Chapter 6
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CHAPTER Six

The fleet emerged from hyperspace in perfect, Imperial precision just outside the perimeter maintained by the Antares space station. The grand admiral had chosen the fleet sent to Antares, four battlegroups strong, both for the fear those numbers would strike and to provide the best chance at determining the battle's outcome before the first shot was taken. Each battlegroup consisted of three Imperial class star destroyers, each destroyer with its pair of escorting strike cruisers. Another eight support ships, consisting mostly of heavily armed corvettes and lancer frigates, completed each of the four battlegroups. Their commanding admiral had arranged each group into a tri-dimensional pyramid with the bellies of the star destroyers facing each other and the support craft positioned to create overlapping fields of fire. The configuration would allow the ships to rotate any shield taking too much fire out of enemy range, presenting fresh shields while allowing the weakened points time to recharge.

Admiral Wassis Fayse, a round bodied Caridan armadillo, stood at attention on the bridge of his flagship. Grand Admiral Sher Khal'Saad had entrusted this mission to him, and he had no intention of allowing it to fail. "Status," he ordered.

"All ships report in and on mark, sir," came the response.

Admiral Fayse nodded tersely. "Order battlegroups two and three to engage the enemy. Hit them before they have a chance to mount a response. Groups one and four will remain in reserve until my order. Let's see how this Federation deals with real warriors."

"Yes sir."

Shut up in Admiral Rikes' office, Sam Stone had little to do beyond irritated pacing and cursing. He hated confinement of any sort. "Give me a ship," he muttered, "Any ship, and I'd be on my way. But no, can't do that. Sam might be dangerous. Sam might try and kill somebody, stupid tiger says so. Like I had any choice! I told them I'd been brainwashed, but did they listen? Ha! Nobody ever listens to me. Should have taken Kit's advice and gotten out when I had the chance. Wouldn't be stuck on this fragging 'fleeter station with smelly, creepy womenfolk, and they ain't even naked!"

He turned to glower at his silent companions. The guard the admiral had left on the door did not warrant paying attention to at all. Sam figured he was faster than the security officer anyway if it really came down to it. With little else to do, Sam went to the wide viewport behind the desk to study the traffic around Antares space. He had no idea which class was which as far as 'fleeter ships were concerned. That bothered him a little. If he could have puzzled out their computer systems (provided he had not been locked out of them), Sam would have attempted to find that information. Unfortunately the interface built into the desk and the characters it displayed looked as foreign as Ubese to him. An appraising glance at the canine security officer said the 'fleeter would probably attempt to stop him if he tried. Sam turned back to the port, trying to ease his boredom.

Moments later, however, he found himself anything but. A trio of sleek white dagger shapes flashed into existence, already large enough through the unmagnified view that Sam knew they were minutes at most from firing solutions, probably seconds at this range. His blood ran cold at the too-familiar sight. "Sithspit!" he swore, a ridge of fur raising along his spine. Turbolasers flashed through vacuum's chill.

The first in a chain of explosions impacted within spitting distance of the broad windows, sending PADDs and other small items flying from the admiral's desk. Sam threw his arms up to protect his face, turning on the two women. He half expected to see them on the ground, maybe even dead -- but neither one showed any sign of having noticed the explosions at all. They were still right where he'd left them, sitting peacefully as if they were having a nice cup of tea in some fancy restaurant in the Core.

"What the frag--" Stone growled, turning away from the two in disgust. The lion's hand went to his hip, a grimace marring his face when he realized the holster he wore there was empty. "Freaks, knowing when the attack's going to happen . . . Imperial collaborators, bet my tail on it."

Much to his dislike, neither female so much as twitched an ear in his direction. The red-haired one - Perdi, they'd called the kid - had her head bowed, a look of concentration on her face.

"Religious spice-head fanatics, getting us all killed," the lion muttered, his uneasy gaze locking on the Imperial fleet without. Sam might not have been a battle-hardened commander like Kithain, but he recognized a bad streak of luck when he saw it. There was no other way to describe what they were facing -- no other way except death.

