On the fringe of Dominion held territory lies a region of space that has had a long unfortunate history. For it was through this region that the monstrous Zerg came forth and laid waste to a dozen worlds. Countless millions were lost to their original invasion three years ago. Millions more were spent to ultimately drive them out. So much blood has been shed in this region that those that survived the Zerg vowed that such atrocities would never be allowed to happen again. It was decided that a demilitarized zone was to be created and heavily patrolled to guard against any further incursions. Humankind would learn from the failures of the past and not be taken unaware again. Dozens of manned and unmanned sensor outposts lie throughout this region, literally forming a massive line in space. In time, many have considered the ‘Zone’ as the first line of defense against the darkness that could threaten their worlds from beyond.
Over the past few years, the ‘Zone’ has been extended as the Dominion has slowly retaken their once lost worlds from the Zerg. The responsibility of patrolling this line for incoming alien threats has fallen upon the Dominion’s 6th Battle Group. Composed entirely of volunteers, those that take this assignment do so knowing full well that their duty is to intercept any hostile advances into Dominion space and attempt to destroy or delay the threats… at all costs. It is a grim responsibility that the crews of this fleet have accepted without hesitation or question. On the tactical bridge of the lead Dominion Battlecruiser, Vigilance, an almost tomb like silence hovers over those on duty like a dark foreboding cloud. Soft alert tones and the humming of machinery are all that fills the bridge. Only the occasional hushed conversations from their fellow crewmembers, which sit hunched over their stations, serves as a break to the monotony. With their forms tense and alert, those on duty continue to monitor the countless feeds from the sensor net informing them of the status of the zone. Hours earlier, a massive energy surge was detected along the vast network and the 6th Battle Group was dispatched from their space-borne base to investigate the unusual readings. Tensions run high throughout the fleet as they continue purposefully towards the unknown.
Pacing like a caged animal behind his combat bridge crew, the commander of the 6th Battle Group, Commodore Thaddeus Dearborn affectionately know as ‘Pappy’ to his crews has little reason to be happy at the moment. Having been alerted to the unusual readings detected from their network only hours ago, he can’t shake the uneasy feelings dwelling in the back of his mind. No other information has been sent regarding the strange occurrence and the lack of knowledge has him spooked. All the outposts in that section of the net have failed to respond and all attempts to contact the patrolling vessel assigned to that area have also been met with failure. This poor news only serves to fuel his gnawing fears.
“Anything at all since that last?” asks Dearborn in a hushed tone.
“Negative, Commodore. Nothing since the Hawkins’ last report stating the deviation from her patrol route to investigate a weird energy reading,” replies the comm officer quietly.
That bit of news draws a brief grunt from Dearborn as he takes in the displayed information on the central tactical display; his forces marked as white forms continue to steadily close the distance to the projected contact point.
“At what time index did we pickup that massive energy bloom Lieutenant?”
“2301 Standard time sir,” quickly answers the tactical officer.
“And the time the Hawkins sent in her intention to deviate?”
“Ahhh… 2259 Standard time sir,” replies Andre Guzman, Captain of the Vigilance as he checks the information from a nearby console.
“That was too fast… too damn fast Andy…” whispers Dearborn as he shakes his head slightly.
“Look at the times,” says Thaddeus as he draws his old, gnarled hand over the screen, “from their last message received to the time we picked up the bloom…”
“Yeah…” replies Guzman as he studies the screen intently, “transit time was about a minute to there, then the bloom and then nothing after that. Pete would have sent at least a contact report. Whatever hit them most likely took them out quick. They probably never even had a chance to signal out.”
“Did we pickup anything at all from the Hawkins or any of our outposts? Any distress signals or reports?”
“Negative sir. Not a peep from that section since that last transmission and that was hours ago. Recommend we bring the fleet to full alert status now sir and have all fighter squadrons fully deployed.”
“Good idea son. I was thinking the same thing,” replies Dearborn with a grandfatherly smile. “Hopefully it’s just a comm failure but my ‘gut’ keeps telling me we’re going to have to earn our pay today.”
“I hope your gut is wrong sir.”
“So do I… so do I,” whispers Dearborn.
***
The order is passed and the battle group quickly shifts from a defensive stance to a more aggressive posture. The twenty-four Battlecruisers composing the group quickly shift in space into a massive arrowhead formation as wings of fighters continue to swarm around them. The support vessels attached to the group swiftly drift towards the center of the massive arrow as they continue onwards to the contact point.
