Westfall's Double Jeopardy "
By: Patia Zoei, Chief Counselor, [PC]
Max , XO , [NPC]
Jeff Westfall, Tactical Officer, [PST]
Ian Hunter, Commanding Officer, [PC]

Stardate: 58205.11 1800

Jeff Westfall sat in the darkness of his personal quarters, with no illumination save the starlight coming in the porthole.

He felt devastated by the losses that were incurred during the prisoner uprising. Normally a very competent and focused officer, he wondered if he was a) "losing it" and b) what would be the best way to resolve it.

The issues were crystal clear in his mind.

First: The ship's Tactical Officer had primary responsibility to secure the ship from external threat caused by enemy attack,

assess such threat when it is known to exist, propose and co-ordinate defensive strategies, and implement them as deemed most satisfactory at an appropriate opportunity to capture a) enemy troops, b) enemy ships, c) enemy supplies.

To protect the ship, also meant to be prepared to prevent giving up opportunity to allow the ship to be boarded by hostile invaders.

In the past ten days, (according to his perception), he had failed to adequately prepare the ship to contain federation prisoners securely while being transported to the penal colony on Rura Penthe, deep in Klingon space, aboard the USS Zion.

All he could think of were the "What Ifs" and the "I should haves" and the "I should not have allowed...".

He wanted them all to die immediately for what they'd done to his ship, his captain, his First Officer. This was *his* fault. He should have known a) It wasn't safe to allow senior security officers and the Captain to escort even an ambassador on in a shuttle to anywhere, with hostile prisoners aboard--Federation prisoners and their sympathizers at that too. They should be facing Military Court Martial as enemy combatants, and be summarily executed. He'd have no problem at all putting their bodies into the replicators and pressing "recycle".

But it wasn't his world to control, that was the problem, and his first name was Jeff, his family name was Westfall--not "Almighty God".

He should have vetoed the Captain's decision to escort the Ambassador himself, assigned a senior shuttle pilot and copilot and four Marines as a personal bodyguard detail.

He should NOT have allowed the Heads of Security to accompany them, because it left the remaining junior officers without the seasoned experience of officers that only experience can *GIVE*.

He *should have* respectfully demanded (in his capacity as ship's Tactical Officer) that the Marines should have been deployed *on point* to contain an outbreak or uprising, despite the competence of his security staff, and the intelligence officers, and his complete confidence in them. This is what Marines are trained to do: Advanced incursion force to *TAKE* strategic assets, remove opposition, and then solidify control, neutralizing resistance, and finally subduing any remnants by surrender and capture or termination. They are *containment* specialists.

He had seen ship-to-ship combat many times, and the close quarters shoot-outs, illuminated by the back lighting of emergency Klaxxons, flashing their warning, seen the only light in a section, the laser-like beam from the flash of a phaser, and the reply from a Romulan Disruptor, or another captured weapon. It was the law of the wild. The first rule was, "Out there, there are no rules". That's what made total discipline, and total control over one's emotions such a key factor. Total focus would determine whether you would be the victor, or the vanquished.

The Klingons, now there was a culture to be admired. The first thought on a Klingon officer's mind, was, "It is a good day to die". And they all meant it, for they had sworn a blood oath to uphold it. Death before dishonor. To run and hide, was to dishonor one's family, and all the past and future generations. Westfall admired the Klingon sense of honor. Looking the enemy in the face, and then killing them. Surrender was the dirtiest word of all in the Klingon vocabulary. It was better to die in battle, whatever the cost...and go to Stovocor, the blessed afterlife. It reminded Westfall very much of the 20th Century Japanese Kamikaze Pilots, who swore an oath to fly their explosive laden planes into enemy ships to sink them to the bottom of the Pacific Ocean. Theirs was a warrior culture, bound to their Imperial Past, when a Samurai Warrior would fall on his sword if he failed in his appointed task, rather than be captured, to live in captivity.

