Star Trek: The Four Years War Saratoga -"Into the Fray" Author's Note: I blame this on Bry Sinclair, Alec Peters and "Axanar," the Klingon Empire, and of course, Garth of Izar. What, pray tell, is my beef with aforementioned? The war, of course. The damned FOUR YEARS WAR! Oh sure, I tried to avoid the drumbeat to arms, the siren song of another series to embrace, promises kept, broken, forgotten and ultimately cast into darkness (sorry, wrong universe). *Deep breath* Back to the point - recently I viewed "Prelude to Axanar," one of the best independent Star Trek films ever produced, imho. "Kudos," I thought. "Can't wait for the full movie, but you don't need to go down that road. It only leads to heartache and procrastination." So far, so good. I could enjoy it and go on with life. But then Bry Sinclair posts a short-story for the "Desperation" writing challenge for the fall. Darn you to heck, Bry! Your short story was gripping, entertaining, and yes, short! By the third syphilitic deity, I could jump into the 4YW with a short story! This led to messages betwixt Bry and myself concerning ideas about the 4YW, ship classes, characters, scenarios, what Klingons eat for breakfast, etc. And now . . . . . . Here we are with the starship USS Saratoga, under the command of Captain Richard Robau (Dead, you say? Wrong universe, says I!) This is United Trek, firmly ensconced in the prime ST 'verse. No JJ-prise, no Nero, no Narada and no lens flare. Robau and George Kirk are alive and well, 9 years after the JJ-flick and now serving on the multi-mission capable starship Saratoga. It's 2242 and the cold war with the Klingons is about to get hot! TLR “People sleep peaceably in their beds only because rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf." -George Orwell Stardate 2242.37 USS Saratoga Ship’s Gymnasium The two men faced off with bamboo swords at the ready, sweat glistening on faces hidden behind wire-mesh masks. Their bōgu armor provided scant protection from the painful blows of the stout shinai. “Shall we proceed to Kakari-geiko?” asked the first kendōka. The second swore under his breath, steeling himself for the second-level attack. He was tired and sore but he nodded his assent. “Hai.” “Kiai!” With a burst of frenetic speed, Captain Robau moved in, the shinai whirred and slashed, striking his opponent’s sword, armor and limbs in staccato fashion. Several crew members paused to watch their C.O. and First Officer do battle in the ancient art form of Kendo, wincing as a bamboo sword struck home against unarmored flesh. “That’s gonna leave a mark,” muttered a crewman. “Nah, Mr. Kirk is just playing with him,” replied a second. “Bull. Captain Robau is kicking his butt.” In time-honored fashion, the crewmen were soon placing bets, waging credits against skill and bruised flesh as the two combatants continued their duel, their breath coming in gasps mixed with grunts of effort and pain. Near exhaustion, George Kirk made a desperate gamble. He feinted a thrust, then swung wide and hard with the goal of knocking Robau off balance and off the practice mat. But Robau had anticipated the ploy. He easily ducked the arcing blow and administered two quick strikes to the First Officer's forearms. Kirk’s sword clattered to the deck and he dropped to one knee as Robau dramatically placed his shinai alongside the First Officer’s neck. Some of the gathered crew applauded while others calculated their losses. “Do you yield, Mr. Kirk?” Chest heaving, Kirk replied, “Next . . . time . . . let's use . . . phasers.” Robau grinned and extended a hand, helping Kirk to his feet. “Where’s the sport in that?” Kirk retrieved his sword from the deck. “You call this sport? Keel-hauling has more appeal.” “Your concentration was off this morning,” observed Robau as they entered the locker room. “Something on your mind, Number One?” Kirk sighed. “It’s Jimmy. He’s been giving Winona a lot of grief lately and its gotten worse now that Sam’s gone off to university.” Robau nodded. He had neither wife nor children but he knew that Kirk was a dedicated family man and understood the frustration that came with extended absences. “You have quite a bit of accumulated leave time,” pointed out Robau as Kirk disappeared into the sonic shower cubicle. “Why not take a month and spend some time with your family?” “That’s tempting, but with Chris Pike gone to Yorktown, I couldn’t leave you with a green-as-grass Second Officer to break in. Besides, it would take a week to get to Earth and a week to get back.” “The offer stands, George.” Robau paused, “So what are your impressions of Commander Smythe?” Lt. Commander Jasmine Smythe, a lovely and lithe brunette from the Isle of Wight had joined the Saratoga a month earlier, replacing Commander Christopher Pike as Intel and Second Officer. Since joining the crew, she had become something of a thorn in Kirk's side. “She’s smart . . . seems to know her stuff. She’s also cocky as hell and stubborn.” Kirk exited the cubicle, a towel wrapped around his waist. Robau noted the bruises he had administered to Kirk’s arms and side. “You might want to stop by sickbay and have Dr. Tharn look at those.” Kirk shook his head as he began donning his duty uniform. “I’ve had worse. Besides, they’re a reminder to keep my head in the game.” “Sage advice,” agreed Robau as he stepped into the sonic shower. The ultra-sonic vibrations soothed his own aching muscles, though he had far fewer bruises to show from their contest. “Continue with your evaluation of Commander Smythe. Have you spoken to her about her attitude?” “Not yet.” “Giving her enough rope to hang herself?” Kirk chuckled. “No sir. In fairness, she’s handled every task I’ve sent her way. I have no complaints regarding her abilities. It’s just that, well . . . she has this smug attitude about her.” “Her countrymen would call it ‘being cheeky.’” “Well, she can be a pain in the cheeks, if that’s what you mean.” They were interrupted by the bosun’s whistle over the intercom. “Bridge to Captain Robau.” The Captain padded to a nearby intercom. “Robau here, go ahead.” “Lt. Fabrice here, Sir. We’ve lost contact with the Theta Hyronis Colony.” The Captain and First Officer exchanged glances of concern. Theta Hyronis was their destination with a population of nearly 20,000 beings. “Clarify, Lieutenant. Is the problem technical or something else?” “I cannot tell for certain, sir. Our subspace transceiver is working; I’ve run diagnostics on our end twice. Either their comm system has failed or something is jamming the signal.” “Very well. Tell helm to increase our speed to warp factor seven. Set alert status to condition yellow. Mr. Kirk and I are on the way to the bridge.” “Understood, sir.” “Robau, out.” The Captain quickly dressed and they exited the locker room en route to the turbo-lift. As the doors to the lift closed, Robau turned to the First Officer. “Mr. Kirk, have the senior staff ready to meet in the briefing room