As previewed in the Angel Book 2 Thread!
HARIZAN PLAINS
PRIDEHOME
UFP SPACE
December 23rd 2371 1700 FST
The tall grass of the Harizan Plains moved like ripples across a golden pond as the gentle breeze played amongst the blades. Shadows passed like ground locked clouds and silence reigned.
His mind drifted back in time to his own rite of passage, a time that felt so long ago it could have been somebody else’s life. He huffed, the sweet smell of the plains carrying the distant scent of a gathering storm.
How apt he thought as his eyes rose to the skies above and the invisible stars, strange in their constellations even now; constellations that were not those of the skies of his home world. He had left them behind years ago, yet while he missed them still, the freedom he had attained for his family and himself was payment enough.
A movement out in the grasslands stilled his musings. A small patch of darkness disturbed the grasses, moving slowly and intermittently. The wildlife in the area, such as it was, remained undisturbed and Kazzan was quietly impressed. To have reached this point in the rite was an achievement in itself but Kazzan was the final obstacle the initiates would face and for this one, it would prove one obstacle too many.
Kazzan slipped from his hide on all fours remaining deep within the cover of the tall grasses. Now utilising his keen sense of smell and innate awareness of his immediate surroundings he approached the initiate’s last location and paused to sniff silently. He immediately recognised the scent as that of Harran, his own cub and felt just the smallest amount of disappointment that he would be ending his initiation, but there would always be next season.
Sliding silently through the dry stalks, his eyes fixed on the direction of the scent, he caught the merest hint of golden fur almost lost amongst the similarly coloured autumn grassland and pounced, landing a mere stride from his eldest.
Harran spun to face him, a look of deep cunning on his face.
“You have done well initiate,” growled Kazzan, “but your trial is at an end. Surrender now.” It was the ritual challenge and though it never ended in combat to the death as in the old days, the initiate was still not expected to surrender.
“To surrender is to throw my honour to the wind,” came the expected reply. “Besides Elder, it is you who should surrender.” That was not a part of the ritual and Kazzan cocked his head curiously. It was only then that he sensed the scents of others around him. Three, no, four of them.
Harran curled his lip back and bared his fangs. “I believe you are surrounded Elder.”
Without pause, Kazzan leapt vertically and spinning in the air spotted all four of the other initiates in the grass. As he landed by the nearest, he swept out with his paw keeping his claws sheathed and slapped the marker against the throat of Kallon before rolling aside to catch the next one. His son, however, had moved quickly around and behind and leapt to place his own marker against his father’s throat. The combat, fast and bloodless, was done and in almost perfect silence.
The initiates materialized from the surrounding grass to stand before Kazzan, now on their hind legs, with only Kallon bearing the red marker of defeat.
“It is over,” intoned Kazzan, “and those who do not bear the mark are, from this day forward, warriors.”
Before Kazzan could complete the statement of attainment, Harran stepped forward.
“Elder, I vouch for Kallon.”
It was, of course, the right of any initiate to make the case in support of another who had failed, though Kazzan could see no defence for Kallon who had moved too slowly to escape his strike.
“Then speak initiate.”
“Just like I, Kallon was merely bait Elder. In the same way that I drew you to this spot by showing myself, so Kallon allowed the strike that brought you within striking distance of my marker. This was all pre-planned elder. Kallon sacrificed himself for the group.” Harran bowed his head and retreated.
Kazzan could not remember the last time that initiates had worked either so closely or so well together and was impressed, though he refused to allow that to show on his face. Instead he drew back his huge paw and striking out with a speed that was frightening, plucked the marker from Kallon’s throat.
“Your support of your group is honoured Kallon. It is over,” repeated Kazzan, “and those who do not bear the mark are, from this day forward, warriors.” With pride evident in his voice, he barked loudly. “Return, for your reward awaits you!”
The group of initiates howled in victory and sped off towards the colony shouting and laughing. Kazzan stood silently and watched them before turning to the south and testing the air once more.
