“Admiral Ganudi is on the comm for you, sir.”

Admiral Sevflk looked up from the padd he was reading at his desk at the aide’s announcement. Sevflk had been catching up on some paperwork while he waited for Ganudi’s call and so he sat up straight and tapped the control of the display on his desk.

“Good morning, Sri,” Sevflk said to the commander of the Marine division. “How’s the operation going?” The fleet admiral had all kinds of reports and statistics sitting on his desk that purported to tell him the progress of the campaign, but the natural instinct of his Chiska culture was that to fully understand a situation it needed to have its story told. Only then would the heart of it be revealed.

“Good morning, Sevflk,” Ganudi began. “As you’ve probably seen from our reports, we’ve taken possession of most of the garrison, although we’re still digging through the collapsed lower levels.” The Marine admiral shifted in his seat to look at a padd placed next to him by an aide. “It appears that up to six thousand Jem’Hadar and Cardassians escaped from the base, and we’re in pursuit. We also have several hundred Cardassian prisoners. None of the Jem’Hadar we cornered surrendered.

“We were able to release a substantial number of Callessian prisoners held in various places in the garrison as living shields. Unfortunately, losses were heavy as the Jem’Hadar began executing some of them before our forces could intervene.” Sevflk’s jaw set as he contemplated the continuing revelation of the monstrosity that was the Dominion.

Ganudi continued, “We’re also going through the remains of the base’s computers to extract any useful information. Preliminary analysis indicates that they were expecting imminent re-supply and reinforcement and that they were otherwise running low of critical necessities.”

Sevflk interrupted Ganudi at that comment. “You should know that I just received word from Starfleet Command that we probably needn’t fear any reinforcements. They’ve been pretty much tied up by the Klingon counterattacks in sectors 21503 and 21506.”

“Good news,” Ganudi replied, although his tired response came across as flat. He continued, “According to prisoner interrogations, the local Vorta had the base commander executed a few days ago, and then the Vorta was subsequently killed in the explosions set by our recon team. I believe the rest of the senior leadership escaped or was killed in the blast that leveled the command center.”

That worried Sevflk. He didn’t like the idea of thousands of Dominion troops and their senior staff running around in the countryside, harassing the division and tying them down in anti-guerrilla operations. “How do you propose to eliminate the threat of the remaining enemy units?” he asked Ganudi.

The Indian officer replied in his clipped Bombay accent. “I propose that we fortify the garrison, set up hunter-killer teams of infantry units, and pursue them until they run out supplies. They can’t last out there forever.”

Sevflk thought for a moment. He didn’t like the idea of being put on the defensive—how long would the Allied counterattacks hold off reinforcement and re-supply? His inclination was to attack and attack again, never letting the enemy recover. But then Ganudi was the Marine officer and Sevflk was a Fleet guy—Sri would know better than he how to pursue a ground action. “How about I offer you some more help?” he finally asked Ganudi.

“What type of help are you offering?”

“The Klingons are clamoring to send their troops into battle. And they say the ones who are already down there are tired of pulling guard duty,” Sevflk said. “So, why don’t we add units of Klingons to your hunter-killer teams and give them an opportunity for glory and honor?”

Ganudi agreed and Sevflk made to end the conversation, when the Marine admiral interrupted. “Sevflk, one more thing … we’ve been getting indications that the Jem’Hadar are experiencing a shortage of ketracel white. Quite a few of the bodies we’ve searched had empty or nearly empty containers. And the fighting style and behavior of the Jem’Hadar we’ve faced recently was more ragged, more undisciplined, and more ferocious than before.”

The news stunned Sevflk for a moment with all its ramifications. On the one hand, the lack of white put a time limit on how long the thousands of Jem’Hadar would be combat effective. On the other hand, the berserking effects of withdrawal would make them a danger to Allied troops and the Callessians—and the Cardassians, too, for that matter. He supposed that under other circumstances he would feel sympathy for the creatures—twisted by the Founders for their evil purposes—but months of war and the deaths of many friends and innocents had drained him of the capacity for compassion for his intractable foes.

“That could be good news, Sri,” he said. “Try to develop more intelligence about this. It could be key to the campaign.” Ganudi agreed and they signed off. Sevflk issued orders for the Klingon commander to be signaled and told to contact Ganudi to arrange the joint operation. He had leaned back in his chair, his steepled fingers on his lips, to consider all of the information he had just received when he was immediately interrupted.

