PUBLISHED ON Nov 2, 2021
Chapter 4: Regroup
Konnie, warehouse defensive line
Stardate 44098.2
1530 local time
By the time that Worf and his three chosen ensigns arrived at the warehouse, neither they or these so-called reapers, although the name was certainly fitting, were particularly happy. Worf and his people were irate because constantly having to stop and seek shelter from an incoming barrage slowed things down greatly. The reapers were simply grumpy from having to escort people who didn't even have the good decency to wear powered armor. At least fully armored marines would have been able to keep up somewhat, even accounting for how fast the more lightly armored reapers moved. They'd at least sent one of their number on ahead though, they didn't need a diplomatic incident from some jumpy militiaman or stimmed up marine shooting one of the 'pajama folk' as the quartet had taken to calling the Starfleet officers.
Worf despised the nickname, and his patience was already…taxed. The more he saw of the destruction the Cardassians visited upon the colony, the more some part of him grew furious at seeing it all. Homes left in ruin, parts of once pristine forests burning, the bodies of the dead left to rot where they fell, some had even clearly been toyed with by Cardassian troops prior to expiring. Despite it all though, some part of him more and more came to respect the determination of the colonists, even if the methods used by some of them he found beyond distasteful. 'Or perhaps I am only saying that because I have not suffered as they have,' came the thought beckoned. 'Were our roles reversed, would I fight with no less determination? Would I not do everything in my power to drive an invader from my home?" He lightly shook his head and took a drought of his canteen to clear his mind. There would be time for philosophical introspection later. Now was the time to plan, to earn the trust of these people, and to find a way to bring the battle to the Cardassians.
As he approached the warehouse, the reapers ahead of his team, he heard something over the din of the falling mortars, something he'd not expected to hear. It was music, and laughter. As they approached he hear the strumming of a chorded instrument, people laughing, even among the screech of the mortars around the warehouse, so close to what was clearly a hastily dug defensive line. The line itself was composed of trenches, shored up by scrap metal or wood, a few semi-concealed positions here and there. It was crude, but clearly industrious, and effective if the clusters of Cardassian dead he saw along the road, the grass and near to the forest were any indicator. It was oddly exhilarating to some part of him. Methods aside, these people were warriors, and that much anyone could see.
Invaders had come to their world, fired upon it and their homes, sent troops to force them out or to kneel, and still they resisted, and valiantly so. They were outnumbered, their enemy had until recently possessed orbital superiority, and even if their personal armor and weapons technology was sufficient to protect them, the Cardassians were clearly more than willing to pay the butcher's price and throw troops against the colonists and whatever defenses they had erected until one or the other failed. Primitive or no, the ballistic weapons the colonists preferred had clearly left an impression, and proved themselves as deadly as any disruptor or phaser, and here these people were, still resisting, sitting around small fires or other sources of heat, some holding children, others what seemed to be personal weapons, and yet some still found time to play an instrument or to laugh. It spoke volumes about their resilience and resolve as a people.
These people were in some degree of shock, anger, even perhaps some form of denial or bargaining, given the whispers he heard of 'getting the cresties back good' as he passed, but despite that these people were not completely shell shocked. He'd have been shocked to see them just listless and broken, but the fact that there was an air of good spirit in any capacity at all was impressive to him. He'd never regarded humans or any of the other species of the Federation that were capable fighters as particularly soft, no matter what other Klingons may have thought, but he'd dare anyone to call these people soft or cowardly. 'It would probably end, at best, with a bloodied face and the offender dazed on the ground,' he smirked.
The sound of multiple sets of heavy, metallic footfalls tore him away from the view inside of the warehouse. Approaching was three of the militia, two standing behind and to the flanks of the third, wearing those behemoth armors they seemed to prefer where possible. Their suits certainly had similarities to the one that Grigsby wore on his visit to the Enterprise, but it seemed these had a bit more refinement perhaps. Worf wasn't entirely sure, but even to him they seemed to be distinct models from that of the scavenger. These ones bore the signs of battle: Scarred plating, carbon scouring, dents and rents, on one it seemed the outer layer had been melted or otherwise burned away on one shoulder to reveal an under layer of plating or materials or perhaps other components, that was something for the engineers to determine later. Even their rifles, notably different from Grigsby's visibly, albeit roughly the same scale, were giant blocks of metal with grips.
The helmet of the middle suit opened, revealing a tired and grizzled looking woman perhaps in her mid-thirties. He she looked over the four security officers and Worf got the distinct feeling she wasn't particularly impressed.
"So," she started slowly. "You're the 'pajama folk' the reaper told us about," she looked over each of them in turn. "God damn it, you couldn't have had the decency to bring your armor?" She swallowed a frustrated sigh. "Sergeant Elisa Clayton. Now, what the hell is it you want? Unless you can magic away those mortars like a Protoss or something, you're just walking targets for the Cresties." Worf gave his best frown and reigned in his frustration. Regardless of the pressure the sergeant was under, he wasn't going to let insults drag things down, even if part of him wanted to metaphorically bite back. He nodded to Ensign Kershaw, the younger man would act as his interpreter for the time being.
"I am Lieutenant Worf, chief of security aboard the USS Enterprise. Commander Riker sent us ahead to make contact and render assistance where possible. At the very least, I can help to better organize the defense here until reinforcements arrive, but preferably I would like to find a way to take this fight to the Cardassians," he kept his tone level and professional, like he always tried to regardless of his feelings on things. The immediate reaction to his words though seemed to be confusion with a mix of shock if the sergeant's features were any indicator.
Shockingly, Clayton actually smiled. "Huh…old Rodney was right. That translator of yours may as well be magic. Hah. I think we have much to discuss, friend. Our position here is tenuous, but any help you may give is welcome. Especially if it helps push these bastards off our planet." To Worf's own surprise, he found himself smiling.
Worf and his chosen ensigns were soon clustered around a table along with the sergeant. Even to the less experienced ensigns, the situation became more dire the more they examined the map that Sergeant Clayton had provided. The Cardassian mortars occupied a ridge nearby, providing an opportune position to fire upon the militia and their civilian charges. What sat ill with Worf was that, according to Clayton, the Cardassians almost certainly had the militia outnumbered, and they had the mortars cutting off the road as an easy avenue of retreat. Despite his best effort, he wasn't the most familiar with all of the Cardassian military's infantry weapons, but it was clear to everyone present that if they could hit the road beyond the warehouse, then it stood to reason that the Cardassians should have been able to shell the warehouse and its defenders directly.
"So…why haven't they just leveled the place?" the question came from Kershaw. He was perhaps speaking out of turn, but it was what everyone had been asking without actually saying it. "I mean, I wouldn't call the Cardassians stupid," he continued. "Bloodthirsty, yeah. Cruel, given some of the…things we've seen since we got here, but unless their teams are that bad at their jobs, why aren't they just shelling and storming the place?" Clayton gave a shrug.