He could only see two battle groups from where he stood in Admiral Rikes' office, but that was enough to have him break out in a cold sweat. Three Imperial Star Destroyers hovered in silent formation at the center of each group, their undersides facing toward one another. Each of the vessels was pointed directly toward them, surrounded by swarming TIEs, escort strike cruisers, corvettes, and lancers. Stone didn't need a tactical readout to see that each of the vessels was armed to the teeth when he didn't even have a blaster.

The thought had barely crossed his mind when red lights began flashing through the office, painting the two silent women a bloody color. Alarms shrieked all around, assaulting the lion's sensitive ears. Stone shuddered in distaste and moved further away from the pair to eye the admiral's desk. "Now, there's gotta be a gun somewhere in here. . ." The words had barely left his mouth when the first volley of blaster fire slapped against the space station's shields. The entire office shuddered and bucked, throwing the security guard hard against the doorframe. The wolf's skull impacted with a hollow thud before he slid to the floor. Stone righted himself and went to help himself to the canine's phaser. No sense wasting a good gun in times like these . . .

Admiral Allen Rikes had barely materialized in the ORISKANY's combat information center when the ship lurched beneath his feet from the impact of an Imperial assault. A veteran of space combat, the admiral barely stumbled before gaining his seat.

"Captain, what's the report?" the English setter asked with a calm that belied his true feelings. The other officers who had been with the admiral on the space station were also taking their positions; only Commander Costran was absent.

His Betazoid captain looked unusually grim as she turned to look at the admiral. "Twelve of those Imperial star destroyers, with a plethora of smaller support vessels, and nobody's even bothered to count the little ones."

The admiral couldn't help the wince that crossed his features. "I see."

"Sir!" the officer at tactical snapped. "Two Imperial battle groups breaking away. They appear to be targeting the station." Even as the officer spoke, the holographic projection of the battlefield that encompassed the center of the CIC displayed the shift in ship positions. The combined battlegroups had no less than six Star Destroyers at their core, with twelve strike cruisers and an assortment of sixteen other small vessels that boasted a greater collection of weapons than a Klingon arms shipment.

Rikes shook his head and signaled for the operator of the communications console to open a general hail. "This is Admiral Allen Rikes," the setter announced, leaning forward in his chair. "Antares is under attack by Imperial forces. All civilian vessels are to depart immediately. Starfleet vessels will receive their instruction from individual commanders. All hands are to report to the nearest available ship. Immediately," he growled as the holoprojection's display switched to a close-up view of the space station itself. The vessels from the two Imperial battlegroups had gained their position and were beginning to assault the station. The admiral cut the public channel and turned toward tactical.

"Sir, the station's shields are dropping. 90% . . . sir, 83% . . ."

"YORKTOWN, bring your fleet about to engage the Imperials. Captain Jinra, take us in." Rikes keyed a combination into the console in the arm of his chair. "Scramble the Starhawks and the Boyingtons," he ordered, scanning the data on the report he'd brought up. It had been transmitted from the HOISIN, Ambassador Tamari's personal runabout, confirming that the two Rifter females had made it aboard the vessel safely. "Keep the Nighthunters in reserve. I want Hayes and McLoude to personally escort the ambassador and his people away from here - the last thing we need is an ambassadorial murder to top this off."

"Yes sir, admiral."

Commander Costran Kylee bit off a vicious curse as flashing red lights and alarms filled the corridors of the Antares space station. "Single file. Stay behind me or it's your own fault what happens next!" she snapped at the two Rifters she was escorting. General Anaea's eyes narrowed, but she nodded to her smuggler companion and fell into line behind the commander.

"What causes this sort of alarm?"

"Red alert?" The Bajoran squirrel shook her head, breaking into a jog as they passed a swarm of uniformed personnel hurrying out of a shopping gallery. "Nothing good, that's what."

"What kind of nothing good--" The general's acerbic growl was cut off by an explosion from somewhere up ahead. The impact roiled through the corridor, panels shooting sparks as they blew off to expose the cables beneath. Costran stumbled and nearly fell, only to be caught by K'tir as the white-furred feline moved to the front of the pack. The squirrel gave a brisk nod of thanks and righted herself.

"It's that kind of nothing, general," she said calmly. "Now, if you want off this station, I suggest you hurry." Another explosion rocked the corridor, but all three braced themselves enough to keep their feet. "I don't know about you, but I'd like to get off this station."

