The bridge of the Makenzie shuddered as the impacts from The Network armada pushed up against the combined efforts of the newly formed Mackenzie Division.  Captain Wren Walton gripped the arms of the center chair, staring at the screen as the swarm of enemy ships worked to dislodge the Starfleet ships.  “Helm, coordinate with the division – don’t let them block us out.” Ensign Marisol Tran’s placid face remained focused, and she replied with a slight nod, her hands flying across the console in measured movement.  The Excelsior II-class starship was a step up from the Olympic-class she had piloted previously.  Walton asked, “Athena, you have permission to punch harder.  Pass the message along to Denver and Dakronh.”  The commodore had shifted the Klingon affiliate Bird of Prey to the division.  Walton was thankful.  J’Klast may have enjoyed the finer things in life, but he found a special level of satisfaction in putting his ship to work in battle.  Another shake of the bridge.  “Report?”

Alex watched the damage reports scroll across his screen, “Direct hits to Decks 10, 11, 12 and… 17 and 18,” he read. “It looks like the ablative armor on 17 and 18 absorbed a lot of the damage. Shields at 92%.” Alex typed commands into his console. “Deploying damage control teams.” He opened a channel, “How are things looking, McKee?”

A harried voice replied, “They’re pushing her to the limit.  Whatever they’re using in concert is putting a dent in the shields.  I’ve got EPS conduits lighting up with warning lights like it’s Christmas.  We’re holding, for now.  Denver’s getting her share – her shields at 85%.”

“Understood, bridge out.” Alex closed the channel. Another shudder of the bridge. “Attack pattern Charlie-3, full volley.”

Athena at tactical tapped at the console while Tran at the helm followed her lead.  The Mackenzie was deft, and she could dance.  The volley of phasers and torpedoes lit out from the Excelsior II-class with ferocity and slammed up against most of her targets.  Some of the Network ships showed skill in avoiding the attack.  They swung back around, slamming phasers across the shields of Mackenzie and Denver.

Walton tapped at the buttons on her chair.  “Several more Network ships coming in – smaller ships.  They’re going to get close to us.  They’re going to try to poke at our shields.”

A gruff Klingon voice broke through. “They’ll dare, Captain.  They will fail.  Leave them to the Dakronh.” The Bird of Prey angled and blasted at the new arrivals, pulling their attention away from the main group.

Walton chuckled, “J’Klast doesn’t disappoint.”

Benson smirked in response, “Klingons rarely do.” He looked at his console screen for an answer. Thousands of calculations were running simultaneously. A brilliant and clever tactician would say success lies not your moves, but predicting your opponent’s openings and exploiting them. Alex was not a brilliant tactician, but he was clever… and maybe a little unconventional.

“There,” Alex whispered and pointed to the screen, “Helm, bring us about to bearing 43, mark 2-2-3.”

Tran stabbed at the console, and the Mackenzie responded, swerving to the new course as the inertial dampeners did the work to keep crew and ship from groaning in protest.   Wren asked, “What’s got you chasing them, Commander?”

“They’re defending that side pretty hard. I want to find out why,” Alex replied.

The ship dipped and maneuvered itself between two Network ships. The two ships broke away, making way for the Mackenzie. Benson said, “Light them up, see if you can’t scratch their paint a bit.” Another volley of torpedoes was let loose from the Mackenzie, tearing into both of the ships. The Mackenzie flew through the wreckage.

The bridge rocked and shuttered in response from Network ships. Alex looked at his status screen; the maneuver wasn’t without its cost. “Power’s out on decks 11 and 12. Ablative armor on deck 16 is- was sheared completely. Shields are holding at 88%.”

Walton trusted McKee to dispatch damage control teams and hold the ship together.  What she was having a hard time trusting was getting out of this without some serious damage or, worst case, casualties they couldn’t recover. “Athena, status on the Network ships?”

The Bajoran grimaced as she worked her tactical board.  “We’ve taken two..no make that three, but the big ones and the small ones are still-”  A hard hit slammed into Mackenzie, sending sparks across consoles, and the bridge dropped.  Thankfully, the safety straps held.  “The four other large ships are turning their attention on us.  Denver’s trying to get back to us, but the three smaller ships are cutting them off.  Shields at 78%.  Denver’s at 75%.”