"Beats me, kid. Best guess? The last time they made a big push, even with the mortars shelling us, we forced them back. CK-27s, Ferromags and other small arms for folks who aren't in powered armor is one thing. But this," she tapped the rifle at her side, "C-14s are a whole other thing. Five hundred rounds per mag, each shot going five times the speed of sound, plus pretty damn accurate and a high rate of fire? They didn't much like being on the receiving end of that. Even if these are the older variants that still fire the eight millimeter spikes. Sure, these ain't the Great War variants that anyone outside of PA and decent upper body strength could use, but twenty of them going at once? Guess they weren't expecting an isolated group like us to put out that sort of fire. Or maybe they've just been testing us the whole time. I've heard nothing from anyone higher up the chain. For all I know we're the last militia on this planet. That doesn't explain why they're not just shelling us to hell though."
The ensigns shared a mutually concerned look as she described her weapon. "Brutal" was the first word that came to mind. Kershaw was pretty sure he didn't want to see what one of the rounds from that rifle did to someone. He'd already seen what the smaller weapons could do. Still, as he looked over the map, at the Cardassian mortar position and suspected strong points in the forest around the warehouse, his intuition told him something was terribly wrong, wrong beyond the situation at hand that was. The Sergeant's map and notes were fairly detailed as he scanned over it all, attempted routes of advances, attempted flanking maneuvers, an estimate on troop strength he doubted was at all reliable given the Cardassian force they'd run into at the development. The Cardassians had this place near encircled, they had the mortars, so what were they missing? Kershaw couldn't find an answer, and a pit formed in his stomach, realizing that there was something here they couldn't see. His chain of thought was broken as the lieutenant went to speak, only to be interrupted by an uproar coming from the forest, and the distinct sound of agonized and terrified screams. All of them bolted upon, almost moving in unison, but the two colonists in their armors quickly outpaced the Federation team.
"Perimeter patrol!" Clayton shouted into her comms unit, "What the hell is going on! What direction and where!" Her rifle snapped up as she stormed out of the warehouse, tensed and ready for what was almost certainly an enemy attack. The Federation officers caught up shortly thereafter. Oddly, they could hear laughter coming from the sergeant's armor.
"I think it's fine, sarge," came the reply. "I think a group of cresties ran afoul of Ripmaw." The security team, even Worf to an extent, shared concerned looks.
"What the hell is a Ripmaw!" It was one of the ensigns, and he sounded about as terrified the Cardassians had. His question was also answered as the ground nearby erupted and from it emerged a creature that looked part bug and part snake, prompting one of the ensigns to lock up, another to fall over with a shout of shock, and much to Worf's surprise, Kershaw brought his phaser rifle up, aimed squarely at the thing's head, only to have his rifle forced back down by the sergeant.
The thing was covered in what was clearly hard carapace armor, its somewhat pointed and snubbed face clearly that of a predator given the jaws and teeth and mandibles, that and what looked like an unfortunate Cardassian's leg poking out of the maw. The twin bladed, scythe-like limbs it had for arms were wicked, and much like its face, covered in blood. There were also some rippling openings along its distended, armor crested head, but none of the Federation officers wanted to find out if those were weapons or not. The thing looked like it even take on one of the heavily armored colonists and quite probably win just from how vicious it looked.
"That," Clayton started, pointing at the monstrous thing, "is Ripmaw. Not that it's his actual name. We just call him that cause you need seven different jaw parts to pronounce his real one," she smirked, and the thing narrowed its eyes at her. "He's one of our local Zerg. Or Primals as they call themselves. They're different from the rest in that they can think for themselves more easily, just in case you didn't know. That's my understanding at least." Kershaw looked between her and the thing, not sure if he was more aghast at the bloodstained thing in front of him or how casual the woman was being about its presence.
"There's more of them?" his question was almost panicked. She looked at him with a shrug and a slight small.
"Well, there's also the zergling but I don't know where that one got off to. They're usually more aloof than Ripmaw, but they've never hurt no one. I wouldn't be surprised if that 'ling is giving the cresties hell elsewhere. They got dropped here after escaping some dumbass pirates that scooped them up while hunting for Zerg to sell. Take a guess as to how that ended for those dumbasses. Seriously, a pissed off hydralisk is no joke. Don't pay him much mind though. He won't bite if you don't piss him off, so long as you don't bother him before he's had his morning coffee, and just don't block his AC," She laughed, all the while the thing just sat there, chewing and looking at the Federation team in an appraising and predatory way, even if it did glare at Clayton for a moment. To his credit, Worf simply stared back. When he'd heard Grigsby describe the Zerg, he wasn't entirely sure what he'd been expecting, the man hadn't provided visual proof of any of his claims, and yet now this one was staring him literally in the face.
"Is there anything else about this…Ripmaw," he very carefully avoided saying "thing" or "creature" figuring that either would end this meeting poorly, "that we should know about?" He may have recognized it as a threat from the moment it emerged, but he wasn't going to actively provoke the thing. Some may have described his as brazen at times despite his self-control, but he wasn't a suicidal idiot. The sergeant just shrugged again.
"Well, he can talk if that helps. Hey, Ripmaw, how do these freaks taste?" Her smile was borderline macabre. To make the scene worse somehow, the bug-snake-dino thing, this "hydralisk," actually shrugged before it gave a response. Its voice was like gravel.
"Essence is strange. Like Tear-an, but not. More adapted to hot climates. Gamey. Bitter. Annoyances. Interrupted hunt. More disruptive to world than Tear-an. Burn forests from sky. Kill for sport. Wasteful." He finished chewing whatever viscera had been dripping from his mouth, including the leg, and let out a huff. "Found this among annoyances. Thought Tear-an may find interest." With that, it unceremoniously threw some sort of tube on the ground between it and them, apparently having been held in one of its claws. At a nod from the lieutenant, Kershaw approached to inspect it.
Worf let out a sigh of building frustration and carefully disguised disgust. As glad as he was that the creature had apparently dealt with some Cardassians, that did little to change the situation, or the fact it had eaten intelligent beings. "Sergeant, I think it is clear that your people are running out of time, we need to act now. Between what happened in the small township we passed through to get her, on top of this incident, it's clear the Cardassians are not only growing bolder, but they will soon encircle you completely if something is not done." The woman sighed in turn, shaking her head. The Zerg just sat there, watching.
"I don't disagree, but our options are incredibly limited. I don't have any heavy weapons, and sure, my boys and I could probably just sprint through the barrage they're using to block us in, but the civvies and light militia can't. Anyone in CMC would out pace them so much it wouldn't even be something a man with a gambling addiction could bet on." As the two discussed the situation and their options, Kershaw examined the tube the Zerg had found.
