From my mother's sleep I fell into the State,
And I hunched in its belly till my wet fur froze.
Six miles from earth, loosed from the dream of life,
I woke to black flak and the nightmare fighters.
When I died they washed me out of the turret with a hose.
--The Death of a Ball-Turret Gunner
by Randall Jarrell
The shuttlepod banked steeply enough for Captain Derrick Larwin to feel his guts twist in his body, and to give him a relatively unobstructed view of the massed fleet. Through the right viewports he saw the capital ships spreading out toward the black, horizonless distance in loose orbits. They were in a regimented formation in ascending order of size so that the largest starships were actually the smallest from his vantage--the Galaxy-class Heavy Cruisers drifting on outer perimeter like whales lazing beyond the safe-swim markers. To his right were the smaller attack craft in a tighter, stricter formation that ended with the Perigrines nosing the proximity field of Starbase 321. The USS Milwaukee, unseen beneath the shuttlepod, was a solid Excelsior-class refit--the smallest of the capital ships besides the Intrepids and the slimmer, sleeker, non-refit Excelsiors.
The ensign was a clean-cut, dusky-haired kid who piloted the shuttlepod with relaxed ease. Larwin could imagine him at the controls of a farm-vehicle in work clothes and a blade of hay stuck between his lips. He engaged the thrusters and they arced neatly over the bridge module of an Intrepid and slid into a narrow flight groove that ran between the massed Mirandas and Constellations. Larwin shook his head when they scooted past the ungainly over-under warp nacelles of the USS Dulles. Christ, they were emptying everything out mothballs for this war. If it went another couple of years, they'd be raiding the orbital museums around Charon, attacking the Dominion with Constitution- and Dedalous-class boats. And after that Mercury rockets, Larwin thought, and after that nuclear weapons, and after that machine-guns, and after that crossbows, and after that rocks... He made a concerted effort to shake himself away from the black thoughts that were gathering around his soul the way these ships had gathered around the Starbase. The crew could not see doubt or fear or fatalism. They had to believe that they stood a chance, in a ship designed over 75 years ago, against the Jem'Hadar and Cardassians in their freshly-minted ships that probably still smelled sweetly of sealant and cleaning compounds.
"Permission to ask a question, sir?" the ensign piped. His voice was strong and clear. Good for him. He may live.
"Go ahead, as long as you can talk and fly, Ensign."
"Yes sir. I was wondering what all this...well, what it was for."
Larwin sized up the traffic ahead of them. About thirteen shuttlepods delivering their Captaincy to the station. "That's a reasonable question."
"There's talk that we're going to be hitting the Ma'Reev shipyards, sir."
Larwin gave him a suitably, authoritatively obtuse look. "I can neither confirm nor deny that, Ensign. As it happens, the Admirals aren't terribly forthcoming these days."
"I see, sir," the ensign answered stiffly.
"Ensign, how many ships do you think are here?" Larwin asked laconically.
"Sir?"
"The number, Ensign. Ballpark figure."
"According to the flash-traffic advisories the Starbase transmitted, there are one-hundred and six, sir."
Larwin whistled through his teeth. "That is a lot of ships, Ensign. Can you think of any target that would warrant that many ships?"
The ensign blinked a few times. "No, sir. Not besides the shipyards."
Larwin gave him a small, sidelong grin. "Neither can I."
"We'll burn out the energy relays if we increase the concurrent output to this level," Commander Jorge Roman griped, scowling at the PADD Commander Debney had just handed him. "he's got to be out of his mind."
"The Captain is quite sane," Debney responded icily, "and requesting all necessary modifications to make this ship as assault-ready as possible."
Roman looked up at her. "No, I think he's quite mad. I've known him a long time. He puts on a good show, but down deep he's crazier than a pet coon."
Debney scowled at him for a moment, a wordless moment filled only with the throb of the warp core and the incidental chirps of the controls and interfaces. After a moment, she narrowed her eyes at the stocky engineer and gestured to the PADD. "I expect those modifications will be implemented according to the schedule the captain set forth. And that you will, along the way, solve the problem with relays, I trust?"
Roman stroked his neatly-trimmed goatee. "Yes sir," he answered formally.
"Excellent," Debney responded and turned on her heel. When she was safely in the turbolift, Roman turned to his Damage Crew Supervisor, a young Bajoran woman named Del. "She expects these modifications will be implemented," he explained dryly.
"I don't think you should have told her the captain was crazy. She didn't seem to get the joke."
"Well, we'll have to file that one away for future reference."
Commander Janine Debney puffed out her cheeks and felt an angry flush crawling up her neck and into her face. It was a stupid remark, a stupid power play. Roman had been Larwin's Chief Engineer since he'd gotten his commission. Of course he'd be informal and jocular. The flush had her face burning beneath her brownish pageboy.
One month. One month to fill the role of Executive Officer, to complement the captain, become the other side of his personality. One month to enter the cadre of a ship's crew and be accepted and trusted as one of them. She'd had one month, and now they were heading into the biggest battle this ship had ever witnessed. It wasn't enough time, and she didn't have the latitude to be making the mistakes she was making.
Janine rubbed her moistening palms on her uniform slacks. She wondered if she could manage the next 37 hours without another serious error in judgement like the last one. She wondered if it would even matter.
Larwin shifted in his seat and looked at the screen built into the table before him that outlined the battle strategy.
"The Perigrines will, of course, engage the Jem'Hadar and Cardassian fighters," Admiral Kessle explained, shining his laser-pointer at the three-dimensional rendering of the battle that hung between the senior tacticians and the Captaincy. "We don't have illusions about your ability to draw them away from the blockade--they're too well-trained for that. But once the battle is met, their formations will break down enough for the Perigrines to be sniping at the capital ships. That's when you engage them."
Larwin watched as the Captaincy of the Perigrines nodded and made notes on their displays. Experience-wise, they were a young group. While several of them were older than Larwin, there were none above the rank of Commander, and the bulk of them were Lieutenant Commanders. You didn't make captain and take command of a ten-man fighter ship unless you were in the Maquis (and how many of them were left?).
"Attack groups one and two will provide support for the Perigrines. You will engage and pursue the enemy fighters, keep them away from the capital ships. I want two Perigrines on every Jem'Hadar fighter. One Miranda cruiser, however, should suffice. Attack groups seven and eight, be prepared to also lend support against the fighters if need be. If not, coordinate with groups four and five to punch through the battlecruisers' lines. The Excelsiors and the Intrepids will have to work together to knock out the Cardassian Galor-class cruisers and Dominion battleships. neither of those classes can go head-to-head with one of those."
Larwin scowled and made a note on his console. His group was Attack Group Five.
"Attack Groups Gamma and Hydra will hang back and provide support for the medical ships and escape pods, should there be any. While you shouldn't expect to enter the battle, if necessary you will be called in to engage as well."
Gamma and Hydra were the Constellations, and Oberths. If they got called in, Larwin knew, it was all over but the shouting.
"Now," Kessle went on, "the main assault groups--the Nebula and Ambassador wings will operate in conjunction with, but in support of, the Galaxy wing. You are our battering rams..."
Which beats being cannon fodder, Larwin thought.
Lieutenant Del Maniro scowled and adjusted her grip on the molecule-displacer and twisted it into the small gap between the EPS conduit and the bulkhead, loosening the molecular bond of the fasteners. It was enough to make the conduit shake within the bulkhead, but just enough to make it easy to splice out a junked segment and replace it with a conduit-patch.
"Sir," Ensign Channard called from his segment of conduit a few meters down the corridor. "isn't this highly unusual? I mean, we want these conduits to hold not to fall apart."
"Sure," she replied, "under ideal circumstances. But we're going to take a pounding and these conduits are going to get blown out--that's practically a certainty. What is going to save our butts is our ability to bypass the damaged segments with patches in a hurry. Can you see where I'm going, Ensign?"
"I'm afraid not," Channard responded drolly. Maniro scowled. Starfleet was undoubtedly the best of best in terms of service, but she'd noticed that the Academy tended to turn out sheep in ensigns uniforms. And the remained sheep until they were suitably molded and damaged and broken in. Very few came out savvy and crafty. She wondered sometimes if it was the relative luxury that residents of the Federation lived in that caused this malaise. If they'd grown up where she had, they would have a keener sense of survival techniques.
But the implications of that were too chilling to consider.
"Okay, so we take a hit from a Jem'Hadar torpedo and the primary EPS condiuts to the tactical array are junked and the secondaries are knocked out at deck seven and Lieutenant Dremmer is sighting on a Cardy who's busy chewing apart our lines. What is the great challenge here?"
Channard stopped working and visibly pondered this. "How fast we get the patch in place."
"Exactly."
"And it's easier to that if the thing's already marked off into sections we can remove."
Maniro went back to her conduit. "Keep it up, Ensign, you'll make Lieutenant, yet."
Lieutenant Lian Tsu awoke with Martika Denis in her mind, and the image lingered past her command to computer to cease alarm and through the sonic shower. She pulled on her T-shirt and slacks, then lay back on her bunk before she fastened her vest. Martika. A mistake to think about her. Dreaming couldn't be helped. True, she could go to sickbay and request a REM suppressant, but that seemed extreme. They usually prescribed those for sufferers of night terrors or similar destructive sleep disturbances.
She sat up easily, feeling her flat stomach muscles pull taut. Martika had loved her midriff. Lian fastened her vest, still feeling the warmth of Martika's cheek against her belly.
Larwin was feeling meditative, but the fleet was lousing up his view. Rather than the limitless expanse of space rolling out from the transparent aluminum of the viewport, there was the jumble of ships. Most were too close to see in their entirety, so Larwin was left with a view that looked as if Picasso had painted it: the phaser array of a Perigrine, the bridge module of a Constellation, the nacelle of a Sabre. The view was all a jumble of starship components, as if nature itself was conspiring to remind Larwin that the rest of his life hinged upon components such as these and their ability to deliver him from the maw of death in the next handful of hours.
"Dark thoughts again?"
The voice made him jump, then raised gooseflesh on his arms and along his shoulder-blades. Vanessa Brandis stood the way he remembered she always did, with her right leg slightly back and behind the left as if she were ready to spring into dance at any moment.
"You know me too well," he said with a slight smile.
"You haven't changed that much in twelve years, Derrick." Her eyes seemed as clear and blue as they had when they'd started their careers together aboard the Potemkin. Larwin found to his bemusement, that he could peel back the years from her face and see the ensign he'd occasionally shared a bunk with, yet found it inconceivable he'd ever made love to her, fallen in love, or been a carefree ensign. He remembered his past as if it were a vid-file about someone else.
