Chapter Text
It was difficult for Donald Sandhurst to focus on the task at hand. Usually, when confronted with a technical challenge, Sandhurst could lose himself in the work, his hands moving almost independently. Not today, though. In the here and now Sandhurst kept losing track of what he was doing, which step was next, being too preoccupied with thoughts of all he had experienced in the past few days.
He had seen people die, far too many people. He had witnessed confusion and indecision from superior officers. He had visited violence upon a fellow cadet. The clear, unambiguous ideals he had been taught in academy classrooms did not mesh with the uncertain, chaotic reality he’d discovered on this mission. Nothing here was clear cut, nothing made sense.
Sandhurst swapped a new isolinear chip into the command processor of the phaser turret that he had just reassembled, igniting a series of green tell-tails. Despite his woolgathering, he’d managed to bring another array online. He stood up from where he had been kneeling, his legs feeling wobbly from exertion and abating adrenaline.
He tapped his combadge, “Sandhurst to Ensign Singh.”
“Go ahead, Mister Sandhurst.”
“One more up and running, sir. Should I leave it here or bring it to Mister Saffley?”
“Saffley can come and get it, he’s good for hauling heavy objects. You, on the other hand, have valuable skills. Keep doing what you’re doing, Cadet.”
Sandhurst acknowledged the order and set to work on the next turret, this one’s outer casing dented and mud-spattered, one of its support legs having buckled.
“Hello, Donald,” Lar’ragos’ voice sounded from behind him, causing Sandhurst to start and spin around as the turret toppled to the ground again.
“What do you want?” Sandhurst snapped defensively.
The older man held up two hands in a placating gesture. “I’m not here to start trouble. In fact, I owe you and Votor an apology for my behavior back there.”
Somewhat mollified, Sandhurst stooped to remove the outer casing from the turret. “What was all that about? Why attack our own people?”
Lar’ragos shook his head. “Outrage at their foolishness, I think, coupled with some misplaced aggression. This… it was all supposed to be different this time. I’m a science officer, or I was supposed to be. I shouldn’t be fighting anyone.”
Sandhurst disassembled the emitter and began to scan the pre-fire chamber components one at a time. “This time?”
“I was a soldier before, long ago. I swore I’d never do that again, but I had few other skills. When I first reached this quadrant, I became a mercenary for people I believed would accept and appreciate my abilities. I settled down and tried to start a family there, but it all blew up in my face. No matter how hard I tried to fit in, I was always the outsider. So, I came to the Federation looking for a fresh start.”
Having identified a few damaged components, Sandhurst quickly swapped them out with replacements. “Starfleet occasionally has to fight,” he noted sourly, sparing one hand to make a sweeping gesture. “Case in point.”
“Unfortunately, that is all too true,” Lar’ragos agreed. He issued a long sigh. “I’m sorry. I’m angry at the situation. I’m angry that Starfleet has forgotten how to fight this kind of battle, and I’m angry at myself for getting into such a mess.”
Sandhurst glanced up. “That actually makes sense.”
Both men’s combadges chirped and then emitted Captain Morosov’s voice, “All Starfleet, Home-Guard, and constabulary units, be advised that the Cardassian advance is only two kilometers out. There is a high probability they’ll scramble some or all of our communications as they approach. We are the colony’s last line of defense, and we must hold that line until reinforcements arrive. May all of us do our duty to ensure the colonists’ survival.”
The two men shared a look before Lar’ragos said, “I’ll leave you to it. Good luck, Mister Sandhurst.”
“You too, Pava,” Sandhurst answered.
* * *
The Cardassians’ three surviving transport gunships screamed in towards the colony’s defensive line, jinking wildly to throw off the enemy’s targeting sensors. Rather than assaulting the defenders head on, the gunships strafed down the length of their entrenchments. They disgorged their remaining rockets and sent streams of plasma bolts into the defender’s prepared positions.
Select knots of defenders were fortunate enough to shelter beneath the bubbles of the few remaining portable shield emitters, but the majority of the colony’s Federation forces took the full brunt of the attack. A scant few phaser beams lashed out at the gunships, but only one struck home and that was limited to blistering an empty rocket pod.
As the roar of their engines faded, screams, shouts and pleas for medical aid could be heard. The colony’s first defensive line had been decimated before the advancing soldiers had even come within the range of their phasers.
* * *
Sandhurst looked up from where he had dove for cover despite being some hundred meters behind the savaged defensive line. He spied Lar’ragos sprinting back towards him from the direction of the front, backlit by secondary explosions.
“Set those turrets for air-interdiction!” Lar’ragos bellowed, skidding to a stop beside Sandhurst as the younger man clambered to his feet.
“Just these, or all of them?” Sandhurst gawped, staring up into the darkness at where the gunships had vanished into the gloom.
“You have control of all of them?” Lar’ragos asked.
“Yeah, Ensign Singh gave me the command override codes in case I needed to debug any of the units remotely.”
“All of them!” Lar’ragos urged.
Sandhurst hesitated a moment, on the cusp of asking about the surviving forces in the path of the Cardassian advance. He deduced that if the gunships weren’t stopped, their comrades wouldn’t live long enough to have to worry about the oncoming foot soldiers. He looked around and found the padd he’d dropped during the strafing attack and proceeded to set the automated phaser turrets to sweep for and engage any aircraft not broadcasting a Federation IFF transponder.
“What now?” he asked of his fellow cadet.
“We fall back to the next line of defense.”
“Shouldn’t we go up there and… I don’t know… help?” Sandhurst pressed, despite wanting to do anything other than that.