Indeed, a storm was coming.
EDRITH COLONY
PRIDEHOME
UFP SPACE
January 4th 2374 1000 FST
Kazzan watched as the Federation shuttle touched down in the plaza of Edrith raising small plumes of snow. The group of Council Elders gathered behind him remained silent but he knew that, like him, their hopes of honour and loyalty lay within that shuttle encompassed in the words of a single man.
A keening wind direct from the snow covered slopes of the Attizan Mountains rippled Kazzan’s fur but he ignored it, his sensitive hearing now attuned to the shuttle sitting in the square. The heat collected from its atmospheric entry leached away into the cold air making the hull tick and pop, a staccato accompaniment to the wind’s low moan.
Kazzan’s ears twitched at the click and hiss of the forward hatch disengaging and his eyes flicked to the figure that appeared there. Unlike the Starfleet officers who were also awaiting the arrival of this visitor, the man himself had ignored the need for cold weather issue and stepped forth in the red, black and gold of a Starfleet admiral’s uniform.
A man of above average human height, his bearing almost aristocratic to Kazzan’s eyes, descended the steps and made his way towards the gathered Council members. The admiral’s long white hair blew in wild array around his head but it didn’t hide the one thing that Kazzan remembered from all their subspace communications; his eyes. They were eyes that had always been full of intelligence, humour – a concept that Kazzan had come to appreciate – and a hidden back catalogue of stories that intrigued him no end.
As he finally stopped some three metres away, he held his hands out palm up in the traditional Tzenkethi greeting of peace to show empty hands and sheathed claws. Kazzan responded likewise.
“You honour us with your presence in person Admiral. I hope this bodes well.”
“Perhaps we should step inside so that you may discover the answer to your question Elder.”
Kazzan began to curl the corner of his lip in an imitation of the human smile then stopped. The members of Starfleet who worked at the colony in aid of Kazzan and his people had quickly learned the ways of their guests and smiling, (at least in the teeth baring way of most species) had quickly been replaced by a tight lipped smile in deference to the displaced Tzenkethi.
He swung his large paw to indicate the entrance to the Edrith colony and stepped aside as the Admiral advanced before him led by a pair of junior Council officials. From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Zahaan, his mate, and with an imperceptible nod of his head acknowledged her presence before following the entourage into the side of the mountain.
EDRITH COLONY
PRIDEHOME
UFP SPACE
4th January 2374 1100 FST
The formal ceremonies of welcome and greeting were deeply ingrained in the Tzenkethi of the colony. While they wished to escape the totalitarian and often brutal regime of the Tzenkethi home worlds, they did not wish to turn their back on who they were at heart.
Admiral Akaar admired that among these fierce and proud warrior people and as the traditional singing of spirits echoed into silence he had stood to face the gathered crowd.
“I have been welcomed into your hearts, and I stand before you today with a mixture of pride and sorrow in my own. Pride at bearing witness to the true face of Tzenkethi…”
A loud cheer from the assembled masses rose at that and Akaar waited for it to die down before continuing.
“…and sorrow that the troubles now endangering the quadrant should bring me here.”
He then turned to the leader of the Tzenkethi colonists as the crowd grew silent.
“Governor Kazzan, since your people first arrived here, your presence has been kept a closely guarded secret. Not from shame at your presence but in defence of your freedom. The time for secrecy, it seems, may be over. You made a request to the Federation Government.”
Kazzan looked deeply into the Admiral’s eyes to divine some insight into what was about to transpire but could see nothing.
“We wish to fight beside you,” he said.
The tall Tzenkethi, his tail twitching dangerously, stared intensely at Admiral Leonard James Akaar, defying him to deny the warrior the chance to defend his home.
Akaar stood his ground and without flinching said "And should I tell you that is not possible?"
"Then we shall fight anyway. This is our home now Admiral and we will protect all that we have sacrificed to build here."
Gods but I wish I had a hundred thousand more of you thought Akaar. Carefully avoiding bearing his teeth in the Tzenkethi sign of challenge, he smiled at the warrior.