There was something about it that was familiar, something that made his stomach tighten like when he'd been looking at the map and the information it presented. The discussions between the lieutenant and the sergeant became background noise to him. He whipped out his tricorder, hoping something in its large database would find be a match, but he had a dark suspicion he already knew what this was, in some form at least. The tube clearly bore signs of hasty and recent modification, specifically two grips and a crude sight, one with what looked like a rudimentary trigger system. He felt sweat roll down the back of his neck, he didn't want to be right. If he was, the sergeant and her people were in more danger than they realized. His tricorder pinged.
"Sergeant," he heard the lieutenant's voice, but for some reason it seemed more distant than it realistically should have been. "I think we have little choice. Based on the information you've provided, I think the most prudent course of action is to take your marines and attack the Cardassian mortar position now. I can stay here and help keep the militia organized, but if what you say about your armor's capabilities is true, your marines and the four reapers are the only ones who can cross distance in time and still have a chance to disable the mortars. With the Cardassian positions in the forest, we can't afford to wait and skirmish with them." Clayton cursed, verbosely. In any other situation it may have been comically colorful.
"Damn it, I was afraid you'd say that. I don't want to move my marines out of this position, they're probably the one thing holding the cresties-uh-Cardassians back. I don't want to, but we may not have a choi-"
"Don't!" Kershaw's shout caught the attention of everyone nearby, even the Zerg. The man was practically drenched in sweat, and it seemed only partially because he realized he'd just shouted towards two superiors. If Worf didn't kill him, the embarrassment might.
"Ensign Kershaw," Worf's teeth grinding was practically audible, "explain yourself, now." Kershaw gulped and nodded.
"Lieutenant! I'm sorry, sir, but I think the sergeant taking her people forward like that is what the Cardassians want," he explained rapidly, so rapidly he was afraid he'd garbled his words. When they didn't say anything, he took that as a sign to continue, hefting the tube as he did. "My tricorder registered this as a Cardassian mortar, but it's been modified, sir," he pointed out the additional grips and the sight. "And I think it's been modified for direct fire. I think they turned it into an improvised launcher to use against the sergeant and her uh…her marines, sir." He gulped again as the sergeant and her interpreter stomped forward, her brow furrowed in anger, before she took the tube and examined it for herself.
"Son of a bitch! I think your man is right, Lieutenant. Kitbashed doesn't even begin to describe this, but I think he's right. Clever, not sure how well it'd work, but it just needs to work 'well enough' I suppose. Shit." Worf looked at the terrified ensign for a moment, and gave him a rare nod of approval before turning to the two colonists.
"Sergeant, how well protected are you and your marines from the Cardassian mortars while inside your armor?" She shrugged, her tone low.
"I've not lost anyone to a direct hit yet. We've had some wounds and suit damage from these things, but that's it. As for how well our armor would handle a direct hit…" Another shrug and a low curse. "Hell if I know. CMC is good at a lot of things, but it depends on the quality and make of the armor and what you got it kitted out with. Marshal Wilks used to be one of Jimmy Raynor's own raiders. According to him, by the end of the last war, the Raiders were fielding some variant of CMC that gave a man a decent chance of survival if he got tagged by a siege tank's cannon or something like that. I don't know if Wilks was exaggerating for effects or not, I've never been near gear like that, and I wouldn't want to push my luck even if we had Raider gear. I'm not sure how many shots it'd take to breach our armor on a direct hit with this thing, but that's not something I want to put to the test either way." Kershaw cleared his throat to get their attention, even though right now he wanted to be anywhere but near two thoroughly pissed off superiors.
"If I may, ma'am, I-uh-I think that's what they were planning, and I think they got a bit cocky, that or Ripmaw here just saved your life and those of your marines. I think they were using the mortars to delay you, knowing you wouldn't leave the civilians and lighter militia behind. Then while they had you pinned-"
"They send out probing attacks and made to encircle us while they made these things. Clever sons of bitches, I'll give them that much," she ground out, tipping the tube over to make sure it was unloaded and then crushing the tube in her armored grip. "God damn it, what the hell now then? They've probably got more positions we don't know about than are marked onthe map, and we have no damn idea how many of these launchers they may have ready. I can't risk taking my marines in an assault on the mortars now. They're the only ones that could make it from here to the warehouse and survive the mortars, if we committed to a front assault. There was also the forest, and that stops a group of marines in CMC about as much as open terrain, but that means jack shit if we walk into an ambush with these launchers prepared from all sides. They've probably got some hidden on the ridges to. It wouldn't matter how we'd advanced, straight down the middle, we get flanked. Go through the forests and we get encircled. Either way we'd risked getting picked off before the mortars are dead, and without my marines, the others will just get overrun anyway."
"Uh-I may have an idea," Kershaw's voice was a bit strangled, but somehow the curious looks from Clayton and Worf spurred him to keep going. "But we're going to need the reapers, and uh…m-maybe Ripmaw." The Zerg looked at him curiously in turn at that.
"Well go ahead kid," Clayton drawled. "Your LT hasn't shut you up yet. Can't be a worse idea than what my original thinking was." He nodded; he could feel the sweat starting to soak his uniform.
"If the Cardassians are expecting your marines to move forward ma'am, then we do what may be the one thing they won't expect, especially since they don't know about the reapers and Ripmaw," he paused to clear his throat. "Day or night, I don't think it much mattered when you sent out your marines. Even if that armor has something to help you see in the dark-"
"Flood lights and fancy visor tech," Clayton interrupted. Kershaw just nodded, oddly the more he talked the more grounded he felt
"Right," he continued, "so…I'm thinking we'll need some of the other militia. There are four us, so…no more than eight militia. If we leave at night, we may be able to get to the mortars and do something about them. If their positions in the forest have been disrupted that is. That's where Ripmaw and the reapers come into the picture." He pointedly looked at the Zerg and where the reapers were sitting, the former notably bearing something akin to a smirk on its face. The other ensigns weren't sure what was more unsettling, the smirk or one of their own suggesting this plan. Most concerning though was Clayton nodding her head along with Kershaw's words. She turned to Worf, a grim smirk on her face.
"Lieutenant, your man may just be onto something. It's basic, but it's something we can iron out until night fall. And honestly, even with all those cardies out there, a small group may just be able to make it through. Especially if they're circled around the fires, staring into the dark waiting for something to jump out at them," she chuckles mirthlessly. There was a grinding sound as well, and soon those assembled realized it was Ripmaw, sharpening his scythes against each other.