“Admiral, long-range sensors show incoming ships on a course that puts their origin inside Dominion-controlled space.” Captain Derik van Antwerp made the announcement as he stood next to a sensor system operator, peering over his shoulder at the display. The admiral leapt from his chair to cross the flag command center. Was this the counter-attack they had been expecting? Had the Klingons been unable to draw off reinforcements?

“How many ships? What types? How long until they’re here” he demanded.

“We don’t have a fix on the enemy formation yet, sir,” Van Antwerp said. “We’re sending the Broadsword out to get a closer look. At current speed the incoming ships will be here in two hours.

Turning to the communications officer, Sevflk ordered, “Send a yellow alert to the fleet and notify the Eighth.” There wasn’t much more he could do until he knew what was coming.

Twenty minutes later, van Antwerp finally had more data. “Admiral, the Broadsword reports that they’ve made sensor contact with the enemy formation. There are six Galor Class cruisers and six Jem’Hadar attack ships.” He looked at the admiral with puzzlement.

Sevflk was taken aback as well. While the formation was not insignificant, it certainly didn’t have enough firepower to dislodge the Allies from the planet and the Dominion should know that from their previous losses.

“Keep an eye out for a second fleet using this one as a diversion,” he ordered. That was the logical explanation for the small size of the attacking force, but he didn’t think there was a second fleet. What would be the point? Either they had a sufficient force to attack the Allies with or they did not. Splitting up their force would only delay the second’s group detection for a limited time. And if they were hoping to use the spatial anomaly to mask their approach like the Allies had done, there were two Klingon ships even now guarding the spot.

So the question came back to why the Dominion would bother throwing such a small force at his fleet. Unfortunately, only time would tell and he could only prepare the Task Force to defeat them. At least he could send a message to the Founders: Starfleet is not a pushover.

 

261^st Marine Fighter Squadron
In orbit of Callessus III

It felt good to be back where she belonged. Lt. Becca Cuddihy reveled in the freedom of flying once again, controlling the Viper fightercraft almost as an extension of herself, having it respond to her inputs with precision and ease. The past five days had been a whirlwind of activity and emotions, but she was finally glad to be back doing her job.

Five days earlier, after landing the stolen shuttlecraft carrying Nik’s body, they had rendezvoused with Tony’s company and the escaped refugees. Nik wasn’t the only casualty, with First Platoon, the one that had been sent on the missions into the heart of the garrison, suffering the most grievous losses. Nearly half the platoon had been killed or so seriously wounded that they’d had to be evacuated from the planet. The entirety of Bravo Squad was still missing and feared dead. At least a dozen more casualties had been suffered in the fight at the “back door.” She’d watched as Martinez had put aside his personal feelings at losing his friends and took command of his company to focus their thoughts and efforts so that their morale would not be irretrievably damaged.

Becca and Rich had then flown the Cardassian shuttle back to their airbase where they were greeted warmly by their squadron mates. When their fighter had gone down with no immediate contact, everyone had feared the worst. Becca had been told time and again how lucky she was and they had all joked that they wanted to fly with her and Rich so that some of that luck would rub off. When she’d had time to realize how much of a close call the whole incident had been, Becca had gotten the shakes and had excused herself from the welcoming party to avoid embarrassing herself in front of everybody. How many times in that one day had she come to the brink of death? Yet she’d come through unscathed, while others had not. Why was she chosen to live? Had God chosen her for some reason? Becca was a religious person with a deep-seated faith in God and a desire to serve Him in whatever way she could. She didn’t know what to think of the experience and vowed to find some time later to pray and seek understanding of His will, why she had been allowed to live, while others had not.

After the “welcome back” party, Becca and Rich were whisked off for medical exams and debriefings which took an interminable two days, as the intel guys questioned her on every aspect of the garrison and the enemy they’d encountered, down to the last detail of the base. Then there’d been the two days of enforced rest—which had been anything but as she paced up and down her quarters, itching to do something, anything. Finally, the squadron commander had summoned her and Rich to his office where he’d asked them if they were ready to jump back in a cockpit. The words were barely out of his mouth before they answered, “Yes, sir!”

Now here they were—flying in formation with the squadron, on alert as a Dominion fleet approached. The hasty briefing had emphasized that while the enemy force appeared weak, they were to expect the worst. The 261^st had been assigned planetary patrol along with several other Viper and Peregrine squadrons, acting as the last line of defense for the planet in case any enemy ships managed to sneak through the main battle line.