The atmosphere within the tomblike combat information center is thick with growing tension as the fleet moves closer to the source of the disturbance. Both commanders continue to observe the feeds from their long-range sensors, watching and waiting in the intense silence for anything to focus their fears on. A sharp beep is heard then followed by an excited voice.
“New contacts detected sirs!” announces a sensor crewman as his voice cracks slightly. “Multiple contacts closing fast!”
“What have you got son?” asks Dearborn intently as he moves behind him. He looks down at the young crewman, barely old enough to even shave, must less fight a war. He sighs internally and is saddened by the fact that they are now forced to send children out to fight. His own grandson would have been this boy’s age had he survived. So much lost, he thinks as old grief begins to well up inside him. He shakes his head angrily for his slight lapse and draws his attention back to the distant targets.
“We’re receiving visual feeds from our picket scouts sir,” announces the tactical officer.
“Let’s see it,” states Dearborn as he turns to the central display
The holographic image shifts from the tactical overlay to now show the distant crafts. The vessels are unlike anything that they have ever seen. Despite even the great distance, the details on the larger ships are still visible indicating the sheer size of the strange craft. Numerous smaller crafts, most likely support ships scurry around the fourteen giants like small children playing. Glistening black with mottled red patterns, the ships appear almost alive as the colors shift at random on the hulls. On the massive vessels, dozens of points extend out from what he believes is the bow, appearing like an outstretched claw. A raised ridgeline in the form of a ‘V’ starts from the bow and travels down the length of the ship. The rest of the hull is cylindrical and flattens slightly to form what looks like wings on the sides as it heads back and tapers to a rounded shape. The bridge crew is speechless as they stare in awe at the bizarre crafts. A few crewmembers let out muted curses at the disturbing image.
“They look kinda Protoss to me,” comments the tactical officer as he stares at the distant vessels.
“He’s kind of right in a way sir,” adds Guzman, “they do slightly look like something the Protoss would cook up but I’ve never seen them use vessels like that before. Then again, they might be a new race,” offers Guzman.
“Great,” growls Dearborn, “Just what we need… more aliens. Better put that in the signal though just in case,” suggests Dearborn as he continues to study the alien crafts while rubbing his weathered face with his large hands. “Inform Dominion command that we have intercepted an alien fleet, possibly Protoss but still unknown and are moving to engage if necessary.
“Aye aye, sir,” flatly replies Guzman.
“Have we got the full scans and images ready?” quietly inquires Dearborn.
“All set sir. We’re ready to send out the signal now. Do we send it?”
“Yes,” answers Dearborn barely above a whisper, “send it out now… there’s no telling what’s going to happen next. If we buy it here at least word got out.”
“Aye sir,” grimly says Guzman as he issues the order to the comm officer. Lights dim all over the vessel as every erg of available energy is expended to power the burst signal over the vast lanes of space. The lights fade out momentarily a second time as the message and information is sent out again for good measure.
“Let’s hope our luck with dealing with these guys is better than with the last two,” mumbles Dearborn. “Helm, bring us onto an intercept with the alien fleet’s track,” he orders. Before the helmsman can respond to the order, an urgent call comes from his tactical officer.
“Sir… the alien fleet has already altered their course to intercept US!” states the officer nervously.
Cursing silently under his breath, Dearborn moves to the central display as the new information is updated. He watches as the range to targets rapidly ticks down.
“Order the cruisers to energize their matrixes,” orders Dearborn quietly.
“Aye sir.” A brief order is given and energy fields on the cruisers power to existence. With a slight shimmering of light and energy, defensive shields envelop the advancing Dominion warships as they accelerate to challenge the alien fleet. Thanks to innovations over the past few years, cruisers no longer are dependent on mere armor alone for protection. However, with all things there must come a trade-off. With their reactor energy diverted to shielding, power for the primary cannon is no longer available. Due to this design flaw, shielding on the cruisers must be dropped in order to utilize the Yamato cannons. It is an issue the crews have lived with but silently hope will not come back to haunt them.
“All cruisers reporting shielding activated and intact sir,” states Guzman.
“Time to maximum weapons range?”
“Alien fleet will be reaching maximum cannon range in under a minute sir,” answers the tactical officer.
Dearborn merely acknowledges the report as he moves to the comm station. “Let’s find out what they want. Give me a broadband beam focused on the lead alien craft son.”