"It occurs to me that come this time the day after tomorrow, a lot of people will be dead. And the damnable part about it is that who lives and who dies will mostly boil down to luck. To chance. And that can't be bargained with or altered in anyway. For all of our technology and training, it's going to come down the right place at the right time." He found himself lowing his head and looking up at her the way he used to aboard the Potemkin. It was a disarming gesture he once saw one of his roommates at the academy use on a senior instructor, and it worked well if you had a gentle face. Larwin had a face like a survival knife, but it had always worked on Vanessa as a way of tacitly acknowledging the five inches she had on him.
"You keep forgetting, Derrick, you're a starship captain. You make luck. You make fate. You control the very forces of nature."
Tall, big-boned, with a mane of long, black ringlets that swept the periphery of her creamy skin and ocean-blue eyes, if anybody looked like a deity capable of commanding the laws of nature, it was Captain Vanessa Brandis.
Larwin just smiled and gestured to the viewport. "Where's yours?"
Vanessa stepped up and peered out. "Hard to see. The Locarno back there with Group Twelve."
"An Intrepid," Larwin said approvingly. "They worked all the bugs out of those?"
"No complaints."
"Still, naming a warship after a peace treaty has to be a bad mojo."
She laughed slightly, but held him in her gaze and he held her in hers. "Do you miss me sometimes?"
"I miss being young with you."
"That's not an answer," she replied.
Larwin turned away and looked back at the collage of starships. "You're like a force of nature, Vanessa. I'm never really far from you."
"I'm not real happy with these tricorders, they're about ten years old," Doctor Lela Marcheu said tightly to her executive medical officer, Lenox, who followed her like a satellite.
"Equipment shortages have been most pronounced at the field-usage level," Lenox explained. "Some outposts have not even been issues compression-rifles yet. The priority being, of course, starships and starship components."
"Of course," Marcheu said dryly, looking over sickbay, now swarming with technicians and nurses readying the place for mas-cal situation, which was to come. "But the newer ones are easier to use and our triage teams are mostly ensigns and field medics with virtually no experience. No instincts yet, no intuition. They need all the help they can get."
"I could attempt to requisition some of the newer models," Lenox suggested.
"Don't bother," Marcheu said, imagining a Vulcan trying to wheel and deal. "We'll cope. Right now I need you to oversee the compilation of the medic packages. Make sure they're complete and accessible."
"Yes, Doctor." Lenox turned briskly and hurried off. Marcheu took the moment to look out over her sickbay, imagining it in a few hours: clogged with the dead and dying.
"Increase the output on the secondary conduits," Roman ordered the haggard-looking ensign (he forgot the name). "They've got to be able to handle the load if the primaries go out."
"Aye sir," the kid said and began frantically punching buttons on his panel. While he did that, Roman linked his engineering tricorder to the number four ODN trunk and tested its viability. The tricorder's display and LEDs blinked out for a second as the machine gave itself to the optical data network, then it lit up again. Roman checked the display:
Optical Data Network (Number Four) Viability 94%
Frustrated, Roman slapped his commbadge. "Roman to Kellogg."
"Kellog here, sir."
"Increase the gain at your end. We're only at ninety-four percent on number four."
"Aye sir," Kellogg answered crisply. Roman liked Kellogg for that, no questions asked. He got things done.
"Sir," the ensign called from his console. "I've got her up to ninety-six percent."
"Not good enough. We want one-twelve at least."
The ensign's eyes bulged. "Sir? That's way past suggested parameters."
"If the main structural integrity field conduits blow that means that not only with backups have to pick up the slack, but they'll most likely be coping with some major damage to ship's hull. That makes the SIF even harder to maintain. If they can't do it, then the first time the captain takes us to impulse the hull buckles like an eggshell. Got it?"
"Yes sir...but we're stretching our power resources pretty thin."
Roman strode over to the ensigns console and checked the power allotment breakdown on the monitor. He pointed to one corner of the screen. "Build in a conduit from the synthetic gravity field bleed," he explained. "That way you'll also be able to reduce the amount of power allotted to the internal dampeners. If gravity goes down, we won't have to worry as much about being knocked around." Losing gravity also meant falling debris wasn't as lethal. Flying debris from exploding panels, however, was.
As the tired ensign made the necessary modifications, Roman took a long, rueful look at the warpcore. The right hit in the right place with the containment shielding low enough and all their redundant systems and crackerjack damage crews wouldn't be worth a damn. The ship would tear itself into subatomic fragments in less than a second.
Best not dwell on it, he decided and checked the ensign's work over his shoulder.
The Milwaukee hung in the main viewport of the shuttlepod like an ivory carving, and Larwin remembered the first time he'd set eyes on his ship. It was during an approach similar to this one, but that time he was alone in a remote-guided travelpod. He'd stood at the viewport looking past his ghostly reflection at the refit Excelsior-class ship bundled in the protective womb of the spacedock scaffolding. The Milwaukee was not a new ship, and Larwin was her third captain. The first had made Commodore and been reassigned to a research position within Starfleet Scientific, and the second had resigned his commission when his wife had died. Larwin had been awed by the sight, had drunk it in like a new and fascinating artifact and not a commonly-seen Federation Starship. It was as if he'd never seen an Excelsior-class starship before. The massive nacelles seemed to extend outward to infinity, and the expanded impulse deck looked capable of driving the ship through the very fabric of space/time itself.
Now, she was two months out of Spacedock 433 where they'd updated her targeting and fire-control systems, loaded her with quantum and photon torpedoes, and put her through a full hull-integrity reinforcement regiment. She was, right now, a more formidable craft than she had ever been since leaving the Setris Shipyards.
The shuttlepod angled in for her landing in the shuttlebay, affording Larwin an unobstructed view of her dorsal surface, the running lights that dotted her spine, the phaser bank set into the bulge where the nacelle pylons met. Even her registry markings looked neat and new.
Larwin tried to muster the same feeling of awe an power that has swelled within him at their first meeting, but all he could see was another fragile vessel for humans.
Lian Tsu hurried down the narrow corridor, dodging similarly darting crewmen and hopping over engineering equipment and even the occasional crouched engineer. Anxiety and urgency were swelling in her abdomen like a dying star's photosphere. She should be on the bridge right now. The captain had transmitted the helm courses they'd be relying upon for the mission, she should be there now programming them into the navigation computer and running the simulations. In an assault like this, there would be starships on top of one another and if the computer hadn't properly extrapolated for those contingencies, it would be easy to collide with their support craft or the assault ships clearing the way for them.
But she knew that she would be useless if she didn't see her, and once the ship went to warp the crew would be so busy running battle drills that she wouldn't have the opportunity. It was a mistake, yes, but she was entitled to mistakes in her private life, since she allowed for none in her professional conduct.
She slid between two ensigns, their arms bulging with triage equipment, and scanned sickbay. Martika was in the far corner running diagnostics on the surgery beds. She looked harried, her cropped, jet-black hair had fallen forward and was tickling her brow, now furrowed in concentration. Martika's eyes flicked upward and caught her when she was still a few paces from the surgery bed, then returned to her work as if nothing had caught her interest. Lian felt like a steel rod had been run through her heart.
"I wanted to talk with you," she said quietly and hurriedly when she reached the other side of the bed.
"I don't have much time," Martika repled dully, but the spots that traced her hairline from her temples to her neck were a deep, rich brown--the Trill equivalent of a flush, Lian knew. During lovemaking they'd turn a ruddy pink, though Martika had explained that that particular physiological reaction was an individual one.
"I don't either, but I had to tell you how I feel."
"It's not hard to divine how you feel," Martika said sourly. She had a small face with pert features that made her still look like a first-year cadet. Hearing such world-weary responses never ceased to unnerve her.
"I love you. I want us to be together forever."
Martika scowled. "Forever is longer for me than it is for you. And as of right now, it may just be a matter of hours anyhow."
"Than why won't you agree to it? Even if we die engaged, the bond is there. We have that union, even if it is only known by us."
Martika continued stabbing the controls, but Lian knew she was just trying to seem busy and distracted.
"I've buried my fill of lovers over the years."
"Martika hasn't! I could be hers."
Martika was silent, still punching useless controls.
"I know you feel the same way I do."
Her eyes flashed, taking Lian aback, then they softened into something almost pitying. "Lian," she said resignedly, "you're a child. You could never know what I feel."
The conversation was over. Martika Denis moved on to one of the bio beds, leaving Lian Tsu to slowly make her way out of sickbay, feeling is her insides had been compacted into something unrecognizable and unusable.
"We've got the efficiency of the ODN trunks and EPS conduits through the roof," Roman said as he and the captain strode briskly down the corridor from the shuttlebay, "so we'll be wired for power and info come hell or high water."
Larwin nodded. "What about power output?"
Roman checked his PADD, even though he knew the figures off the top of his head. "Well, with the scientific and socio-cultural populations offloaded, along with their equipment, we've freed up about a third of the ship's resources."
"Not bad," Larwin said only slightly giving away his surprise at the number.
"That's nearly one hundred people," Roman explained. "Factor in the energy costs of their quarters--lights, environmental controls, replicators--the computer space their equipment and programs take up...we're talking a lot of resources."
"And you can eliminate life support, environmental, the works without affecting the SIF?"
"Not completely," Roman admitted. "If we utterly obliterate artificial grav and enviro then we lose everything we gained in shutting them down with the subroutines we have to program in just to compensate for the variables and fluctuations in that area. But we can keep that well below minimal."
"What about damage teams?"
"Double redundant. Any more than that and they'll be falling over each other trying to figure out which calls to take, who's on what where and so on. Heaven save us from enthusiastic young engineers."
"Well they're gonna be saving our bacon once we start slugging it out, so just keep the energy level high."
"I'll feed them those Bolian chocolates you tried to foist off on me last time you came back from leave. Pipe in a little Klingon opera and they'll be scurrying around the lower decks like voles on amphetamines."
"Nice to know you appreciate my gestures of consideration. Probably better you didn't eat the damn things, you beginning to balloon up."
"Appreciate the status report, Captain. FYI, it's these damn new uniforms. We're wearing more layers than sub-zero recon team."
"Doesn't help that they're black and gray, either," Larwin replied. "Makes you look like a manatee. You know, those big, fat, slow things that just sort of drift around the shallows in Florida. I think they call them sea cows..."
