July 6th, 2409. USS Vigilant, Approaching Zara IV, Arcaunis Arm star cluster, United Federation of Planets.

"All hands, this is the Captain. All hands to battle stations, we are moving to engage a Klingon strike force attacking a Federation colony."

I wake up instinctively at the sounds of the yellow alert chimes. "Talur, Lamont, get up! Luiz, haul Kallio's hung-over ass out of bed!" I jump out of my bunk and scramble for my locker, looking for my underwear. "Ready for deployment in ten minutes, boys!" The Finn protests mightily as the half-awake Luiz yanks the sheets right off of him. My Bolian 2-IC throws open his locker beside me and takes a moment to kiss his wife's picture before throwing on his padded armorweave vest.

I should probably introduce myself. My name's Rachel Connor, Lieutenant, Federation Military Assault-Command Operations Unit 131. Commissioned 2403, Purple Heart and honorable discharge for injuries in 2407, remanded to Starfleet Intelligence Special Operations Section Six after volunteering later that year, recommissioned in January 2408 and sent back to the front. I'm about 175 centimeters, two hundred and fifty pounds, brown eye, blonde hair (my one spot of vanity-spoiler alert, I dye it) cut down to stubble. My men are Oran Talur, Bolian, 1.9 meters, cerulean skin and green eyes, nice smile; Andrew Lamont, 2 centimeters below Talur but build like a tank, tan skin and blue eyes, neat goatee; Jose Luiz (formerly Legolas Marisu Moonchild before he enlisted and changed it), 2.1 meters of pure muscle, tattooed brown arms like tree trunks; and Aarno Kallio, 165 cm, Finnish, blonde with blue eyes and an easy grin. Good men.

Talur shrugs his armorweave over his shoulders beside me. "Klingon strike force, L-T?"

"That's what I heard." I find an athletic bra that doesn't smell too bad and swiftly don it-I need to remember to recycle my clothes more often, or at least clean them. "MACO Unit 131, we are ready for deployment in nine and one-half minutes or I'm throwing your ugly asses into the shuttle myself!"

"Copy that!" Lamont calls back, the burly colonial from Terra Nova pulling on his socks. "Kallio, move!"

"It's too damn early," the Finn grouses, grabbing his sniper rifle and a couple pieces of his combat hardsuit. "L-T, projectiles or phasers?"

"Both, but bring Siiri." Kallio's favorite gun is a Tuonela Armaments Suomi M-18 kinetic DMR that he gave a fucking pet name to. It's a damn good gun, basically the same weapon that beat Krasnov's Russian Empire back in the Third World War and helped the USA defeat Trumpist forces in Operation Union, but upgraded with a simple replicator panel and an onboard cooling system. "Luiz, every fucking gun you can carry!" The massive Aldebaranian colonial salutes. I pull on my boots. "Talur, gimme a hand with the breastplate?"

"Sure. What do the Klingons want in Arcaunis? Chancellor Torg's been pushing more towards the Romulan front." Ever since the Klingons came back with a vengeance in 2405, allying with the Gorn and Orions and attacking the Federation-Romulan alliance in the aftermath of the Dominion War, Fvillhu Velal's been the biggest thorn in the Chancellor's side. Hell, we've shared a ton of tech back and forth-the Phantom-class escorts, like Vigilant, even have cloaking tech now that Velal's dropped all pretense of upholding the Treaty of Algeron. There's even a pair of Romulan T'varo-class warbirds in our attack group. They're smaller than Vigilant but have better cloaks and they're fast as lightning. Useful to support the big battleship, Tellar Prime, a Yamato-class retrofit and redesign of the Galaxy-class battleship, with a third nacelle and an integrated phaser lance weapon for better orbital bombardment. Tellar Prime also has a full complement of Marines, but it's become standard policy to have a MACO unit stationed on all ships, even an escort like Vigilant, at least since we started taking tips from the Rommies after Velal couped, killed the Changelings that had taken over, and allied with us to screw the Dominion over.

"Could be a scouting mission?"

"Maybe. But von Bayern said..."

"...they're attacking a colony. Might be raiders?" I lick my lips at the thought. If this is a raiding party, I'm gonna have some fun fucking up some Orion bitches.

"We'll know in a few minutes," Talur notes grimly. "Help me with the breastplate?"

"Sure." He turns, and I clip his backplate to his breastplate's joints, activating the automatic seal. "Get your helmet on, Senior Chief. Petty Officer Luiz, where the fuck is your fucking missile launcher?"

"Armory, L-T."

"Get a move on and get it, meet us in the shuttlebay ASAP." We're winning the war-kicking huge amounts of ass up and down the front, the Rommies just fucked the Klinks up the ass in the Bassen Rift and were moving to trap the Klingons' last fleet at Khitomer last I checked, but this little case of the Klingons getting a second wind just goes to show that we need to always be ready for anything. Fortunately, my boys and I are.

"Roger, sir."

I strap my phaser pistol to my hip, grab a bandolier of grenades and throw it on, clip a submachine gun to my other hip, stick a phaser battle rifle to my back with the mag-clips, slide a 9-mm kinetic pistol into my thigh holster, and pick up an Ariake Technologies S-47 kinetic assault rifle, a retro-styled design that looks a bit like a Third World War-era P-90. Talur's sealed his gauntlets on and passes me my helmet with one hand as his other fits a pistol of his own into its holster. "Thanks."

