The days to come were mostly tense. We spent a long time with patrols out digging zig-zag trenches down the ridge. They met at right angles to each other, meaning that even if one trench fell, the next would be viable. They were also forty-five degrees off from the roadway, so that if Jemmy tried to rappel his way up, we could still shoot at him just the same as if he took the road into the High Castle.
Then we manned the position. I had them filter into position after intensive tachyon sweeps. We accomplished all of this, somehow, in just under forty consecutive hours of work. Fox took the right side, Gold the centre, and Bravo the left. Echo was on garrison, while Delta patrolled. I can't tell you how many of those minutes I spent, in my office, with my eyes on the Big Board (as we took to calling it), watching every move. No casualties. Jemmy had backed right off.
Tim had installed sensory listening posts all over the place, when Echo was out on patrol through the lower city. The trenches were manned, from the skirmishing points on the floor to the pulse phaser cannon emplacements at the top of the ridge. No challenge was made. The place was empty. The calm was numbing. Even our subterranean listening posts couldn't detect a damn thing.
I personally think this was their plan all along. I had everyone checked by Dr. Singh for changeling infiltration. Nothing. I kept in touch with Sorvik by comms. Not a word. Not a shot fired. No mines. No goo. They knew exactly where we were. They knew exactly what we were up to. And nothing. For a very long time.
We knew that at some point beyond what we'd taken to referring to as Three Point Turn lay the Sixth Order. What they were waiting for, we didn't know, nor did we have the numbers to contest them. Command intended for them to meet us, in Jemmygrad. Maybe they had the same idea in their own positions. It was a tense couple days. We did what we could to keep from freaking right out.
That night I had Tim replicate us some of the finest steaks available and told everyone to bring it into the Castle or the trenches. One company on the left, one on the right, one on garrison, two down the centre, and one in reserve. I told the sergeants to leave the seconds in command and join me in my office, where all six of them, as well as myself, Tim, Alri and Julia sat down to a well-deserved feast.
"To Starfleet," I said. "For giving us the chance to make the Two-Oh-Second the pride of the Marine Corps, and for giving the First of the Fourth the opportunity to make it proud."
"To Starfleet," came the reply. And so we ate. Talk was minimal. We all hadn't tasted meat this good for months. Tim really went all out modifying that replicator.
Afterwards, Julia went with Tim to check the trenches and just generally look around-- neither of them could escape the edge of the blade we were all hovering upon. It was odd, then, to realize that all of us in that one place were from the same Federation, but so diverse. Price, from Chicago. Pelletier, from Montreal. Bellamy, from the former Demilitarized Zone, one of the so called Federation Loyalists. M'Nurr, a Caitian. Welsh, who was from some backwater planet or another. Alri Magro, a Bajoran. And me. The kid from Riel, a tiny village on Setlik III.
Two conversations, really, were going on afterwards. Alri and M'Nurr were talking to Bellamy about their times in trenches. M'Nurr had served as a combat engineer along the Zone, helping to relocate villagers and their stuff. Bellamy had willingly left, but Alri had taken a different tack. I didn't know if she was Maquis-- but then, she didn't know if I'd been Maquis, so we had that just about even.
On the other side of the room, Welsh, Pelletier and Price were getting on real close, talking about Jemmy, trying to figure him out. They were also trading stories. On one side of the room I had the results of Federation policy towards the Cardassians. On the other, I had the Dominion War --not yet unfolded to the point of being policy.
All of a sudden, everyone went quiet all at once. Nobody spoke for a moment. They all looked around to see what everyone else was talking about.
It was Price who spoke. "Back home, we call this a sign that an angel's passing by."
Everyone chuckled for a moment. Then I added, "way things are going to go, I'd appreciate if she stuck around."
There was another chuckle, more somber, that followed. Everyone had suddenly grown introspective, it seemed, like just for a moment, the presence of a supernatural --or superstitious-- entity had drawn all of us into our own minds. I know the angel I was thinking about. Part of me was glad she wouldn't be there when the fighting started.
