Bravo Fleet
Summary
Commander Branson “Bran” Kittredge, Starfleet, is the Senior Medical Officer aboard the Typhoon-class exploratory cruiser USS Cyclone (NCC-90001). A combat surgeon with more scars than medals, Kittredge has followed Captain Roy Hardin through hell and back—twice. Blunt, brilliant, and incorrigibly human, he keeps Cyclone’s crew alive with a mix of old-school grit, surgical genius, and the occasional dose of bourbon.
Appearance
Kittredge stands 6’0” tall, broad-shouldered and rugged, with the posture of a man who has spent too many hours on his feet in an operating theater. His once-dark hair has faded to gunmetal gray. A permanent shadow of stubble lines his jaw, matching the creases around his steel-green eyes.
Personality
World-weary, wry, and battle-hardened, Kittredge is the kind of doctor who saves your life while telling you how stupid you were to lose it in the first place. He’s not gentle, but he’s honest; not polished, but remarkably skilled.
He has been called a “miracle worker with a bad attitude,” a label he wears proudly. His sickbays are symphonies of controlled chaos, and he’s the unflappable conductor.
He keeps a private cabinet in Sickbay for bourbon and cigars, both for “medical emergencies” and long nights of reflection.
History
Born June 2, 2349, in Savannah, Georgia, Branson Kittredge grew up among salt air, southern summers, and a family line that had produced soldiers, not surgeons. His decision to study medicine was less about compassion and more about curiosity—he wanted to understand what kept people alive in impossible circumstances.
After earning his degree at Emory Medical University and completing his residency through Starfleet Medical, Kittredge was deployed to the Federation-Klingon border conflicts of the 2370s. It was there, in triage tents and shattered corridors, that he learned the brutal efficiency of combat medicine. By the time he reached Starbase 112’s Forward Surgical Unit, he’d become one of Starfleet’s most trusted trauma surgeons—brilliant, burned-out, and allergic to politics.
He served under Captain Hardin’s command aboard the USS Kearsarge, where the two formed an unshakable bond forged in battle and bourbon. Kittredge once dragged Hardin out from under a collapsed bulkhead with a shattered femur and aimed a disruptor at the saboteur responsible—a story neither man ever fully confirmed but both still joke about. When Hardin retired in 2392, Kittredge followed suit, content to disappear into quiet consultancy and bottles of whiskey.
That peace didn’t last. When Hardin was recalled to active duty to take command of USS Cyclone, he made one non-negotiable demand: “If I’m going back out there, I want Bran with me.”
And so, Kittredge returned to active Starfleet service with the rank of Commander in 2402—grumbling, cigar in mouth, but alive again in the only world he truly understood.