Across the Storm Divide [3/4]

Posted on Thu Jul 10th, 2025 @ 2:03pm by Sergeant Jace Morven

1,889 words; about a 9 minute read

Mission: Prologue
Location: USS Guinevere
Timeline: 2388

Grant.

He hadn’t forgotten about Grant. It had just been a while since he’d let the memory surface. There was no need to bring it up, it sat buried, always there, like a faint echo in the back of his mind. The kid’s eyes, the way he moved...too much energy sometimes, always just under the surface. Dangerous if it wasn’t properly controlled.

The mission had seemed simple enough. On the surface, anyway. But why they’d been selected? That didn’t matter. He didn’t need to know. Orders came, Jace moved. Since the POW camp, the missions had been straightforward; no grey areas where Jace might feel the need to push back. His squad followed him. The end of the Dominion War was looming, or so everyone said. Didn’t make it any easier. The finish line hung over them: not like a flag, but a falling axe.

The room warmed again. The heat was artificial, slicing through the cold he couldn’t quite shake. It flushed his skin...unnatural, that feeling of warmth after the chill. Jace exhaled quietly, his breath even, and shifted onto his back, his eyes tracking the ceiling above him. The lines in the plating were faint but clear, like part of the ship’s rhythm, moving in time with his own breathing.

Cracks in glass. Cracks in ice. Cracks in demeanour.

Or in armour.

His shoulders felt the weight of it...quiet, steady strain, holding everything together. He didn’t need to say anything, but it was there, like a weight pressing in. The cold, the hunger for something… but he didn’t know what that was anymore. Maybe it wasn’t about needing more. Maybe it was about needing less.

He closed his eyes. The weight of it didn’t shift.

But he didn’t need it to. Not yet.

Operation Opal – Final Weeks of the Dominion War, 2375

The storm outside had only grown worse, but inside the facility, the silence pressed down on them like an iron weight. The kind of quiet that made the air feel thicker, almost stifling. Every movement was precise. Every step measured. Every breath a quiet calculation.

Jace led the squad through the now-deserted halls, boots silent on the cold floor. The command centre was behind them, but the exit ahead felt just as sterile, just as unforgiving. There were no guards left, but that didn’t mean they were safe. The Dominion weren’t sloppy...they were methodical, and Jace knew that if the bodies were found, they’d regroup. They’d anticipate an escape attempt.

He’d operate with the assumption the alarms had already gone off.

He checked the chrono on his wrist, the seconds ticking down with the kind of inevitability that had become second nature. A countdown. Thirty minutes until extraction. Thirty minutes before their shuttle left, with or without them.

“Stay alert,” Jace said, his voice low, cutting through the tension like a scalpel. “We have a tight window. We don’t have time for mistakes.”

His words hung in the air, sharp and clear, as the squad moved forward.

Grant shifted his weight on his feet, rifle slung loosely at his side. Jace didn’t need to look at him to know what was going through his head. The rookie wanted to prove himself, wanted to rush ahead and show he belonged. But not now. Not in these final moments. Jace’s instincts told him Grant’s eagerness could be deadly if left unchecked.

“Grant.”

The name sliced through the quiet, and the rookie stopped dead in his tracks. Jace didn’t look back at him, just kept his forward gaze locked on the next stretch of corridor, the shadows lurking at its edges.

“Stay with the team.” His voice was controlled, even, but there was weight in it. “We move together. No one acts on their own. Got it?”

Jace didn’t wait for a verbal response. He could see the uncertainty flickering in Grant’s eyes, the raw energy there that would get him killed if left unchecked. The rookie nodded quickly, but Jace saw the tension in his jaw, the way his hands fidgeted at his side. It wasn’t fear, not yet, but it was something close...something dangerous in this environment.

The squad moved swiftly. The exit was just ahead, but Jace’s senses were sharp. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. His rifle was at the ready, eyes flicking from corner to corner, scanning the darkness for any sign of movement.

Kerren, steady as always, fell in behind, his posture calm, his eyes scanning the shadows. Martinez stayed close by, rifle steady in hand, moving with the quiet certainty that Jace always trusted.

Jace moved with the squad, his mind already calculating their next steps. They were close, but that didn’t mean the mission was over. There was still time, too much time for things to go wrong. The silence around them felt oppressive, suffocating even, and Jace could feel his pulse steady in his chest, senses stretched thin, tuned to every sound, every flicker of light. The real work hadn’t begun yet. But it would. Soon.

“Morven,” Banik called from ahead. “We’ve got company.”

Jace stopped, his body going still as the squad halted instantly behind him. The silence pressed in like a vice. His mind clicked into gear, assessing the situation before even a breath escaped his lips. The Dominion were nothing if not methodical. It wasn’t a surprise, he knew the risk. The question hadn’t been if they’d be discovered; it was how fast they'd move. How many? Where would they come from?

