The Hunter - Part II

Posted on Sun 20th Nov, 2016 @ 4:04pm by Colonel Horatio Drake & Commander Jasmine Collins-Keller & Commander Paul Graves PsyD

2,316 words; about a 12 minute read

Mission: Cloak & Dagger
Location: Main Bridge, USS Warspite
Timeline: MD-02: 1530 Hours

PREVIOUSLY ON STAR TREK: VANGUARD:

"51%!"

"What the Hell are they hitting us with?" Drake heart was racing, even torpedoes couldn't have dished out that much damage that quickly... this was no Intrepid Class.

"I... I don't know, sir..." Anthony was confused. Was this his first time in combat? The thought ran through Drake's mind.

"Return fire, quantum torpedoes... full spread"

AND NOW, THE CONTINUATION:

Anthony complied and the blue shimmering balls of fire shot out of the upper pylon of the ship. "Some damage this time, sir... but not enough. That should have yielded at least a 5% drop in the most advanced shields... but they've only dropped by 1%."

The ship shuddered more violently this time, Drake felt a momentary dip in the inertial dampeners, alarms sounded from every console.

"Shields now at 39% and falling"

"Re-route emergency power to the forward shields... return fire... load polaron torpedoes" Drake tapped a few buttons on the display, on the arm of his chair.

"Sir?" Anthony hesitated.

"Load and fire, Mr. Anthony" Drake didn't take his eyes from the main view screen.

"Aye, sir"

The polaron torpedo was standard issue on most Federation starships from the end of the Dominion War. The weapon was designed to deliver a devastating pulse of polaron particles directly into either an enemy vessel, which if still shielded, would result in a noticeable drop in shield power or if a ship was unshielded, would disable systems at random. Whilst not particularly physically damaging and with just two isotons of explosive force the shield damage and system interference of a polaron torpedo made it an invaluable weapon and a key part of the Federation's ship-based defence systems.

Many Captain's tended not to use polaron torpedoes due to their unstable nature and inaccuracy. For example, if you were to fire one at a ship's impulse engine, then the pulse could affect any systems within the engine or in a cone spreading out throughout the entire ship, causing anything from a replicator to go offline to a warp core breach. This unpredictable nature of the polaron particles after the torpedo's detonation was due to the spread pattern of the torpedo as well as the unpredictable nature of the particles themselves. Hence, why this was deemed a weapon of last resort.

"Torpedoes ready... firing"

No sooner had he uttered the words did the floor seem to give way underneath Drake...

Paul gripped the edge of his console as the ship lurched, and his stomach turned somersaults. Cold, relentless determination filled his mind and colored his voice. "Sir, they want to know our strength, and they intend to end us."

The words echoed with Drake as alarms started sounding off all around the Bridge. "Mr. Anthony, status of the enemy vessel?"

"Sir, the readings are fluctuating... it's hard to get a trace on the status of their systems... but it would seem the polaron torpedoes did have some effect... their shields have dropped 9%..."

"Prepare for another volley" Drake had heard enough.

No sooner had he uttered the words did the ship roll to starboard... the noise from the ship was deafening. Every system was in overdrive trying to claw back some control... bulkheads and deck plating screamed as if in agony from the battle. The ship seemed to be tumbling from side to side... as if some God were playing with their new toy. In reality, it was just a delay with the inertial dampeners coming to terms with extreme pressure and a lack of power. This time he fell from his chair, slamming onto his right knee as explosions sounded all around him.

Dazed and seeing starburts he climbed back to his chair, "Report!"

There was no response.

"Mr. Anthony... Report!"

Still, no response.

Drake looked away from his console and to his left... frustrated with having to ask twice... his frustration was soon allayed. The face is always the first thing that your mind tends to focus on... perhaps it's because, in a combat situation, it's usually covered in grime and blood and can tell a story. A story that becomes more poignant when that face is contorted in the pain and agony the person felt in the last throes of their existence. If this were the case then the face of David Anthony, the newly promoted Chief Tactical & Strategic Operations Officer, told a novel. His body lay in an impossible position, his uniform charred and ripped open from the explosion that emanated from his console.

