the low man on the totem pole

Posted on 30 Jul 2025 @ 2:55am by Master Sergeant Thomas Zang & Major Emily Janeway
Edited on on 30 Jul 2025 @ 10:56pm

3,728 words; about a 19 minute read

Mission: General Sim Postings
Location: MCO office - Tomcat-
Timeline: After official introductions

[ON]


Thomas placed the training T-116A rifle back into the weapons locker and secured it with his code. He had been running the standard sniper target practice program to keep his edge when he had received a message from the new Marine Commanding Officer. He straightened his uniform before he exited the armory and made his way to her office. He stopped outside her door and rechecked his uniform, straightening a nonexistent wrinkle before he palmed the door chime.

Major Emily Janeway sat at her desk, reviewing the latest mission briefings, when the door chime sounded. She glanced up, setting her PADD aside, and called out in a clear, authoritative tone, “Enter.”

Thomas stepped through the door as it slid open. "Greetings Ma'am, Master Seargeant Thomas Zang reporting as ordered." He snapped a sharp salute and held it while standing at perfect attention.

Major Emily Janeway leaned back slightly, her eyes sharp but warm, exuding the confidence of a seasoned Marine CO who’d clearly done her homework. “At ease, Master Sergeant Zang. I’ve gone through your file—impressive record, especially your marksmanship and field experience. Your consistency with the T-116A is exactly the kind of edge we need. Sit down. I want to discuss how we can leverage your skills and expertise.”

"Thank you Ma'am, I trained hard to become a sniper and I even double as demolitions expert. I enjoy various weapons and making things go boom." Thomas said with a smile as he shifted to parade rest. he then took the indicated seat, unconsciously straightening his uniform to keep it looking sharp.

“Well, Master Sergeant, you’ve got a real spark for blowing things up and hitting bullseyes,” Janeway said, her voice rich with encouragement, a grin softening her commanding presence. “That’s the kind of fire we need around here, no matter where you stand in the lineup. I’m betting you’ve got some killer ideas for sharpening our fireteams—maybe a new drill to make the most of those sniper skills or a way to weave in your demolitions flair. So, tell me, what’s one thing you’d love to try in training to get us fighting as one?” She leaned forward, her eyes bright and inviting, eager to hear his thoughts while keeping the room warm and open.

Thomas nodded, the flicker of a thoughtful smile crossing his face. “Ma’am, I’ve been chewing on an idea for a hybrid training program—something that meshes sniper precision with demolitions tactics. In the field, it’s not always one or the other. You’ve got moments where precision needs to pave the way for an explosive solution or vice versa. I was thinking, picture this: split the team into pairs, one sharpshooter and one demo specialist. We run coordinated exercises where the sniper provides overwatch, marks targets, and clears the way, while the demo operator sets strategic traps or breaches. It’s controlled chaos but sharpens coordination.”

Thomas's smile widened slightly, a hint of pride flickering in his expression. "Ma'am, I’ve been thinking about how to combine precision marksmanship with tactical explosives to create what I’d call 'surgical chaos.' Picture this: a training scenario where snipers not only neutralize key targets but also strategically deploy demolitions to manipulate enemy movements—herding them into kill zones or cutting off escape routes. It’s all about control, ma’am. Precision doesn’t just mean hitting the mark; it’s about shaping the battlefield to our advantage."He leaned forward slightly, his posture still respectful yet energized. "I’d develop a series of drills starting with individual skills, like timing C4 detonation with a sniper shot, and then work up to team coordination. The goal would be to push the limits of dynamic, creative battlefield problem-solving while maintaining perfect cohesion. If we train the team to think outside the box, we’ll always have the edge, even against a superior force." He leaned back again curious as to her thoughts about his ideas.