“Aye sir.” With a flurry of movement over his console a beam is configured to broadcast. “You’re all set sir.”
Keying his comm, Dearborn braces himself visibly for this critical encounter with a yet unknown race that he hopes will understand his words. The last thing the Dominion needs is to make more enemies.
“Attention alien crafts. You have entered a sector under the authority of the Terran Dominion. Please state your intentions.”
Seconds pass but still no reply as the alien fleet continues to close. “No response sir.”
“Alien crafts, you must halt your advance now or we will assume you hostile and fire upon you. We do not wish to fight but if you continue your advance we will have little choice. Turn back NOW! Please respond.”
“Alien craft now within maximum weapons range sir,” announces the tactical officer.
“No response sir,” states the comm officer as he shakes his head slightly. “They probably don’t have a clue what you are saying.”
“Doesn’t matter. We can’t take the chance son. My responsibility is to the safety of this crew and the folks back home."
“Alien crafts, this is your last warning. Turn back NOW and leave this region or you will be fired upon!”
“We’re picking numerous energy spikes from the large ships sir!” screams the tactical officer.
“Oh hell,” whispers Dearborn as he watches the bows of the lead alien ships spread apart slowly. Several hellish blasts erupt from the strange craft and leap across the void to impact on several targeted ships. Those craft without shielding are instantly vaporized by the red beams; nothing left but slagged metal and thousands of heated particles. Those cruisers struck by the blasts tumble out of formation slightly as their shields flicker intensely as they attempt to disburse the absorbed energy.
“GODDAMNMIT THAT TEARS IT!”” shouts Dearborn in rage as he viciously keys his comm.
“All wings break and attack! Cruisers lock in your targets and prepare to fire! Captain, prepare to drop our shields and fire on my command!” Several wings of fighters shimmer with cloaks and quickly surge ahead to engage the now hostile alien craft as the cruisers drop their shields in preparation of firing their cannons. The aliens, seeking to press their advantage of surprise continue to close the distance as more fiery blasts lance out from their bows. A half dozen more Dominion craft, including some cruisers are struck; the results are spectacular. A vessel is struck full-force and is melted in half under the hellish fires; the remaining section drifts off darkened as atmosphere and fires rage along the surface. One cruiser is struck in the bow and disappears behind a massive flash of light. Once the light fades, a large section of the cruiser’s bow has been slagged off, as the remainder lies charred and darkened. Another cruiser wheels out of formation as the port section of the ship is blasted off leaving a flaming wreck in its wake.
“FIRE!” screams Dearborn over the fleet wide channel. On command, dozens of Yamato blasts lance across space hunting for targets. The nuclear fires quickly close the distance and impact on the hulls of the alien crafts. Large sections of the targeted ships are hammered and blasted apart, thousands of glistening shards drift off into space. Several of the smaller alien craft are struck in the massive volley and wink out of existence in brilliant flashes of light and released energy.
“Take that you bastards!” snarls Dearborn as he watches the blasted crafts slowly drift out of control. “All cruisers prepare to fire another volley!”
“Sir! I think you should see this!” announces the tactical officer with panic in his voice.
“No… that’s not possible…” utters Dearborn with fear lining his voice as he turns to look at the new displayed images. On the screen he watches in horror as he witnesses an incredible sight. One of the alien’s massive vessels struck by no less than four blasts is displayed on the central display; large sections of the smashed craft drift around the vessel. Several of his fighters roar along the strange hull, stinging madly like angry insects. Dozens of flaming pockmarks are left in their passing as several beams lance out and in turn cleave the fighters in half. That loss alone is enough to sicken him but that is nothing compared to what he is witnessing.
From the hull of the blasted alien craft, thousands of tendrils spring forth from the central mass and attach to the drifting sections. The tendrils tense and quickly draw the shattered pieces back into place as a dark fluid is emitted and seals the gaps. The shattered pieces slowly regain their shape with only a blackening of their surface as an indication of sustaining any damage. The once crippled vessel resumes its formation with it’s mates and continues purposely forward as if nothing happened.
“That’s impossible…” whispers Dearborn as he watches in disbelief as several other once disabled alien craft perform the same act.
“How the hell are we supposed to fight something that won’t die sir?!” asks the tactical officer in despair.
“Commodore… the other captains are requesting instructions,” announces Guzman rapidly as the cruiser is rocked from a nearby blast.
