The King Arthur’s pilot was a young Vulcan named Shiera, and Shepherd wasn’t entirely sure how to handle it when she reported, ‘I anticipate we will take some fire upon launch,’ in a toneless, Vulcan voice before hurling the runabout into a maelstrom.

‘Hells,’ Shepherd hissed, gripping her armrest and hating that she wasn’t flying. Across the runabout cockpit, the buzz of comms reports and the flight team’s frantic coordination washed over her. It would have been distracting if the canopy hadn’t been filled with stars and flames and if she didn’t have a job to do.

But the job still required her to hear. Shepherd grabbed her headset and shoved it on as she flicked the comms systems to a channel to the support wing. ‘All craft, this is Shepherd. Form up on Endeavour’s aft; the great bird’s gonna cover our asses.’

I hope. Sending a ping on her sensors gave the craft launching from Endeavour, Triumph, and even Nighthawk a rendezvous point, but it was like a needle in a haystack of death. She watched on her feed as Endeavour turned to present her starboard hull to the Jem’Hadar, and her insides screamed as the ship made herself a bigger target. Even if it gave the smaller ships cover.

Then all three of the Constitution III-class’s torpedo launchers opened fire, and Shepherd’s chest eased when she remembered that however much she worried about Malhotra, Kharth was a goddamn professional who’d make lemonade out of the lemons of hanging her ass out for Jem’Hadar to shoot.

And still she had an urgent voice in her ear from Triumph, Commander Ranicus handling coordination between the squadron’s forces. ‘Support wing, you are directed to reinforce the Nighthawk. They’re taking heavy fire.’

I fucking know. But snapping back wouldn’t help, so Shepherd swore under her breath so her reply afterwards could stay cool. ‘I gotcha, Triumph. We’re on our way.’

She still took a moment to cast a glower at the universe in the general direction of Adamant Rhade, sat beside her. ‘They want us every damned where at once, huh?’

But Rhade just gave an agonisingly calm nod. ‘Let us settle for being where we can be.’

That made her smirk, and she flicked comms back to the support wing’s channel. ‘All craft, we’ve gotta hustle to the Nighthawk. Form up on me now; we’re going in. If you’re too far out, rally at these coordinates, then reinforce us as one.’ Some of Triumph’s craft were slower, but that was fine; the shuttles were being launched only as torpedo gunboats, unsuited for close-range engagements.

But she had the fighters and the sturdier runabouts, which would have to do. ‘Shiera!’ Shepherd called. ‘Take us in to kick some ass.’

‘I will take us in, Commander,’ called the young Vulcan pilot. ‘The condition of our engagement is beyond my purview.’

And onward they raced.

‘Captain; the support wing has joined with the Nighthawk. They’re taking on the weapon emplacements.’

Jericho nodded at the report from Lieutenant Quinn at Science. ‘Tell Nighthawk to get us a fix on the control centre ASAP. Without it, all we’re doing is dancing out here.’

‘Our partner,’ came the crisp call from Sterlah at Tactical, ‘is stepping on our toes.’

His eyes snapped away from the tactical feed for the whole squadron to the battle consuming his ship. Charging into the breach to take on two battlecruisers was not his most measured action. Jericho’s fist curled around the edge of his armrest. ‘Tar’lek – any time one battlecruiser tries to close, flip us around to put the other between us. Don’t get entangled; don’t let them get us into broadsides.’

Sterlah looked up from Tactical at that. ‘We will unlikely deal significant damage if we cannot focus on one target.’

‘That’s not our goal. Our goal is to soak attention.’ Triumph shuddered as enemy fire raked across her shields. There was a small yelp from the Science console, and Jericho raised his voice. ‘We’ve weathered worse, people! We stand in the fire while the rest of the squadron rallies!’ He knew what his ship could take. They had a way to go yet.

So long as the heat would come down soon. His eyes snapped across to Ranicus at mission control. ‘Any word from Independence?’

