Lieutenant Vasily Andropov
Name Vasily Vladimir Andropov II
Position Chief Security Officer
Rank Lieutenant
Biographical Information
| Gender | Male | |
| Species | Human | |
| Affiliation | Starfleet | |
| Birth Date | 7 October 2361 | |
| Birth Location | Russia, Earth |
Physical Appearance
| Height | 180cm (5’ 11”) | |
| Weight | 82 kg (180 lb) | |
| Hair Color | Brown | |
| Eye Color | Ice Blue | |
| Physical Description | He strikes the image of the military man, clean shaven and toned. His gaze is piercing, almost cold, which is only accentuated by his square jaw. He betrays little emotion on his face, only adding to his apparent coldness. It’s obvious he keeps in shape, over a decade of training to survive and win fights will do that, but not overtly muscular. All in all he’s forgettably handsome, his only distinguishing features are his eyes and the prosthetic right leg he earned on a botched mission to retake a civilian trading outpost, a few scars peppering his right arm and lower abdomen. |
Family Data
| Parent(s) | Aleksander Andropov; Svetlana Andropov | |
| Sibling(s) | Grigory Andropov; Anastasia Andropov; Dmitry Andropov | |
| Marital Status | Single |
Personality Profile
| General Overview | Vasily comes off as detached, blunt, and cold, off putting to most people but a boon to his occupation. While to some extent he had been that way even as a teenager, it became more and more evident as he aged. It is what made him good at his job, whether it was detaining people or enacting violence upon them. It also helped maintain his sanity, putting distance between him and sometimes unsavory actions. Unfortunately it also makes normal interpersonal relationships difficult as best, usually ending up somewhere near professional but awkward politeness. On the surface he’s a simple man yet highly honorable man, an image he prefers. It keeps people guessing about what he really knows and doesn’t invite questions he’d rather not answer. A very private person, tends to keep his opinions to himself. His bitterness is the primary emotion he keeps under wraps, the desire to once more be at the point end of the spear when he knew that wasn’t possible. The other, quite the opposite, emotion was his kindness. He always had a soft spot for those in need, be they kids, animals or the infirm. |
|
| Strengths & Weaknesses | Strengths: +Cool and Collected +Loyalty +Hidden Kindness Weaknesses: -Cold and off putting -Comes off as simple -Bitter |
|
| Ambitions & Goals | Vas desires to serve the Federation faithfully then disappear off to a horse ranch on the Russian Steppes. He enjoys making an impact while he can, protecting those who can’t protect themselves and fight those who would deliver harm onto others. | |
| Hobbies & Interests | He grew up with a rifle in his hand and it is a hobby that he has maintained for his entire life. The focus it takes to hit a target beyond 500 meters managed to fuzz out any problems that were on his mind. Mastering his skill is something he enjoys, having built his own specialty rifle to push his limits. His hobby extends beyond shooting steel, also indulging in the hobby his grandfather had shared with him, the hunting of live game. When the stress is more immediate he’ll pick up a shashka and practice his swordsmanship, preferring to test his skills against those with disparate blades to his own. This is partially to hone his own abilities, but mostly to generate sweat and unleash any built up rage. If he is feeling a need to cut loose from the world he prefers more equestrian pursuits, grabbing a horse and riding as far as he can. It may not be a permanent escape from his current issues, but for a brief moment he felt free. When not out at the range or in the field, he was reading. History, biographies, philosophy, almost anything he could get his hands on. He hardly ever discusses what he reads beyond little comments, lest anyone think he was more than a simpleton Farmerboy. He also had an affinity for the violin, and instrument his mother used to play for the family at night. It was the instrument he used to express the emotion he normally pent up. It was a private affair usually, though he has played for a few close friends, not wanting to break the image of the stone cold Russian. |
|
| Languages | Federation Basic, Russian, Greek |
Personal Relationships
Personal History
| Personal History | Life Among the Cossacks Vasily was born the oldest of four children in a rural village on the Western Steppes of Russia in the latter half of 2361. His father ran a small farm and inn, a plot of land that had been in his family for generations while his mother ran the local medical clinic. His father had spent 10 years as a civil engineer before a back injury took him out of commission, meeting the future Mrs. Andropov after she reset his spine. Marrying soon after, they decided to return home, a place neither of them thought they would return to, and help run the farm with the recently widowed Vasily, the grandfather of the younger Vasily. From the time he could sit steady in the saddle his mother, a Cossack trick rider in her spare time, taught him the ways of the horseman. He took to it quickly, routinely riding in festivals by before he hit double digits and staring in them by the time he was a pre-teen. Life in the saddle was the ultimate freedom, some days riding dozens kilometers into the distance just to feel the wind on his face. She also taught him the meaning of self-sufficiency and learned how to not only reset a bone but meaning of kindness for those who could not fend for themselves. His father taught him the culture of his people, the same culture that he had rejected over a decade prior to his son’s birth. Knowing what his culture meant to him when he met his mother, it was something