"The 28th is mounted out and ready to deploy. Our elements here are ready for deployment. The Ferengi 15th Fleet has moved into position along the Mulluran frontier for 'routine exercises' and we've seen evidence that their Home Fleet has mobilized as well," Rear Admiral Richard Wallace told the assembled officers. "All we need is the word, and we can have up to 25,000 personnel and eight ships in the area within 48 hours."
[Very good. However, I think we're still operating out of our league here,] Admiral Bartholomew Simmons replied. [I'd like to see at least double our current deployment before we take on the Mullurans. Intelligence estimates show that they have at least two new ship classes with enhanced warp drives, and those bioengineered warriors the Mullurans have started using need to be addressed as well.]
"With all due respect, sir, if we don't do this now we're not going to do it at all. On a ship to ship basis we've always been able to outclass the Mullurans on our own. With the Ferengi we could rout the bastards. But without us the Ferengi don't stand a chance. Their ships are good but they don't have the tactical expertise for this fight. As for the bio-constructs, we've taken them before, too, and we have Project Samurai active now. Besides," Wallace said, in a completely deadpan tone, "those warriors are pretty much out of the equation if we blow their ships out of the sky."
[I understand your concerns, but I must insist that we get more tonnage in the area. I'm pulling Task Force 34 off picket duty in the Teloris sector. That will give us ten more ships to play with.]
"That's over 12,000 light-years away! And they still have to resupply at Vulcan because I'm telling you right now Serenity's been stripped to the bone!"
[My decision stands. Your force does not move until TF34 arrives at Serenity.]
"Sir, I wish to formally protest this decision as Chief of Strategic Operations."
[Your protest is noted. And you are relieved.]
Wallace's jaw dropped. "What????"
[You are to report to Starfleet Command immediately for consultation. The relief force will have to do without your capable leadership. Bartholomew out.]
The screen flicked off. Wallace sat stunned for a moment, then drafted a message of his own.
"They what????" Tarik said with disbelief.
"They relieved me. I protested the order to withhold the task force, and that son of a bitch Bartholomew relieved me!"
"The Ferengi are going to get massacred. There's no way the Ferengi 15th alone is going to take on any concerted move by the Mullurans," Tarik replied.
"Is there anything your, ah, unofficial channels can do here?"
"The La'Kon Legion is essentially an infantry force. They've got a total of three obsolescent ships. They're good for pirate interdiction or the odd Order Police cutter, but against Mulluran ships of the line, they'd be slaughtered. I could contact the G'kra. They've recently obtained fifteen surplus Vor'cha class cruisers from the Klingons. That would make a difference, if they'd be willing to deploy them. If the Mullurans think the Klingons are going to intervene they'd sure as hell back off. The Ferengi are only slightly more loved than the Nausicaans were, which makes convincing anyone to help them difficult at best."
"Pull all the strings you can. I don't want another massacre out here, even if it's no longer my watch. I've still got an in with the Klingons and the Bajorans. Maybe between the two of us we'll get something accomplished." Wallace shook his head. Tarik had never seen him quite so despondent. "Good luck. I'll do what I can to cover your back at Command. Between you and Schneider and the individual ship captains, at least we've got a competent chain of command. God only knows who they'll send out here for overall command. If they won't reinstate me I'll push for Irwin Doublet or Menachem Levy. They know the Briar Patch and they'll at least fight when they need to." Wallace sighed. "Maybe we'll get lucky and James T. Kirk will come back from the dead again to pull the whole thing off. But I'm not counting on it."
"Just as well. McCoy's dead and Spock's in politics. Kirk couldn't handle this without them at least!" Tarik laughed.
The two men shook hands, and Wallace left Tarik's office. Tarik immediately paged his clerk. "Get me a secure channel to the G'kra Commisariat."
Meanwhile, at the edges of Ferengi space, a rout was taking place. The Mullurans had initiated their invasion on schedule, but with far more force than anyone had anticipated. Over two hundred Mulluran heavy cruisers moved on the Ferengi 15th Fleet, the most experienced regular military unit in the Alliance... but only thirty ships strong.
The battle was over within two hours, and ten frontier systems were occupied by the Mullurans at the end of the day. The Grand Nagus sent messages to the Federation, Klingons, Romulans, and Cardassians requesting assistance. Only the Cardassians responded... demanding a price far too heavy for the Alliance treasury in exchange for intervention.
"Who authorized the invasion to go forward???" A'dal Francona demanded of his councilors.
"Why, you did, sire, in your speech yesterday. The operation plan has been on the table for the past month," Minister of Expansion Harer explained. "How could you have forgotten?"
In fact, Francona had forgotten the previous day's events completely. He'd awakened that morning to a horrendous headache. In fact, his body ached all over, as if all of his nerves were suddenly operating at maximum capacity. "Show me this speech," he demanded.