Her expression was unsettlingly emotionless. Tiarith Ranicus was a professional who never showed fear or uncertainty in a crisis. So when her eyes were blank, he knew they were in trouble. ‘No word from Captain Vornar.’

‘Whatever happened out there, it’s a bust on the listening posts! Tell him to get his ass in here!’

But that was all he could do about that. Nighthawk and Shepherd were on the weapon emplacements, still slinging fire at the Starfleet assault forces. Endeavour was tangled in a web of swirling shooting amidst the Jem’Hadar fighters. And Triumph had to keep the bigger bad guys off all of them.

‘Battlecruiser Alpha is trying to break past us,’ Arys reported from Helm. ‘They want to close on Endeavour.’

‘They’ve evaluated our tactics,’ Sterlah warned. ‘They know we mean to tie them up.’

‘Bravo is closing in.’

Jericho paused. Then he nodded. ‘Close on Bravo. Get to point-blank range, and let them taste the twenty-fifth century.’

Alpha had been cautious in slipping past, as if anxious Triumph would move to block her. Bravo had been approaching like a hunter anticipating its prey to try to slip the noose. Neither expected the Starfleet ship to turn the tables, her nimble manoeuvring thrusters letting her pivot faster than either lumbering battlecruiser. Before Bravo knew what was happening, Triumph was on her, launching a full volley of weapons that raked across the shields – then through – then impacts blossomed in sparks of golden fire against the violet tritanium hull.

‘Bravo is listing!’ Sterlah called with satisfaction. ‘If we hold for another volley -’

‘No.’ Jericho grimaced. ‘Get Alpha.’

‘If we hold we can finish -’

‘Endeavour needs us to keep these battlecruisers tied up. Chase down Alpha.’

‘Captain!’ Lieutenant Quinn sounded quizzical. ‘I’m picking up a massive power surge on Izar VI-c.’

‘What’s there?’ Ranicus challenged, the XO ever ready to filter what she deemed a possible distraction to the captain.

Quinn shrugged. ‘Ore mining? It doesn’t match the profile of any industrial equipment that should be there, though.’

Jericho raised a hand. ‘We’re in no position to get anything to VI-c. That’s a problem for the next step.’ Like that battleship. His eyes snapped back to the viewscreen and the present. ‘Tie up that battlecruiser.’

‘Shields at sixty percent!’

Not for the first time, Daniran Kosst was glad that her tactical officer was not one of her staffers barely two years out of the Academy. From Commander Brennos, such a portentous announcement was delivered in a low, cool voice.

Even if it meant they were potentially screwed. Kosst winced. ‘How’s the support wing?’

‘Avoiding the worst of the fire. Emplacements Gamma and Hotel are down.’

In many ways, the support wing was faring much better against the weapon emplacements at the periphery of Izar than the Nighthawk. But that was definitely because Nighthawk drew the lion’s share of fire. More, Kosst feared, than they could soak.

‘This should have been Independence’s job,’ she couldn’t help herself from hissing, then realised she’d spoken louder than she meant. But the only officer who could have heard her was Percian, who was frowning at his sensor feeds as if nothing else existed. She frowned at him. ‘Ensign, where are we on tracing that signal?’

That elicited an exasperated expression from him, at least. He gave a hapless shrug. ‘I – it’s slow work in the middle of a firefight, Captain! I’m picking up high power readings on VI-c, but it doesn’t match the profile of a weapons control platform -’

‘Then it might as well not exist, Ensign,’ came Brennos’s snap. ‘Locate the control centre, we get out of here.’

Kosst sucked her teeth. ‘Fox, maintain evasive. Buy us some breathing room while the support wing focuses on taking out these emplacements. Maybe we can get space to do our job and look around.’

‘Aye, Captain!’

Nighthawk surged at Fox’s work, and for a moment, it felt like they were tumbling carelessly through the air, not pirouetting through fire. Kosst allowed herself a tight, hopeful smile. A small ship like the Nighthawk had a small bridge to match. She’d liked that when she’d first come aboard; thought it gave the bridge a close, intimate feel, with everyone on top of each other and never, ever alone. But it meant the captain’s chair sat in the centre – no XO’s seat, no mission advisor’s seat. It ensured she could never forget that she was alone, no matter how easy or hard a day, no matter what Nighthawk faced.