"Then defend it you will Kazzan. There are conditions, and you should know that I have had to lay my own honour on the line to provide you this chance. Fight well."
The huge crowd erupted in howls of triumph and Akaar was almost deafened by the uproar. What he could not tell Kazzan, or any of this proud warrior race gathered here, was that the vote had been close in allowing them a starship with which to join the beleaguered ranks of Starfleet. Some in the Federation’s halls of power were still afraid that the refugees from Tzenketh and its neighbouring systems might still turn renegade in aid of the Dominion despite the protestations of those who knew much better, Akaar amongst them.
But perhaps the more pressing concern was ship availability. Vessels that had been in mothballs for years and destined for the breakers were suddenly being reactivated for frontline use and despite the hard work being put into their preparation, many were simply not up to the rigours of the challenge. Akaar had recently heard of a reactivated Miranda class ship simply coming apart as it entered warp leaving the Sol system.
They’d left the raised stage half an hour previously and since then, Akaar had been giving the final briefing to Kazzan and the Council.
“When can we expect to receive the ship Admiral?” Kazzan had led the discussion with only minor interjections from other Councillors.
“Barring any major problems in reactivation, she’ll be here within a week. She’s a Soyuz class vessel that was retired from service in 2282 but she was used as a training vessel for the next 40 years.”
Kazzan huffed. “Should I feel offended that I am being offered an antique?”
Shaking his head, Akaar leaned his elbows on the table. “We’re issuing these kinds of vessels to frontline Starfleet units all the time right now. It allows more modern vessels to be withdrawn for rapid maintenance, so no you should not be offended.”
Sitting back in the large chair, the Tzenkethi leader nodded.
“Then we shall be ready Admiral. Many of my warriors have been readapting their training for some time thanks to the holodeck equipment that Starfleet have allowed us to use in the hope that this day would come.”
Akaar stood followed by Kazzan and the Council members. “I have to leave Elder, but I thank you for this offer of allegiance. The threat of the Dominion affects the whole of the Alpha and Beta Quadrants and it’s just a shame that some of the adjoining Governments cannot put aside old animosities in a show of joint defence.”
Kazzan gave Akaar a sly look. “There are those in power throughout the galaxy who will never see beyond their own preconceived ideas of other races Admiral. It may take a tragic event such as war to change that.”
“Then it is good to know that some leaders are ahead of the game. God speed Kazzan, and may your honour protect you and your crew.”
As Akaar lifted in the shuttle to head back to the USS Banner waiting in orbit, he wondered whether he would ever get the chance to meet the proud warrior again. He at least hoped that Kazzan would appreciate the new name that had just been painted on the Soyuz class hull.
USS ANGEL – BRIDGE
UFP SPACE
May 14th 2374 – 1141 FST
“Hold her steady Lieutenant.” Dan Fishlock only hoped that Pharana could manage to do so in the maelstrom that surrounded the ship right now. He had no doubt about the Denobulan’s ability to pilot, proven on so many occasions, but the ship was being buffeted by shockwaves from explosions all around them while desperately attempting to maintain a tractor lock on the Akira class they were extracting from the combat zone.
“A pair of Dominion fighters have broken through the screen Captain, heading this way.” DeSalle stared intently at his tactical screen then called out “Raptor flights engaging.”
Dan turned in his seat, thankful for the safety restraint as the ship rocked again.
“Commander?”
Kat Gray nodded imperceptibly. “Almost there Sir, another thirty seconds.”
Come on Raptors, stop ‘em.
USS HILDR - RAPTOR 1
UFP SPACE
May 14th 2374 – 1142 FST
“Raptor 2 break starboard.” As Homer bent the Gunr over on to its right wing, Mo broke left and heaved the Valkyrie round into a tight turn slightly below the Dominion fighters while Homer ended up slightly above.
“Target 2 is priority Homer. Take it.”
“Weapons away.”
