Faster, eh? And what ya mean middle? This one's coming to a head here.
But...very well. It ain't like it hasn't been waitin on the hard drive for three months now anyway.
Here is the twelth and final chapter...
CH. 12
The shuttlecraft Firefly settled down on her landing pads just beneath the looming neck of the perched Bird of Prey. Captain Ford emerged from the interior of the craft, flanked by his security men, and took a second to appreciate the intimidating bulk of the graceful warship standing above him. He’d seen huge ships landed on terrestrial surfaces before, but never had he been so close to the hull of a Klingon warship. This was no 157-meter long scout Bird. This was the newer, 325-meter long cruiser version of the design. The mere fact that it had landing struts capable of holding it aloft was worthy of awe.
Ford glanced at the swath of smashed trees and foliage destroyed by the beast’s descent and then hiked his way up the slope of the land toward the mountainside. A Klingon party was already present before his security team near the mouth of the cave. His men’s weapons weren’t raised on the Klingons, but were held very much at the ready. The captain hurried his pace to make up ground all the more quickly.
“—not till I receive authorization from my Captain,” PO1 Goodwin could be heard saying as Ford drew near. Ford glanced up to Ron’jar.
“Welcome to Kovarn, Governor.” Ford smiled happily at the mirthless glare Ron’jar returned him. “I see you’ve met Petty Officer Goodwin’s crew.”
“Your petty officer blocks my entrance.”
Ford drew to a halt, hands on his hips and nodded blithely.
“Yeah, his orders didn’t include warships landing beside his base camp and disgorging more Klingons.” The captain waved his men off, gathering them closer to himself. The Klingon’s tension slackened visibly. “That and I wanted them to slow you down long enough for me to get here.”
“You obviously do not value the lives of your men.”
“Actually, I do. So much so that I wanted to be here when Dath’mar releases his hostages back to me.” Ford’s glare at the larger alien did not waver. Ron’jar returned it with the glaze of feigned boredom.
“Klingons do not take…hostages.”
Chevy smirked as he shrugged.
“Tell that to the captain in there holding my people.”
Ron’jar signaled his men to follow and led them into the yawning mouth of the cavern. Ford pointed to Goodwin and three others and did likewise. The two groups trod through the dark, guided by the light of rifle lamps and tricorder scans. They emerged into guarded sections and amassed a larger following of Klingon guards. Ford eyed each of the new warriors as he encountered them.
They were a lean, hungry looking mob, armed to the teeth and covered in the evidence of years of savage combat. The whole caravan of men went on, going deeper and deeper into the mountain’s heart till finally, they came to a great hall full of torches, stalactites and Klingons. Kneeling amid them beside the towering form of Captain Dath’mar were both Ford’s missing officers.
Chevis hurried forward, unconscious of the danger to himself, and bent between the two men. Thomas and Bronstien were both battered and a bit worse for wear, but alive. Ford exchanged glances with the both of them, then glared in smoky anger at their tormentor. “You had no provocation to attack and assault my men.”
Dath’mar raised his upper lip into a sneer, stabbing daggers through Ford with his eye.
“You are my enemy till proven otherwise.”
Ford leapt to his feet, the sudden action drawing aimed weaponry to him. His own security men encircled his position, hopeless to defend him, but ready to claim a few lives of their own in trade. Ron’jar moved like a juggernaught through the throng of raised weapons. He halted between Ford and Dath’mar, eyes locked on the former Klingon ship commander.
“Enough of this. We are taking you home, Captain.”
Dath’mar looked back at the governor. His expression registered shock. It was entirely possible that he’d never truly realized the fact of his freedom till just this moment. His lone eye quivered in disbelief. Ron’jar took hold of his shoulder.
“It is true. Your labors here are done.”
Dath’mar blinked, as though a decade long trace were being broken. His shoulders sagged. Small cheers, then louder and more raucous ones began to sweep through the masses of his men. The rebel commander looked aside, then back to Ron’jar. “And the war?”
Ron’jar looked over to the Federation captain, standing there amid the dirty, sweat stained Klingon rebels in his clean, bright red alien uniform. The governor returned Dath’mar’s look with a nod.
“Indeed. We have begun the trek toward peace with the Earthers. A new century is dawning.”
Dath’mar shook his head. Disbelief and bewilderment were visibly swimming through his muddled mind. What was the world coming to?
Ford gazed about as he helped his officers to their shaky feet. He took in all the Klingons about him. Most were overjoyed in the prospect of returning home. Many were staring around as though wondering if they were in a dream. Some stared at him in disbelief, suspicion evident of their faces. A few looked about ready to kill him and his men. Ford looked at them all, and had to wonder just how long, and how hard, the road to peace was going to be…
Ford’s communicator sang out its tone.
“Security Team Two to Captain’s party!”
Ford whipped out the device and flipped it open. The entire room was now riveted on him.
“Go ahead, Team Two.”
