“Aftermath” – a USS Bluefin vignette
Note: the events in this story occur during and immediately after a key battle of the Dominion War - Operation Return – the battle to retake Deep Space Nine. The story includes characters from my other series: The Endurance of Jesse Yeager.
As always, your comments are welcome and appreciated!
Stardate 51464.9 (10 June 2374)
USS Bluefin
Ninth Fleet Rescue & Support Wing – Bajor Sector
Captain Joseph Akinola silently watched the main viewscreen of the USS Bluefin as the pivotal battle to retake Deep Space Nine raged in the distance. Light flared and faded as opposing starships unleashed their deadly arsenals at each other.
His dark face registered his frustration and concern. He was frustrated over the support role to which his border cutter and crew were relegated, but his main concern was for the thousands of Starfleet and allied beings now caught in a deadly struggle to retake the strategic space station, Deep Space Nine.
Part of him understood and accepted the reasoning for remaining in a support role. His cutter, though swift and well-armed, was no match for the Cardassian and Jem’Hadar battleships that were fighting elements of the Second, Fifth and Ninth Fleets. But he also knew that the Fleet was outnumbered nearly 2 to 1. It grated on Akinola to sit on the sidelines, to wait for the end and to simply help pick up the pieces. Another part of him – the part that had lost friends and colleagues to the Cardassians and Dominion forces cried out for retribution. Akinola quelled those feelings. For now.
The Captain stood from his chair but refrained from pacing. He turned toward the operations station.
“Lt. T’Ser – any update?”
The Vulcan operations officer turned slightly in her chair. “We’ve received an update on ship losses sir, but it’s far from comprehensive.”
Akinola felt his stomach tighten in apprehension. “Let’s have it,” he said, flatly.
T’Ser hesitated, glancing at the XO, Dale McBride. “Sir . . . it’s not good . . .”
The Captain’s features softened slightly. “T’Ser – go ahead, give me the update.”
She nodded in acquiescence and turned back to her display screens. “67 Miranda-class ships damaged or destroyed. 29 Excelsior-class ships out of commission, 19 Galaxy-class, 15 Centaurs, 8 Nebulas, 4 Akiras and 4 Defiant-class ships also gone. There are almost certainly more . . .” Her voice trailed off.
The bridge was momentarily silent following this announcement. Already, 146 of the 627 Starfleet vessels in the battle were out of the fight. How many more ships would they lose? How many more people would die?
And where are the damn Klingons? Akinola fumed silently. He sat back in the command chair, his mood as dark as his complexion. The Bluefin held station a good light hour from the battle area, along with 23 other cutters, 4 hospital ships, 10 warp tugs plus 3 elderly Constellation – class ships that the Fleet Commander, Captain Sisko, simply couldn’t use. All of them watched and waited for the battle to end. At that point, they would move into the battle area to salvage damaged ships, rescue survivors and tend to the dead.
Now I know how a vulture feels, mused Akinola. Just wait around for the dying to end, then swoop in. He kept his eyes on the screen, watching the flashes of energy flare and fade – knowing that he was seeing images that occurred an hour earlier.
I’m watching the last gasps of dying ships, he mused, and there’s not a damned thing we can do to help them from here!
“Sir!” T’Ser spoke up, her voice animated. “Klingon warships have de-cloaked and are engaging the enemy ships!”
Akinola thumped the arm of his chair with his fist. “About time!” he exclaimed. “That should level the playing field!”
For the next two hours, the bridge crew anxiously waited and listened as reports slowly came in. It soon became apparent that the tide of battle had, indeed, turned in their favor.
“I’m receiving another report . . .” announced T’Ser. She frowned in puzzlement, yet it was obviously good news as her face broke into a wide grin. “I’m not sure I understand – something about the Dominion Fleet simply disappearing? That can’t be right! But our forces have definitely broken through! The remaining enemy forces are in retreat – headed for Cardassia!”
Dale McBride, the XO, let out a whoop of joy and there were high-fives and hugs throughout the bridge. Even Captain Akinola had difficulty suppressing a huge grin.