The commander and her charges pushed through a group of security personnel and into the main promenade of the ambassadorial wing. No more words were exchanged after the three broke into a dead run toward the only ship in sight, a lightly armed but heavily shielded transport bearing all the markings of an official Federation ambassador's runabout.

K'tir slid to a halt on the slick floor tiles, her eyes wide. "You have got to be kidding me!" the white housecat snarled. "That's not a ship. Where the hell are the blaster turrets?!"

Commander Costran ignored the feline's outburst. "You board from port side. Move it!" She gave them a push in the right direction before activating her combadge. "Costran to Ambassador Tamari, are you aboard your ship?"

"Costran? Who is Costran?"

The commander scowled and started away from the vessel. Though it held the promise of passage off the space station, she would be useless on a ship bound for Earth. There would be other vessels that could take her - reaching the ORISKANY was absolutely out of the question.

"Commander Costran Kylee, USS ORISKANY. We've put two passengers aboard. It is of the utmost importance that these passengers and their intelligence reach President Vibe. Admiral Rikes has entrusted their safety to you. You are to launch immediately. Fightercraft will be provided to ensure your safety."

"What? Commander, this is highly irregular. I must protest--"

Costran cut the transmission, running back into the main corridors. She might have time to reach another vessel, but she didn't have time to argue with a fat, useless excuse for a rabbit. All she could hope for now was that the general wouldn't kill him before they reached Earth.

On the lower decks of the ORISKANY and her sister carriers YORKTOWN and EAGLE, the pilots of the new Starfleet Starfighter Command raced through the red-lit corridors. The heavy boots of their flight suits clumped against the deck plating as they passed personnel who had flattened themselves against the walls to give the officers a straight shot toward their craft. There was little enough to distinguish the SSC officers from other members of the fleet beyond the wings that extended to either side of their combadges and the helmets that some of the pilots had jammed onto their heads during the frenetic race from their quarters.

"Ready to kick some tail, commander?"

"You ready to buy as many rounds as I shoot down?" Hayes returned as they two trotted down the corridors. Beneath the bravado, Anderson looked tense. Hayes rolled his shoulders, suddenly aware of his own tension.

"Ha! I bet I can shoot more of these imperials down than you can, sir."

"You'll be eating those words," Hayes said as he stuck out a paw. They shook on it before parting and heading for their respective ships. The younger officers grinned nervously as they watched their senior officers make their bet. Fear could kill a pilot as easily as a torpedo or a lucky phaser blast. Levity was what they all needed.

As the pilots fed into the dedicated flight bays where their prototype craft were kept, other personnel poured in through an opposite set of doors - the support teams that had been scrambled by the same alarm the pilots responded to. The fighter bays of all three carriers were swarming with dedicated, well-drilled teams within sixty seconds of the alert being sounded by their commanding officers. They prepped the small craft with practiced efficiency, but every member of the new division was all too aware that no fighter had yet seen real battle, much less combat with the experienced pilots of the Galactic Empire. The men and women pushed aside that concern and focused on the task at hand, confident in their pilots and in their ships. They couldn't afford uncertainty.

Hayes brushed aside the assistance being offered by the crew-chief to his left, fastening the last safety restraint himself. "Let's go already!" he snapped impatiently.

The two engineers responsible for getting him safely into the cockpit of his Boyington-class starfighter slid down the rails of the built-in ladders that flanked the cockpit then ran from the flight deck to clear the wolf for takeoff. They were joined partway down the concourse by the support staff who had helped the other five pilots. When the last member of the support teams had cleared the bay, the launch doors opened to allow the six starfighters to join the battle.

The six light assault craft cleared the relative shelter of the YORKTOWN and formed up as they'd drilled so many times before. Lt. Cmdr. Hayes immediately turned his Boyington toward the flight path that YORKTOWN had sent him on launch, dodging brilliant bolts of green, red, and gold as he led his squadron through the starfield. Their mission was to rescue the innocent civilians caught in harm's way. A whoop of delight caused a brief squawk over his radio, but the wolf didn't chastise the pilot responsible. They were all of a mind: this job was fun. He thumbed the switch to his comm system, his grin concealed behind his helmet.

"Let's go, people. It's time to show the Empire how we do things here in the Federation."

