New Sergeant, new Squad

Posted on Fri Jun 13th, 2025 @ 3:55pm by Lieutenant Colonel W.B Llewelyn & Sergeant Jace Morven

1,925 words; about a 10 minute read

Mission: Prologue
Timeline: 2388

Uniform on. Clean, pressed. Not new, but sharp enough. He checked the seam at the shoulder again. Small tear, repaired. Barely visible. It was something he never stopped doing, repairing rather than recycling. Only when he couldn't get away with it did he recycle the uniform and get a new one. It was a quirk. It always got ignored. It wasn't about appearance, but it wasn't not, either. There was a standard to be upheld but he rebelled, as always, in small ways. Not because he was naturally rebellious but because his formidable years had shaped him. No waste.

He checked himself in the mirror. Not for long, just enough to make sure nothing showed. No tells. Jaw set. Eyes steady. He remembered flinching, once. That was years ago. He didn't do that anymore.

The PADD on the bunk still held their files. No fanfare. No handpicked elites. Just another squad, like a hundred others across a hundred ships. One with his name stamped on the duty roster beside it. He hadn't read them, hadn't asked the computer to read it for him. He'd deal with them as he found them. Work from there. He hated when others focused on his file and a part of him didn't want to do that to someone else. It might bite him in the arse later. He'd deal with it then.

He'd led before. Not by choice. And not by stripes. Just the kind of leading you did when no one else would and someone had to. In trenches, not holodecks. When things broke. When people did.

Now it was different. Now there were eyes that would look to him before a breach, after a loss. Not for speeches. Not for comfort. Just for steadiness. And he'd give them that. He always had. He would try. Somehow.

He didn't rehearse anything. There was nothing to say. Orders would come. Work would be done. If they wanted to test him, let them. He wouldn't stop them. But he wouldn't break either. He checked his boots once more. Polished. Functional. Scuffed in a way that told you the wearer knew how to walk through fire and still come out standing.

He let himself stand there for a brief second then went out. Stood with the others. He arrived before Reveille. He stood there, waited, staring ahead in silence.

Colonle Llewelyn made his way to the barracks room, coming to stop before the Sergeant. He nods, silently. He was donned in his Armor, sidearm on his thigh.

"Good Morning Sergeant. Are we ready to meet your Squad? Rousing your squad is the first task of the day, and I hope you have some words for your troops?" Llewelyn asked of his new Platoon Sergeant.

Jace had slipped into attention the moment he heard the Colonel's boots on the floor. Not a sharp snap-to, just smooth, automatic. It was the kind of motion the body made after years of war: quiet, precise, without hesitation. Letting the muscle speak while the mind braced for whatever came next. He kept his eyes forward as the Colonel spoke. Measured. Steady. But when the Colonel spoke I hope you have some words for your troops, something flickered just behind his expression. A twitch in his jaw. A beat of tension he crushed before it could spread.

Words. That was the part he never liked. Never trusted. Orders were clean. Structure made sense. But words, especially his, they could go wrong. Be too much or not enough. Usually not enough, just some weight he didn't understand between himself and the moment. They made space for things he didn't want seen. Not fear. He could handle fear. It was the risk of being known. Of being misread. Of opening a door that should've stayed locked. Still, he forced his shoulders to ease. Not because he was relaxed but because the moment demanded calm, and his body obeyed that demand like it always had. "Ready, sir," he said, and met the Colonel’s gaze for half a breath. Brief, but solid. He felt the weight of the squad behind that question "Words will either come when I meet them, or they won’t," he added after a moment. The sentence came out flat, honest. "They don’t need much yet."

He didn't need to tell them who he was. Not in words. Not today. Not unless they asked. You’ve led before, he reminded himself. You’ve done this. Just not like this. Not on a ship. Not with fresh boots and unfamiliar eyes. It was different. But not undoable. He could hold this line like he had all the others. Even if something low in his chest whispered doubt, he ignored it. He didn't need them to like him. He just needed them to follow orders. To stay alive. That was what mattered. Even if this wasn't a warzone. This was civilised. This was...Starfleet.

"Anything specific you want passed on, sir?" he asked, practical now. Simple. Keep it moving. It was easier that way.

"I would say that's up to you. I would say, that apart from your two Corporals, most are fresh from basic and eager for direction." Llewelyn spoke as he put a hand on the door panel.

"I am here, Sergeant, should you need advice though. Now, let's rouse the troops, shall we?" He smiles as he palmed the pad, the doors opening, and the bugle call of Reveille was blasted over the barracks speakers.

"Up and at 'em Sergeant!"

The bugle hit like a pulse of static through the air. Sharp. Loud. Jace didn't flinch, this was a sound he had heard for...most of his life now. Ten troopers, most already stirring. A couple still face-down in their pillows, slow to process that this wasn't basic anymore. No drill instructors here, no barked routines.

