Across the Storm Divide [1/4]

Posted on Thu Jul 10th, 2025 @ 2:02pm by Sergeant Jace Morven

1,640 words; about a 8 minute read

Mission: Prologue
Location: USS Guinevere
Timeline: 2388

It was cold.

Jace woke to it first, the kind of cold that sliced through the air like a sharp edge. The sort that sank into your bones, left its trace in the back of your throat. The mist from his breath lingered, an unwelcome reminder of something he wasn't ready to face. He sat up with deliberate slowness, his movements efficient, just enough to push the weight of sleep off without wasting anything. His eyes flicked to the corner.

Rourke. In his underwear, laughing. The sound of it was a burst of warmth in the stillness, but for Jace, it wasn’t enough. Some stupid bet, some nonsense to lighten the mood. He'd seen it before, back with the 103rd, more than he cared to remember. A ritual of sorts, a way to ease the unbearable pressure of war, to make the constant threat of death feel less immediate, less suffocating. But he’d seen it in the 77th too. A different kind of bonding. Dark. Twisted. The kind that left a taste in your mouth that never quite went away, even years later.

He exhaled sharply through his nose. No point in engaging. Not today. Not anymore.

Jace didn’t let his gaze linger on Rourke. He never did. He pulled the blanket higher over his shoulders with a quiet, practiced movement, the fabric settling in with a dull weight that grounded him. The warmth seeped through, but only faintly. It was enough to dull the cold, but not to erase it.

He shifted, curling onto his side. The motion was fluid, efficient. The blanket tucked in around him, a temporary shield from the frost that still gnawed at his skin. His eyes closed, but the sleep didn’t come instantly. His mind, trained to never fully switch off, lingered on the edges of memories he couldn’t entirely keep at bay.

A different squad. A different time. A different man, maybe.

His breathing slowed. Not consciously. It was just something that happened when his mind grew still, when his body let him be. The faintest flicker of something cold brushed across his chest...an old, unwelcome sensation that he didn’t need to name. He didn’t want to.

He shut his eyes.

Operation Opal – Final Weeks of the Dominion War, 2375

The storm pressed down on them, thick and unrelenting. It wasn’t like the snowstorms on the holodeck, the kind that were designed for warmth and comfort, simulations of winter on Earth. This storm was sharp: cutting with purpose, not the hum of artificial cold, but the real thing, so bitter it tore into you as if it wanted to break you. The wind sliced through the mountainside, carving the earth with relentless fury, erasing everything it touched.

Jace barely noticed the cold anymore. His skin had long since grown numb to it, the sting insignificant compared to the heat of battle. The war had scarred him deeper than any storm could. His muscles were hardened, his bones used to carrying the weight of it all. Gear, scars…it all mixed. More armour.

He led the squad forward, each step deliberate, each movement calculated. The squad followed in silence, their presence more a part of the storm than a contrast to it. The sound of boots crunching in the snow was the only indication they existed. It was a rhythm they had perfected over months, over the last couple of years. Jace’s pace never wavered, his eyes constantly scanning the terrain ahead: every gust of wind, every jagged ridge was mapped in his mind. The Dominion held their ground just ahead, the mission objective buried in the heart of the storm, a base waiting to be torn open, ripped apart by skilled Troopers.

Behind him, Martinez moved just close enough to Jace that he could feel their presence without needing to look. They had been through too many missions together for anything to feel awkward, but the silence between them was thick with unspoken understanding. Kerren, ever-stable, was to his right, rifle hanging loosely in his hands, but his eyes were always calculating, never idle. Banik moved just behind, her eyes sharp, scanning the horizon, always alert, always the last to speak but never the last to act.

Terrow’s presence was felt more by instinct than sight. The Betazoid's senses were strained, unable to cut through the howling wind. Jace could see it in his posture, the slight tension in his movements as he pressed forward. New blood. Grant was still too raw, his footsteps too eager, his breath too loud. His energy was unsettled, unrefined. Jace didn’t say anything. There was no point but he kept his eyes on the rookie. He could see the need to prove something in the kid’s every movement. And that need, when it wasn't managed, was the kind of thing that got soldiers killed.

