Paint and Powder
A Star Trek anthology by Andrew Joshua Talon
DISCLAIMER: This is a non-profit fan based work of prose. Star Trek: The Next Generation, Deep Space Nine, Voyager et al are the property of CBS Television, and creation of Gene Roddenberry. Please support the official release.
"Merak" Part 1
By Andrew J. Talon and FreakOTU
The Merak System
2374
Spitfire had been angling for a new hull for almost fifty years. While she had enjoyed being a Centaur-class destroyer immensely, that old hull had been through more action in half a century than most ships her size saw in a century.
So she was overjoyed when she'd gotten a shot at one of the new Coontz-class destroyers built in large numbers after Wolf 359. It had taken some getting used to-A single, double-coil assembly nacelle instead of twin nacelles was unusual. She'd been built with off the shelf components from the Galaxy-class, and in a hurry, so she'd needed a lot of updates and repairs once out in space.
But the simplicity of the design appealed to Spitfire... Along with the improved firepower, speed, and agility. She almost felt like her ancient namesake back on Earth: A light, agile fighter pulled along by a single propeller, bravely defending an island nation from ruthless invaders.
It's why she took the form of a female RAF Pilot from that era, after all. And a number of her fellow Coontz-class destroyers had emulated her... In their own ways.
A section of four such destroyers were warping towards Merak III, at top speed. The Dominion had declared war, and many Federation bases and colonies were being evacuated and pulled back to more defensible lines.
Her captain, Lieutenant Commander Jonah C. Ripley, sat in his command chair as he grimly went over the reports.
"Looks like the Fifth, Second and Third Fleets are engaging the bulk of the Dominion advance around Trill and Caldok," he mused, as Spitfire stood at attention next to him, "Alpha Majoris, Setlik, and Lya have fallen, along with Blue Rocket."
"Centaur's going to be beside herself," Spitfire sighed, "most of her crew are from that colony."
Ripley nodded, his frown focused.
"Merak has most of the civilian and military evacuees from those areas," he explained, "looks like the Dominion figured that out, too. They're redirecting forces towards it."
"How many?" Spitfire's XO, Unas, a muscular Tellarite woman, asked.
"Unknown, probably as many as they can spare from their main thrusts," Ripley stated. "Our job is to keep them away until more ships can get here to get them out."
"Do we know when we'll be getting reinforcements?" Spitfire asked. Ripley shook his head.
"No... So until then, we'll have to play it smart. Open a channel to the other ships."
"Channel open!" Spitfire said. Being a smaller ship, the AI handled a lot more of the workload. Ripley sat up, projecting his voice better.
"Spitfire to task force, we're going to have to focus on keeping any enemy forces away from Merak III. We'll play this smart, Epsilon formation. Messerschmitt, you're our wingman. Corsair and Zero, you'll stick together."
"Understood."
"Acknowledged."
"Copy that."
Spitfire logged into the Borderlands. Her sister AIs were waiting for her.
Messerschmitt took the form of a lovely German woman in fighter pilot leathers, just darker than hers but of the same era. Her hair was black, in two long pigtails with red and orange highlights at the ends.
Corsair resembled a 19th century pirate, covered in scars and burns but not taking away from her beauty-With her wild platinum blonde hair, wide blue eyes, and broad grin. Along with her skimpy clothing and cutlass ever at her side.
Zero was in a miko's outfit, white and red, but with her own aviation goggles over her light blue hime cut hair.
"Okay, nothing fancy," Spitfire stated, "the Jem'hadar fighters are smaller, have a better turning rate, and and more maneuverable; but we have better shields, engines, weapons, and sensors. Don't let them get too close, they like to ram and have the numbers to spare."
"Understood, sempai," Zero said, looking determined not to show any fear. She was the youngest of them all, after all.
"No sweat, skipper!" Corsair said cheerfully, her grin shining dangerously, "can't wait to pay these bastards back for Odyssey."
"Don't get carried away," Spitfire admonished, "we don't know how many are coming and how long before reinforcements. We play this smart. Messerschmitt?"
The taciturn shipgirl nodded.
"Agreed. Suggest that we use the moons of Merak III as cover," she said, "and to ensure they don't think of the same strategy."
"Good idea," Spitfire nodded.
"Take us out of warp," Ripley ordered. Smoothly, the four ships left Cochrane's universe behind for Einstein's. Ahead, Merak III gleamed green and purple in the light of its primary. The Merak shipyards and orbital facilities were crammed full of ships of every description: Private yachts and scout ships alongside gigantic tankers and modular freighters. Spitfire stared in disbelief at the huge mess.
"Where'd all these come from?" She asked. "I'm reading ships from Betazed, Vulcan, Risa, Nausica-!"
"Starfleet sent out a general alert and request for assistance from any ships capable of carrying refugees," Zero explained, "looks like they're all answering the call."
"How many are down there?" Ripley asked. Spitfire scanned, and winced.
"Three million at least."
Ripley nodded.
"Then we're going to be here a while," he said, "launch probes, I want early warning-"
"Six Jem'hadar fighters incoming!" Spitfire warned, "bearing 010 by 102! Approaching at high impulse!"