Jeff Westfall had followed, unswervingly, that totally focused path of the warrior, and been able, most times to be able to keep the stench of death away from his ship, it's crew, his Captain and Commander. This time though, Death had paid him a very personal visit. He lived with the memory of the approximately thirty of Captain Hunter's senior officers who had lost their lives, sacrificed in combat to stop the ship from falling into enemy hands. He lived, daily with the knowledge that at any moment, he could receive the order from his Captain or his Commander to terminate another ship, its crew, and materiel. Capture was by far, the more preferable option, if it could be accomplished. Sometimes, it could not. He thought of the Capture of the Lynx. It was a good day. He had executed his duties, and terminated the Federation Vessel, USS Bezar, with all hands aboard. He had their blood on his hands. *HE* had obeyed the order, and fired that fatal volley of photon torpedoes. They had been repeatedly hailed, they had been ordered to stand down, and failed to heed. They had, naturally, to pay the price for their ignorance of Captain Ian Hunter's authority. They were terminated, as the only outcome, in order to save the USS Lynx, and its intelligence.

It did not add up, that he should feel at all comfortable about the outcome of the prisoner uprising...over thirty loyal Maquis Officers and crew members had fallen in that fight. He could only think, what had he missed? It was not the detached strategic thinking of a professional military analyst, as he should be thinking of it, it was the nagging, tormenting doubt that threatened to consume him. He had breached his duty. He had failed by lack of due diligence, to anticipate the enemy, and their lack of honor, their use of deceit, and cowardice to open an angle of attack.

Every waking moment, when he was in the operational areas of the ship, he saw the scars of the battle. Bulkheads with discolored metal, pockmarked with scorch marks, where small weapons fire had erupted. Westfall saw the bodies of the fallen, not only in the temporary morgue, but was further reminded of them, when he saw their ship-mates, pulling together, taking up the slack, where there *should have been* a "Smith," on duty, there was a Wortzel, filling in, or having been seconded, if they were lucky. "Just wait until thirty or so of your fellow crewmen are wiped out. *If* you're a survivor, and you fight well, without getting yourself crippled, (or killed), you might get a promotion, Wortzel. That's the way to get noticed.

He saw the looks of "the survivors". Standing next to them were other crew members, not ones who had signed up to do the jobs they were filling. Shuttle pilots, helping engineers keep their craft in top pitch. Brunette females from another department--they were all competent, standing where barely two weeks before, there was a qualified male specialist. He had nothing against cross-training. Personal growth through attrition, was not the way to implement cross-training.

He had looked over the intelligence information, ship's logs, *EVERYTHING*.

There was no other way around it. There was a price to pay...and Jeff Westfall determined, at that moment, that he alone had the currency to pay it.

All he had to do was write it up by dictating it to the ship's computer, and encode it for the Captain's Eyes Only. When the data was transferred to a PADD, he put on a clean uniform, and went for a walk to find himself some dinner. it was resolved in his mind, and the course of action irrevocably set. All he needed to do was launch the plan into motion. It would not be easy, but it was the only way he could redeem himself. He was resolved to "Fall on his sword," though he would do it via formal channels. A coward he was not.

"Computer locate Captain Ian Hunter".

The computer responded in its flat monotone, as coldly as Jeff Westfall felt.

"Ensign Jeff Westfall to Captain Hunter".

"Hunter here," came the reply.

"Sir, if you have a moment, I have a report to submit, and a recommendation regarding disciplinary action that should be considered pending against a member of this crew," Westfall said.

"Now what?" thought Hunter to himself as he rubbed his eyes. "Okay Westfall, meet me in the ready room in 15 minutes."

Hunter, who was in the XO's office reviewing reports, looked over at Max, "Let's go Number One."

As Westfall arrived he was invited in by the Captain. "Please have a seat Mr. Westfall," he said gesturing to the chair next to Max, the Klingon exchange officer.

"Thank you Sirs, but I prefer to stand," Westfall said, at full attention with a look that said, "*THIS* is business". Hunter took the report and began to read it. When he was finished he took a deep breath and handed it to Max. When he had finished reading it he set it on Hunter's desk.

"What do you think?" asked Hunter of Max. He nodded and replied, "If this were a Klingon vessel, you would be demoted for your failure." "XO, Sir, I deserve to be demoted", Westfall replied.

