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1stLt Wes Greaves - Remembrance


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I promise I'll stop featured sad sims soon, but with Thor's last mission we've had our share of this kind of sims.

In this I want to emphasize the great timing, emotion and beautiful descriptive skills that @Wes Greaves has, and how with a pure and evocative description is able to play all the right notes to create a very intense scene and at the same time incredibly elegant. Good job!



1stLt Wes Greaves - Remembrance

((Marine Quarterdeck, Deck 9, USS Thor))

The room was silent. Utterly silent.


Nearly 70 Marines stood together in seven rows of ten, almost shoulder to shoulder.  The brightly lit white floors and walls of the quarterdeck were still marred from this catastrophe. Wes had ensured that cleaning hadn’t happened yet.  This came first.


An orangish-red pool of dried blood stained one corner of the room where a triage patient hadn’t made it.   A makeshift litter was upended against one wall.  Two medikits were cracked open near the entrance, their contents spread out where several nurses worked urgently on a patient just a half-day before.  From the side of the group Wes wondered if that patient had survived.


A single Marine stood silently in front of the formation.  His uniform was torn at the shoulder and through soot Wes could see blistered skin.  The man faced the larger group of Marines, his body locked at attention. A subtle nod from Wes let the man know he was ready to begin.


With a practiced motion, the man’s right foot slid around behind his left and he executed an abrupt about face that wouldn’t have been out of place on the drill field.  With his back now to the formation, they were ready. 


First Lieutenant Wes Greaves stepped off from his place beside the large formation and walked directly to the lone sentinel.  Wes himself came to crisp attention in front of the man. 


Marrow:  (holding a salute) Good Evening Sir.  Marine Detachment, USS Thor, all present (pause) or accounted for. 


The man’s voice was rock steady, and carried with it the authority and confidence of ancient ceremony. 


Greaves:  (returning salute) Very well. Sergeant Major, take your POST.


The Marine enlisted leader smartly stepped off and circled around Wes, taking his position behind and slightly to the left.  Several beats of silence passed.  Out of the corner of his eye Wes could see the display that the Marines had put together just before the ceremony.  


A lone pair of immaculate combat boots stood at the base of a phaser rifle.  The barrel of the rifle had been set pointing directly into the ground and secured in place.  A helmet rested delicately atop the buttstock of the weapon.


Suddenly, the detachment Sergeant Major’s booming voice once again filled the room.


Marrow:  Private First Class Long.


A weak voice from somewhere in the middle of the formation instantly replied.


Long: Here Sergeant Major.


A beat of silence.


Marrow: Lance Corporal Rudd.


This time the reply was louder, but just as immediate. From the front of the formation Wes could see the young man’s eyes widen as he was called.


Rudd: Here Sergeant Major.


Another beat of silence.


Marrow: Lance Corporal Cooland.


Cooland: Here Sergeant Major.


The reply was crisp and sudden, echoing off the walls.


Marrow: Lance Corporal Green.


There was no response.  Wes’s jaw tensed at the mention of the name.   The Sergeant Major paused for a second before continuing.


Marrow: Lance Corporal Regina Green.


Again, silence.  His eyes welled with tears, but he fought them back. With his gaze still locked forward focused to nothing, Wes could make out the shoulders of another young man in the formation rock with a silent sob. Finally Sergeant Major Marrow spoke again, but this time slowly, and clearly.


Marrow: Lance Corporal (pause) Regina (pause) Paige (pause) Green.


The silence was deafening.  Even the dull hum of the ship’s engines seemed to quiet in honor of the woman.  The young officer couldn’t hold back the tears any longer.  Two droplets trickled down either side of Wes’s face.  From behind of the formation Wes saw a crisp movement on a single Marine raise something to his lips.  The quiet of the room was shattered by the piercing long note of a bugle. 


The solemn tune continued to reverberate through the room for another thirty seconds until the last note faded away.  


Wes collected himself, the last of his tears rolling down his cheeks.   Without looking at the man behind him, he finally spoke up for the final moments of the ceremony.


Greaves:  Sergeant Major. (pause) Strike Miss Green from the rolls.


Marrow:  Aye aye sir.


Greaves:   Detachment. DISMISSED.


Without pause, Wes pivoted to his right and stepped away from the formation, walking briskly into his office.  He managed to maintain his bearing all the way until the doors closed behind him.  Barely.




First Lieutenant Wes Greaves

Acting Marine Detachment Commander

USS Thor - NCC 82607




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