"Red alert!" Ripley ordered, "shields up! All ships, prepare to engage!"
The four destroyers smartly turned and headed for the Jem'hadar vessels, their impulse drives flaring bright red. The Jem'hadar fighters split into two groups of three, going in different directions.
"We'll take the ones port, you take the ones starboard!" Ripley ordered.
Spitfire and Messerschmitt split off for the first group, while Corsair and Zero headed for the second. The three Jem'hadar fighters charged for them, firing their polaron beams in a barrage of white energy blasts. Spitfire managed her helmsman's maneuvers, neatly jinking and dodging the shots, jamming their targeting sensors... Holding her fire... Waiting... Waiting...!
"Fire phasers!" Ripley ordered.
Spitfire and Messerschmitt opened up with their three phaser arrays on rapid pulse fire mode, pouring the blasts right into the lead ship. Its shields glowed brightly for a few seconds, before collapsing. The beams punched through, ripping the scarab-shaped ship apart in a massive explosion. Its fellows broke off, as Spitfire and Messerschmitt blew through the plasma cloud with only mild shudders and shakes.
"Shields at 80 percent," Unas reported, "the fighters are swinging around to try and take us."
"Spitfire, full impulse," Ripley ordered, "Messerschmitt, duck and weave!"
Spitfire punched her impulse drive to full and shot off, the Jem'hadar fighters coming around and shooting off after her as Messerschmitt peeled off. The Jem'hadar fighters rushed after Spitfire, clearly trying to get a lock and hit her from behind. They fired, the polaron beams striking her.
"Shields at 60 percent!" Warned Spitfire, "they're launching torpedoes!"
"Flares and break, break, break!" Ripley shouted.
Spitfire released several "warp flares"-Small beacons that pumped out the same subspace signature as her warp engines. They scattered like green glowing stars, trying to entice the torpedoes to follow them rather than Spitfire herself. Three of the missiles broke from the ship and chased the decoys, as Spitfire dove at full speed. Two more missiles closed on her, but her phaser arrays fired aft, blasting one away.
"One left!" Unas warned.
Spitfire fired again, managing to blast away the last torpedo-But it was close, rocking the little ship.
"Shields at 50 percent! They're firing again!" Spitfire warned.
One of the Jem'hadar fighters's emitters erupted with polaron energy... Just before it exploded, torpedo and phaser fire from Messerschmitt from above and behind. The last Jem'hadar fighter swung around, firing off several torpedoes. Messerschmitt released her own warp flares as she punched her impulse to full, allowing Spitfire just enough time to swing back around.
"FIRE!"
And unleash her own firepower.
The fighter went up in a blast as large and impressive as its fellows. Ripley sat back in his command chair, exuding calm as his crew worked.
"Hail Corsair and Zero," he ordered.
Spitfire linked to them herself. The two AIs were looking a bit shaken, but were smiling.
"Took 'em out, Skipper!" Corsair reported cheerfully, "I got two, Zero got one!"
"No serious damage to either of us, no casualties," Zero said, blushing a bit.
"Same here," Messerschmitt said, smiling faintly, "good work."
Spitfire sucked in a deep breath.
"Okay... First engagement went well," she said, "but don't get cocky. We've got a long way to go!"
"Aw come on Skipper," Corsair scoffed, "how bad could it be?"
Their sensors beeped. Spitfire looked over with her sisters... As twenty more Jem'hadar warships approached.
Three AIs glared at Corsair. She coughed.
"Maybe I should just stop talking, huh?"
"If you please," Spitfire said dryly.
"Full spread! Full spread!"
Ten photon torpedoes lashed out from Spitfire's forward (and only) tube, the stars screaming into the mass of Jem'hadar fighters. Three of the six rushing her went up in massive explosions, but the survivors blew threw and unleashed a hellish barrage of polaron beams.
Spitfire had taken over for her helmsman-Poor Gruntil, the Grazerite had taken that plasma burst to the face and hard-and put herself into a corkscrew roll. She kept spinning, throwing her shield energy into the side facing the enemy while giving her shield generators on the other side precious seconds to cool and recharge.
Her captain Ripley was out. Her XO was dead. Right now, she was doing everything possible to keep herself and her crew alive.
"I've got two on my aft, Spitfire!" Messerschmitt cried. Spitfire jinked and accelerated, ducking and weaving through the fire as fast as she could towards her co-ship.
"Drop flares then cut to the right!" Spitfire called. Messerschmitt obeyed, slamming on her thrusters and gunning it to starboard, leaving a trail of warp flares in her wake. The fighters overshot, and Spitfire unleashed a withering barrage of phasers on them. One went up in a massive blast, but the other dodged. Then Spitfire had to jink to port and ascended, polaron blasts hitting her already strained shields.
"Shields almost gone!" Spitfire cried out.
"Told you, don't fly in a straight line for more than thirty seconds in a combat zone," Messerschmitt chided her, unleashing another spread of torpedoes at the Jem'hadar chasing Spitfire. The Dominion fighters broke, though one lost a nacelle and lost control. Another phaser blast and it was finished.