My commbadge broke the silence. "Walters to Dixon."
"Dixon. Go ahead."
"You better come out and see this, boss."
Naturally, I didn't hesitate. I went outside and crossed the front gate. Overhead there was a massive front of clouds, charged with electrostatic energy, which was breaking in every direction-- including down. Tim came walking up to me.
"This installation is grounded, right?"
"Complete EM shielding. Otherwise Jemmy could toast our computers."
"Sure. And how are they holding up?"
"Just great." I could see the purple horizon of the planet-- six, seven, eight bolts of white lightning crashing across the surface.
"What's that black spot over there?" I asked. It was the first time I'd paid any attention to it.
Julia had come walking up, and raised a set of snoopers to her eyes. "No, no," Tim said, raising his arm. "Lemme see." He closed his organic eye and peered through the Borg one. "I count... two hundred and eighty-eight Cardassian soldiers. Scanning the EM band--- and a legion of Jemmy. Anywhere from sixty-four to seventy-two."
"Sixty-four-- how can you be so precise?" Julia asked.
"I'm counting their ranks. I think there's ---yeah. Seventy-two."
"To our seventy-some redshirts," I mused. "Oh boy."
"Correction-- sir? There's a second formation."
"Cardies?"
"Reckon so, sir. Same twenty-four-by-twelve formation. And I'm picking up Jemmy skirmishing parties ranged along the side-- counter-ambush formations. They're shrouded, but I can see through that no problem on the right band."
"And there could be more lines beyond that horizon."
"Ayup."
"Lovely." I turned to Julia. "Tell me those electrical storms are going to interfere with our communications."
"No, sir. We shouldn't have a problem."
"Get on the comms and advise that son of a bitch Sorvik what he's getting us into."
"He'll want to talk directly to you, sir."
"Sure, but if he knows what's best for him, he'll talk to you." I was completely furious at this point. We were being left out to die. We didn't have a chance in hell. I knew this. We all knew this. After all, logic dictated that a minimal force should hold the line for as long as possible before a massive counteroffensive swept forward out of... where? What were they going to do-- draw untold hundreds of soldiers into the city, only to--- to what? Were they going to drop torpedoes? These damned Vulcans weren't telling us a damned thing.
"Tim," I said. "Commence transporter jamming."
"Already done. We've also set a couple tricks we're planning on turning down there. Those people don't stand a chance."
"I hope you're right, Tim." I stepped away from him, and went back inside to bring our sergeants up to speed.
It was to be the hedgehog drill, redux. We weren't to hold the trenches. If they wanted them bad enough, they could have them. And the charges we'd laid in them. There was only one way up that ridge. Well, to be true, there were three ways up, but all of them were going to be paved with ketracel-white, if I had anything to do with it.
And you know why I was so angry? Love. Not love of Marianne, though that was part of it. Love of my comrades, my brothers and sisters and hermaphroditic siblings in arms. I had to believe that we were fighting for the cause, for the uniform, for the Fleet. But the Fleet was letting me down seriously. And I didn't know how much of a fight I could bring to Jemmy and Spoony when my faith in what I was sending people to die in the name of was wavering.
The electrical storm went on all night. So did the forced march. They came up in three columns, all Jemmy-sat on their march. One column went down Three Point Turn in one direction, towards the right flank of the ridge. The other two went marching down the road, their every formation a parade, right past the road leading up the gate to the fort.
Just as they were about to come within firing range, the pulse phaser cannons on the top of the ridge began to whine. Tim had modulated them to use tachyon tracer beams, and they'd picked up movement. Something fell. Then a cluster of Jemmy unshrouded, triple-timing it up the ridge, right into their line of fire. Delta was down the middle on one side, Echo on the other. Jemmy didn't stand much of a chance, though we had to clip some of them two and three times. Alphas. Tough bastards.
