Fan Fiction /Labor Day 2012/Rider Part II
GAME MANAGERS NOTE
The following is a short fiction depicting the memorial service for MGEN Rigel McBain.
Written by FADM. Christina Doane and MGEN Marc Easterly.
Stardate: 58576.71 Tue Apr 20 2382 09:00:00 (Terran Reckoning)
With no body for the upcoming memorial service, Commodore Hollifield and Colonel K'Rell asked the crew to share on paper any stories they would like to share about McBain. These were placed in a photon torpedo casing, which was overstuffed when closed.
The casket, with the accompanying bodyguard was taken to the planets surface by shuttle.
The memorial would be held at the Recruit Depot on Dorvan V, the Chapel seated a little over three thousand and made the perfect venue for the service.
It was difficult to have time to go to every funeral for those who fell in the line of duty but President of the Maquis Confederation would make the time for this one. President T'pek was a tall, statuesque, female vulcan. How she came to be where she is, is a tale fraught with peril but solid on logic. It made sense for her to be here. Just as it made sense for her to stand nearby the empty casket of one of her top people. One of what she privately reffered to as “One of the dozen most efficient and effective people I know.” and from her there was no higher praise. She was surrounded a minimum of the usual staff, in fact out of respect for this fallen warrior only her bodyguards surrounded her. The SSD agents stuck close as marines stood further out. Her eyes were on the casket, her face sober.
Hers was not the only sober face, there were many. One of them in a Flag Officers Marine Dress Uniform. Black, red and gold. Sword and salad bar in place. Not as tall as the President she was a solid, athletic looking Bajoran woman. Her familiar earring in its place as she looked pensively at the casket as one deep in a thought they didn't care for. General Trentin Anara, hadn't know McBain well but enough to respect him and she wasn't the type to respect easily. The fact she was actually wearing the thrice damned torture device known as 'Dress Blues' confirmed that. She came to a kind of seated attention with the others as the Chaplin did his thing.
At 09:00 hrs it began with an opening prayer from the Regiment Chaplain. After the supplication a pair of Marine Officers took their positions on the left stage. A young Marine Captain with a pretty face stood at the microphone and a middle aged Major sat down at the piano. His fingers danced across the keyboard and laid out a somber sound, the young woman’s voice filled the air with a haunting tune.
It seemed that every surviving member of the Light Horse was on hand in full dress, their Light Horse patches sewn on their sleeves upside down representing the units disgrace for the loss of their Commander in battle.
About two minutes into the performance the Caparisoned Horse was led silently into the chapel. The horse, a white Clydesdale stallion around twenty two hands, was followed close behind by the limber and cassionbearing the casket.
The horse bearing fine brown leather tack and saddle with latinum buckles and rings, in the stirrups, turned backwards rest black patent leather boots with roweless spurs made of latinum. On the saddle lays a patent leather gun belt with latinum buckles and inlays, in the holsters rest a Type 2 phaser and M4A4 semi-automatic and, a sheathed daqtagh.
The Maquis flag covers the casket with the Regimental Colours of the Light Horse laid across the lower portion. The Cassion is escorted by ten Marines of the First Maquis Light Horse in full dress uniform, four of which carry rifles with fixed bayonets. As the cassion comes to a halt before the altar, the Marines silently take their positions around the casket and the bodyguards take their positions around the altar and bring their weapons to "Present Arms".
General Trentin eyed the grim faces of the bodyguard and knew that the weapons they carried would be loaded.
Silently the honor guard carries the casket to the altar and gently set it down. In unison they step back and slowly raise their hands and salute the casket then turn and, march silently away. As the song ends the armed Marines slowly lower their weapons to the position of attention.
The President observed the traditions solemnly, she knew the reasons for each one and the impact they would have on the attendees. She also knew the respect they showed and approved.
General Anara was moved like all the others. How could one not be? Though the somewhat irreverent thought flew through her head that that wasn't McBain's belt and he'd mock the sissy who carried it. She smiled to herself at a memory of him informing some new recruit that she should “Keep the shiny crap for inspections and boots were meant to be muddy and used...” when he caught the recruit trying to clean her boots on a bivouac.
When all was at peace again the President stepped forward at the head of the casket. Though she spoke softly her voice carried throughout the hall, “He was one of the most effective and efficient people I knew. If a mission was in his hands the odds that I would have concerns about its outcome were significantly less.” Her grey eyes roamed the hall for a moment, connecting with people. Her calming command presence felt. “I shall miss his advice, the kind I asked for and even the unasked for...” There were a few small smiles at that. Him being well known for his desire to make sure those who needed to know his thoughts knew them even if they may not wish to. She laid one hand on the coffin and said a Vulcan blessing before stepping back. She had served in uniform but it would not be her place to fold the flag this day.
General Trentin watched as McBains mother and his Adjutant, a young female Gunnery Sergeant named Monaldi wept openly while the caskets bodyguard folded the flag. Her eyes followed every move of the bodyguards slow and methodical movements. The last Marine on the bodygaurd handed the flag over to a Marine Lieutenant General who slowly marched over Mrs. McBain and knelt. His low voice could be heard throughout the chapel as he solemnly spoke to the Generals mother, "On behalf of the Coordinator of the Maquis Peoples, the Commandant of the Marine Corps, and a grateful nation, please accept this flag as a symbol of our appreciation for your loved one's service to Country and Corps". Every heart broke as her voice caught in her throat as she thanked the General for the flag, smiled and wiped the tears from her face.
And the illogical thought that refused to leave Anara's brain kept looping. They had good evidence of his death but no body. She knew McBain well enough to treat him like an old comic book villian. She mostly accepted his death but there was this small, illogical, and instinctive part of her that would not believe it truly until she saw a body. She went through the motions wondering if death could truly take a man that it was joked of, who “played cards with death and took him to the cleaners...”
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