She watched as the pair of micro-torpedoes zeroed in on the tail of the corkscrewing bug then fired her own, immediately switching to the second target to repeat the process. It was a trick they had learned through endless engagements with the agile adversaries.
Whether it was a design fault or poor Dominion strategy, the rear shields on the bugs were often at their weakest when attacking a large ship as the fore shields were strengthened. They’d found that when the first torpedoes hit the shields, power re-routed to shore up the weakened spot leaving the opposite rear quarter briefly exposed for a fraction of a second. It was timing that shot that had become their trademark.
As Mo’s first micro-torps struck home fractionally behind Homer’s there was a flare of light from which the first bug emerged spinning and gyrating out of control, its starboard nacelle arcing out and venting a trail of sparks and debris. Pulling her Valkyrie into the engagement vertical, she half rolled over the top and watched as the second bug was struck amidships by the fatally wounded first. In seconds it was all over, and checking her screens Mo called Homer back to close patrol for the Angel.
“Raptor flight this is Eyrie, Angel reports clear. Evac operations now underway.”
“Acknowledged Eyrie, confirm we have time for re-arm? I’m just about down to throwing seat cushions.”
Mo heard Eyrie chuckle at that. “Raptor flight, that’s approved but it’ll be a hot turn round and be advised we have intense flight deck activity.”
A hot turn round meant they’d be taking on stores without a complete shutdown, not the safest procedure but war defined its own safety limits.
“Acknowledged Eyrie, Raptor flight out.”
“I’m guessing the ball game ain’t over yet then.” Homer’s predilection for baseball was what had gained him his nickname in the first place though since the start of the war, games had been scarce, reduced to morale boosters. The lack of games certainly hadn’t boosted Homer’s morale.
Checking her sensors and seeing the battle seeming to intensify behind them, Mo agreed. “Yep, still looks intense back there my man. Let’s make this brief.”
As the fighters recovered to their discrete bays on either side of the main hangar bay, Mo stifled an exhausted yawn.
Not just yet girl, she thought, not just yet.
KAZZAN OF PRIDEHOME
THE BOND
HARIZAN PLAINS
PRIDEHOME
UFP SPACE
December 23rd 2371 1700 FST
The tall grass of the Harizan Plains moved like ripples across a golden pond as the gentle breeze played amongst the blades. Shadows passed like ground locked clouds and silence reigned.
His mind drifted back in time to his own rite of passage, a time that felt so long ago it could have been somebody else’s life. He huffed, the sweet smell of the plains carrying the distant scent of a gathering storm.
How apt he thought as his eyes rose to the skies above and the invisible stars, strange in their constellations even now; constellations that were not those of the skies of his home world. He had left them behind years ago, yet while he missed them still, the freedom he had attained for his family and himself was payment enough.
A movement out in the grasslands stilled his musings. A small patch of darkness disturbed the grasses, moving slowly and intermittently. The wildlife in the area, such as it was, remained undisturbed and Kazzan was quietly impressed. To have reached this point in the rite was an achievement in itself but Kazzan was the final obstacle the initiates would face and for this one, it would prove one obstacle too many.
Kazzan slipped from his hide on all fours remaining deep within the cover of the tall grasses. Now utilising his keen sense of smell and innate awareness of his immediate surroundings he approached the initiate’s last location and paused to sniff silently. He immediately recognised the scent as that of Harran, his own cub and felt just the smallest amount of disappointment that he would be ending his initiation, but there would always be next season.
Sliding silently through the dry stalks, his eyes fixed on the direction of the scent, he caught the merest hint of golden fur almost lost amongst the similarly coloured autumn grassland and pounced, landing a mere stride from his eldest.
Harran spun to face him, a look of deep cunning on his face.
“You have done well initiate,” growled Kazzan, “but your trial is at an end. Surrender now.” It was the ritual challenge and though it never ended in combat to the death as in the old days, the initiate was still not expected to surrender.
