Finally, Their Boredom Ends — Part 1

Posted on Mon Nov 17th, 2025 @ 10:07am by 1st Lieutenant Chaol Westfall

884 words; about a 4 minute read

Mission: Long Night
Location: Hiroshima then Munich, Earth
Timeline: Mission Day 1 at 0000

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Excited didn’t quite cover it. Chaol Westfall felt a steady, contained pride as he stood on the tarmac at Etajima MACO Special Boarding Unit HQ, watching his fire teams file into the troop shuttle.

Command had allowed him to hand-pick most of them over the past year — a rare courtesy in wartime — with the single exception of Gunnery Sergeant Nathaniel Hale. Hale would be his First Sergeant, seasoned and sharp, the sort of veteran whose presence the entire detachment could learn from. Westfall already knew he’d be grateful for that pairing.

Some of the others he’d recruited were already aboard the Challenger. The rest clustered behind him now, roughhousing, chatting, filling the morning air with that familiar undercurrent of nervous enthusiasm. Westfall glanced over his shoulder at them for a moment before turning his attention to the man beside him.

Colonel Victor Renford stood with his hands clasped behind his back, watching Westfall with an expression caught between pride and worry.

“Good luck, 1st Lieutenant Westfall,” Renford said, voice firm but warm. “I’ve no doubt you’ll do Command proud — and keep them safe.”

Westfall straightened. Renford had been one of the few senior MACOs who genuinely believed in building stronger ties with Starfleet. It was a limited minority opinion, but a growing one. Westfall was proud to stand in that minority.

“Thank you, Colonel,” he replied, saluting crisply. “I’ll do everything I can.”

He relaxed to an at-ease posture. It was true that most of the MACOs he’d recruited claimed to support cooperation with Starfleet, but he wouldn’t make final judgements until he’d worked with all of them together. Words were easy; discipline under pressure was the real test.

“Excellent,” Renford said, pointing lightly at him. “And keep us informed. Don’t leave anything out — I can still offer advice.”

Westfall allowed a short laugh. “Understood, sir. I will. And… keep us posted on the war, if you can.”

A flicker of heaviness crossed Renford’s features, gone as quickly as it appeared.

“I’ll send what I’m able, son,” he said quietly. He returned the salute. “Now dismissed.”

Westfall gave a final nod. As he turned toward the shuttle, he thought he caught a brief sadness in the Colonel’s eyes — a soldier who missed the front, perhaps, or who simply wished he could shield more of his people from what was coming. Westfall didn’t ask. He hefted his duffel, jogged up the ramp, and the hatch sealed behind him.

As the engines rose to a hum and the shuttle lifted, Westfall let his thoughts drift back to one of the first recruits he’d chosen the previous year, as he briefly looked at them at that moment.

Specialist Anton Beck — pun notwithstanding specialist in recon and sniper, precise enough to make the two roles seem like one discipline. Westfall had found him at the Observation Deck café in Munich, jacket tied around his waist and the MACO tank shirt they all wore underneath, SEM-3N sniper rifle components arranged in immaculate rows across the table.

Westfall approached quietly, smiling to himself at the sight. Beck’s awareness was sharp; he glanced up almost immediately, taking in Westfall’s rank, and rose smoothly to attention.
“Lieutenant, sir,” he greeted, the German accent clear but controlled.

“At ease, Specialist,” Chaol said, before he shifted to a more conversational tone. “Mind if I join you?”

“Please do, sir,” Beck replied, stepping back into his seat with calm precision.

Westfall sat opposite, watching him for a moment. “I’ve been assigned as Detachment Commander on the NX-03 Challenger. Launches next year. Command’s given me the task of building two fire teams.”

Beck waited, expression politely neutral.

“I’d like you to join the detachment,” Chaol finished.

Realization spread slowly across Beck’s face, followed by a brief grin. “It would be an honour, sir.” He picked up the next rifle part, cloth already in hand. “Next year? Why begin recruitment so early?”

“War, most likely,” Chaol answered. “Challenger’s an exploration ship first — we’re there to protect them. Full cooperation with Starfleet won’t be optional. Trust, and I hope friendship, will keep us alive.” He paused. “Your view on that?”

“Good with me, sir,” Beck said, offering a half shrug, that faint smirk returning.

Westfall nodded. “Excellent. You’re between assignments at the moment?”

“Yes, sir. Peaceful. Too peaceful.” Beck gave a soft laugh. “I’m bored.”

“I’m glad to be of service,” Chaol replied, chuckling.

A server approached, took their orders, and wandered back inside.

“Tell me,” Chaol said, leaning slightly forward. “Something makes me think you thought about joining Starfleet?”

“I’ve considered it,” Beck admitted. “Still not sure.”

Westfall let a grin tug at the corner of his mouth, after a brief glanced at the disassembled sniper rifle. “Oh, you like your weapon.”

Beck beamed outright, eyes brightening. “I do.”

Their meals arrived a moment later, and the conversation turned toward Challenger’s upcoming role, the crew they would be protecting, and the small ways they might soften Starfleet’s wary view of MACOs.

It had been a good meeting. A promising start.

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To Be Continued...
OOC Westfall: Since no backstory mission, I put mission day 0.

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