As if on cue, Martinez leaned in closer, just enough for Jace to hear over the storm. “Kid’s going to be a problem,” they said, voice low but sharp.

Jace’s eyes flickered to Martinez, but he didn’t reply. He didn’t need to. It wasn’t about what Martinez thought. It was about what he could make happen.

“Want me to keep an eye?” Martinez asked again, voice cutting through the storm’s howl.

“No,” Jace muttered, a quick shake of his head. His responsibility. His squad. “I’ll handle it.”

Martinez nodded, but the tension in their gaze lingered. Jace didn’t miss it. Martinez trusted him, but they also saw the same thing he did: the kid wasn’t ready. But Jace didn’t need to show any cracks in the wall. The rookie had to learn, and he wasn’t going to learn if he was kept safe in a bubble. Jace would show him how it worked.

There was no other choice.

The squad kept moving, the cold gnawing at their faces as they advanced through the blinding white. They were nearly there. Their target within sight. How the battle would unfold, if they would breach silently or not, was up to skill and circumstances. One, Jace had control over. The other, he had to accept.

The entrance to the base was tucked away, barely visible behind a series of jagged ridges. It looked old, decrepit. A repurposed mining complex, its sharp lines and broken edges giving it an almost skeletal appearance. Once used to house workers and equipment, the walls now caged the enemy, their jagged edges like teeth. The Dominion had dug in deep, expecting a prolonged fight. A fight that was already lost, whether they knew it or not.

Jace paused at the perimeter, his eyes scanning the crumbling structure. His phaser rifle was in hand, silent, like an extension of his body. The squad was still, no one daring to breathe in sync. The wind carried the only noise now, the blizzard howling against the structure. The storm had done its job, masking their approach, but Jace knew they didn’t have long. Not long at all before the Dominion realised they were there.

Every muscle in him was coiled tight as he moved forward, his body blending with the snow, a shadow cutting through the white. Kerren followed on his six, Banik covered the rear. And Grant: eager, too eager, stumbled in the snow and lagged behind. His gaze darted too much, eyes too wide. Jace didn’t need to say anything. The rookie would learn soon enough. And he saw Terrow move to Grant, to calm him.

They approached the outer guards, a pair of Jem’Hadar posted at the base’s entrance. Their backs were to the storm, scanning the barren horizon. The stronghold had been built to withstand the weather, but Jace knew the guards wouldn’t last long without breaking formation.

He signalled.

Banik moved like water…silent, fluid, lethal. Her phaser rifle barely made a sound as it lifted, and the first guard dropped before he had a chance to react. Kerren was right behind her, moving in perfect sync. His shot took out the second guard in the same heartbeat, the body crumpling to the ground without a noise, like he’d always been meant to fall.

Jace was already moving, his pace quick, controlled, no hesitation. They were in. Just as planned.

Grant moved ahead, rifle raised, the eagerness practically pouring off him. Jace’s eyes flicked over to him…just enough to catch the rookie’s posture. A slight shift, too eager, too quick. He didn’t flinch, didn’t let the moment distract him, but he was already stepping toward Grant before the kid had a chance to take another step.

His voice was low, sharp as it cut through the howling wind. “Stay with the squad.”

Grant stopped, just a fraction behind, still tense. Jace’s eyes locked onto his. “You’re not impressing anyone by running ahead. You’re here to survive. Follow orders. Stay in formation. Or you won’t last.”

The words landed heavy, as blunt as Jace could make them. No anger. Just the weight of truth. No room for pride or bravado. Just the cold reality of it.

Grant blinked, but Jace didn’t wait for a reply. His eyes had already shifted back to the entrance, scanning the shadows. He didn’t need to explain any further. He’d said enough.

The squad fell into position again, like the well-oiled machine they were...silent, efficient, unstoppable.

The storm howled again, but Jace and his squad slipped into the facility’s shadows, undisturbed. And the real work? That had only just begun.

To be continued in part 2

Sergeant Jace Morven
Platoon Sergeant
Alpha Squad
Federation Ground Forces Detachment
USS Guinevere

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