in one hour. It’s time to make contingency plans.” Kirk studied the Captain’s face. Robau’s expression was composed but there was a glacial coolness to his eyes and a tightness to his mouth that Kirk knew all too well. “The Klingons? Dear God . . .” “Too early to tell, Number One, but it’s time to get some mileage from our new Intel Officer. Perhaps Commander Smythe can provide more than suppositions and sensationalism.” * * * “Captain’s Log, Stardate 2242.373. While en route to Theta Hyronis III we have lost contact with the Earth colony that is based there. It is possible that it is merely a technical glitch but with their proximity to Klingon space I have ordered us to maximum warp and raised our alert status to condition yellow. There are nearly twenty thousand colonists on that planet with minimal defenses and we are the only Starfleet vessel within a day’s journey. We must now plan for the worst-case scenario . . . an attack by hostile forces. Briefing Room Captain Richard Robau and Commander George Kirk entered the briefing room and settled into chairs around the tri-cornered conference table. Robau noted that Lt. Commander Jasmine Smythe was engaged in animated conversation with their Tactical Officer, Lt. Akash Singh. The two officers were a study in contrasts both in temperament and physical presence. Smythe was slender, animated, and fair-skinned, she punctuated her words with gestures and tosses of her long pony-tail. Singh was an imposing figure, broad-shouldered with dark features and piercing eyes. He wore the traditional turban and beard of a devout Sikh, and was soft-spoken and reserved in manner. They broke off their conversation (argument?) as the Captain and First Officer entered. Dr. Tharn, a middle-aged Tellarite female, glanced up from her data slate and snorted. “I hope this won’t take long; I’m busy working up crew health profiles and don’t have time for another long staff meeting.” Robau regarded her quietly. “It seems we have a serious situation to address, Doctor, so your health profiles will have to wait.” He glanced around the table with annoyance. “Where are our Chief Engineer and Science Officer?” The doors to the Briefing Room slid open, admitting Chief Engineer, Lt. Commander Alexi Andropov. He took his customary seat and inclined his head in apology. “Sorry I’m late, we were in the middle of flushing the deuterium feed lines when you ordered us to maximum warp.” “Problems?” queried Robau. “No sir, just routine maintenance. We had to button everything up to get the primary pumps on-line but we can easily maintain warp 7.2 for at least 18 hours.” “Good, we’ll need every bit of our speed to . . .” The doors slid open again to admit a harried Lt. Chen Wu. The normally punctual Chief Science Officer juggled a data slate and a stack of data cubes as he quickly took a seat. He nearly bowed toward the Captain, embarrassed by his tardiness. “My sincere apologies, Captain. I was getting the latest updates from stellar meteorology.” “We’re not running from an ion storm, Mr. Wu,” pointed out Commander Kirk with a suppressed grin. “No sir, but with the loss of comm traffic with Theta Hyronis, I wanted to rule out ionic interference or other cosmic causes.” Robau nodded approvingly. “Good thinking, Mr. Wu. What were your findings?” Wu plugged in a data cube and the three-way viewer on the table came to life, displaying varying graphs and a condensed sector map. “As you can see, there are no significant ionic events of level 2 or greater within a five light-year radius. Coronal ejections from nearby stars are at a low ebb and there are no gravitational anomalies within scanning range. In short, there are no cosmic reasons to explain the loss of communications with Theta Hyronis.” The senior officers absorbed this information as Captain Robau scanned the table, his gaze coming to rest on the Intel Officer. “Commander Smythe, please give us your assessment of the Klingons. Do you think they are poised to attack the Federation or, indeed, already committed to such action?” Jasmine Smythe leaned forward, clasping her hands together in anticipation of sharing her wisdom. She cast a sidelong smirk toward Lt. Singh. The Sikh Tactical Officer maintained a neutral expression, merely folding his arms and focusing on a spot on the conference table some centimeters away. “Captain, there has been no unusual comm chatter, no bluster from their diplomats, and no border incursions to speak of in months. In short, there has been a glaring lack of saber rattling from the Klingons. In fact, there has been a perceptible thaw in the cold war of late, fewer complaints from Ambassador K’Jarn and even progress in the Vulcan’s efforts to renew face-to-face negotiations over the disputed Molari sector. In short, talk of a Klingon invasion is simply tilting at windmills.” She directed the last comment toward Lt. Singh, who was now shaking his head slowly. “You disagree, Mr. Singh?” queried Robau. Singh cut his eyes toward Smythe before answering. “There is an old saying, ‘an unsheathed sword makes no noise.’” Smythe rolled her eyes and shook her head slightly. Kirk frowned but refrained from comment. “While I am familiar with the saying," replied Robau, "I would appreciate something a bit more concrete, Lieutenant. Why do you disagree with Commander Smythe’s assessment?” “The Klingons are a warrior race. Diplomacy is merely a tool they employ to bide their time and seek advantage in an attack. If they sense that they have the advantage, they will attack in force.” “Forgive me,” interrupted Smythe, “but that sounds terribly paranoid.” “Not to me,” said Kirk, his exasperation apparent. “Everything Lt. Singh has said is true. The Klingons aren’t like us, they give no quarter and their language has no word for ‘peace’ or ‘surrender.’ Look at what they did to the Orions when they went to war.” “Respectfully, sir, that was over a century ago,” argued Smythe. “A short time for a Klingon,” observed Robau, “considering they have life spans comparable to Vulcans. Commander Smythe, Lieutenant Singh, thank you both for your contributions. We will proceed with the worst-case scenario in mind. Mr. Kirk, I want damage control drills run by all duty shifts until we reach the Theta Hyronis system.” “Aye, sir, I’m on it.” “Dr. Tharn, I want us prepared for mass casualties. Get your team ready.” The Tellarite began making notes on her data slate. “We’ll need to use the forward parts of both landing bays for triage, I’ll need a list of all species in that system so we can synthesize blood, and I may need to pull science specialists including Lt. Wu to assist . . .” The Captain nodded. “Whatever you require, Doctor. Mr. Singh, how are we prepared should we face a combat situation?” “We have a full load-out of photon torpedoes, phaser banks are all functional and we can divert power from ancillary systems to boost shields to 120%.” He paused, “I just wish we had a fighter wing