"No problem." He grabs his own helmet and seals it as we trot out the door, Kallio and Lamont right behind. I pull up my HUD and blink the coms on. "Coms check."

"Talur here."

"Lamont here."

"Luiz here."

"Kallio here, I need to grab a quick painkiller."

"Go, remember, shuttlebay in five."

"Sir."

My coms ping the priority line. I answer. "Connor."

"Leutenant, this is Kapitän von Bayern. The Klingons launched a surprise attack on the Zara IV mining colony, population just over ten thousand. We're moving in to take it back. Your mission is to land via shuttle with a Rihan team and prevent the Klingons from achieving total control of the planet while we hold off the Klingons and give you support and air superiority." Von Bayern - Captain Ludwig Ernst Oskar Kraus von Bayern, to be precise - is a career-military German, stuffy but not a dick about it, turns a blind eye to fucking as long as it doesn't happen in C-of-C. Good Captain, as Captains go.

"Understood, sir. Boys, you get all that?"

"Crystal clear, L-T," Talur replies.

"We're good to go in five, sir."

"Viel Glück, Leutenant," the Captain replies. "You drop in fifteen minutes. Von Bayern out."

Zara IV.

Captain K'vor, son of Tavok, scowled as he oversaw the Federation prisoners. "Only one marine platoon? Not even MACOs? In the middle of a war? What a pathetic excuse for-"

"It is a minor colony, only recently founded," his superior growled. K'vor fell silent instantly. General Ch'zog, son of Garon, Dahar master and leader of the House of Qualta, stepped forward to stand beside the younger man. "And the Federation has been suffering major manpower shortages-that, coupled with the Empire's recent losses, doubtless made this colony a low priority for troop placement. Furthermore, MACOs serve only on starships for special-operations missions. Pray that you never meet them, boy." The white-haired Klingon crossed his still-mighty arms and looked the prisoners up and down. "And yet these marines on an undersupported minor colony still took down twenty-six of our men against overwhelming numbers, and refused to surrender. They have courage, skill, and honor.Never dismiss or underestimate your enemy, K'vor. I have killed a hundred mighty foes through exploiting their own hubris."

"Yes, Master Ch'zog." The young man sounded humbler. Good. He reminded Ch'zog of his grandson, or how his grandson had been fifteen years ago, when his own son, Ch'zog's great-grandson, was still just into jak'tahla. Flush with youth, but willing to learn. Good. Promoting K'vor had been a sound decision.

The Dahar master crouched before one of the marines as he began to awaken. Four men left out of twenty-three who'd been knocked out by a concussive charge, one who'd been slammed into a wall while wrestling with a Klingon warrior. The Andorian before Ch'zog blinked his way to wakefulness, shaking his head blearily to cope with his severed antennae.

"Wha-oh, shit. Corporal Tha'tir th'Andras, SU2406-"

"Hello, Corporal," Ch'zog interrupted. "I am Ch'zog, son of Garon. You have fought well. But you have been defeated-have no shame, you fought with great courage!-and now, I need your help."

"Go to the Wastes."

Ch'zog bared his teeth. "Good! You still have a warrior's spirit. But you see, Corporal th'Andras," and he said that part in flawless Imperial Andorii, "you have lost. I have a thousand men who are dedicated ground troops, and I know that there are ten thousand civilians and approximately one hundred partially-trained civilian police still on this continent. My battle group controls the system and my men are already deploying across the planet. I do not want to waste lives, Corporal th'Andras, and there is no honor in killing civilians. If you broadcast a request for the civilians to surrender peacefully, I will see you, your surviving men, and all of the colonists safely repatriated to the Federation."

"I know what you people do to prisoners, and I know what Chancellor Torg's Orion cronies like to do to their slaves," the Andorian snarled. "I'd rather die."

Ch'zog smiled, baring his teeth again. "torgh Qang has no power here, nor do his pathetic slaver lapdogs. If you comply, I swear on the honor of the House of Qualta to-" His communicator chimed, and Ch'zog pulled back. "One moment." He tapped the communicator. "ja'!"

"Master Ch'zog, the K'taranhas detected an unusual tachyon burst near the Oort cloud of the system. It may be nothing, but I believe that it is-"

"...a cloaked ship exiting warp. You are to be commended." He turned to K'vor. "You are ready for a challenge, Captain. Secure the colony, and I will judge your skill."

"It shall be done, Dahar Master," the young man vowed, clapping his fist to his chest.

"Good. Ch'zog to tlhInSa! One to beam up!" He vanished in a swirl of red light.

K'vor turned to the Andorian. Corporal th'Andras sneered up at him. "You going to torture me now, Klink?"

"Do not insult me," K'vor snarled back. "It is no victory to defeat a man unarmed and bound. To torture you would be both foolish and beneath me."

The Andorian blinked. "...What?"

K'vor sneered. "torgh Qang and his allies may have forgotten the meaning of quv, but some of us remember the honor of the Empire." He turned, motioning to a younger man, college-age by Federation standards. "Kevtek! I want to set up a command center in here. Keep a constant guard on the prisoners, give them medical care as needed."

IKS tlhInSa. Zara IV orbit.