"Aye sir!" Anderson called back.

Hayes turned away from the incoming force, looking for the IFF Beacon of the HOISIN. His squad's task was to assure that the ambassador's ship got away safely. Two other fighters fell into formation with Hayes' craft and shot off in the direction of the HOISIN, the other members of their party turning elsewhere on their own mission of mercy.

"Sir!" Anderson sang out. Hayes' eyes flicked to his HUD. They had Imperial starfighters bearing down on their position.

"I see 'em," Hayes acknowledged. "This is it people. Remember your training. The HOISIN needs us to cover her six."

The squad formed up as an escort for the HOISIN for the briefest of moments before the TIEs were on them. Hayes and his team broke off to intercept and shoot down the attackers. The fighter craft dodged and wove around the

like an angry cluster of hornets. Green fire arched across Hayes' bow and he threw the ship sharply into a roll then dove down and throttled back, hoping to catch the TIE pilot on his tail. The TIE pilot proved to be adept enough to be wary of such tricks, following Sean as he arced away from the HOISIN.

"I got one on my tail," Hayes called out. He wasn't the only one. The comm chatter was filled with strains of tension as his people fought their first true battle as light assault craft pilots.

"I've got you," Anderson called as he fell in behind the TIE.

Hayes flew an erratic path, hoping to shake the TIE on his tail. The TIE followed doggedly, shooting at Hayes, the bolts of coherent green light eating away at Hayes' shielding. Anderson fell in behind, trying to get a clean lock on Hayes' attacker. The three ships raced around the HOISIN as it continued to head for the edge of the battle and clear space to engage their warp drive.

A bolt impacted Hayes' shield, shaking the small ship.

"Damn," Hayes swore as he threw his ship into a tight corkscrew. The HOISIN was nearly free and had only sustained minor shield damage. The fighter squad was holding its own, but barely. Sean Hayes was determined not to be the first one shot down.

"Almost got him," Anderson growled over the comm.

Hayes felt the shockwave of explosion as Anderson's phaser fire hit home, turning the TIE into so much space junk. He poured on extra speed and dove away to clear any fast moving debris.

"Yahoo!" Anderson hollered over the com. "Scratch one! Sir, you owe me a drin--"

The message was cut off as Anderson was blown to vapor by the combined fire from two TIEs.

Hayes gritted his teeth and swung his craft around to engage the enemy just as the HOISIN leaped to warp. The TIEs, having lost their quarry, disengaged and raced away for another ship. The flight's comm channel was utterly silent.

"T'lini," Hayes said to his third, "form up on my wing."

The lieutenant commander's new wingman fell into place as they streaked after the TIEs, taking potshots. Sean hit the button which would connect him with the ORISKANY's CIC and their next target. Under normal situations he would report to the YORKTOWN, their home vessel, but their mission to save the ambassador had reportedly come from Admiral Rikes himself.

"This is Lt. Commander Hayes to the ORISKANY. The HOISIN is away. Repeat, the HOISIN is away. We suffered one casualty. Requesting orders."

"Stand by." ORISKANY's next set of orders never came. Another group of TIEs was bearing down on them from behind, following the warp signature left by the fleeing HOISIN.

"Let's move, people." Hayes spared only a moment's thought for Anderson before he led his pilots against the TIE. "Get a lock on the HOISIN's vector. We're going to follow and provide escort.

T'Lini's affirmative was lost in the roar of blaster fire as the fighters raced off after the HOISIN.

The bridge of the Imperial Imperial-class Star Destroyer TOTALITARIAT was busy, but a far cry from chaotic. Admiral Wassis Fayse stood near the massive viewports at parade rest, his critical gaze searching for any failure - no matter how miniscule - that might cause a disruption in the grand admiral's far-seeing plans. Only when he was satisfied with the operations aboard his flagship did he turn his attention back to the battle that raged outside the armored hulls of his vessel.