aboard.” Saratoga had twin landing bays and could serve as a carrier in times of war. But this was peace-time and the only small-craft aboard were unarmed shuttle craft. A dozen fighters would not only give them sharper teeth but add an additional defensive layer. “Let’s hope those fighters won’t be necessary. Mr. Wu, continue to work with Lt. Fabrice in attempting to open a comm channel to the colony. Commander Smythe, I need to know if there is anything about that planet or system that the Klingons want or need . . . minerals, strategic advantage, some religious significance . . . anything.” He looked around, “Any questions? You have your assignments, dismissed.” As the officers filed out, Robau gestured toward Lt. Commander Smythe. “Commander? A word with you, please.” They waited until the room was empty. “Yes sir?” “I noticed some friction between you and Lt. Singh. Is there a problem?” “No sir, no problem. Just a difference of opinion.” Robau nodded. “I see. While I encourage healthy debate amongst my officers, I expect such debate to be respectful at all times. It seemed to me you were rather condescending to Mr. Singh just now.” One of Smythe’s eyebrows twitched in surprise. “I assure you, Captain, that was not my intent.” “I’m glad to hear it. You may outrank Lt. Singh but he is a department head and an experienced Tactical Officer. You may not always agree with him but I strongly suggest you hear him out. I’ve found that he is right far more often than he is wrong.” Smythe's green eyes flashed with indignation but she wisely swallowed her retort. “Understood, sir. Is there anything else?” He held her gaze a moment longer. “No, Commander. You’re dismissed.” * * * Bridge Captain Robau watched the star field stream by on the main viewer, silently urging a degree more speed from Saratoga’s warp engines as they streaked through subspace. The bridge was a hive of quiet activity with the helmsman and navigator both engrossed with their controls. Lt. Wu huddled with Lt. Fabrice as they continued to hail the Theta Hyronis Colony without success. Commander Kirk and Lt. Singh spoke in quiet tones, collaborating at the tactical station. One of the junior engineers, Ensign Montgomery Scott, sat at the normally vacant engineering station engrossed in multiple readouts. Apparently Commander Andropov was taking no chances as they pushed the engines to the limit. “Captain? Here’s the report you requested.” Commander Smythe approached with a data slate in hand. Robau scanned the slate. “Your analysis please, Commander.” “There’s nothing of material value to speak of in the Theta Hyronis system,” she began. “There are deposits of nickel, cadmium, iron ore, all common as rocks in an asteroid belt and certainly nothing to warrant an invasion. While the Klingons do revere certain sites and relics, those seem to all be located within Imperial space.” She paused. “However, there is a strategic consideration I had overlooked.” Robau glanced up. Smythe’s discomfiture was apparent. “Overlooked? Care to elaborate, Commander?” She cleared her throat and continued. “The system itself is not particularly valuable, but its location is. Scroll to page three and you’ll see what I mean.” Robau did as asked and perused the star map on the screen. He frowned as he realized the significance of her findings. The ramifications were disturbing. “If the Klingons were to take Theta Hyronis, they would be positioned to cut off our access to the Molari Dilithium mines and also be within three days’ striking distance of Andor and Tellar.” “Yes sir, that’s my conclusion as well. I . . . apologize for not being more thorough. It won’t happen again.” “Captain?” Lt. Fabrice’s voice rose above the competing noises on the bridge. Her Standard was tinged with a faint Parisian accent. “Yes, Lieutenant?” “Sir . . . we’ve just picked up a badly garbled signal, but running it through the enhancement protocols . . .” She hesitated, obviously distressed. Robau rose and moved to the comm station. Lt. Wu was visibly shaken and Lt. Fabrice’s face was ashen. “Tell me.” pressed the Captain. “Sir, it’s a priority alpha signal from USS Ares. Deep Space Station I-7 is facing an imminent attack from multiple Klingon vessels.” She paused, pressing the transceiver to her ear. “Also receiving reports of attacks in the Akerin and Tregoss systems.” Robau did a quick calculation in his head and grimaced. They were much too far away to provide assistance. It would take them many hours at maximum warp to reach Deep Space I-7 and days to reach Akerin or Tregoss. Kirk appeared by Robau’s side as did Jasmine Smythe. Kirk’s face betrayed anger while Smythe’s registered shock. “Anna,” Robau began quietly, his voice calm as he addressed the shaken communications officer. “Contact Starfleet Command. Inform them we are continuing to Theta Hyronis unless countermanded. Confidence is high that the system has come under attack by the Klingons.” “Yes . . . yes sir. Right away.” She turned to her task. “Your orders, sir?” asked Commander George Kirk, his voice tight but steady. “It seems we are at war, Mr. Kirk, and my orders are to engage and defeat the enemy at every opportunity,” replied Robau. * * * to be continued
I think I should take this moment to apologise to all. My little dabble of a challenge entry has forced TLR to write a thoroughly wonderful and compelling piece of fic, whilst also helping to hammer out the details for the Four Years War that we are now venturing into. I hope you don't keep us hanging for too long!
Good start TLR. I thought Robau was cool, though I don't overdo it like some fans did in that department, in Star Trek '09. I'm sure you will do him justice and at least give him more screen time. I have to admit that I'm a little put off by George Kirk still being his first officer after nine years? Seems like Kirk would have his own command or the war would definitely be pushing him in that direction. Perhaps it's something you'll address later?
Bry, I reiterate - this whole mess is your fault. Well, partly your fault. If you hadn't written such an engaging short story I'd still be pounding my head against the wall, trying to finish "Trajectory." DK, thanks for the read and your comments. I liked Robau as an interesting character that had a very brief life in ST'09. He seemed worth developing, so he will get a LOT of time in the 4YW stories. As to George Kirk, most interwebs experts (Sorry, i have difficulty writing that with a straight face ) indicate that Kirk was a Lt. Commander when he got the brief and fatal promotion to C.O. of the Kelvin. Figuring him to be a shiny new First Officer in 2233 (generally accepted date for the Kelvin scene in ST '09) he could reasonably seen as a seasoned XO and full commander nine years later. Yes, this will be explored more fully in time but part of it is his reluctance to accept a command because of family issues and maybe a tad of Riker Syndrome. Or something.
