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Oops... That's too long. You'll probably need to reread this for the next to make sense. And, there will be more! It had grown cold on the bridge without his noticing. Silence assailed his ears. Colors shifted about in his vision. A gentle tingle of numbness crawled upon his skin. His sense of taste and smell remained unaffected, however. They told him of the icy cold air briefly recirculating about the bridge. They warned him of the presence of the long gone Klingons that still haunted the air ducts with their foul, sweaty, pungent and bitter odors; of how thick the scent would be; how the flavor would saturate his taste and spoil meals for weeks to come. The Klingons would have their revenge on him yet again, once the bridge began to warm; ousting the beastly odors from their hiding places.
They warned him, and yet in the chilly, dark silence, he listened, forcing every other possible nerve into focus, listening for the sound of K’Tal’s voice, or the gentle snap-pop-hiss of static over her comm. line, at least giving some indication she was alright.
The tiny fans silently performed their duty, keeping the bridge cool for a few minutes longer. They were an after though in design – while the cloaking device consumed much power and required life support and many other systems to be turned to a lower power setting, much of the bridge’s electronics still functioned and in turn, generated much heat. They were a stop-gap measure to keep things cooler during short duration cloaks, but could only run a few minutes before requiring recharging; having a five minutes on – ten minutes off cycle that repeated thrice.
Once the auxiliary cooling fans for the bridge turned off, they had ten, maybe twelve minutes before the stank would come. He had that long to reestablish the secure line between her and the ship; had that long to figure out if remaining cloaked for an extended period was a viable option, or if fighting alongside the smaller Star Fleet vessel would be worth his time. Above all else, however, he pondered the survival of the people on the planets in the Trellious System.
Scans of the over-gunned frigate suggested a high probability of success against the fighters that closed in on her. Worst case scenarios had run briefly through his mind, leaving his aged cruiser to clean up only a handful of the swarm. Success or failure at this stage did not ride on the bloated guns of this strange new ship taking out the swarm. The planets had been informed. Ships would be launched to intercept. Anti-air laser batteries, silent for years, would thrum to life again, ready to intercept whatever would make it through.
All the analyzing in the world told him
Cerberus was not important in the outcome of the first bombing run. He would need this ship to survive, mostly intact, to remove the greater threat.
Eric the Dead.
But no matter what he decided upon, no matter the choices made by the frig-naught’s CO, he could do nothing until he knew for certain K’Tal’s fate. He needed that link between the two ships, needed to know what was going on, and where to best position himself in the soon-to-come battle. He had no further concern over the operation of his ship; her skills would be missed, however it was not beyond his capabilities to cover for her in her absence.
He did make note of one thing further. The cold air, soon to end its cycle about the bridge, burned his flesh. He shrugged off the dermal regenerator and all other medical attention after his brief EVA sans the protection of a space suit. “Archer healed,” he told his doctor. “And so will I.” He was needed elsewhere, and convalescing could wait until the crisis passed.
There was a pop-snap, perceived much louder than it actually was due to his focus, but none the less it made him jump. It was not, however, the comm. line chatter that he’d been patiently expecting. But it would be enough.
***
Twelve and twelve. That was the official count. Twelve fighters equipped with advanced sensors in lieu of a half load of standard drones. Twelve fighters equipped with planet-killing nuclear warheads and no conventional drones to speak of. It did not make
Cerberus’s task any simpler knowing the numbers. Twenty-four was a large number to crunch through, even for a fully fledged and capable anti-fighter group.
So McDougal paused briefly and pondered the situation more closely. Twelve would provide electronic warfare support warhead guidance, and overall support to the others. Twelve would kill billions if they made it through to perform their mission.
Who’s first? He’d already made the choice, ordered a firing preference to his gunners. As the seconds and kilometers closed to firing range, he pondered further.
The ‘bombers’ most likely had orders to stay on target, regardless of what happened to the others. Focusing on the ‘fighters’ would gain them an advantage in distance towards their goal and away from
Cerberus. This could not be allowed to happen, ordinance must not reach planet side.
On the other side of the coin, the ‘fighters’ would most likely have orders to protect their charges, and could do considerable damage to his ship in the process, perhaps so much so that any remaining ‘bombers’ would be free to deliver their packages. Again, this was unacceptable. Not to mention that his ship would be required to be mostly intact to counter the rest of the pirate threat.
There was a slightly more dangerous middle ground, placed firmly on the edge of that coin. He would have to take out as many of each as possible simultaneously, while still controlling the number of surviving ‘bombers’ that would get past his guns. He had the most advanced fire control system in the fleet at his disposal. He had sensors that could break through most, if not all, of the jamming and provide some anti-drone coverage. Phasers that could be made to cripple fighters on the first pass, slowing them to be vulnerable on the second. He had tractor beams to grab fighters, nuclear missiles and drones, holding them until they could be destroyed. And a small compliment of mines that could be used offensively.
Against this threat, however, he would need one more ace in the hole. Ships surely would arrive from the local defense forces, and while not truly anti-fighter capable, could still pose a threat to the aggressors. He would, however, require a ship with much more firepower to cover him while he plowed the road. These fighter pilots were not very skilled, it seemed, and their almost straight line formation would make easy work for
Cerberus. But some would get through, and someone would need to help mop up. This someone happened to be close by, possibly unknown to the enemy, and versed enough in Star Fleet tactics to know what was going on and where he would be needed.
He might regret the decision, pirates were known back stabbers, but he had to take the chance. Billions counted on him and his actions today. The burden of command never felt more like an ox bow than it did right now, in this moment.
Billions versus hundreds. “Open a secure channel to the
Death Giver,” he ordered.
The needs of the many… “And relay the following, ‘Alpha-pi-three-seven-omega. Alpha-sigma, two-five-five.’”
“Message relayed sir,” T’Sala replied, her Vulcan calm seemingly out of place on the tension filled bridge. “
Death Giver’s response: ‘Awaiting’.”
“Revision to orders: impulse engines, all ahead flank, twenty second burn, then cut power and bring us around one-eighty. All phasers set to pulse, revised targeting priority: any fighter, any drone, any nuclear weapon launched, set targeting for minimum range targets only; anything that breaks from the pack we’ll have to get as we come back. Set transporter bombs to fighters and missiles only and standby to deploy. Energize all tractor emitters to minimum power and set for targets of opportunity. Set anti-drone defensive systems to standby.” He paused for a brief moment, making sure all was right, before continuing, “We’re counting on Mohab and his crew to cover our butts and take down anything that gets through, but he’ll need us to make that job as easy as possible. We can assume that those ships of the local defense fleet will be able to assist, but we can’t rely on them.
“Prepare a log buoy, and standby to deploy. You all have your orders. Send to Mohab, ‘Execute.’ Helm, lead the way!”
A round of ‘ayes’ would normally follow the long list of orders, but they were interrupted by Perkins, who simply added, “Drones inbound, multiple launch points!”
Czar "back in the saddle - Kinda" Mohab who will probably need to make edits later. 
Topic: Second Chances III: The Trellious Incident (Read 18687 times)