"Respectfully request the captain stop mocking me, sir."
Larwin grinned. "Yeah, okay, I've had my fun. How's our new XO working out?"
"She could some work in the interpersonal relationships department. Aside from that," he shrugged, "seems competent enough."
"Well, at this point that's all I care about. I know I'm violating damn near every Command Management rule in the book, but what we need right now is an officer. She can be our new family member later."
"Let's hope we haven't lightened up the ranks too much by then," Roman said easily enough, but his tone still had a flatness to it.
"Ditto," was all Larwin replied.
The senior staff was assembled in the Milwaukee's ready room, each in their place around the small round table. Larwin always thought it more resembled a poker game than an actual mission briefing and that annoyed the hell out of him. Ready rooms were never designed into the original Excelsior ships, so Starfleet R&D had had to convert a couple of store rooms. It wasn't a perfect solution, but the best they could offer without tearing apart and rebuilding the saucer section. Larwin had long gotten used to the close quarters and the resulting loss of dignity of its size. This time, however, it seemed positively stifling. They may as well have been meeting in a junior officer's quarters.
"As you've probably gleaned by this point, we're going after Ma'Reev," Larwin announced, glancing up and studying the faces around the table. Roman, Marcheu, Debney, Tsu, Gavin. "The Milwaukee will be a part of the advanced strike force. Our job is to cut through the medium-class enemy ships and begin the initial assault on the shipyards."
"So we're looking at primarily Kelvin-class vessels?" Gavin asked. His sandy hair and mustache had been recently trimmed, Larwin noticed.
"Ideally. Admiral Kessle's plan would call for the wings of heavy-cruisers to engage their Galors and Jem'Hadar battleships. The Perigrines, Mirandas, anything else small will engage the Jem'Hadar Marauders and Cardassian scouts. At the risk of being impertinent, I highly doubt it's going to break down that easily. Be prepared to fire on anything that gets in our way, but keep your eye on the shipyards. We knock those out and it doesn't matter how the battle goes."
"Where do we expect to engage the enemy?" Debney asked.
"Right on top of the yards. They've amassed a fleet of approximately one-hundred and fifty ships there in preparation for this move."
"Right on top of them?" Tsu asked incredulously. "Why would they take that risk?"
"Admiral Kessle believes they've got a better chance of fighting us off near the yards than a distance away. The yards themselves don't have their own defenses or much of in the way of shielding--power expenditure would be enormous. If they engage us a safe distance from the yards, they run the risk of some of our ships breaking through their lines and making it to the yards where they could attack them at their leisure. Around the shipyards, we'd be too busy defending ourselves to attack."
"Makes sense," Gavin said, nodding. "Forces us to totally demolish their fleet before we can move on to the yards."
"In any event, it's going to be a punch-up," Larwin said. "The Milwaukee needs to be stripped down to its barest elements. Any pretense that this is a ship of exploration is forgotten from this point onward. We kill anything that gets between us and those yards. They account for nearly an eighth of the Cardassian ships we've been fighting and they're still adding on to the thing."
He paused and looked around the table before continuing. "I've gotten the rundown from Jose and Janine. Lela, is sickbay prepared?"
"Yes sir," she nodded. "Triage and paramedic teams are standing by."
"How many medics?"
"Thirteen."
Larwin thought for a moment. "Put some of your triage people on paramedic duty. The time when we're taking the most casualties is also the time when our energy reserves are going to be the most strained. You'll be tending to them with hand units mostly."
"Twenty?"
"Good." He looked at Tsu. "Lieutenant, are the courses and stratagems loaded into the helm?"
Lian nodded vigorously, her black bangs shivering. "Yes sir. I've through them all at least once, so the main computer can emergency-cache the more intricate data."
"Excellent work, Lieutenant. Lieutenant Commander Gavin, how has the shakedown on the new targeting vectors proceeded?"
Gavin shifted easily in his chair, as if this were just another staff meeting in the course of a stellar cartography mission. "Yes sir. With the diverted resources of the main computer, we can coordinate the phaser and photon torpedo vectors within inches. If those torpedoes knock a hole in their shields--even for a second, the phasers will be burning raw hull."
"Good. How about multi-targeting the banks?"
"We should be able to fire every phaser bank at a separate target--provided the EPS conduits hold up." He cast a sidelong glance at Roman.
"What about the default targets? Still set to highest energy emissions?"
"Yes sir. We may not know the Jem'Hadar specs, but we can tell where their engine rooms are. And hit them."
"Good, but differentiate the defaults between Cardassian and Jem'Hadar. Set them for the bridge modules of the Cardassian ships. A hull breach in their bridge segments will cripple them--at least for a few seconds and that's enough."
There was dull silence in the room before Gavin said slowly. "Aye sir."
"Excuse me, sir," Debney said crisply. "But that is a highly unorthodox order..."
"And illegal except during wartime," Larwin nodded. "But this is a desperate situation and it's a war. This shipyard is deep enough in Dominion-held territory that retreat is nearly impossible."
This time there were gasps. Larwin figured they'd have that effect. He continued. "The combined fleets of this sector are the ones we'll be meeting. You can bet while we're engages, the fleets in Sector Twelve and Fifteen will be heading in to cut off our retreat. The Klingon fleets around Ketakis and Telluride will be holding them off to buy us the time to take out the shipyards. If Starfleet Intelligence is correct, they probably won't engage us once we take out the yards. That's a major supply of ships and components they'll have lost and they'll be redeploying their fleets to compensate."
"Which means we have to succeed in order to survive," Debney finished.
Larwin gave her a wintery smile. "Think of it as incentive," he said. "Dismissed."
The fleet was stirring, the Galaxy and Nebulas falling into formation with the Ambassadors and fanning out to allow the medium-sized cruisers. The Milwaukee took of her position within the wedge of Excelsiors and Intrepids, powered up, and, following the light-contrails of the heavy-cruisers, they powered up their nacelles and blasted into warp.
And into battle.
"Entering system, sir," Tsu reported, her voice betraying only the slightest tremor of fear. It didn't matter. The tension seemed to have robbed the bridge of oxygen, causing everyone to breathe just a little bit deeper, exhale just a little bit harder. Larwin glanced down at the control-arm of his chair and mused with the idea of accessing the environmental controls and upping the oxygen ratio. He decided not to. It was, after all, only stress. Once all hell broke loose (which it eventually would) the tension would break. Besides, the excess oxygen would just burn better once panels blew out and the fires started and they didn't need the damage-control teams putting out fires while EPS conduits were being knocked out.
"Maneuver us into position, Lieutenant," Larwin said easily. "Maintain one half-kilometer between us and the surrounding fleet ships. Ensign Cole, open a channel to the fleet."
"Aye sir."
The viewscreen sparkled in its periphery as more ships dropped out of warp around and in front of them. Mirandas and Perigrines dropped into normal space in front of them, jockeying to fall into positions. The Perigrines angled and swooped around the larger, less-agile Mirandas.
"Sir, we're picking up some incredibly high energy readings from the shipyards," Gavin reported. "Delta and T-rays are off the scale. I'm also reading graviton emissions...consistent with an artificial singularity."
Debney threw him a look. Larwin returned it. "Tactical," she ordered and the image of the sterling white starships was replaced by a harsh grid and craft placements. Larwin felt the pit of his stomach fall out when he saw the Dominion deployment. It was a solid wall of ships that stood between the yards and the Federation fleet. Behind the ship yards was a black orb that represented the anomaly.
"Attention: Ships of the fleet," Admiral Kessle's voice boomed from the bridge speakers. Larwin scowled and reduced the gain on his control pad. "We have scanned the artificial singularity and determined it to be a tactical ploy to create an artificial gravity-well, forcing us to attack on one front. Captains, prepare to implement attack pattern omega-one-one."
Larwin swallowed and nodded, then realized that he was doing it and stopped. "Okay, people..." His mouth was dry. "All stop. Pay attention to the proximity sensors, it's harder for those capital ships to stop on a dime."
Tsu's fingers played over the console, quicker than usual. Larwin could imagine her thoughts: mammoth Galaxy and Nebula and Ambassador ships overtaking them from behind and smashing them to pieces.
"What's omega-one-one?" Debney asked.
"Straight on assault," Larwin explained. "Wave after wave hits them until we punch a hole, then whoever's left standing runs like hell through and unloads on the shipyards."
"Plan every-man-for-himself," Gavin affirmed grimly.
"Secure that, Mister," Larwin told him sharply. "We haven't fired a shot yet, so we can't have lost already. Helm, take up a position at seven-one-two by niner-seven-seven. Hold position there."
The deckplates hummed beneath their feet as the impulse drive kicked in and the navigational thrusters flared. A moment later, Tsu reported that they were holding position.
"Forward view."
The screen now showed a solid wall of warships, bathed in the ethereal blue glow of Jem'Hadar warp drives. Scarab-shaped Jem'Hadar fighters were wedged in the gaps between lean Cardassian cruisers and spider-like Jem'Hadar battleships. Layer upon layer of them. Enough to completely exterminate life on a world, boil the seas, demolish the atmosphere, destabilize the crust, burn down to the core and just maybe leave it to crumble through its rapidly-shredding atmosphere.
Larwin looked around his bridge, his crew, and marvelled at how easily the one flowed into the other. How easy it was to loose the distinction between them. Normally, a good captain kept in the front of his mind his crew. The mission could be scrubbed--a dead crew could accomplish nothing--and the ship could be sacrificed--it needed a crew to run it--but this was one of those soul-chilling exceptions.
The ship had to remain intact to complete the mission and return home.
The mission had to be completed.
All else was expendable.
Larwin let his chest and mind grow cold then gave the orders that he would begin it all.
"Red alert. Raise shields, energize phasers, arm photon and quantum torpedoes and load them in the tubes. One and two, quantums. Three and four, photorps. Helm, plot a course into sector one-seven-six, prepare to initiate on my mark. I want damage-control and medical teams standing by, plus back-ups for any bridge stations. Mr. Gavin, the battle will be joined by the time we wade into the fire, so keep scanning the enemy ships. Any sign of a weakness or rupture in their shields: put a torpedo into it."
"Aye sir," Gavin answered.
On screen, the first wave approached the Dominion wall.
The Perigrines went in first, pairing off and zeroing in on a specific Jem'Hadar attack ship. Fast behind them were the Mirandas, sighting on targets of their own. The Perigrines were wide, compact ships with stubby, forward-swept wings tipped with phaser cannons and photon torpedo tubes set close to the hull. Alone, their firepower was underwhelming, but Kessle had orchestrated their attack patterns to be as devastating as possible.