Just him. Just Morven.

He stepped forward with calm weight, boots striking the floor with purpose but not aggression. He didn't shout. Didn't need to. A firm voice did more than volume ever could.

"Up. Uniforms on. Boots laced. We form up in five." His voice was low, steady. Not bored but focused. Like someone stating facts, not threats. A few scrambled up immediately, the kind of response that showed they still had basic training's bark and bite in their bones. One trooper, a tall one, maybe still half-asleep, didn’t move fast enough.

Jace stopped by his bunk. He didn't raise his voice. Just leaned slightly in, eyes unreadable.

"This isn't a hotel on Risa, Trooper. Room service ain't coming. Look alive," he said and stepped back, thinking he had said enough to get the private up.

The kid blinked, startled by the quietness more than any yell might have done. "Y-yes, Sergeant."

Jace nodded once. Didn’t linger. He moved on, back to stand next to the Lieutenant Colonel. His mind was counting down the seconds, accurately, years of practice for explosions, movements and just waiting making time a steady thing in his brain. He had been generous with five minutes. He wondered if the Colonel would frown on it.

A part of him found he didn't care.

By the time five minutes passed, they were lined up. Two corporals flanking the line, the rest falling in with varying degrees of sharpness. He stood in front of them, hands behind his back, expression unreadable but not cold. Just watchful. He was acutely aware of his CO watching. This was more a test for Morven than for the squad.

He let the silence hold for a second. No drama. No pacing. No introductions full of puffed-up credentials.

"Sergeant Morven," he said, his voice pitched to carry but not to shout. It was cold, distant, but factual. He let the name sit for a beat. He knew it wouldn't mean anything to any of them. "You’ll call me Sergeant or Sarge. I'm here to make sure you don't get yourselves killed. I don't care where you're from or what they told you in training. You're here, and like everyone else on this ship...you'll do your duty." He paused, to let them process it. He noticed who were alert and who stood there as if they still needed to rub sleep from their eyes.

His words dried up. There was nothing else to be said, not truly. He stepped back. "Lieutenant Colonel Llewelyn, would you like to inspect the squad?" he asked, formally. There was a stiffness to how he said it, a formality he wasn't used to. He had been standing where the troopers were standing in the past. During the War, when he had been leading a squad, no one inspected them. This was different. This was on a ship, they would do the duties of Security here, as well as whatever they got sent to do.

Llewelyn just gave Jace a nod, that told him that he was doing ok.

Standing taller than the rest, was an Efrosian Corporal. He gave off leader vibes. Jace’s new 2iC.

“Corporal Ra-Gari, step forward!” Llewelyn called out towards the tall Efrosian who took one step forward from the line of troopers.

“Sergeant, your Second in Command, Corporal Ra-Gari” Llewelyn introduced the two men.

Jace’s eyes moved to Ra-Gari the moment the Colonel said his name. He didn’t smile. Didn’t offer a handshake. Just studied the man for the breath it took to cross the gap. Not a scan for weakness, just assessment. Height. Bearing. The way he stepped forward without hesitation but without puffed-up confidence. Solid.

The kind of Corporal you could lean on. The kind who filled the space without needing to own it. "Corporal," Jace said with a nod. Just that. Flat. But it was an acknowledgment, and from him, that counted.

Ra-Gari looked like he'd been here a while. Long enough to know the rhythm of the squad. If that was true, Jace would need him: not just to hold the line, but to know where it already was.

"You been with this Platoon long?" he asked, voice even. No fluff. Just a check of the terrain. If Ra-Gari had the pulse of the troopers, he wanted to know now. The rest, the deeper reads, the shaping, it would come later. When the room was quieter. When no one else was listening.

"Last Year or so, Sir." The Efrosian responded crisp, sharp, professionally.

Jace gave a single nod, eyes still on Ra-Gari. That was good. Meant he had a read on the squad. Meant the dynamic wasn’t starting from zero and wouldn't be shattered just because a new Sergeant stepped in. That kind of continuity mattered. It settled things. Quietly, but deeply.

"Fall in, Corporal," he said, voice even. He'd find him later. Get the lay of the land. Learn what kind of unit he’d really inherited. His eyes moved back to the line. They were his, now. That sat strange in his chest. Heavy, but not unwelcome.

“Sir!” The Efrosian nods as he steps back into the group. Llewelyn was confident in his choice, turning to head for his office, satisfied with what he saw of his new platoon sergeant. He felt this was a good first step and was eager to see how he would perform.

Only time would tell.

—————
Lieutenant Colonel W.B. Llewelyn
Detachment Commander
U.S.S Guinevere

Corporal Ra-Gari
Detachment Member
U.S.S Guinevere

Sergeant Jace Morven
Platoon Sergeant FGF Detachment
U.S.S Guinevere

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