“It is a good day to die” - Klingon Proverb "No bastard ever won a war by dying for his country. He won it by making the other poor dumb bastard die for his country." - George S. Patton Chapter 2 USS Saratoga The image was grainy and the voice quality poor, thanks in part to the efficiency of the Klingon Imperial Navy in destroying numerous subspace relays, but the sight and sound of Winona Kirk was a soothing balm to George Kirk’s heart. “Winnie, Richard Robau is the finest Captain in Starfleet and Saratoga is one of our most advanced vessels. We’re ready to handle whatever comes our way.” Many light years away, the love of George Kirk’s life smiled bravely. “Don’t pull that B.S. on me George Kirk. I was in Starfleet too, remember? Tell it to me straight, how bad is it?” Commander Kirk hesitated. Years earlier, they had developed a series of coded expressions that could be broadcast in the clear to convey levels of danger. But despite his wife’s background as a Starfleet officer, he was loathe to let on just how bad things really were. He knew she wouldn’t panic, nor would she let on anything too serious to ten year old Jimmy. But he hated to add to her worry. Still, best to give her the truth rather than the filtered, sanitized horse crap that she was hearing from the local new nets. Finally, he said, “Mars Central versus Iowa State in ’31.” Winona closed her eyes momentarily, as she absorbed their coded message for utter disaster. “Oh.” Her reply was both an acknowledgement and a gasp, as if she had been struck. But she rallied and forced a smile, fixing him with eyes the color of a summer sky. Commander Kirk cleared his throat, wondering why his vision was suddenly blurry. “Is, uh, Jimmy getting back in line?” “Oh, you know Jimmy. Always finding a new adventure and new ways to get into mischief,” she replied airily, but George caught the slight tremor in her voice. “But his school grades are good and he’s getting better about getting chores done after I remind him the third time.” “Is he there? Can I speak with him?” “I’m sorry, George, he’s at his Jiu-Jitsu class this evening. He won’t be home for at least an hour.” He hid his disappointment. “That’s okay, I’ll catch him next time.” She nodded. “Sure, he’ll be sorry he missed you.” Her smile faded. “I love you, George Kirk. Don’t you dare get yourself hurt out there. That’s an order!” “Aye, aye 'Captain’ Kirk,” he teased. “I love you too, Winnie.” They held each other’s gaze as the signal degraded into a snowy haze. “Kick ass, Commander Kirk,” he heard her say before her image faded completely and the display shifted to read, “SIGNAL LOST.” Kirk sighed and switched off the display. He sat back in his desk chair, savoring the semi-darkness of his quiet cabin and absently wiped at the moisture on his cheek. * * * Captain Robau took a sip of cafecito, the strong Cuban coffee he had enjoyed since his boyhood in Sagua La Grande. He idly wondered if this would be his final opportunity to enjoy this small pleasure as they were now mere hours from the Theta Hyronis system. He allowed himself this respite, in fact, insisted on a time of rest for all the senior officers before facing the Klingons. The news he had just received from Admiral Hino Takarwa, his sector commander, had not been encouraging. “Richard, we lost 27 starships and four systems in less than 12 hours. Aside from the incredibly brilliant and lucky gambit by the captain of the Ptolemy, we have yet to win an engagement. Command is scrambling to get ships out your way but it will take days to organize an effective response.” Robert April was forming a task force with Yorktown and a hodgepodge of available vessels but they were at least three days away. USS Marathon was closer but the venerable Bonaventure-class cruiser was no match for a front-line Klingon ship. Hell, she lacked modern photon-torpedoes, relying on compression lasers and fusion torpedoes. They wouldn't last 30 seconds in a head-to-head battle with a D5, much less a D6. There was one bit of good news: USS Pegasus, a Saladin-class destroyer refit with a sensor dome and upgraded torpedo launchers, was en-route to Theta Hyronis and should actually arrive about the same time as Saratoga. Ironically, Pegasus had been en route to conduct a covert mission along the border for the purpose of monitoring Klingon fleet movements. A day late and a credit short, though that wasn’t the fault of Pegasus’ C.O., Captain Brandon Darkhorse. Takarwa had admitted that while the admiralty dithered over whether to present a more aggressive stance or avoid provocation, the Klingons had acted with boldness. No doubt, there would be quite a shake-up amongst the brass, but Robau did not really care about that. His concern was how to effectively attack and kill the Klingon assets in the Theta Hyronis system. And there was the rub. They were going in-system with no solid intel, apart from the fact that they could no longer contact the Earth Colony. Typical Klingon battle doctrine dictated at least a triad of capital ships along with a wing of attack and support ships. So the best-case scenario would see them entering a system with at least a three-to-one disadvantage, and likely worse factoring in the Klingon birds-of-prey. Even if Pegasus arrived in time, the odds were stacked against them. Worse still, the Klingons would expect a counter-attack. So, Robau had to come up with something unexpected. Something that the Klingons could not anticipate. Something that could only be considered as certifiably insane. He studied the screen on his desk as the library computer displayed a high-resolution image of Theta Hyronis VI, a cold gas giant of class Jovian 13.5, marginally a brown-dwarf proto-star, measuring 1.6*Mj. Tech-speak aside, TH VI was a massive ball of hydrogen and deuterium . . . all the ingredients needed for a star, save a source of ignition. Robau had actually queried the computer as to the feasibility of igniting Theta Hyronis VI. Unfortunately, the combined firepower of every vessel in Starfleet could not accomplish such a feat. So much for fireworks. However, at a depth of 150 kilometers down into the atmosphere lay a dense layer of liquid hydrogen mixed with volazyne. If they could get Saratoga into that layer unseen, they would be virtually invisible to the Klingons, yet they could use existing planetary satellites orbiting TH IV to pinpoint the locations of every Klingon vessel, and track them. Assuming the Klingons had not destroyed the satellites. And, assuming that Saratoga could execute a warp jump into a magnitude 5 gravity well, within the atmosphere of a cold gas giant where atmospheric winds could exceed 300 kph. A smile formed on Robau’s face. It was insane. It violated every safety protocol for operating a warp drive within the boundaries of a star system, much less within the gravity well of a planet, a gas giant at that. There was absolutely no margin for error. Too shallow in the atmosphere and they would light up like a Christmas tree. Might as well paint a target on the hull for the Klingons to take target practice. Too deep and even their shields could not protect them from the intense pressure; the hull would be crushed like an egg shell. Of course, there was the danger that even if they were absolutely on target with such a maneuver, the warp drive could be irreparably damaged. In which case, they were ultimately just as dead as if incinerated by Klingon disruptor fire. But if they succeeded . . . He toggled the com switch on his desk. “Robau to bridge.” “Bridge, Ensign Kroeger here, sir.” Robau had to think a moment to place the young face behind the voice. Emily Kroeger, recent Academy graduate, from Capetown, South Africa. “Ensign, I need you to wake up the senior staff and have them meet me in the briefing room in fifteen minutes.” “Uh, sir, which of the senior staff should I contact?” “All department heads and the First Officer. Does Lt. Lemas have the conn?” “Yes sir.” “Tell her I need my Chief Navigator in this meeting, too.” “Aye, sir.” “Thank you, Ensign. Robau, out.” The Captain loaded his battle plan into a data cube and tossed it once into the air before grasping it firmly and exiting his office for the briefing room. He idly wondered if, after he shared his proposed battle plan, he might leave the briefing room in a strait jacket. * * * to be continued
A Kirk being an honest-to-god family man? Well I never! A touching segment with George and Winona, before getting right back into the war with an incredibly crazy plan from Captain Robau. The Klingons won't know what hit them
Another solid entry. Admittedly, I don't quite grasp all of Robau's plan but it sounds interesting. I like how you have the admirals back on their heels about this attack and not knowing quite what to do. Cool mention of Robert April as well.
The story has a good polish to it, especially for something thrown together quickly. Good characterizations, interpersonal drama. Tense exterior action building. Oh, and did I mention the dialog? It also seems to be well done.. didn't have to go back and re-read a single part for clarification. Methinks you have had a bit of time to build your writing craft.