“Alright, people!” he shouted over the din. “Settle down, settle down! It’s our turn, now. Let’s get in there and help out our comrades. XO, shields up and weapons hot – we might run into some enemy stragglers. Lt. T’Ser – signal the rescue wing to move into their assigned op-areas. Have the hospital ships hang back with the Constellations for escort.”
McBride and T’Ser acknowledged and carried out their orders.
“Mr. Fralk, take us in – maximum impulse. T’Ser, prepare to scan for life signs.”
The cutters sped toward the scene of the battle as the hospital ships followed behind.
* * *
The ebullient mood on the bridge quickly faded as the rescue ships moved into the battle zone. Hundreds of ships drifted, trailing plasma and frozen atmosphere. Debris tumbled and collided through the carnage.
“Sweet Lord!” muttered McBride from the tactical station. His face reflected the shock and grief of all on the bridge.
“Focus on the task at hand, people,” said Akinola, quietly but firmly. “Let’s find the survivors and take care of them first. T’Ser – signal the Scamp and Snubfin to handle combat patrol while the rest of us begin SAR-Ops.”
“Aye, sir.” Her hands moved quickly over the com panel as she opened channels to the Bluefin’s two sister ships.
The cutters spread out into their designated search areas. The Bluefin banked slightly to starboard, weaving slowly through derelict spacecraft as debris impacted their shields in blue, staccato flashes. Most of the debris was comprised of shredded metal and alloys. Some was organic.
“Look at that!” whispered Fralk as they passed the dead hulk of a Miranda – class ship. The scorched and battered hull had a massive hole punched clean through.
“T’Ser?” queried Akinola.
“It’s the Majestic, sir.” She paused, “No life signs.”
The Captain merely nodded. “Continue scanning, Lieutenant, and watch for life pods. Steady as she goes, Mr. Fralk.”
They soon came upon the wreckage of two Cardassian Galor-class cruisers. One was broken in two, still streaming glowing plasma. The other was fragmented, only the total mass and make-up of the debris revealed its former identity. Akinola took cold comfort in the destruction of these enemy ships. There were far more allied ships destroyed. He still wondered how they had managed to win the battle.
“No life signs on that Galor, Captain,” T’Ser announced. “No energy readings either.”
At this, McBride relaxed fractionally. He had two torpedoes ready for launch and he moved his hand fractionally from the firing control.
Moving past the tumbling Cardassian ship, they spotted the mangled remains of an Excelsior – class starship. Both nacelles were gone and the primary hull had numerous breaches with entire sections missing and exposed to the vacuum of space. The engineering hull was likewise damaged, though not as extensively. Barely visible through the scorch marks and gaps in the plating was her name – USS Axanar. Akinola noted that the escape pods were still in place. Apparently they had gone down fighting the Galors – to the last man.
“Scanning for life-signs,” announced T’Ser. She frowned. “There’s a lot of background radiation – probably from the sheer amount of ordinance expended. Attempting to filter . . .” She jerked up, surprised. “I’m reading several life-signs, sir, but they’re weak!”
Akinola responded instantly and tapped the intra-ship com button on his chair. “All transporter rooms - prepare to beam over survivors!”
“Most of the survivors are located in the secondary hull, near sickbay,” continued T’Ser. “Two are still in the primary hull - one on the bridge, one on deck four.” She paused, and then quickly added, “The one on the bridge looks to be in bad shape – life signs are fading.”
The Captain tapped his combadge. “Akinola to Chief Deryx.
“Deryx here, go ahead, Captain.”
“Chief – beam whoever’s on the bridge directly to sickbay.”
“Aye, sir – I’m on it. I’ve got a lock and initiating transport now.”
“Thanks, Chief. Akinola, out.” He turned to McBride. “Dale, head on down and see to the survivors. We’ll need temporary quarters for the un-injured. Make sure anyone with injuries gets to sickbay.”
McBride unfolded his tall frame from the tactical station and moved to the lift while Senior Chief Brin moved to replace him.