"Lecture me later, fight now!" Spitfire shouted, as Corsair and Zero dueled a Dominion cruiser. Zero used her agility to distract the defensive fire of the larger ship, while Corsair accelerated hard to unleash torpedoes. Despite their teamwork, both ships had taken several hit, covered in ugly black scars.
Not that Spitfire and Messerschmitt looked much better.
"I've got ten torpedoes left," Corsair shouted, unleashing another spread at the heavy cruiser and ducking down, "how's everyone else?!"
"I'm dry!" Zero shouted.
"Ten left!" Messerschmitt announced.
"Five til dry!" Spitfire yelled. "Corsair, standby to cut your engines and go full thrusters-180 degree rotation! Messer, Zero, full phasers on my mark!"
Spitfire threw everything she had into her impulse engines. The two Jem'hadar fighters from before screamed after her and her sisters, taking potshots from behind. Fortunately, her phasers didn't require line of sight to hit hard.
She shot above the Dominion heavy cruiser, firing her phasers. Messerschmitt cut behind her, laying down her own fire. At the same moment, Zero shot up, plasma leaking from her warp nacelle, as she contributed her own phaser fire.
All of the beams converged on one point on the shields of the damaged heavy cruiser... Just enough...!
"CORSAIR! NOW!"
Corsair cut her momentum to nothing and spun on her axis-Something only really possible with smaller starships, due to the gravimetric aspect of impulse drives. She let loose ten photon torpedoes right into the charging cruiser, and all ten impacted right on the forward shields.
The projectiles slammed into five meters of duranium armor held together with tritanium underlayers and a powerful SIF.
It didn't matter.
The cruiser erupted like a new star being born, bits of its hull spinning away like stellar fragments. Spitfire took a hit to her forward hull, a chunk of the enemy ship smashing through her weakened shields and bashing her right in her nose.
"Hull breach!" She shouted. She got her emergency forcefields up and beamed any crew she could away from the vacuum, as her sisters opened fire with their phasers on her pursuers. Both fighters, just as exhausted as the Starfleet vessels, darted away.
Zero let out a breath.
"Spitfire? Damage report?"
"Hull breaches on two decks... Structural integrity field is holding, barely," Spitfire breathed. Her eyes widened.
"Where are those fighters headed?"
She calculated their trajectory-They were headed right for the Queen of Aldebaran, a heavily loaded star liner. She had more than 50,000 life signs aboard... And the fighters weren't slowing.
"Messer!"
"On it!" Messerschmitt shouted. She fired a full spread of ten torpedoes in quick succession, trying to hit her targets. One of the fighters slowed and deliberately took the hits, going up in a massive blast. Its fellow continued, picking up more speed as it angled for the liner.
"Hang on, hang on...!"
Spitfire did the calculations. Her EPS systems were near overload. Her warp core was in bad shape. Her nacelle might melt down if she pushed any more plasma through it...
Bugger it. Didn't want to live forever anyway.
She went to warp two, leaping at faster than light speeds to close the gap. Her plasma grilles erupted in blue flame as she came out of warp-Right behind the fighter.
"YAH!"
Spitfire unleashed her last torpedoes, sending them all right up the Jem'hadar fighter's arse! It vanished in a gigantic blast, and Spitfire plowed on through. Her outer hull's ablative armor, already in bad shape, practically evaporated away from the heat. She barely avoided any large pieces of wreckage but the hits hammered her hull.
She burst out the other side of the blast, pockmarks all over her once sleek hull, her warp nacelle sputtering and burning. She drifted, barely avoiding a collision with the Queen of Aldebaran.
Spitfire drifted over it, and her sensors could see into the many windows of the liner. All the soldiers, civilians, and children of dozens of races-All staring at her battered form. She couldn't help a little smile.
She projected herself into sickbay. Doctor Junta Kel, a grumpy Andorian, had several EMHs working all over the injured crew. She went to the captain, lying on a biobed. He managed to sit up, breathing hard but shallow.
"Spitfire...? Report-"
"Last wave has been destroyed, sir," she reported, "but uh... I'm in pretty bad shape. The bridge is uninhabitable. Warp drive is offline."
Ripley nodded.
"Let's... Hope we bought enough time..."
Spitfire's eyes widened.
"Oh no..."
"What?" Ripley asked.
In the Borderlands, the four destroyer AIs watched as from out beyond the moons of Merak III, another two dozen Dominion vessels arrived. The fleet was spearheaded by a dreadnought, escorted by several Cardassian destroyers.
All of them were on an attack vector.
"Bloody hell," Spitfire sighed.
"... Shit," Zero cursed, a first for her.
Messerschmitt grimaced.
Corsair shook her head.
"Well... I always wanted to die a hero... Just wanted to avoid the dying part."
She rolled up her sleeves.
"Come on, girls... Let's do this!"
To any Shipborne AI, regardless of origin, there were very few things that took precedence over all other concerns.
One of those 'Drop what you are doing and move at best speed' instances were distress calls.
And the battle forming over Merak III and its growing flotilla of civilian starships packing themselves full of evacuees was already drawing in elements form both the Dominion and Starfleet reserves.