And at first it was.
The Dominion's strategy to hold their position and create an impenetrable blockade was tested and somewhat true. It had held off Captain Ben Sisko's assault during the initial stages of Operation Return for a little while, and if not for the sudden Klingon involvement. This time, however, they'd underestimated the determination of the Starfleet crews and officers. Success had its consequences, and one of them was the mad fury fear can bring.
And they plunged into the ranks of Dominion ships, darting and weaving like swallows and spewing red flame at the fighters which suddenly became slow, torpid turtles.
"Vector it, one-one-twelve, now!" Commander Trane barked at his helmsman as the Jem'Hadar attack ship turned itself inside out on their small viewscreen in a wash of blue and red plasma fire. "That was too easy. They'll be a lot madder next time. Lock in coordinates and synchronize with Raven Two."
"Phasers recharging," the weapons officer announced, his voice pinching as the ship rolled into an attack spiral.
"Go to photorps. We'll knock down the shields this time."
The Jem'Hadar was rolling to bring its forward weapons package to bear, but it wasn't fast enough. Trane's torpedoes exploded against its forward shields a nanosecond before Raven Two's phaser bolts tore into the bare hull, stitching parallel lines of fire and erupting gasses. The Jem'Hadar tumbled like a bleeding whale.
"Good," Trane barked, "bring us to..."
"Jem'Hadar on attack vector!" the helmsman exclaimed. Trane took a breath to give his next order as the enemy craft filled the viewscreen, then washed it out with an azure flare.
The Jem'Hadar had opened fire on its attackers and disrupted their initial pass, then kicked in its thrusters and vaulted past them to the flight path of Raven Team. Perigrines were offensive, but not defensive. An attack could be coordinated, but not a defense. It was just as easy to knock down two weak shield systems as one. The Jem'Hadar launched a salvo of torpedoes at Raven Two and used its main anti-proton cannon at Raven One. In a second and a half it had reduced both ships to gas and debris which glanced off its shields as it cruised along its flight path for another few hundred kilometers before a concentrated burst of fire from the USS Chalmers--a fifty-seven year-old Miranda-class frigate--blew a hole straight through its structure and transformed it into a fast, brainless fireball.
The Chalmers loosed a salvo at a second Jem'Hadar before a Cardassian spiral-wave disrupter sliced through its starboard nacelle and sent it into an end-over-end somersault like an unstable flare to explode within a cluster of Cardassian Scout Fighters.
"It's begun," Larwin commented matter-of-factly, though it was hardly necessary. All eyes were on the viewscreen and the bright flares and flashes of light that were evidence of the melee.
"Sensors indicate seventeen light attack craft destroyed," Lt. Tsu reported, "Starfleet losses..."
"Don't keep count, Lieutenant," Larwin ordered her easily. "Let the tacticians on the command ships do that. Keep your eyes on that armada. Watch for any holes and wait for the order to go forward."
"Yes sir," she answered, sounding slightly choked.
"What's the status of the opposing fleet?" Debney asked.
"Fighters and attack craft have engaged. Capital ships have not. It doesn't even look like they're firing much, sir."
"They're saving everything up for the big assault," Gavin noted dryly.
"Yep," Larwin answered equally dryly.
On screen, the second wave of attack ships--both Mirandas and the sleeker, newer Intrepids--plunged into the fire.
The second wave was far more successful than the first. The Jem'Hadar fighters--emboldened by the diminishing ranks of Perigrines--threw themselves at the newcomers with a fiery vengeance, only to be beaten back with equal vengeance. The Intrepids, while larger and more targetable, were also more nimble and more heavily-armed. While the Perigrines concentrated their efforts on one ship alone, the Intrepids hit multiple targets. Even when the shoehorn-shaped Cardassian Scouts joined the battle, they were dispatched with comparable ease.
But they also attracted the attention of the cruisers and battleships...
Vanessa Brandis ordered the Locarno into a tight roll around the nearest Galor-class warship, concentrating her forward batteries on the ship's engineering section, while keeping the aft ones free to demolish the four or so Cardassian Scouts that were on her tail.
"Cardassian shields weakened at sector twelve by seven," her helmsman barked.
"Target all weapons," Brandis ordered. "Synchronize phaser fire with quantorp detonation. They gave us more than our allotment of the things, might as well use them."
"Aye sir. Weapons locked."
"Fire!"
The Locarno lunged like a spitting cobra, releasing bright blue-white balls of flame from her torpedo tubes which exploded with unthinkable intensity only milliseconds before her scarlet phasers sliced through the collapsed shields and opened the hull like a can-opener. The Cardassian Battlecruiser spun off its axis as its systems went haywire and conduits ignited.
The Starfleet vessel reared up, bringing her aft batteries to bear and then firing, leaving a contrail of phaser and quantum residue that linked it to the explosion of the Cardassian engineering drive.
"Aft view...she's dead, sir!"
Brandis smiled coldly as the viewscreen showed the Cardassian's outer hull being stripped away from its flaming skeleton. It was enough to distract her from the burning Miranda hulls and drifting Perigrine debris.
"Sir! Dominion Battleship moving into attack position!"
"On screen!" And suddenly the scene changed from a triumphant view of a fallen Cardassian to the slow, menacing crawl of a massive, Dominion gunship. It had been jostled from position by the rapid reshuffling caused the Galor's fall.
"They're targeting all forward phaser turrets and torpedo tubes."
"All right," Brandis said slowly. "We can't take it out, but we can damage her and leave her for the bigger boys. All power to forward shields, prepare for an attack run up their A-axis. Hit them with everything we've got, then get out of their cone of fire. Understood?"
"Aye sir," her helmsman affirmed. He looked about twelve.
"Let's go," she said firmly.
And the view shifted, the battleship sliding into its center until loomed large, and Brandis could see the shimmer of the shields as debris and micrometeorites bounced off them. "Fire!" She ordered, and for a moment the screen was washed out in vibrant, orange light as the Locarno sprayed the Dominion ship even before it could fire its own phased polaron beams.
"Now! Break off!"
The inertial dampeners groaned as the Locarno veered off, barely skimming the battleship's opening volley. Then the proximity alarms screamed.
"Incoming!" the helmsman cried, his voice breaking, "Plotting evasive..." And the ship twisted, the inertial dampeners giving out completely, the viewscreen flaring as a burning Jem'Hadar fighter rolled past.
"That was close," Brandis exhaled, feeling the cold, ball of tension in her stomach unwind.
"Dominion battleship bringing weapons to bear!"
"Eva--"
"Zero in on that one," Larwin said quietly.
"Aye sir. Maximum magnification," Tsu reported as the Intrepid burned onscreen. The Dominion warship had fired a devastating burst into the ship's forward shields. Those battleships were the most heavily-armed craft in the whole damn war, Larwin knew. That burst had cracked the shields like and egg and then tore into the bare metal. Now, the ship slowly spun, bleeding superheated plasma and alloy debris from the module where the bridge once was and the skin was slowly burning away, eating the registry numbers and slowly working its way to the ship's name.
But Larwin could read it, as could everyone on the bridge.
"It's the Locarno, sir," Tsu reported dispassionately. She had no knowledge of its importance to her captain.
"I know," he answered. He'd known ever since she'd taken out the Cardassian. Vanessa's loss had sliced through him and the alienness of his memories of her came flooding back. Now, a part of his mind reasoned, he may never again truly connect with them.
He allowed himself just a moment to press his fingertips to his eyes. You're like a force of nature, Vanessa. I'm never really far from you...
But that was all he could afford, and he looked up to see the first wave of capital ships heading impassively toward the blockade, the unstoppable force meeting the immovable object. He pulled his mind away from Vanessa. There's be time later to mourn her or join her.
The first wave of capital ships charged into the frau, their impulse decks nearly blinding to the naked eye. Thirty in all--nine Galaxy-class, ten Nebula-class, and eleven Ambassador-class--they moved in an arrow-head formation with the USS Lexington in the lead, and it opened fire on a Cardassian Galor-class battleship with all forward weapons. The Cardassian had been anticipating a coordinated defense and had opened fire with only its forward cannon. Its Gul hadn't expected to have five phaser banks and a full salvo of ten torpedoes all concentrated on his ship. In moments the forward shields were overloaded and its bridge blade had been sliced away. The ship, brain-dead and off-balance, cavitated and afforded the attackers the broad target of its engineering section. A moment later, the Lexington had punched through the hull and ignited the warp core.
The blossoming explosion tore into the surrounding Galor- and Kelvin-class knocking down their shields and throwing them out of formation and forming a chink that the attacking Starfleet ships plunged into.
And then space lit up with fire as dozens of phaser-strips and torpedo tubes lashed out, crisscrossing with phased polaron beams and spiral-wave disrupters and the void lit up with criss-crossing beams of orange and red and blue. Shields trembled and shook, glowed like mirrors. Metal vaporized, hulls breached, explosions flared.
The Milwaukee's viewscreen could barely keep the intensity low enough to prevent it from being blinding.
"Hard to tell who's winning," Gavin commented dryly.
"At this point," Larwin responded, "I think everyone's taking a pasting. The initial capital assault isn't going to destroy as many ships as it is wreck their formation. Once they start firing at point-blank range, their shields are going to start soaking up a lot of collateral discharge. Enough so that a torpedo launch will be as liable to topple the shields of the firing vessel. The Dominion will want to jockey for more firing room. For the next assault wave."
"Sir?" Lt. Tsu piped, "When do we go?"
"If my guess is correct, Lieutenant, any minute now. Once they've broken up the Dominion formation, the light cruisers will sprint right in."
"And then the firing starts and the sprinting stops," Debney said.
"That's how I have it figured," Larwin said without taking his eyes off the viewscreen. "Give me a rundown of the systems. I want everything at 115 percent."
On screen, an Ambassador-class cruiser soundlessly exploded.
Commadore Yohito watched as the Gandhi's systems went critical, the warp-core tumbling end-over-end from the engineering section's ejection port. It was too late, of course, the warp engines were igniting and the impulse deck was on fire a moment later, the ship was nothing but an atomizing ball of gaseous flame that devoured itself. Yohito took some measure of comfort in the explosion of the errant warp-core against the fore shields of a Kelvin-class cruiser. He isolated the image onscreen, automatically sending the coordinates to the weapons officer. "Target those shields and fire."