* * *
Dr. Calvin Baxter, CMO of the Bluefin, watched as a human form materialized on one of the bio-beds. It coalesced into a tall, male human who was unconscious and badly injured. Baxter noted that the man’s left leg was gone just below the knee. Additionally, his skin was pale and sallow, though much of this was concealed by soot and dried blood from a scalp wound. There were severe burns on his hands and the sleeves of his uniform were scorched. Baxter quickly glanced at the bio-sensor readouts above the bed and frowned. The pulse was thready, blood pressure dangerously low, and respiration was fast and shallow.
“Sandy, let’s get his vitals stabilized, then check him over for injuries,” said Baxter to Corpsman 1st Class Sanders.
Sanders frowned at the man’s leg, or lack thereof. “No bleeding?” he asked, puzzled.
“The stump’s been cauterized – probably with a phaser. Focus, Sandy!” said Baxter, impatiently, as he administered a hypo-spray with an anti-shock compound.
Sanders forced his gaze from the ravaged limb and quickly placed an oxygen canula under the man’s nose. He noted the four pips on the man’s collar.
“It’s their captain!” pointed out Sanders.
Baxter administered a second hypo-spray containing Cordrazine and Tri-Ox. “Not for much longer unless we get him stable. Get the thoracic arch ready – I’m not liking his heart rhythm. And push a unit of normal saline – we’ve got to get him re-hydrated.”
* * *
Commander McBride was stunned when he entered transporter room one. Several crewmembers from the Axanar were there, but they looked terrible. Their faces reflected shock and grief, mixed with a tinge of anger. Most were covered with soot and blood.
Corpsman Rice knelt over an Asian man wearing commander’s pips. After running a medical tri-corder over him, she turned to Chief Deryx.
“Chief – he’s got a severe concussion and a broken arm. Beam us directly to sickbay.”
The Denobulan CPO nodded and quickly complied. Rice and the injured man disappeared in the shimmer of transporter effect.
A male Trill approached McBride and stopped before him. Like the others, he was covered in grimy black soot. There were scorch marks on his tunic. McBride observed that the man tried not to limp as he walked.
The Trill straightened. “Lt. Commander Grelden Pralax, sir. I’m Chief of Security on the Axanar.”
McBride was puzzled by the crisp British accent coming from the Trill but he did not comment. Instead, he held out his hand in greeting. “Dale McBride - XO of the cutter Bluefin. We’re goin’ to see to your people, Commander – anything you need, just ask.”
Pralax looked dumbly at the proffered hand before finally taking it.
Poor bastard’s in shock, thought McBride. “If any of your people need medical treatment, let’s go ahead and get ‘em to sickbay.”
The Trill blinked, and seemed to return to the present. “Thank you, sir. We’re quite alright, though I’m sure we could all do with a shower and clean uniforms.” Pralax paused. “What of the rest of the crew – have you already beamed them off?”
McBride hesitated and glanced at Chief Deryx, who shook his head fractionally. The XO placed a steadying hand on the Trill’s shoulder.
“Mr. Pralax . . . I’m sorry as hell to tell you this, but . . . your group here, plus one we beamed to sickbay from your bridge, well . . .” McBride’s voice trailed off, but his eyes conveyed the rest. Out of the starship Axanar’s complement of 755, only 21 had survived.
“Oh . . . I see,” said Pralax. The vacant look had returned to his eyes. “Right! Well then, I best get back to my people.” He began to drift toward the other survivors, hesitated, and turned back to McBride. “Commander McBride, would you happen to know who you beamed off the bridge?” His voice was still dull and listless, yet there was an underlying plea to the question which the XO did not miss.
McBride shook his head apologetically. “No, but I’ll sure find out for you.”
Pralax forced a smile. “Most kind. I, um, I . . .” his voice caught and he paused, clearing his throat. “Sorry,” he said tightly.
The XO nodded in sympathy. He turned to Chief Deryx and spoke softly. “Chief, please escort these folks to the wardroom and have Cookie get them somethin’ to eat while quarters are prepared. I’m goin’ to sickbay to check on the other survivor.”
“Aye, aye,” replied Deryx, somberly.