“The main body of the task force will be engaging the enemy any second now,” Rich announced from the back seat. “How are you doing?” he asked solicitously.

Becca took a deep breath and settled in her seat, consciously loosening her grip on the fighter’s controls. “Fine, now. I’m glad to be back where I belong—in the pilot’s seat. How about you?”

Rich had responded well to the time off, and had regained his customary relaxed demeanor and sense of humor. “Just peachy. I prefer to face my enemies with a ship and shields surrounding me, and not just a helmet and phaser rifle. Those recon guys have my highest respect, but I never want to be a grunt again.”

Becca laughed, thankful for her friend’s ability to put her at ease. “Don’t worry, Rich. You won’t if I have anything to say about it.”

The next half hour was spent flying in formation with the squadron as Rich narrated the sequence of battle happening on the far edge of the system as the data fed into his console. The small enemy force was putting up a serious fight, taking incredible risks and forcing the battle closer and closer to Callessus III.

“All squadrons, this is fleet command. Target inbound. Three ships have broken through and are headed for the planet. Task force is in pursuit. Prepare to engage the enemy.”

Becca felt adrenaline rush through her as the order came through. Her extensive training and experience took over as the squadron commander ordered them into action, targeting one of the three ships.

“Tiger One to Tiger Flight,” she said to her three-ship flight, “Form up on me. We’re taking it to them.” The fight was intense. The squadron surrounded the Jem’Hadar attack ship near the planet’s moon and harried it with constant attacks. The ship’s actions were unusual in that they didn’t face the squadron directly but only defended themselves as they worked inexorably to reach the planet. It was if the only thing that mattered was arriving at some destination on the planet. Again and again the fighters and one of the Omega Class corvettes hit the enemy ship, following it into the planet’s atmosphere, causing more and more damage until it was trailing smoke and plasma and shorn-off hull plating and equipment.

Rich called out, “Watch out. She’s out of control and going in. Her engines are down.” The attack ship was trying mightily to regain control, heading for a location away from the garrison and Allied forces, almost as if it were seeking a specific spot.

Becca suddenly had a sneaking suspicion. “Rich, do a scan of the ship. Are they carrying any kind of supplies?”

“Sensors aren’t able to penetrate the hull. Most of their shields are down, but they’re throwing up interference,” he replied.

Seconds later, the ship crashed into the forest below, breaking into several pieces on impact. Becca was sure that no one could survive an impact like that. The squadron circled overhead for several minutes, scanning for survivors, but either they were shrouded Jem’Hadar or they were all dead. The latter was more likely. They found out that of all the ships in the enemy force, this was the only one to make it even this far.

As they were recalled by fleet command, Rich piped up from the back. “Hey, I’m finally able to scan the ship’s holds. It looks like they were carrying supplies—weapons, food … and ketracel white!”

The implication immediately hit Becca. If the Jem’Hadar on the planet got their hands on new supplies of white, they could continue to fight. More than even the weapons and food, the ketracel white could not be allowed to fall into enemy hands. She punched up communications. “Tiger One to Flight Control. Be advised that our scans show that the downed enemy ship is full of supplies, including ketracel white. Recommend you send out somebody to take control of the ship and the supplies.”

“Too late,” Rich said. “I’m showing Jem’Hadar unshrouding and shrouding around the wreckage. It looks like they were waiting for the ship to crash here.”

So the Dominion had intentionally sent a small force of ships to run the blockade with the small hope of getting enough supplies through to keep the forces on the ground going long enough for reinforcements to arrive. Becca was appalled at the wastefulness of the operation. The Dominion must have a lot of ships and soldiers if they could throw them away like this. That wasn’t a good omen for winning the war. With that depressing thought she fired several torpedoes into the wreckage, destroying any supplies that were left, and then turned away to return to base.

 

Former Dominion Garrison
D+26 days

Tony Martinez picked his way through the rubble of the garrison’s level 8. The destruction of the base’s power plant by Bravo Squad had nearly wiped out the whole area. By design, the Marines of the squad had targeted only the power regulators and not the generators themselves, which could have brought the whole place down on their heads. Instead, the level—and everyone in it—had been devastated, but not vaporized.