"However," interrupted Hunter, "This isn't a Klingon vessel."

Max turned and looked at Hunter. "Nor does the failure rest solely on Westfall," said the Klingon calmly.

Hunter's turned to Westfall, "Jeff, I appreciate what you are doing, but I can't let you assume responsibility for what has happened." Captain, Sir, as I stated in my report, it was I who failed to adequately anticipate their presence as being a threat from within the confines of our own ship, and treating them as hostile. If *had* done my job properly and by the book, you would still be in command of a full officer corps. Commander Wright would still have an arm to fill the sleeve of his shirt. Not only is he an excellent Commander, but he's also, from what I hear of his reputation, and from people whose lives he has saved, an absolutely brilliant reconstructive surgeon. Hunter crossed his arms and sat back in his chair.

Right now Sirs, I feel like *I* am a threat to the health, safety, well-being and survival of this ship. I feel like my actions were, and may continue to be dangerous. I can only think of one appropriate course of action.

Max turned and asked him, "What is that?"

Given that my ability to act has been impaired by the events of the prisoner revolt, and seizure of the USS Zion by hostile enemy combatants, in my capacity as Tactical Officer, I have no other option open to me, other than to recommend that Ensign Jeff Westfall be immediately removed from active duty, and confined to quarters under Marine Guard. It would also be appropriate to inform the crew that they are to act upon *NO* order or counsel offered by me on any matter. Further, I respectfully demand, Sirs, the immediate empanelment of a General Court Martial Tribunal of my fellow and superior officers". The recommended indictment I would pursue would be multiple counts of 1) Reckless endangerment, permitting breach of access leading to the computer core, thus permitting the takeover of primary and secondary command system. 2) Providing classified information to enemy combatants due to breach of the computer core, and compromise of command codes". 3) Breach of communication security. While they had the access to the computer core, who knows what information they transmitted off the ship to their federation or "mercenary" allies that has compromised the entire Maquis Alliance Communication structure? Captain Hunter, given that *someone* and I still don't know who, was able to crack the holodeck programming and a) defeat the safety over-ride protocols, I still haven't been able to find the opening in that program. Commander Wright and Chief Silvio did a brilliant job of programming and securing that holodeck routine. I've spent hours comparing the modified code to the original, and I cannot see *how* they managed to get past the security encryption--and that *IS* my job, to see, understand and prevent exposure to precisely that kind of unacceptable risk. Hunter leaned back and paused.

"The preliminary findings are that Intel and security had incomplete information on Johnson. The security officer who ignited the entire situation. Atwood traced him to one of the so-called survivors we rescued from the Kittyhawk. He was recovered in the asteroid field light years from the where the Kittyhawk was destroyed. He was either a plant, or he was brainwashed."

"I did a shitty job of that too, Sirs, I let myself get lulled into the false sense that they were all legitimate loyal Maquis Alliance Survivors/refugees from the USS Kitty Hawk. Add a fourth indictment "Failure to maintain due diligence in the execution of his duties to protect the USS Zion". Hunter shook his head, "...there was just no way we could have known". Westfall interjected: "Captain Hunter, Sir, it is not inappropriate; in fact I am quite certain that the warriors of the Klingon Empire would have treated them with appropriate suspicion, segregating them securely until their identities could be absolutely positively verified, instead of assuming they are loyal to the Empire. They should have been treated as *unknown hostiles*. "It is my hope, XO, Sir, that I have not misspoken, based upon what I understand of structure, honor, tradition and practice of the brave warriors of the Klingon Empire. Long may it stand to strike fear into the hearts of its enemies".

Max nodded, "that does not matter. You followed your set protocols." I apologize for interrupting you Captain". "Besides," continued Hunter, "it isn't your place to tell the Captain he can't escort VIPs. Chances are, Melissa and I would have been quickly eliminated by Rogers and Birkoff," Hunter concluded.