"It is plan. Better than death if stay. Will find little one, make annoyances suffer and know fear. Will show them price of interrupting hunt, disrupting planet. Death will repay death," a growl came from the Zerg. It may have been a laugh, prompting one from Clayton. With that, Ripmaw dove back into the dirt and was gone. Kershaw felt a rising sense of dread at what he may have just helped unleash, and yet for a reason he couldn't explain there was a growing sense of what he thought was exhilaration as well.
The Barakna, bridge
Stardate 44098.2
1745 Shipboard time
Gul Parvax Nantil was not a happy individual by any metric in any universe, and sitting on his bridge, his ship hiding in the upper atmosphere of a gas giant didn't help matters. Things had been going well at first, after the first landing zones had been secured, even in light of the loss of three cruisers. That still stung. He hadn't expected civilian ships to put up such a fight, even though it had been a futile one. The defending military vessels though had been a nasty surprise. It had been a fortunate thing his forces had managed to simply overwhelm them once the armed civilian ships had been dealt with. The armor on all of them had been tougher than he'd expected, and even with their lack of shields, the high velocity missiles the military ships had possessed, in addition to what had been kinetics and lasers, much to the shock of him and his officers, had proven devastatingly effective. The three lost ships were a testament to that. The fight on the ground had been going slower than he'd have liked, but he was confident he could win, although the casualty rate would likely be higher than usual.
The local upstarts had refused to vacate the planet and surrounding space, even after the initial bombardment of surface elements. Whether or not they knew they were in violation of the demilitarized zone, it did not matter. They weren't of the Federation, that much was clear and that they were not part of it was not a factor, but they were still clearly human. This region, despite being in the DMZ, had been claimed by Cardassia, and her military would not allow these interlopers to remain. Their removal was all that mattered, especially after the attempt at ordering them to leave failed. It was almost like they didn't have any respect for authority given the initial report. Still, if the Federation did not know of this colony's existence, then all the better.
'So why then,' he ground his teeth, 'did the damned Enterprise of all ships arrive in this system? No Federation colony resists this hard, no Federation colony makes use of ballistics-ballistics of all things!-and no Federation colony makes use of any of the other technology we've seen on that planet or in the space around it. They're not of the Federation, any fool can see that. No humans I know of would resist like these people. So why did the Federation's flagship come out this far? Distress call aside, our intelligence said it wasn't anywhere near this region of space.' He looked over the last reports he'd received before he ordered his ships to scatters. As much as it disgusted him, part of him respected how fiercely these colonists were resisting. In some ways the technology they'd displayed so far was, by most standards primitive. 'But that does not mean ineffective. A slug to the chest will kill you as dead as any disruptor. It probably needs fewer complex parts too.' He smirked. It was absurd, completely absurd that he'd have any respect for these people or the technology they'd displayed. Between their weapons and even their lightest personal armors seen thus far, and the tenacity with which they resisted even after the bombardment to what he was sure were key areas, there was a spirit to them that was all too familiar.
Besides, as much as some would consider their technology primitive, Nantil couldn't help but admire it in some way. It was certainly novel and at this juncture, only an idiot would deny that it was effective. Their missile turrets, the ones that had intercepted some of the shuttles his forces had attempted to use to circumvent hard points, had proven they were more than capable of destroying those ships, and that was in spite of the shields on the shuttles. Even with the shuttles being armed, as was standard for them, the turrets had held out long enough to force a retreat and an abandonment of any notion of an airborne assault within their range, and of course transporting directly into an enemy position was suicide. Then there had been the tanks, actual tanks according to the reports of survivors. It had almost been an amusing idea until he learned of the effective carnage they sowed in any formation that became clustered. Apparently the things could transform between a mobile mode with two main guns, and some sort of stationary artillery mode that outranged the mortars of his forces. In this day and age, most nations thought that such ground technologies were obsolete and not worth pursuing. These people had clearly thought otherwise, and were using what seemed to be an extensive system of tunnels to move these vehicles around, however many of them there were. They'd appear, fire off a few shots, and then flee to the tunnels before his ships could triangulate their positions and destroy them. It was proving to be an annoyingly effective tactic, and if the colonists had a sufficient number of them, then with his ships no longer in orbit he could foresee them pushing his forces back.
'Not that it changes anything. We're winning on the ground as of last reports, and once we control the orbitals again, we can bombard their tanks to slag, no matter how many they have. Their technology is dangerous, potent, even as some may call it primitive. They'll die valiantly, but they'll die for nothing. A shame. They'd make a fine addition to Cardassia's ranks with that sort of spirit. Besides, any personal armor that can withstand repeated hits from a disruptor, even in its lightest form, is nothing to scoff at. Whatever that material is, discovering the means to make it would be a great gain.' He looked at the data feed in front him, and frowned again. 'That is, assuming the Enterprise doesn't interfere more than it already has. That won't be the case though,' his frown deepened as he leaned forward, his head resting on his hands. 'What are you doing out here, Picard? Was it the energy surge? The myriad transmissions from what was once dead space? I'll admit, we're still no closer to solving either mystery, but if you're here, then that means at the very least you know something. You're the captain of the Federation's premier ship. Even on Cardassia we hear the stories. So what, Jean-Luc, is going through your head right now?' There was the chime of an alert.
"Sir!" It was one of his glinns. "The Enterprise just launched a series of probes towards the outer reaches of the system. It raised shields immediately afterwards. Sir, if these trajectory readings are right, those probes will find us once they start sending out sensor pings and scanning the surrounding space." Nantil was, if not shocked, then at the very least vexed. He figured someone of Picard's reputation would make an effort at finding him and his ships, but to use Federation probes in anything resembling a military manner was profoundly unheard of, it made a logical sense though. Their maneuvering and sensor systems were some of the best in the known galaxy. 'Very clever, Picard, but those trajectories are deliberate,' his brow furrowed, 'and far too close to our hiding places to be mere chance. In your position I'd have probed the gas giants as well, and perhaps the asteroid field after that, but those probes will stop at near perfect points to detect us after a few sensor pings. How did you do it, Picard?'
"Zoom in on Picard's ship, we've missed something, and I want to know what before those probes detect us," his tone was level, stern, nothing betraying the mix of grudging respect and anger that was growing in his chest. The order was carried out with no delay, and soon the Enterprise filled his viewscreen, and floating into the void of space nearby was one of the interloper vessels, small drones coming and going to it either alone or in pairs. He couldn't help but smile. 'Oh, now that is clever, Picard. You've made a little friend with a very interesting assortment of technology. You must have used those to isolate our plasma wakes further from the planet, and just used those little drones to follow us from there, and now you've sent out the probes to finish the job. If you were Cardassian, I'd commend you for your initiative.' His officers dared not look at him. A gul smiling like Nantil was now was rarely ever a good thing.