he didn’t want his son to lose. First it was how to handle the shashka, the Cossack saber, in a competent fashion. Before Aleksander had left Earth he had been both an expert fencer and dancer, something he hoped his son would be. Second was the art of systema, an old Russian fighting style that he had found useful more often than he cared for. Lastly, he taught him how to cook, believing the best way to showcase a culture was hitting one in the stomach. His grandfather was his greatest mentor, teaching him the arts that would carry him well throughout his career. From the moment he could, the older Vasily was teaching the young man how to shoot, instilling discipline into the young man. Soon enough the young boy was outpacing the men the Cossack Clan, the boy appearing to have a keen eye for detail. Pairing that with an extensive teaching of field craft, survival and camouflage, Vas soon made the perfect hunter, it was a skill he’d need later in life. The greatest lesson he learned was that of honor, that of everything they could strip you of, honor was the one thing you could hold onto. Duty paired well and after hearing his Grandfather’s grand stories of exploring the universe and stopping all sort of evil Vas knew he’d live a life of service to his fellow citizens. Outside his family he had the Don Cossacks, a clan of warriors from ancient times, a band of men and women who spent most of their time preserving their culture and being arbiters of charity on behalf of themselves and the Eastern Orthodox Church. It was a group of people who held his similar interests and values, the sort who would fight with him. A culture that he devoted his young teen years to, rising up through the ranks as far as he could before following in his Grandfather’s footsteps, Joining Starfleet and protecting those incapable of protecting themselves. |
|
| Education | -Bachelors, Environmental Sciences |
Career History
| Starfleet Training | A Whole New World Attending Basic training had been a culture shock. While he hadn’t been sheltered as a child it was the first time he had been at the intersection of so many cultures. The feeling quickly faded however when training began, breaking down each of them to build them up. He more or less expected most of what had happened at basic, having experienced similar training techniques while training with the Cossacks. At the end of it all he felt as comfortable being in the Fleet as he was on the Western Steppes. Moving onto Security Technical training in Virginia, he was almost immediately pulled aside for the marksmanship team. His marksman skills had marked him out as early and the NCO in charge of the marksmanship team wanted desperately to be not only Starfleet Academy’s team, but more importantly the Marine Infantry School’s team. For his short time there he proved to be a valuable asset, winning a handful of competitions. At the end of it all he graduated in the top 10% of his class, proving that his family still had what it took to defend the Federation. |
|
| Career History | Just One of the Crew After the Security Technical training the young man was assigned to the USS Curie, a science vessel that spent most of its time travelling from nebula to nebula, not exactly the exciting life he thought he was going to have. It certainly wasn’t the swashbuckling adventures of his grandfather had during the Federation’s more chaotic days, hunting down pirates and breaking smuggling operations. Aside from the occasional away team mission or the time a gorilla like creature broke out of its cell, his days were mostly routine and monotonous, enough so that he had decided to pursue further education. Taking advantage of the facilities around him, and his natural affinity to the outdoors, he focused on an Environmental Studies. It was somewhere on the edge of broken hulk that was the Cardassian Empire when the Curie was boarded by a raiding force, the commander wisely avoiding a ship to ship fight with the raiders. She only intended to put up a token resistance, knowing that in the end her team would be overrun. No one bothered passing that information down to Crewman Andropov, who not only managed to repel the boarders from his section, but also rally a makeshift Quick Reaction Force (QRF) to take back other sections of the ship, much of the fighting devolving to hand-to-hand. His ragtag force managed to turn a sure defeat into a hard won victory with little more than tenacity and surprise. It was a beautiful blend of skill and violence, the sort wasted on a science vessel. He was the sort of man the Fleet Antiterrorism Security Teams needed. The Only Easy Day was Yesterday With a push from the Curie’s Captain, partially to reward him but mostly to rid herself of the demon, he was sent to Starfleet’s Fleet Antiterrorism Security Team (FAST) school house located in Coronado on Earth. It was a reincarnation of a United States Marine Corps (USMC) unit of the same name that dealt with missions standard security teams couldn’t: Securing facilities under extreme threat, hostage rescue, retaking Federation property, and if needed executing specialty missions when tier-one teams (Special Operations Forces/SOF) were unavailable. They were a bowie knife as one FAST Regiment Commander put it, while it could be used in many ways it really ended with the same result: Dead hostiles on the pointy end. Training was rough, as training NCOs would be fond of saying, the only easy day was yesterday. For the first few weeks they were trained night and day on squad level tactics, only taking breaks for shooting drills and the occasional meal. Close quarters battle (CQB) was the order of the day, first in benign environments but the difficulty ramped up: darkness, smoke, NBC warfare, vacuum. By the time they were done