As usual some might fine work here. From the subtle and not so subtle guest appearances from famous Trek personalities, the totally believable science and the exploration of terrific one shot characters, there's a lot to like here. I'm definitely hooked even if Saratoga's chances don't bode well considering the major ass kicking Starfleet is in for in the opening days of this soon to be epic war.
“The true soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him.” ― G.K. Chesterton Chapter 3 USS Saratoga NCC-1224 Briefing Room Captain Robau stared around the briefing room, allowing his proposal to sink in. For the moment, there was only silence and looks ranging from shock to bemusement. “Well?” he asked, breaking the silence. “Speak up!" Chief Engineer Andropov frowned. “I’m not even sure that is possible, Captain. It’s never been attempted.” “Desperate times call for desperate measures,” quipped Lt. Commander Jasmine Smythe. “I say it’s worth the risk.” Commander George Kirk was nodding. “I agree. It’s time we turned the tables on the Klingons . . . use the element of surprise against them.” “Well I don’t understand any of this,” announced Dr. Tharn, glaring around the table. “Someone translate what the Captain just said.” Lt. Angela Lemas, the Chief Navigator, turned to the Tellarite CMO. “In theory, we use the atmosphere of Theta Hyronis VI as a hiding place . . . a hunter’s blind, if you will. The Klingons’ sensors will not be able to pick us up, but we can use the weather and comm satellites orbiting Theta Hyronis IV to provide us telemetry for our own targeting scanners. And then . . .” Lemas turned back to the Captain, who finished her thoughts. “Then, we launch a spread of torpedoes and engage the enemies. With luck, we will degrade their ability to fight by disabling or destroying the enemy ships, enabling us to conduct rescue operations for any surviving colonists on Theta Hyronis IV.” “With luck?” snorted Andropov. “Respectfully sir, we need more than luck; we need a miracle. Assuming we can enter the atmosphere of that gas giant at the exact position that will provide us concealment without crushing us, and assuming that we can do so without tearing apart our warp engines, and assuming that these satellites are still functioning, and that there aren't a dozen Klingon battle cruisers to fight, can we even get there unnoticed?” Robau turned to the Chief Navigator. “A fair question. Lt. Lemas?” The Guatemalan nodded. “Yes sir, I can get us there. We will need to drop out of warp short of the system and outside the Klingons’ sensor range. We can then use the mass of the gas-giant to shield our approach in-system. It will be tricky and our path must be precise, but it is doable.” “Mr. Carter? Can you warp us into the gas giant’s gravity well and at the proper altitude?” Robau asked of Lt. Hardin “Hardy” Carter, the Chief Flight Control Officer. The dark-skinned Helmsman glanced at Lemas and back at Robau, grinning. “If Angela can plot it, I can fly it,” he replied with confidence. “Good. Let me be clear; if we successfully reach our surveillance point and discover that there are indeed a dozen battle cruisers, we will observe, gather intel, and then get the hell out of there. I have no intention of committing us to an act of mass suicide. Starfleet cannot afford to trade vessels even at a one-to-one rate. The Klingons have Starfleet outnumbered in ships nearly two to one, correct Commander Smythe?” “Unfortunately, that’s true, sir.” “That is not to say that this will not be highly dangerous. But we are at war, ladies and gentlemen, and risk comes with the uniform. Now, back to tactics. Mr. Singh? Give us a rundown on how we stack up against the Klingon ships.” The Sikh tactical officer cleared his throat. “We match up well with their D5 cruisers. While their ships are better armored, our sensors are better and we have the advantage in speed and maneuverability. Weapons and shields are about even, though the D5 hulls have the advantage with heavy armor plating. The D6 is a different story. Their disruptors are more powerful than our phasers and have greater range. The D6 matches us in speed, though we still have the edge in maneuverability. Our phasers would have limited impact on their shields, much less their hulls. Multiple photon-torpedo strikes would be required to disable a D6. As to targeting, the Klingons embrace an avian aesthetic with long necks connecting their command and engineering sections. Break the neck and you kill the ship.” The gathered officers absorbed the sobering assessment. Robau nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Singh. We have two hours before we reach the outer boundaries of Theta Hyronis. Mr. Andropov, divert necessary system power to the shields and structural integrity fields. Lt. Lemas and Lt. Carter, I leave the course and the transit in your capable hands. I want security details with side-arms on every deck and section, in the remote chance we are boarded. Let’s get to work; you’re dismissed.” As the senior officers gathered data slates and coffee cups, Robau motioned to Kirk. “Commander, a word please?” Kirk joined Robau by the beverage servitor as the Captain waited for the others to file out. “Well Number One, it seems I have committed us to a course of action that to the casual observer must seem insane. What are your thoughts?” “It is a wild plan, but I like it. The Klingons won’t be expecting this and that's the edge we will need.” Robau nodded. “I certainly hope you are right. But Alexi is also correct . . . there are many, many things that can go wrong . . .” He fixed his First Officer and friend with an appraising stare. “Am I being a fool, George?” Kirk shook his head. “Like you said, ‘this is war and risk comes with the uniform.’ We don’t have the luxury of playing it safe and I certainly haven’t thought of a better plan. If there was one, we would have heard about it just now." He paused, "Look, Richard, you have excellent officers who trust you and are capable of carrying out your orders. Let them do their jobs.” The Captain took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “You’re right of course.” USS Pegasus NCC-612 The destroyer Pegasus streaked through interstellar space, racing toward a rendezvous with USS Saratoga and a showdown with a Klingon force of unknown strength. An outside observer would note that she differed from other Saladin-class destroyers in several ways, most notably the round sensor array situated above and aft of the saucer. Her recent refit had not only given her sharper ears and eyes but sharper teeth as well with two additional torpedo tubes and uprated phase capacitors for her phaser banks. “Time to the Theta Hyronis system?” queried Commander Brandon Darkhorse, Captain of the Pegasus. “Two hours, twelve minutes at our current speed of warp 7.3,” replied the First Officer, Lt. Commander Naji Sahawneh. “Sir!” barked Lt. Jacques Alaine, the Tactical Officer. “Contact, bearing 116 mark 18, distance 4.2 light hours.” “I need an I.D. Mr. Alaine,” said Darkhorse. “Yes sir, working on it . . . a Klingon jamming drone, probably unmanned. They’ve been raising havoc with subspace signals throughout the sector.” The captain considered this. “Helm, how much time to adjust course, remove that pest, and continue on to Theta Hyronis?” Lt. Erik Strauss glanced at his controls then back at Darkhorse. “Ten minutes, sir.” Darkhorse adjusted his position in the command chair. “I think we can spare ten minutes. Mr. Alaine, arm phasers. I want to take out that drone.” The Belgian Tactical Officer allowed himself a feral smile. “Aye, sir. Phaser banks are fully charged.” It took them only six minutes to intercept the drone, which was holding a relatively stationary position. “Drop us out of warp and prepare to fire on my order.” “Aye, sir,” replied