After Action and More
Posted on Tue Jan 13th, 2026 @ 1:27pm by Sergeant Major Lachlan Barr & Major Edmund Merrick
Edited on on Tue Jan 13th, 2026 @ 2:45pm
2,457 words; about a 12 minute read
Mission:
Episode 17 - Going Home
Location: Merrick's Office, Marine Country, USS Pioneer
Timeline: MD 05 0900
The door chimed and slid open at Lachlan’s approach. He stepped through without breaking stride, letting it close behind him with a soft hiss.
“Sir,” he said, not formal so much as respectful — the kind that came from shared mud and worse.
He rolled one shoulder, like he was still carrying the weight of armour that wasn’t there anymore. “I wanted to catch you before we go straight from one mess into another.”
He moved closer to the desk, stopped short of leaning on it. Close enough to talk plainly. “Wren IX is done on paper. On the deckplates, it’s still rattlin’ around. Crew held, officers mostly did right by their people, but I’d rather air it now than assume shore leave’ll sand off the rough edges.”
A brief huff of breath. Not quite a smile.
“And with us headin’ for a Cardassian-built nightmare in the Badlands, I don’t fancy carryin’ unfinished business into that.” He tilted his head slightly. “Figured we should do the after-action properly. Leadership, decisions under fire, who surprised us — good and bad.”
His hands rested loosely at his sides. No PADD yet. This wasn’t a report being read.
“I’m here for your steer, sir. And to give you mine, if you want it, before we commit to the next run.”
He waited then — steady, unhurried — letting Merrick set the tone from there.
Edmund looked up as the chime sounded, from the sketch pad he had been drawing on. The lines that were there, seeming to be that of the caverns and tunnels they had gone through on Wren XI. Also next to it upon his PADD were the scans that they had received of the station they would be going to. On the other side of the padd were drawings of possible access points onto that station.
"Have a seat Lachlan, lets talk." a half smile was there replacing the serious expression Edmund had before. The furrow in his brow disappearing.
Lachlan took the offered seat, easing into it with a quiet exhale. He didn’t pull a padd out straight away. This wasn’t that kind of brief.
“Right,” he said, glancing once at the sketches before looking back to Edmund. “I’ll start where it matters.”
He leaned forward slightly, forearms resting on his thighs. “Under pressure, the unit held. That’s the headline. No panic, no freeze, no one broke formation even when the situation went sideways and stayed there. We were outnumbered, outgunned, and fightin’ something none of us had trained against properly — and still, discipline didn’t crack.”
A beat, letting that land.
“Small-unit initiative was solid. Marines didn’t wait to be told when comms went patchy — they adapted. Fire teams re-formed on the fly, covered gaps without needing shouted orders. I saw senior lance corporals making calls I’d expect from staff sergeants, and they were the right calls.”
His mouth twitched faintly. Pride, but measured.
“Inter-branch coordination worked better than expected. Fleet didn’t get underfoot, and our people didn’t default to bulldozin’ past them. Science stayed alive long enough to do their jobs because the perimeter held. That doesn’t happen by accident.”
He straightened a touch. “Leadership-wise — officers stayed visible. No one vanished into a command bubble. When things got ugly, they were where the Marines could see them, and that matters more than most folk realise.”
Then, more quietly, “Casualty response was quick. Med teams moved under fire without hesitation. We lost blood, not people. That’s a win, even if it doesn’t feel like one yet.”
He paused there, finally reaching for the padd but not activating it.
“That’s the good,” Lachlan said evenly. “And it’s not small. Whatever comes next — including that Cardassian station you’re sketchin’ — this unit goes in knowin’ it can take a hit and keep functionin’.”
He lifted his eyes back to Edmund. “You want the friction points next, or you want to ask questions while we’re still on the positives?”
"I don't have questions where the positives are concerned, I do agree that both the Fleet and the Marines did pull together. For the most part." Merrick thinking of a particular marine. " You most definitely pulled quite a few of us out of that miasma that the entity had hit us with."
He leaned back in his chair, regarding Lachlan, the man had been on the Pioneer for quite sometime.
Lachlan nodded once, slow and deliberate, accepting the acknowledgment without ceremony.
“Aye,” he said quietly. “For the most part.”