three months later the NCOs had honed the team members into skilled warriors, ready for the field. Vasily was assigned 5th FAST Company on the peaceful world of Pacifica which he had initially thought was an odd but not disagreeable location, he managed to finish his bachelors surrounded by crystal blue water. It was after his platoon was protecting their third peace conference that he understood why the team was there, lots of diplomats made a very appetizing target for attack. While the thought of playing babysitter wasn’t exciting, his mind quickly changed as the teams were sent out to roll up potential attackers. Most of the time attendees at the conferences never knew such actions were taking place, just as the Company liked it. The 5th FAST had the responsibility for the sector as well, and these were the most appealing moments to the young NCO. Just like his grandfather had done a half century prior he was breaking up smuggling rings and fighting criminal organizations. The missions were dangerous and ops tempo rough, the FAST platoons were usually brought up only as a very violent necessity, but that was the sort of challenge he thrived on. Boarding actions became a team speciality, Vas having memorized the layout of almost every common freighter in the sector. His keen eye had marked him quickly as his squad’s designated marksman, having borderline unnatural skill with a rifle. His field craft was also outstanding, his grandfather having taught him well in both arenas. When selection for the Marine’s Scout Sniper School came up the FAST regiment was given one slot, Vasily was the clear choice. After a hearty farewell from the planet he grew to love, he was sent to Andoria to become the best marksman humanly possible. Vampire Where the FAST course had taught him how to be deadly as part of a team, the scout-sniper course taught him how to be utterly lethal on his own. His shooting abilities were pressed to the absolute limit, taking every active brain cell to stay in the game. His patience was tested as well, learning to stalk his prey while remaining completely hidden from view, sitting still for ages waiting for that perfect shot. The training had been taxing and at some points nearly broke him, it had been the most fun he’d had in ages. Freshly graduated he was assigned to Deep Space 8 with the recently formed 13th FAST or as the crewmen called it, Lucky 13. The station was in a wilder part of space, the piracy more frequent and fires much more common. Filling the role of the Company Sniper meant his responsibilities only grew, as he was now in charge of the marksman training and was made the unofficial supervisor of the Company’s designated marksmen. It was a daunting task, but a challenge he enjoyed stepping into, finding a love of mentoring during his time with the Marksman. On top of all his other responsibilities, he still found time to step into the role of a squad leader when one of his fellow NCOs had to fall out. There was a bit of irony that the unit stationed on a Starbase saw more action planet side, not that it bothered the Russian who preferred the feel of soil under his foot and his observational skills would be of most use. The worlds on the edge of Federation Space felt like the forgotten territories, run down and bleak most of the time. The missions also took a distinctly bleaker change: securing sites after a bombing attack, week long missions in the wilderness, urban fights that could stretch for days. It became clear why Lucky 13 was stood up, to cover down on missions the local SOF couldn’t get to. While he enjoyed the challenge it was clear the team was stretched thin and at times poorly matched to the tasks at hand. On one particular mission, early during his 13th FAST tenure, his team was caught in an ambush, pinned down by heavy crossfire and in the absence of clear orders he did what he thought was the prudent course of action, silence the enemy guns. While he managed to drop a few of the enemy fighters from his nest, he also managed to draw that fire onto his position. Quickly abandoning it he took what was in his mind the next logical step, stalking his prey with blade and phaser. Moving silently through the night he cleared one position, giving the team enough breathing room to move in and take out the last position. From that night forward he was known at the company Vampire, shapeless and ruthless in the dark. Disaster The date was 30 March 2388, a day that he wouldn’t forget, when his life would change forever. Petty Officer Abara, a close friend of his, had fallen ill with a virus and Vasily had offered to take his place as squad leader, something he had done many times before. There had been an incident on Deep Space Five, terrorists taking the command bridge and were demanding the release of their comrades, a typical day for the FAST teams. Security was able to do little more than contain the cancer until the chemo could come in. It was a cookie cutter mission, the assault squad would clear and secure the bridge while the overwatch squad would wait in reserve, cleaning up squirters as needed. It went terribly wrong the moment the team went into action, the breaching charges setting off a pocket of built up gas engineering had failed to warn them about. The resulting explosion immediately killed half the squad, another two members would succumb to their wounds within the coming days. No hostages or terrorists survived, either dying from the blast or subsequent decompression. For Vasily’s part he had been lucky enough to escape with only his right leg missing and severe lacerations to his right arm and shrapnel wounds to his abdomen. He spent the next month in and out of consciousness, missing the memorial service for his comrades, failing them and their families for a second