“Heads up everyone. We have a new fire mission coming in.” The lieutenant in command of the artillery battery tapped an acknowledgement of the warning order from division into his console. The battery commander and the commanders of the three artillery platoons all sat at control panels in his command vehicle.

“Battery chief, the order follows,” the battery CO intoned. “Pieces to fire: full battery; eight rounds; contact fuze; deflection 0321; quadrant 318; target coordinates: 3672 slash 4987 Romeo Foxtrot; fire at my command.” The battery chief petty officer repeated the command to prevent miscommunication and the platoon commanders relayed the order to their artillery crews. As one, automatic loading systems cycled and loaded the designated projectiles into the dozen artillery tubes. The artillery pieces moved in unison into the designated elevation and position. The gun commanders waited inside the cockpits of the mobile gun platforms, hands on triggers waiting for the final command to fire.

Constant training and simulation and days of combat took all drama out of the command when it came. “Fire for effect,” the lieutenant said. He might as well have been asking them to pass the butter for all the emotion he showed. Outside the insulated command vehicle, the twelve guns roared to life. Eight times the battery fired and soon 96 projectiles were in the air, rocketed forth from the tubes via the same repulsor technology used to launch photon torpedoes from starship tubes.

The targeting computers on the guided weapons immediately began assessing their situations, correcting their trajectories in flight, compensating for turbulence, accelerating to cover the 20-kilometer distance. Finally the explosives reached the apex of their attack and nosed over to begin their descent into the target. Counter-artillery fire reached up from the ground, and the munitions jinked back and forth to avoid the energy blasts. A quarter of them were destroyed before impact, but nearly fifty of the high explosives hit their target: the shield grid on the garrison, right over the launching systems for the sensors that made this planet worth fighting over. Whatever else happened, once those sensors were destroyed, the Marines could say, “Mission accomplished.”

Again and again, the artillery guns fired until finally the shield collapsed, the launch bay doors were pierced, and the launching equipment and sensor platform launch bays were reduced to melted slag.

Command center
Dominion garrison

Dust from the slowly disintegrating ceiling filtered down on Gul Madrel’s computer station with every impact against the garrison’s walls. Things looked bleaker than ever to Madrel. The sensor launchers had been destroyed, his plan to send thousands of troops through tunnels to attack the enemy from behind had only been marginally successful, and unless Central Command found some way to reinforce and re-supply him, it was only a matter of time before defeat overcame them.

Madrel sat in his chair, slumped forward over the desk, his head in his hands. All around him, the other Cardassians went about their jobs with the air of defeated men, even while the Jem’Hadar remained the same impassive statues as always. He envied them for the dispassionate view of life, their ability to accept their fate with equanimity. They could not even conceive of defeat, believing that victory was life and thus the only possible result, even if they themselves died.

Madrel’s aide, Telakat, approached diffidently. “Sir, are you all right?”

“Hmm? Yes, I’m as well as can be expected,” Madrel replied. “What are the latest reports saying?” He sat up to receive the padd from Telakat.

“The tunnels have been completely collapsed. We have set guards on them in case Starfleet tries to use them against us. Most shields are between 40 and 50 percent of strength although we’ve experienced some failures, like with the sensor systems.”

“Any other major systems damaged by the shield collapses?” Madrel asked.

“No sir. Some minor systems and backups were damaged. They do seem to be avoiding targeting the areas where we have placed the natives in the walls,” Telakat assured him, desperate for any good news he could relay to his commander. “The power systems are holding and they haven’t been able to bring enough power to bear to cut through the shields without also endangering the ‘guarantors.’

“As for the troops we managed to get through the tunnels before they were destroyed, we believe all the Cardassian units were destroyed, but several hundred Jem’Hadar managed to break out and shroud themselves. There may be as many as thousand out there now.”

“At least that’s a little bit of good news,” Madrel said wryly. He added in a low voice, “When they begin to berserk from ketracel-white withdrawal, they’ll take it on the Starfleeters.”