Ch'zog, son of Garon, slid easily into his command chair. "Log, commendation for Sensor Officer Lieutenant G'dahn, minimum citation for good service. End log. Ch'zog to all vessels, a cloaked Federation force is likely inbound. Commence antiproton sweep on my mark. Three. Two. One. Mark!"

As he gave the command, a Yamato-class Federation battleship-a powerful hybrid battleship, bombardment vessel, and carrier based on the Galaxy-class spaceframe-tore out of cloak and rained a hail of phaser fire on Ch'zog's own battlecruiser. A pair of T'varo-class Romulan warbirds shimmered out of empty space on either flank of the battleship and opened fire.

"Evasive maneuvers! Concentrate fire on the battleship!" barked Ch'zog. "Escorts, remain in cloak!" He calmly calculated odds as the battleship's phaser fire ripped into the shields and scored the hull of tlhInSa, the birds-of-prey still in cloak per standard red alert protocol. A Negh'tev-class battlecruiser, the modern descendant of the Negh'Var-class that had served so well in the last war with the Kinshaya, and six Norgh-class birds of prey, versus a battleship and two escorts. The Federation would have more in cloak, Ch'zog was sure. They had learned well since their first experiments with cloaks, after their alliance with the romuluSnganpu' in the Dominion War. The romuluSnganpu', of course, were the undisputed masters of cloaking attacks, and their discipline under Praetor Velal was admirable.

That was bad for Ch'zog, though. And he needed every advantage he could get, here; the pitched battle that had started hours ago on the Romulan front would likely decide the war, and if they lost...well, then, these were the last days of a dying empire.

"Morath's Fist, Gre'thor, target the escorts. Kortar, Molor's Wrath, flank the battleship while we hold its attention. Mogh's Revenge, K'taran, fall back to the planet and start an antiproton sweep, this battleship may be a distraction. Commence attack! Tactical, bring us about, load torpedoes!"

"Qapla'!"

Ch'zog's lips tightened into a smile as the the Federation battleship, less maneuverable than tlhInSa, came into view on the viewscreen, another broadside of phaser beams flaring out as the Romulan escorts closed in at sixty-degree angles to either side. "Fire all forward batteries!"

Paired disruptor beams lashed out, ripping into the Federation warship's shields. "Torpedoes, full spread!" barked Ch'zog. The battleship's shields were wavering, but so were tlhInSa's own...the antimatter warheads detonated against the battleship's shields. "Roll ship! Open fire with the flank batteries, and hit that escort when they reach our forward firing arc!"

"Yes, General!"

tlhInSa rolled in space. Ch'zog expanded his tactical plot; one of the warbirds' nacelles exploded in an actinic flash as it was speared by the cannons of two birds-of-prey. Ch'zog did not need to tell his warriors to refocus on the battleship as the warbird ejected the its core to avoid a breach. The old man felt a stab of pride at their discipline. There was hope for the Empire yet.

The broadside pounded into the Yamato-class as tlhInSa came parallel. The T'varo pulled around with lightning speed, and Ch'zog grinned. "Ignore the escort. Take down the battleship."

"General! A Federation cloakship!" Ch'zog snapped his white-haired head back to the tactical plot. He recognized that profile-Phantom-class stealth attack ship. Clever, but not unpredictable.

"Eliminate them."

The birds-of-prey opened fire, but the Phantom-class was as fast as lightning. Ch'zog bared his teeth again. "A good fight, Federation, yet not clever enough. Conn, pull us around their rear. Tactical, maintain fire with the starboard batteries. Load torpedoes and ready on my mark."

"Starboard shields at one-quarter strength and dropping!" snarled the operations officer.

"Hold course. Conn, make the turn as tight as you can."

"Taking damage to rear shields!"

"The other warbird." Ch'zog allowed himself a second of consideration. "Kortar, distract them. Tactical, focus fire on the battleship's engines. I want them disabled."

"Yes, General!"

The white-haired Klingon gripped his armrest tighter as the rear of the Federation battleship once more came into the more maneuverable Klingon vessel's sights. "All forward batteries, fire!"

"Their shields are down, General, looks like we got one of the emitters! Torpedoes ready!"

"Low yield strikes to the nacelles, I want them disabled!"

"Firing, General!"

Warheads streaked out, and brief eruptions snapped one of the battleship's nacelles in two. Ch'zog grinned, flush with victory. "Excellent! Ready another volley from the forward batteries, target their weapons..."

"General, the Federation strike ship is retreating!"

"Kortarhere, Master Ch'zog. The romuluSngan cloaked and pulled out."

Sensing defeat and cutting their losses. Intelligent. The Federation had learned since the days of Ch'zog's youth. "Good. Comms, hail the Federation vessel."

"Channel open, Master Ch'zog."

"Federation battleship, this is General Ch'zog, son of Garon. My ship's weapons are trained on your weapon ports, your engines are heavily damaged, and I believe that your shields are wholly or partially offline. I give you this one offer: Surrender now, and my men will do you and your romuluSngan allies no harm, and will see you repatriated for a modest ransom. If not, we will board your vessel, take it by force with all incidental casualties that come with that force, and repatriate your crew to the Federation at a later date. You have two minutes."

A grainy Tellarite face resolved itself on the viewscreen, looking surly as defeated Tellarites often war. "This is Commodore Trahak of the Federation starship Tellar Prime. How can we trust you, ridgeface?"