“To surrender is to throw my honour to the wind,” came the expected reply. “Besides Elder, it is you who should surrender.” That was not a part of the ritual and Kazzan cocked his head curiously. It was only then that he sensed the scents of others around him. Three, no, four of them.
Harran curled his lip back and bared his fangs. “I believe you are surrounded Elder.”
Without pause, Kazzan leapt vertically and spinning in the air spotted all four of the other initiates in the grass. As he landed by the nearest, he swept out with his paw keeping his claws sheathed and slapped the marker against the throat of Kallon before rolling aside to catch the next one. His son, however, had moved quickly around and behind and leapt to place his own marker against his father’s throat. The combat, fast and bloodless, was done and in almost perfect silence.
The initiates materialized from the surrounding grass to stand before Kazzan, now on their hind legs, with only Kallon bearing the red marker of defeat.
“It is over,” intoned Kazzan, “and those who do not bear the mark are, from this day forward, warriors.”
Before Kazzan could complete the statement of attainment, Harran stepped forward.
“Elder, I vouch for Kallon.”
It was, of course, the right of any initiate to make the case in support of another who had failed, though Kazzan could see no defence for Kallon who had moved too slowly to escape his strike.
“Then speak initiate.”
“Just like I, Kallon was merely bait Elder. In the same way that I drew you to this spot by showing myself, so Kallon allowed the strike that brought you within striking distance of my marker. This was all pre-planned elder. Kallon sacrificed himself for the group.” Harran bowed his head and retreated.
Kazzan could not remember the last time that initiates had worked either so closely or so well together and was impressed, though he refused to allow that to show on his face. Instead he drew back his huge paw and striking out with a speed that was frightening, plucked the marker from Kallon’s throat.
“Your support of your group is honoured Kallon. It is over,” repeated Kazzan, “and those who do not bear the mark are, from this day forward, warriors.” With pride evident in his voice, he barked loudly. “Return, for your reward awaits you!”
The group of initiates howled in victory and sped off towards the colony shouting and laughing. Kazzan stood silently and watched them before turning to the south and testing the air once more.
Indeed, a storm was coming.
EDRITH COLONY
PRIDEHOME
UFP SPACE
January 4th 2374 1000 FST
Kazzan watched as the Federation shuttle touched down in the plaza of Edrith raising small plumes of snow. The group of Council Elders gathered behind him remained silent but he knew that, like him, their hopes of honour and loyalty lay within that shuttle encompassed in the words of a single man.
A keening wind direct from the snow covered slopes of the Attizan Mountains rippled Kazzan’s fur but he ignored it, his sensitive hearing now attuned to the shuttle sitting in the square. The heat collected from its atmospheric entry leached away into the cold air making the hull tick and pop, a staccato accompaniment to the wind’s low moan.
Kazzan’s ears twitched at the click and hiss of the forward hatch disengaging and his eyes flicked to the figure that appeared there. Unlike the Starfleet officers who were also awaiting the arrival of this visitor, the man himself had ignored the need for cold weather issue and stepped forth in the red, black and gold of a Starfleet admiral’s uniform.
A man of above average human height, his bearing almost aristocratic to Kazzan’s eyes, descended the steps and made his way towards the gathered Council members. The admiral’s long white hair blew in wild array around his head but it didn’t hide the one thing that Kazzan remembered from all their subspace communications; his eyes. They were eyes that had always been full of intelligence, humour – a concept that Kazzan had come to appreciate – and a hidden back catalogue of stories that intrigued him no end.
As he finally stopped some three metres away, he held his hands out palm up in the traditional Tzenkethi greeting of peace to show empty hands and sheathed claws. Kazzan responded likewise.
“You honour us with your presence in person Admiral. I hope this bodes well.”
“Perhaps we should step inside so that you may discover the answer to your question Elder.”
Kazzan began to curl the corner of his lip in an imitation of the human smile then stopped. The members of Starfleet who worked at the colony in aid of Kazzan and his people had quickly learned the ways of their guests and smiling, (at least in the teeth baring way of most species) had quickly been replaced by a tight lipped smile in deference to the displaced Tzenkethi.