The massive form of the Antares space station loomed in the port-side window. By comparison to Imperial designs, which Fayse held to be infinitely superior to the models of the upstart Federation, most Starfleet spacecraft were . . . tiny, at best. Antares, however, impressed even the admiral. The Federation craft that clung to the long spindle that extended down from the shallow dome at the top of the station's spire looked like tiny bugs swarming over a vine in the heat of summer. It was for that reason that Antares figured so strongly in the grand admiral's plans. It was not only the station closest to the Rift on the Federation side, but it was also the only station in the area that was large enough to support Imperial vessels. The readout his aide had provided to him showed that the station was larger than even an Executor-class vessel - truly impressive.

Fayse gave a slight smile and waved to the communications officer who had been assigned to him for the duration of the siege. He doubted it would take terribly long, but he had no intention of wasting time. "Captain Tryzk, bring your group twenty-three degrees portside," he snapped when the line was open. "You're giving too many of their vessels a free escape vector!"

A small but brilliant blue void appeared along one of the lower levels of the space station's spire as another of the small Federation craft disappeared into warp, barely missing destruction by an Imperial corvette. The corvette in question erupted into a brief shower of flame that was rapidly quenched by the vacuum of space, taking a critical hit from one of the largest Federation spacecraft present. Fayse scowled and opened a new channel.

"Captain Kenawch, move battle group four into formation to engage the Federation carriers along vector two-nine point six by one-one-five." The armadillo's jaw was hard as he stared out into the battlefield. "We must take revenge on behalf of our fallen comrades. Captain--" this he directed at the badger who stood beside him "--bring the TOTALITARIAT about. Battle group one will be taking that third carrier."

The captain saluted and turned to give the orders to the bridge crew, leaving Fayse to his thoughts.

"Admiral Rikes!"

The English setter glanced up with a slight frown. He was in the midst of a conference with his flight coordinator and the captains of the YORKTOWN and EAGLE, attempting to devise a strategy that could bring the Starfleet vessels scattered across the Antares starfield into closer coordination for the sake of safety. What he saw in the holoprojection that encompassed the center of the CIC made the admiral's blood run cold. Two of the Imperial battle groups had broken formation - and now three of their Star Destroyers were headed directly toward them.

His practiced eye took in the oncoming Imperial formation. Identification codes flashed within the holoprojection as the Imperial ship types were identified. As he correlated the displayed codes with the known capabilities of the ships they identified, Rikes began giving orders.

"All ships come about to course three-three-six mark two-one-two. Execute formation gamma three," he orderd in a level tone, none of the tension he was feeling showing through. "Flight group, execute fireplan delta give. Focus on the incoming strikecraft. NIGHTFLARE, CUTLASS, and ATHENA can take out their fighter escorts."

The Federation taskforce slid quickly into formation, with the ORISKANY at the center, flanked by the Nebula-class PROXIMA and LIVERPOOL. The Akira-class THUNDERCHIEF, GERONIMO, BUFFALO and LINEBACKER formed up to screen the command group. The Steamrunners APPALACHIA and HIROSHIMA, and INSTANBUL and BELFAST took up position on the left and right flanks, respectively. A fifth Steamrunner, the COSTA DEL VERA, took up position to screen the back of the fleet. The battlegroup's Defiant-class ships, consisting of the STONEWALL, ELUSIVE, HIGHBORN, DECISIVE, RUNNING HORSE, and SÃO PAULO, formed up before the Akiras to act as a heavy forward screen. The Sabre-class NIGHTFLARE and CUTLASS, along with the Intrepid-class ATHENA, which had been present at Antares and attached to the ORISKANY's battlegroup, took position with the ORISKANY's flightgroup to intercept the incoming Imperial fighters.

Rikes watched the holoplot with satisfaction as his fleet came together like a precision instrument. His posture and voice exuded confidence in the face of the oncoming Imperial battle group. Though it did not show, there was a small seed of worry; while simulations showed that the taskforce should be able to counter the Imperial force arrayed against them, it had never been tested in actual battle.

"Rikes to fleet," he spoke with a measured tone, "if our intelligence is correct, we should see an initial assault by the enemy strike craft while their battleships move into position to attack. While the outer screen engages this strike, our core ships will volley coordinated torpedo fire at the three Imperial destroyers. Their capital ships lack the maneuverability to seriously degrade our accuracy at even extended ranges, so we should be able to break them up before they are in range to reply in kind. Rikes out."

Aboard the TOTALITARIAT, Admiral Fayse watched as nearly seventy glowing balls of light separated from the Federation task force and streaked towards his battlegroup.