Ch'zog bared his teeth. "Your insults give you no succor, Captain. Suffice it to say that I am not without mercy, and that I see no reason to-"

"K'taran to Master Ch'zog! A shuttle made it off of the cloakship before they retreated, we didn't catch it until it got into the lower atmosphere! We think they airdropped something in!"

Ch'zog began to chuckle. "Oh, Commodore! You are a clever man indeed! What did you send in, MACOs?"

"A full squad armed to the teeth, with backup," the Tellarite growled. "It'll take you weeks to fully secure the planet now, enough time for reinforcements to get here."

"Unless I glass the entire area of the city down to the bedrock, of course," Ch'zog noted. "But that does not interest me, though not, I suspect, for the reasons that you believed it would not. I have no need of slaves, Commodore, but I would not waste this opportunity for true, pure war for anything. Comms, contact Captain K'vor. Tell him that his wish is granted, and that I expect the best from him. Your decision, Commodore?"

"Will you give me ten minutes to ask my men?"

"You have two, Commodore." Ch'zog's voice was iron; the old Dahar master was no fool. Trahak nodded bitterly and turned to an officer behind him, the communication cutting out. The Klingon settled back into his seat with a satisfied grin. "Prepare to receive prisoners, and ready engineering teams to take control of that dreadnought and repair it. You know what I demand."

Above Zara IV

Airdrop from 10,000 feet is the preferred method of shuttle-based insertion, and the standard insertion method if transporter dampeners are up. The Rommies train in a similar way, but they still called us insane for going in with a grand total of 10 men. Screw 'em, if the pointy-ears want to be prissy they can wait for reinforcements. But now we've got a colony to liberate.

"Here's the plan!" I shout over group comms, the force of the wind causing all of our helmets to vibrate enough to make shouting necessary. "We move in fast, try for a decap shot on the Klingon base, keep the defense shields up so they don't just bug out and glass us. We do that, we hold the building for six hours, and the Third Fleet can get here with some motherfrakking backup. We're on a clock, so stick to your paces, you all know the drill."

"Understood," Erei'arrain Nveid i'Ra'tleihfi tr'Shaien, a rare Romulan male spec-ops officer, replies. "HUDs maintaining synchronization."

"Good. You're around the back like we went over, we go head first through the front."

"Would it not be better to go feet first?"

I chuckle. "Not for me. I'm good with gorram headbutts. Alright, we're almost there, chutes ready in FIVE! FOUR! THREE! TWO! ONE! PULL!"

Our chutes flare, and my body is jerked down to about a tenth of its velocity in a microsecond. The slightly burned-out wreck of a two-year-old startup colonial town approaches rapidly, and I try to angle myself for the brushy area outside the furthest houses. The town's laid out radially, with four major and eight minor boulevards cut by regularly-spaced circular streets; standard UFP startup pattern. "Try to stay grouped, but not too close!"

"Au'e, rekkhai!" I like modding my translator, lends people's voices a little more color if I leave the more common phrases untranslated.

"Kallio, try to get a building, I want you nested up and ready to snipe by the time we're ready for the ground assault!"

"Kyllä, yliluutnantti. I'm already scoping out a nice, solid one."

"Alright, you damn apes. Let's kick some Klingon ass!"

"OOH-RAH!"

While I said we're hitting the command center head-first, we land feet-first. I hit the ground hard, but my legs compensate easily, and I seamlessly depolarize my chute, the nanofibers retracting onto the spools in the back of my suit. "Talur, with Kallio. Lamont, Luiz, with me. Erei'arrain, get it done." My phaser gun, a TR-18 battle rifle designed specifically for commando missions, is already in my hands. "Move out!"

"Six men to a squad, watch every boulevard! Two cover the street, one covers the alleys on the left, one covers the alleys on the right, two move ahead to seize positions. I want eyes on the roofs, find high spots with good cover, every man in sight of two others at all times! The remainder will remain here until needed as support at my discretion. Go!" Kevtek saluted and raced out with his PDA. Captain K'vor huffed a breath and spared a glance for Corporal th'Andras. "What, anD'orngan?"

"Those are...good tactics," the Andorian admitted. "More cautious than Starfleet briefings say Klingons use."

"Master Ch'zog's first mandate; do not waste your men's lives," K'vor growled. "It is foolish, wasteful, and beneath the dignity of a Klingon warrior. A death in defense of Qo'noS itself is always glorious; a death because your commanding officer could not be bothered to order a scan for improvised explosives is not."

"Not very Klingon of you."

K'vor backhanded him. The Andorian crumpled sideways, yelping with pain. "Never say that again, if you wish to ever be repatriated. You are witness to a true battle today, anD'orngan, and you will not disrespect that sacred struggle."

"Captain!" growled the younger Klingon, Kevtek, from the doorway. "We have contact with the enemy, a squad of five attacking the north checkpoint!"

"So it begins," snarled K'vor. "Now I shall finally face a real challenge! Observe, anD'orngan. This is what it means to be Klingon."

