1430 hours, June 27
Captain Irwin Doublet assembled the surviving captains of the task force aboard the saucer section of the Prometheus--or, more properly speaking, what was left of the saucer section of the Prometheus after the Mullurans and Jem'Hadar had had their way with it. Of the original task force, only three Galaxy-class ships and four Defiant-class ships survived. After dispersing from the now-destroyed Starbase 732, the elements of the task force regrouped at a predetermined rendezvous point five parsecs away.
Doublet, normally a tall, wiry man, looked positively gaunt after the events of the past eight hours. "Gentlemen, I'm pleased to see that we've managed to save this much of the task force. Help is on the way from Starbase 805 and other points throughout the Federation, but we've got at least 48 hours before we can expect reinforcements. If it's any consolation, Admiral Llewelyn has ordered Commodore Duchamp and Commander Nugent arrested for dereliction of duty. A few low chuckles could be heard throughout the assemblage as Doublet was reminded of an adage appropriate to his Texas plainsman ancestors: closing the barn door after the horse has already gotten out.
"What are our options in the meantime," Commander Felner of the Defiant-class vessel April asked.
"We've got three options: one is to sit here and wait for a relief force. That actually has the most going for it; while we're trapped in this emission nebula, the Mullurans and Jem'Hadar are going to have one bitch of a time locating, giving us time to consolidate our forces and make repairs. Option number two is to turn tail and run, something I don't think anyone here is quite prepared to do," Doublet said.
The second option raised many murmurs of dissent amongst the assembly. "It's better to die on your feet than live on your knees," Captain Zapata of the USS Odysseus replied.
"I figured as much. The third option is to relieve SB901, which is the next most probable target for an attack."
"Who's in charge of SB901?" another captain asked.
"Captain Richard Wallace is the station's CO, but he's involved with the offensive against the Mullurans, as is his first officer. Next in the chain of command is the commander of the Marine garrison, Lieutenant Colonel Tarik. Tarik's one hell of a fighter but he is still fundamentally an infantry officer. He may be out of his depth trying to defend the station against a major onslaught."
"I say we relieve 901," Captain Cooke of the USS Discovery said. "If we stay, we're dead. If we go, we're most likely dead. But if relieve the base then we've got a halfway decent chance at coming out of this alive.
The rest of the assembly concurred. "Okay," Doublet said. "Let's see if we can at least save SB901..."
1530 hours, June 27
Commodore Duchamp had been on board the station for ninety minutes. To Tarik it seemed as an eternity.
He could already tell a difference in the behavior of the command deck staff. Before the arrival of Duchamp they performed their jobs with efficiency, even with alacrity. Since Duchamp had arrived the stress level on the command deck had increased by an entire order of magnitude. This is not the way to start a battle, Tarik thought. Long-range sensors had already detected the vanguard of the enemy task force. The Federation task force was nowhere to be found.
"No, dammit, that's not the way to configure the photon torpedo targeting sensors," Duchamp was lecturing a crewman at Tactical. That crewman had only just been born the last time Duchamp had ever had to configure those sensors. Currently he seemed rather uncertain of himself.
Before Tarik could intervene, Duchamp was off to the communcations console. "I told you to monitor subspace harmonic frequencies alpha through delta, Ensign."
"Sir, the Mulluran sensor dampening device won't even show up before subspace frequency eta. And you did specifically say theta through pi."
"Nonsense! Are you accusing me of lying? Because I'll have your commission for that! Now monitor the frequencies I ordered you to monitor, dammit, or do I have to find someone else?"
Tarik had, in fact, heard Duchamp's erroneous order but felt it not his place to question the commodore's judgement. Perhaps Ensign Halvorsen had been wrong in correcting the Commodore, but the man needed to be corrected at times. With a large rock or a club, Tarik thought as he intervened.
"Commodore, sir, you did in fact give the order for theta through pi," Tarik said. "The ensign, I believe, was trying to inform you of current Starfleet tracking protocols.
"Oh, now you're against me? You just resent that I'm in charge here!"
"No, sir. Had Captain Wallace or Commander Garek returned to base, I would have gladly yielded the command deck to either of them." In fact, Tarik would have yielded the command deck to a Cardassian spy before yielding it to Duchamp. At least the Cardassian would know what the hell he's doing! "I do, however, take exception to your altering your stated orders and blaming the outstanding crew of this station for the mistakes of their commander. You will kindly remove your presence from this deck."
"Colonel, you are guilty of gross insubordination! I'll see you out of the service for this!"