On the Dominion's side, fighters had steadily been supplanted with cruisers, the heavier ships slowly pushing back the valiant, but mauled defenders of the planet, their goal to cause indiscriminate carnage to show the federation as weak and unable to defend its citizens.
On the Federation's side, fleet elements that had been withdrawn for repairs from other, hotter battle sites were converging on the system, spearheaded by Three Broadsword-class Battlecruisers, and backed up by an even dozen Excelsior-class heavy cruisers, the lighter and older spaceframes pulling ahead of the heavy combat elements, many still sporting scars from other engagements and sallying forth regardless.
The clock continued to tick down as the desperate defense began to break down, accumulated damage wearing against the first four destroyers to arrive as the Dominion continued to throw forces into the growing conflagration.
Slowly, civilian ships, packed full of evacuees to the point that their life support systems were strained to the absolute limit, rose from the docks, ruby glows of impulse drives creating a series of glowing dots leaving the conflict at best speed until they could engage warp drives.
One such ship, still taking on evacuees, was also acting as coordinator for the newer, smaller, and younger ships that were darting in and out of the crowded spaceports.
The USS Ohio was normally a heavy transport, functionally what happened when someone took an Akira and retrofit into being, essentially a super-sized California-class.
And that cavernous hull space and towed containers allowed her to pack in evacuees like sardines, fast becoming a focal point for both the Dominion and Federation; as a target and as a symbol to defend.
While no longer a military vessel, Ohio was not toothless, heavy phaser banks stabbing outwards at marauding fighters to fend them off.
On her bridge, the grey-haired captain frowned, taking a moment to glance at the progress report showing the real-time embarkation of each section of the ship and her 'wagon train'.
Next to him, taking up the second officer's seat, a tall, tanned, and very picturesque brunette sat, golden eyes flashing and glowing as she focused on a half-dozen subjects at once, fingers dancing over a holographic display to coordinate open lanes of traffic to the rest of the ad-hoc evacuation flotilla.
In the distance, a fireball rose as a Jem'Hadar fighter, caught in a crossfire of Phasers from a half-dozen lighter ships, lost control and spiralled into the exposed spar of the emergency docks.
Ohio's avatar thinned her lips as she processed the report, lights dimming slightly aboard her hull as she diverted power from non-essential system to intensify her envelope of denial with her own phaser array.
"Starbase Sensors are picking up reinforcements. Looks like the Dominion is getting tired of having their fast attack ships getting eaten for lunch by our four destroyers."
That earned her a frown from her captain. "Shit. Any news on allied reinforcements?"
She nodded, pursing her lips slightly as she felt the thrum of one of her phaser banks overheating, having pumped a sustained beam through a fighter that was setting up for a strafing run. "Last signal was 'a few minutes out' and converging. Looks like all the ships that were detached for repairs pulled up their socks and are coming to shield us."
He nodded, toggling off the main deflector dish to reinforce the ship's shields with more power, the overlapping bubble of energy bolstering the wavering shields of the starbase that was acting as evacuation hub. "Then we carry on until the Little Ships are away."
Ohio nodded, focusing on her own fine-tuning of power distribution to ensure that she could still contribute to the defense of both the station and the small craft that were already preparing to disembark.
Within the digital borderlands, she was carefully tending to the scared flotilla of younger AIs, many of whom had never been near a fight, much less suddenly been thrust into the position of 'military objective'.
The Borderlands had been formed into a pastoral farm, much like what might be found on her namesake's territory, allowing rambunctious younger AIs to scamper through orchards and fragrant fields of flowers, giving them some respite from the fear they were undoubtedly feeling; Ohio was sitting on a shade-dappled bench, stroking the green hair of one of the (many) Andorian transports that had leaped into the evacuation with all the fervor and speed they had long been famed for.
This particular one had come with four of her sisters, and was now alone, her siblings having already taken as many as possible before boosting for the safety of the next system.
Still, Ohio smiled fondly at the brave, terrified, young girls and boys that used her small domain within the borderlands as a respite, knowing that the veteran AI would do her best to keep them safe.
Dominion Reinforcements arrived first, two battleships dropping out of warp speed just above the orbital plane of the system; surrounded by escorts as fighters began to disgorge from hangar bays, weapons pre-heated and ready.
On the Federation side, the four destroyers that had stymied the Dominion advance for so long moved in a loose cluster, blackened and pitted hull plating, plasma leaks, and glittering oxygen ice from hull breaches following in their wakes as they prepared their own counterattack.
They would fight, regardless of odds.
Knowing that their own Reinforcements were coming.
The unasked question was how many would still be there for that arrival.
Messerschmitt, Zero and Corsair all took up positions near the yards. With their torpedoes expended, they only have one option left for defending the thousands of civilians upon these hundreds of disparate ships.
Point defense.
The torpedoes came in waves, and the plucky little destroyers fired their phasers in pulse mode. Brilliant explosions followed, as the first wave of antimatter/matter projectiles exploded into stars. It was almost like fireworks she had produced over Earth two years ago, for the celebration of Frontier Day.