The forward Cardie formation hustled it into the ruins, making their way for the right side of the ridge, while the one at the base of the road leading up to the fort held back and swept out in a line, firing up the way towards us. The right-side formation also started to fire. The turret guns on the High Castle picked off a couple of them. Before we knew it, guns were opening up all over the place. Phaser fire lit up the purple clouds above.
I was on the battlements at the time, which is how I saw all this. Gold and Bravo were on garrison, and of course, I couldn't trust the Big Board to tell me what the combat was. It was something I needed to see it for myself. Otherwise I couldn't lead it effectively.
Fox held the line to the left, while Chicago had taken a few casualties.
"BRAVO!" I ordered. "TWO SQUADS! One LEFT! One RIGHT! Move, MOVE!" Bravo broke from the wall-- Welshie took his squad in the direction of Price's Chicago company, while Corporal Nichols led his troops towards Pelletier's Fox company.
I looked down to see Sergeant Park holding the line. Behind him, half-concealed in a trench, was Sholar with a regular pulse-phaser rifle, picking off Cardies on one knee.
"Sorvik to Dixon!" my commbadge exclaimed.
"Sir. Dixon."
For a Vulcan, Sorvik sure had something up his green-blooded behind. "Lower your transport dampening field immediately."
"Is that you, baby, or just a brilliant disguise?"
"I beg your pardon? I gave you a direct order, Sergeant! Lower your transport dampening field.
"Is that you, baby, or just a brilliant disguise," I repeated, then mechanically added, "sir."
"I have given you a direct order! You will comply immediately.
"I don't take orders from balls of goo. You don't like it? Go back to the Gamma Quadrant. Dixon out."
I stood, watching our flanks holding in place. We'd fallen back to the second zigzag on the left flank; the third was holding strong on the right. Down the centre, Delta and Echo were making me proud.
"Tulin to Lieutenant Dixon." Again with the commbadge.
"Go ahead, Commander."
"You have disobeyed a direct order from your commanding officer. I will be compelled to take disciplinary action upon the conclusion of this battle, should it be undertaken in a victorious fashion."
"Beggin' the Commander's pardon, but---" I ducked as a beam of phaser fire banked off the shields around the High Castle. I looked at Tim, and the expression on his face told me what I'd feared: there but for the grace of a shield perimeter went I.
"Beggin' the Commander's pardon, but we are a little busy up here."
"Lower your transport dampening field."
"Just as soon as I get the correct countersign, Commander. Is that you, baby, or just a brilliant disguise?"
"One moment." I could hear a rustling noise, then came the response, without any inflection at all. "This gun's for hire, even if we just dance within the dark." I waited a moment. "Correction-- even if we're just dancing in the dark. I repeat, even if we're just dancing in the dark."
"Thank you, sir." I nodded to Tim, and the jammers went offline.
It was about that time that I noticed that the line had broken down the centre. Delta and Echo were scrambling out of the trenches into pursuit.
"Dixon to Park--- get your section back in those trenches NOW, SERGEANT!"
"Sir! Yes, sir!" I saw Park come to a complete stop and whistle aloud. He signalled back to the trenches. It was all Jemmy needed to see. Three bullets came whistling out of what I can only figure was a shrouded pillbox, taking Park directly in the chest. He was dead before he hit the ground.
"Dixon to M'Nurr!"
"Sirrrr!"
"Get your section back in the trenches!"
"Returning now, sir!" Without a word, M'Nurr turned and scrambled back into position, leaving Park dead on the field.
"Boss?" I turned, and saw what Tim was calling my attention to-- Chicago was up on the third zigzag, without any of their trenches blown.
"They're not gonna make it."
"That's not what I meant. Look." He pointed down the road, where phalanx after phalanx of Spoony came bearing down on us.
"What about Jemmy?"
