All right...here's the other side of the story.
I definitely need some help writing battle scenes--for starters, I don't know a lot about tactics, and secondly, I don't know that I'm doing a very good job of it in general. I've been watching Band of Brothers
hoping to get kind of an idea of what it's like, but overall I just don't feel like I'm doing that well. Any advice on improving would be great.
2375—The Dominion War—The Second Siege of AR-558
Federation Position on AR-558
What the hell…?
Lieutenant Commander Mike Spirodopoulos had heard more than enough disruptor fire for ten lifetimes, and something sounded wrong about the Jem’Hadar weapons firing off up ahead. Part of him tried to hope that perhaps they were running on defective power cells—but no…that couldn’t be; nothing good ever happened on this damn rock. Except, of course, for the time Captain Sisko eliminated those awful ‘Houdini mines’ he’d heard so much about from the veterans. But otherwise…he knew there was no such thing as good fortune on AR-558. The Dominion was making a strong push to retake the planetoid, which Spirodopoulos suspected heralded a much larger offensive into the Chin’toka system…but had anybody listened to his warnings? Of course
Susilaputra and the half-Rigelian Tan-Ryshtak fell back into their cavern in a wild flail of arms and legs with a volley of white-hot disruptor pulses nipping at their heels. Mixed in was an amber energy discharge that lanced out laserlike, far more like a Federation weapon than anything the Jem’Hadar ever used. The detached portion of Spirodopoulos’ mind remarked, Aha…there’s the difference: Cardassians
Until now he hadn’t seen a single one of the grey-skinned reptilio-humanoids on this godforsaken rock. In that brief look before the battle crashed down upon him, the difference in bearing between the Cardassians and the Jem’Hadar accompanying them was immediate and obvious. These men were tense
. They didn’t relish the idea of hurling themselves to their deaths any more than he did, no matter how
much they loved their homeworld. And in that…they were vulnerable, for one could enter their minds in ways that were completely impossible with the battle-programmed Jem’Hadar.
By signs Spirodopoulos indicated to the Bajoran and Andorian flanking him that they would target the Cardassian newcomers to break the enemy formation. Folani and zh’Thessel, two of his crewmates from the USS Petraeus
, nodded and the trio leapt out from behind their cover in unison, each launching themselves with a shriek at the nearest Cardassian.
Spirodopoulos’ target shouted a distressed something so garbled in the heat of battle that the universal translator took one listen and gave up. This only spurred on the Starfleet combat veteran: this
was a real fight, man to man, and in all likelihood—if he lived—likely to be the only source of satisfaction he would have for the entire time he was condemned to this wretched place.
“How do you like it, you little kosst
?” Folani shrilled as she grappled with her own target, gaining a decisive advantage. The young Cardassian’s eyes widened with panic as Folani drove her elbow deep into the space under his ribs—from the look of it, hitting a vital organ. “How’s this feel? Huh? Answer me! Or are you too cowardly to do it when you’re not smashing your boot into a little child’s back?” Her prey gasped for air as she pressed the assault. His bulging grey eyes spoke nothing of the antipathy he might have reserved for Bajorans—only the primal terror of looking death in the eye.
Suddenly, freeing her arm for a moment as the Cardassian’s frantic struggles grew less and less disciplined, Folani reached into her belt and drew what looked like an obsidian spearhead, perhaps carved right there in their bunker on AR-558 for all Spirodopoulos knew. She drove the blade straight into the Cardassian’s throat and he fell with a rattling, croaking gurgle, drowning in the blood that pooled in his bronchial tubes far too fast to expel.
The sickened howl of Spirodopoulos’ assailant rattled the very walls of the cave, threatened to shatter his eardrums. These guys actually have
comrades, Spirodopoulos thought as the enraged Cardassian redoubled his efforts to pin him to the ground—until someone…zh’Thessel? shot him dead. As the enemy soldier fell forward, his armored corpse shoved Spirodopoulos off his feet, finally accomplishing what in life the man could not.
Everything from that point forward was chaos—formless, smoking, stinging, pounding chaos where the enemy troops never stopped streaming in, wave after wave after overwhelming wave until finally, had they been fighting a civilized enemy, Spirodopoulos would have surrendered to save what few soldiers remained of their battalion. But he knew
the Jem’Hadar wouldn’t rest until every single one of them was dead, knew
the Cardassians would make them wish
they were dead. So he persevered, until finally a squad of Cardassians pressed in on them. Something read strangely to him about the way they moved, the encircling formation half the brigade set up as they closed in on the last few Starfleet officers left.
They should be guarding themselves against
us—why are they letting us see so many of their backs?
That was Spirodopoulos’ last thought before a grey fist crashed into his skull.