For the last four days, Tony and the remainder of Recon Company Bravo had sifted through the level along with a group of engineers, trying to bring the bodies of their comrades out. He’d given up hope of finding them alive two days ago. The destruction was so extensive on this level that no one could have survived. And if they’d made it to a higher level, they would have been found by now.

So now the grim search continued. Tony waved his tricorder over the next pile of rubble, looking for the telltale signs of his fallen Marines. For five days, the lieutenant had been on emotional autopilot following the brief memorial service for their fallen brothers and sisters in arms. Since the beginning of the campaign to take Callessus, Bravo Company had lost nearly half its strength to casualties, killed or seriously wounded, but still they carried on like the professional soldiers that they were. He was proud of the way they moved forward, feeling the loss, but not letting it deter them from their mission.

Tony ducked under a nearly collapsed doorway, Mark Wickham following him into the next room. A group of engineers were working in here, setting up the temporary structural integrity field and duranium bracing to keep the place from collapsing any further.

Wickham, noticeably more somber than Tony remembered him ever being, spoke up. “The tricorder shows bodies under the rubble here, but only Cardassian and Jem’Hadar.”

One of the engineers, covered in soot and dust and grimy sweat, noticed them enter and came over. “Be careful, Lieutenant. Our initial scans show a void over on that side of the room. We haven’t had a chance to brace up that area, so it could collapse if you step on it.”

Wickham’s face lit up with faint hope. “A void….”

The engineer just shook his head. “We’ve already scanned it. There are no life signs inside.”

Tony went to turn away and continue his scans when the engineer stopped as if a new thought had occurred to him. “You know—come to think of it, that void does extend down pretty far. Are you sure there are no lower levels?”

Martinez stopped in his tracks with a sudden realization. Unbidden, a brief surge of excitement went through him. “Did you guys ever find the entrances to those tunnels that came up in the valley out there?”

The engineer’s face flushed with excitement and his mouth hung open. Finally, he recovered enough to say, “No! Let’s get a team in here right now.”

Tony berated himself for not thinking of it earlier. He could have blamed his lapse on physical, mental, and emotional exhaustion, but he didn’t—not when a whole squad of his men were missing. There would be time enough for self-recrimination later.

Within minutes, all of Bravo Company was crowded into the chamber along with a large engineering team. They formed a fire brigade chain, passing rubble back from the pile covering the void while the engineers worked to shore up the shifting debris, the walls, and the ceiling. A half hour later, they broke through.

Tony began stripping off all his gear, except for his hand phaser and a handheld light. “Get a medic up here to follow me in,” he said as turned to crawl into the hole that was just large enough for him to squeeze through. He pushed and pulled himself through the small space, ignoring the scrapes and cuts he gathered until he could stand in an open space immediately below level 8. “Bravo Squad!” he called out into the tunnel that opened up before him. “Bravo Company is coming in.” There was no answer so he continued to climb through the piles of rocks, calling out every few minutes. Finally, he heard that blessed sound, a weak cry of “In here!”

He moved more quickly until he came to a small chamber. The bodies of a dozen Jem’Hadar and Cardassians lay scattered about the room, as well as several Marines from Bravo Squad. Frantically waving the small light around the room, which he suddenly realized was the anteroom of a larger tunnel, he saw a large mining laser off to one side. And huddled under the laser was the most wonderful sight that Tony had seen in a long time—the huge bulk of the Brikar squad leader Bel Kibish and the much smaller bulk of Jaime Heredia.

The Brikar tried to stand as Tony approached, but he waved to him to stay seated. “What’s your condition?” Tony asked, relief washing over his face.

Kibish spoke haltingly in his bass rumble. “Just me and Jaime made it, sir. Everyone else is dead.” Tony looked around at the dead Marines scattered about the room. Markovic, Weber, Tel, Proshtumor, Rsstkl, Chao—they were all dead. More names to be added to the bill that the Dominion would eventually pay.

“But you made it, Bel. You and Jaime made it, and that’s what counts right now,” Tony assured the giant. “What happened?” he asked, trying to keep him occupied until the medic made his way in here.

“After we set the charges, we were discovered by the Jemmies. We fought them, but we were cut off from the egress. I knew that our time was running out, so we retreated to these tunnels we found. We all made it in here before the charges went off. The ceiling collapsed, but we were okay. Unfortunately, there were Jemmies and Cardies at the other end of this tunnel and they caught us in a crossfire. Everyone was killed until it was only me and Heredia left. Jaime was injured, but I managed to take out the last of the enemy.” Kibish turned to the young dark-skinned Marine lying next to him. “He’s in a bad way, sir. He needs immediate medical attention.”