What the fuck is wrong with these Klinks? They're mostly Klingons, with only a couple of Acamarians, Nausicaans, and Gorn in specialist roles rather than as expendable infantry battalions like the Klinks usually use the vassal species, and no greenskins in sight. More importantly, they're fighting smart; we only got within a hundred and fifty meters of the town borders proper before a pair of Klinks in the gutted remains of a gatehouse opened fire on us. Luiz and I took them out, but they still scorched his armor pretty heavily and raised the alarm before we got 'em. Now I'm trading potshots with a six-man Klink team as Luiz tries to perform emergency field maintenance on his rocket launcher by hitting the sparking mess of failed Yoyodyne "engineering" with his palm and cursing. "Lamont, give me cover!" No point in counting their shots anymore, the fuckers have staggered fire down pat. It's fucking annoying when the enemy remembers how to do more than fuck missionary.

"Copy that!" The colonial leans out and snaps out a wide-beam phaser pulse at the Klinks; one of the guys moving ahead when we hit 'em managed to hauled himself into a building even with his busted leg (courtesy of yours truly) and the other five are holding defensive positions behind a roadblock of shutters and furniture. The two men standing up duck back as Lamont snaps out three more shots, and I duck out from behind my building corner and break into a charge. I interface with my suit through my cranial implant, pressing the motorization to the max and activating the thrusters on the back, and rocket up and forwards. Starfleet Special Ops Section Six's extremely expensive technology at its finest.

My spinal reinforcements snap into place and my right arm locks in as I leap nearly two meters in the air. I ram my right's motors and my suit's onboard servos to the max, crashing into the barricade with the force of a charging rhino. Klingons curse and shout as they're thrown backwards; I catch myself on my right and legs, the fist driving three inches into the pavement, then stand, grabbing a disoriented Klingon with my left, and ram him face-first into a confused Gorn. The Gorn stays up; the Klink goes limp and crumples when I drop him. My right crashes into the Gorn before it can bring its massive strength to bear against me, and it crumples backwards, ribcage shattered. I spin, side-kicking a charging Klingon with a crescent-shaped bat'leth through the half-destroyed wall of a tool shop, then drop to the ground as the two Klinks left pull up their guns and disruptor fire crisscrosses the air over me. I lash out, and one Klingon is knocked flat as I trip him, and I roll sideways to avoid another disruptor shot.

Lamont takes the last Klingon out with a phaser to the chest on heavy stun before he can shoot.

"Nice shot, thanks, Lamont. Move up!" More Klingons are coming, my sonar and thermo vision are showing eight incoming signatures. I duck through the broken window, see the Klink I shot in the leg with my S-47 against the wall patching himself up, and pull out my phaser sidearm, stunning him. Don't want him picking up a gun and shooting me in the back.

My comms ping. "L-T, this is Talur, we're-agh!"

"Talur?" I wait a moment. "Shit. Talur?" Fuck. I'm out of time. The Klinks are too close. I focus back on the road, hoping that Talur can make it out of whatever shit he's in.

My coolant systems start pumping in my limbs, and I tap my cardiopulmonary monitor to even out my heart rate and breathing. More troops are following the eight incoming, and there's a lot of them. "Take cover, boys, more Klinks coming in!"

Lamont vaults over the sill and rushes to take a position by the door. Luiz crouches under a windowsill on the other side. The Klingon heat and sonar sigs bunch up, then a black orb is tossed out into the boulevard.

"Flashbang!" I bark, shutting my right eye and driving my bionic left's sensitivity down to a tenth of a percent. Lamont and Luiz just duck, but it gives me an extra half-second as the Klingons storm out.

Not all of them are Klingons, I notice as I start pegging them with my phaser, sending the soldiers scattering for cover. There's another Gorn, a massive lizard species that the Klinks annexed twenty years ago, as well as a pair of Acamarians, a clannish species with brown blood (something about both iron and copper in it? I skipped freshman bio for some engineering classes, I wanted combat engineer certification) that joined the Empire in the face of Klingon disruptors five years later. Acamarians are fast, but not as fast as me, and they're less durable than Klingons; the massive Gorn is the biggest threat.

The Klingons return fire, disruptors scoring my shields and the wall. I snap off another couple of shots with my TR-18, and two of the Klingons duck back with curses. Lamont and Luiz are up now, but there are more Klinks than MACOs in this fight. I need to keep the momentum up.

"Luiz, throw a grenade, break 'em up a bit! I'll cover you!" I synch my implants with my suit, using my batteries to supercharge my shields, and stand up all the way. "Now!"

The big guy throws a frag grenade down the road fastball style, disruptor pulses scoring my shields. My HUD flashes a power drain alert; I'll need to let my fuel cells recharge for a minute or two before I can overcharge my limbs or shields again. The grenade hits, and Klingons curse and scramble out of cover as Lamont and I plug them.

"Move up!"

The Gorn's still up, I notice as I move in. It sees me moving ahead of the boys, and hisses. I shoot it in the head, but its shields absorb the blast. The Gorn charges, ponderous but incredibly powerful, a juggernaut of raw muscle that even my cybernetics can barely compete with.

I roll sideways as the Gorn thunders past, but his right claw catches my helmet and rips it clean off, tearing into my remaining ear and almost snapping my neck before my spinal reinforcements lock it in place. I land, reorient, see the Gorn turning...

I leap, pistoning off the ground on my cybernetic legs, grabbing the Gorn by the shoulders, and then slam my forehead into his. The tritanium plate sutured to my skull cracks his mere bone, and he-she?-collapses, unconscious. Disruptor fire singes my shields. "Lamont! Cover me!" I tap the implant complex that covers the right side of my face, activating the onboard mic and coms. "Talur, this is Connor, do you copy?" A Klingon cries out as he gets hit by a phaser pulse.