* * *
Note: the events in this story occur during and immediately after a key battle of the Dominion War - Operation Return – the battle to retake Deep Space Nine. The story includes characters from my other series: The Endurance of Jesse Yeager.
As always, your comments are welcome and appreciated!
Stardate 51464.9 (10 June 2374)
USS Bluefin
Ninth Fleet Rescue & Support Wing – Bajor Sector
Captain Joseph Akinola silently watched the main viewscreen of the USS Bluefin as the pivotal battle to retake Deep Space Nine raged in the distance. Light flared and faded as opposing starships unleashed their deadly arsenals at each other.
His dark face registered his frustration and concern. He was frustrated over the support role to which his border cutter and crew were relegated, but his main concern was for the thousands of Starfleet and allied beings now caught in a deadly struggle to retake the strategic space station, Deep Space Nine.
Part of him understood and accepted the reasoning for remaining in a support role. His cutter, though swift and well-armed, was no match for the Cardassian and Jem’Hadar battleships that were fighting elements of the Second, Fifth and Ninth Fleets. But he also knew that the Fleet was outnumbered nearly 2 to 1. It grated on Akinola to sit on the sidelines, to wait for the end and to simply help pick up the pieces. Another part of him – the part that had lost friends and colleagues to the Cardassians and Dominion forces cried out for retribution. Akinola quelled those feelings. For now.
The Captain stood from his chair but refrained from pacing. He turned toward the operations station.
“Lt. T’Ser – any update?”
The Vulcan operations officer turned slightly in her chair. “We’ve received an update on ship losses sir, but it’s far from comprehensive.”
Akinola felt his stomach tighten in apprehension. “Let’s have it,” he said, flatly.
T’Ser hesitated, glancing at the XO, Dale McBride. “Sir . . . it’s not good . . .”
The Captain’s features softened slightly. “T’Ser – go ahead, give me the update.”
She nodded in acquiescence and turned back to her display screens. “67 Miranda-class ships damaged or destroyed. 29 Excelsior-class ships out of commission, 19 Galaxy-class, 15 Centaurs, 8 Nebulas, 4 Akiras and 4 Defiant-class ships also gone. There are almost certainly more . . .” Her voice trailed off.
The bridge was momentarily silent following this announcement. Already, 146 of the 627 Starfleet vessels in the battle were out of the fight. How many more ships would they lose? How many more people would die?
And where are the damn Klingons? Akinola fumed silently. He sat back in the command chair, his mood as dark as his complexion. The Bluefin held station a good light hour from the battle area, along with 23 other cutters, 4 hospital ships, 10 warp tugs plus 3 elderly Constellation – class ships that the Fleet Commander, Captain Sisko, simply couldn’t use. All of them watched and waited for the battle to end. At that point, they would move into the battle area to salvage damaged ships, rescue survivors and tend to the dead.
Now I know how a vulture feels, mused Akinola. Just wait around for the dying to end, then swoop in. He kept his eyes on the screen, watching the flashes of energy flare and fade – knowing that he was seeing images that occurred an hour earlier.
I’m watching the last gasps of dying ships, he mused, and there’s not a damned thing we can do to help them from here!
“Sir!” T’Ser spoke up, her voice animated. “Klingon warships have de-cloaked and are engaging the enemy ships!”
Akinola thumped the arm of his chair with his fist. “About time!” he exclaimed. “That should level the playing field!”
For the next two hours, the bridge crew anxiously waited and listened as reports slowly came in. It soon became apparent that the tide of battle had, indeed, turned in their favor.
“I’m receiving another report . . .” announced T’Ser. She frowned in puzzlement, yet it was obviously good news as her face broke into a wide grin. “I’m not sure I understand – something about the Dominion Fleet simply disappearing? That can’t be right! But our forces have definitely broken through! The remaining enemy forces are in retreat – headed for Cardassia!”
Dale McBride, the XO, let out a whoop of joy and there were high-fives and hugs throughout the bridge. Even Captain Akinola had difficulty suppressing a huge grin.