"Send a signal to our other ships. Tell them to move to encircle the Enterprise. They'll find us eventually as it is, there's little point in ceding more of the initiative than we already have. I want all ships to maintain silent operation where possible. The longer we avoid those probes, the better." His smile grew as he felt his ship begin to move. Some would call it arrogance, some would call it suicidal, but even if this didn't end in an exchange of fire, he was going to enjoy this. He so rarely got to spar with someone of Picard's reputation.
Enterprise-D, Bridge
Stardate 44098.2
1835 Shipboard time
The tension on the bridge had not abated since the departure of the away team, if anything it had simply grown more oppressive. Picard had tried to focus on finding the Cardassian ships, but most of that was in the hands of Grigsby and Data, and he'd already compiled what he could into a report for Starfleet at the current time. He'd even made sure to take full responsibility in one version of the draft should the entire away team be killed in action, as losses like that were unheard of in most Starfleet operations. Feeling the hours tick by, just sitting his chair staring at the data coming in from first Grigsby's drones and now the probes was maddening. 'Where are you?' his thoughts were dark. 'It's unlike a Cardassian to turn away from battle. What are you planning? You have to know that we're here, and yet you continue to evade us. You're either unusually cowardly for a Cardassian or you're more clever than most we faced in the war, and I severely doubt it's the former. What do you think you can gain here? You have to know the Enterprise can more than match three of your cruisers.'
"Sir," Data's voice was distant for a moment, "I believe I have detected the Cardassian cruisers. They're operating at a lower power output then is normal for their class, likely to try and avoid detection. At current estimates, they will enter standoff range in one hour." Picard blinked. One hour? The Cardassian gul in charge had managed to elude the drones and probes long enough and managed to get that close to the Enterprise? Part of him was impressed; he'd have expected a maneuver such as that from a Romulan, even accounting for their cloaking devices, but a Cardassian? That was highly unusual. Even with his ships outmatched by the Enterprise, he'd still managed to get uncomfortably close without raising an alarm.
"Mister Data, open a channel to those ships, audio and visual. I want whatever gul is in charge to know the game is up," he stood voice stern and jaw set as Data carried out the order. "This is Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the Federation starship Enterprise to the Cardassian vessels! You are in violation of the demilitarized zone and have taken hostile action against the inhabitants of this planet in direct violation of the treaty between the Federation and the Cardassian Union. Explain yourselves, immediately." A Cardassian gul and parts of his ship's bridge filled the viewscreen. He wore a smile, but it was the most mirthless and perhaps cruel bastardization of one Picard had ever seen.
"Captain Picard…" that smile grew, teeth being barred to the Enterprise's captain. "It really is you, isn't it? I am Gul Parvax Nantil, commanding from the Barakna. It is an honor to make your acquaintance, captain. Your reputation reaches even to Cardassia." His tone was almost genial; perhaps there was even an undercurrent of joy to it. Picard's eyes narrowed. He was in no mood for whatever game the gul was trying to play.
"That you are honored has little bearing on this conversation, Gul Nantil. You have not answered my question. Why are you and your forces in this region of the DMZ, and why have you attacked the inhabitants of this world?" The man's smile receded a bit, but it remained, cocky, and self-assured. Behind Picard, Troi's own eyes narrowed. This man was far too confident for the position he was in, she could feel that much.
"Captain Picard, I am here on orders of Cardassian High Command. This is an illegal colony that is itself already in violation of the demilitarized zone between our nations, and this is in conjunction with the fact we are in the process of renegotiating this region's ownership with the Federation pertaining to claims on it prior to the war," his tone became clinical. "When we attempted to peacefully contact the inhabitants of this world, they refused to listen to our demands to leave. We were prepared to give them ample time to vacate the region, but they forced our hand. I and my forces were sent to expedite their removal, by any means necessary. This is not a Federation matter, Picard. Your own Prime Directive prevents interference by your action here. This is a Cardassian matter and that alone."
'So that's the game you want to play, very well then,' Picard held the gul's gaze; he wasn't going to blink, not now. "Gul Nantil, the Enterprise is here for two reasons, firstly to investigate the energy discharge and unknown transmissions now broadcasting from this region of space, and secondly to render aid to the colonists of this world. This became a Federation matter the moment one of their own approached us once we detected the distress call, as we are obligated to render aid if possible. That it is your forces that necessitated the signal be sent out does not have any bearing on our actions here. You are in violation of the DMZ and the treaty, regardless of the matter of ongoing negotiations, and you have attacked a planet belonging to an unaligned third party, a party, or perhaps even an entire region of space that may be victims of the entity the Federation knows as Q. I would be derelict in my duty as a Starfleet captain if I did not render assistance to these people and worked to understand what exactly it was that brought them here." He paused, waiting to see how the gul would respond. The man laughed, it was as mirthless and cruel as his smile and Picard had to fight to suppress a shudder at the sound of it.
"Captain Picard, you cannot expect me to believe all of that, and I say that believing you when you say that this Q may be involved. Even on Cardassia we've heard the rumors of this enigmatic being and his apparent obsession with you and your ship. Even if it was that this Q was behind it all, and I'll admit it would perhaps explain the discharge of energy our frontier posts detected, it does not change things even if they have altered this formerly dead region of space in a radical way. These colonists are holding territory claimed by Cardassia," he leaned forward, that smile of his becoming predatory. "And besides, Picard, you really expect me to believe you came out to this world just because one of their own, a scavenger by the looks of it at that, asked you to? If that really is the case, then the hypocrisy of the Federation is palpable. I mean, can you really not see how delightfully and amusingly hypocritical of you this is? The Bajorans have been begging the Federation for help for, what? Forty, fifty years now? Yet the Federation has done nothing! You've rebuffed every begging plea they've made and yet the moment single scavenger begs you for help you come running like a, what is the old human idiom? A knight in shining armor? Please, Picard, don't insult my intelligence like this. It's beneath a captain of your reputation."
"Captain," it was Troi. Picard motioned for the audio to be silenced; she wouldn't have interrupted unless it was something important. "The gul firmly believes he is speaking from a position of power and advantage. He almost certainly knows that three cruisers are no match for the Enterprise in an open fight. There's something we're missing here, captain, but Nantil is guarding his emotions well. Whatever it is that's giving him this confidence, it's enough to spur him on to openly confront you like this, and I am getting the feeling he's enjoying the spar." Picard nodded. Yet more information to add to his worry. What was Nantil planning? He signaled for the audio to be reactivated.
"Gul Nantil," he let just a bit of anger enter his voice, just enough to get the other man's attention. "I do not care if you believe me or not, or what you think of Federation policy or the Prime Directive. These people have been victimized, at the very minimum by you, and likely by Q before you. You have attacked a single colony out what may now be a very highly populated region of space! I will not allow your aggression to go unanswered, and if need be I will take action to defend both the Enterprise and the colony. I do not want to see this escalate to further bloodshed, but if you leave me no choice I will destroy you and your vessels." Nantil simply leaned back in his chair.