No response. Shit. Do I call it off? No. There's no extraction, and we can't let a Section Six combat cyborg fall into enemy hands. "Talur! Last chance, come in, damn it." Lamont's gun sounds, and the last Acamarian drops. We've got a moment to regroup.

Still no response. "Lamont, Luiz, Talur's been captured or killed. They're gonna flood us next."

"Copy that, LT. We got a plan?"

"Yeah. Each of you boys take cover on either side." I rev the motors in my legs, flexing to make sure the joints are still working right. "I've got an idea."

IKS tlhInSa.

"Master Ch'zog! More starships entering the system"

The old Klingon looked up from his PDA, a report from the planet briefly visible. "Identification?"

"qarDaSnganpu', Dahar Master! Reading two Galor-class, two Hideki-class! We're being hailed!"

"On screen." Ch'zog crossed his arms. "You are intruding on a Klingon military operation, qarDaSngan. Leave now, before we remove your choice in the matter."

"Klingon warships, this is Jagul Aman Evek, Cardassian Volunteer Expeditionary Force. We have no intention of leaving, and Alliance reinforcements are less than an hour away; surrender immediately or be destroyed."

"Your request is denied. Heghlu'meH QaQ jajvam!" Ch'zog nodded to the communications officer, who killed the channel. "We do this like the approach to Cirini Prime. Form up!"

Birds-of-prey slipped up beside tlhInSa like hunting falcons. "Let us see if you fare better than the Federation, Jagul Evek," Ch'zog growled. "All ships, keep scanners active and watch for those cloakships that escaped! Attack!"

The offensive had failed. K'vor snarled in frustration and rage at his failure. He had underestimated the MACOs' strength, and his men had paid for it. You fool! Master Ch'zog TOLD you not to underestimate the enemy! K'vor frantically tried to find some way, any way to solve this mess.

"They're getting close," th'Andras noted, standing openly next to the Klingon now, though his hands were still firmly shackled behind him. "And reinforcements are in the system. Only Cardassians, sure, but..."

"I know," K'vor replied, voice even but taut. "This is what it means to make war, anD'orngan. It is a match that determines the mightiest warrior. And I may not be the best; if so, that is to be accepted, and hopefully later corrected."

"You're...awfully nonchalant about this."

The Klingon shrugged. "The tlhIngan wo' is doomed, anD'orngan. torgh Qang has not the skill at war, nor the numbers at his back to defeat the Federation and the romuluSnganpu' at once. Our Empire is dying, and this time the Federation will surely have no mercy. I fight here to stem the tide, to keep some shred of the glory of the Klingon people alive as their greatest achievement crumbles. I go to this sacred struggle of war for my people and for our ideals, and I will fight with the ancient honor of my ancestors until my last breath. Otherwise, there is no hope."

"Your men are getting their asses kicked," the Andorian noted. "They may have the Romulans pinned down and you may've got the sniper team, but there's a MACO hit team out there, probably with one of the new combat cyborgs they've been deploying. You've lost over sixty men out of a hundred, and the remaining nine hundred men on the planet are hundreds of miles away and can't be transported while your fleet's under attack. If you don't surrender, you and all your men are probably gonna die."

"Death happens," K'vor snarled, clutching the table on which the portable command console had been placed hard enough to make the faux-wood creak. "And my honor demands that I and every one of my men fight and die for our nation. We knew this from the moment we landed on the planet, anD'orngan. A Klingon warrior does not deal death needlessly, but accepts it as part of life. I would think that a warrior people such as yours would understand."

"We're soldiers, not warriors," th'Andras snapped back. "We fight with discipline in defense of our homes, and we do so only because it is necessary! We don't fight as a competition for personal glory because we like the sound of a war!"

K'vor bared his teeth again, but did not strike the Andorian. "Discipline is something that all true warriors must have, for without it there is only inevitable defeat. And fighting in defense of home and family is the highest glory to which a Klingon can aspire, anD'orngan."

"You're still fighting for Torg and his slaver minions in an aggressive war for territory and political glory."

"I fight for my nation because it is my home," snarled K'vor, "for better or for worse. And even were the tlhIngan wo' NOT dying, I would still be eager for the sacred rite of war."

"War isn't sacred," the Andorian growled. "It's a brutal, bloodthirsty mess that gets even worse as the forces get better!"

"Do you know the origin of the Klingons, anD'orngan? The real history, not the myths?"

"You evolved on a geologically unstable planet with a harsh climate and wildlife," th'Andras replied.

"Correct. From the dawn of our civilization, struggle has defined the Klingon people. Struggle against nature itself, against the Hur'q that invaded Qo'noS, against the tyrants of the early days, who our mythology remember as the singular Molor, against the romuluSnganpu' and Federation and others. War is the highest culmination of the Klingon ideal. Two warriors, locked in combat, their skill and courage and wits matched like a game of tlhInSa, and life itself the stakes. That is why we make war, anD'orngan. Everything that we are is defined by struggle, by war. True war is like a pilgrimage to the monasteries of Boreth; a rare event to be celebrated for its holy significance, even as we fight desperately for our very lives. This is what it means to be Klingon, anD'orngan. This is why I show respect for my fellow warriors in this most holy of conflicts, even though they stand opposite me. This is why you stand with me now, as my enemy and my prisoner, Corporal th'Andras. This is why the tlhIngan wo' is doomed, for torgh Qang does not respect the sanctity of war, and brings filthy slavers and other such undisciplined dogs into a match of wits and courage." He pulled his communicator armband up to his mouth. "Suppressing fire! Keep that supersoldier pinned down!" Three more red lights blinked out in quick succession. K'vor snarled.

