Captain William Riker watched as the first of the two pair of Perigrines went in firing with torpedoes--a solid one-two punch that sent red streaks into the exposed dorsal segment of the freighter. The torps cleaved through and penetrated the hull in a wide plume of escaping gasses. Riker knew that structural integrity of the ship wouldn't hold--not unless they had some extensive force-field systems and redundant SIF generators, which a transport surely wouldn't.
The attacking Perigrine bolted on a heading 045 mark -17 carrying them beneath the straining freighter. The three Jem'Hadar attack ships holding up the rear, shook past the second Perigrine which was spraying them with phaser fire and made a beeline for the attacker.
Riker touched the control pad on the arm of his chair and tuned to their frequency. "Eight-Ball, this is Blackjack. They're on our six. Go for it." Perigrines, he'd learned, typically weren't given designations, so their commanders had named them after the PT Boats of Earth's Second World War. Riker watched as the Eight-Ball veered off, nimbly dodging the Jem'Hadar's angry phased polarized beams, while Blackjack took advantage of the clearing. She gunned her thrusters and came up on the second freighter and loosed two torpedoes into her impulse engines, then carried the arc up and over her and loosed two more into her fore section. The second freighter exploded into metal confetti while the first still slowly came apart.
The Jem'Hadar fighters split now and went after both Perigrines. Riker shifted his attention the fore view of the convoy where the Jolly Roger and the Mako were buying time, weaving between the five Jem'Hadar fighters that were darting around them, sweeping space with their sizzling blue beams. Neither the Jolly Roger nor the Mako had been able to land a blow against the freighters, but Captain Larwin hadn't thought they would.
"Captain Larwin has sent the transmission to the Perigrines, sir," Commander Shelby informed him. Riker looked over at her. She never seemed quite comfortable in the right-hand command seat. Riker guessed she was still itching for his. Well, soon enough... he thought. The war was demanding more and more commissioned captains and Riker doubted someone with Shelby's talents would be an executive officer for much longer.
"Perigrines going to warp, sir," Lt. Gallivan reported from the helm position.
Suddenly the screen flared as three Jem'Hadar fighters loosed a blistering final assault of polaron beams and torpedoes at the departing Perigrines. One of them took a solid hit and tumbled wildly in normal space.
"Looks like that one's in trouble," Riker commented.
"Yes," Shelby answered thoughtfully, "but the rest took three Jem'Hadar fighters with them."
"Five left. Two starships ought to be able to take them out easily. You agree commander?" He gave Shelby a quick, boyish grin. Shelby sent back a hard, ambitious look.
"Completely, sir."
"Signal coming in from the Midway," Ensign Schiemann reported. "It's Captain Larwin, sir."
"On screen."
The holo-screen rippled to show the spacious bridge of the Akira-class ship off their port bow and her hatchet-faced commander. Captain Derrick Larwin was a few years younger than Riker, but didn't look it. His bristly, blonde hair was receding at the temples, and his eyes were as hard as sapphires.
"All right, Captain," he said without salutation, "the Perigrines are going to make a wide arc at warp. That'll give us time to take out the remaining Jem'Hadar fighters and the transports and be waiting to ambush their pursuers when they double back."
"Understood, Captain. However, one of the Perigrines didn't make it to warp. The Stark can provide cover for her if there are survivors."
"Negative, Captain Riker," Larwin answered, nonplused. "The mission comes first. We take out those transports, cut off the supply of starship components to the Dominion shipyards at Kelkis Prime."
Riker inhaled through his nose to keep from saying something imprudent. The USS Midway was, after all, their cover fire. "Respectfully, sir, they're Starfleet."
"They knew the risks," Larwin answered sharply. "They knew rescue wouldn't be a top priority. And, not to sound like an old war horse, in the thick of it, we just don't have the luxury."
"Sir, we could do it," Shelby blurted. "The impulse system on these Steamrunner-class starships have a fast enough fire-up time to..."
"We take out the convoy...period." Larwin answered firmly. "Now, prepare to engage on my mark." Then the screen shifted back to the trudging convoy.
"We could beam the survivors off of that ship when the Midway first engages the Jem'Hadar fighters," Shelby said, excitedly. "They won't be concerned about us--only protecting the convoy and fighting off the larger, more powerful warship."
Riker regarded her out of the corner of his eye.
"We could lower ventral shields only...keep the rest of the ship protected."
Riker felt his trademark boyish grin sneaking up on him. "Helm, plot a course to the disabled fighter," he said. "Tactical, prepare to drop ventral shields on my mark."
"Aye sir," Ensign Scibilia said. Then: "Sir, we have the order,"
Riker inhaled, took in Shelby's look of utter ambition, total confidence. "Engage," he said.
The two starships screamed out of the red giant's coronasphere--a modern variation on an age-old combat tactic: flying out of the sun at the enemy. The Midway slashed at the remaining Jem'Hadar fighters with all available phaser banks, while loosing torpedoes at the broadsides of the freighters.