Max took over, "It is my findings that errors in the security department caused the largest factors. Placement of the Brig, weapons locker in relationship to the Computer core and Auxiliary engineering also played into this." "And co-ordination with the Intelligence Analysts aboard the ship and at Fleet Headquarters is part of my responsibility overall to protect this ship from the threat of dissent, seizure or outright mutiny and mass insubordination, not to mention that security got "jumped" by a mob of unarmed men," Westfall said angrily, the color in his cheeks growing more red, as he bit each statement off.

"Look Westfall, by that same token, then I have failed too, for ultimately, I assume responsibility for everyone's actions on this ship."

Hunter continued, "Max has been drilling the security team, intensifying their training to better prepare them for these types of scenarios. Obviously we can't readily move the brig or the control room, but we can learn from this and make sure it never happens again."

"And from the look of all the security teams we've been getting pretty damn solidly whipped by one Klingon and his squad of thugs". I compliment you XO, Sir, on your sound thrashing of our security force, I'm glad your squad isn't all Klingon officers, or we'd have no-one left to stand watch, they'd all be in the triage infirmary in cargo bay three". "I was supposed to be recommending ongoing training. Well, I suppose I pretty solidly screwed that up too. Dr. Dane looks like she hasn't had any sleep in weeks".

Hunter leaned forward, "I can reprimand you for that, but I do not find enough evidence to place blame on the take-over on your department. I find no error in judgment or lack of performance on your part Mr. Westfall."

Hunter settled in his chair. "Further more, I find that most every department followed standing protocol." He paused. "all we can do is learn from the incident and not make the same error twice." "Captain Hunter, Sir: for the record as your Tactical Officer, I intend to submit myself to a psychological evaluation with counselor Zoei. I am at a fundamental difference of opinion with my Commanding Officer, regarding the fitness of Ensign Jeff Westfall to properly, and safely execute his duties.

Hunter smiled, he liked Westfall's candid objectiveness. I can see that as the only sane and sensible way to ensure that my actions in the past conflict, do not color my judgment, and impair my ability to act, in recommending swift and decisive action, by which in failure to act promptly will jeopardize the safety of the ship under your command, the USS Zion of the Maquis Alliance Fleet. I will be further making an appointment with Doctor Dane in her capacity as Chief Medical Officer for a full medical assessment. In four words, "I feel like hell". "XO, Sir: I request a personal meeting with you at your convenience to improve my training techniques for our officers and crew. I haven't seen a member of this crew in two weeks who isn't sporting bruises, cuts, or other injury with your training methods, and I'd like to ask if you've seen any improvement in response and preparedness". Hunter arched his eyebrow at Max who turned to Westfall. "Of course. Whatever you think is best." "I thank you both, Sirs, for your attention to my report. I thank you for your fine efforts to improve the fitness of my department to further secure the future safety of Captain Hunter's vessel. And I appreciate your willingness to accept my report, given the fundamental difference of our points of view regarding my report.

However, let the record further show, that I bear no prejudice towards the Captain the or the XO of the Klingon Imperial Fleet in their disagreement with my assessment. On a final note, I request that this discussion be submitted as a matter of official record to counselor Zoei, a) to save time in bringing her up to speed, and b) so that my recounting is not colored by my personal bias in regard to my lack of performance, Sirs...I now request permission to be dismissed, if you have nothing further to add, however I am at your disposal".

Hunter stood up as Westfall did. He looked at Westfall somewhat dismayed. Clearly he felt guilt for what happened. While Hunter felt it was indeed unfounded, it would certainly impact Westfall's performance in the future. Perhaps good, perhaps bad. Time would tell. Perhaps in his own assessment, the idea of seeing Zoei wasn't a bad one.

"I've tried to persuade you otherwise, but I will accept your report as it is. I will append my own assessment of the situation as will Max I'm sure." Hunter gestured to the Klingon. "Thank you Sirs". Jeff Westfall stood at full attention, saluted his Commanding Officers, turned on his heels, and walked out of the Captain's Ready Room marching smartly.

Hunter and Max watched as Westfall left. Max turned to Hunter, "I've spent a lot of time with humans, but I've never seen one like your tactical officer. He's very thorough." Hunter smiled slightly, as he shook his head. "He definitely believes in putting the ship's welfare ahead of his own." Max stepped closer to Hunter, "But it isn't right to try and take the blame for this incident when it should be delegated.