"You've got thirty men left, half of them stuck containing those Romulans," th'Andras noted. "That MACO team is too good."

"I know. Delta squad, redirect to assist against the MACOs. Hold the line for Qo'noS and the tlhIngan wo'!"

I grab the Acamarian who's managed to be the last man standing with one tritanium hand to his neck, lift him effortlessly off the ground as he struggles and wheezes, and slam him against my forehead plate, then toss his body aside. "Tr'Shaien. Lucky for you I pulled your ass out of the fire, huh?"

The Romulan grimaces. "They had us outnumbered. You lost two men, though."

"I got coms chatter-Talur and Kallio got their asses captured, yeah." I took an RPG to the face about ten minutes back and had to ditch most of my armor, so my cybernetic arms and legs are exposed. My remaining Human bits-torso, most of my head-are scuffed, bruised, and filthy. I've looked myself in a mirror after missions before; with my red cyber-eye and the metal covering most of the right side of my face ever since the shuttle crash in the Hromi Cluster campaign, it's a pretty intimidating effect. To his credit, tr'Shaien doesn't even blink. I continue. "I'm picking up a Klingon, couple of Humans, and an Andorian in there. The Humans aren't moving. I'm gonna head in and kick some ass, you lot follow me. Clear?"

Tr'Shaien slots a new power cell into his gun. "Of course."

"Good." I turn my phaser on the doors of the city hall and blow them clean off their hinges. "Follow me!"

The entry hall is silent. I scan for traps as I trot along the corridor; nothing that I can see. The door's closed and presumably locked-I lock my fingers into position, then slam my right arm into the door at the far right, forcing it backwards with a snarl and a shriek of servos. A disruptor fires, scoring my shields, and I tap my batteries for a little more power.

"You have fought well, Federation!" roars the Klingon as I step inside. Younger than I expected; he's smarter than most, too. Poor kid, I almost don't want to kick his ass. Talent is so rare these days. "But I am a warrior of the Klingon Empire! I will fight until it is no longer possible!"

I move for him slowly. The Andorian's on the ground with a lump on his head. Talur and Kallio are up against the wall with three other Humans, all bound and gagged. Lamont and tr'Shaien spread out behind me, moving to flank the Klink. "Give up, kid. It's over. You did a fucking good job, delayed us for over forty minutes. But you're out of men and unless your ships in space get transporters back up in the next thirty seconds there's no way you're getting any more before the fleet gets here and you have to bug out."

"It is never over," the Klingon insists. "Today will be a day long remembered, Federation! It must be, for the sake of the Empire!"

"Last chance. Surrender and I won't kick your ass too badly."

The disruptor fires again. "Heghlu'meH QaQ jajvam!"

I'm moving before he finishes the sentence. I knock the disruptor out of his hand with one blow, then spin-kick him into a wall. I drop my pistons down a couple of RPM so that I don't break his neck as I grab him with my left and slam him up against it again, but it still makes him gasp and groan.

"No. Today's a shitty fucking day to die." I step on the disruptor, crushing it with the full force of my right leg, then toss the kid down, a bit more gently than necessary. "Tie him up. And get the prisoners out while you're at it." It's odd. Normally the only time Klinks take prisoners is when there's Orions with 'em, and I haven't seen a greenskin yet.

"How many," the young man wheezes.

"How many what?"

"How many of my men did you kill, Federation? I must know the depth of my failure."

"Failure? Kid, are you...is this your first command?"

He manages a nod as Lamont hauls him up and starts cuffing him. "Master Ch'zog trained me himself. He wanted me to have field experience against more than leHengan pirates. I have seen men die, Federation, do not think me some child fresh from the stones of Qo'noS..."

"But it's harder when you give the order yourself." He nods. "About thirty. Most of them I just put out and zip-tied for later, took the power cells from their disruptors and broke the guns. Some I killed." I get closer, looking him in the eye. "Where are the other Marines? The civilians?"

"The Marines died like warriors. They were buried honorably. The civilians are under guard in an outlying settlement three hundred miles away that we captured in the initial assault."

"Where are the Orions?"

He spits. "quvHa' or'yon'nganpu'! We have no need of those honorless targ-spawn! The Gorn, Acamarians, and Nausicaans are warriors worthy of the Klingon name, but the Orion?" He spits again. "I would rather cut out my own heart with a dull knife than consort with those slavers."

I frown. "You're really not an ordinary Klingon, are you?"

"I am a true Klingon! I follow the ways of Kahless, of the Dahar Masters Kang, Koloth, and Kor." Lamont puts a hand on his shoulder, and he sits. "You have defeated me, Federation. But you will never break my spirit."

I get a comm ping on my cranial implant. "One sec. This is Lieutenant Connor, MACO unit 131."

"Lieutenant Connor, this is Enriov Satali i'Ra'tleihfi ei'Card'has t'Tyrava, aboard warbird Eyhon Eludet'eri of the Galae s'Shiar Rihan. We are inbound with an ETA of thirty seconds, with a full dreadnought attack group."