"I have reports from my glinns on the ground I must answer, Picard, but you are most certainly welcome to try. Although, if you do manage to win, will your vessel still be in any shape to alter the course of the battle on the ground? Do you have what it takes to fire on the planet to destroy my forces down there? I know you are alone out here, Picard. I know about the losses the Federation recently suffered at Wolf-359. You are alone here; it is just you and I, and right now I have all the time in the world to wait. Can you say the same?"
Konnie, forests outside Little Grove
Stardate 44098.2
1930 local time
'If I make it out of this,' Kershaw groused, 'I am going to make it a point in my report that standard Starfleet uniforms are utter trash for crawling around a forest on an alien world. The same goes for these shoes. Forget naval tradition, I'll take a good pair of boots over these things any day at this point. I'm going to have to bin this uniform, no way am I getting these stains out.' He continued to crawl along the forest flow, the night air rendering it damp, and the light rain certainly didn't help things. 'At least it means the Cardassians won't patrol quite as far out. Maybe. Or maybe the reapers and Zerg just scared them that badly.'
Off to his left, he could see one of the Cardassian positions, their guards drawn in tightly, many of them huddled in tents, under lean-tos, clustering around fires or other sources of light and heat. They were casting furtive glances out into the dark; some of them bore signs of recent wounds or having been near those that had been wounded or killed. Despite his training as a Starfleet officer, he found it difficult to pity them. It was amazingly difficult to have respect for life when the life in question had attacked innocent people, burned their homes, and in some cases made sport of them. If anything, he found it fitting that the Cardassians were now the ones huddled up and terrified for their lives. The reapers and Zerg had clearly taken a toll on them, the sounds of fighting and terror echoing through the forest well before night fell, and now that it had it brought the Cardassians no peace of mind. 'I wonder if this was what third great-grandad felt back in the wars, before we had spaceflight? Dad's always talking about that time.'
He shook his head, he needed to focus. They were close to the mortars now, so very close. It was him, the other ensigns and the lieutenant and eight of the colonist militia now, the reapers and Zerg somewhere out there in the dark, keeping watch and waiting to strike. They were all carrying several grenades, more than enough, it was hoped, to clear out the Cardassian mortar position once the team was close. Then it came down to running like hell while the reapers and Zerg added to the confusion to help the strike team get away. That was the plan at least. 'Not like any of this has gone to plan since we beamed down.'
They moved forward slowly, nanometer by nanometer. He wasn't even sure entirely where the others were most of the time, just that they were nebulously out there in the dark with him. Eventually, they were at the side of the ridge, and making their way up it. He could hear the Cardassians now, speaking in hushed, paranoid tones. First would be the hail of grenades, then they'd shoot everything that was still moving, slag the mortars, and run like hell was on their heels. It wasn't much of a plan arguably, but it was the best they could manage with what they had to work with. Not that this helped Kershaw's increasingly knotted guts calm down at all. Soon they were near the rest of the ridge; he could see the lights from where the Cardassians had set up their mortars. If even one of them wandered around to relieve himself it could jeopardize the entire team. There was a grim sort of humor to that, part of him realized. That for all they'd done just to get here, one Cardassian going to empty his bladder may ruin the entire thing.
He held his breath. Any moment now, the order would come. He was sure of it. Any moment now. The wait was murderous. He had to trust all the others were in position, ready to throw and then move. He clutched the grenade tightly in his off hand. It was an odd juxtaposition of an image, a Starfleet security officer holding a primitive explosive device designed to maim with metal shrapnel. He had to keep from thumbing the activator for the explosive. It wouldn't be armed until he removed that, but it had to consciously stop himself even touching it until then. 'It's just nerves,' he thought to himself. 'It's just nerves.'
"Throw!" That was the Lieutenant, at least he thought so. It was a bit difficult to tell with his heart hammering in his ears. He threw, and he saw his grenade arc into the air followed by several others, then by blasts and screams. He threw again, and again, and then for a final time, each volley accompanied by more blasts, more screaming and the moaning of the wounded. He could barely hear this close to it all, but part of him was grateful for that, yet another part realized how important his sense of hearing was and wished he'd had something to protect it in this moment. It was an odd contradiction. There was another shout, it sounded like an order to advance, but he wasn't sure. He waited a moment to see and as the others seemed to be rising near at once, he followed suit, surging with them over the crest of the ridge and moving quickly towards the mortar pits, rifle at the ready.
A Cardassian popped out in front of him, half the man's face burned and pitted by the heat of a blast and shrapnel. He fired, the beam lancing from his rifle and striking the Cardassian in the chest, he didn't let up on the trigger until he was sure he saw the man fall back into the pit. Another step, another two, time felt fluid again, like it had back in the housing development. Before he knew it, he was in the pit the Cardassian had occupied moments before, even with scattered and errant disruptor bolts flying around him. He was breathing heavily, more out of shock than exertion. He looked to the dead man for a moment, the disruptor still in his grip. He tore his eyes away, he still had a job to do as he leveled his own weapon at the mortar and fired until the thing was glowing slag.
He heard the others doing the same in pits nearby, slagging the mortars or otherwise disabling them. The Cardassians were still disorganized, trying to rally an even semi-effective defense. He covered one of the colonists, ensuring the man stormed a nearby pit, rifle blazing at the Cardassians inside. He picked off one that stepped out from behind a tree, putting a smoking hole through his chest. Another he caught in the leg, sending them tumbling off the ridge. A disruptor bolt boiled the air and ground as it struck in front of him and he ducked back down. 'This is insane!' He couldn't concentrate on everything, he could only take in, process and act on so much at once, and as the Cardassian fire intensified, he realized his hopes of doing more than that were diminishing. There was a call to retreat, but from who he wasn't certain, he just agreed with whoever it was, it was time to go.
He blinked and he was out of the pit, it felt like he was half on autopilot, madly scrambling to get down the ridge from the way they'd came while at the same time trying not to lose his footing, all the while the Cardassians were trying to shoot him and others as they ran. They ended up in a cluster of trees, gasping to catch their breaths. All around was chaos.
The chattering of the colonist's weapons, the screams of phasers and disruptors, he realized he was shooting half blind, approximating where a target was based on the trail of their weapon's beam. He was still half deaf and that wasn't going to change any time soon. He felt a slap on his shoulder, one of the colonists.
"Your LT says fall back by threes! You and those two," the man pointed to two others, "are up next! Cover our asses! We just need to make it to the tree line!" He nodded, comprehending but not sure what their chances actually were. He could hear screams further into the darkness, roars, and the odd flash of fire, those creatures and the reapers setting about their bloody work. All the same, he added his rifle back to the slackening press of fire from his team, before breaking into a dead sprint with the two others.