“Alright, people!” he shouted over the din. “Settle down, settle down! It’s our turn, now. Let’s get in there and help out our comrades. XO, shields up and weapons hot – we might run into some enemy stragglers. Lt. T’Ser – signal the rescue wing to move into their assigned op-areas. Have the hospital ships hang back with the Constellations for escort.”
McBride and T’Ser acknowledged and carried out their orders.
“Mr. Fralk, take us in – maximum impulse. T’Ser, prepare to scan for life signs.”
The cutters sped toward the scene of the battle as the hospital ships followed behind.
* * *
The ebullient mood on the bridge quickly faded as the rescue ships moved into the battle zone. Hundreds of ships drifted, trailing plasma and frozen atmosphere. Debris tumbled and collided through the carnage.
“Sweet Lord!” muttered McBride from the tactical station. His face reflected the shock and grief of all on the bridge.
“Focus on the task at hand, people,” said Akinola, quietly but firmly. “Let’s find the survivors and take care of them first. T’Ser – signal the Scamp and Snubfin to handle combat patrol while the rest of us begin SAR-Ops.”
“Aye, sir.” Her hands moved quickly over the com panel as she opened channels to the Bluefin’s two sister ships.
The cutters spread out into their designated search areas. The Bluefin banked slightly to starboard, weaving slowly through derelict spacecraft as debris impacted their shields in blue, staccato flashes. Most of the debris was comprised of shredded metal and alloys. Some was organic.
“Look at that!” whispered Fralk as they passed the dead hulk of a Miranda – class ship. The scorched and battered hull had a massive hole punched clean through.
“T’Ser?” queried Akinola.
“It’s the Majestic, sir.” She paused, “No life signs.”
The Captain merely nodded. “Continue scanning, Lieutenant, and watch for life pods. Steady as she goes, Mr. Fralk.”
They soon came upon the wreckage of two Cardassian Galor-class cruisers. One was broken in two, still streaming glowing plasma. The other was fragmented, only the total mass and make-up of the debris revealed its former identity. Akinola took cold comfort in the destruction of these enemy ships. There were far more allied ships destroyed. He still wondered how they had managed to win the battle.
“No life signs on that Galor, Captain,” T’Ser announced. “No energy readings either.”
At this, McBride relaxed fractionally. He had two torpedoes ready for launch and he moved his hand fractionally from the firing control.
Moving past the tumbling Cardassian ship, they spotted the mangled remains of an Excelsior – class starship. Both nacelles were gone and the primary hull had numerous breaches with entire sections missing and exposed to the vacuum of space. The engineering hull was likewise damaged, though not as extensively. Barely visible through the scorch marks and gaps in the plating was her name – USS Axanar. Akinola noted that the escape pods were still in place. Apparently they had gone down fighting the Galors – to the last man.
“Scanning for life-signs,” announced T’Ser. She frowned. “There’s a lot of background radiation – probably from the sheer amount of ordinance expended. Attempting to filter . . .” She jerked up, surprised. “I’m reading several life-signs, sir, but they’re weak!”
Akinola responded instantly and tapped the intra-ship com button on his chair. “All transporter rooms - prepare to beam over survivors!”
“Most of the survivors are located in the secondary hull, near sickbay,” continued T’Ser. “Two are still in the primary hull - one on the bridge, one on deck four.” She paused, and then quickly added, “The one on the bridge looks to be in bad shape – life signs are fading.”
The Captain tapped his combadge. “Akinola to Chief Deryx.
“Deryx here, go ahead, Captain.”
“Chief – beam whoever’s on the bridge directly to sickbay.”
“Aye, sir – I’m on it. I’ve got a lock and initiating transport now.”
“Thanks, Chief. Akinola, out.” He turned to McBride. “Dale, head on down and see to the survivors. We’ll need temporary quarters for the un-injured. Make sure anyone with injuries gets to sickbay.”
McBride unfolded his tall frame from the tactical station and moved to the lift while Senior Chief Brin moved to replace him.
