[Trek Universe] SD 241207.01 | Duty Log | Gen. Richard Sharpe
Peter Miller
=/\= HQMC, Earth =/\=
Richard could feel the quickening of his breath, his heart rate had accelerated beyond anything normal. He’d been into combat, he’d seen some of the Federation’s most severe conflicts, been wounded, seen friends die, seen the horrors of war. All of these things he could cope with, to a degree, but he found he couldn’t cope with what he was about to face right now.
The Press.
The top brass wanted to announce that a new face would be joining the upper echelons of the command structure, a famous war hero, someone who the citizens of the Federation could be proud of. Someone to look up to, not see a stuffy autocrat who sits in an office all day, but someone who knows what it’s like out there, what’s going on where the metal meets the meat. At least, that was the sales pitch from General Steele about half an hour ago. Sharpe wasn’t convinced he was any of those things, but he understood the necessity of a good PR campaign. Or at least, he hoped he did.
Waiting inside the main lobby, Sharpe waited to be presented to the press corps of the Federation. He knew that the President himself had insisted on this, presumably to bolster his own flagging popularity in the opinion polls by associating himself with someone of Sharpe’s calibre. The term that Colonel Pressman, the PR Officer for the marine corps, had used was that the President was borrowing some of Sharpe’s credibility. He suspected that his promotion had been political in nature, and all joy he’d had in it seemed to go in that realisation.
He stood dressed in his dress uniform, his medals chinking against his chest as he walked up and down. This had been the idea of Fiona Lopez, the President’s Chief of Staff, who’d come down to oversee things, showing off his many medals for bravery and self-sacrifice for the Federation. Anyone who’d seen and survived combat knew that these bits of tin on your chest were worthless compared to the losses that resulted, but to outsiders and those uneducated in the horrors of war, they meant something.
From outside, came a voice: “Ladies and Gentlemen of the press, may I present to you, General Richard Eugene Sharpe, our new Commander of Marine Operations for Starfleet Command.”
Seeing this was his cue, Sharpe stepped outside onto the steps that led into the office building with the SFMC crest above the door onto a blue carpeted area at the top of the stairs, with a small wooden lecturn, with the Starfleet crest on the front. Using all his marine training, he stepped forward in parade ground fashion and stood to smart attention beside the podium, where President John Bateman stood, applauding along with the select members of people who were on the ‘stage’ behind him.
Once the applause died down, the President turned back to the assembled press corps, and continued to speak.
“General Sharpe comes to us from the Gamma quadrant, where he was responsible for the successful completion of the Carrie Eight hostage situation, along with a veritable host of other successful campaigns and missions throughout his forty year career with Starfleet. It is with great pleasure that I welcome him to Earth to take up his new posting at the heart of Starfleet.”
There was a smatter of more applause, which Bateman waited to end before he carried on.
“With General Sharpe’s new position, he holds a vital position within Starfleet Command. Not only working for the Starfleet Marine Corps directly, but also as part of the Joint Special Operations Command, as the marine representative on the command panel. He will also be working closely with not only the Commandant of the Corps, but the Commander of Starfleet, the Federation Council and the President.”
Richard wanted to groan, to scream, to run away, to hide and never be found. All he could do was stand there, and try and look as impassive as possible as he realised that his new job came with so many strings, he had absolutely no idea who was pulling which one. Whomever had dreamed up this new job, since it was created specifically for Sharpe to occupy, had intended him to be the public face of pretty much all Starfleet activities for the foreseeable future. Anything the marines did, he’d be there to show the flag.
With this realisation, he realised that he was essentially usurping the Commandant and Deputy Commandant in all but name. This was a dangerous position to be put in, and only spared by the fact that Alex Steele, the Commandant, was a very old friend of Sharpe’s. During Sharpe’s eight year stint on Trilista Colony as head of the 3rd MEU, he’d been Richard’s Division Commander. If it wasn’t for this close friendship, he felt sure that there would be animosity between him and the Commandant’s office. As it was, he felt sure he could somehow pull off this farce.
Once the press had taken lots of pictures and news reel of Sharpe, and Sharpe with the President, and Sharpe with this politician and that politician, they let him go back to his office to change out of his monkey suit into standard uniform. After that harrowing ordeal, he felt glad to see his vast office. Two walls were actually windows, giving him a panoramic view over the Starfleet Command campus, with a great view of the Golden Gate Bridge. His office was lushly appointed, with a large mahogany desk , a high back leather office chair that could’ve been taken from a museum or a lordly estate. It looked more like a luxury armchair with wheels, than anything else. The other appointments around the room were equally as lavish and grand. Such were the perks of high rank, he supposed, although he suspected it was so it looked better for pictures when he met famous figures.
Flopping into his chair, he wondered when he’d actually get to do some of the work he’d been looking forward to.
=/\= End Log =/\=
General Richard Sharpe
Commander, Marine Operations
Starfleet Command