Her smile faded completely when Brennos spoke again. Because now he wasn’t reporting disaster in a cool voice.

He was shouting.

‘Incoming –’

And everything went black.

‘Nighthawk is down! Repeat, Nighthawk is down!’ Airex’s voice came like a whip-crack through the heart of Endeavour, and to Kharth it was like it had cut her off at the knees.

But if she was silent as she reeled, Malhotra’s eyes widened, and his head snapped around. ‘What? What happened? They were handling the emplacements -’

They weren’t, Kharth thought. But she had Jem’Hadar fighters to concern herself with, and as Malhotra fretted, had fired a quick attack pattern to Whitaker. Malhotra wanted them to spray fire to occupy the fighters, likely mimicking how Triumph would handle the fight, how Triumph was handling her fight. In a breather, Kharth wanted to hunt down one enemy fighter and kill it before moving on.

But she had to keep one ear open, as Airex explained. ‘She was hit by a high-velocity kinetic round. Launched from the surface of Izar VI-c.’

‘A mass driver?’ Far also looked around, eyes wide. ‘Point defences should have -’

‘Nighthawk’s limited point defences were occupied with torpedoes from the emplacements.’ Airex shook his head as he explained, speaking in a fast clip to cover complex information in simple, quick terms. ‘The Dominion must have installed a mass driver in VI-c’s mining facilities. Effective only against a ship in a relatively static engagement.’

Malhotra’s lips thinned, and he looked back to the front of the bridge. ‘We need to keep moving, then,’ he snapped. ‘Make sure we don’t -’

‘Dav, what’s the rate of fire on an emplacement like that?’ Kharth interrupted. ‘They can’t shoot that all day long.’

‘I’ll monitor it,’ Airex agreed, giving her a sharp nod. ‘And notify the squadron if they’re capable of firing again. Now that we know to look for it, we’ll see shots coming; evasion should be straightforward.’

Harrian said, ‘What’s Nighthawk’s condition?’

‘Hull breaches on multiple decks; her main power’s offline; she’s drifting,’ Airex said, jaw tight. ‘Sir, she’s so badly damaged Izar’s automated defence systems are ignoring her and turning their fire on the support wing.’

Harrian leaned in to Malhotra, saying something in a low, urgent tone that Kharth couldn’t quite hear. But Endeavour’s new skipper shook his head.

‘We can’t help them,’ Malhotra snapped. ‘We beat these fighters, then we help Triumph take down the battlecruisers, then -’

‘Sir?’ Lindgren always had a talent for cutting through a bridge’s hubbub, the voice of Endeavour bringing word from far beyond them. ‘Orders from the squadron commander. We’re to assist the support wing. Weapon emplacements are almost beat; we finish the job, then we  all dispatch the fighters.’

Kharth caught Malhotra cast Harrian a small, sharp look. Jericho’s orders, she suspected, were what Harrian had already been suggesting. But if Malhotra would overrule Harrian, he wouldn’t ignore Jericho.

Malhotra straightened. ‘I – alright. Bring us in towards the emplacements. We’re going to have to get close.’

She sucked her teeth. ‘Sir, if we’re drawing more fire from the platforms and dealing with these fighters, we’ll be real cooked real quick.’

‘Commander.’ Harrian turned to look at her. ‘Can we target the platforms with torpedoes from here? If the support wing feeds us their targeting data?’

She brightened. ‘Yes, sir.’ But she realised Malhotra’s nostrils were flaring and looked at the acting captain. ‘With your permission.’

He grimaced and jerked a hand. ‘Do it. But don’t forget these bloody fighters.’ Before Kharth could snap that she would hardly do that, he’d turned back to the front of the bridge, leaning hard on the armrest. His next utterance was what they were all thinking, but none of them had expected the ship’s commander to be the one to voice it with such uncertain fear.

‘Where the hell is the Independence?’