“Captain, Endeavour reports six attack craft from the prison complex, closing on our position. Their weapons are hot!”
Over Warden Jarn had evidently taken exception to the presence of more Klingons on his planet and decided to act rashly. Chevy looked between Ron’jar and Dath’mar. “Now’s the time to get the hell outta here.”
Movement was instantaneous. At a gesture from Dath’mar, the entire assemblage of Klingon warriors up and began to move toward the exits from the chamber. Even had Ford and his party intended to remain, they would have been grabbed and swept away in the flood of large, moving bodies surging for the surface. As it was, Ford and company were running just as fast, packed into the center of the alien soldiers. Ford tried not to pant as he spoke into his comm and shouted so as to be heard above the trample of booted feet.
“Team Two, get to your respective shuttles and get back to Endeavour. Order my shuttle to launch also, and patch me through to Davenport!”
“Aye, Captain!” Came the reply, “Switching you over now.”
There was a crackle of dense static as the ground team leader switched his comm unit over to act as a relay from the cave to orbit. Ron’s voice came through next, a bit echoey with the cave’s interference. “This is Endeavour. Go ahead, Cap’n.”
“Ron, I’ve ordered our shuttles to return immediately, but we’re a good five minutes from the surface. You know what to do!”
There was a subtle pause from Davenport’s end of the transmission as he gave orders about the bridge. When he came back, there was assurance in his voice. “Copy that, Cap’n. We’re standing by.”
“Let me know when!”
Ford could hear the first echoes of explosions on the surface above as he planted his communicator back on his belt. Dust shook down upon the running masses. Dath’mar glanced back to both Ford and Ron’jar as they went. “Should the main entrances become impassable, we have alternative routes. They will take more time.”
“Don’t worry,” Ford replied, trying not to sound exhausted. He was not a runner. “I’ve got that end covered.”
“What do you mean?” Growled Ron’jar.
“We don’t have to make it topside. We just have to get within sixty meters.”
Another, heavier series of concussion shook the floor of the tunnel. Rocks were dislodged, staggering Klingons and felling one. This warrior was picked up and borne along by his brethren. None would be left behind. Ford just hoped the tunnel remained intact for a few more minutes…
Commander Davenport looked sideward as Lieutenant Nechayev made his report.
“Target locked, Commander.”
“Activate phasers and fire.” The chief of ops ordered with loud authority.
A single lance of crimson energy shot out from the bottom of the main viewer and impacted on a point far below on the planet surface. There was a tiny flash and the phaser beam terminated. Daniel smiled with his next report.
“Anti-transporter field down, Commander. The primary field generator is destroyed.”
“Is the landing party within beaming range of the surface?”
“A few more meters to go, sir.”
Ron nodded. “Then have transporter room six beam in the secondary objective now.”
“Aye, sir.”
Lieutenant Smith’s voice rang out from comm. “Our last shuttle has landed. Shuttle Bay One is closing main doors.”
“Very well, Lieutenant.” Ron replied. One less bit of business to worry over. “Signal the captain that we are beginning transports.”
At the science station, Lieutenant Surall was as always hooked to her primary scope. She looked left to the conn and inclined her head to Davenport. “The first groups of Klingons are now within safe beaming distance of the surface.”
Ron tapped a waiting blue key on the conn’s armrest.
“Transporter rooms, begin emergency beaming of the survivors, and remember to disarm all active weapons.”
“Energizing now.” Came the reply.
Endeavour shook just then, her upper hull and structural members quaking with a tremendous impact. Sparks flew from after consoles as safety systems fought to control power overloads. They’d just taken a weapon strike.
“A defense satellite has locked onto our position and is charging for a second blast! Two more are locking on!” Nechayev shouted over the damage alarms. Davenport winced mentally at the thought of the damage the engineers were going to have to repair. “I’m raising aft shields!”
That would cut their ability to beam survivors up by fifty percent as half the transporter emitters were based in the after portions of the hull. But nothing else could be done for it. They either activated their defenses, or they were dismembered. “Very well, tactical. Return fire with aft photons and destroy those platforms. Surall, any indication that the Toq’hiGH is beaming up any survivors from the planet?”
“Yes, sir. She’s lowered her forward screens and angled her remaining shields to cover the gap as she engages transporters.”
Another hard blast rocked Endeavour from behind. The Vulcan woman glanced at a series of monitors. “Commander, three defense vessels are aligning to supplement the satellite’s firepower. They are locking on.”
Ron shot a look toward the portside engineering stations. “Reinforce aft screens with the forward generators. Give ‘em all the power we can spare.”
A trio of weapon blasts rattled the ship once more. A circuit blew out just above the main viewer and the ship’s chronometer began to run amok. Ron turned to the tactical station. “Return fire, maximum weapons!”
“Yes, sir!”