Strauss as his fingers quickly inputted commands. Pegasus dropped to sublight in a colorful burst of Coreolis radiation. Instantly, their shields were peppered with disruptor fire from the ugly, dark drone. “Feisty little bastard,” murmured the Cheyenne C.O. “Any damage, Naji?” “None. Low-level disruptors only, they might damage a civilian ship but our shields are holding steady.” On the view screen, the drone continued to spit bolts of raw energy at Pegasus, the destroyer’s defensive shields flaring from each strike but all was steady on the bridge. “This is very entertaining, but we have a prior appointment. End that drone, Mr. Alaine.” “With pleasure, sir. Firing.” A beam of intense blue shot out from one of the ventral phaser emitters, vaporizing the drone. “Target destroyed. Scratch one jammer.” “Resume course and speed, Mr. Strauss.” Pegasus jumped to warp and was once more racing to Theta Hyronis. Captain Darkhorse’s smile faded as he contemplated their next encounter with a Klingon vessel. No doubt, its teeth would be much sharper. * * * USS Saratoga The starship Saratoga dropped out of warp 1.5 A.U.s from the Theta Hyronis system, the star still appearing small but very bright on the main viewscreen. “Lt. Lemas, have you determined our course?” The Navigator reviewed her calculations and fed them into the nav-computer. “Yes sir, course plotted and laid in. We need a warp-jump of 1.655 seconds, which will put us on the dark side of Theta Hyronis six. We must then circumnavigate the planet at an altitude of 110 to 115 kilometers to stay in the ‘golden’ zone and assure that we’re invisible to the Klingons.” “And remain in one piece,” added Commander Kirk. “Yes sir, that too,” she amended with a nervous smile. Captain Robau paused, glancing around the bridge. The atmosphere was calm; there was no sense of panic even though they were about to undertake a very dangerous mission without knowing the size of strength of the opposing force. He felt a fierce sense of pride in this crew, mixed with humility that they would follow him so willingly. Robau vowed he would not let them down. Commander George Kirk appeared at his elbow. “No turning back now,” he murmured, sotto voce. “No, indeed,” replied Robau. He toggeld the inter-ship comm switch. “All hands, this is the Captain. In a moment, we will undertake a dangerous maneuver that, if successful, will allow us to target the Klingon force in-system and, hopefully, engage them. Condition alert, all hands proceed to your duty stations; damage control parties, stand by. Godspeed to us all.” Robau closed the channel and fixed his gaze on Lt. Carter at the helm. “Ready, Mr. Carter?” The Helmsman was composed but his palms were sweaty. “Yes sir, awaiting your order.” “Take us in.” * * * Saratoga covered the distance to Theta Hyronis VI in under two seconds. The ship shook violently as they reentered normal space within the volatile atmosphere of the gas giant. Numerous alarms began to sound around the bridge as damage reports flowed in. “Damage report,” barked Robau as the deck continued to pitch under his feet. “We have full hull integrity but the intercoolers on the port nacelle are damaged. Engineering is re-routing to compensate,” announced Lt. Fabrice as she fielded reports from throughout the ship. “Other than a few bruises and minor malfunctions, the ship is sound.” “Helm, what’s our status?” “Right on target, sir. We’re at an altitude of 111.2 kilometers. Atmospheric winds are at 95 kph, so the ride may be rough but we’re able to proceed to the sunny side on your order.” “Very good. Well done, Lieutenants. Ahead slow.” “Ahead slow, aye,” replied Carter. The Saratoga began to plow through the liquid hydrogen and volazyne gas as it slowly traversed the curvature of the giant planet. The hull rumbled and the deck shook. The starship was never intended to transit an atmosphere, but in less than an hour they were in optimum position. A few ominous creaks and pops from the hull drew looks of concern from several of the bridge crew. “Mind your stations,” ordered Kirk. “If the hull fails, you won’t live long enough to know it.” “That’s comforting,” whispered Lt. Lemas to Lt. Carter. “Tactical, send an encrypted ping to those satellites. Let’s see whether or not we’re on a fool’s errand,” ordered Robau. Lt. Singh worked the controls at the tactical station. The encrypted signals would be difficult for the Klingons to intercept unless they were looking for them. As such, they would simply be written off as bursts of background radiation from the gas giant. A rare smile crossed Singh’s face. “I have them, Captain. Apparently, the Klingons did not deem the satellites to be worthy of an expenditure of ordinance. We have seven satellites on line.” The Captain leaned forward, a note of anticipation in his voice. “Upload the telemetry; let’s see what they are seeing.” “Aye, sir. I must do this slowly, lest the Klingons pick up the transmission.” “Understood.” Fifteen minutes later, the Sikh lieutenant turned to Robau. “Upload complete, sir. Request permission to transfer tactical data to the main screen.” “Go ahead.” The dark, dreary fog that swirled on the viewscreen was quickly replaced with the tactical plotter, a modified grid that provided a three-dimensional representation of the Theta Hyronis system. Robau grunted. Four Klingon battle cruisers appeared on the plotter, along with six support ships. “So much for the triad theory,” quipped Kirk as he stared at the viewscreen. Three D5 battle cruisers and an older D4 orbited Theta Hyronis IV as the smaller Raptors and Birds of Prey held defensive positions at LaGrange point five. “No D6, though. That makes things easier,” opined Lt. Singh. A small smile formed on Robau’s face. “I like your optimism, Mr. Singh. Establish a targeting solution for the four cruisers, two torpedoes each, if you please. Lt. Lemas, lay in attack pattern sigma twelve. Lt. Carter, prepare to move us out at full impulse, phasers hot and on stand-by. He turned to Commander Kirk. “Number One, please assist Mr. Singh with weapons. I anticipate that he will be quite busy in short order. He toggled the comm-switch on his armrest. “Robau to Engineering.” “Engineering, Andropov here.” “Mr. Andropov, now is an excellent time to augment our shields. They are about to be tested.” “Understood. Transferring reserve and ancillary system power to the shield grid now.” “Thank you, Commander.” He closed the channel, then toggled the inter-ship comm. “All hands, this is the Captain. Battle stations, I repeat, battle stations.” The bridge lighting shifted to hues of red as two security officers stepped off the turbo-lift and took up positions on the upper deck. “All hands report ready,” announced Lt. Fabrice with admirable calm. “Mr. Singh, do you have targets acquired.” “Yes sir, I have firing solutions on the four enemy cruisers. Tubes are loaded with Mark III torpedoes; we can fire a volley of four, reload and fire four more within five seconds.” “Phasers are hot,” announced Commander Kirk. “We’re ready to take on the small craft. Just awaiting your word.” Time seemed to slow down for Captain Robau as he took in the reports, his eyes fixed on the red trefoils on the viewscreen that designated their opponents. No . . . their targets. “Mr. Singh, fire torpedoes. Mr. Carter, ahead full – engage!” * * * To be continued
And so the battle begins. A risky maneuver pays off and perhaps it's just what they needed to start turning the tide of this war. Maybe not the outcome of just one battle, but the ingenuity displayed here may eventually lead Starfleet onto a path of increased success. In the meantime of course Saratoga's got her hands full, heavily outnumbered and possible outgunned. Let's hope Pregasus' ten minute delay is not what'll make the difference in this battle.