"Look down there." We could see that Third and First Regiments were being pinched in by Jem'Hadar assaults, holed back fortification by fortification, inch by inch. We were holding the high ground. If we broke, they broke. If they broke, we were dead.
"I'm also detecting about a hundred more Jemmy in the surrounding area."
"Put some fire on the area from where the shots came that killed Sergeant Park."
"Already done, sir. We wasted those Jemmy. Some kind of portable shroud plate. They set it up and fire through it. I'd seen them, I just didn't know they'd used them in combat."
"It's Jemmy. He doesn't do anything else."
"True that."
"Hayden! Pratt! Emerson! Alri! Form on me. Tim-- this barracks is yours. Alpha company-- non-medical elements, form on me! McClellan-- Johnston-- you're with me, too! We have to hold that line!"
All of the redshirts I barked at took their positions in a running formation, staggered three by three, with me in the centre. "Let's GO!"
We ran out the gate and down into the lines. I found Welsh and Price together, in one trench.
"What the hell you doin' here, sir?" Welsh demanded. "Get yourself out of here!"
"No way. We hold it out!"
"There's too many. The Jemmy elements are sweeping up the trench-- they've got good covering fire-- and the Cardies are---"
"You hit, Welshie?"
"Yes, sir-- two rounds."
"MEDIC!" I looked over, and I realized that Price was already dead. His eyes were still open, gazing up at Welsh, so I hadn't even noticed. Pratt came running up. "Get the Sergeant back to the fort!"
"Yes, sir!" Emerson hadn't left her side. They carted him up together.
"And Pratt! Get a medical detail down here, NOW! We have casualties to evac!"
"Sir!" She carried on.
I went down into the trench, and made my way along until I came across two privates firing furiously, cursing all kinds of foul language at the Spoons. I recognized the two of them-- Dave Sicotti and Lucy Helms, "Helms Deep" as they'd called her for reasons I'd rather not get into.
"Private!" I called.
"What the hell you want?" He looked down and saw me ducking my head down, the two rank pips flashing in the electrical storm. "Beg pardon, sir! Spoons! Spoons all over the damn place! We gotta get 'em dead!"
"Who's in charge here?" I asked.
Sicotti looked at me, incredulous. "Ain't you?"
"I mean in this trench, Private!"
"Like I said, sir, ain't you?"
"All right--- sweep down-- HELMS! Get in gear-- we're moving."
"Sir!" I looked back and saw Roger McClellan and Sydney Johnston were right behind me.
"You break across that line, and take that corner-- Sicotti-- you roll in below her-- both of you shoot anything not in black. Johnston-- McClellan-- covering fire, on my mark, then you move! We clear?"
"SIR!" they all said.
"Covering FIRE!" I threw myself over the trench's upper embankment, turning loose and cutting down a couple spoonheads that came up to shoot back over us. "NOW!" I signalled. "Move, MOVE!" I pushed McClellan, hard, and got him through to that trench. Johnston stayed put, but I saw someone come up and shove her. It was Alri. I didn't have time to recognize her. I charged through and followed Sicotti down the length of the trench, shooting at the Spoons that tried to bank over it. They were leaping over us, and we just shot them out of the sky.
"Spread out! Spread OUT!" They distributed themselves among the trench at my command. "Hold here for thirty seconds! Return fire!" I turned to Alri. "What are you doing here?"
"You brought me out with you, sir."
"Sure. Good to have you with us. Got it in you to take down a couple spoons?"
"I've been waiting years, sir."
"All right." I tapped my commbadge. "Dixon to Walters. What's the sit?"
"Sit is not good, sir. Jemmy bugs on the way in."
"No," was all I could say.
"Reckon on two, maybe three of them? They're comin' to the Castle."
"You ready for 'em?"
"Is the word given?"
"Take 'em out."
"Aye, sir. Walters out."
"SQUAD!" I yelled after I checked my rifle. "Next trench line!"
"Sir! Helms is hit!"