The full array of Endeavour’s aft armament went to work, concentrating fire on the lead starship. The smaller warship’s shields flared and sparkled under the assault, and after six successive phaser hits and three photon detonations, failed utterly. The ship ducked its starboard side as it began an evasive turn, and caught a three more torpedoes in her flank. The right side of the ship ruptured inward then blew out into a fan of debris and glowing plasma. Its two companions took the hint and began to back away from the angry Excelsior.
“Remaining defense ships are backing away and holding fire, Commander.” Daniel reported. The ship shuddered again as another defense platform took up the assault. “But ve still have four satellites firing on us and eight more ships inbound. Veapons range in one minute!”
Davenport slammed a hand down on the intercom panel.
“Transporter room! Have we got the last of them?”
“One more group, Commander, just coming in range! The captain is aboard and en route to the bridge!”
“Great!” The chief exclaimed and killed the connection. Behind him, the lift doors whispered open. Ford’s voice called out amid the noise and alarms, sounding tired and breathless.
“Report!”
Davenport propelled himself out of the conn and on toward ops. Endeavour heaved under a harder hit than before, slinging the captain into his seat. When both were safely seated, Ron risked a response.
“We’re taking heavy fire from the aft quarter from defensive platforms and orbiting ships. Our forward quarter is protected by our low altitude, but aft shields are falling to…” he read over his readouts, “thirty percent.”
Smith jerked around from his console, hand on his mike. “Transporter room signals last Klingons are aboard!”
Ford slapped his armrest. “Restore forward shields and get us the hell outta orbit! Tactical, place me a parting torpedo on the mining complex’s main landing dock as we go.”
“Yes, Keptin!”
“Forward shields up now at sixty percent,” came from ops, “Aft falling to ten percent without the added support!”
“Auxiliary power to aft shields!”
***
Captain’s Log, Supplemental.
The Endeavour’s escape from planetary obit was a bumpy one, but one made in good time. Even as the enemy angled to pursue us, several were disabled from behind as Toq’hiGH arose from the atmosphere and pummeled them. The bastards never even saw it coming. We took moderate damage from the first hit we sustained. Engineering is replacing destroyed materiel recycling ductwork and shoring up the structural members that were cracked. The damaged hull plating will be repaired when we reach destination. There was no hull breach.
All in all, I guess casualties can be considered light, but I can’t get over losing men to the people we came to rescue. They butchered them inside that shuttle! I was more than happy to beam Dath’mar and his smelly band over to Ron’jar’s ship and be done with ‘em. How he could look me in the eye and tell me that they were his enemy till he knew otherwise…
Damn…
We’re presently escorting the Governor’s ship across Federation space. I’m opting not to pursue any kind of official action over their crossing our space originally. Were it not for Ron’jar’s presence, I wouldn’t likely have my officers back. I probably wouldn’t be taking the Klingons home, either. So much about this mission was dependent on his being there.
Ultimately, the mission was a success. Hopefully the Federation will get whatever pull they were hoping for out of it. Maybe they’ll just be happy that we beamed back all the latinum we paid to buy the Klingons back from Jarn. I’ll bet he’s chewing nails, though I personally hope he was out there on his dock when I blew it up.
As for Mister Thomas, he is already back on active duty with only a broken rib to complain about. Bronstien suffered more severe injuries and will likely be in sickbay for another day. The Klingons gave that kid a hellova beating. He’ll pull through, though. The other survivors from the Curry will be down for more than a week. And as for the shuttle itself, PO Goodwin set its auto destruct before lifting off the planet. I commend his initiative.
Our ETA to Klingon border is seven hours, and from there we’ll remain on station awaiting further orders.
End of Log.
Ford switched off the log recorder and put it down on his cabin’s small desktop. The Pekinese dog in his lap panted tolerantly as he waited for his owner’s hand to descend and give him some much wanted loving. Chevy stroked the old dog’s head and ruffled his ears. China had suffered through four long voyages with him, on two different ships. He was now ten years old, and mottled in grey. But his old eyes still held a luster for adventure. No amount of thunder of deck rattling seemed to deter him. He pawed his way up into Ford’s face and returned some slobbery loving of his own.
If this dog could muster such faithful resolve without even knowing what they were all fighting for, Ford figured he could put a little more faith in the peace initiative with the Empire. It sounded silly, perhaps. But a lot of lives were riding on the prospect of peace, or at the very least a lasting cease-fire. The loss of four of his men hurt and rankled him. But compared to the millions that could die at the failure of these talks… Well, hopefully they had died to help bring the initiative further. Maybe the next generation would have peace with the Klingon Empire.
Ford put China down on the deck and took that thought with him as he left his cabin to conduct the ship’s memorial services for four brave souls. The dog sat on his haunches, watching him go, wondering why his owner felt so disconsolate.
END
There y'all have it. Not the strongest ending, but I had a LOT going on when I was wrapping this one up.
I hope every one enjoyed this tale for it's worth. I shall post new stuff soon...
--rogmann
Topic: A new Story? (Read 19827 times)