The Klingon battle group closed relentlessly on the Starfleet task force in the vicinity of Pemra-3. Checking his tactical display, Zhukov could see that they were approaching in force. The previous two engagements with the Klingons had been little more than skirmishes designed to test the capabilities of the Starfleet force. Not so this time: the Klingons were coming at them like bats out of hell.
At least we won't have to worry about Klingon reinforcements skulking around under cloak, Zhukov thought. This time, the Klingons meant business. Any tactical advantage gained by remaining under cloak and joining the battle late would be negated by the dishonor of hanging back from the battle. Although they could be shifty and clever when it suited them, the Klingons were not this way once they committed to a battle. They would throw themselves at their opponent in a full frontal assault and rely on their to-the-death mentality to overwhelm the enemy. It was working well enough against the Cardassians.
In true Klingon style, Zhukov could see the enemy was overconfident in their position. At first glance their arrogance might be justified, for the tactical display showed eighteen Klingon vessels – three Vor'cha-class heavy attack cruisers, a pair of K'Vort-class cruisers, one K'tinga-class warship and a dozen Birds-of-Prey against a dozen Starfleet cruisers. Worse, with nine of the Starfleet vessels engaged in evacuating the planet, the effective Starfleet fighting force was down to three ships. Though all were powerful heavy cruisers, they could not hope to stand against an adversary who so outnumbered them.
"Hail coming in from the lead Klingon vessel," Visch reported.
"On screen," ordered Zhukov.
The viewscreen blinked and the image of General Kalor appeared. "This is General Kalor commanding Klingon assault fleet to all Starfleet vessels," he began. "You are violating territory claimed by the Klingon Empire. Lower your shields and surrender your ships and your lives will be spared. Any resistance will be met with lethal force. This is your only warning."
Piqued at Kalor's bombast, Zhukov answered, "Negative on surrender. Pemra-3 is a colony of Federation citizens under Cardassian jurisdiction. We are here under the authority of the lawfully constituted Cardassian government. It is you who are in violation of this territory. If you attack us we will be forced to defend ourselves. Please stand down and leave this system at once."
Zhukov knew the Klingons were not interested in these legal niceties, but were merely going through the motions to prove they had given the Starfleet forces an opportunity to surrender, thus preserving their precious Klingon honor. In truth, they were itching for a fight and didn't want the Starfleet force to surrender.
"Surely you jest," Kalor laughed scornfully. "You are outnumbered and do not stand a chance! My fleet will cut you to pieces with time left over to loot the planet," he boasted.
"We shall see," Zhukov replied calmly, and motioned to Visch to end transmission.
"Constitution to Captain Travis," he said, tapping his communicator.
Waiting a moment for an answer, he repeated his hail to the planet-bound captain. "Zhukov to Captain Travis. Please respond."
Once again, silence. Zhukov raised an eyebrow but said nothing. The captain was not replying to communications. This was inconvenient but there wasn't time to ponder this development.
Zhukov had other things to worry about, like the Klingon battle group bearing down on the Starfleet task force, eager to engage in a battle where the odds seemed to heavily favor the Klingons. Eighteen against three – who wouldn't like those odds?
Time to even those odds, Zhukov decided. "Launch fighters," he ordered.
Once before, Travis had scotched Zhukov's suggestion to launch fighters. It was not hard to understand why: the Klingons were clearly unaware that the Starfleet vessels were carrying military fighters in place of the usual full complement of shuttlecraft. They were the task force's ace up the sleeve, capable of changing the dynamic of a major confrontation in a huge hurry. With a pair of phaser banks and fifty "micro" photon torpedoes, they possessed a formidable armament. When working in a large group, they were capable of giving even an enemy battleship all it could handle.
Visch transmitted the order to the entire fleet, and within seconds, an armada of the small, quick, highly maneuverable fighters streaked out of the shuttle bays of all twelve Starfleet vessels. Three fighter-escorts per ship, for a total of thirty-six fighters in total, streamed out and into formation with the three heavy cruisers charged with protecting the rest of the fleet.
Now, the odds were thirty-nine to eighteen in favor of Starfleet, and Zhukov could draw upon the other cruisers to provide limited tactical support. Maybe Kalor would recognize he was in too deep and back off. It was probably a vain hope, Ivan reflected, but he had to try.
"This is Commander Zhukov on board the Constitution to Klingon General Kalor. It is you who is outnumbered. Stand down, withdraw, and allow our evacuation to proceed. Our only concern is evacuating our civilian population. This situation can still be resolved without resorting to violence. Please respond."
For a long moment, the Klingon ships seemed to pause, as if considering the situation. For the tiniest fraction of an instant, Ivan held his breath, daring to hope against hope that the Klingons might actually use their brains and avoid a pointless battle. Maybe they would see that a fight was completely unnecessary; that all they had to do to take possession of this system was allow the Starfleet task force to leave.
Then, the moment passed, and hopes shattered. The Klingon vessels pressed forward, shields up, weapons charged.
In mere moments, the battle would be joined.