Janeway’s grin widened, her eyes gleaming with excitement as she leaned forward, hands clasped on her desk. “Alright, Thomas, you’ve got me hooked with this ‘surgical chaos’ idea—it’s got real potential to make our Marines unstoppable. I love the idea of snipers and demo specialists working in tandem to control the battlefield. Let’s brainstorm some more scenarios to flesh this out. I’m thinking we could run a night-op drill in a simulated dense jungle, where the sniper picks off sentries to clear a path for the demo team to rig a bridge for a controlled collapse, cutting off enemy reinforcements. Or maybe a starship boarding scenario—sniper covering choke points while the demo guy breaches bulkheads to flank. What do you think? Got any other wild scenarios up your sleeve to test our teams’ coordination? And how do we make sure every Marine’s on the same page, keeping the chaos tight and precise?” Her voice was warm and inviting, practically buzzing with eagerness to hear more, like if they were plotting a winning strategy together.

Thomas sat up even straighter, matching Janeway’s excitement with a steady, focused energy. “Starship boarding scenario? I’m all in, ma’am. Imagine this: an away team beams into a compromised vessel—tight corridors, flickering emergency lights, patches of zero-G from decompression. It’s textbook chaos, with the sniper providing coverage through every claustrophobic angle, ensuring safe passage, while the demo expert is hard at work breaching locked bulkheads or rerouting power to critical systems. Think Defiant-style close quarters—fast, dangerous, and demanding razor-sharp coordination.”
He leaned forward, his hand sketching imaginary tactics across the desk. “We could set up drills where Marines practice storming a disabled ship, like a Nova-class science vessel gone rogue or even a small Klingon Bird-of-Prey. The sniper would mark hostiles through overlapping levels of the ship, using infrared or ultrasound scopes tuned to cut through structural obstructions. Meanwhile, the demo specialist might strategically create pathways where there are none—pulling off something like blowing through a bulkhead into the jefferies tubes to bypass enemy-controlled sections.”

Thomas’s tone sharpened with determination as he worked through the possibilities. “Take it further—simulate a critical scenario, like an enemy vessel that’s been rigged as a trap, moments away from overloading its warp core. The away team would need to neutralize traps and restore system control, dividing responsibilities seamlessly. Snipers provide overwatch and eliminate exterior threats, while demo operators handle any sabotage internally. Every second would matter, but this would train them to thrive under deadlined pressure.”

A small grin tugged at his lips. “For training, a holodeck would be perfect—I’d suggest layouts based on real starship designs. Start simple, like the Miranda-class, and then ramp up to the labyrinthine Sovereign-class sections. Maybe we even include scenarios where the demo team must neutralize enemy explosives planted to destroy the warp engine. It’s all about adaptability, ma’am—preparing for the unknown.”
He leaned back slightly, his expression calm but filled with anticipation. “Controlled chaos in the stars. Tight quarters, high risks, and teamwork as the only way to win. What do you think, Captain? Does this sound like a gambit worth taking?”

He tilted his head slightly, his smile turning quietly mischievous. “Of course, all of this means longer training hours, tougher drills, and probably a few grumbles in the barracks… but I think they’ll thank us when it means they’re walking out of impossible scenarios still breathing.”
Thomas paused for a breath, eyes sparking with a blend of determination and pride.

Janeway’s grin widened, Violet eyes sparkling with the thrill of a good tactical brainstorm. “Master Sergeant, you’re making our Rifle Regiment proud with this warp core trap idea! Snipers covering demo teams racing to defuse sabotage on a ticking Sovereign-class ship? That’s the kind of high-stakes drill that’d make even a Klingon warlord sweat. Your holodeck plan—starting with a Miranda-class and scaling to a labyrinthine Sovereign—hits the mark for prepping our Marines for anything, from a Cardassian trap to any kind of military incursion.”
She leaned forward, her tone warm and conspiratorial, like they were plotting to outsmart half the quadrant. “As CO, I’m counting on NCOs like you to bring that field-ready spark. Let’s keep building—how about a scenario where we’re securing a derelict Dominion outpost on an ice planet, like Andor’s polar wastes? Snipers use Type-3 phaser rifles with thermal scopes to neutralize Jem’Hadar scouts in a blizzard, while demo specialists rig plasma charges to collapse ice tunnels, cutting off enemy flankers. Pure Starfleet grit, total teamwork. What’s your take, Thomas? How do we drill our sniper-demo pairs to stay in sync under those conditions—maybe a quick-draw comm signal system to keep timing tight?” Her voice buzzed with excitement, clearly fired up by Thomas’s ideas and eager to continue the conversation.