"As you request, sire," Harer said as he motioned to an underling to start the recording. Francona saw himself in an extremely gaudy dress uniform -- why in the name of the gods would I wear something like that? he asked himself -- as he addressed a throng of admirers in Conquest Square.
<Brave and valiant people of Mullura, once again we rise up and claim our destiny! We have disposed of the bandit Nausicaans, whom even the Federation deemed a threat. But as usual, the Federation left it to Greater Mullura to purge the galaxy of such filth! Now, we rise up against the usurious and unethical Ferengi regime! By this time next week, the Grand Nagus shall be upon his knees, begging his rightful masters for mercy!>
Is that me? Francona asked himself. Did I make this speech? Another clerk brought papers in for his review. It was a draft of the speech he'd just watched himself give, written in his handwriting. Impossible!
"Minister Harer, I want you to call off the invasion immediatel—" Francona stopped as he felt a searing hot sensation in his brain.
"Do you require medical attention, sire?" Harer asked.
Francona wanted with all his hearts to demand Surgeon General Pastu immediately. But the words didn't come out of his mouth. Instead: "No, I'll be fine. Just another headache."
"And the invasion?"
"Of course. I see that we've shattered the Ferengi 15th Fleet, and that they're reinforcing their outmarches with the 11th and 12th Fleets. Double our contingent, and begin using our new tools against the civilian population. Perhaps if we terrify them into submission we can save our reserves for the next campaign." Francona didn't know where the words were coming from, but somehow they were being spoken by him.
"Very good, sir. The operation plan for the next phase is ready for your review as well." Harer handed him a data pad with the information.
Francona reviewed the contents in horror. A simultaneous campaign against the G'kra and the Cardassians Since the Dominion War the Cardassians had reverted to being a fifth-rate power but still had enough overall military strength to match the Mullurans. A campaign against the G'kra would court open Federation and possibly Klingon intervention if the last intelligence briefing was correct. While the Mullurans were much more powerful than ever before, the Empire was still very much out of its weight fighting either the Federation or the Klingon Empire directly. Fighting both at once, along with the upstart G'kra Socialist Republic, while at the same time maintaining a secondary front against the Cardassians, was suicide.
"Are you absolutely, stark-raving insane?" Francona wanted to demand. Instead: "Increase allocations to the shipyards by thirty percent. Award bounties to our ship commanders who capture Ferengi vessels of Marauder class and above intact. Five hundred thousand ducats for an intact vessel, one million if the vessel is still combat effective. Double the bounty for intact Federation or Klingon vessels. We can use their swords against them!"
"Are you sure this is wise, sire? The treasury is already quite strained as it is, supporting the war effort," Minister of the Exchequer Enron asked.
"Then you figure out how to generate the extra income. Sell more war bonds, increase the tax levies on the commoners, whatever it takes!"
As Francona retired to his chambers he felt something... stirring in him. He activated his secure terminal, the one even the Order Police could not touch. Osten, his Minister of Intelligence, appeared.
[How can I be of service, sire?]
"Our back channel to the Federation Starfleet Command, is he cleared to get the authorization codes to mobilize their forces?"
[Of course. We've known these codes for some time.]
"Transmit these codes to my private yacht."
[Sire?]
"I respect skepticism but I demand obedience. Do it now, Osten, or you will be replaced!"
[At once, Glorious Leader! Blood and Iron!] Osten saluted Francona as he signed off.
His mind seeming clearer than it had for the past week, A'dal Francona boarded his yacht and headed into deep space.
Meanwhile, the Combat Information Center aboard Starbase 901 hummed with activity as reports of the fighting in Ferengi space filtered in.
"The Ferengi, at least, are putting up one hell of a fight," Captain Mallory commented as she saw the latest intelligence reports of the battle. The Federation had two ships in Ferengi space on a goodwill tour which had promptly switched into intelligence-gathering mode once the first Mulluran invaders crossed over the invisible line in space separating the two powers. "Mulluran fleet elements are suffering as much as a thirty percent casualty rate."
"Unfortunately the Ferengi are suffering a ninety to one-hundred percent casualty rate in return," Tarik remarked. "At best, they can hold out maybe another two weeks. And I don't like what we're hearing about the civilian population." Where the Mullurans had landed, civilians were being massacred in the most hideous fashion possible. The few pictures that had made it out of Ferengi space showed the bodies of Ferengi soldiers with their heads completely ripped off. If my hunch is correct, the spinal column's missing as well, Tarik thought.
"Any word from any of the other powers?" he asked.
"The Romulan Empire has declared strict neutrality. The Klingon High Council is debating whether or not to assist the Ferengi. The Cardassians apparently offered assistance but for a price... which of course the Ferengi either won't pay or can't afford. It looks as though the Ferengi have called just about everyone but the Borg looking for help."
"At the rate things are going they'll probably be looking for the Borg as well. How about Command?"
