Across the Storm Divide [2/4]

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

1,871 words; about a 9 minute read

Mission: Prologue
Location: USS Guinevere
Timeline: 2388

He hadn’t forgotten.

But it had been a while since he’d let that particular bruise surface.

He kept his eyes shut, trying to ignore the cold that bit through the thin sheets. The hum of the environmental controls kicked in, barely enough to fight it. He could hear the others. Rourke’s laugh, brash and familiar. Trelan’s complaints, her voice snapping through the room as she threatened to throw something. The bet was over. Rourke had won, and the air still carried the remnants of it.

Respect, maybe. Or just the way things went. Rourke always won. It was part of the deal.

Trelan, though… that snap in her voice? That bite. It was the kind of sharpness that came with knowing when to stand her ground. The kind of snap that said she was heading for something bigger.

Give her a few years. Ten, maybe, and she’d surpass him.

It settled in his chest, a strange tightness. The knowledge that she’d be good at it, whatever it was. A kind of leader who didn’t have to chase the position, didn’t have to force her way to the top. She’d earn it by being herself. by being present and open.

Like Martinez, but with a hint of Terrow.

Martinez....sharp, quiet, able to see through the bullshit. Able to cut straight to the point. But Trelan had something more...she wasn’t carrying the hollow eyes of Martinez, nor the scars of Terrow. Trelan was whole. Unbroken by the war. Able to sleep, to breathe, to let it go without the ghosts chasing.

His old squad. The one that had shaped him, offered him a brief place where things felt more settled. And this...his new squad, a situation to step into with the proper rank, not a shadow leading other shadows across the darkness of the Dominion War.

The cold was still there, biting at the edges of his ears. He could feel it...sharp, like the memories he never quite let go of. But he tuned it out.

And he remembered.

Operation Opal– Final Weeks of the Dominion War, 2375

The squad moved swiftly, blending into the facility like shadows. Inside, the base was a stark contrast to the biting wind outside: cold metal corridors, the hum of failing power systems, and flickering overhead lights that mirrored the flicker in Jace’s mind. Every corner, every surface felt like a trap waiting to close. The air reeked of dust, stale machinery, and something metallic, sour...familiar, but not comforting. This place had been abandoned, but its ghosts hadn’t yet left. Whatever Dominion forces remained were the last ones standing. It was too cold for Cardassians to be comfortable. The squad’s breath hung in the air.

Jace kept his phaser rifle steady, eyes flicking between shadows, scanning for movement in the low light. His body was alive with tension, every muscle primed, ready to spring. He was aware of every sound, every echo. The Dominion forces had built barricades...crude but effective...designed to slow down anyone who dared enter. The guards were younger. Less seasoned. Prone to mistakes.

He didn’t need to waste time watching for the old, hardened Dominion soldiers. His focus stayed on the fresh ones, the new blood. They were out of their depth, and Jace could exploit that.

He waved the squad forward. His hand moved like a strike, clear, deliberate. Kerren moved first, always steady, always with purpose. Banik followed closely behind, as quiet as the dark. Grant was there too, his movements a little more eager, a little too quick, but for now, he was matching the rhythm, staying in line. It was an improvement, but Jace’s instincts kept his focus on the rookie. He knew the type...new troopers with something to prove. That kind of energy was dangerous, especially in tight spots.

The squad reached the main corridor of the facility without incident. The walls, pocked with damage from earlier conflicts, loomed above them like silent sentinels. Dominion soldiers patrolled the area, unaware of their presence for now. The storm’s radiation took care of the signals. The tricorders weren’t reliable...Terrow was though, able to sense people.

The squad took cover behind crates, shadows stretching long in the dim light. A moment and Banik lifted her hand. Tapped two fingers against her neck. Everyone reached for a hypo in their pack. Anti-radiation cocktail, to make sure their organs didn’t melt. The hiss of the hypos was quiet. Jace’s face was still as the coldness spread in his veins, a rush of nausea, then his body settled back into its normal rhythm. Grant looked green around the gills for a moment, then exhaled.

Jace's breath was steady, but his mind was already calculating, evaluating the situation, reading the environment. His hand signalled and they moved.

Jace had his knife, his phaser rifle over his shoulder. Banik fired her phaser rifle, taking down one of the Jem’Hadar...scarred, clearly senior in the hierarchy, perhaps not in rank but in experience. He fell. The panic set in. Jace moved like death and grabbed one of the younger Jem’Hadar. Ripped the tube, drove the knife into the neck.