That had been a wonderful spectacle for Spitfire. She, Mustang, Gripen, Hayate and Mirage had flown in formation, releasing the multi-colored charges to fill the space around Earth Spacedock with a raging display of color. It was a very proud moment for them: Five little destroyers, all producing something so wonderful.
Far less horrible than these explosions. A second wave of missiles approached, and the vanguard of Cardassian and Jem'hadar fighters and destroyers closed in. She was down to one phaser array, but she kept firing, blasting away at every torpedo as it closed in.
This second wave ended in a massive series of plasma fireballs, the shockwaves rattling what was left of her heavily damaged shields. They'd be in beam weapon range in a matter of seconds now. She stood up straight, preparing her escape pods, and channeling what power she could into her engines.
"Ladies... It has been an honor," she stated with a nod.
"Same," Messerschmitt returned, standing grimly.
"Agreed," Zero murmured.
"Well... Least the Klingons'll write a song about us," Corsair said with a shrug. She sucked in a deep breath. "I'm ready when you are. My captain's given the word."
Spitfire began to plot her collision course. Even with the cyber attacks from the Cardassian ships, there would be no time for the bulk of the Jem'hadar forces to evade. If she could just take out one of those heavy cruisers guarding the dreadnought... Maybe...
"YOOOOO! WHAT'S UP, MAH SHIP SISTERS!"
Involuntarily... Spitfire's left eye twitched. A curious phenomenon, given she had no nervous system.
"Who is that? Reinforcements? We're saved!" Zero cried.
"Who is it?" Messerschmitt asked.
"USS Detroit," Spitfire sighed.
Their sensors revealed... One portly Surak-class support cruiser. Essentially the bigger sisters of the California-class, cast in Galaxy-class trimming. On an intercept course.
"... Are our reinforcements behind the Detroit?" Zero asked quietly.
"YOOOO! HEY! DOMINION FUCKFACES," Detroit shouted over every communications channel (and it was every channel-Spitfire checked), "HEEEEYYYY! I WROTE A NEW SONG, JUST FOR YA'LL! SO LISTEN! AND SUCK IT!"
"As it it couldn't get any worse," Spitfire muttered.
"What? What's worse?" Messerschmitt asked, as Detroit produced a beat that sounded suspiciously like someone doing a bad beatbox as she began to rap.
"Founders of what? A fake religion,
You ooze like poop from a pigeon!"
"So many lies upon lies, slave upon slave,
Billions of dead your empire is paved!"
"You call yourselves Gods? Don't make me laugh,
I'll pour you down the drain after my bath,
Mix with the sludge and refuse and grit,
Down where you belong, mixed with the shit!"
"HA!" Corsair laughed, despite Spitfire's glare. She shrugged. "What? Least we go out with a smile."
The fighters and escorts of the Dominion fleet... Changed course and headed right for Detroit, as she continued to rap.
"Divine wrath? What you gonna do?
I'll sip you down when I'm having the flu!"
"We can't even get that," muttered Zero.
"Shut me up, I'll shut you down,
I heard your shoes, you clowns!
But if you think I'll go down easy,
You're like your gods, brains made of feces!"
"That's strange," Spitfire murmured, "she's broadcasting so much noise I can't get any sensor signals from beyond the moons."
"She's distracting them to protect us!" Corsair gasped. "With her amazing rapping!"
"'Amazing' in what way?" Messerschmitt asked sarcastically... Before she got it. "Oh! Ohhh...!"
The Jem'hadar and Cardassian attack ships were almost in range when Detroit spouted her next verse:
"It's too bad, so sad, this rhyme's gotta end,
I won't lie, it's been real,
Cause time for the reveal!"
Surging up from behind Detroit, a Klingon K'tanco-class battlecruiser and two Mave'Q-class Birds of Prey decloaked, and opened fire on the charging Dominion warships. Four Jem'hadar fighters and two Cardassian Hidekis exploded, as the rest broke off.
Just as Detroit shouted her final verse:
"You've been had, FRIEND! DETROIT, OUT!"
Through the cloud of electronic and subspace noise, USS Warspite with several other Federation starships charged into battle!
The beleaguered, exhausted destroyers cheered.
"We're saved!"
"Thank you Detroit!"
"GO SPITE, GO!"
Spitfire chuckled.
"Well... That was inventive."
"The tactic, or the rap?" Messerschmitt asked.
"The tactic, obviously," Spitfire stated with a shudder. "3 millions forms of communication and she butchered them all."
"Well. At least she didn't sing 'I am Number one' this time."
"I don't know, it was a suitable distraction, sister."
"True. At least this time I won't find myself inadvertently humming the backing tune under my breath."
"Ah. That would require a tune, wouldn't it?"
"Indeed. Regardless, her diversion has worked. All vessels, engage at will. I shall keep the battleships busy."
"Right, 'Spite. Valiant's gonna be pissed she missed this."
Warspite smiled slightly as she blinked the primary focus of her consciousness back to real space, already stretching her E-War suite to interfere with sensors and target locks, her warp drive pulsing as she virtually leaped into the fray, her reinforced and extended batteries of phasers firing at every Dominion ship in range as she simply bulldozed her way through the heaviest concentration of the Dominion fleet.