"A full-what about the push in the Neutral Zone?"

Admiral t'Tyrava's voice is flush with the pride and elation of victory. "A complete victory. FvillhuVelal i'Ra'tleihfi killed Chancellor Torg himself. The Klingons are in full retreat, and Torg's son has been assassinated by rival nobles, who are suing for peace." I look to the boys, who nod, tr'Shaien pumping his fist in the air as they get the same transmission over their comms. "The war is over, Arrain!"

Another voice cuts in to my comms. "Romulan Grand Fleet vessels, this is Jagul Aman Evek, Cardassian Volunteer Expeditionary Force. The Klingon starships under DaharMaster Ch'zog have just surrendered to me. Please do not attack them when you exit warp." I turn the volume down with a thought and crouch down by the Klingon. "Hey. What's your name?"

"I am K'vor, son of Tavok," he says, voice cracking. "Not that it matters anymore."

"Fuck that." I sit down in front of the guy, crossing my grey metal legs. "You kicked ass today."

"I got my men killed for nothing!"

"And you beat my men's asses." I put a hand on his shoulder. He reminds me a bit of me, when they hauled me out of that mess in the Hromi cluster and boosted me with experimental cybernetics. "Your Empire just lost its leader, a shitload of its fleet, and a major war. They need someone to show them the way. And you-you've got more honor than any other Klingon I've met, and you're smart. You and whoever taught you-you have to go back there. Make the Acamarians and Gorn and Nausicaans full partners, force the Orions to ditch slavery-there's plenty of lower-class Orions who'd be glad to help overthrow the syndicates. You're the future of your nation now, K'vor."

He looks me in my eye. My real eye, I suppose he can't stand the glowing red cyber-eye right now. "I had hoped we could save the Empire before it came to this," he whispers. "My nation...my people..."

"The Empire was screwed the moment Torg went to war," I tell him flat-out. "He was too stupid, too aggressive, too greedy, and too cruel. But the Federation-if I know the FDC, we'll probably mostly disarm the Empire, but leave you intact, for the most part at least. You have a chance, K'vor, son of Tavok, to reform your nation and return it to greatness." I stand. "Don't fuck it up."

AN: So this is set in the alternate universe of TNG's "Yesterday's Enterprise", in a version further divergent from the STO mission "Temporal Ambassador". In this universe, the Federation beat the Klingons back, and the more militarized Starfleet crushed the Cardassians, liberated Bajor, and forcibly set up a democratic Cardassian regime before sending in Marshall Plan-style relief into Cardassian space by 2370. When the Dominion War hit, the Federation slowly lost ground until the Romulans, after a coup unseated a Founder-infiltrated leadership, joined the war on the Federation's side, and together the two empires forced the Dominion out. In the early 25th century, however, the Klingons get a new leader-Torg, son of Kormog, a major villain in the early Klingon storyline in STO, who in this timeline decides to invade the Romulans and the Federation at once. Bad mistake.

Obviously in this timeline I made Rachel a combat cyborg rather than an augment. I felt that her body being more obviously damaged and broken up fit the story's intended tone better. This isn't the shiny (relatively) noncrapsacky 25th century of STO; this one's considerably nastier. This is intended to be grey and grey-both sides have their pluses and minuses, and the soldiers on either side of this particular battle follow the rules of war, for the most part.

A full list of divergences from STO canon:

-The Shiar ih'Saeihr Rihan (Romulan Star Empire) is a close Federation ally; they had a coup in the early Dominion War when they found that the head of the Tal'Shiar and six Senators were replaced by Founders. There was a purge, followed by the Rihannsu joining the war with the democratic Cardassian regime and the Federation against the Dominion.
-There was no Hobus event because Taris never became an Iconian worshiper due to the TNG episode with the Iconian planet happening very differently. The Romulans are not an endangered species.
-Dukat was propped up as a proxy ruler by the Dominion, but the Cardassians, getting aid from the Federation and not being invaded by the battered Klingons, didn't go over to him. He was eventually hanged for treason.
-The Sisko is still of Bajor and still went god.
-Worf was raised by the Romulans, and is currently serving a crappy tour on the Taurhai frontier, on the other side of the empire from the Feds and Klinks.
-The Breen stayed neutral, since the Dominion didn't have enough of a foothold to interest more than a couple of minor Breen cartels. Most of the anarchist-ish Breen Confederacy stayed out of the conflict altogether.
-There have been three major wars involving the Klingon Empire since Narendra III and Khitomer: A Klingon-Romulan border war, which the Klingons won decisively after some early defeats; the first Klingon-Federation war, wherein the Klingons pushed hard into Federation space but eventually got thrown back after three years of tough fighting, and the current Fed-Rommie/Klingon war, which started with another big Klingon push (they hit just as the Rommies and Feds had decomissioned a lot of older-generation warships but before the new stuff was ready, so there were some fleet shortages), but for the last two out of five years has seen the stalemate of the previous two years swing decisively in favor of the Federation despite a zig-zagging line of control on the Fed-Klingon front, primarily thanks to the Romulans kicking serious Klingon ass after initial setbacks.
-Torg is still a total asshole, best described as Klingon Hermann Goering. The Klingons have annexed the Gorn, Nausicaans, and Acamarians, and have an alliance with the Orions that is unpopular with the public but Torg still stands by.