All right, enough is enough, Tarik thought. "Charge me all you want," he said, drawing his phaser and pointing it squarely at Duchamp's head, "but I still expect your ass off the damn command deck posthaste!" He tapped his combadge. "Tarik to Security--locate and detain Commodore Andre Duchamp and Commander Theodore Nugent."
[With pleasure, sir!]
"This is mutiny! I won't have it!"
"Deal with it," Tarik said as two Security officers arrived to take Duchamp away. Just as Duchamp left the command deck the staff broke out in cheers.
"I understand your feelings, but we've still got a lot of work ahead of us," Tarik said. "Ignore everything the Commodore told you. I want status reports on the various departments in 15 minutes. Now let's move like we've got a purpose!"
Morale had instantly jumped through the overhead as soon as Security placed restraints on the Commodore. Tarik wondered how long it would last...
1700 hours, June 27
"Sir, eighteen incoming Jem'Hadar vessels," the young officer at Tactical anounced.
"Thank you. All right--game time!" Tarik said. "Hammerheads, launch when ready! Tactical, fire a full spread of photon torpedoes. Security, where are Duchamp and Nugent?"
[We have them in the brig, sir. Are you sure about this?]
"About as sure as I've ever been about anything. Prepare to receive boarders. Make sure all civilians are either in shelters or on volunteer details."
[Aye, sir.]
The torpedoes lanced out from the station, destroying three of the Jem'Hadar battlebugs as the Mulluran cruisers disgorged fighters to maneuver through the mine field surrounding the station.
"Phaser teams, independent fire at will. Wait for the fighters to get inside the mine sphere--we don't want to detonate our own mine field!" Tarik ordered.
The Hammerheads flew out in formation to greet the attackers. Captain Morgan Bacardi scored his first kill almost as soon as he'd left the station, blasting a Mulluran fighter with his phaser banks as he pulled up into the step-up forward echelon formation favored by the 58th in this situation. "Qapla'!" the half-Klingon officer snarled as he began singing a particularly bloodthirsty Klingon ballad on an open circuit.
Tarik picked it up and almost admonished the pilot for his lack of discipline. However, since Boyle said nothing, Tarik would not overrule the squadron commander. Instead, he piped it into the command deck and throughout the station. "Maybe that will inspire people," Tarik said quietly to himself. "If nothing else, maybe enough of the station's occupants will object to Bacardi's singing and he'll stop!"
"Incoming message from Captain Irwin Doublet," the yeoman at Communications said.
"Pipe it in. All Tactical stations, independent fire at will. Interlock fields of fire wherever possible," Tarik ordered. Unlike some officers, he had complete confidence in the abilities of his crew.
[Captain, you appear to have caught us during our busy season,] Tarik said. Doublet admired Tarik's ability to make light under fire.
"Well, Colonel, that's what I wanted to tell you. We've still got quite a bit of heavy iron left here. Do you think you could use some help?"
[Assistance would be most appreciated right now,] Tarik replied as the station shook under a tremendous blast. Doublet saw Tarik shout something to someone offscreen.
"How's the station holding up?"
[We've taken some damage to the commerce pylons, but so far no civilian casualties.]
"Have you heard from Commodore Duchamp or Commander Nugent?"
Tarik for the first time looked a bit shaken. [Sir, they are in our brig. I had to remove them for incompetence.]
"You went out on a limb for that one. But you did right. Admiral Llewelyn has issued an order for their arrest for dereliction of duty." Doublet then explained the situation regarding the Prometheus
[Son of a bitch! We've got your battle bridge right here. Unfortunately we have no one rated to command it available at the moment, so it's sitting at a docking pylon.]
"I can send over my executive officer, Commander Menachem Levy. Can you get me someone on Helm and Tactical?" Doublet asked.
[I can do that, if it means getting the Prometheus back online.]
"Just a moment, Colonel." Doublet turned to an Engineering officer. "Do we have any operational Banshee or Hammerhead fighters left?"
"We're rebuilding them as fast as we can, but we don't have anything ready just yet. In two hours you can have two Banshees made from parts of five others, but that's the absolute best we can do."
Shit, Doublet thought. "We may need some help from you if you need Commander Levy."
[I have an idea.] Tarik turned to his Operations station and talked with the ensign on duty there. [I'm sending over Lieutenant Kim Tycho in her Banshee fighter. She will also serve as your helm officer. I will have a suitable tactical officer aboard the Prometheus.]
"Outstanding, Colonel! Keep holding out; we're getting there as quickly as
possible! Good luck!"
[Thank you sir. We eagerly await your arrival!] Tarik said as the station
rocked again.
Crazy Romulan just might pull it off, too, Doublet thought as the connection was cut.