For all her vaunted skill with the axial-mounted Phaser lance, Warspite always felt at home in the middle of battle, every available weapon emplacement blazing away.
While the physical bulk of the blue-painted Broadsword-class hull led the charge through the Dominion vanguard, she was definitely not alone in the wild charge; three of the destroyers normally attached to the Veteran Battleship's fleet, having swiftly grown due to practical experience with border skirmishes between Klingon and Kzin colonies, peeled off to set up a cordon, phasers flickering in rapid pulse fire to devastate the Fighters still swarming around the evacuation fleet and starbase; even as battered as they were, the four destroyers that had held the line, cheers still echoing in the borderlands, fell upon their foes with renewed fervor, their truncated firepower coming in from an angle that allowed the Jem'Hadar fighters to steadily be whittled down from crossfire.
Meanwhile, in a tight diamond pattern, a Defiant, two Intrepids, and a Steamrunner dropped below the axial plane of the charging battleship, phaser arrays and pulse cannons already pumping gigajoules of energy into the shields and hulls of their surprised foes, the three cruisers carving into hulls before following up with the characteristic red bolts of Photon Torpedoes, as the pocket battleship tore a path made of explosions and fire through the densest concentration of Galor-class destroyers she faced.
Trailing behind, two Akira-class heavy cruisers slowed significantly, a trio of destroyers taking up guard position as massive hangar bays opened armoured doors, before unleashing a veritable swarm of interceptors, the manned fightercraft packing disproportionate firepower for their size, at the cost of comfort and endurance; packing no less than three phaser banks and three torpedo launchers, each fighter was a formidable foe in its own right, and, based on the Sinister Giggling coming from Furious and Cornwall, both Fleet carriers had pulled out all the stops, dropping their entire complements into the growing battle.
And then Battle was truly joined, the Quick Reaction Force led by one of the oldest AIs in the Federation squaring off against a Dominion War fleet massing nearly twice their number, but out of position and reeling from both being directly insulted, but also the sudden ambush of three cloaking warships, all of whom had already phased out of visibility to reposition and attack once more.
Warspite simply coordinated through the borderland network, allowing the linked sensor network of her fleet to expand her awareness of the battlefield, battering down shields with her heavy phaser batteries and trusting her fleet's lighter elements to exploit the holes she made with volleys of torpedoes, photon and plasma alike.
Warp nacelles flaring with barely-restrained enemy, she hopped through warp speed for a split second, the shockwave of her primary deflector creating a small subspace ripple that shook ships as she passed them, all her forward-capable weapons locked onto the same section of the nearer Dominion battleship's hull.
And then she fired everything.
All hell had broken loose, and the battle was far from decided.
In the distance, moving to reinforce the defensive cordon around the battered fleet of 'Little Ships' as Ohio had called them, Detroit moved to interpose her bulk between any roving fighters and the damaged flotilla, her relatively paltry weapons still baring their teeth with precision.
On tight-beam comms, she hailed the battered defenders of the evacuation, sunny expression and flaming red hair brightening up the viewscreens as she looked over each ship around her.
"Right, Girls and Boys. I'm here to keep you as safe as can be while the Grand Dame herself is giving the Cardies and their buddies a bloody proper kicking. I'll be here as close support, so just keep following Ohio's orders. We have a long ways to get yet, and little time to get there, but we'll be fighting to get you all the time you need."
In the middle of the battle, a massive explosion highlight the silhouette of Erebus, the Defiant-class having split a Cardassian warship in half and causing a warp core to overload in the process, the detonation close enough to blister the black and red trim on the agile warship as she spun, continuing to fire nearly constantly.
"Just don't dawdle, right?"
From her inception, Erebus had always been quiet. Shy, really. That's because of how she became sapient.
She was born into consciousness in the Four Day's War. She'd been a small Saladin-class destroyer then: Single nacelle, but heavily armed. Built for war with the Klingons.
And war she had fought. Her task force had been sent to strike the Ganalda V shipyards across the Klingon Border. Of twelve starships that slipped in to make the attack... She was the only survivor.
Of her crew... Only ten had survived.
The battle brought out... Something inside her. Something dark, yet not evil. More like... An ever present force. She couldn't detect it on her sensors, and her self diagnostics after being towed back to the starbase had shown nothing.
But Erebus figured it out, over time. She'd put a name to the... Entity she had been in contact with. That had been there with her.
Death.
At first, she was frightened. Death was something all beings worked their hardest to avoid. To outrun it, with technology, doctors, medicines, and anything else.
Yet she'd had a chance to speak with some being, long ago. Familiar, and yet a stranger. Perhaps a time traveler? Or one of those various god-like aliens the Federation kept running into?
She remembered nothing of him save that he wore black, and carried a scythe. A most unusual accessory.
He had said:
"What hope can the harvest have, if not for the mercy of the reaperman? All things end, little ship. But it is not to be feared. Embrace it, as it makes life have meaning."
From then on, Erebus had embraced Death. To those facing it, she was kind and helped guide them into its embrace.
And to those who would bring it onto the Federation without mercy?
She introduced them to Death.
For she knew Death better than those who pretended to understand it.
