Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Star Trek TV series, Motion pictures, Novels or Games. They belong to their respective creators and Copyright owners. This story is created with no monetary gain in mind. I make no money from it. It is not to be sold or rented.

AN: This is the second update of this story idea. I would like some feedback.

Book I: How the Dreams Die

Prologue: How to lose a war in a single afternoon

Part 2

Bridge
USS Millennium, Akira class cruiser

"Alex, find who is in charge of the fleet!" Commander Sinclair hissed through clenched teeth. Every movement, every whisper made the edges of his broken ribs grate at each other, sending stabs of fiery agony in his left side.

He forced himself to disregard the pain and focus on the job at hand. His friend and commanding officer, Captain Shran laid in a crumpled heap near his chair. The last salvos of dominion fire to hit their ship had caused their dampeners to fluctuate for an instant, tossing the bridge crew around. The Andorian Skipper had the misfortune of landing even worse than John, breaking his neck. That left Sinclair in charge of Millennium and her remaining crew.

"It's a mess, Commander! All flag ships are either destroyed or out of action. No one has taken command since we lost contact with the Defiant."

Lieutenant Alexis Felix was trying to keep her voice calm but he could hear her desperation.

"Bloody hell..." John cursed. Sinclair grunted in pain as he grabbed the side of the Captain's chair and made his way onto it. He stared at the forward screen showing him the mess in which the remains of the Federation fleet and their allies found themselves in. The Dominion lines were folding in. They were surrounding and concentrating their fire into the ships which tried to fight their way to DS9. He didn't need to be a tactical genius to figure out what was about to happen. More than half the fleet would be gone in few minutes. The rest of the Alliance fleet was in light contact with the enemy's forward elements, which were numerous enough to hold them down, while the bulk of the Dominion fleet was mopping up everyone who charged after the Defiant.

Of course, those forward Dominion elements were nothing to sneer at either. Especially with the fleet headless as it was. The enemy ships weren't content to just play defense and wait until the main fleet action was resolved behind them. On the contrary, they were forming the bulk of their numbers for an all out attack, while wings of fighters and lighter ships screened them.

John closed his eyes for a moment, trying to clear his mind. Unless someone did something, soon, the fleet was doomed. He shook his head. He was just a commander and a lot of captains were still alive, yet no one seemed to be doing anything constructive. Perhaps they are shocked, he thought. Just as he was. Until moments ago he too believed that they would succeed despite the odds. The Federation had always managed to pull off something stunning at the most desperate of times.

Sinclair opened his eyes and starred at the screen. More ships were dying while he was wondering what to do. It was as if everyone in the fleet was waiting for a miracle to happen and save the day. He grimaced. Was that it? If he was honest with himself, John knew that Operation Return was a long shot. An act of desperation that was crumbling around him, killing a whole fleet.

"Alex, open a channel to every Alliance ship still fighting. This is Commander John Sinclair, Acting Captain of the Millennium. I'm taking command of the fleet. All units, reform around the surviving Sovereign divisions then assume formation Beta Seven. Then wait wait for further orders." He glared at the tactical plot. "Alex patch me through to the most senior Klingon that's still alive."

"I'm on it."

"Engineering, what's our status?"

"Shields are down to twenty percent. A third of our phaser grid is gone and we have breaches on multiple decks." came the terse reply from Lieutenant Commander Cole Tirol, the chief engineer.

"Damn. Engines and warp?"

"Online. For now. That all? I'm a bit busy over here."

"Carry on."

"Spirit of Hope and Vigilant are acknowledging." Lieutenant Felix informed him. "What's left of our squadron as well."

"Thats' something."

"This is Worf! I've taken command of the Klingon forces in this theater," a familiar face appeared on the main view screen.

The former Starfleet officer looked much worse to wear. There was blood slowly leaking down his ridges from a nasty looking head wound, making him look like a monster straight from an ancient Earth myth.

"Worf, we need to get out as much of the fleet as we can." John started. He needed a way to convince the Klingons to die gloriously another day. "I..."

"I know." Worf interrupted him. "This is the last offensive force that the Empire has left." he announced with a haunted voice.

"We've got few minutes before their main forces are free to come after us." Sinclair took a deep breath. What he was going to do, what he needed to do, went against everything he had been taught as a Starfleet officer. Yet, it was the only way to salvage something from this disaster.

"Less. Their vanguard will hit us long before the rest of the Dominion fleet regroups." Worf grunted.

"I know." the Commander glanced at Alex, who gave him a thumbs up. John hoped that he didn't misinterpret her gesture and most of the Alliance fleet will follow his orders. No mater how... distasteful they were. Yeah, let's go with that word. Its sounds better than cowardice.

"Alex, give me a status of the fleet. I want to know how many ships can't maintain maximum warp. Same goes to your forces, Worf."

The Klingon's eyes widened then blazed with furry for a moment, before his discipline won the day, showing that he was head and shoulders above most of his people. "I see. You'll get the data ASAP."

"We've got thirty ships of all classes which have suffered engine damage." Alex was her usual, efficient self.

"Not enough. What's your status, Worf?"

"About a third of our remaining ships won't be able to get away."

"That might just be enough. Alex, give me a fleet wide channel, both to Starfleet and the Klingons."

"You are on, sir."

Sinclair paused for a moment. He sucked at making speeches, damn it.

"Men and women of the Alliance, I won't sugarcoat it. We gambled on our courage and determination to carry the day against impossible odds." He took a deep breath. "We failed. Now our duty is to preserve as many of our ships and crews as possible, so we can face the Dominion another day. At a time and place where we can stop them cold!" He paused , gathering his thoughts. "Right now, the Dominion commanders believe that they have won not only this battle, but the war itself. If we let our fleet perish here, they might very well be right. That's why I'm asking you for one more sacrifice. The Millennium will lead all our damaged ships in a counterattack, buying time for the fleet to disengage and regroup with friendly forces."

Sinclair looked at the tactical display. They were running out of time.

"All ships able to go to warp, disengage by divisions and go. The rest of the fleet will advance. Helm, pull us next to that listing Sovereign."

"The Hood? I'm on it, skipper."