Tony had begun to assure him that help was coming when the medic arrived. The man immediately turned to Heredia to treat his wounds—in addition to the blaster wound, he was also suffering from dehydration and shock. “If we get him out of here soon, he’ll make it, sir,” the medic said.

For the first time in almost a week Tony managed to smile, to feel something other than grief or even nothing at all. His company had suffered grievously, but finding even two of his Marines alive when they were thought lost was enough to give him hope. Yes, capturing the enemy base was a victory for the Allies, but bringing his Marines out alive was an even sweeter personal victory.

 

Eight Division Headquarters
D+28 days

Admiral Sri Ganudi sat at his desk in his office, waiting for a communication from Starfleet Command to be put through. There could be many reasons for the call—a request for an updated situation report, an answer to his various re-supply requests, updated strategic information. He refused to speculate, however, deeming it useless and a waste of time. Ganudi was an intensely disciplined man, a conservator of resources, both in his personal and professional dealings.

Overall, the campaign for Callessus III satisfied those leanings. The sensor systems that were the whole reason for the battle were destroyed, the enemy garrison taken, and most of the enemy troops gone to ground, although there were still substantial numbers of them out there conducting raids and harrying attacks. And he’d already tasked his second in command, Rear Admiral Nicole Johansen, to began diplomatic relations with the native Callessians, to assess their needs and provide for them, as well as prepare for the day when they would become a Federation protectorate. Now that they had been exposed to alien life and advanced technology, it would take careful dealings to limit the damage to their culture.

His ponderings ended when the viewscreen beeped to let him know that the call was ready. Marine Admiral Radua Koehler appeared on the display. “Hello Sri. I’ve heard you’ve had some excitement out there recently,” the man began good-naturedly.

“Hello Rad, good to see you again. Yes, we’ve seen our share of action. I’m sure you’ve seen my situation reports.”

Koehler looked at a padd before him on his desk. “Yes, very impressive. However, I have some good news for you. The Eighth is being rotated to the rear for refitting and re-supply.”

Ganudi blinked in surprise for a moment. Why would they be pulled out now? They weren’t done yet pacifying the planet by removing the enemy threat. And a concerted counter-attack by the Dominion on a second-tier garrison force could put them right back where they started. But he didn’t say any of that aloud. It would be wasteful and undisciplined. “I don’t understand, Rad. Why are we being pulled?”

“Don’t worry,” Koehler said with a chuckle. “We’re not punishing you. In fact, think of it as recognition of the great job you’ve done. We’re assigning a combined Starfleet/Klingon garrison to hold the planet. We need the Eighth with its battle-hardened veterans and experience to be put into play in another area. There are some big plans afoot, bigger targets than Callessus, and we want the Eighth in the middle of it. I can’t tell you more right now, but once you’re back here it will all be explained.”

Sri was still a little stunned, but he gathered his wits about him. Bigger than Callessus? This campaign had been no cakewalk—his division of 12,000 Marines had suffered over 2,000 dead and more than 2,600 wounded. Sure, he’d heard of other units in other battles suffering almost total annihilation, but his Marines had fought tooth and nail (and claw, in some cases) for every inch of dirt on this planet over the past month. What kind of challenge would a “bigger target” present to his division?

After Koehler cut the connection, Ganudi called for his aide. “Call a meeting of commanders, battalion level and above,” he told the young lieutenant commander. “We’ve received new orders from Starfleet Command.”

 

Landing Zone Alpha
D+40 days

Recon Company Bravo stood at attention at the foot of the boarding ramp to the corvette USS Skelly. The new garrison had landed a few days earlier, taking over for the Eighth Division, and everyone had been pulled out, except for Bravo. A recon tradition held that the first ones in were the last ones out, and that meant that Bravo remained as the last element of the Eighth Division on the planet.

Tony Martinez stood at attention in front of his troops as Commander Tshimanga Yatshimba, recon battalion commander, marched along the formation, inspecting the troops. Lt. Becca Cuddihy also stood at the head of the formation, along with Bel Kibish, and several others.