"As usual, sitting on their hands. Wait..." Kitty said as a yeoman handed her a PADD.
"These are go-codes for mobilization to intervene in the Ferengi conflict. They require our authentication." Kitty entered her code into the PADD, then passed it to Tarik, who entered his code. A message printed up on the PADD:
ALL ELEMENTS TASK FORCE 34 TO PROCEED TO FERENGI SPACE BEST POSSIBLE SPEED. STAY ON STATION TEN PARSECS FROM FERENGINAR SYSTEM AND AWAIT FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS. /S/ ADM. BARTHOLOMEW SIMMONS, CHIEF, STARFLEET STRATEGIC OPERATIONS
"At least we're doing something," Tarik said. "It looks like Simmons sacked Wallace and took the job for himself."
"Simmons!" Kitty said with a snort. "I guess he finally got to make himself God after all! He's got to be the biggest player the Fleet has seen since Admiral Stiles!"
Tarik rolled his eyes. "God only knows who he'll put in command of TF34!"
Vice Admiral Richard Wallace sat in his office in Starfleet Command. With his promotion had come a new assignment, to Chief of Starfleet Personnel. He knew he'd been relegated to a desk job by (now) Admiral Simmons for having spoken up against the more senior admiral. There was little he could do now about the situation building in the Briar Patch. Or was there?
"Computer, access the personnel files for the following individuals," Wallace said, listing several names. "From those names, display all personnel due for promotion or who can be promoted in the next thirty days." The list shrank considerably.
"Computer, create SF-52 Request for Personnel Action for all listed personnel."
<Approval by Federation Senate required for three entries on this list.>
"Process the others, highlight the three entries. Then open a channel to the head of the Senate Military Appropriations Committee."
"Ah canna believe it!" Paul Deveraux said excitedly as he rushed into Kassia's shop. "Ah've been promoted to Lieutenant Commander!"
"Congratulations, Paul!" Kassia said. Her promotion -- also to Lieutenant Commander -- had come in the latest dispatch from Command. In fact, there were a number of very happy people aboard the station. Kassia felt outward along her psychic link to Tarik. He seemed happy for everyone, but with serious reservations. As well he should have right now, she thought. As well we all should have.
It was not uncommon for personnel to be promoted immediately before and immediately after a war. And while promotions in general are good things, no one had any illusions as to why it was happening. That included Commodore (brevet) Kitara Mallory as she entered the shop.
"I see by the smiles on everyone's faces that the news is out!" she said, not at all displeased.
"An' many more congratulations are due to you az well," Paul said, noting the single pip with the box around it now adorning his commanding officer's collar.
"It's only a brevet commission. It's only for the duration, and I only get to keep it if the Senate approves it." Very seldom did the Senate disapprove a promotion to flag rank, but brevet commissions were often viewed as an opportunity to screw up so spectacularly as to render one unpromoteable from that point on.
"Even so, you've earned it," Kassia said.
"I've got a feeling we're all going to be earning it before this is over."
Brigadier General (brevet) Tarik could not afford to take time to celebrate. He saw what Wallace was doing from Personnel: putting as much brass between Simmons' orders and the implementation thereof as possible so as to mitigate Admiral Simmons' incompetence. He'd taken the time to look over Simmons' record: the man had earned his flag during the Dominion War at the expense of twenty vessels he'd led into a Jem'Hadar ambush. By delivering his superior at the time home intact, he'd created for himself a patron who'd rewarded Simmons' consideration handsomely.
But such consideration on Wallace's part also generated more work on Tarik's part. He was now obligated to process promotions for all of his eligible people, and to select a staff. Fortunately that last could wait until the 28th MEF -- now officially folded into the 75th Marine Division -- had safely disembarked aboard the Patton.
He looked briefly in the mirror at the single star he now wore. Never before had a star looked so much like a cross.
"Wallace! What the hell are you doing?" Simmons yelled. "Why is the Briar Patch mobilizing?"
"I haven't done a damn thing, you know that."
"Oh, I know you all too well! You sent the go-codes on your own!"
"That's bullshit! I don't even have access to the go-codes anymore! When you decided to give me this desk to command I lost that access, and the codes have changed"
"Well, no matter. The balloon is up and it's too late to haul it down. Even as we speak TF34 is on its way to Ferenginar."
"Then I suggest you run ahead of the band before they march off without you," Wallace smiled as he leaned back in his chair, propping his feet up on his desk.
"When I get through with you, Wallace, you won't have a commission aboard a Pakled garbage scow!"
"Good! I wouldn't want one -- not if I had to report to your sorry ass!" Wallace knew as soon as he said it that his career was over. But then again, behind this desk it was as good as over anyway.
Still, though, he found himself curious as to how the go-codes had been compromised. Simmons is missing the larger picture. We've got a leak, and we'd damn well better contain it—fast!
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