“They’ve got us boxed in,” Banik’s voice cut through the tension, tight and controlled. “Two groups, one in the south, the other moving in from the west.”

Jace blinked, a brief pause. It happened. No use dwelling. Get moving. Extract the intel. Complete the mission. He’d learned that lesson long ago: keep your head in the game.

“Grant,” Jace said, eyes still fixed ahead. His voice low, commanding. “You’re with me. We need to clear the west side. The rest of you, cover our six.”

Grant’s eyes flickered with something, determination? eagerness? It didn’t matter. Jace didn’t wait for an answer. He was already moving, stepping into the corridor with the controlled precision of someone who’d been here a hundred times before. His footsteps light, but sure. Every motion calculated. Every muscle ready. The squad fell in, fluid as one, each step measured, silent.

They reached the junction, the sharp turn of the west side just ahead. Jace signalled for Grant to take position at the corner. The rookie hesitated for half a second, but his training kicked in. He dropped low, rifle raised, ready. Still shaky, but he'd get there.

Jace leaned out first, eyes sweeping the corridor, his body taut with focus. The air was thick with tension, but for a moment, there was nothing. No movement. No sound but the storm outside.

Then it came. A burst of fire from the west. Jem’Hadar soldiers emerged from the shadows like phantoms, weapons raised in deadly arcs.

Instinct took over.

Jace dove back into cover, the world shrinking down to the tight, controlled rhythm of his breath. Move, shoot, breathe. The trooper behind him returned fire in a blur. His eyes locked on the enemy, phaser rifle moving with precision born of repetition.

Grant’s shot went wide. Too eager. Too fast.

“Stay focused,” Jace growled, voice cutting through the moment like a blade. “Take the shot when you know you can hit. Not before.”

No reply. No time for it. Jace steadied himself and leaned out again, fluid in his movements, his stance unwavering. A controlled burst of fire. One Jem’Hadar dropped. Another two returned fire, forcing Jace back into cover. The sound of phaser fire rang out through the corridor, old as the fight itself—familiar, like the hum of a machine long past its prime.

“Move,” Jace said, voice steady, just above the gunfire. Not shouting, but unyielding. “We need to clear this space before reinforcements arrive.”

Grant nodded, his eagerness tempered by Jace’s command. The rookie was learning. He’d hold the line now. Jace moved forward, step by step, each motion sharp and controlled. Grant followed, clearing one of the soldiers in their path.

The rest of the squad moved in, covering them from behind. The room fell into line, each trooper moving like clockwork. One shot. One step. Calculated.

In less than a minute, the area was cleared. The Jem’Hadar, once poised to kill, now lay crumpled on the cold floor. No ceremony. No hatred. Their bodies were just another casualty, another moment passed in this war. The squad didn’t pause, didn’t flinch. There was no time for that.

“We need to get out of here,” Martinez’s voice sliced through the air, calm and factual. But there was an edge to it. Not fear. Not resignation. But urgency. “Our exit window’s closing.”

Jace gave a single, sharp nod, taking it in without the need for further explanation. He turned, already moving towards the exit, overriding the controls with the fluidity of muscle memory. They’d done this too many times, and he didn’t need to look at the console to know what needed to be done.

The wind howled, icy and violent. Snow lashed his skin like a thousand tiny needles, but Jace didn’t flinch. His body was a machine, trained to work through the pain. His steps were firm, measured, cutting through the snow with a precision that felt almost too easy. The squad followed, ghostly figures in the white oblivion of the storm.

The cold was a constant now, biting at exposed skin. But Jace kept moving. Time was a luxury they did not have, and in this moment, there was only forward. The squad moved like a force of nature: silent, unyielding, but with purpose, with urgency. Snow settled on eyebrows and exposed hair. Frost formed on the edges of lips and nostrils, but the cold wasn’t allowed to set in.

Jace’s mind was already counting down. He didn’t need a chrono. He could feel the seconds ticking away, each one pushing them closer to the extraction point, to safety. But as Grant began to slow, his steps growing hesitant, Jace’s instincts took over. He didn’t need to say anything. He simply moved towards the rookie, his pace steady, and walked beside him, a quiet presence urging him forward. The rookie’s eyes flickered up at him, a silent acknowledgment that needed no words.

They moved. Not running. Not yet. Just steady, fast, efficient.

Jace didn’t look at Grant, didn’t look back at the squad. They didn’t need him to. They were all part of the same rhythm now.

They’d make it.

The other option wasn’t viable for them. It was never an option.

To be continued and concluded in part 4

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

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