The rest of the squad followed, swift, silent. The Jem’Hadar fell, their bodies crumpling to the cold floor, a legacy in blood and ketracel-white spilling on the floor. Frost was already claiming it. The squad stayed still, listening, the sound of the facility’s machinery humming low, mingling with the rush of wind outside.

No alarms.

Jace gave the signal to move forward. His eyes locked onto the command centre ahead...he knew it wasn’t far. They had good intel on this, from Bajorans who had once worked here.

Inside, the corridor was eerily quiet, save for the soft beep of Terrow’s tricorder. He was already ahead, scanning, brow furrowed in concentration before he sighed and shook his head. The tricorder vanished, and Terrow closed his eyes for a moment. Jace was familiar with the look. He was finding the place inside himself that could reach out; where he could cut through the storm’s howl and feel the subtle shifts of the world around him.

Martinez moved up beside Jace, their phaser rifle ready, their stance poised and alert. The others fell into position, waiting for his next command.

Jace’s thoughts were sharp. He wasn’t letting the adrenaline get to him. This wasn’t about speed; it was about precision. This mission was as much about what wasn’t happening as what was. The moment they made too much noise, an alarm would go off, and the Dominion would catch on. They couldn’t afford that. Not today.

He moved forward, his body melding with the shadows. Keep it quiet. Keep it steady.

Terrow held up a hand. Two fingers.

Two Dominion soldiers inside.

Jace stood at the threshold of the command room, his gaze fixed on the two Dominion soldiers sitting at the consoles, completely unaware of the squad’s presence. The storm outside still howled, but the silence inside was suffocating, oppressive...a calm before a storm that had already begun.

His phaser rifle was at the ready, fingers tight around the grip, but his posture still…watching, calculating. Every inch of the facility was mapped in his mind. Every step was deliberate, every movement precise.

He motioned for the squad to take their positions, body still and unflinching. The command was silent, but the intent was clear.

Grant was too eager. Too quick, his movements sharp and fast as he crept forward with his phaser rifle aimed at the unsuspecting guards. Jace saw it immediately. It was the rookie’s impatience. The same eagerness to prove himself that would get him killed if Jace didn’t rein it in. He moved to his side, silently.

“Stay in line,” Jace’s voice was low, flat, a breath in the air without any malice, just control. “You don’t make the call.”

There was a beat, a hesitation that spoke louder than words. The frustration in Grant’s eyes flared for just a second before he blinked it away. Jace didn’t flinch. He didn’t need to. His eyes stayed on the guards as Banik and Kerren shifted into position, moving like they’d done this a thousand times before. Quiet. Swift. Efficient.

Banik made the first move, slipping through the shadows with the fluidity of someone born for this. One guard dropped, the sound of his body hitting the chair barely noticeable. The second guard didn’t have time to react. His body crumpled to the floor, shot in the back with the same precision.

Jace moved in, stepping over them without a second thought, his boots silent against the cold floor. His focus remained on the room, on the shadows at the edges, every corner, every potential threat. He didn’t need to acknowledge the squad. They were in sync, moving like an extension of himself.

“Grant,” Jace said sharply as he neared the console, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Watch the hallway. No heroics.” His voice was calm, but there was a weight behind the words that made it clear. No mistakes. Not this time.

Grant nodded but didn’t speak. His gaze flickered nervously to the door before returning to his post. He was learning, but Jace could feel the rookie’s tension lingering in the air.

Martinez looked over at Jace, a brief look exchanged between them. Terrow shifted but did not go next to Grant.

Banik and Kerren were already at the console, working in fluid synchrony, fingers flying across the interface. Jace’s gaze swept across the monitors for a split second, but his mind was elsewhere. He didn’t need to focus on the data. He was already calculating the next steps, considering the risks, scanning for any sign of movement in the hallway. The mission wasn’t over, not until they were back at the extraction point.

The hum of the consoles filled the air, a low, sterile sound. Jace’s senses were heightened, his attention split, but the weight of the mission pressed down on him. This was the only thing that mattered. His squad’s survival. Getting out. Keeping them all alive.

Banik finished first, inputting the last of the gathered intel. “Intel secured. We’re good to go,” she said, her voice steady, calm, unshaken.

Jace gave a brief nod, his jaw tight, but his face as unreadable as always. He didn’t need to say anything. The work wasn’t over, not yet. “Move out,” he ordered. “Back to the extraction point. No mistakes.”

The squad fell into formation, ready and synchronised, moving like a fluid extension of Jace’s will. The storm outside still raged, but inside the facility, the silence felt almost tangible. It was the calm before the next storm, but they would face it, like they always did: together, moving as one.

To be continued in part 3

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

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