Finishing his review of the company, Yatshimba returned to the small group of Marines standing in front of the rest. The commander stopped in front of Bel, accepted a small box from a nearby aide, and took a medal on a ribbon from it. “Petty Officer First Class Bel Kibish, for conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity in action, for successfully carrying out your mission to destroy the power plant of the enemy garrison, ensuring a successful breaching of the gate, and for actions in which you saved the life of Marine Crewman Jaime Heredia, I have been authorized to award you with this medal, the Starfleet Silver Cross.”

Moving down the line, he stood in front of Becca. “Lieutenant Rebecca Cuddihy, for heroic achievement in connection with combat operations against the enemy, for overcoming the obstacle of having been forced from the air in your fightercraft, for then picking up a phaser rifle and joining the ground battle as any true Marine would, for volunteering for a dangerous mission of infiltration, and for actions in which you successfully escaped along with your fellow Marines, I have been authorized to award you with this medal, the Golden Star.”

Several more Marines likewise received their awards until finally, Yatshimba stood in front of Tony. “Lieutenant Anthony Martinez, for extraordinary heroism in combat with the enemy, for leading your company in numerous actions against the enemy against extraordinary odds, not least of which was the entry into a base held by several regiments of elite troops, for rescuing several hundred civilians at no small danger to yourself and your company, for these and other actions, I have been authorized to award you with this medal, the Federation Sunburst, and to grant you a promotion in rank to Lieutenant Commander.” Tony had been told he was to receive a medal, but hadn’t been told it would be the Sunburst! It was the second highest honor a Starfleet officer could receive. And the promotion was an even greater surprise. He was speechless as Yatshimba shook his hand and the others beside him slapped him on the back and congratulated him.

Finally Yatshimba stood again before them, calling them to order. A phaser rifle stood, before him, its emitter thrust into the ground, with a helmet resting on the stock. A grave look returned to the commander’s face and the company became somber again.

“We also recognize the sacrifices made by our fallen comrades. I would like to quote now from William Shakespeare’s Henry V: ‘This story shall the good man teach his son … from this day to the ending of the world, but we in it shall be remembered. We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; for he today that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother; be he never so vile, this day shall gentle his condition; And gentlemen in England now abed shall think themselves accursed they were not here, and hold their manhoods cheap while any speaks that fought with us upon Saint Crispin’s Day.’”

He stopped and stood quietly for a moment. “Today we remember our brothers and sisters and without denigrating the sacrifices of any of them, we hold out one for special recognition. Chief Petty Officer Vanya Nikodouris, for conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty, is posthumously awarded the Christopher Pike Medal, the highest honor to be bestowed on a member of Starfleet. May he rest in peace and forever watch over this planet for which he shed his blood.”

The whole company stood silent and then Tony began to clap. Others joined in, until the whole company clapped their hands, stamped their feet, and cheered. They cheered for their lost friends and for those later found, for their own lives and their loved ones, and for victory against all odds in the face of an implacable foe. And for the hope that one day peace would come again to the galaxy. Tony cheered for that one most of all.

The company was dismissed and they began to file up the ramp and Tony followed them, first saying goodbye to Becca and the others who would be beaming up to their respective vessels. Standing alone at the top of the ramp, Tony turned and spoke to the wind. “Nik, you once told me that we fight today so that others may live and be free tomorrow; that we fight today in order to live tomorrow. I promise that I will do everything in my power to ensure that your vision remains true. Thank you for all you taught me, my friend.” He turned and walked up into the belly of the ship, his head held high and his heart full of promise.

 

Epilogue

From: Rear Admiral Michael Rostrum, Commanding Officer, 801^st Marine Regiment and Callessus Base

To: Admiral Radua Koehler, J-3 Operations, General Staff, Starfleet Command

Subject: Status Report

On Stardate 51280, sixty days after the first shot was fired in Operation Pellador, the Dominion forces’ guerrilla attacks ended when the last ketracel white supplies ran out. Scattered Jem’Hadar made a final wild and berserk assault on Federation lines, but they were annihilated. Post-battle analysis revealed that the remaining Cardassians and Jem’Hadar were killed in a ketracel withdrawal frenzy as the Jem’Hadar turned on each other and their allies. On D+75, fifty-six Cardassian soldiers surrendered to the Allied garrison having remained hidden in the mountains until the last of their supplies ran out. Leading them out was a tired, but defiant, Glinn Telakat, the sole remaining senior staff officer of the Dominion garrison. Admiral Koehler, it is my pleasure to report to you that Callessus III is now officially pacified and free of Dominion control.