Cal's War Pt2: Moving Mountains
Posted on Mon Jun 29th, 2026 @ 2:50am by Lieutenant Callum Cowan
2,177 words; about a 11 minute read
Mission:
Flashbacks
Location: RF Wayfarer
Timeline: Early 2381
The previous days briefing had been a simple affair throughout which Ensign Callum Cowan had largely sat and quietly listened.
A pair of invading cubes had been detected a sector over. En route was a combat task force to engage and eliminate the threat and so Wayfarer had also been dispatched to assist in any necessary rescue operations. Command were optimistic apparently, that their services would not be required but the groans and eye rolling from the more senior pilots in the room had left Cal lacking command's optimism.
Passing the following twenty-four hours was a surreal experience. Time seemed to somehow move far to quickly and far too slowly simultaneously and it left Cal entirely unsure what to do with himself.
“Nervous?” It hadn't taken Ensign Aitken long to find Cal sat on the edge of his cot staring into space
Cal found a smile as he shuffled over to give her space to join him, “That obvious?”
“Pretty certain everyone is, even just a little bit.” She returned the smile, “There'd probably be something wrong if we weren't, honestly.”
“You aren't the first to say that,”
She laughed and in turn so did he as the air around them seemed to relax a little bit before they were all once more called back to the briefing room.
As it had turned out, their presence was in fact required.
The battle had not started well.
“The fleet has engaged a pair of cubes in the sector we are currently holding on the edge of,” Commander Daniel Hayes – Squadron 17s Commander – called as the large display screen flickered into life behind him.
“Reports and telemetry from the battle indicate that whilst the engaging taskforce have made some headway in the defence of the area, they are taking damage. Right now our immediate goal is to evacuate the remainder of the USS Meridian's crew – stricken at the edge of the battlefield, leaking everything she has to leak and extremely volatile but that's the least of our problems. Our biggest issue is that...”
“The cubes are sitting between us and the Meridian,” Lieutenant Mateo Alvarez called from somewhere over Cal's shoulder, the Ensign's attention shifting briefly to his flight lead.
“So Wayfarer drops from warp on the other side of the combat zone and we fly from there. What's the problem?” An unfamiliar voice called out from near the back of the room.
“The problem,” Hayes sighed, “Is that the course adjustments required for such a manoeuvrer, in a freighter of this size, would take time we do not have.”
“I'm guessing that gunning it through the middle of the fight isn't an option?” Another unknown voice asked.
“Cubes would shoot us down like flies,” Samantha Vance responded with a frown.
Cal's attention had fixed on the display, and the battlefield map it was now showing to the room. His mind racing, he glanced at Emily who had taken up the seat next to his before raising a hand.
“What are you doing?” She whisper shouted as Cal stood.
“I have an idea!”
“Yes... Ensign?” Cal could almost hear the effort Hayes had taken to remember his name but failed.
“We can't fly straight past the cubes because they'd shoot us” Cal repeated as he moved toward the display, his eyes narrowing as he examined the map closely,
“Right”
“Can't fly around them because it takes too long.”
“Correct,” Hayes responded, the patience he didn't already have evident in his tone.
“So,” Cal smiled as he turned to the group, “We fly at them.”
“Este nino esta loco,” Mateo's now familiar voice called out from the seats, “They'll shoot you there too.”
“They might try,” Cal nodded before turning back to the screen and sketching a red line on it from Wayfarer's position, scraping the cubes before ending at Meridian “But I don't think the Cube can depress its weapon arcs far enough to hit us if we're flying right over its face.”
“And it's friend? We can only be close to one of them at a time.” Mateo had moved forward now, his gaze set firmly on Cal.
“If he misses, he hurts his buddy. Is trying to swat flies worth the risk?”
Mateo exhaled before shrugging, “Alright,” He said, “Unless anyone else has an idea? Lives are at stake here, remember that.”
There was a long silence in the room as Cal's idea settled among Wayfarer's flight crews.