"The 'fleeters have started their torpedo bombardment, captain," he said calmly, "I believe we shall see how effective the new countermeasures are."

"I hope intelligence is right about this, sir," the badger replied. He had seen the reports of the frightening effectiveness of the Federation's weapons.

"You doubt the prowess of the irrefutable Naval Intelligence Bureau?" Fayse's voice dripped with sarcasm, before turning serious, "I believe it should perform well, actually. And if not, we will both be beyond caring soon enough."

The pair watched through the broad widows as the fleet went into action. Turrets swiveled into preset firelines as the smaller escort ships slid into new positions. Fayse sneered mentally. Predictably, the 'fleeters had concentrated their fire on the three destroyers that formed the core of the fleet. While sensible from a strategic standpoint, in this case it was going to be to the Imperial's benefit.

When Imperial analysts studied the data from the initial engagements with the Federation, they determined that the 'fleeter's sublight speed would be a deciding factor. Their ships could dodge around the fire from the larger Imperial ships while able to rain down their destructively accurate torpedoes from beyond the range of Imperial turbolasers. Realizing that the Imperial ships were not maneuverable enough to effectively dodge the long range fire, they focussed on countering that fire instead. Using torpedoes purchased from some race called the Ferengi, Imperial scientists learned that this galaxy's "photon torpedoes" were relatively simple, if highly effective, weapons. If one knew the relative positions of the launcher and its intended target, it was relatively simple to calculate the torpedo's most likely flight path. An Imperial fleet, properly coordinated, could fill that flight path with enough laser fire to virtually ensure that the incoming torpedo would be hit. The relative instability of the warhead meant that even a glancing hit from a quad laser could cause the torpedo to annihilate itself.

So Admiral Fayse watched with a slight smile as the specially build droid controllers attached to the targeting systems of his escorting frigates and cruisers filled space with bursts of coherent light. As those bursts of light began to intersect with the incoming orange balls, the space between the two fleets began to sparkle with the incandescent glare of atomic conversion reactions, and Fayse's smile spread into an arrogant grin.

"It would seem that the new countermeasures do indeed work," he turned to the badger beside him, "As long as we have enough range to properly engage their torpedoes, we can prevent them from ravaging our ships. And once we are too close to effectively counter them, the 'fleeters will be well within our own engagement envelope." A matching smile grew on the badger's face as his admiral continued. "Signal the fleet, we will advance at best speed and crush them beneath the weight of our guns."

The command deck of the ORISKANY was deathly silent. The fleet's second and third volleys were already on the way when they watched the Imperials contemptuously swat their first volley out of existence. As second volley followed the first into annihilation, Rikes broke the silence.

"It seems that these Imperials are as resourceful as we feared," no note of his shock at the effectiveness of the Imperial counter was present in his voice. "We will need to close the range to ensure our torpedoes get through. Have the fleet advance to here, " he keyed an indicator onto the holoprojection, "and prepare for a full alpha strike."

"Sir," the ops officer burst out, "that will put us nearly in the Imperials' engagement range."

"I know," Rikes replied, "but we maintain a maneuverability advantage, and the range is still open enough that we should be able to avoid most of their fire."

He stood silently studying the holoplot as the fleet advanced.

"They're advancing, sir," the lieutenant in the sensor pit reported.

"Indeed, lieutenant," Admiral Fayse replied, "Signal the ANNIHILATOR and DOMINATOR. Commence fire plan one."

Fresh fighters and bombers streaked out from the Imperial formation, seeking to engage the outer Federation escorts and their new strike craft. The escorting cruisers and frigates continued to pour defensive fire into the incoming torpedo waves as the entire formation drove towards the enemy fleet. As the range closed, the heavy turbolaser batteries on the three star destroyers and their six escorting cruisers swivelled to bear on the core of the Federation formation. With silent fury, they opened fire, a massed green wave streaking across the void.

The range is still long,' a small part of Rikes' mind noted. Still, it was effective.

"All ships, evasion pattern beta," he ordered, watching as the ships of his taskforce began a coordinated dance around the incoming Imperial fire. The fire was heavy, but the range was still long. With the quick movements impulse drives provided, the ships of the fleet were able to avoid almost all of the heavy turbolaser fire. Their shields were able to absorb what did get through, though each bolt hit with unimaginable force.