The USS Gorbachev wasn't in position to target with her photon torpedoes, so Ensign Clea hit them with all ventral phasers, concentrating the fire from the strips on the nacelle pylons with that of the one on the secondary hull and the ventral-main strip. The Kelvin's shields were next to nothing after the explosion of the warp-core, and the four phaser streams decimated the fore third of the ship, leaving it a charred, withered, skeleton. Meanwhile, he loosed a salvo of photorps at the Dominion battleship looming off of their X-axis and followed it with a phasers strike from the remaining banks.
The battle was going well for now, Yohito mused, despite the loss of the Ghandi. The truth of the matter was those old, Ambassador's had been a breath away from being retired before war broke out and only the need for ships had kept them in service. The damn things had never been much to write home about anyway. Along with the Ghandi, they'd also lost the Exeter, the Zhukov, and the Excaliber. The Zhukov and the Excaliber had both exploded under the barrage of enemy fire, while the Exeter was currently limping with a skeleton crew off the field of battle, or at least to a relatively safe area where they could beam to one of the other ships.
The Nebulas and Galaxies were doing better. Both were sturdier and more lethal--the Galaxy's with greater power outputs to bolster shields and weapons systems, and the Nebulas benefitting from their compact, bulldog design.
Even so, they were outnumbered and it was only a matter of time before the warships overwhelmed them. Now, it was a matter of keeping the enemy off-balance while the next wave came in.
The Dominion battleship opened fire with two salvos of torpedoes, plunging the Gorbachev's bridge into smoke and flame. Clea went down, half his body seared and filling the air with the stench of burning flesh. His replacement didn't even look at the body as she targeted the battleship and fired.
Just keep them off-balance, Yohito thought as he gave his next order. Staying alive is secondary.
"Attack wings seven, twelve, and five prepare for assault pattern theta..."
Larwin's stomach turned to acid. Without waiting for his say-so, Lt. Tsu powered up the impulse engines. Larwin felt them through the deckplates.
"All systems check out, sir," Gavin reported. "Shields and weapons systems at one-fifteen percent. Secondary impulse engines online. Photon torpedoes loaded in tubes one and three, quantum torpedoes in tubes two and four."
"Use them sparingly. We don't have many of them." It was a useless thing to say, but it soothed Larwin's nerves slightly. "Give me deck-to-deck intercom."
"You're on, sir."
Larwin stood, took a breath into his shuddering lungs, spoke from the top of his head. "Attention all crewmembers," Well, there's a hell of an inspiring way to begin, he thought as his voice echoed dimly from the fourteen-odd decks below him. "In a few moments we will be joining the battle. Many of us--most of us--did not believe this day would come. We joined Starfleet to explore, protect, to continue to build the legacy of the United Federation of Planets. War of this scale was, we believed, a thing of the past. Ten months and millions dead have hardened us, jaded us, taught us otherwise. We now must embrace the role of protectors, and face that obligation that has always existed in the backs of our minds, unspoken, unexplored until now.
"We must offer up our lives for the Federation."
Martika Denis stood at attention with the rest of cold-eyed, grim-faced medical teams. The captain was good at speaking informally and unpreparedly. It made his speeches seem more human, more heartfelt, though five-hundred years of life experiences had taught her that starship captains could never truly speak from the heart. Not to their crew.
"A General during Earth's second global conflict once told his troops that despite all the stories, there is nothing romantic about dying in battle. The name of the game, he said, is to get the other guy to die in battle. I concur with his sentiments, however facing the fleet we now face the inescapable reality of the situation is that a great many of us will die in battle. This very ship itself may be lost. Perhaps it is bad form to point that out, but I'm not going to pretend that it isn't on everyone's mind at this moment."
Del Maniro was never unimpressed by the human capacity to pontificate.
"We plunge, as William Shakespeare wrote, into the cannon's mouth. But we do so bearing the shield of the United Federation of Planets. We offer up our very lives, for it represents all that we believe and hold sacred. We offer up our lives, for it must be protected. Beneath the levels of fear and self-doubt and ultimately dedication, I ask that you remember this fact. Peace, cooperation, acceptance run counter to our baser instincts, which is why the Federation must be protected. Those ideals are fragile and wilt easily in the face of violent dictatorship."
Roman looked at his gleaming, pulsing, healthy engines and listened to his friend's words. Larwin's ability to inspire and placate was, to him, more evidence that the two of them had proceeded down the proper paths in their careers. Jorge, would maintain the miracles of physics and engineering that took humans to the stars, and Derrick would lead them, unafraid.
"This ship is named after one of Earth's Midwestern, industrial cities. During the Eugenics Wars, soldiers opposed to the fascistic Optimist Movement made a stand there. In the midst of nuclear wreckage, on a tangle of demolished interstate road systems, they engaged Optimist troops and held them there. They did not demolish the Optimist Movement, nor did they break it. But they stood opposed to it, and forced their takeover attempt to take a different route. The ship that bears that name will do the same. This battle will not end the war. But we do make a stand, here. We demolish that shipyard, and we seriously undermine their ability to continue this war. We send the message that tyranny will not, will never be tolerated in this Quadrant. It is a message they will hear in the headquarters on Cardassia Prime, and even into the Gamma Quadrant and the Homeworld of the Founders. With every ship we destroy, with every torpedo we launch, with every life that we give, we tell them that we will not--will never--give up what we have built. We tell them that all empires fall. And after today, they will view the seal of the United Federation of Planets as the emblem of their undoing. Because while peace and cooperation may wilt in the face of tyranny, when men and women pledge their lives to protecting those ideals, then they destroy tyranny. And ladies and gentleman, that is what we do today. As individuals, as a ship, a crew, as Starfleet personnel."
Larwin cut the intercom and sat down. Adrenaline was rising along his spine, and he felt his blood near the surface of his skin. "Good job," Debney murmured. Larwin nodded his thanks.
"Attack wings," the Kessle's voice filtered through the bridge speakers, "engage!"
"Go!" Larwin ordered. "Take is in at one-fiver-niner by zero-zero-seven."
On screen the wall of ships and tapestry of phaser fire rushed to meet them.
Larwin thought of Vanessa Brandis. "Target everything that doesn't have a Starfleet signature," he said over the building whine of the weapons systems powering up.
Jem'Hadar First Talme'aan told his helmsman which ship to target. The Starfleet Excelsior-class vessel. An old design. Outmoded. Easy target. The simpering Vorta Kilana made useless remarks about the Starfleet's battle tactics. Only the Vorta cared about such things. To Talme'aan only one tactic mattered: total obliteration of the enemy.
The Second brought the ship into a pinwheel turn, deftly avoiding their aft photon launches. A new-looking ship, Talme'aan mused, contemplating the three-dimensional mental image he had of their quarry.
"Prepare all weapons. We will deal a killing blow once we are out of range of their aft batteries."
"Yes, sir," the Second replied. The small ship lurched and dove, settling into a course above and between the ship's nacelles. They were far enough for a safe torpedo launch, but not reachable by the ship's aft torpedo tubes.
"Target their impulse engines and destroy them." Talme'aan saw the blue phased polaron beam lance outward and rake against the ships shields. Their torpedoes would take care of those.
Then the deck rolled from beneath him.
"Lower shields reduced by 37 percent!" his Fourth informed him. The ship shuddered violently, as if it had struck an asteroid.
"Main weapons systems offline. Switching to secondary..." The ship rocked again.
"Torpedo launchers fused!"
"Where..." Talme'aan scrolled through all external views until he saw the scarlet slash of phaser fire battering the ventral portion of his ship. The damn devious Starfleet had upgraded the weapons on these ships and the fool Vorta had not known of it! And now they were being struck down by a phaser bank mounted solidly between the ship's nacelles!
But Federation phasers lacked the necessary power to penetrate Jem'Hadar shields quickly without the assistance of their torpedoes. He would kill these insects yet.
"Keep firing! Demolish their shields!"
"Their shields aren't weakening enough for us to..."
Then the ship rocked as if it slapped by a massive, unseen hand. Fire rolled into the bridge in waves. The useless Vorta fell and broke her spine on a console.
"Hull breech!" Talme'aan's Third called above the din of destruction. "Propulsion going critical in..." then his consoles blew and tore half the flesh from his skull. Talme'aan tumbled to the deck, trying to sort the disparate images of the sensors external views and his own internal view. Concentrating, he could see the Federation ship spinning (though he knew it was his own ship that had lost attitude). Federation ships simply didn't have the power to demolish a Jem'Hadar fighter with a few shots.
"How could they..."
But a flare of red phaser fire was all he saw before the Milwaukee's aft phaser bank erased his craft and crew from space.
"Get a clamp on that!" Del Maniro shouted over the whine of structural integrity alarms and conduit-failure warnings. She pointed at the leaking plasma conduit that was spraying all over the exposed tangle of ODN conduits and EPS trunks that had blown loose from the ceiling and was threatening to incinerate completely.
"Impulse is running and one-fifteen!" Channard called out as he fumbled with the large clamp.
"They can draw plasma from anywhere, dammit! If those EPS and ODN's go, we start losing systems!"
Channard, finally getting it, nodded and started attaching the clamp.
"Make this a short fight," she mused as she hit her commbadge. "Engineering, this is team one. We've secured the plasma leak, but it'll be a few minutes to replace it. My other teams are all tied up."
"We can compensate with the emergency engines for a little while," Roman's voice wavered through the badge's small speaker, "but let me know the minute that thing is secure. These engines are already running a hell of a lot hotter than they should be."
"Aye sir!" Maniro paused to asses Channard's progress before getting back to repairing the gouged ODN trunk before her.
The three Cardassian fighters angled in for an assault on the Milwaukee's starboard side, firing wicked blasts from their low-slung spiral-wave disruptors. Two targeted the engine room, while the third raked the bridge.
Milwaukee's phasers lashed out, both dorsal and ventral, slicing through their shields and blowing them off their axis and sending them into consuming collision with one another. The third nimbly dodged the Milwaukee's phasers and the backwash of its fallen comrades and continued to hit the bridge for another few shots until two torpedoes of the USS Atlantis--a newly commissioned Intrepid cruiser--exploded against its shields, blew out its main systems, and left it a tumbling, lifeless hull.
The secondary science station blew, throwing Ensign Wildmon halfway across the bridge to fall against the inert body of Lieutenant (j.g.) Gaynor. No one much noticed. The medical teams had been summoned and there was no use in summoning them again. There were plenty of casualties to go around.