“Order the battle group to break into sections! Each section is to concentrate their fire on a single target! Let’s see if they can repeat that trick!”
As if as one, the remaining cruisers shift into new formations and prepare to fire another volley on the advancing vessels. More hellish fires lance out from the advancing alien craft and claim more victims. A fighter carrier and a science vessel are torn apart from the intense beams and disappear in blinding fireballs. Several more cruisers fall to the alien barrage as they prepare to fire on their tormentors. Large flaming sections of the battered craft drift off into space marking the carnage. The cruisers respond in kind as yet again, Yamato blasts streak across the void to impact on their targets. Only this time the results are more spectacular. One alien war vessel is struck repeatedly by eight cruisers and explodes in a brilliant shower of electrical sparks and debris; the blasted sections grow dark and fade as the shattered craft succumbs to the assault. One more war vessel shares the same faith and is reduced to floating wreckage with two others merely sustaining damage. Once again, tendrils shoot out and latch onto the floating scraps as they struggle to repair the damage.
“Hot damn!” shouts Dearborn as he pounds a fist on the side of a console in celebration. “They can be killed! All remaining cruisers reactivate your shields and continue to close… we’re going straight up the middle!”
Space is a madhouse of explosions and lights as the two fleets are on the verge of ramming each other. The last remaining squadrons continue to blast away at the alien craft in vain and try to run interference for their cruisers for as long as possible; dozens of red-white explosions mark the death of the Terran fighters everywhere despite their cloaks. With a brightening of light, the drive plumes of the Dominion cruisers flare as they accelerate into the kill zone. Their shields flicker into existence as they close and prepare to engage with their main batteries. One cruiser manages to volley off a Yamato blast only seconds before falling prey to a withering barrage of energy beams. The targeted cruiser explodes into a rapidly expanding fireball.
Dearborn braces himself against a rail as his cruiser is rocked severely by the incoming blasts. A small alien craft zips past the bridge and fires madly. The blasts hammer the forward shield viciously causing it to distort momentarily, one beam penetrates and punches a hole in the bow. Several missiles launched by pursuing fighters promptly blow the small craft away into flaming wreckage. Decompression alarms hoot insanely throughout the cruiser as reports from sections continue to flood the bridge.
A cruiser on the wing of the Vigilance is struck by two hellish blasts directed on her, the shields flickering wildly from the abuse. The cruiser tumbles out of formation briefly and turns back in only to be hammered by another. The last strike pierces the shields with a flaring of light and the cruiser is left naked to assault. Another blast streaks in and the unfortunate cruiser is reduced to flaming junk.
“The Achilles is history sir!” shouts the tactical officer above the noise of battle. A massive flash of light showing through the main screen serves only to add credence to his claim. Dearborn looks at the flickering tactical image and is beyond the point of caring. The majority of his battle group has been ripped apart with only ten cruisers out of twenty-four left and a handful of support ships and fighters remaining. Another intense flash and he realizes he’s down to nine cruisers now.
“Sir!” shouts Guzman as he braces against a console, “we must withdraw and regroup what’s left! We can’t hope to hold them off!”
“It’s gone beyond that point now Andy! We’re dead anyway you look at it now! We might as well take as many of them with us as possible!” yells back Dearborn as he pulls himself over to his chair. “Helm, increase speed and continue to close!”
“Enemy ships now within range of main batteries!” announces the tactical officer.
“All ships FIRE!” shouts Dearborn into the fleet wide channels. Hundreds of lasers erupt from the seven surviving cruisers as they converge on their targets like a pack of angry wolves. The enemy crafts counter with their own barrage and space streaks with light. Shields flicker wildly on the cruisers as their own guns hammer the war vessels senselessly. Large portions of hulls on both sides are bubbled away and vaporized in the swirling chaos. As before, the alien crafts struggle to repair the damage despite the withering hail of incoming fire. Most succeed in their attempt but two more of the alien crafts disappear in brilliant flashes.
The Vigilance roars down the side of one alien craft trading a massive broadside and taking fire the whole time. Debris trails from both vessels as explosions erupt along the hulls. One other cruiser, the War Hammer, maneuvers to cross the bow and caps the ‘T’ of the enemy vessel; an entire broadside raining down on the targeted craft. On the damaged and smoke filled bridge of the Vigilance, shouts of rage are everywhere as discipline breaks down; the surviving crewmembers pounding their consoles at the destruction. Another explosion rocks the Vigilance as battle lights blink out briefly.