"MEDIC! Sicotti-- you stay with her. McClellan?" I looked over, but half of Johnston's face was burned off from a point-blank phaser shot, and McClellan was wounded in the shoulder. "Sicotti-- get these three out of here! Alri-- you good to go?"
"You and me, sir. Let's do it."
"No point. We need--- we need to cross over."
"Cross over?"
"To the other trench. On the far side."
"You're insane." She gave me a look of disbelief, then a mad smile. "I love it. Let's go."
"On three. One---"
There was no point. Alri broke the trench and was on her way already. I gave her hell as I sprang up to follow. Fire came from both directions-- trenches that hotly disputed, I couldn't blame them. Nothing caught me, or her. She opened fire into a length of trench before us, clearing it out with a number of pulse blasts, then dove in. I touched down just after her, the white-hot pulverized quartz of the rock burning my right cheek. I got up in a hurry, and turned to check my back.
Propped up against the wall, with her torso shorn in two, was Julia Hayden. She was already dead, probably one of the first to fall. I did a quick guess, based on where she was standing. Spoony came up over that ridge, and she was standing on a corner to better command the action-- easy target.
"Prophets' names," I heard Alri cuss behind me. She'd seen it, too.
"We don't have time-- come on." I banked around the corner in a crouch, phaser rifle up, trying to focus ahead, not behind. All clear. I moved in, and Alri followed. We stopped for a second to recover.
"Cover me," I said. Alri fired off a couple shots as I slapped my commbadge. "Dixon to Sorvik--- Jesus H. Christ, sir, we're getting killed up here! Can't you do anything?"
"Negative," came the reply. "We are holding our own below the ridge. We must ask you to do the same, for now."
"Aye, sir. Dixon out." I tapped it, then again. "Dixon to Walters. Tim, how far out are those scarabs?"
"Three minutes?"
"Get Gold down on the right flank. Have them position at the top of the trench line. And... ready the charges to blow the second and third levels of the line."
"Right flank? Both sides?"
"You heard me."
"I count we're in the second line, sir," Alri advised me.
"Then we'd better move."
Alri broke into a run, and I followed. I hustled up and around, one corner, a hundred metres dash, another corner, another hundred metres. I could hear the Spoons closing.
"NOW, Tim!" I grabbed Alri's legs and threw her down as the concussion shook the whole side of the ridge. Everything felt shattered, and I couldn't hear anything but a single high-pitched whine for fifteen seconds. I popped up to fire, but I couldn't hear anything, or see anything for the massive cloud of black smoke, rendered electric blue with every flash of lightning. I helped Alri to her feet, and we made our way along trench after trench. It was then that I noticed Dave Emerson had taken one in the arm-- sheared it clean off at the shoulder.
"Alri--" I pointed. "One of ours. Let's go."
"We can't carry him up a trench, sir."
"Over the top. Let's go."
"Now?"
"While there's time. I said, let's go." She grabbed his legs and I carried him, his left arm around my shoulder. I jumped up to the top of the trench, and we ran along the edge of the road, while the auto-phasers continued to fire past us, into targets of opportunity.
It was about then that I saw Rachel Pratt working on Helms. She didn't look up. Two other medics were with her. I didn't draw her attention. I don't think I have to. I saw her hands slow for a moment, a silence between her and the other medics, what they used to call back in Chicago the sign that an angel was passing, if you buy into Pricey's ideas. But Price was dead.
I saw Sicotti and yelled to him. "Help get this man back into the Castle!" Alri put his legs down, as Emerson seemed to be recovering from the shock, and Sicotti helped him back up the hill. I ran over to the medics. "Get these people inside. Now."
"All right, you heard the Lieutenant, let's move!" This from Pratt, surprisingly.
I got back in the line, and went right up to Bellamy. "Anything?"
"I don't know what these cannon are firin' at, sir. I think they're just shooting blanks."
"Naw. Jemmy's down in that valley giving Third trouble. Reckon we should help out?"