1720 hours, June 27
It was all Troy could do to keep Kassia calm; even the medication the doctor had given her was having almost no effect. "I can't stay in here. I just can't!" Kassia said, almost frantic.
"It's not safe out there!" Troy said, almost shouting. "You'll get killed!"
"Safe? SAFE???? Troy, we're on a space station in the middle of a war zone! We have never been 'safe' since we first showed up here!"
Troy was silent for a moment. She was right. Had he been able to do everything all over again, Troy would never have come to this beleagured station at the edge of Federation territory. But then again, Kassia would never have met Tarik and received the education of a lifetime, he wouldn't have found a job he actually enjoyed, or found Kitty--
Kitty. She also was in danger--potentially even greater danger than they faced right now. Suddenly Troy found himself worried about her, though he couldn't quite sense why.
"She'll make it back, Troy," Kassia said, turning his face toward her. "Kitty can handle this."
"I hate it when you do that!" Troy said, only half-annoyed. He was grateful, though, that he had managed to divert her attention briefly.
"I've got to get out of here, that's all there is to it!" Kassia said, this time completely frantic as another blast shook the station. "That does it!" she snapped as she got up and headed to the hatch to the emergency shelter.
"Where are you going?" Troy asked.
"People out there need my help--I can sense it!" Kassia said as she opened the hatch.
Terrific! "If you're going, I'm going too!" Troy said as he left the small shelter with her.
It wasn't long before they encountered their first casualty--one of Tarik's Marines with his leg off halfway up the thigh. "Hang on, we'll get you help!" Kassia said, then suddenly remembered that she didn't have her combadge. Quickly she found the Marine's combadge and used it. "Kassia to sickbay. I've got a wounded man down here!"
[You'll have to get him up here yourself,] Cherrin replied, suspending his shock at her sudden activity for the moment. [If he can't walk, make a stretcher or a travois. I don't even have stretcher-bearers to spare! If you're close to Pylon Two, the sickbay aboard the Prometheus battle bridge may be closer.]
Mentally Kassia got her bearings. The Prometheus was on the opposite side of the station, although it was on the same deck. Sickbay was five decks up.
Quickly she took off her shawl and tied it over the stump of the Marine's leg. She handed Troy his phaser rifle after checking its charge. On the Marine's equipment belt she found a small first-aid kit and administered an injection of hyronalyn. "This will control the pain," she said as she hoisted his arm around her shoulder. "You know, Tarik would kill both of us if he caught us right now," she said, doing her best to alleviate the man's suffering with humor.
"Yeah, well, I'm one of those guys who'd do anything to get out of working!" the Marine replied, attempting to distract himself with friendly banter as he gritted his teeth in pain.
Troy took point, not entirely sure how to handle the implement of destruction suddenly placed in his hands. He'd used a variety of weapons before, but the new model compression phaser rifle felt strange in his hands. The grenades he took were an even greater mystery.
They picked their way through debris littering the corridor, and at least three dead bodies. Finally, they reached their objective--a turbolift! Suddenly Kassia was filled with fear. It was a turbolift that had led to the attack by Kelly. She froze for a moment. Troy turned as the door opened, looking at her with concern. "Do you want me to take him?" he asked.
And at that moment the decision became clear. Should she allow Kelly to be responsible--albeit indirectly--for the permanent injury or death of yet another person? "I started this, I'll finish it," she said, hauling her patient into the car with her.
1800 hours, June 27
The minefield had claimed four more Jem'Hadar battlebugs before an opening was cleared for the larger cruisers to get through. Cannon fodder, Tarik thought. The phaser fire had picked up in intensity as the task force closed in. Several sections of the station were rendered uninhabitable due to hull breaches and fires--more fires and hull breaches than Tarik had people to address. After this battle SB901 would need a major refit, assuming it survived.
Doublet had contacted the station; they were within 90 minutes of arrival. More assets, including the Sovereign-class Ben-Gurion were on their way to the New Canada colony. At least twenty of the Mulluran fighters had been destroyed by the Hammerheads, who were flying above and beyond the call of duty; Boyle, Bacardi, and Tigre had all scored five kills apiece.
A Mulluran cruiser--the last one left in the enemy task force, made a run on the station. "Tactical, everything we have on that cruiser now!" Tarik ordered. A brief moment later, the cruiser exploded. Tarik was about to congratulate the Tactical section on good shooting when he realized that no weapons had discharged. Then he saw the horrible truth.
"Sir, the shockwave from the cruiser is clearing the minefield. The remaining Jem'Hadar battlebugs are closing in, and we're taking moderate damage from the impact of debris from the cruiser. No bodies or escape pods registered.