Thomas leaned back slightly in his chair, arms crossed but not in defiance—more like a craftsman surveying the blueprint of an intricate design. His brown eyes, sharp as a hawk’s, flickered with a mix of thoughtfulness and the quiet, measured confidence of someone who’d been through more field ops than he cared to recount. “Major,” he said finally, the corner of his mouth tugging upward in a faint smile, “you’re not just dreaming big—you’re dreaming bold. And I like bold.”

He sat forward again, his tone shifting into one of pragmatic precision, the kind that could cut through the chaos of any battle. “The ice planet drill—yeah, I’m with you. A blizzard’s gonna chew our visibility to pieces, so you’re right on target with the thermal scopes. But it’s bigger than just gear. Pairing up snipers and demo specialists? That’s about trust as much as tactics. The sniper’s priority’s going to be overwatch, scanning for hidden scouts, but they can’t do that if they’re constantly worried the demo specialist’s gonna blow their cover—or themselves—before the job’s done. Trust starts on the ground, during the drills.”

He tapped the table with two fingers, like marking out a beat. “Quick-draw comm signal system has potential—tight, tactile, something you could slap against your wrist in a pinch, maybe. But comm delays in a real-world snowstorm? Risky. What if we had something more instinctive? Hand signals, reinforced with a basic sound pulse—short-range, pinpoint frequency, directional. A ‘snap’ that cuts through snowblind mess but doesn’t give you away like a full-on burst of radio chatter. Demo stays light, rifles ready to back up the sniper if things go sideways. No dead weight.”

Thomas made a motion as if brushing invisible snow off his sleeve, already thinking ahead. “But if you want Marines to sync up under ice-world conditions, you drill them in worse. Strip the thermals. Put ‘em in a fog simulator, crank down the visibility to zero, let them feel the disorientation while practicing comm discipline. Make them strategize when their tech eventually fails—because sometimes, Major,” he added with a small shrug, “it does.”

His smile widened just slightly then, a small glint of a dare in his voice. “As for Jem’Hadar in a snowstorm? Sounds manageable. What’s next? Maybe we drop them into a collapsing asteroid field or put ‘em on a 0.8-gravity moon with the local wildlife looking to make them its next meal. If we’re building grit, we might as well aim for legend.”

Major Janeway’s eyes sparked with excitement. “Thomas, your ice planet drill is gold. Holodeck setup: Andor’s polar wastes, sub-zero, 80-klick winds, near-zero visibility. Objective: secure a Dominion outpost with plasma mines and turrets. Snipers with Type-3 rifles and thermal scopes eliminate Jem’Hadar scouts. Demo teams rig charges to collapse ice tunnels, blocking flankers.”
She grinned sharply. “Hazards: unstable ice shelves, whiteout gusts, maybe an ice drake. Your sound-pulse comms work—pair with hand signals like a double-tap for ‘target spotted.’ Drill in fog, no tech, pure trust.”

Her voice hardened. “Mid-drill, an ion storm fries scopes and comms. Snipers switch to iron sights; demo teams use manual fuses. Twist: a ‘Starfleet’ signal’s a Jem’Hadar trap. Snipers spot it; demo rigs a counter-trap.”
Janeway smirked. “Start with snowfields, then hit ice tunnel mazes. Thomas, add a thaw flooding tunnels or rogue sensor echoes? Let’s make our Marines legends.”

“Now that,” Thomas said with a grin, the glint of a challenge lighting his eyes, “is how you forge champions, Captain.”