The Stark thundered to the aid of the drifting Perigrine fighter--her hull too blackened to even read the stenciling on the side: JOLLY ROGER.
"Riker, what the hell are you doing?" Larwin's voice screamed through the bridge speakers. "You are ordered..." Then the speakers went dead. From the smug pull at her lips, Riker knew it was Shelby who'd killed them.
"Coming up on damaged ship," Gallivan reported.
"Mr. Schiemann, drop ventral shields only. Lock on to any life-forms."
"Aye sir...ventral shields dropped...scanning...Sir there's a power--"
Then the screen flared brilliant white as the Perigrine exploded viscously, throwing antimatter and shrapnel--carried on a high-velocity shockwave--into Stark's unprotected belly. Riker had only a split second to realize the ruthless cunning of the Jem'Hadar plan. The hit that had downed the Perigrine had contained a gravitic mine, set to detonate at detection of a transport beam.
They knew another starship would come to rescue.
They knew that starship would lower shields to rescue the survivors.
Then the shockwave hit, like a massive bludgeon that knocked the small Destroyer end-over-end with a squeal of strained systems and overloaded inertial dampeners and artificial gravity generators.
"Damage report!" Riker shouted over the cacophony of sirens and klaxons.
"Main power couplings down!" Scibilia responded through the smoke-choked bridge. "Back-ups in place..."
Then the Jem'Hadar torpedoes exploded against their shields. The Stark's momentum had been halted as suddenly as if it had hit a wall, and the bridge turned into a minefield. The science stations blew in a rippling cascade of sparks, blowing the communications officer to the floor.
"Shields at 52-percent...falling..." Schiemann called.
"Get us out of here!" Shelby shouted. Gallivan's fingers danced over her console and the Stark charged, only to meet a screen of phased polaron beams, which gripped her in an embrace of flame and wreckage.
"Return fire..." Riker coughed, his throat clenching shut against the acrid fumes of singed insulation and burnt flesh.
"Weapons systems off-line..." The next blast blew out the entire environmental station, sending fleshettes of alloy and plastic through Schiemann's body.
"All power to shiel--" Shelby began, but the next shot slammed the bridge and rained debris, and burnt out control components down on them. A tangle of cables wound Riker tightly like plastic tentacles. He fought past them as the next blast shook the ship, threw him into the cradle of cables. They didn't hold. He hit the deck, looked up. His chair was ripped loose of its moorings and in motion. He put up his arms protectively, his last sight before being slammed unconscious was of Commander Elizabeth Shelby's body crushed beneath a bulkhead, her neck snapped back at an unnatural angle, her eyes as blank and glazed as a doll's.
The view outside the ready room viewport was of an inky black void, interspersed with sizzling, sparking debris. Riker wondered how much was from his ship.
"The Eight Ball also sustained damage luring the Jem'Hadar here," Captain Larwin said from the briefing table. "When our damage control teams are done patching things here, they'll be beaming over there. Shouldn't be more than a couple hours work replacing a power coupling or two. The two of you can proceed to Starbase 112 for more intricate repairs."
Riker let a leaden silence fill the room between them. Let it settle into the carpet, the bulkheads, the cracked ready room table between them.
"Plan worked," Larwin continued after a moment. "The Dominion was used to the Perigrine's guerrilla attacks. They weren't expecting two starships to follow that lead. Take all of them out. They'll be more prepared next time--attach a couple of Cardassian battle cruisers to accompany their supply runs. Won't help them against the Perigrines, though. Those things are too nimble. And they'll have pulled a couple of capital ships off the front lines."
He's making me sweat it out, Riker thought furiously as he stared past his haggard reflection. "Say it, Captain. Tell me what disciplinary action you're going to request Starfleet Command take with me." He waited a moment, then looked over his shoulder at Larwin. The younger captain with the hard features was staring at him levelly.
"Well, Captain Larwin? Demotion? You want to take my command? Reassign the Stark? Drum me out of Starfleet?"
Larwin made a dismissive gesture. "You lost you XO and six other crewmen and trashed your ship up pretty good. I'd say you learned your lesson. And Starfleet can't exactly spare any good officers."
"If I had to do it over again, Captain, I'd play it the same. I will, next time."
Larwin put his empty coffee mug down on the table and sighed. "I hope you reconsider, Captain. Look, now I am going to speak like an old war horse. Whatever procedures and tactics you've used up until this point, throw them out the first airlock you find. They were the rules of a different Starfleet. One where the primary objective was the preservation of life, dignity, honor. Now, the name of the game is survival. Survival so you can live to kill more of the enemy and end this goddamn war so we can all go back to being people preoccupied with life, dignity, and honor."
"I can't believe that," Riker said softly.
"You will, Captain. You will." Larwin stood. "I'm going to check in with my damage control teams. Thanks for the coffee." He turned and left through the ruined bridge. Riker watched him go, then stared back out his viewport, concentrated on his reflection. He tried one of his boyish grins, but it didn't work. He wondered if it ever would again.