He shifted back in the chair, one hand rubbing briefly at the back of his neck as he gathered the next part. This was the bit that mattered just as much.
“Friction points,” he continued. “First one’s mental resilience. Not courage — we’ve got that in spades. But sustained exposure to… influence. Fear. Hallucination. Whatever the hell that thing was doin’ to us. We train for shock, for trauma, for chaos — but not enough for prolonged psychological interference while still expected to make clean tactical decisions.”
His eyes flicked briefly to the sketches on Edmund’s padd before returning.
“Some Marines pushed through on instinct alone. That works once. It doesn’t scale, and it doesn’t hold forever. We need more reps where the mind’s under attack but the body still has to obey orders. Call it cognitive stress inoculation, call it whatever Starfleet wants — but we can’t walk into the Badlands blind to that again.”
He let that settle, then went on.
“Second — comms degradation. Not total loss. Partial. Intermittent. That grey area’s where confusion crept in. Too many folk waited half a second too long hopin’ the line would clear instead of actin’. We need to drill autonomy harder — clear intent up front so when the net goes fuzzy, no one’s guessin’ what ‘right’ looks like.”
A brief, humourless huff. “We’re good at followin’ orders. We need to be just as good at executin’ the spirit of them.”
He adjusted in his seat.
“Third — cross-branch expectations. Marines and Fleet worked together, aye, but there were moments where assumptions didn’t match. Marines expect decisiveness. Fleet expects confirmation. That gap caused hesitation in a couple of tight spots. No one died for it, but that was luck, not design.”
He met Edmund’s gaze squarely now.
“That’s fixable. Joint drills. Clear lane ownership. And bein’ honest about who makes the call when time’s measured in heartbeats, not procedures.”
Lachlan paused, then added more quietly, “Lastly — fatigue discipline. We pushed hard and kept goin’ because we had to. But some of our people didn’t recognise when they were runnin’ on fumes. That makes heroes — and mistakes. Before this next mission, I want enforced down-time, even if it’s brief. Sharper minds go in alive longer.”
He exhaled, hands resting open on his knees.
“That’s the rough edges, sir. None of it’s fatal. But the Badlands won’t forgive us learnin’ them the hard way again.”
He leaned back slightly. “Your call where we start tighten’in it up.”
Merrick listened to Lachlan, he had addressed the things that had been on his mind as well.
"We do need enforced downtime, that is needed. Take it from someone who had to be almost ordered to go have downtime." the corner of Edmund's mouth quirked up then he gave a half smile. "Which is me." giving a shrug. "That will be important."
He leaned forward placing an elbow on his desk.
"As for what that entity did, can we do training where we can go through exercises to handle hallucinations or fear factor? I don't know unless we have someone create a program that can imitate the effects, using some sort of harmonics in which to do so." Though his mind did cast back to Never Winter.
"Also, after we have some downtime, I do want to have us run some scenarios and simulations of the set up of the Badland base. If we have enough information to go by." looking towards his drawings. "And we do need to be alert and focused on the task there."
Lachlan gave a thoughtful nod, one corner of his mouth lifting when Edmund owned the downtime issue.
“Aye… you’re not alone there, sir,” he said. “Most of us need dragged off the line at some point. Difference is, some of us listen sooner than others.”
He shifted forward in his chair again, elbows on his knees now, more informal but no less serious.
“As for the head-games,” he continued, “there are ways to train for it. Not pleasant ones, mind you. Back when I was runnin’ with Special Operations, we did a block called Black Echo. It wasn’t about makin’ folk brave — it was about makin’ them functional when their senses lied to them.”
He grimaced faintly at the memory.
“Layered holodeck scenarios with sensory desync. Visual input didn’t match audio. Audio didn’t match tactile feedback. Then they’d introduce emotional pressure — simulated voices, false friendlies, phantom threats. No jump scares. Just constant doubt. You weren’t judged on kill counts, only on whether you stuck to intent, protected your people, and didn’t freeze.”
A pause. “It broke a few egos. But it saved lives later.”
He nodded once. “If Rommie or Starfleet Intelligence can help tune something like that — maybe even borrow some of the harmonic work from medical or counselling — we can build resilience without traumatisin’ people all over again.”
At the mention of the Badlands base, Lachlan’s eyes flicked to the schematics.