He leaned forward, the wheels already spinning in his mind. “Andor’s polar wastes... sub-zero with wind chills that could flay your skin. I can see it. The first 40 klicks will weed out the pretenders. Ice claws snapping at boots, frost creeping into joints, but anyone who makes it to the first maneuver point will have earned the right to keep breathing.”

He withdrew a padd from his inner jacket pocket, pulling up rough terrain sketches of Andor’s notorious ice fields. “Snowfields should be fine for the warm-up—footwork, squad cohesion under insane conditions. But those tunnels? They’ll need intel and guts. Think ice breaking underfoot when you linger a second too long, echoes leading you in circles until you’ve burned through your oxygen tanks. Throw in cascading icefalls—domino effect. Surprise worksite avalanches, maybe? Give them a reason not to rely on static positioning or dig themselves into complacency.”

He sat back, crossing his arms, a contemplative pause before he added, “The ion storm twist? Ruthless. It changes the dynamic instantly. Tech goes dark, instincts light up. That Starfleet decoy trap? Clever minds will win, not just good shots. The teams’ll have to improvise fast, trust faster, and adapt or die.”

Thomas chuckled, tapping his own temple. “Thaw flooding tunnels are vicious, though. You add that, some unlucky soul might be flushing their entire squad into an icy death. But if I were you, Captain, I’d up the ante. Lure them just close enough to a Dominion base to feel victory at their boots—glimpse the plasma-cutting spark before—BOOM. The real flood: an outpost self-destruct base rigging that turns every tunnel into an underwater tomb unless they’ve rehearsed twice-Blind.”

He stood up in his excitement, his self-assuredness a match for Janeway’s. “Give me 48 hours and one Marine team to start drafting it into something devilishly perfect. By the end, they won't just be legends. They’ll be the measure Dominion soldiers shudder to account for.” he declared with promise.

Major Janeway’s violet eyes burned with the fire of a Marine CO who lived for forging warriors into a single, unbreakable unit. Her grin was pure SFMarine—warm as a phaser on stun, sharp as a bat’leth’s edge—as she slid her PADD across the desk, a holographic asteroid field flaring to life, its jagged rocks spinning like a Klingon war drum. “Thomas, your Andorian ice-world drill is a damn fine piece of Marine ingenuity, Cascading icefalls, decoy traps, twice-blind rehearsals—that’s the kind of field-hardened brilliance you’ve honed under two COs before me. You’re my battle buddy on this, and together, we’re gonna forge sniper-demo pairs that sync tighter than a warp core under fire. Let’s toss in some Klingon grit—bold, cunning, in-your-face tactics—to make our Marines the quadrant’s finest. You locked in, brother?”

Her voice crackled with the camaraderie of a Marine ready to storm the breach with her squad, gesturing to the hologram like it was their shared battleground. “Your 48-hour timeline for the Andor pilot’s a go—let’s hit the deck running. One sniper-demo pair in that blizzard, no tech, just gut-trust, aiming for 95% sync accuracy and 30-second threat response. We’ll scale to a squad by week’s end, tweaking as battle buddies if we hit turbulence. Now, let’s hammer out a Klingon-style gauntlet—shock-and-awe, flanks, mind games—to weld our pairs into a force that’d make Kahless himself nod. What’s your gut telling you to spark this fire?”

Janeway’s grin flashed like a disruptor burst, her tone pure Marine teamwork. “Here’s my opening salvo: a shot-up dilithium mining platform in that asteroid field—cramped corridors, lights flickering like a dying star, zero-G pockets where boots barely stick. A Klingon strike team decloaks, disruptors humming, bat’leths gleaming, hitting us with a shock-and-awe ambush. They throw holo-decoys—fake warriors—to bait sniper shots, then flank through maintenance shafts, their war cries shaking the bulkheads. Snipers lock in on high perches, Type-3 phaser rifles with motion trackers pinging cloaked Klingons off the platform’s creaking frame. Demo teams slap micro-charges to choke off flank routes and neutralize Klingon disruptor mines rigged to blow the core.”