As he entered the turbo lift, he was still rigid. He tapped his Comm Badge: "Computer, locate Patia Zoei, Ship's Counselor, USS Zion". He *detested* contacting people after their shifts were over, unless it was a matter of "Fire, Flood, or Blood". (Red Alert was a different matter, everyone was back at their duty stations then). The Computer replied: "Counselor Zoei is located..." "Thank you", he said, absently, then seriously wondered about his mental fitness, talking back to the ship's computer, as if etiquette and social graces mattered to it. Counselor Zoei this is Tactical Officer Ensign Jeff Westfall, I wondered if I could have an appointment to meet you in your office, at your earliest convenience when you are on duty, this is not an emergency by any stretch of the imagination, I just keep replicating more savannah grass for the pink elephants. Zoei to Westfall. I am open all day tomorrow. Please let me know if it is convenient to meet at 0800. If this conflicts with your duty schedule, please feel free to suggest an alternative time." Zoei shook her head. Savannah grass and pink elephants, what would someone come up with next?

"Thank you Counselor, actually it is duty-related, so I'll arrange with the Beta Shift Tactical Officer of the Watch to relieve Gamma Shift until we finish our meeting, I'm rather concerned about the mental well-being of one of the Senior Bridge Officers. I've notified the Captain and the visiting XO from the Klingon Imperial Fleet, so I'm not in any conflict of interest. I've just had a review of my report to them, and in as few words as possible, respectfully, I disagree with their assessment of the situation, however I hold no prejudice against either of them. I made my objections known, I was given a fair opportunity to present my professional opinion, and now I'd like to solicit the opinion of the Ship's Counselor. I sincerely hope it's *MY* assessment that is in error". I'll append a copy of the log from the discussion with myself, the Captain, and the XO, that way I'm not coloring what happened with my own taint. I'll see you at 08:00 in your office, I'll be sure to bring iced tea for two. I look forward to reviewing your log. 0800, it is. 0600 should allow for enough time to review the documentation prior to her meeting with the tactical officer. "Stop," Westfall said. The turbo lift halted. Westfall realized he late for dinner, because he had been so intently focused on finishing his tactical analysis of the seizure of the ship by the prisoners and what had gone wrong. Even more seriously, he suddenly "clued in" that in his total obsession, but he'd managed to miss his lunch as well. If he didn't watch it, he was going to wind up in sick bay, and getting put on report for failure to maintain critical tactical and strategic assets (himself). All the extra work Dr. Dane had put in certainly would *not* lend any sympathy to his plight if he became ill because of sheer stupidity. "Computer: Deck ten", Westfall ordered. It was time to see if Miranda had "the touch" programmed into her replicator to do a King Cut slab of prime rib of roast beef, with thick dark gravy, roasted potatoes, baby snow peas with mint, and Yorkshire Pudding that was light and fluffy with a well in the top for yet more gravy. It was 19:40, he was hoping he could spend at least two hours putting all that away. He would try and see if she had some un-fermented Apple Cider warmed to go with it. It had been a long long time since he'd had a full meal and time to truly enjoy it. There had to be horseradish too, preferably fresh, grown in dirt. He wondered if he could ask Max, the Klingon XO out to lunch one day for a plate of fresh gach, he'd only ever sampled the replicator variety. He would never insult a Klingon by calling him *NICE*, but he envied Max's clarity of thought, and the unique perspective of the Klingon way of training in the art of making war. And his crew had the bruises, cuts and broken bones to prove it worked. They were starting to think in the "WE" paradigm, and this was a good thing, given the attrition in the crew, due to recent fatalities. Westfall exited the turbo lift, and walked down the corridor of the ship to Miranda's. So, there would be no General Court Martial for him. Good. He still had far too much work to do. All in all, it was "A good day for his FEARS to die". He recalled a quotation he had once read from the Vulcan First Officer of the original USS Enterprise NCC-1701, "Fear is the mind-killer". Mr. Spock, you are correct.