time. When he finally regained his senses a sense of grief had taken hold, spending the next 6 months between physical therapy and counseling sessions. Delving deeper into his Orthodox faith, he credited the church as his way to maintain that small bridge to sanity. Once he was fit enough to return to a uniform he found that it would not be with his beloved FAST team. No longer would he be the Vampire hunting his prey in the dark. No, his fate would be a return to the regular fleet, a simple yellow shirt checking IDs and throwing people into the drunk tank. Captain Rondel, now chief of the FAST Regiment, took pity on the man, writing a recommendation for him to attend Officer Training School. Vasily was less than thrilled with this option, not only would he be a paper pusher, but one with substantially less influence than an NCO. Ever the soldier, he did as he was ordered. Crossing Over to the Dark Side Officer training was not as he expected it, considering the condensed nature of the training it really shouldn’t have surprised him. Strip away the academics and what you had was twenty weeks of grueling day and night leadership training, some had been civilians mere weeks before and others were grizzled prior enlisted. Some didn’t make it and others, like Vas, rose to the top. It actually proved to be a rather tough course, surprising the man who figured they’d be drinking tea and eating biscuits while they debated the philosophy. Graduating the top of his class he had his pick of duty locations, and none of the ones assigned to his class were at all appealing. Wishing to be as close to the action as he could, he ended up applying for the USS Bainbridge that was responsible for counter piracy patrols near Ferengi Space. Soon after he received orders to report to Vulcan, where he’d join the security team at Starfleet’s Regional Headquarters. The decision had been made at higher headquarters that Vasily could use a peaceful posting as a form of therapy. Once again he went where he was told, despite feeling his skills were being misused. The naturally serious and cold man seemed to fit in nicely to Vulcan society, even adapting the meditation rituals as his moments for prayer. The regimented and stoic planet was much less therapeutic than the personnel division would have likely hoped for, the man felt less like a monk and more like a caged bear. His horse riding was only limited to an hour due to the planet’s extreme heat, meat was a virtual luxury and hunting was mostly forbidden. Most of his days were spent reading and rehabilitating with the occasional bout of fencing if he could find a willing partner. Picking up the bow once more he found that it was music, something he had shelved years ago, was truly his best outlet for emotional release. His songs were those of melancholy, the songs of a man lost in the universe. Day to day life was what he expected it would be, occasionally checking IDs or rounding up Fleet Officers who were causing ruckus downtown. Mostly though it was paperwork, lots and lots of repetitive paperwork. The most eventful time was when he was assigned the duty of investigating a potential terror plot by Romulan sponsored terrorists, though that too proved less than exciting when it was discovered the plot was a minor protest outside the Vulcan parliament building. In the end life on Vulcan had been miserable and was happy to receive his orders to go back to Earth as an instructor at the Fleet’s Security schoolhouse. Teaching the Next Generation Following the addition of a new pip he was assigned to the Center for Security Forces near Virginia Beach on Earth. The job itself was tougher, but his mood dramatically improved. It may not have been in the thick of the action, but he was back on a planet where he could ride for days on end and once more enjoy the freedom of the plains. He managed to return to his village, almost a decade removed from it, and once more participate in the life of the Cossacks. It was a rough return, having been away for so long, but he was able to once again prove that he was worthy of his status, fake leg and all. More importantly he reconnected with his family, able to spend a last year with his Grandfather before he passed away. The job itself was fulfilling, training Starfleet’s Defenders and imparting his vast experiences onto them. One of his most effective teaching techniques he discovered quite on accident when he detached his leg in the middle of a test to do some maintenance, freaking out the trainees. It became his routine that once per course the instructors would drag Vasily in and have him explain the importance of awareness while the Enlisted Starfleet Training Instructors showed the mechanical appendage around. Overall he had been pleased by his efforts and the improvements made to the course. For the first time since donning the officer’s pips he was enjoying his time, perfectly content to stay at the schoolhouse until retirement. Starfleet decided that it was not going to be that way, instead giving him orders to the USS Vesta and once more into an iron coffin. |
Chronology
| Service Record | 2379: -Enlists into Starfleet -Security Crewman, USS Curie 2381: -Promoted to Petty Officer Third Class -Trainee, Starfleet Special Warfare School 2382: -Designated Marksman, 5th FAST Company, 2nd Platoon, Pacifica 2383: -Promoted to Petty Officer Second Class 2384: -Trainee, UFPMC Scout-Sniper School -Sniper, 13th FAST Company, Deep Space 8 2388: -Disaster at Deep Space 5 -Patient, Walter Reed, Earth -Promoted to Petty Officer First Class 2389: -Cadet, Officer Training School -Promoted to Ensign -Assigned to Starfleet’s Vulcan HQ 2381: -Promoted to Lieutenant Junior Grade -Training Officer, Starfleet Security Training, Earth 2393: - Chief of Security, USS Vesta |