A loud, accusatory voice interrupted them. “So this is where the incompetent gather.” Dahltenn had entered the room unnoticed and approached the two Cardassians in all his overbearing, unctuous glory. “I see you have done nothing further to find a way to defeat the enemy. The depths of your failure stagger me.”

“And what would you have me do?” Madrel demanded, biting off his desire to add “you imbecile” to the end of the question. “We have been pushed back into the garrison, they have air superiority, we have no space support, and no reinforcements or re-supply from Central Command.”

“Whining excuses—is that all you’re capable of now?” said Dahltenn with a condescending sneer. “The Founders provided you with four regiments of soldiers and a fleet of ships to hold this planet against one division of Starfleet troops. We outnumbered them, but you allowed yourself to be outmaneuvered.”

Madrel could take it no longer. All the smug superiority and disdainful comments and ignorance of tactics and military reality finally pushed him over the edge. He leapt to his feet and yelled into Dahltenn’s face. He was still enough in control of his faculties not to actually touch the Vorta, lest he provoke the Jem’Hadar into coming to the aid of their master. “You sniveling rat! You boot-licking toady! You hampered every one of my decisions, and second-guessed me at every turn. If you had been in charge of this garrison we would have lost already and we’d both be dead. As it stands now, I’ve given us a chance to hold on until Central Command can reinforce us.”

“Rescue you is more like it,” the Vorta replied, undaunted by the violent outburst. He paused and then added slyly, “And I think I will take you up on your challenge.”

The Cardassian just looked bewildered, unable to comprehend for a moment what challenge he had made.

“Your challenge…” Dahltenn prompted. He turned away, unconcerned and nonchalantly examined the viewscreens on the wall. “You said that if I had been in command we would have lost. Well, we’ll just see now won’t we?” He turned to face the Cardassian, his purple eyes hard as steel now. “Take him into custody,” he ordered the two closest Jem’Hadar. “Have him executed and throw his body from the top of the highest wall.” Addressing the stunned gul, he said, “You have failed the Founders for the last time.”

The Jem’Hadar each grabbed one of Madrel’s arms and began to lead him out of the room. Regaining his senses, Madrel tried to twist around to face the Vorta. “By killing me you’ve sealed your own fate, Dahltenn. You’re a dead man.”

Madrel’s faithful aide, Telakat, rushed over to his superior officer as he was pulled through the door. As the Jem’Hadar moved to block the younger man, Madrel whispered quickly, “You’ve been a good friend. Don’t let him kill more loyal Cardassians; find a way out of here with as many others as you can gather and hide until it’s all over. Save the loyal sons of Cardassia!” Finally, the lizard-skinned soldiers pulled Madrel away and led him down the hallway to his fate. Telakat was only slightly comforted that his superior and friend walked with his head held high, prepared to meet death with the last bits of dignity allowed him.

“I hope he was telling you to be a better servant of the Dominion than he was.” Dahltenn looked shrewdly at Telakat. “Because your surest hope of survival, and even glory, rests in your ability to faithfully serve the Founders with every fiber of your being. At least I know that it works for me.” Then, as if dismissing the recent unpleasantness, Dahltenn turned back to the base commander’s computer console and asked in a light tone, “What are the latest reports saying?”

Alpha Platoon, Energy Generation Company
Divisional headquarters, forward
D+19 days

A group of Marines swarmed over and around two large “hoppers,” as their versatile hovertransports were called, as they sat in a large clearing in a forest near the front lines of battle. Two Marines stood off to the side watching the activity.

“Let’s go people! When the admiral starts wondering why his computers aren’t working he’s going to blame us!” yelled Ens. Tsui Yen. Turning to the woman standing beside him, he added at a more normal level, “Chief, how soon before the conduits are laid out between us and HQ?”

The compactly built woman put a hand to the bottom edge of her helmet to brush a few dark strands of sweat-stained hair back underneath. “About 15 minutes I think. We’ve got most of it rolled out and then we’ll go back to cover it in brush.”