"Take us to one-three-niner," Larwin lunged in his chair, pointing to the screen. "Take us between those Galors!"
"Aye sir!" Tsu responded, even as the ship roiled with another hit.
"That's going to put us right in their main line of fire," Debney said quietly.
"With the Intrepids behind us, they'll be distracted. Once we get between them, their side batteries aren't as powerful, and the fighters won't be following us." He spoke over his shoulder, "Mr. Gavin, reinforce forward shields."
Gavin flinched as a conduit ripped loose above him, spraying vapor and thrashing like an angry serpent. "I'm firing an antimatter spread, mess up their targeting systems."
"Do it," Larwin nodded.
Milwaukee exhaled a sparkling curtain of light, antimatter charges that shone against the warzone like fireflies, dancing and darting off debris and shields. She followed with a one-two punch from her lower tubes, the photon torpedoes exploding against the Cardassian's triple-reinforced forward shields and unleashed another cloud of antimatter for the cruisers' bridge crews to try and scan past.
Larwin gripped the arms of his chair as the viewer showed the ships tilt slightly when the Milwaukee slid between them. Azure bolts of heavy weapons fire groped blindly through the veil of diminishing antimatter. Beside him, Debney exhaled louder, Larwin suspected, than she'd intended to.
The screen flared yellow and the bridge seemed to drop from beneath them for a moment, then settled with a lurch and a cry like a peal of thunder. "That one hurt us," Debney remarked tightly.
"Find out how bad," Larwin ordered.
The shock that threw the engineering staff to the deck, into walls, across their consoles confirmed Jorge Roman's ugliest fears: they were targeting the engine room. One of the heavier mantles to bear as Chief Engineer was the fact that your sacred place was top of the list on every hostile's targeting system. Right before the bridge.
Flames and sparks cascaded from the upper decks as half the systems up there crashed with a vengeance. Ensign Raheed, one of four tending to those systems, caught the worst of it. She screamed a short little yelp and tumbled over the railing. Nice thing about all the noise down here, you couldn't hear the body hit the deck after a four-story fall.
"Engineering to sickbay, we have casualties!"
"What have you got for us, Mister Roman?" Martika Denis's voice asked from the comm panel.
"Blunt-force trauma, lacerations, heavy burns--we got them all. I've got about a half dozen down!"
"We'll be right there."
That taken care of, Roman tended to his most precious wounded.
The ship trembled again, causing the laser-welder to skitter across the circuit-pack's alloy surface, leaving a jagged, black stripe. Del Maniro swore loudly and colorfully. Couldn't the bastards keep the ship steady for a goddamned minute? She adjusted her aim and went back to securing the thruster circuitry. Bad enough her teams had to crawl around the infrastructure of the ship, out at the rim of the primary hull where they'd be incinerated by enemy fire if the shields failed and still ran the risk of being irradiated if they held. Goddamn thrusters. They should have redesigned them a long time ago. Less than five percent more than the allotted power and their circuits fused.
"Number six repaired, sir." Channard reported. Maniro slapped her commbadge.
"Good, now get back to main engineering with Teams Two and Five. I'll be there to join you in a few."
"Yes ma'am, I--"
Then the world shifted, and Maniro felt herself sliding down the jeffries tube. She reached out, managing to grab hold of a support railing just as the ship righted itself and a tongue of flame engulfed her. Maniro felt her skin sear as if from a bad sunburn, she opened her mouth to scream and inhaled fumes.
Coughing and choking, she tapped her commbadge. "Channard? Channard, you have idea what happened?"
Static.
"Channard?"
Maniro sighed and paged main engineering. " What's our status, sir? And I think I need a medical team to jeffries tube twelve deck three. Channard's not responding, and I'm not sure if he completed the repairs on that thruster."
Roman answered coldly, "That area no longer exists, Lieutenant. Get back here double-time. We've got a hull breech and a lot to do."
"Aye sir," Maniro answered. Her mouth was dry. Probably from the explosion, she thought as she set about final repairs to the thruster circuitry.
"Correction," Larwin said grimly, "that one hurt us." The Cardassian's side-battery shouldn't have been able to penetrate their shields, but that one had hit them in just the right spot, where the fore shields had been weakened by the Cardassian onslaught they'd just weathered.
"Hull breech..." Debney reported, reading off her padd, "Deck three, sections one through four. Uninhabited, but we lost a navigational thruster. Forcefields are in place."
"Have the damage control teams seal it off with torches and sealant. I don't want any unnecessary drains on our power reserves. I also don't want those seals going down the first time there's a power outage and sucking some people out into space." The ship shook suddenly, rattling them, and Larwin had the ugly mental image of the ship simply falling apart like a child's model which hadn't been glued very well.
"Aft shields taking a pounding," Gavin reported.
"Their aft batteries," Debney explained. "Considerable disrupter power..."
"Course, bearing nine-zero-zero, mark three, now!" The viewer showed the wildness of their dive and turn, proved Larwin's instincts as the heavy, azure bolts flared past them.
"Sir, we've got hostiles at heading two-five-seven," Tsu reported. "Seven craft. Two Kelvins, fivce Jem'Hadar fighters."
"What do we have on our six?"
"The Repulse and the Phoenix," Gavin reported. Two Nebulas.
"Let the big boys hit the Cardassians. Mr. Gavin, target those fighters and take them out."
The Milwaukee weaved and bucked like a bronco in its pen. The viewscreen showed the wicked-finned Kelvins angling in on an attack formation while the Jem'Hadar fighters simply tore through space like darts or bullets.
Fire from the starships behind them stopped the Kelvins cold, phasers and torpedoes exploding against shields, while Gavin threw everything except the quantum torpedoes at the unswerving fighters, demolishing two of them--the two most heavily damaged--almost immediately. The other three opened up with their main polaron beams and torpedoes, even as they weathered Milwaukee's assault.
"Two fighters destroyed," Gavin reported over the wails and claxons of the bridge. One more damaged..." The viewscreen shifted as Tsu piloted them away from the battle. Both of the Kelvins were damaged--one slowly disintegrating--but they'd also lost the Repulse, now a spinning ball of flame.
"Bring aft phasers to bear," Gavin reported. "Bingo! One more down. Two others in pursuit."
"Coming up on battlecruisers," Tsu said sharply. "Three Jem'Hadar, Four Cardassian."
"A goddamn blockade," Larwin said past gritted teeth.
"The Adelphi, Concordia, and Apollo are moving in support," Debney said. "They must see the same hole we do."
"Seventeen Cardassian fighters on fast intercept," Gavin said, not taking his eyes off his targeting panel. "Perigrine and Miranda wings are following to engage."
"We've got major movement from the second fleet sector, " Debney pointed out. "Looks like...twelve Kelvins, fifteen Galors, and...sir, twenty-two Dominion battleships."
The bridge went silent except for the sirens.
"Okay, let's just handle the ones in front of us. Take us beneath them, Lieutenant," Larwin ordered. "Bearing five-one-six..."
Then the torpedo barrage began.
The Cardassian and Dominion battleships launched their torpedoes while their attackers were still in range, having learned from the battle's earlier casualties that these moments of vulnerability passed quickly. Faced with five Federation starships with varying degrees of damage, they launched salvo after salvo before even bothering targeting with their energy weapons, which were still trained and firing on more distant attackers.
The Phoenix, already damaged by its initial attack run and its recent clash with the Kelvins, took the worst of it, losing its photon sail almost instantly. Unstable, the squat ship spin like a slow discus until Cardassian torpedoes pounded its shields to nothing and shattered the hull. The Adelphi and Concordia did better. Larger, Ambassador-class ships, they absorbed the initial hits, and even when their shields faltered, much of their mass was vacant and they still continued firing.
But their real weakness were their short phaser strips which didn't circle the full perimeter of the hull, and gave them less of a firing cone. They found themselves almost totally unable to coordinate an attack on any of the battleships. They remained on the defensive, until their vital systems were taken out and the enemy torpedoes finally destroyed them.
Milwaukee and Apollo--both smaller, faster, and more nimble ships--dodged and darted, but still took their hits. Apollo's Intrepid-class design made it sturdier and more survivable with less vulnerable protrusions than the Milwaukee. It was also more maneuverable and a better target. As they took their course beneath the warships, the Galor's swung outward in a spoke-like position to bring their torpedo launchers to bear and opened fire on the ships with full forward batteries.
"Aft shields at twelve percent," Gavin shouted over the ominous thuds and explosions that rumbled from the depths of the ship to rattle the bridge. The engineering sub-console had already exploded, killing one of Roman's lieutenants. When the medical teams arrived, Larwin had tersely told them just to push the bodies aside and tend to the injured throughout the ship. Lt. Tsu had looked momentarily mortified, but turned back to her controls. The time for honoring the dead was not now.
"Divert all power to those shields--" Another blast shook the ship, smeared the bridge with sparks and smoke.
"Goddamn.." Gavin shouted tersely. "Sir...I...emergency power's out. Shield emitters at one-ten percent, but we can't get the shields past twelve until they stop--" The ship rolled from beneath them, Debney half fell out of her chair. Larwin would have followed her if he hadn't been gripping the arm, patching a direct link to damage control.
"Damage control teams. We need emergency power online now!"
"Working on it sir...we..." The rest was lost in a squelch of static and dead lines.
"Internal communications are out," Debney guessed as she crawled into her seat.
"Wonder what else is..."
Then the bridge lights died.
"Line all superficial injuries against the wall and into the corridor, we need this area clear for surgical personnel...Triage teams, keep up the pace! No procedures heavier than a dermal, let the medics do that!
"Neural enhancer, now! We don't stabilize this patients brain-wave activity he's not going to last ten minutes on this roller-coaster ride...Direct contact! You need direct contact to jump-start his brain...don't worry about that, we can regenerate the burnt brain tissue later...
"Martika! start breaking the medic teams down by one, form a new one to handle blunt-force trauma only! We need to start specializing...
"Throw a blanket over them and line them up against that wall! This isn't a damn morgue!
"Sort incoming casualties, come on! Lightly injured in the hall, give them sedatives. Critical in here. Hopeless...I don't know, put them against the wall.
"Come on...damn you, you magnificent hunk of grey matter...come on! All right! Keep brainwave activity this level and stabilize him. What's next?
"Triple amputee? We don't have enough plasma to stabilize this guy, let alone prep him for a graft. Give me something else...