“...I hate this plan,” Hayes spoke finally, staring so hard at Cal that the Ensign was sure his commander could see into his soul.
“Which is unfortunate, because I think it's the best one we've got.”
Another moment of silence fell over the room, broken only by the launch alarm indicating that they would momentarily be in range to begin their operation. As the pilots began to shuffle out of the room, Mateo slapped Cal on the shoulder, “You're going first!”
Cal nodded, “Fair enough.”
There had been very little that could have prepared Callum Cowan for the sight of his first battle.
It wasn't the neat formations and carefully choreographed engagements he had imagined throughout four years at the Academy. There was no obvious front line, no clear beginning or end to the fighting. Space itself seemed to have come apart.
Weapons fire carved brilliant streaks through the darkness. Great fragments of friendly starships drifted silently between the combatants, tumbling end over end as emergency beacons blinked hopelessly amongst the debris. Escape pods traced desperate arcs away from crippled vessels while those still capable of fighting darted between it all, trading blows with an enemy that seemed almost impossibly large.
Somewhere off to port a battered Nebula-class cruiser rolled slowly onto its side, atmosphere venting from a dozen ruptures in its hull.
It would have been an incredible sight under any other circumstances.
There was nothing especially impressive about the small craft Squadron 17 had been given to conduct their operations.
Starfleet had pressed almost anything capable of flight into rescue service. Old shuttlecraft, ageing courier vessels, civilian transports hastily fitted with Starfleet communications packages — desperate measures for desperate times. Cal found himself strapped into the cockpit of a weathered Type-4 shuttlecraft whose interior looked as though it had spent the better part of a century being borrowed by anyone who needed it.
A faded civilian registration number remained just visible beneath hurried Starfleet paintwork.
The launch light turned green.
One after another the little craft poured from Wayfarer's improvised flight deck.
Once Cal had launched, everything else became background noise.
The fear.
The battle.
Even the impossible scale of the Borg Cubes ahead.
All of it faded beneath the familiar rhythm of flying.
“You thought of this,” Sam's voice broke across the open squadron channel, “right there in the briefing just by looking at that screen?”
Cal glanced briefly towards her shuttle holding formation off his starboard side before returning his attention forward.
“Pretty much.”
There was a long pause.
“You're weird.”
Despite everything, Cal smiled.
Ahead of them, the first Cube continued to grow.
At first it had looked merely enormous.
Then it became something else entirely.
Its surface stretched across the stars like an endless city of black alloy and emerald light, countless structures rising from its hull in impossible geometric patterns. Individual weapons emplacements became visible. Great glowing conduits pulsed beneath the armour plating. It seemed less like a starship and more like a world that had somehow learned to move.
Cal swallowed.
His hands remained perfectly steady on the controls.
"...Well," he muttered quietly to himself.
"...here goes."
The Type-4 skimmed over the Cube's immense surface.
Proximity alarms chirped constantly around the cockpit as the shuttle threaded between towering structures and sensor arrays. The Borg vessel filled every window, blotting out the stars themselves.
No one spoke.
Every pilot concentrated solely on flying.
Cal followed the route he had imagined only minutes earlier, his eyes barely flicking towards his instruments. One aiming point gave way to the next. The edge of the Cube. The gap between its companion. Then finally—
The USS Meridian.
Scarred.
Burning.
Still fighting.
Sam's voice returned, quieter this time.
"...It's actually working."
Almost as though she'd surprised herself.
The squadron burst clear of the second Cube.
Immediately the wounded Excelsior-class cruiser dominated the viewscreen.
Hull plating had been peeled away across much of her engineering section. Emergency forcefields shimmered over open wounds in the ship's hull while fires still burned behind exposed decks. Escape pods continued to launch sporadically from her ventral side.
She looked moments from breaking apart.
“Meridian,” Mateo's calm voice finally broke the silence, “This is Rescue Flight Alpha. Prepare for evacuation.”
Static answered him.
For a long moment, nothing.
Then—
“...Alpha Flight... this is Captain Clara Burnett.”