The ensign nodded. “As soon as that’s done and the power cores are up and running, I want to boost the perimeter guard. With the Jem’Hadar running around in the rear area creating havoc….” He left the rest unsaid. After the chief acknowledged the order and jogged off to complete her task, Yen returned to contemplating the task before him.

The two power generator cores were a vital element in the division’s warfighting capacity. While most of the computers and weapons and other equipment could run off of batteries and vehicle engines, it was more efficient to set up dedicated generators to take over the load. In addition, the big industrial replicators constantly creating repair parts, small weapons, food packs, and other necessary equipment were energy hogs and pretty much demanded their own power cores. At the moment, the division had four platoons in the power generation company—two others set up in dispersed locations and another in reserve. Even so, Yen thought of his platoon as indispensable to the fight.

“Miss Diaz, what is the status of your core?” he asked a young woman tending the huge piece of equipment that took up almost the entirety of the back of one hopper.

“She’s operating at one hundred percent, sir,” answered Petty Officer Dawn Diaz. “We’re just waiting for the hook-up of the plasma conduits.”

At the mention of the conduits, Yen looked in the direction in which his chief petty officer had walked a few minutes before in the hopes that maybe he’d be lucky enough to see them even now coming out of the trees with the power line. For a moment, he thought his wish had been granted as he saw movement, but something didn’t look right. Why would the team be running?

“Take cover! Enemy incoming!” yelled a crewman standing on top of the hopper. As the man turned to climb down, a phaser bolt smacked into his back and propelled him over the side to make a dull thud on the ground.

Yen froze in place as the other members of his platoon dropped whatever they were doing to face this new threat. They’d all been on edge ever since hearing that hundreds of Jem’Hadar had literally risen up out of the ground and disappeared into the landscape. Now that their worst fears had come true, some of the soldiers were almost relieved to finally be able to face the flesh-and-blood enemy rather than the one that had been stalking them in their imaginations.

But Yen was not among those soldiers. In fact, he was still frozen in place, shocked to immobility even as his Marines attempted to repel the attackers. Finally, a shove by one of his underlings to knock him out of the line of fire set him in motion, fumbling to get his phaser pistol clear of its holster. Why aren’t I carrying my rifle? he berated himself. Yen could still picture it sitting against his seat in the cab of the hopper. It might as well have been a light year away.

He gamely tried to target the onrushing enemy, but he could see that the battle would quickly devolve into hand-to-hand combat. Yen then remembered his duty. “Alpha Platoon, Energy, to DSG,” he said into his communicator, using the acronym for Divisional Supply Group. “We’re under attack by a large group of Jem’Hadar. At least platoon size. We’re taking heavy fire and casualties. We can’t hold out long. Send reinforcements.”

“Understood Alpha. We’re sending help now. Hold on as long as you can,” a voice on the other end said. Of course I’m going to hold on you idiot, Yen thought. I don’t have much choice, do I?

One by one, his Marines were dropping and then the Jem’Hadar were there in among them. Diaz fell to the ground, an enemy blade sticking out of her face. Another Marine flew backwards, blasted by a rifle at close range. Time seemed to slow as Yen fired his phaser at the closest Jem’Hadar, the one who had just killed Diaz. But as the satisfaction of revenge flushed in his chest, a massive concussion threw him forward, glancing off the side of the hopper. As Yen fell to the ground, he saw the enemy that had smashed him from behind with the butt of his rifle. The muzzle rose up and Yen looked into the eyes of the alien who was about to take his life, so far away from home on a planet no one had ever heard of and he saw nothing. No passion, no exultation of victory, no regret—just deadly purpose. The Jem’Hadar was simply doing what he had been born to do, no less than a bumblebee is born to collect pollen. The profound thought was Yen’s last as the enemy soldier pulled the trigger on his weapon.

Within minutes, the platoon was completely destroyed, every soldier dead and the power cores sabotaged smoke pouring from the open doors of the hoppers. And the surviving Jem’Hadar had already melted into the forest, becoming invisible once again.