"A fire ship," Tarik said aloud. "They sacrificed a ship to break down our defenses. How's our shield power?"
"35% and holding," an Engineering crewman reported.
[Security to Colonel Tarik--we are receiving Jem'Hadar and Mulluran boarders!]
"Engage and destroy all boarders--accept no surrenders, and kill all enemy wounded."
[Sir? That's a violation of the Khitomer Convention!] Obviously whoever was talking to Tarik was new to war.
"Which I'm sure the Jem'Hadar have read thoroughly and obey in all particulars! They kill our wounded; we kill theirs. It's my ass in front of the war crimes tribunal, not yours. Shoot to kill, and take no prisoners under any circumstances!"
[Understood, sir.]
"Colonel, I must have a word with you!" Mon'dal of the G'Kar delegation almost yelled as he strode onto the command deck.
"Not now, Mon'dal--I've got a war to fight!"
"My government must protest your inadequate security precautions! We should not have to worry about being blasted out of the sky because your vaunted Federation cannot protect us!"
"Mon'dal, get off this deck and get you and your people to a shelter now!" Tarik ordered.
"I will file the appropriate protest if and when we survive this ordeal!" Mon'dal said as he stormed off the command deck.
1825 hours, June 27
Kassia, Troy, and the wounded Marine--Private Singh--continued to pick their way through wreckage toward Sickbay when the whine of a transporter sounded ahead of them. "Cover....cover..." Singh tried to warn them.
They ducked behind a collapsed bulkhead as a squad of Jem'Hadar beamed into the corridor. One of them looked at a tricorder-like device and gestured in their direction.
Troy lifted the unfamiliar weapon and took aim from behind their barricade. He'd used weapons before, but never in combat and never against such an implacable enemy. He depressed the firing stud and immediately vaporized the first Jem'Hadar. The rest of the squad dropped back and returned a barrage of fire.
Troy was frozen momentarily. He'd killed another living, thinking being. Granted, that living, thinking being was more than willing to kill him and Kassia in the most excruciatingly painful way possible, but Troy had never killed before.
"Grenade," Singh croaked. "Clear..the...corridor..."
Troy unhooked a grenade, a device truly unfamiliar to him.
"Setting 4 should do it," Kassia said, reading his mind. "Press the red button to activate. You'll have ten seconds to throw it--and there are no second chances!" she said, reiterating to the word instructions Tarik had given her during their brief session discussing photon grenades.
Troy set the grenade to setting 4 and pushed the button. Quickly he ducked out from behind the barrier and hurled the grenade. The blast threatened to bring the barrier down on them...but it killed off the entire squad.
"Not bad...for a newbie..." Singh said, smiling as he grimaced in pain.
"Come on, we've got to keep moving," Kassia said.
They arrived at Sickbay, where bodies in various states of mutilation lay lined up down the corridor, awaiting attention. Cherrin, a civilian medical student who had travelled to the station while on vacation, two interns, and the EMH were working hurriedly on the wounded. "Kassia--I'm glad you're here! I need a nurse--grab a medkit and do what you can for the people in the corridor!" he said.
"What about Singh?" she asked. Her question was answered as two medtechs helped the legless Marine onto a gurney and began treating the stump.
"Borg technology has revolutionized the artificial limb industry," Cherrin said distantly, perhaps (or not) in response to Kassia's question. "Now get moving!"
"What can I do?" Troy said.
"Be ready to handle a stretcher if you're asked. In the meantime, keep that rifle handy in case the Jem'Hadar break through!" Cherrin replied as yet another patient--a badly-wounded Vulcan with arterial bleeding spurting green blood all over Sickbay--was hauled onto the table.
1915 hours, June 27
"All zones report clear, sir," Tactical reported to Tarik. "The boarders appear to have been neutralized."
"Casualties?"
[105 dead, at least 300 wounded. We're working as fast as we can, but even using the Prometheus's medical facilities I can't guarantee getting to all of them in time,] Cherrin reported. [You'll be interested in knowing that Kassia and Troy are here.]
Tarik's eyebrows raised in astonishment. "Are they okay?"
[They're fine--they brought in one of your people, as a matter of fact. He'll be fine but he's going home after this one. They're both working in Sickbay right now.]
"Good. Anything you need, let me know," Tarik said. The enemy task force had withdrawn for the moment to lick its wounds, but was still in the New Canada system. The latest report from Doublet had placed the task force only 30 minutes away.
"All we have to do is make it through the next half hour," Tarik announced to his command crew. "30 more minutes and this is over with, one way or the other..."