Robau has gotten himself a damned good crew behind him, willing to take crazy risks and nigh on impossible manoeuvres just to get into position. I can only imagine what he has in store for the battle itself.
“Always keep your foes confused. If they are never certain who you are or what you want, they cannot know what you are like to do next.” ― George R.R. Martin Chapter 4 IKS Sje’JhuQ Standard orbit, Theta Hyronis IV Sub-Altern Lorq surveyed the cramped bridge of the D4 battle cruiser, relishing the sense of importance he felt as Duty Officer. Granted, the brief battle had been handily won many hours ago as the task force had successfully concluded their assault of the system. The young, ridge-browed officer had been disappointed that the population of Ch'Pa'voH (Theta Hyronis IV as it was called by the Earthers) had provided so little resistance. At this rate, the Imperial Navy would be in orbit of Earth in a matter of weeks, not months. Personally, he hoped the war with the Federation would last longer, offering a greater chance for glory and advancement. The senior officers were mostly below decks, some in their sleep cycle while others celebrated their victory over bottles of blood wine. Lorq did not begrudge their celebration; it allowed him a few moments to actually command the proud ship, even if that simply meant maintaining standard orbit around the wretched planet with a skeleton crew. After all, Starfleet was on the run, having lost most of the initial engagements with the superior Imperial Klingon Navy. It was hardly sporting. His lip curled derisively at the thought. Scientists and explorers . . .Pah! Are there no true warriors in Starfleet? His reverie was broken by the smooth-browed Klingon at the sensor station, an officer even more junior than Lorq. “Multiple energy signatures from the sixth planet,” He announced a note of puzzlement in his voice. “And?” queried Lorq, attempting to convey the sense of boredom and contempt he imagined the Captain would use with such useless data. The sixth planet was an abysmal ball of cold gases that belched energy bursts on a regular basis, wreaking havoc with sensors and communications. Too bad it was too massive to destroy. “There is much background radiation from the gas giant, but this seems . . . wait . . . No! It can’t . . .” As Sub-Altern Lorq felt the first tendrils of alarm, the Mark III photon torpedo slammed into the D4’s shields at a point where the command section connected with the tapered neck. The 12 isoton warhead detonated with a blinding flash, pummeling the cruiser and overloading its shields as anti-matter and matter merged in a cataclysm. Ion radiation leached through the armor, killing dozens of Klingons instantly, including the bridge crew. Before the surviving members of IKS Sje’JhuQ could react to the unexpected attack, the second torpedo tracked in, slipped through the failing shields and impacted the engineering hull before detonating. Even with its heavy armor, the D4 was mortally wounded; the blast shearing off the starboard warp nacelle and breaching a significant portion of the adjoining hull. Atmospheric gases erupted from the ship’s wound, igniting briefly in a brilliant cascade of lethal hues. IKS Sje’JhuQ rolled over and began its death tumble towards the atmosphere of Theta Hyronis IV, trailing a stream of gasses and plasma, its crew dead from the trauma of the explosions or incinerated by the inferno that raged within the shredded hull. USS Saratoga The momentary euphoria elicited by the destruction of the Klingon D4 was quickly tempered by the immediate response of the Klingon raptors and birds-of-prey. Even as Saratoga barreled into the system at maximum impulse, phasers firing, the agile Klingon gun boats swarmed toward the starship, disruptor beams lancing out, seeking points of weakness. Robau’s gambit was only partially successful. The destruction of the D4 improved their odds somewhat, but the other three capital ships had escaped destruction as they were somewhat more distant and had more time to react. One of the D5 cruisers had been severely damaged but its stout shields held and it avoided the second torpedo. Another suffered apparent damage to its sublight engines and it struggled to break orbit, but Robau had no doubt of its bite. The third battle cruiser was commanded by a veteran captain and crew which skillfully avoided the incoming torpedoes and now stalked the Saratoga with deadly intent. The starship rocked as disruptor fire began to rake their shields. “Initiate a spiral course toward the D5s,” ordered Robau. “Keep rotating our shields. Mr. Singh, please see to those inbound raptors and have torpedoes on stand-by.” The tactical officer acknowledged by piercing the lead raptor with a collimated burst of phased energy. The heavy phasers of the Saratoga made short work of the assault craft’s shields and they were rewarded by the sight of a brilliant fireball that bloomed and faded in the vacuum. “Scratch one,” muttered Kirk, as he also tracked multiple targets. Saratoga shook violently and the bridge lighting dimmed momentarily. “The lead D5 just opened up on us!” announced the First Officer. “Forward shields down to 80%.” “Evasive, Mr. Carter,” ordered Robau. “Return the favor, Mr. Singh.” Twin blue phaser beams streaked from Saratoga, crossing the void and flaring against the Klingon battlecruiser’s forward shields. The lead D5 broke off its approach as the second D5 arced around from port, its forward disruptor port glowing an ugly red. “Helm, hard over! Fire torpedoes.” Once more, the ship shook as Klingon disruptors hammered her shields. Lt. Carter’s quick reactions likely spared them a mortal wound as the energy beams glanced off the shields at an oblique angle. Still, damage reports began to flow in to the bridge at an alarming rate. “Casualty reports coming in, Captain,” announced Lt. Fabrice. “Ruptured plasma conduit on deck 12 and a coolant leak in engineering. Damage control parties and a medical team are en route.” “Understood,” replied Captain Robau tersely, his focus still on the tactical plotter. There would be time for personal recriminations later. . . assuming they survived. “One hit on second D5’s forward shields, minimal damage. Second torpedo missed.” Robau considered the situation. They had lost the element of surprise and the odds were still against them. But he was loathe to give in so quickly. “Time to level the playing field a bit. Lt. Lemas, adjust heading to zee-minus 90, then set up a pivot move at 10 mark 180. Helm, initiate a warp burst to bring us immediately behind that damaged D5.” Lemas and Carter did not bother to trade surprised glances. After all, they had just successfully completed an impossible maneuver, bringing Saratoga through the atmosphere of a cold gas giant. An in-system warp jump was child’s play in comparison. “Here we go,” muttered Carter. For an instant, Saratoga vanished from the view screens of the Klingon battle group, only to appear again scant kilometers aft of the Klingon D5, IKS DoM’chuQ. “Fire