He swung his large paw to indicate the entrance to the Edrith colony and stepped aside as the Admiral advanced before him led by a pair of junior Council officials. From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Zahaan, his mate, and with an imperceptible nod of his head acknowledged her presence before following the entourage into the side of the mountain.
EDRITH COLONY
PRIDEHOME
UFP SPACE
4th January 2374 1100 FST
The formal ceremonies of welcome and greeting were deeply ingrained in the Tzenkethi of the colony. While they wished to escape the totalitarian and often brutal regime of the Tzenkethi home worlds, they did not wish to turn their back on who they were at heart.
Admiral Akaar admired that among these fierce and proud warrior people and as the traditional singing of spirits echoed into silence he had stood to face the gathered crowd.
“I have been welcomed into your hearts, and I stand before you today with a mixture of pride and sorrow in my own. Pride at bearing witness to the true face of Tzenkethi…”
A loud cheer from the assembled masses rose at that and Akaar waited for it to die down before continuing.
“…and sorrow that the troubles now endangering the quadrant should bring me here.”
He then turned to the leader of the Tzenkethi colonists as the crowd grew silent.
“Governor Kazzan, since your people first arrived here, your presence has been kept a closely guarded secret. Not from shame at your presence but in defence of your freedom. The time for secrecy, it seems, may be over. You made a request to the Federation Government.”
Kazzan looked deeply into the Admiral’s eyes to divine some insight into what was about to transpire but could see nothing.
“We wish to fight beside you,” he said.
The tall Tzenkethi, his tail twitching dangerously, stared intensely at Admiral Leonard James Akaar, defying him to deny the warrior the chance to defend his home.
Akaar stood his ground and without flinching said "And should I tell you that is not possible?"
"Then we shall fight anyway. This is our home now Admiral and we will protect all that we have sacrificed to build here."
Gods but I wish I had a hundred thousand more of you thought Akaar. Carefully avoiding bearing his teeth in the Tzenkethi sign of challenge, he smiled at the warrior.
"Then defend it you will Kazzan. There are conditions, and you should know that I have had to lay my own honour on the line to provide you this chance. Fight well."
The huge crowd erupted in howls of triumph and Akaar was almost deafened by the uproar. What he could not tell Kazzan, or any of this proud warrior race gathered here, was that the vote had been close in allowing them a starship with which to join the beleaguered ranks of Starfleet. Some in the Federation’s halls of power were still afraid that the refugees from Tzenketh and its neighbouring systems might still turn renegade in aid of the Dominion despite the protestations of those who knew much better, Akaar amongst them.
But perhaps the more pressing concern was ship availability. Vessels that had been in mothballs for years and destined for the breakers were suddenly being reactivated for frontline use and despite the hard work being put into their preparation, many were simply not up to the rigours of the challenge. Akaar had recently heard of a reactivated Miranda class ship simply coming apart as it entered warp leaving the Sol system.
They’d left the raised stage half an hour previously and since then, Akaar had been giving the final briefing to Kazzan and the Council.
“When can we expect to receive the ship Admiral?” Kazzan had led the discussion with only minor interjections from other Councillors.
“Barring any major problems in reactivation, she’ll be here within a week. She’s a Soyuz class vessel that was retired from service in 2282 but she was used as a training vessel for the next 40 years.”
Kazzan huffed. “Should I feel offended that I am being offered an antique?”
Shaking his head, Akaar leaned his elbows on the table. “We’re issuing these kinds of vessels to frontline Starfleet units all the time right now. It allows more modern vessels to be withdrawn for rapid maintenance, so no you should not be offended.”
Sitting back in the large chair, the Tzenkethi leader nodded.
“Then we shall be ready Admiral. Many of my warriors have been readapting their training for some time thanks to the holodeck equipment that Starfleet have allowed us to use in the hope that this day would come.”
