Duty Log | Gen. Richard Sharpe | "Ineptitude"

Posted on 241412.13 @ 5:06am by General Richard Sharpe
Edited on on 241412.13 @ 5:40am

Mission: The Fight For Peace [GQ Plot]

= Camp Robin Williams, Scotland =

Richard arrived at the small marine base located fifteen miles due north of Glasgow. It was in a forlorn place, but it was the staging area for half of his MEF's deployment. It was also the closest place he had to arrive at, so as to report for duty.

He presented his pass at the gates, earning himself a salute from the duty sentry, as he slung his duffle over his shoulder and walked into the base. It was unusual for General's to arrive on foot through the front gate, unescorted, but Sharpe wasn't exactly a conventional General.

Arriving at the command centre, he would receive salutes from pretty much everyone as he walked through the building in his marine uniform - silver stars on his shoulder, ribbons on his chest, and an appropriate scowl on his face. He resented being reactivated in this way, and he didn't care who knew it. But he had a job to do, and he'd do it to the best of his abilities - even if he didn't like it.

Brigadier General Salmon greeted him as he entered the man's office, first with a salute, then with a familiar hand shake. "Its a pleasure to meet you, General Sharpe."

"Likewise, General Salmon." Sharpe replied, resisting the urge to smirk at the man's unfortunate name. "I trust things are progressing to schedule?" Richard asked, as he took the offered seat in front of Salmon's desk.

"There have been a few delays." Salmon replied, carefully. "But there always are complications with deployments on this scale. Add to that, Starfleet Logistics practically doesn't exist at this point, and we're suffering from that."

"How bad?" Sharpe frowned.

"We're about two days behind schedule." Salmon replied.

"That's not good enough, General." Richard responded, trying to keep calm. "I'm supposed to warp out with the Ticonderoga in four hours, and I can't leave unless my command is with me."

"There's no chance we're going to get things ready to depart in four hours, sir." Salmon replied nervously.

"So, where am I supposed to billet? A shuttle craft?" Richard snapped.

"We can find space for you on the Carolina, sir." General Salmon responded, trying to keep the General calm.

"A marine transport vessel?" Sharpe asked.

"Yes sir, a converted Galaxy class. It won't be up to the standards of a Magellen class, but its only until you reach Xonnel, sir." Salmon said, wondering if his career had just reached its termination. It was said it didn't do well to cross Sharpe.

"I guess I have no choice, do I, Mister Salmon?" Richard replied, rising from his chair. "Feel free to notify me when I may beam aboard and settle in, assuming that can be done in the next few hours. Or should I go back to Yorkshire until you're ready?" The sarcasm was dripping from every word.

"Sir..."

"You have twelve hours, General Salmon, to get my MEF ready for departure - or you'll find yourself posted to Andoria's second moon. Am I making myself clear?" Sharpe said, in his firm and authoritative voice. The moon in question was essentially a giant ice-ball where marines learned how to fight in freezing temperatures. It was not a popular posting.

"Very, sir." Salmon swallowed, nervously.

"Better get on with it then." Sharpe replied, coolly. He turned and left the office, scowling at the ineptitude of it all. How was he going to cope with this level of incompetence?

= End Log =

General Richard Sharpe
Commander, 1st MEF
Gamma Quadrant Command