The Imperials only had time for two volleys before the taskforce reached the fire point. As one, the entire force fired, unleashing a storm of phaser and torpedo fire. The full weight of the Federation fire slammed into the oncoming star destroyers. Phasers swept before them, smashing into Imperial shields as torpedoes crashed home, coating those angular hulls with hellish light of matter/antimatter fire.

Here and there a shield would overload, allowing the full fury of 'fleeter fire to smash into the massive hulls. The immense bulk of the Imperial destroyers bucked and shook as their armor absorbed the incredible energies of the Federation weapons.

As their shields began to fail under the onslaught, the star destroyers began to roll, presenting fresh shields to the incoming fire. Even still, the Starfleet ships poured destructive energies into them, torpedoes battering their shields flat, phasers gouging into their hulls. The fires of bleeding air began to dot the immense grey hulls like flickering orange pinpricks. Compartments breached, bulkheads failed and crewmen died. Shield generators started to slag under the strain, as armor ran like water under the insane fury.

But the Imperial ships did not quietly accept this punishment. Their reply, if anything, was even more terrible.

It was hard to imagine the immense energies those weapons were unleashing to make the TOTALITARIAT buck and shake as she was. But Admiral Fayse was no stranger to combat. He calmly watched as the 'fleeter ships pounded his destroyers with all of their fury. The contemptuous smile never left his lips as he watched his own ships pour their own fire into the 'fleeter formation. The green flare of his ships' heavy turbolasers filled the void. His ships were putting out more than twenty times the amount of fire the 'fleeters were spewing. Even with their incredible maneuverability, that volume of fire could hardly fail to score some hits. And each bolt that hit did so with hellish force.

The shields on the ships of this Federation were incredibly tough. Much stronger than the shields comparably-sized ships in the Imperial fleet could mount. But they were not unbreakable and they did not recover as fast. And once those shields failed, the ships beneath them were incredibly fragile. Fayse watched impassionately as a bolt from the DOMINATOR took one of the little round ships the 'fleeters called a Defiant slightly off-center, shattering its hull and sending it spiraling off in a burst of flame and debris.

As that was a harbinger, ships from the Federation fleet began to shatter and burn as their shields finally failed.

Rikes watched as the ELUSIVE went spinning off in a cloud of flame and debris. The HIGHBORN and the BELFAST followed her into death only moments later. The power of those turbolasers was frightening. Once they had punched through the shields, they smashed the tritanium hulls with contemptuous ease. Still, they were doing damage back. The three angular destroyers were pockmarked with damage from torpedo and phaser hits. One of them was even reacting sluggishly, its volume of fire diminished and steadily decreasing. But Rikes could see that it was not going to be enough. If all of their torpedoes were making it through the fire of the Imperial escorts, perhaps. But not as it stood. He had no choice.

"Rikes to fleet," he ordered, none of the growing horror within coloring his words, "All ships, pull back at maximum impulse. STONEWALL and APPALACHIA, fall out and retreat, you're too heavily damaged to continue. Regroup at Bajor with the civilians."

He winced as GERONIMO juked wrong and was smashed by a volley of turbolaser fire. She went spinning off trailing air, a nacel severed and chunks of her primary hull blown away.

"We just can't stand up to that," he whispered.

Fayse laughed as he watched the 'fleeter ships wheel and streak back out of range of his guns. He turned to his captain.

"Damage report."

"Sir," the badger replied from his station, "Minor damage to the forward batteries. We have minor hull breaches over the forward third of the ship, but nothing vital was hit." He consulted the communications panel. "DOMINATOR reports similar damage. ANNIHILATOR took a hit to one of her primary runs, her forward firepower is down twenty percent and her dorsal shields are down forty-two percent. The 'fleeters focused on us and all but ignored the escorts. Two of the lancers are out of action and one of our strike cruisers took a hit to the engine room. Her power is down and her captain says it will be at least an hour before they can rejoin the fight." He looked up at his admiral, a feral grin on his muzzle. "They're right where we want them, admiral."

The admiral chuckled. "Contact all of our fleets. It's time to finish this Federation once and for all."

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