torpedoes and open up with all phasers!” ordered the Captain. Twin blazing orbs smashed into the Klingon vessel’s aft shields, which faltered under the onslaught. The D5’s sublight engines were reduced to scrap and the heavy phaser fire ripped into the engineering compartments, setting off a chain reaction of subsequent explosions. Dom’chuQ, though grievously wounded was not completely helpless. A photon torpedo streaked from her aft launcher, striking Saratoga’s shields just forward of her port-side hangar bay. If Lt. Carter had not been alert, the torpedo likely would have struck the saucer dead-on. As it were, the damage was severe as Saratoga’s shields buckled in that area and the port navigational deflector was destroyed in the blast. Debris from the starship twinkled in the scant sun light, following the great vessel like a school of small fish. “Break off,” barked Robau, as he stabbed the comm-switch on his armrest. “Bridge to engineering, what’s our status?” “Andropov, here Captain. That last hit took out a third of our shield generators. We’re re-routing but another shot like that and we may lose the shields altogether. We’ve shored up a coolant leak and I’ve got people heading to the port hangar deck to check for hull breaches.” “Understood. Helm, give us some room to maneuver and keep us out of range of those disruptors. Weapons, can you get a clean shot at the bastard who hit us?” “Working on a targeting solution, sir,” replied Singh. “Captain, three birds-of-prey approaching at high impulse, making an attack run, bearing 226 mark 24.” “Helm keep us moving. Mr. Kirk, keep those birds away from our port side.” “You’ve got it, sir,” replied the First Officer. A fusillade of phaser fire erupted from their starboard emitters, scattering the approaching birds-of-prey. The agile Klingon vessels quickly regained their formation, however, and resumed their attack run. “Sir, I have another contact inbound, with a Starfleet transponder code, coming in high above the elliptic,” announced Lt. Commander Jasmine Smythe. “It’s the Pegasus, sir.” “’Bout time,” muttered Kirk. Robau allowed himself a small smile. “Now, things are even,” he voiced to himself, ignoring the fact that the Klingons still had two cruisers and a brace of assault craft still in the battle. The Saladin-class destroyer dove through the formation of Klingon assault craft, phasers lancing out in all directions, scoring multiple hits as it pulled a turn that strained its inertial dampeners to the limits. “Two of the Birds-of-Prey are out of the fight,” announced Kirk. “The other is turning to engage Pegasus.” “Let’s turn our attention back to the lead D5. He’s been far too cagey and it’s time for him to pay the price. Weapons, load four torpedoes. Helm, initiate attack pattern Zulu six. Execute!” Saratoga bore down on the Klingon battle cruiser, phasers lancing out and splashing against the D5’s formidable shields, illuminating the vessel with an eerie blue halo. “Shift reserve power to the forward shields and fire torpedoes,” ordered the Captain. But to their great surprise, the D5 wheeled to starboard and jumped to warp as did the remaining assault ships. Of the original Klingon battle group, all that remained were the two remaining D5s, one now a glowing hulk, dying of radiation and decompression, with internal fires and secondary explosions finishing off the once proud ship. “Belay that last order, Mr. Singh. Mr. Carter, move us in to that wounded D5 in orbit. Lt. Fabrice, hail the Pegasus and invite them to join the hunt.” Though his tone was upbeat, Robau was troubled by the sudden departure of the Klingon battle group. Such a move was unexpected and out of character for their adversaries. “I have Captain Brandon Darkhorse of the Pegasus standing by on a secure channel,” announced the Comm Officer. The face of the Cheyenne C.O. of USS Pegasus filled the viewscreen, dark eyes bracketed by high cheekbones and wavy black hair peered at them with bemused warmth. “It seems we arrived at the party just when everyone was leaving. Looks like you made a mess of the Klingons, Captain,” quipped Darkhorse. “We’re grateful for your arrival, nonetheless. But as you can see, we’re a bit of a mess ourselves and we have one more target in orbit of Theta Hyronis IV. I have a strong suspicion that the Klingons will be back in short order and in greater numbers, so I suggest we eliminate this last threat and begin rescue operations on the planet.” “Of course, sir. Do you want us to handle it?” Robau made a waving gesture with his hand. “No, Captain, though we welcome your participation. We will see this through and quickly. I think the direct approach is best. We have four torpedoes armed and loaded.” “I’ll see your four and raise you four more. We’ll follow your lead, Pegasus, out.” Robau was silent for a moment, still scarcely daring to believe they may actually snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. “Mr. Singh, stand by on torpedoes. Lt. Fabrice, hail the Klingons and inform them that we will accept their immediate and unconditional surrender or we will blow them out of the sky. Send it in the clear in case some of their friends are monitoring.” Fabrice did as ordered, but turned back to Robau with a frown. “Sir, the channel is open but they aren’t replying, perhaps . . .” The viewscreen suddenly went white as the Klingon battle cruiser exploded. The remnant of the engineering hull tracked down into the atmosphere, blazing a fiery trail across the azure sky. Robau looked up sharply. “Mr. Singh, did you . . . ?” “No sir,” the Tactical Officer replied, “and neither did the Pegasus. It seems they initiated their self-destruct option.” “Preferring to die by their own hand? Curious,” murmured the Captain. He straightened. “Helm, take us in, standard orbit. Commander Smythe, keep sensors active in case the Klingons return. Mr. Kirk, see that rescue operations begin planet-side and coordinate with Pegasus. You have the conn.” “Aye sir, and where will you be?” “Sick bay . . . I need to see about our casualties.” Kirk nodded. “Understood.” As Robau stepped onto the turbo-lift, Kirk settled into the command chair. His smile faded as he viewed the planet below. Dark streaks of heavy black smoke streamed across the planet from numerous points. He wondered if there was anyone left on Theta Hyronis IV to rescue. * * * To be continued
I'm with Robau on this, the Klingons bugging out in the middle of battle...something very bad is about to happen. More please!
Intense space combat and I'm glad to see Pegasus arrived in time to join the party otherwise this battle would have likely tuned out quite a bit differently. Now the big questions is, what are the Klingons up to? They're not going to take this lightly and their counter offensive, if that's what we're looking at here, is sure to be brutal.
I'm really enjoying this, TLR. You always bring out the best with any character, big or small, that you use or create from your own awesomeness. Just one question. Where's the Border Dogs in this time period?