"Okay, we got a fragment of tritanium alloy lodged in the heart. Lyle, you come with me into her chest. Denise, start antitoxin treatment. I don't want her dying of tritanium poisoning while we're reconstituting her heart. Keep the antitioxin levels beneath seventy percent. Anymore and body'll start trying to fight off the infection itself, and she doesn't the cardiovascular output for that kind of fight--
"What the hell was that? Hull breech? Damn. Prepare for mas-cal! Decompression injuries primary, stat!
"A million years of existence, contact with over five-hundred races, and men still can't think of a better way to settle their problems than war..."
Evacuate! Everybody out! Blast doors coming down, now!"
Jorge Roman stood inside the main reactor room--now washed in flames and toxic coolant. The massive, throbbing, strobing warp core barely showed through the thickening blanket of dirty, blue warp-core coolant. Figures became perceptible, shadows in the fog, then something more, then they were his people: Royal, DeDonna, Veeshik, supporting Leeshok among them.
"Move people! Move it!"
"We need..." DeDonna broke off, coughing. Roman put his hands on shoulders, pushed them beneath the blast door that was sliding inexorably toward the floor.
"Who's back there? The door's closing, come on!"
Voices. Distant, fragile amid the alarms and wailing claxons. Roman hesitated, tried to think of who he'd seen outside, in the safety behind the blast door. The ship trembled again like an animal suffering a seizure.
The door was a good meter and a half from the deck. Roman took a few steps into the compartment, felt the sting of coolant in his eyes, searing his lungs on the inhale. "Let's move!" He shone a torch into the swirls and spools of coolant, saw movement. "Who is that? We need to get out of here!" He ran into the heavy clouds, reached out and touched the fabric of a Starfleet uniform. He brought the torch down, shone it against the form. Glassy, dead eyes reflected the light.
Roman bolted for the blast door, prepared himself for the dive beneath it when the ship seemed to fall away from him. Something was closing on his chest, and swirls of color passed by his eyes, when he blinked he saw stars. Gasping, trying to breath past the weight on his lungs he began to focus on the brighter lights obscuring his vision.
They were burning starships.
"Emergency lights, dammit all!" Debney shouted into the darkness, then got out of her chair and darted around to the rear of the bridge. Larwin let her go, saw her form only when it blocked out the steady lights of the operable consoles and sometimes when it passed in front of flickering offline ones.
"Incoming transmissions from Starship One," Tsu responded. Larwin was impressed with the way she didn't bother with trying to patch through to the bridge speakers which were pretty obviously dead.
"What's the Admiral saying, Lieutenant?"
"All remaining ships have engaged the Dominion, sir."
"That oughta take some of the pressure off..."
Mockingly the ship shifted beneath them, sending crewmen rolling. Emergency power kicked in, the back up lights bathing the bridge in their blood-red glow.
"Jem'Hadar fighters off our port bow," Gavin called out. "Seven, no...nine coming in..." Thunder crashed. Gavin screamed. Larwin didn't look back. "Evasive pattern delta!"
"They're too quick, sir..."
"Bring us around! Keep them away from our aft shields!"
Debney called from behind him, "Gavin's down, sir. I'll take tactical."
Larwin allowed himself a brief glance around the bridge and felt his throat close at the number of bodies strewn across the deck like discarded pieces of clothes. Even the relief teams were gone. Even the medics.
"Target those ships and hit them with everything we've got."
"Phasers down to fifty-seven percent. recharging slowly. Photorps armed in the tubes."
"Hit them." The screen was a mass of darting ships, burning hulls, flaring weapons fire. Barely, just barely, he could see the metal spider-web of the shipyards.
The Milwaukee shuddered with the welcome recoil of her weapons, and Larwin could see those fighters taking their hits--some burning, some returning fire. The ship was trembling now, like an old atmospheric fighter passing through a storm, and Larwin guessed it was only a matter of minutes before the shields failed completely.
"Phasers at thirty percent," Debney called out. "Photon launch system offline."
"Hit them with the quantorps, then. End this fast."
"Fire in the hole!"
The screen flared with the white-hot projectiles, then lost cohesion completely as they detonated. Larwin stole a look at his tactical screen on his armrest. The Dominion fleet was breaking up, but the Federation fleet was in pieces, every ship for itself. This was going to end soon, he reflected, for the good or the ill.
Twin explosions ripped through the bowels of the Milwaukee up through the bridge. The ceiling gave, spilling cables and conduits, spewing vapor and hissing steam.
"Cardassian warships coming in from behind..." Tsu said, "Sensors aren't operating well enough to...Sir, the admiral is sending out a distress call."
"Get me an exterior view of his ship!"
The screen, lined and bursting occasionally with static, switched to show the USS Agamemnon--a Galaxy-class starship upgraded with multi-targeting phaser cannons and protruding torpedo launchers--slugging it out with two Jem'Hadar battleships while scores of Cardassian and Jem'Hadar fighters sniped and strafed it. Phasers and torpedoes were tearing into its hull, setting it ablaze. Lifeboats launched only to be incinerated by sweeping disrupter fire.
"All right, that's enough fore view." The screen switched back, displaying a wing of Cardassian fighters swooping toward them, angling across the bow of a Kelvin-class destroyer. Larwin saw his doom.
"Phasers?"
"Eighty-three percent and building, sir. Damage control is on the torpedo launchers..."
Then the ship rolled, end over end, the artificial gravity alarms joining every other noise that polluted the bridge, crewmen--the living and dead--reached out for purchase on any solid hold they could find to maintain a degree of stability against the ships faltering artificial gravity.
"Shields down," Debney called out from the darkness, "reconstituting, but..."
The bridge dropped from beneath them, explosions flashing vivid yellows and greens against the dimming scarlet of the lights. Larwin fell out of his seat, was hit by Ensign Cole's corpse as his console blew him over his seat. He thrust it aside and half-crawled to Lian Tsu who was struggling to locate herself and her post. He put his hands beneath her shoulders and guided her into her seat, but he could see that her console was flashing idiotically.
"Damage control," he shouted into his commbadge. A scratchy reply came a moment later.
"Teams are out of contact...emergency power at...Main engineering has been hulled...Commander Roman...lost..."
Larwin inhaled deeply, tasted burnt insulation and smoke. He didn't reply. There was nothing to say. His friend--his chief engineer--was dead, and his ship was dying.
"Damage reports coming in," Debney's strained voice came from behind him. "Hull breeches on decks nine, ten, thirteen, fifteen, seventeen...battle bridge has been destroyed, warp engines are offline, sensors at forty-two percent efficiency, impulse at sixty-six percent...aft phasers destroyed, aft torpedo tubes also destroyed...looks like they've punched holes in us there, sir."
"Life support?"
"Thirty percent, holding steady. For now."
"Can we launch lifeboats?"
Tsu threw a glance over her shoulder, but Larwin let it pass.
"From...auxiliary controls on deck nine, yes. Not from here, sir."
"Get down there, prepare to launch them on my command."
At that one, Tsu's eyes widened. "We're not abandoning ship?"
"As we've seen, Lieutenant, they're not exactly merciful to those who remove themselves from the field of battle."
"Turbolifts are out," Debney said from the lift tube. "I'll have to climb..."
"Make like a monkey, Commander. This trick is only going to work if the timing is right, and even then, I'm not real sure how well it'll work."
They were being ushered out, the damage control team herding them like cattle, while Doctor Marcheu shouted at them for making her leave her patients, for making her leave her staff. A small, rational voice told her that the sickbay had to be abandoned, that the overloads and system crashes had turned her hospital into a warzone of spitting flame, cascading sparks, hissing conduits, and deadly projectiles of alloy and plastic. That she'd lost seven members of her staff already and five more were certainly left there only moments from their deaths from the deadly chemicals the decks and bulkheads were spewing.
She shouted at them instead of thinking of where they would establish a makeshift sickbay, but burned indelibly in her mind was the image of Martika Denis's body of a mere thirty-three years and her symbiont of over five-hundred crushed to death beneath a fallen support beam.
Cardassian ships seemed to be designed to look malevolent, Larwin thought as he punched coordinates into his panel and transferred them to Lt. Tsu's console. The fighters looked like piranhas, zooming in to chew the guts out of their prey. The cruisers like pagan totems of ill-forbearance.
Fortunately, while within firing range, they'd been distracted by two attackers: A relatively unscathed Intrepid and a burning, limping Galaxy with only two operating phaser strips. The Cardassians were demolishing them with ease.
"Your systems up yet, Lieutenant?" he asked.
"I got your coordinates, but I'm not sure...response is spotty on and off."
Larwin called up an engineering diagnostic and siphoned power from life support, redirecting it to nav subroutines.
"Okay, I've got a standby, sir."
"Good. I'm putting everything we've got into impulse. When I give the signal, punch it."
"Aye sir," Tsu affirmed crisply.
"Now it's up to our commander." Larwin inhaled through his teeth. "Come on, Commander..."
All around her was death and destruction. The chalk white bulkheads and decks, once immaculate, were now rent and burned, smeared with soot and discharge. Flames licked from ruptures and dangling conduits. The lights flickered making once-familiar corridors caverns and labyrinths. She tripped and stumbled over bodies, heard the moans of the dying and injured. Altered her route, thinking quickly, when doors were sealed shut or wreckage blocked her path, but she did find it. She did find the auxiliary control room.
Sealed behind a hastily-welded door, it's far wall open to space.
Cursing, Debney drew her cricket phaser and burned through the seal. Instantly atmosphere slipped through. It almost felt like a fresh breeze. A commotion behind her caught her attention. A gaggle of frightened ensigns were bolting past an intersection in the corridor. Debney grabbed one of them and dragged him toward her.
"What's your name, Ensign?"
The kid looked barely old enough to shave. His hair was matted with perspiration, his fair skin smeared with soot, and his eyes darted wildly. "I...we've got to get out of here...the shuttles..."
"I need your help, Ensign. I need you to hold on to me while I--"
"We're going to die! We've got to get out--"
Debney slapped him, and his eyes focused. "We will live through this, but only if you exactly what I say!"
"I..."
"Grab that guardrail and grab my hand. I'm opening this door and accessing the launch controls on the other side. You've got to hold on to me. There's going to be explosive decompression, but we will still be able to breathe. At least for a few seconds. and that's long enough."
"Oh God, I can't..." his eyes rolled, more sweat was forming on his brow. Debney grabbed him by the shoulders.