* * *
Dr. Calvin Baxter, CMO of the Bluefin, watched as a human form materialized on one of the bio-beds. It coalesced into a tall, male human who was unconscious and badly injured. Baxter noted that the man’s left leg was gone just below the knee. Additionally, his skin was pale and sallow, though much of this was concealed by soot and dried blood from a scalp wound. There were severe burns on his hands and the sleeves of his uniform were scorched. Baxter quickly glanced at the bio-sensor readouts above the bed and frowned. The pulse was thready, blood pressure dangerously low, and respiration was fast and shallow.
“Sandy, let’s get his vitals stabilized, then check him over for injuries,” said Baxter to Corpsman 1st Class Sanders.
Sanders frowned at the man’s leg, or lack thereof. “No bleeding?” he asked, puzzled.
“The stump’s been cauterized – probably with a phaser. Focus, Sandy!” said Baxter, impatiently, as he administered a hypo-spray with an anti-shock compound.
Sanders forced his gaze from the ravaged limb and quickly placed an oxygen canula under the man’s nose. He noted the four pips on the man’s collar.
“It’s their captain!” pointed out Sanders.
Baxter administered a second hypo-spray containing Cordrazine and Tri-Ox. “Not for much longer unless we get him stable. Get the thoracic arch ready – I’m not liking his heart rhythm. And push a unit of normal saline – we’ve got to get him re-hydrated.”
* * *
Commander McBride was stunned when he entered transporter room one. Several crewmembers from the Axanar were there, but they looked terrible. Their faces reflected shock and grief, mixed with a tinge of anger. Most were covered with soot and blood.
Corpsman Rice knelt over an Asian man wearing commander’s pips. After running a medical tri-corder over him, she turned to Chief Deryx.
“Chief – he’s got a severe concussion and a broken arm. Beam us directly to sickbay.”
The Denobulan CPO nodded and quickly complied. Rice and the injured man disappeared in the shimmer of transporter effect.
A male Trill approached McBride and stopped before him. Like the others, he was covered in grimy black soot. There were scorch marks on his tunic. McBride observed that the man tried not to limp as he walked.
The Trill straightened. “Lt. Commander Grelden Pralax, sir. I’m Chief of Security on the Axanar.”
McBride was puzzled by the crisp British accent coming from the Trill but he did not comment. Instead, he held out his hand in greeting. “Dale McBride - XO of the cutter Bluefin. We’re goin’ to see to your people, Commander – anything you need, just ask.”
Pralax looked dumbly at the proffered hand before finally taking it.
Poor bastard’s in shock, thought McBride. “If any of your people need medical treatment, let’s go ahead and get ‘em to sickbay.”
The Trill blinked, and seemed to return to the present. “Thank you, sir. We’re quite alright, though I’m sure we could all do with a shower and clean uniforms.” Pralax paused. “What of the rest of the crew – have you already beamed them off?”
McBride hesitated and glanced at Chief Deryx, who shook his head fractionally. The XO placed a steadying hand on the Trill’s shoulder.
“Mr. Pralax . . . I’m sorry as hell to tell you this, but . . . your group here, plus one we beamed to sickbay from your bridge, well . . .” McBride’s voice trailed off, but his eyes conveyed the rest. Out of the starship Axanar’s complement of 755, only 21 had survived.
“Oh . . . I see,” said Pralax. The vacant look had returned to his eyes. “Right! Well then, I best get back to my people.” He began to drift toward the other survivors, hesitated, and turned back to McBride. “Commander McBride, would you happen to know who you beamed off the bridge?” His voice was still dull and listless, yet there was an underlying plea to the question which the XO did not miss.
McBride shook his head apologetically. “No, but I’ll sure find out for you.”
Pralax forced a smile. “Most kind. I, um, I . . .” his voice caught and he paused, clearing his throat. “Sorry,” he said tightly.
The XO nodded in sympathy. He turned to Chief Deryx and spoke softly. “Chief, please escort these folks to the wardroom and have Cookie get them somethin’ to eat while quarters are prepared. I’m goin’ to sickbay to check on the other survivor.”
“Aye, aye,” replied Deryx, somberly.
* * *
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