"Can't hurt. GOLD! Form up-- right flank! Firing positions, DOWN!"
Gold company was as good as the word-- formed up, crossed the road, and took to firing positions along the far right, looking down into the valley below. We all let loose with everything we had. Didn't matter if we were desecrating artifacts. Jemmy might be down there. And that was a far sight better than nothing.
"Walters to Dixon-- them Jemmy--- they're just about in firing range-- I'm gonna close me up the gate."
"Do it," I said. I looked up, to where I could hear the whine of the ion engines coming over the horizon, the scarabs coming in to attack our position. One of them was clipped by what I thought at first was lightning. But it went straight.
"Look!" I heard Alri exclaim. She was pointing behind where we were firing. It was Thunderchild. She was dripping wet, but she was airborne. And she was taking exception to any Jemmy bugs crossing her redshirted kids down in the mud. A quantum torpedo whistled overhead, as did another pair of phaser beams. The second and third went down, one up in smoke, the other with a clipped engine-- spinning back out into the very lake T-child had nestled herself into these long two weeks.
But I thought about it. Hadn't been two weeks. Must've only been... ten days. I turned to Alri. "How long have we been here?"
"Feels like forever. I'm no good with dates."
"Yeah." Turned out it had been ten days. Those engineers had triple-timed it when they'd heard the Sixth Order was coming for us.
Now, to be fair, there was more of the Sixth Order all over the planet, in garrison positions that we mostly took out from orbit after we evacuated Jemmygrad. Rather than damage the scenery any further, we took everything with us that we could find. Jemmy and Spoony bodies, we dressed and buried. Prisoners were hustled aboard shuttlecraft and taken to the brig. Wounded soldiers, we treated as our own, though Jemmy didn't take too kindly to that. We lost two medics that way. Turns out they'd only been given enough white to last the night, and though you'd never know by the sky, it was after six in the evening. We'd been out on the lines for twelve hours. Jemmy was getting savage. And so were we.
I counted up the dead and wounded. Among the NCOs, we lost Price and Nichols both from Chicago, Park from Delta, and Fitzgerald from Echo. Bravo had three dead, four wounded. Charlie --we stopped calling it Chicago after we recovered Price's body-- had four down, including Helms, but none killed. Delta lost three, including Park, and Echo had four down-- seven dead and four wounded from my old section. Fox had one dead, one wounded, and Gold had taken two casualties-- McClellan and Johnston, both of whom made complete recoveries, even though Johnston was going to be sitting out the rest of the war in a facial reconstruction hospice.
As for my own command company --Able company-- we'd lost Hayden, and Emerson was wounded. We'd also lost one of the medics, a John Xavier, to the Jemmy.
That night, we were all back aboard T-child, on our way up to high orbit. We passed through the Seventh Fleet's horses and shuttlecraft, on their way down to plant the reinforcements, and the Federation flag, on Kalandra. The entire Sixth Order would eventually come to surrender, and Gul Dolan, their commander, would be assassinated by the changeling we knew they had operating on Kalandra before he was taken into custody. But that was all yet to come in the future.
What was not, however, was any mention of this beyond an also-dead headline on the Federation's bylines and relay stations. You see, the day Jemmygrad held was the same day as the First Battle of Chin'Toka-- the Third Fleet and Tenth Fleet making a charge against a heavily defended Cardassian world strategically important, complete with full Klingon and Romulan support. The Romulans surprised me-- I hadn't even known they were in the war. None of us did. We'd been down on Kalandra for the better part of the year-- something like six or seven months. Funny how it'd felt like days.
Looking back, there was a lot of other stuff that happened. I can't even remember it all from Kalandra, mostly because so much of it was tedious boredom and empty patrol. Duty was as important to us as breathing-- and the latter meant the former. We did what we had to do on Kalandra. We lost a lot of good people. But the war wasn't over. At least, not yet.