"Listen to me, Ensign, you would not be wearing that uniform if you couldn't! You proved yourself! You proved yourself to Starfleet, now start believing them! You want to be scared? Fine. You want to doubt yourself? Go ahead. But don't let it keep you from doing your job. Understand? You can do this, now let yourself!"
The kid's eyes darted around the corridor as if searching for a more preferable option or reality than this one. Apparently finding none, they locked on hers.
He put one hand on the guardrail and the other around her wrist.
The Cardassians had finished disemboweling the two starships at the cost of seven of their fighters, but the destroyer was still intact and on an attack vector for the Milwaukee. Her torpedo bays flared.
Larwin slapped his commbadge. Commander, now!"
A moment later--a long moment--the ship shivered with the release of her lifeboats.
"Punch it, Lieutenant!"
The Milwaukee swung as her port thrusters kicked in a moment before her impulse decks lit up and sent her darting across the Cardassian's field of fire. The destroyer was already firing, but her targeting systems were tracking the masses of concentrated lifeboats and the erratic darting of those whose thrusters had engaged automatically. By the time they'd sorted through the chaff and targeted the starship, it passing by their aft batteries.
And by that time, they had two Ambassador-class starships to deal with.
Debney heard her commbadge squawk even as she slumped atop the shuddering ensign.
"You did good, Commander, now get to the bridge. Double time."
"Aye sir," she responded, then gave the ensign's shoulder a comforting squeeze. He returned it, but continued to sob.
The Ambassadors had pounded the Kelvin to pieces and had, to their command staff's surprise, found themselves in the middle of a lull. The Cardassians and Jem'Hadar were ensnared by the sudden influx of old Constellation-class starships that followed the final wave of the attacking force.
The Constellations had entered the fray shortly after Admiral Kessle's warship had been destroyed. Their presence caught the Dominion fleet offguard and scattered their coordinated attack on the remaining ships just enough for the Galaxy and Nebula wings to dig themselves out of trouble and take the offensive. While the fighters went after the Constellations and made relatively short work of them, the capital ships went at each other. Slowly at first, then more rapidly as the support fighters became more preoccupied and thinned out by the Constellations and remaining Intrepids, Mirandas, and the older-model Excelsiors, the Dominion fleet began to fold and break off. Holes formed, and the two Ambassadors which had bailed Milwaukee's fat out of the fire kicked in their impulse engines and headed for the elaborate, tritanium spiderweb that was the Ma'Reev shipyards.
"Nice work, Commander."
"Thank you, sir," Debney breathed as she slipped into her chair beside Larwin's. The bridge was more or less the way she'd left it: broken, burned, blackened, a mess of rubble--ship parts, listless conduits, and bodies--illuminated by the flickering of small fires.
But it wasn't any worse, and that was about the best she could hope for right now. Lieutenant Tsu still handled the helm with frightened, but competent, certainty. But she was the only one left aside from the captain.
"I'll take weapons from my station, sir."
"Good. Take communications, too. You got two panels."
"Sir," Tsu called over her shoulder, her voice echoing queerly in the damaged bridge, "We've got a route to the shipyards. Commadore Hirsch reports that the Dominion lines are collapsing and their capital ships are withdrawing and warping out of the system. We've won, sir!"
"When those yards are in flames we'll have won, Lieutenant," Larwin snapped.
"Course plotted," Debney said, "and transferred to helm. Why are they withdrawing?"
"A bluff, Commander," Larwin said with the certainty befitting a captain. "They parked that fleet out there and made us believe they were willing to sacrifice every one of those ships. Isn't the case, though. They deal with losses and gains the same way we do. The shipyards are toast, and why lose any more capital ships staving off the inevitable?"
"Shipyards in five minutes, sir," Tsu announced.
"Excellent," Larwin exhaled. Then they took the hit.
The main viewer showed it with horrific clarity: a moment after the ship heeled as if hitting an invisible wall, the shining blue shaft of a Jem'Hadar phased polaron beam exploded from the surface of the primary hull and extending upward at a 90-degree angle nearly forever.
The ship screeched beneath them like a whale sounding its death throes. Tsu was thrown forward in her seat, slamming her forehead on her console, and slumping off onto the deck. The ship began to tremble again--the structural integrity field failing and giving up hold of the ship's skeleton; the beams and braces falling away under the contradictory g-forces of the ship's drive, her inertia, and her artificial gravity. They tore through the ship's hull like bones of a compound fracture splitting the skin. Larwin saw his primary hull burning away.
The second hit couldn't be seen, but was extrapolated on Larwin's monitor in the seconds before it went dark. It came from the energy-turret of a Jem'Hadar battleship and burned through the ship on an angle from the ventral portion of the secondary hull through the engineering section and exited the top of the impulse deck. It held Milwaukee in place for a fraction of a second like an insect on a specimen board and gutted her with a massive release of energy. If her power reserves hadn't been down to the batteries when she was hit, she'd've exploded before Larwin could even be thrown from his chair.
The Milwaukee tumbled, end over end, her artificial gravity unable to gyrostabilize properly, and leaving the crew to bounce off the bulkheads like dice in a shaken cup. She tumbled without direction or course or power, her exterior peeling away like faded paint, and her structure slowly breaking apart, leaving a glittering comet's trail of alloy, debris, and bodies.
She spun toward the shipyards--now caught in the glow of a combined Starfleet attack--until a Galaxy-class starship, a latecomer, barely touched by the battle snagged it with her tractor beams and hauled her to safety to wait for the arrival of medical ships.
It was curious, Larwin reflected, to be on his bridge like this. Seeing it with a cold, critical eye and professional distance. He felt like the point-man on an away team, investigating an abandoned hulk found drifting in a lonesome sector of space. Standing amid the wreckage, he found it hard to believe they could have ever made out of the blockade with anyone left alive. He looked down at his chair, considered sitting in it one last time, but rejected the idea. The thing was burned and dented and would mess up his new uniform. And anyway, it wasn't the chair he'd taken those years ago when the Starfleet logs registered Derrick Larwin as the new captain of the USS Milwaukee.
He made a slow pass around the different stations--their panels now dark or scorched or shattered. The place didn't even look like a part of ship anymore. It was more like a junkyard, except for the bodies. The medics of the USS Francis were scrambling to tend to Milwaukee's injured and had only begun a round-up of the dead. Grey arms in ash-stained uniforms jutted from beneath crushing piled of debris as if reaching out for a desperate glimmer of the hope of life.
Lian Tsu heard the voices behind her, but they didn't make any sense and blended with the ambient noise. The deckplates were cold beneath her bare feet, so she pulled her knees against her body and wrapped her arms around them for warmth. They'd asked her to get back to her diagnostic bed several times, then told her, finally gave up. She didn't know how long she'd remain here like this, curled in a fetal position against the stasis tube that contained Martika Denis's body--such empirical thinking was far beyond her. All she knew was that time was short, and this was all she could do to be near her love before she had to confront the Universe without her.
Del Maniro's life signs were still fluctuating slightly, but by-and-large, she appeared to be out of the woods. The antitoxin was neutralizing the coolant poisoning in her system and the life-support systems would keep her alive while her lungs and kidneys grew back.
Doctor Marcheu turned her attention to the next patient. Severed leg, burned hands. Dermal regenerators and artificial circulatory zones would heal him as much as was possible until a prosthetic could be attached.
Marcheu turned her attention the next one...
...and the next...
...and the next...
...and the next...
"Sir," Debney called from the doorway, "the Iowa hailed. They're ready for us at any time."
Larwin turned at the remains of his ready room table and poured himself another shot from his bottle of vintage Scotch. Jorge had coughed it up when Larwin had taken command of the Milwaukee and they'd drunk to their careers in Starfleet. They'd reveled in times past and planned their futures. Jorge had been looking forward to a solid twenty then retirement to travel with his wife and daughters. Larwin had anticipated marriage by forty, though he didn't have anyone in mind. Jorge had said that the smart money was on Vanessa Brandis.
Larwin poured more alcohol into the glass.
"We'll wait, Commander. Captain Kitaan is absorbing the survivors from a half-dozen damaged ships. He's got enough on his plate without two more Starfleet officers bitching and moaning about their accommodations, their ships, their crews..." He gestured to his glass. "Drink, Janine?"
"No, thank you sir," she said a bit awkwardly as she stepped over scatterings of debris into the ready room. "Is that from the Iowa?"
"Nope. It was in my safe. Roman and I used to take a few hits on special occasions. This seems an appropriate time to kill it off."
"Yes, sir," Debney answered again awkwardly, then stepped over to the viewport--now a blue grid of force-field beams--and looked out at the remnants of the fleet. Healthy, unmarked ships cannibalizing the less fortunate.
As would be Milwaukee's fate soon.
"She was a good ship," Larwin said wistfully and patted a damaged bulkhead.
"With a good crew," Debney affirmed.
"Only seventy of whom survived," Larwin replied dryly, "and of those only twenty-seven of whom will be able to return to active duty."
Debney was quiet for a moment, heard Larwin running his fingers over the ruined surface of his table, then said: "She had a good captain, too."
Larwin smiled sadly at her. "That's nice of you to say, Commander."
"Did I mention that they discovered the reason for the rapid Dominion retreat?"
"Do tell."
"The shipyards are mined with tricobalt explosives designed to detonate upon energy release. The first quantum barrage that made it past the shields would have triggered an explosion large enough to have wiped out our surviving ships."
"Clever bastards," Larwin said.
"Not clever enough. Starfleet Corps of Engineers are removing the devices now. We're using the leftover equipment to strip the damaged ships."
Larwin just nodded.
"Sir," Debney started, then looked at the deck. "Sir, do you think it was worth it? These shipyards...were they worth all the people we lost?"
"Commander," Larwin said after a sip of Scotch, "I rather suspect we'll have the rest of our lives to ask ourselves that question."
Debney took her eyes off the floor and looked at him. "I guess a captain can't ask themselves questions like that."
"Not exactly. We have to make sure that it was worth something. That's what a captain has to do."
"And how do you do that?"
Larwin smiled and shrugged and took another sip of Scotch. "I don't know. But I'm a Starfleet Captain. And I make luck and I make fate, and hell, I even control the very forces of nature." He saw Vanessa fall into the void with that last statement. Imagined shutting a lid over it and locked it.
"Maybe I will join you...sir."
Larwin looked up and in the faltering lights of the ready room, Debney looked a decade older than he knew she was. He gestured to a toppled chair with the bottle.
"I'd like that, Commander."