She leaned in, eyes locked on Zang like they were plotting in a foxhole. “Let’s build the twist as a fireteam, Thomas. The Klingons pipe taunts through our comms, faking Starfleet distress calls to lure us into a kill zone. Snipers gotta sniff out the glitch—say, a stutter in the signal’s beat—while demo teams lay decoy charges to herd Klingons into a choke point. We keep pairs tight with your vibration pulses and a double-tap hand signal for ‘target’s ours.’ Your field smarts are gold here—what’s your play to counter their head games or keep us steady in zero-G chaos? I’ve got your six on this.”
Janeway’s voice rang with the resolve of Marines who’d face hell together, her stance open like a squad leader ready to roll. “This is our fight, Thomas. By 0800 tomorrow, let’s huddle up with the Andor pilot parameters and a draft for this Klingon ambush, locked in tight. We’ll weave it into our campaign—starship siege, volcanic assault, urban scrap, capped with this asteroid brawl. Marines who move as one, outsmarting Klingon cunning with ironclad teamwork. What’s your next call, battle buddy, to make every pair, green or grizzled, a seamless unit in this Klingon storm?”

"To be honest, this is quite a lot of stuff to get done already and making the marines into what you want them to be is going to be a long process. If I'm going to be put in charge of this goal, I should get on it as quick as possible and will need to enlist the help of the engineers to get the program set up." Thomas said as he stood looking at her. How he, the lowest ranking person in the marines, had been put into making the ideas a reality was a surprise for him. He had originally been asked for ideas and when he gave them, his CO had told him to make them a reality when he felt that this would have been a job for an officer and not an enlisted person like himself. If she expected him to do this, he would but it would most likely take longer than just two days to get set up and then he would have to be the one running the training with the other marines. He could feel the tension in his shoulders at the thought of this large-scale project settling on him. "If I may be dismissed, I shall start the work on getting this started, though I feel that I might be more doing something that is way over my rank as I'm not an officer and this is usually something that officers are in charge of."

Major Janeway’s violet eyes sparked with vibrant passion, embodying the spirit of a new Marine CO poised to make her mark. Her fierce yet warm grin pulsed with the heartbeat of the regiment she was beginning to lead. Stepping forward, she radiated unyielding energy, like a freshly ignited plasma torch, as she locked eyes with Thomas.

“Master Sergeant Zang,” she said, her voice unwavering and infused with the fervor of new leadership, “you walked in here thinking we’d just break the ice and swap a few ideas about sniper drills, didn’t you? I bet you never anticipated I’d hand you the reins to a training program that’s set to elevate our Marines to become the terror of the quadrant. I see that surprise, Thomas—you’re the low man on the totem pole, not some officer behind a desk, and now you’re facing a mission larger than a Sovereign-class. Here’s the deal: I’m new to this CO role, still finding my footing, but I recognize a game-changer when I see one. You are that spark, Thomas, with your ‘surgical chaos’ vision, and I’m beside you, battle buddy, as the heart of this regiment, pouring every ounce of my soul into making us unbeatable. Together, we will forge sniper-demo pairs that have Klingons rethinking their war chants and Jem’Hadar fleeing for cover. We’ll build this program side by side—your field-honed expertise and my determination to keep our Marines’ spirits united. Let’s take that stunned look, transform it into Marine-grade duranium, and craft a training gauntlet that will make the stars take notice.

She extended her hand for a firm, Marine-style clasp, her grin radiating the pride of a new CO and the unity of their shared mission, her energy the heartbeat of the regiment. “Let’s hit the deck, rally those engineers, and make this program roar—together. The quadrant is about to feel our pulse.” she ended it by saying dismissed.

Thomas nodded as he took her hand and shook it with the same firmness. "Aye Ma'am! I'll do my best to make us the best or die trying." He took a step back, came to attention and gave her a sharp salute. He spun in place with a sharp about face and walked out of her office.

[off}



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