Fire whirled around him, and soon from the right, and he and some others were forced to find shelter again, this time they were cut off from the rest. He saw Ensign Chelos trying to make it to his cluster of trees, but he jerked suddenly, struck by a shot and he fell. Kershaw didn't need a medic to know that Chelos was dead. The smoking hole in the back of his head was proof enough of that.
"Shit!" Part of him was surprised to find himself cursing aloud. That would have earned him a dressing down on the Enterprise probably. "We can't stay here! We need to move! You two!" He pointed to a pair of colonists, one of them was terrified, and the youngest was a kid who couldn't have been older than sixteen. "Get moving! We'll cover you! Just get to the tree line! Don't stop!" He and others raised the rifle as the pair just darted, doing everything they could to distract or draw the attention of the pursuing Cardassians or otherwise force them to keep their heads down. One of the colonists cursed near him. The man was out of ammunition for his rifle, reduced down to a sidearm that looked tiny in comparison to the larger weapon.
'We're almost there, but their fire is getting too heavy. Shit, they've rallied,' realization dawned on him. 'Shit, that's how they split us up, a group from one of the other camps manned up and just blindsided our flank. I didn't even see where the lieutenant went.' He ducked behind another tree, just barely avoiding the disruptor beams stabbing through the air, trying to catch his breath. He looked away from the fight for a moment, to the tree line where he could see the lights of the colonist's defenses. Something in the air shifted around him. The tree line was so close, a thirty second sprint away, but only if their avenue of advance was clear. He felt his muscles tense. Time slowed again, but he felt more aware of it now, more in control, even as he sighted up another Cardassian and burned him into the ground.
The cold and dampness earlier, the sweat now it, was all forgotten. It was replaced by a clarity he'd never known before now. His hearing came back, well enough he could hear the shouts all around, intermixed but oddly distinct. He thought he heard the lieutenant somewhere off to his left, about a hundred meters if he had to guess. Too far away to matter, especially with the Cardassians closing in, even as he swept his rifle over their lines, catching two more and forcing the others to dive for cover. 'Why am I so damn calm?' He sighted up another man, the beam of his phaser rifle lanced out; vaporizing part of his target's head, cauterizing what was left. He looked to the militiamen that were still with him, his brow furrowed in concentration, his eyes shining despite everything. "Stick, move and shoot! We're almost there! Just keep going!"
Somehow, they moved as one, phaser and ballistics sweeping over the Cardassians again and again as they ran, just enough to get the nearest cluster to back down for fear of catching a shot.
Twenty five seconds now, they were closer, he could hear the others fighting for their lives nearby, but he couldn't worry about them; he couldn't do anything to help over there. The here and now, him and these two colonists, that was what matter.
Twenty seconds, a beam singed his side, drawing a gasp of pain from him, even as he whirled and drilled the man who'd he presumed had taken the shot. He turned, continuing to run.
Fifteen seconds, he put one foot in front of the other, maintaining a rapid, steady pace even as his lungs burned, even as his parched throat screamed for water. They were almost there; one of the militia was at least two seconds ahead of him now.
Twelve seconds, he felt a shot burn into his right shoulder. He screamed, but the pain was dull, duller than it should have been. He turned and aimed his phaser with his one good arm now and fired. Quick short beams lanced out, he just needed them to keep their heads down.
Ten seconds, he felt a second shot hit his left leg. He stumbled, barely catching himself and dropping his rifle. He kept going.
Eight seconds, he felt a third shot hit his back, and then a fourth. He saw more than felt himself falling. He was upright one moment, then he blinked and in another he was on the ground, his heart hammering in his head again, he could feel how heavy and labored his breaths were, even as Cardassians went charging past him after the other two.
Six seconds, or so he thought, he started pulling himself forward with his good arm and pushing himself with his good leg. He was close now, he was on the ground, and multiple Cardassians had moved past him, he just needed to move.
He wasn't sure how long it was anymore, he'd blacked out, he saw Cardassians still ahead of him, and they'd stopped, taking cover from something. He couldn't tell what. It didn't matter, if he stayed he was dead, so he kept pulling himself forward, there was a chance that way.
He paused, having dragged himself several meters, there was a Cardassian nearby pressed against a tree. The two stared at each other in shock, not really comprehending each other for a long moment. The man went to raise his disruptor, the tree exploded into wood shrapnel, and Kershaw blacked out again, even if only for a couple of seconds. There wasn't much left of the Cardassian now, mostly chunks of meat and a smear on the terrain from what his clouded vision could see. There was heavy foot falls nearby, and soon he felt a strong metallic something grabbing hold of him, bundling him into a one armed carry.
"Just hang on, kid!" It was one of Clayton's marines, his rifling blazing away in his hand at threats Kershaw couldn't see. "You're going to be fine! Just hang on!" He shivered, he felt himself starting to black out again.
Konnie, bar inside unknown development
Stardate 44098.2
2235 local time
In any other circumstance, Riker would have felt elation at a group of refugees suddenly appearing at night. Right now, he was overwhelmed with concern and was frantically picking through the refugees and militia protecting them, both to help find the most wounded and make sure they got to the aid station first, and to find Worf and the ensigns he'd taken with him. His sense of urgency only increased when he saw one of the colonists in those behemoth suits of armor storm past him, carrying an unconscious Ensign Kershaw. He found Worf soon after, carrying a wounded man around his shoulder.
"Worf!" he shouted, flagging the security chief down as one of the other away team members helped take the wounded man away for treatment. "What happened? Where's Ensign Chelos?" The tightening of Worf's jaw told Riker everything he needed to know.
"I did as was ordered, sir. For now, the Cardassians that had hemmed in the colonists at the warehouse are in disarray, their weapons have been destroyed. I would advise, commander, that we begin preparing defensive positions. The reapers left to try and alert the colonial marshal as to the situation, but there is no way to know when or if further help will arrive. I have no doubt that the Cardassians will pursue as soon as they are able to do so."
Kershaw woke with a start. The first thing he noticed was that he was no longer in the forest. The second thing he noticed was the sensation of throbbing pain all over his body. He went to sit up, his vision still bleary when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He grabbed the wrist in a death grip, and brought his head around to look at the owner, it was one of the militia.
"Hey!" the man grunted in some discomfort from Kershaw's grip. "Calm down, buddy. You're safe. You're in the aid station your commander set up; you've been here for the last several hours. You owe one of Clayton's marines a beer later. He's the reason we got you back here in time for the docs to save your life. You were passed out and losing a lot of blood. You're still in bad shape, docs say you've got some bad burns on your organs." Kershaw stared at the man for a moment, breathing hard before relinquishing his grip and laying back down on what he now realized was a cot. Relief flooded his body, followed by fatigue, and then the incredulous realization that despite everything, he was still alive.