Her voice was exhausted.
Frayed.
“We... weren't sure anyone was coming.”
Mateo smiled faintly.
“We're here.”
The tension that had gripped Cal since launch eased, if only slightly.
People were alive.
That was all that mattered now.
“After you, Cowan,” Mateo called.
Cal said nothing.
He simply pushed every remaining ounce of power the ageing shuttlecraft possessed into its engines and accelerated towards the open shuttle bay of the Meridian.
Wayfarer's launch bay, by comparison to what Meridian's had become, looked almost pristine as her rescue shuttle complement returned. She had not escaped the day's fighting entirely — scorch marks stained sections of the deck and engineers were already swarming over damaged craft — but compared with the burning Excelsior-class cruiser they had just left behind, the old freighter felt almost peaceful.
As his passengers disembarked and medical teams hurried forward to collect those unable to walk unaided, Cal took his time over the shuttle's post-flight checks.
It gave him an excuse to watch.
One by one, Meridian's survivors disappeared into the organised bustle of Wayfarer. The wounded were guided towards Sickbay, the rest directed to lounges and makeshift accommodation where hot food, blankets and somewhere safe to sit already awaited them.
Only once he was certain the shuttle was empty did Cal climb down onto Wayfarer's tired deck plating.
It wasn't that he didn't want to speak to them.
He simply wasn't sure what he would have said.
He'd done what anyone else in his place would have done.
At least, that's what he told himself.
By the time his boots met the deck, his flight mates appeared to be the only people left nearby.
Or so he thought.
Without warning, Emily-Grace Aitken threw her arms around his neck.
Her unmistakable laugh echoed around the launch bay.
"That was amazing, Cal!" she beamed. "I can't believe you came up with that so quickly... and it worked!"
Cal couldn't stop himself grinning.
"Thanks."
"So..."
The voice came from behind him.
Exhausted.
Hoarse.
Almost haunted.
Captain Clara Burnett stepped slowly from one of the neighbouring shuttles, pausing for just a moment as though reminding herself she no longer had to keep moving.
"That was your plan, Ensign?"
Cal turned, suddenly looking rather less comfortable.
"Uh..." he smiled awkwardly, giving a small nod. "I suppose so... yes, ma'am."
Burnett studied him for a moment before slowly closing the distance between them.
The exhaustion written across her face needed no counsellor to interpret.
She rested a tired hand on his shoulder.
"Then you're the one I need to thank."
Cal instinctively looked away.
"No," he replied quietly. "No thanks needed. It's the job."
For a second Burnett simply stared at him.
Then, despite everything the day had thrown at her, she laughed.
A genuine, heartfelt laugh.
"You," she said, shaking her head with a broad smile, "we need more like you."
"¡El niño está realmente loco!" Mateo announced, stepping alongside them and delivering another firm slap to Cal's shoulder.
"But..." he added with the faintest smile.
"...he's alright."
Burnett nodded, the smile lingering only briefly before the weight of the day settled back onto her shoulders.
She drew a slow breath.
"Thank you anyway, Ensign."
Her eyes moved between the four members of Alpha Flight.
"Thank all of you."
"Yes, ma'am," Sam answered softly this time.
She draped an arm around Cal's shoulders as they watched Captain Burnett disappear into the organised chaos of Wayfarer, finally allowing herself the rest she had more than earned.
For a little while, nobody spoke.
The launch bay settled back into its familiar rhythm of engineers, medics and flight crews preparing for whatever came next.
Eventually, as she so often did, Emily broke the silence.
"So..."
She looked around at the others.
"Dinner?"
Cal laughed.
So did Sam.
Mateo simply nodded.
"Yes, Em."
A tiny smile crossed his face.
"Dinner."
I'll rise like the day
I'll rise up
I'll rise unafraid
I'll rise up
And I'll do it a thousand times again
And I'll rise up
High like the waves
I'll rise up
In spite of the ache
I'll rise up
And I'll do it a thousand times again
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