Walton glanced at Benson.  They both knew they couldn’t leave the colony on their own, and they were going to have to fight like hell to push the Network ships back to where they’d come from.  They’d spent enough time at morning breakfast to game out as many possibilities as they could.

Alex nodded to the Captain in response. They’ve both been in their share of firefights to know this would end badly. The Division had tough ships, but they were outnumbered. And it became apparent, as the battle wore on, outgunned too.

Another shake of the bridge. This time a console exploded, and an officer at operations rolled to the floor, but picked herself up, waving off concerns.  Catari’s voice was tight, “Shields at 75%.  Damage Control reports more red zones.”

Alex braced himself on the arms of his chair. He stole a glance at his console screen and instantly regretted it. The screen lit up in red and yellow statuses throughout the ship. They needed another push against the Network. Benson blinked, composing himself, “Attack pattern Alpha-6, full spread. Keep on Denver’s starboard.”

Walton replied with a short nod.  “Let’s give ’em the hell they’ve earned.”

Helm and tactical shifted their operational plans as the Mackenzie seemed to take a collective breath.

Athena at tactical shouted, “Captain, we have three incoming signals, hard and fast!”  She worked the sensors, trying to break through the interference the Network had thrown down around them.

Benson changed his console screen to ship sensors. The interference rendered long range sensors mostly useless. And anything short-range could be handled by other duty stations. The three dots were indeed coming in fast. They wouldn’t need to detect ship signatures, they’d be joining the fray by the time they were confirmed. Alex mentally prepared his next set of tactics and waited.

There was a pause, and suddenly the screen filled with a sight.

The Yorktown-class USS Justice, the Pathfinder-class Perseverance, and the Defiant-class Relentless.

Alex released his breath he didn’t know he was holding. His body released the tension it held for what seemed like days. A singular thought entered his mind: The cavalry had arrived.

The bridge channel snapped open.  “Mackenzie, Denver, let us take some of this heat.” It was a thing to behold.  The three thousand-soul starship erupted with its 20 Type-XIV phaser arrays, followed by the violent punch of the 4 Type-XIV heavy pulse phasers that slammed against the Network ships with renewed anger.

Then the torpedoes came alive. 4 forward burst-fire launchers,  2 aft burst-fire launchers, and 3 forward single-fire launchers pummeled heavily into the larger Network ships as the shields of the enemy ships shuddered under the sudden renewed fire.

The smaller Network ships tried to scatter, but they were helpless under the attention of the Relentless and her support, Perseverance.

“Fall back to a defensive position and watch for fleeing ships,” Alex ordered. He marveled at the firepower that was brought to bear. It was like watching a beautiful symphony, thoroughly practiced, and everyone knowing their parts. He’d seen Defiant-class vessels go to work, but the Justice was an army onto itself.

Within five minutes, it was over.  Wreckage floated where once feisty Network ships had fought.  Silence reigned where phaser and torpedo power had ruled.  Walton sat back in her chair, tapping the restraint button.  She glanced over to her XO.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Alex chuckled, “Hope does spring eternal. Stand down from Red Alert.” He glanced at his screen, and was surprised to see the support teams already forming and going to work. It was going to take some time, but they had it to spare.

Wren let out a quiet sigh as the dull ruby overheads faded to a brighter shade of white.  “Justice has our Commodore onboard.  Fontana is a lot of things, but he has his eyes on his people.  All of his people.  Be prepared for him to pay us a visit in the next hour or less.  Get with McKee and see how rough of a shape we’re really in.  I’ll get with medical.”  She stood shakily from the chair but quickly regained her confidence.  She caught Benson’s glance.  “Ready room debrief later,” was her answer.

“Understood,” Alex gave a quick nod as she departed. He downloaded a damage report onto a PADD and made his way to the turbolift. “Lieutenant, you have the bridge,” he addressed the operations officer. The turbolift doors closed behind him.