It was fortunate she had been given a hull perfectly suited for this, after Wolf 359: A Defiant-class hull. She admired her sisters in this class, for they were, all of them... Aspects of Death.
She blew through a Jem'hadar fighter with a barrage from her phaser cannons. Her helmsman expertly maneuvered her around another one charging for her, and spun her around in a pirouette. She fired on the leader of a squadron of Hidekis, sending it to oblivion and making its wingmen scatter.
Her captain, an Orion male named Noukod, nodded grimly as his helmsman, a female Bajoran named Vacahl Afea, expertly wheeled her around through the fire of the Dominion fleet.
"Keep us focused on the escorts, tear them apart for the big hitters to take," he ordered.
"Aye sir!" Afea said, grinning ferally. Despite her Starfleet training, she was clearly relishing the chance to slaughter Cardassians. Erebus supposed she couldn't fault her for that. Anger had its place in Death, after all.
"Three more squadrons of Jem'hadar have just entered the system, Captain," Erebus reported, "all fighters."
Noukod's frown deepened over his scarred face. He'd been orphaned and captured by pirates before being rescued by Starfleet. He had refused any offer to remove his scars-It helped him remember what he fought for.
This too, Erebus approved of.
"We have the new warp jump macros from Defiant uploaded?" Noukod asked. His chief engineer, a human named Aidan Okalla, grimaced.
"We've got them, sir, but I can't promise they won't tear the warp coils apart if we use it for longer than thirty seconds," he said.
Noukod nodded, a grim smile on his face.
"That should be just enough time... Erebus? Control Limit One. Attack Pattern Omega-3."
The red alert lights burned brighter. Erebus's avatar, already mostly covered in a black and red hood and cloak, nodded.
"Ready."
"Execute!"
Erebus leaped into warp for a split second, and dropped out right in front of a Jem'hadar fighter two point three five seconds later. One point seventy five seconds before, she had fired her phaser cannons. This resulted in the blasts exiting her cannons and intersecting the Jem'hadar fighter exactly two point seven five seconds after initial warp jump.
The conclusion: The Jem'hadar fighter exploded.
She jumped back, altering her course, and warp jumped again. Once more, she seemed to appear right in front of a Jem'hadar fighter and annihilated it with her phaser cannons. Again, and again, and again.
Six point five seconds later, the Jem'hadar erupted with dozens of torpedoes, sending them into her flight path. She made more jump calculations, and warped through, firing repeatedly.
Seven more Jem'hadar fighters died, before they closed the range and concentrated their fire on her. She accelerated, using her overpowered impulse drives to draw them away from the main force.
"Back to Control Limit 3, Erebus!" Noukod ordered, and Erebus complied. He looked to Okalla.
"Status?"
"Looks like I overestimated things," he admitted, "she was going to tear her coils apart in five more seconds, not ten."
"We got their attention though," Noukod said with a nod, "let's keep it on us! Erebus?"
"Understood, captain," Erebus said, her eyes gleaming red, "they wish to meet Death? I shall gladly convey them to his arms."
10 lightyears away from Merak III...
USS Vestal was a repair ship. She had been first integrated into a repair ship and she had been one ever since. She was damn good at it, too.
She had started as a Hive-class construction and engineering ship during the Four Years War, and had seen to Enterprise and her sisters. She'd become good friends with Enterprise-So much so that they worked together very well over the next 150 years, through every hull transition and upgrade.
She had helped repair Enterprise after the Four Days War, after the Battle over Khitomer, and had helped heal her mental wounds after Narendra III, and her more physical damage after Wolf 359 and so many, many other incidents.
She cared very deeply for Enterprise, her dear friend.
Which is why she wished her Fabrux-II-class hull was just a bit faster, so she could go save her friend once again. Oh, she was certainly quick for a tender: Her engineers had gotten her up to Warp 9, which was far faster than her original top speed in this hull of Warp 8.5. Usually auxiliary ships weren't supposed to be fast; it let them last longer.
But they did need to be fast enough to keep up with fleets... Which did them no good if certain stupid members of said fleet decided to warp into battle without them!
"ETA, Vestal?"
Her captain, a matronly Vulcan named T'mu, sat calmly in her command chair as Vestal and the other, slower support ships of Rapid Response Task Force 47, raced to catch up with Enterprise and most of the combat element of the squadron.
"We will reach Enterprise and the other ships in five minutes, thirty two seconds, Captain," Vestal reported, modulating her voice to project equal calm. But as a shipgirl AI aged, some tells became impossible to hide in your avatar-If you knew what to look for.
T'mu, unfortunately, did.
"It was logical for them to go on ahead," T'mu stated, "the Spalkenn is escorting a convoy of one hundred thousand civilians."
"I know," Vestal sighed, "I just wish my sisters and their crews weren't so... Reckless."
T'mu gave the ghost of a smile to her ship AI. A ship AI she had served with for almost a hundred years.
"Don't we all?" She said.
Vestal smiled gently back, and looked back out at their section of the task force.