Lar’ragos shot a longing look behind them towards where the next defensive line lay some two kilometers distant, obscured by darkness. He heaved a sigh. “You’re right. Let’s go help.”
The pair picked their way towards the shattered remains of the trenchworks, stumbling over obstacles in the dark but refusing to draw attention to themselves by using lights.
They heard voices ahead speaking Fed Standard and Sandhurst spared a quick look at his tricorder to identify three people approaching, two Humans and a Bolian. Lar’ragos called out to them and led the stragglers to their position with his voice. One of the three was limping, supported by the other two.
A roar sounded overhead, and multiple phaser beams lanced skyward from the surviving auto-turrets. A brilliant flash announced the destruction of one of the gunships as the craft exploded and rained flaming debris across a wide swath. Volleys of plasma fire answered, streamers of fiery bolts from the dark sky that tore into the earth near the remaining defensive fortifications.
“We need to keep going,” a male voice that Sandhurst recognized as Bartolo’s said. “The Cardies were almost on top of us when we fell back. I don’t know how many others made it out.” Bartolo turned on his rifle’s light on its lowest setting, identifying his two fellow cadets. “Sandhurst and Lar’ragos, help Aquino get Kalmar back to the next strongpoint. I’ll cover you.”
Lar’ragos grabbed Bartolo’s shoulder. “Let me do it,” he said hoarsely.
“No,” Bartolo countered. “Just before they hit us, Captain Morozov got word that a Starfleet task force had entered the system and was engaging the remaining Cardassian ships. Reinforcements are close. You’re the best chance the rest of these people have to stay alive, Pava.”
Lar’ragos opened his mouth to protest, but he found he couldn’t argue with Bartolo’s reasoning. “Aye, sir,” he answered smartly. He extended a hand to the senior cadet. “Good luck, Mister Bartolo.”
Bartolo shook his hand firmly, then clapped Lar’ragos on the shoulder. “Get them to safety.” He turned away abruptly and vanished into the gloom.
Even in the dim light provided by Bartolo’s phaser, Lar’ragos has seen the tears brimming in the young man’s eyes. Bartolo was brave, but terrified. He had yearned to have a long and illustrious career in Starfleet, had desired to prove himself a worthy successor to both his parents and his grandmother who had all served before him. By virtue of his people’s gifts, Lar’ragos heard the anger in Bartolo’s voice at the sheer injustice of it all. Bartolo had believed he was destined for greatness, but now his legacy would be dying in what Federation history would doubtless record as a minor skirmish on a border colony of middling significance.
Lar’ragos moved to help support one side of the limping Bolian as the quartet made their way clumsily toward the hastily fortified defensive positions along Line Beta.
* * *
Discharges from his squad’s plasma rifles snapped downrange towards the retreating Federation forces.
Var could see the glowing heat signatures from the defenders in his sight’s thermal setting, allowing him to trigger short, well-aimed bursts into the backs of his fleeing foes.
Var took no pleasure from the slaughter, but he knew that if their gunships hadn’t broken this defensive line, it might well have been he and his men being cut down in waves instead.
He ducked involuntarily as one of the heavily armored transports exploded almost directly overhead, the flash from its detonation casting eerie, distorted shadows across the briefly visible foliage and grasses.
“Run!” he shouted into his headset. “Debris incoming!”
He sprinted forward, tripping over low branches, clumps of grass, and the other impediments barely glimpsed in the gyrating light given off by the burning wreckage that now rained down behind his squad. Just as he cleared a line of low shrubs abutting a copse of stunted trees, Var’s foot caught under an exposed root, causing him to sprawl awkwardly into the grass and dirt, tumbling to an undignified stop.
Var lay there for a long moment, catching his breath and assessing any injuries to his leg. A foot kicked at his shoulder pauldron. “If you’re dead, can I lead the squad?” Arvik’s voice sounded from above him, the humor in his tone unmistakable.
Arvik extended a hand down and assisted Var to his feet. “I’m beginning to see your point, my friend,” Arvik confessed. “Even if we take the damned colony, there won’t be enough of us left to hold it.”
Var grunted his agreement. “Not our place to say,” he offered instead.
“Yes, of course,” Arvik chuckled darkly, “for Carda—”
A soldier next to them suddenly raised his rifle and began to say something, only to be disintegrated, the very air howling as it rushed to fill the void he’d just occupied.
Var released his grip on Arvik’s hand and stumbled backwards just as Arvik’s leathery chest armor seemed to explode an instant before the man vanished in a swirling corona of energy. Var landed hard on his back, his vision clouded with the after-image of the searing phaser beam that had vaporized his friend.
Another beam sizzled over where he lay, a mere thirty centimeters above him, close enough to feel the superheated air displaced by the discharge.
He flicked a switch on his rifle to allow fully automatic fire and proceeded to spray plasma bolts indiscriminately in the direction of the beam’s origin.
A voice cried out briefly in the darkness and Var scrabbled to his feet and charged forward towards the source. He found a young male Starfleeter on his side, cradling his abdomen where multiple plasma bolt impacts continued to sizzle. The man had dropped his rifle and lay gasping, clearly not long for this world or any other.
He should have been enraged, given that this man had just killed his friend and comrade, yet Var felt no hatred for him. Var found himself owing the man a grudging respect, a soldier’s regard for someone who had remained behind to fight while his fellows fled.
Var moved on from the dying man, activating his comms to his remaining squad. “Continue the pursuit but be prepared for them to turn and fight. Overwatch detected more defensive fortifications some kilometers ahead.”
Var’s face was the last thing Sebastian Bartolo saw before succumbing to his wounds.
* * *