"So…" he asked the man, not really expecting a response, "what happens now?" The man shrugged.
"Right now, we wait and pray that the reapers get through to the marshal. If he gets help here in time, you and a bunch of other folks may just make it."
When dawn broke, it carried little immediate grace for the weary defenders of the small housing development. Clayton and her marines had taken shifts sleeping in their armors and keeping watch with what few of the militia had the spare energy to help. Most of the civilians had bunked where they could, and the Starfleet personnel were doing their best to help, mostly focused on the wounded. Riker and Worf, to their credit at least, did their best to keep the militia organized and alert despite the situation. What scant rations were handed out for breakfast, people slowly digging into what may soon be their last meals. Despite the successful escape at the warehouse, the overall mood was morose. No one had an idea of what to do now, or where to go. The morning stillness offered no answer. That the Cardassians had not yet seen fit to pursue them was perhaps a minor miracle.
As the next watch shift was doing their rounds though, a sound broke the still, one that immediately set all those present and awake on edge. They tightened their grips on their weapons, and looked outwards, expecting to see an emerging threat. When nothing came, but the sound grew closer, they looked to the sky. Some of the colonists cheered, and Riker found himself wondering what was happening when a ship appeared, flying low over the colony and making to land. He heard Clayton approach from behind, a tired chuckle coming from her.
"Well, I'll be damned. Those four crazy bastards made it. I don't know how they crossed that much ground so quickly, but hell if I'll complain. I don't know how the Marshal scrounged up a Hercules-class, but if it's here that means at the least your ship is keeping the cardies off the orbitals. Best get people mounted up, Commander Riker. That thing's got more than enough room for twenty marines and a bunch of folks not in CMC. The wounded may actually have a chance in hell now."
Konnie, Mount Whitecap military base, commander center
Stardate 44099.0
0950 local time
In a word, Riker was impressed. The colonists had chosen a strong position for their central military installation. A valley ensconced within parts of the mountain near their capital, further built up into a series of tunnels and fortified hard points and facilities, all of which was difficult to directly target with orbital bombardment due to the surrounding terrain. The tunnels were spread around the area and well concealed, and he didn't doubt any land approaches were covered by hidden bunkers and other defenses. Even the tunnels he did get a brief view of were clearly fortified, lined with bunkers capable of supporting the armored suits the colonists used. It was impressive, and he genuinely wondered how long they could hold out here as he and Worf were escorted directly to the Marshal. So enough they were inside the primary command center of the entire operation, the man himself armored like the marines that had been at the warehouse.
Marshal Wilks was old by many standards, that much was obvious, he was probably in his mid-sixties at the least, and the scars on his face, quite possibly from one of those Zerg creatures Riker realized, spoke of a near brush with death. The huge cigar poking out of his lips served to complete the ensemble, and made the man look almost like something form an old pre-Federation war film. To his credit, Wilks stood and listened to Riker's explanation of who, what and why without so much as blinking, the cigar smoldering the entire time. By the end of it, there was a slight smirk on his lips.
"Well, you've got my thanks Commander, Lieutenant," he said with a respectful nod. "You saved a lot of people, and brought back some badly needed marines. As far as I know, there are still isolated pockets of resistance across the colony, but most of forces and people are concentrated here now. Thankfully, the civilians are in the shelters deeper into the mountains, but that won't mean much if we don't get help soon," he took a puff before continuing. "As much as I appreciate your ship being in orbit, we need to retake the comms center in the capital proper. It's the one other place on the planet besides this base that's capable of broadcasting the distress signal, and it's also how the damn cresties are jamming us, and probably you folks to. Best guess from the engineers we got is that they probably adhoced something together out of their own gear and hooked it up to ours. They don't need to it be exact. They just need to flood all possible channels and frequencies with noise and make orbital sensors less reliable." Riker nodded with a tired sigh. He hadn't slept much the night before, but it made sense, it was also a fittingly Cardassian solution. Brute force the problem until it stops being a problem.
"I'd offer you further help, Marshal Wilks, but I know my away team isn't equipped for what you're intending. Still, I'm just glad we've helped in some way, and hopefully we'll be able to force the Cardassians to stand down once the comms station is secured." Wilks shook his head sadly.
"Commander, with what you had on hand, you've done enough as it is. If you want to do more, have your people focus on helping us with logistics and the wounded. Speaking of which, your man is being looked after by our medics right now. They say they can keep him stable, for the time being at least, but we can't afford to spare the high grade nanomeds for him," he paused to let Riker nod in affirmation. It was some good news at least. "But…I don't think you fully got the gravitas of what we're dealing with here," Wilks's tone grew dark. "You've got your ship in orbit right now, but I don't think these bastards are going to give up just because we got the distress signal going again, not with what they've brought." Riker and Worf shared looks that were equal parts confusion and concern.
"Marshal," Riker began slowly, "the Enterprise only detected the emissions of three Cardassian cruisers and two troopships. I don't think even the Cardassians are going to keep fighting against those odds." A hush descended on the room at his words. Wilks and his officers shared looks of shock and horror.
"God damn it…" Wilks ground out, crushing his cigar and partly denting the metal of the room's strategic table with a smack of his armored hand. "God damn it! So that's their game! That's why they let you into the orbitals!"
"Marshal, just what the hell do you mean by that?" Will's tone was ice. A cold, nameless fear stabbed at his heart. Wilks looked at him, his features hard set.
"You've been had, Commander! The damn cresties didn't bring just three cruisers and two troopships! If they had, we wouldn't still be holed up in this mountain! They brought fifteen of those warships you're callin' cruisers, and we got three! There are still twelve out there, and they've landed seven troopships on our planet!"
A/N: Welp, this is chapter 4 done. I hope you all enjoy. Comments and critique and all that are welcome as usual, I'll get around to addressing things as possible/making revisions as need be as they come up in discussion when I'm less...tired. Yeah, this was a big one, but I had a general idea of the points I needed to hit this chapter and just went for it. Chapter 5 will hopefully be a bit shorter next time, but we'll see I guess. I am going to take a bit of a break from writing though, or at least be a bit more sporadic with it for a bit after this, hope you all understand why. I don't want to burn myself out obviously.
Special thanks to Follower38 , Myuu , ShadedExalt , Kisame12794 , and TripleMRed for being beta readers for snippets/this whole freaking chapter and for being people I can just keep bouncing ideas and scenes off of till they work. Thanks guys, I wouldn't be posting this monster without you.
Spoiler: Changelog/Revisions
11/5/21 - Revamped the part where Worf first arrived at the warehouse, removed the need for interpreters (including Dmitri sadly) to fix the plot hole around that, and the mention of them in Nantil's first scene, still requires improvements in several scenes, including that one in other regards