“Simulations are the right call,” he agreed. “Walk the decks, map the lanes, rehearse breaches — all of that gives us an edge. But I’d caution against lettin’ it get too comfortable. If the Order’s still involved, odds are they’ve altered internal layouts. False bulkheads, dead ends, kill boxes where corridors used to be.”
He tapped two fingers lightly against his knee. “So we train it two ways. First pass: as drawn. Second pass: assumption everything’s wrong. Randomised changes mid-run. Force leaders to re-orient fast.”
Then, more quietly, “Confidence is good. Complacency’ll get us killed.”
He took a breath, then added, “Before we wrap — a couple of special mentions.”
His tone shifted, steady and deliberate.
“Sergeant Moreau. She kept her head when others were feelin’ the pressure. Pulled two Fleet personnel out of a collapse zone under fire and didn’t lose her team’s cohesion doin’ it. Textbook calm.”
Another beat.
“And Ensign Nguyen. Ran dry, took injuries, still tried to stay in the fight until she physically couldn’t. That kind of grit needs follow-up — make sure it doesn’t turn into recklessness — but the core’s solid. She didn’t quit on her people.”
Lachlan leaned back slightly again.
“Plenty more did well, but those two stood out. Worth recognisin’.”
He met Edmund’s gaze again, voice even.
“Give the unit real downtime. Then we sharpen the edges — minds first, drills second, mission third. If we do that, we go into the Badlands clear-headed and ready for whatever’s been changed since the last poor bastard walked those corridors.”
A brief pause.
“That’s my read, sir.”
Edmund gave a nod, "Your observations, recommendations are spot on. Complacency will be the killer." Pulling his PADD over to make more notes. "And thanks for mentioning those who stood out. One other person stood out to me, that is Sergeant Shy." lifting his eyes from the PADD, looking directly at Lachlan.
"Are you going to make certain you get time off?" Edmund quirking an eyebrow upward.
He gave a short huff of breath. “Kept the comms stitched together when they should’ve been dead, took a hit to do it, and still got back into the line. That drone relay was the only reason Harris and Maren had the breathing room to finish their work. And…” a faint smirk tugged at his mouth, “…anyone daft enough to light themselves up like a flare mid-fight to draw heat off the rest of the team deserves a note in the margin.”
Then Edmund’s question landed.
Lachlan leaned back slightly, considering it for a beat longer than he usually would. His answer came quieter, less automatic.
“I’m no’ great at stoppin’, sir. You know that.”
A pause, then a shrug of one shoulder. “But I will this time. A few days, at least. Let the noise die down. Check in on the ones who won’t admit they need it.”
He met Edmund’s eye again, something earnest there beneath the dry humour.
“If I don’t, I’ve no business tellin’ the rest of them to do it. And we’ll need clear heads for the Badlands.”
A ghost of a grin followed.
“After that… aye. Then I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”
Edmund chuckled, "Glad to hear that you'll be taking some time off. Otherwise I'd be of the mind to shanghai you where you'd find yourself on a boat, sailing the seven seas. Hopefully you wouldn't get sea sick."
Then it hit Edmund, he knew very little bout Lachlan.
Lachlan huffed a quiet laugh and shook his head.
“Aye, message received, sir. I’ll take the time — properly this round. No duckin’ back aboard at odd hours pretendin’ I ‘just forgot something.’”
He paused, then added with a faint, crooked smile,
“Truth be told, a couple nights somewhere with bad lighting, loud music, and someone who doesn’t know or care what I do for a livin’ might be exactly what the doctor ordered.”
The humour faded back into something steadier.
“I’ll keep it sensible. Let the unit breathe. Clear the head before we start crawlin’ around Cardassian architecture again.”
He shifted forward, rising to his feet.
“I’ll get out of your hair, sir — you’ve got enough on your plate as it is.”
Edmund gave a smile to Lachlan, what he said held true. A place to where no one knows your name, Lachlan described a scene that he had experienced.
"Yup, go get yourself some downtime, then we'll get to work, dismissed." Edmund remarked, then placed his padd down and moved the sketch pad in front of himself once more.
A Joint Post By:
Sergeant Major Lachlan Barr
Chief of The Boat, USS Pioneer
First Sergeant, The Cure
Major Edmund Merrick
Company Commanding Officer Officer, The Cure
USS Pioneer
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