Akaar stood followed by Kazzan and the Council members. “I have to leave Elder, but I thank you for this offer of allegiance. The threat of the Dominion affects the whole of the Alpha and Beta Quadrants and it’s just a shame that some of the adjoining Governments cannot put aside old animosities in a show of joint defence.”
Kazzan gave Akaar a sly look. “There are those in power throughout the galaxy who will never see beyond their own preconceived ideas of other races Admiral. It may take a tragic event such as war to change that.”
“Then it is good to know that some leaders are ahead of the game. God speed Kazzan, and may your honour protect you and your crew.”
As Akaar lifted in the shuttle to head back to the USS Banner waiting in orbit, he wondered whether he would ever get the chance to meet the proud warrior again. He at least hoped that Kazzan would appreciate the new name that had just been painted on the Soyuz class hull.
USS ANGEL – BRIDGE
UFP SPACE
May 14th 2374 – 1141 FST
“Hold her steady Lieutenant.” Dan Fishlock only hoped that Pharana could manage to do so in the maelstrom that surrounded the ship right now. He had no doubt about the Denobulan’s ability to pilot, proven on so many occasions, but the ship was being buffeted by shockwaves from explosions all around them while desperately attempting to maintain a tractor lock on the Akira class they were extracting from the combat zone.
“A pair of Dominion fighters have broken through the screen Captain, heading this way.” DeSalle stared intently at his tactical screen then called out “Raptor flights engaging.”
Dan turned in his seat, thankful for the safety restraint as the ship rocked again.
“Commander?”
Kat Gray nodded imperceptibly. “Almost there Sir, another thirty seconds.”
Come on Raptors, stop ‘em.
USS HILDR - RAPTOR 1
UFP SPACE
May 14th 2374 – 1142 FST
“Raptor 2 break starboard.” As Homer bent the Gunr over on to its right wing, Mo broke left and heaved the Valkyrie round into a tight turn slightly below the Dominion fighters while Homer ended up slightly above.
“Target 2 is priority Homer. Take it.”
“Weapons away.”
She watched as the pair of micro-torpedoes zeroed in on the tail of the corkscrewing bug then fired her own, immediately switching to the second target to repeat the process. It was a trick they had learned through endless engagements with the agile adversaries.
Whether it was a design fault or poor Dominion strategy, the rear shields on the bugs were often at their weakest when attacking a large ship as the fore shields were strengthened. They’d found that when the first torpedoes hit the shields, power re-routed to shore up the weakened spot leaving the opposite rear quarter briefly exposed for a fraction of a second. It was timing that shot that had become their trademark.
As Mo’s first micro-torps struck home fractionally behind Homer’s there was a flare of light from which the first bug emerged spinning and gyrating out of control, its starboard nacelle arcing out and venting a trail of sparks and debris. Pulling her Valkyrie into the engagement vertical, she half rolled over the top and watched as the second bug was struck amidships by the fatally wounded first. In seconds it was all over, and checking her screens Mo called Homer back to close patrol for the Angel.
“Raptor flight this is Eyrie, Angel reports clear. Evac operations now underway.”
“Acknowledged Eyrie, confirm we have time for re-arm? I’m just about down to throwing seat cushions.”
Mo heard Eyrie chuckle at that. “Raptor flight, that’s approved but it’ll be a hot turn round and be advised we have intense flight deck activity.”
A hot turn round meant they’d be taking on stores without a complete shutdown, not the safest procedure but war defined its own safety limits.
“Acknowledged Eyrie, Raptor flight out.”
“I’m guessing the ball game ain’t over yet then.” Homer’s predilection for baseball was what had gained him his nickname in the first place though since the start of the war, games had been scarce, reduced to morale boosters. The lack of games certainly hadn’t boosted Homer’s morale.
Checking her sensors and seeing the battle seeming to intensify behind them, Mo agreed. “Yep, still looks intense back there my man. Let’s make this brief.”
As the fighters recovered to their discrete bays on either side of the main hangar bay, Mo stifled an exhausted yawn.
Not just yet girl, she thought, not just yet.
