ancient words, the archaic language, all drawing the congregation together in a community of faith, as the Mass was meant to do. Each prayer, ancient when mankind first stepped foot in the heavens, still had meaning, still had relevance. Here and there the youngest children squirmed in their seats, but were still silent, quelled by their parents or by the simple majesty of the Mass.

For the Maxwell's, Hecate had the most trouble following along, reading the hymnal and stumbling a bit on the latin responses. The rest of the family had been attending Tridentine Rite masses all their lives, and so had a much easier time. But even so, the ancient ritual, the old words, still tugged at the heart. Nothing at all like the simple little church where Hecate's birth family had attended, but the faith was the same, universal... catholic.

"Oremus. Praeceptis salutaribus moniti, et divina institutione formati, audemus dicere"

The entire congregation joined in with a special fervor in the ancient Pater Noster.

"Pater noster, qui es in coelis. sanctificetur nomen tuum: adveniat regnum tuum: fiat voluntas tua, sicut in coelo, et in terra. Panem nostrum quotibianum da nobis hodie, et dimitte nobis debita nostra, sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris. Et ne nos inducas in tentationem: "

Familiar words, words spoken in each generation. Words said in times of war, in times of peace. A continuity, a connection, a shared experience that strengthened the bonds of the faithful.

The Mass continued, the congregation kneeling, standing and sitting in turn, in the rhythm of the ancient traditions of the Rite. A visitor from the past, watching the service, would be right at home, knowing what is happening. Communion was taken, the long lines of the faithful snaking through the cathedral, partaking of the Host. Quiet, despite the sounds of people moving, reverent...

The Mass was nearing it's end, as the congregation settled back in the pews, then stood once more on cue.

"Dominus vobiscum."

"Et cum spiritu tuo."

"Ite, Missa est."

"Deo gratias"

The old organ again played the recessional as the Mass came it's inevitable close, sound again rising within the Cathedral as families stood and lingered for a moment, then started leaving. Some heading home, some heading to their families home's, others returning to their duties at the base. The priest stood by the exit, having a word with all who passed, as the cathedral emptied out. Yet even outside the sense of community engendered by the Mass was slow to fade, the solemnity of the wartime service still pervaded the atmosphere, keeping it subdued, quiet.

It was a spectacularly beautiful day indeed. This Christmas Day, in the year 2153.

 

[Big Steve]

...and so the stage was set for the confrontation that would shake the entire Alpha Quadrant. Cardassian arrogance combined with Federation incompetence had sown the seeds of war, forcing the Alliance to stand up against a despotic regime in the hopes of bringing real peace to the region...

A grumble, and the words on the screen were highlighted, then deleted in a flash. The only light in the room the glow from the screen as the teenager tried to finish writing a class report on the recently finished Winter War.

Hecate found it nearly impossible to concentrate. The report was due in a few days, but tomorrow her adopted father was coming home, the Marines rotating home from rebuilding efforts on Bajor. Homework suddenly was far less important, in some ways, compared to the excitement and anticipation of his homecoming. But she had to write it, but everything she wrote just sounded trite to her, unsatisfactory, pompous and, well, plain dumb.

With another grumble she leaned back, letting her brain relax a bit, eyes flicking over the decorations that hung on her walls, and drawn, as they had been every other time she'd taken a break, to the closet, where her new cadet uniforms were hung, freshly cleaned and pressed. She wouldn't actually start at the prep school for another several months, having to finish this semester first, but the smart cloth would adjust to any growth easily enough. Mom had told her that she hadn't let her dad know that she had been accepted, and the LT had hinted that the news was being kept from him as a surprise.

A glance up at the clock, then back to the screen. A deep breath, and a nod.

...and so the stage was set for this confrontation. A combination of arrogance, incompetence, idealism and destiny propelled the Cardassian Union and the Alliance of Democratic Nations towards war. The attack on Gytep and the continuing provocations and assaults on the Colonial Zone had caused the situation to reach a critical mass, and only a miracle could prevent war. But there was only the incompetence of a morally bankrupt Federation and the arrogance of a totalitarian state that only knew what it wanted to know. After Gytep, there was no longer a question of 'if', but only of 'when'. The die had been cast.

 

[Big Steve]

Anyway, there it is. Yes, @LordSunhawk wrote out an entire Mass, and I actually found it an interesting thing to put in. Over a year later, we finally put up that last post, or rather he did after realizing I hadn't.

And such was the story of Hecate Maxwell. She'd return later in Fifty Days in Kalunda as an Alliance Marine Corps aviator operating off a Gator Navy-equivalent carrier, and briefly in the "Federation Civil War" arc as an on-leave instructor for the Escadrille Lafayette, a group of Franco-American volunteer pilots for the Colonial cause of that conflict. As I recall we had various other little plans for Hecate to show up that didn't fully develop.