Whilst not a seasoned battle-hardened Marine, like those from the Dominion War, Drake had seen enough death to know when someone could not be brought back... when they had shuffled off their mortal coil, so to speak. Without giving it another thought, his eyes fixed back onto his console and the main view screen... there were more important issues to tackle, and he had to remain focused. The Bridge was in pieces, blackened, with consoles and lights flickering with low power.

"Mr. Graves, re-route tactical control to your console. Report."

Paul had been able to think of only one way to keep from collapsing at the wave of intolerable pain that blossomed in his chest in the moments before Lt. Anthony's death--and that way had been to immerse himself completely in the emotions of the enemy, to fill his mind so full of their emotions that he could function amid his stunned and dazed reaction to the destroyed bridge and the life that had just been snuffed out barely ten feet to his left.

Dizzily, Paul picked himself up off of the deck, where he had been thrown against the railing that separated the upper area of the bridge from the command and navigation area. His head throbbed, and he couldn't figure out why. He coughed and only then realized that smoke and sparks billowed from various consoles. He glanced at the Tactical station and winced. As if from far away, he heard Drake issuing orders, and the man's ability to maintain his composure did not surprise him in the least; it simply felt...expected.

Their mysterious enemy was grimly pleased at having wreaked severe damage on the Warspite. Their minds still showed admirable discipline. Their thoughts were orderly, even though Paul couldn't read them. Sinking himself into the calm, businesslike emotions was a blessed relief from the pain, confusion, and shock flooding into his mind from the crew on the Warspite's bridge.

It kept him from screaming.

Without the enemy's discipline to cling to, Paul knew, he would otherwise have been in a near-faint from shock. Death was, in some ways, easy for an empath to tolerate. Once a person died, all fear and pain that the person felt ceased. Dying from trauma, on the other hand, hit the mind with the force of a felled tree, even when it took only moments.

It seemed as if his hands moved of their own accord to obey Drake's order, inputting commands as the comms screen shifted to his station's secondary monitor and the tactical screen displayed on the primary. "Tactical control rerouted," he said in an eerily crisp voice.

"Get whatever power we have left to the shields. Load polaron torpedoes, and prepare for another volley. Also, put out a priority one distress call and... " Drake paused, this would be the first time he gave this order. "... prepare to abandon ship."

"Aye-aye, sir. All non-essential power rerouted to forward shields. Shield strength is down to...22 percent." Even as Paul frantically wondered how to load polaron torpedoes, the intense determination of the enemy enabled him to study the unfamiliar tactical screen and figure out the problem. He slid his hands over the screen, moving the blue icons representing polaron torpedoes into the loaded position. "Sir, polaron torpedoes are loaded and armed. I suggest we play dead."

Where did that come from? Paul wondered. But there was no time to question, only to say the words. Hastily, he moved his hands over the comms panel on the secondary monitor and transmitted the distress call. "Distress call sent, sir."

"Fire!" Drake barked, ignoring everything else.

Moments later, Paul grimaced as the enemy crew experienced mild injuries. "Enemy shields down 15 percent. We've shaken them a little, caused some injuries, I think. Evacuation procedures are underway."

Yet another volley smashed into the side of the old starship, lurching her this time to port. Yet more explosions could be heard and the unmistakable sounds of the warp core fluctuating - unable to carry on providing as much power as was being demanded of it, it would start to shut down... soon the Warspite would be on back-up battery power only... the battle was now well and truly over, no more shields and no more weapons to be fired.

A calmness slowly overcame Drake as he observed the shambles and chaos all around him. The ship was in ruins... fires burned out of control, crew lay on the deck covered in blood and blackness... but he smiled. The old ship had taken quite a pounding and had carried on until she could carry on no more. It was no wonder why this class was still in service.