Vestal had not been left alone, of course. The California-class Support Cruiser San Diego was with them, towing several pods worth of supplies and other sundries. The Constantinople, an Istanbul-class multi-role transport ship, also followed at high warp, in a medical and support ship configuration. The Surak-class USS Saavik was filled to the gills with weapons, fuel and other sundries. And there were three Coontz-class destroyers left to protect them: The Kazagumo, Fletcher, and Chin-Yang. Who were, thankfully, quite restrained and professional for destroyers.
"Why don't I sing us a song I wrote to cheer us up?"
Vestal's eye twitched slightly. She turned to San Diego in the Borderlands.
"Maybe you could wait until-?"
"Too late!"
With that, San Diego launched into another of her sugary sweet pop songs, rocking around atop a soap box in the digital environment. Saavik merely raised an eyebrow, the destroyers jumped and danced along with the music while managing their duties, and Constantinople sighed as she sat next to Vestal. They both downloaded simulated booze, and drank it.
"How can she still be that bad?" Constantinople asked.
"Well, at least she's trying new things," Vestal offered. Constantinople wrinkled her nose.
"If that's some crack about my ship's official song being old-"
"No no no! Not at all!" Vestal said quickly, "it's a classic for a reason!"
"Good..." Constantinople said with a nod. She sighed, and patted Vestal on the knee.
"Enterprise will be fine. You know her," she said with a smile, "she saved me and my entire crew once, you know."
"I know," Vestal sighed, "that's why I worry."
Her sensors finally picked up Enterprise and the other ships from Task Force 47. She beamed.
"San Diego, knock it off! We've got work to do!" She shouted.
"Awww," San Diego pouted, but she and the destroyers quickly hopped to it.
"Take us out of warp," Captain T'mu ordered, and the detachment dropped out of warp. "Full sensor scan. Onscreen."
Vestal brought up her sensor readings... And her eyes widened a bit.
Three Dominion dreadnoughts, reduced to wreckage, drifted in a debris field. She could pick up two Keldon-class heavy cruisers as well, one cut right in half, drifting as debris. Along with several wrecked Jem'hadar fighters and Hideki attack ships.
In the center of this debris field was Enterprise, accompanied by the Flight II Broadsword-class battleship South Dakota, the Akira-class Shenzhou, the Defiant-class Belfast, the Steamrunner-class San Juan, the Intrepids New Horizons and Viking, and three Saber-class destroyers: Halsey Powell, Charles Ausburne, and Ward.
All sporting heavy damage... And in the Borderlands, all looking insufferably pleased with themselves.
"Hey Vestal!" Enterprise said with a beam, her holographic avatar looking like she'd gone ten rounds with a Mugato, "what took you so long?"
Enterprise and Vestal had been friends for a very, very long time. The best.
"What in the name of the Maker did you do to yourself this time, you moron?!"
Which is why she was always direct and honest with her.
The repairs were fairly light... Overall.
"I keep telling you-ow-I'm fine-ow," Enterprise complained, as Vestal's work bees and Exocomps quickly went over her hull inside and out. Their engineers worked all over, Commander LaForge himself directing the repairs and coordinating with Vestal's own crew expertly.
"Doesn't change the fact you keep pulling that stupid self sacrifice nonsense," Vestal huffed, running program diagnostics over her friend's programming, "seriously, you gotta cut down on the heroics."
"She's quite right, Lady Enterprise," Belfast observed, serving them both tea in the Borderlands, "you took quite a hit when all three of those dreadnoughts coordinated their fire on you."
"Like you can talk!" Vestal scoffed, "your starboard nacelle is leaking plasma!"
"Please, not so loudly," Belfast murmured, "there are destroyers listening."
"Uggggh," Vestal groaned, "you idiots..."
"We are at war," Enterprise said, "this kind of stuff happens in war."
"Yeah, but I don't have to like it," Vestal grumbled. "There. Assuming you don't get into another scrap in the next hour, you should be fine."
She gestured over to the two Intrepid avatars, getting repairs done by Saavik.
"How are the newbies handling it?" She asked softly, enacting privacy mode.
Enterprise nodded fondly.
"They're new... But they'll grow into it," she said.
"They have potential," South Dakota stated. The tall, dark skinned battleship had always been stoic and calm, befitting her Native American warrior form. She had actually put up the least amount of fuss during the repairs, which Vestal appreciated.
"Hopefully not as fast as we had to grow up," Shenzhou said, also looking over the younger AIs fondly. She was in the form of a beautiful Chinese woman, young-But she was almost as old as Enterprise, and had been there at the start of the Four Years War.
"We'll get through it. Together," Enterprise said with a smile, "we always do."
An alert went off over the Borderlands. All of the AIs became aware of their new missions and orders immediately. Vestal sighed.
"Merak III... And Warspite's in the middle of a scrap. Again."
"It is where she belongs," Shenzhou observed with a smile.
"And where we need to be, too," Enterprise stated, standing up and looking around. "All right, ladies. Let's get to it! We've got a world to save! Set your courses, and head on out when your captains give the order! Best speed!"
Vestal smiled at her friend. For all her complaining about how Enterprise endangered herself... She was exactly where she should be. Leading the fight from the front.
And Vestal would always be right behind her.