“War Hammer is going sir!” announces Guzman as their sister ship is blasted apart from an intense barrage. The stricken cruiser is ripped apart violently and a massive explosion is left in its wake; the blast wave washing over the bow of the alien war vessel.
An explosion takes place just aft of the bridge of the Vigilance causing a fireball to erupt forth. Several crewmembers are incinerated in the ensuing flash and dozens of stations are blasted to litter the bridge with debris as well as the dead or dying. Dearborn can barely comprehend the mass destruction, thick black smoke fills the bridge causing him to choke while dozens of small fires light up the darkness. The tactical display is a flickering mess and only tells him that the battle has been reduced to a violent melee; capital ships trading shots at practically point-blank range.
“Damage report!” he rasps as the smoke threatens to overwhelm him. “I need a damage report!”
A junior officer pulls herself off the floor and tries to report despite the blasted equipment. “That last blast knocked out the shields sir,” she states as she tries to stem the flow of blood from a head wound. “Main generator is destroyed and auxiliary is down to 15%. Starboard gun mounts are destroyed and I’m reading multiple hulls and decks breached! We’re practically dead in the water sir!” she cries out panic stricken. "We need to abandon ship sir!"
“Captain?! Where are you Captain?!” yells Dearborn into the darkened bridge as he wanders about nursing his blackened hand. The screams of pain and the moaning of the dying fills the air and he feels as if Hell itself were brought to life before him. He comes across the broken form of Guzman and turns away in horror at the bloody remains. He stares out the viewscreen at the battle as the last of his forces wink out one at a time. The remains of four enemy vessels float among the debris along with several smaller craft at the cost of all of his.
“Can we still move?”
The young sensor crewman from earlier pulls himself off the floor and quickly rushes to the helm station and stops for a moment. He squeamishly shoves the decapitated body out of place, taking the seat. “Looks like we still have some juice left in the old girl sir!”
“Lay in a course for that big bastard of a ship,” gestures Dearborn as he comes along the young crewman. “I want to ram that son of a bitch! If we’re going to go I’ll be damned if we go out alone!”
Smiling widely, the young boy plots in the course and gooses the engines with what little power remains. The cruiser leaps forward like a startled rabbit and quickly closes the distance to their target; a severely damaged war vessel. The enemy craft tries desperately to evade and opens up with a hail of beams on its pursuer. A hellish blast lances out from another alien craft and impacts on the side of the Vigilance, the beam gouges out the center of the cruiser and causes it to slew sideways slightly but it still continues forward on inertia to its target.
“What’s you name son?” asks Dearborn in a conversational tone as the enemy vessel looms before them.
“Samuel sir. But my friends call me Sammy.”
“That was my grandson’s name,” responds Dearborn as he thinks back to a happier time.
“It’s been an honor serving with you sir,” states the boy with pride above the din of alarms.
“The feeling is mutual Sammy... we did our best… I just hope it was enough,” says Dearborn softly as he watches the side of the alien craft grow into view.
“I’m coming home…” he whispers to himself as he remembers his long dead family. He feels a deep rumble and then is enveloped in a brilliant flash of white light as a sudden darkness claims him. The flaming remains of the Vigilance slides into the side of their target and both vessels are consumed in a massive firestorm; thousands of pieces left in the wake of destruction.
***
The last remaining Dominion craft immediately break and run for home, chased by numerous small crafts. The war vessels of the K’iza quickly shift into a defensive position as their vessels struggle to attempt repairs. The status of the encounter is reported back and is received with alarming interest.
“These humans fight like no species I have ever seen before,” states Nar’az with amazement. “They know they cannot harm us yet they continue to fight without thought of self preservation.”
“It does not matter how viciously they fight Zresa’laz. Our forces are completing repairs and will be continuing onward to the Terran world shortly,” states Loh’trez.
“Excellent… but instruct the Nich’laz next time not to underestimate this race again. Such losses to so inferior a species is unacceptable and degrading.”
“As you so order Zresa’laz.”
Nar’az continues to view the blasted remains of the human fleet and wonders if his masters were mistaken in ignoring this young race. Quickly dispelling such stray thoughts, he turns to watch as their forces continue their trek on to the planet contested by both the Zerg and these humans. It should prove rather interesting how well they handle both forces he thinks to himself. With a parting glance at the displayed image of their forces, he turns to exit the chamber as he anxiously awaits the coming chaos.