The battle could not be won and was over. They would use whatever power was left in one last hurrah and then hope that whoever these people were took mercy on the escape pods.

"Mr. Graves... "

"Colonel, we are being hailed," Paul said before Drake could finish speaking. He struggled to make sense of the readings he was getting from the tactical screen overlay and from his mind. "Three ships have just come out of warp. They're...Romulan. D'Deridex class."

The screen filled with the arrogant face of the Romulan Commander. "Ah, Colonel Drake, do you require some assistance? We were quite shocked when we received your distress call! Luckily, we were only moments away!"

There was no doubt in Drake's mind that the Warbirds had been monitoring the entire situation, probably hoping for the ships to destroy each other. He supposed, they hadn't bargained on the mystery ship being quite so powerful.

"Yes... that is lucky... Commander." Drake nearly winced, and this was the Romulans in peace time!

The Romulans smile grew as the screen returned to the external view. The Warbirds came hurtling in a near full impulse speed and threw a deadly volley of disruptor cannon fire and stream-fire torpedoes. The Federation based their fleet on variety - each ship had a set purpose and role to play within the fleet... from Frigates to Cruisers to Destroyers to Carriers... this was the basis for most space-faring species. Whilst it was true Starfleet did have some multi-role ships, such as the Nebula or Miranda Class, the Romulans brought a whole new meaning to the term. The design of the D'Deridex was nothing short of genius. A heavily armed, large cruiser that could be outfitted to perform any number of roles including Hospital Ship, Carrier, Crisis Support etc. Whilst the Romulans had built newer ships, they had always carried on building and outfitting the D'Deridex class... why fix something that isn't broken. Old, but still immensely powerful, the volley fire smashed into the side of the Intrepid Class. They returned fire and after some minutes, there was visible damage to the second-lead D'Deridex... nothing, Drake was sure, they couldn't handle.

Moments later the mystery ship seemed to be swinging round to go into warp... but instead of jumping into light speed travel the ship simply disappeared.

Paul turned toward Drake, his face ashen. "What the hell? Colonel, the enemy--Their minds just disappeared--all of them, along with their ship. All that's left are the Romulans." He peered at the tactical screen and shook his head at it. "Collins, can you make any sense out of these readings?" He transmitted the sensor input he was getting to the science station. "Is this the electrodynamic field? Communications is giving me nothing but static. Attempting to compensate."

"No sir." Jasmine was as confused as the others on the bridge. "I'm trying to analyze the data now" There was a dead officer three meters to her left and Jasmine was finding it hard to concentrate. She looked at the data on the screen in front of her and took a deep breath as she checked the analysis. "Yes sir. The readings are almost identical to the readings we encountered before"....yet Jasmine wasn't convinced. "I believe it is the electrodynamic field." 'Why was there a .02% fluctuation?' She wondered. 'It could be the photons from the quantum torpedoes interacting with the field.' She thought to herself.

All that was left in the place of the mysterious ship was just that... a mystery. Leaving in it's wake a path of seemingly pointless death and destruction. Countless freighters had been destroyed... trust between the Federation and Romulan Star Empire had been stretched... and the Warspite was critically damaged with countless dead and wounded.

After exchanging pleasantries with a disgruntled T'Vrek it was six hours before the Warspite started to limp back to Vanguard at warp 2. En route, Drake considered the events of the past day - his opinion of the Miranda class had certainly changed... but had his outlook on Starfleet? Years ago he would have considered their mission an important one... he would have considered the deaths of those serving under him to be meaningful and he would mourn their loss. But all he felt now was nothing, no feeling at all. He then came to a shocking realisation... when the ship had been facing destruction, when death was knocking on the door, all he could feel was numbness. He had no fear and no compulsion to remain alive or die. Those that felt no fear of death were dangerous men... but those who felt nothing at all? What had he become?

 

RSS Feed