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Book I: How the Dreams Die

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Prologue: How to lose a war in a single afternoon

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This is a story about the end of an age, of how we awoke from a dream that lasted centuries. It is a tale illustrating what happened when humanity's illusion of Utopia was shattered; an account of the people who had to pick up the pieces of a fragmented Federation and the new age that dawned as the Dominion armadas advanced towards Earth...

Let's start at the beginning. Before the War, everything that followed would have been considered unthinkable – bad holodrama at worst.It certainly was for me. If you asked me before the Great Folly, I would have deemed the very ideaa lunacy fit for those Mirror Universe madmen. Yet, it all happened, with some of us playing crucial roles in the events that were about to unfold (even if it didn't seem so at the time!).

When the hostilities commenced, we were caught largely off guard. You all know how Starfleet was back then – a bloody exploration outfit, chock full with pleasure cruisers, which had weapons and defensive systems added as an afterthought. Moreover, a huge part of the fleet was made up from dedicated science ships or hulls, which though refitted multiple times, were a century old, yet that didn't seem to matter before we encountered the Bork and the Dominion. Until Wolf 359, even our older ships were a match for top of the line Klingon and Romulan vessels – or so it seemed. We had an unparalleled economic, industrial and to a lesser extent, technological advantage. Skirmishes with our rivals in the Alpha and Beta Quadrants ultimately ended either in a draw or quick victories – something that gave us all a false sense of security.

The cold hard truth was that we got complacent. The last time we had a credible peer opponent was before Praxis blew up – in the aftermath of that event the Klingon economy had been in decline with tremendous resources poured in restoring and keeping Qo'nos safe and viable. Another issue we had and no one really spoke about was the fact that while our top of the line ships were the golden standard and a number of the refitted older vessels were potent combatants thanks to extensive and expensive refits, they made a fraction of the active Starfleet. The bulk of our ships were older and in many cases no amount of refits could bring them on par with what the Romulans and Klingons fielded, when anyone bothered to keep their tactical systems up to date that is. Given the spirit of peace, cooperation and the great focus on exploration and science, an increasing number of refits concentrated on decent shields, better sensors and science labs at the expense of weaponry.

If I'm to be fair, even most of those old buckets were a rough match for many of the classes the Cardassians fielded during our brief war with them, they could take on the older Klingon ships still in service too. What the bulk of the fleet was incapable of was facing an actual peer opponent and that was precisely what the Dominion was...

Adm. John Sinclair, retired

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Login: Central Actual
Password: Thunderchild
Codeword: Delta Blue
Classification: Level Black
Pending scan results...
Identity confirmed...
Logging you in Commander...

Accessing Secured Imperial Archive Database...
Password required...

Password Accepted...
Access Granted...
Searching…

File found… Beginning Playback...

Voice 1: I warned you.

Voice 2: You weren't alone. The politicians didn't listen.

Voice 3: They didn't want to listen.

Voice 2: It's been too long since the Federation's citizenry felt really under threat. As far as the average citizens are concerned, Starfleet managed to beat any threat, even the Borg.

Voice 1: We became victims of our own propaganda. Of a lot of other things too. I did my homework.

Voice 3: I have to agree. However, that's not why we are here. Besides, we already had that conversation.

Voice 1: It's not like I had anything else to do.

Voice 2: Let's cut to the chase.

Voice 3: We need your particular skills and what you represent.

Voice 1: I'll do whatever it takes to protect the Federation and stop the Dominion.

Voice 2: We are counting on it.

Playback over... Data corrupted...

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Captain's Ready room
USS Enterprise, Starfleet's Flagship
En route to Second fleet's staging area

Location Classified

Jean-Luc Picard took a sip from a steaming mug filled with Earl Grey tea. He took a moment to enjoy it before silently cursing the madness that had enveloped the galaxy as a whole. Even now, months after the hostilities began, despite all battles the Enterprise engaged in, it was still hard to believe it came to this!

War! This was nothing else but a senseless conflict, which was trying its best to tear down the civilization carefully build by the Federation. The future should have been bright and peaceful! Starfleet should be engaged in exploration and meeting new species, discovering and befriending new civilization! This era should have seen the triumph of diplomacy! The worst Starfleet should be dealing with should have been helping people when a natural disaster struck or an accident happened!

Not this!

Picard glared at the data-pad in his hands. It showed an endless list of shattered ship and broken people. Many of them were his friends, people with whom he had been in the academy, colleagues he had served with on various ships. Too many were dead. Even more were left scarred by this insanity.

"Do you see it now, Mon Capitan?" asked an often hated voice.

"Q!" Picard snapped. Doing so was just another proof how frayed his nerves were because of the war. Even if this was Q who likely came to gloat and needle him, it wasn't a justification for acting like a barbarian!

Whatever that infernal being wanted, it wasn't good for either Jean-Luc or his crew. They were all on edge after all they have been through so far and Q's brand of madness begged for someone to snap and do something they would all regret!

The captain looked up from the data pad to see the painfully familiar sight of Q sitting on the other side of his desk. The omnipotent being wore the crimson uniform of a Starfleet admiral, though it was an old fashioned one. It was something straight up from the time when the Khitomer Accords were signed.

"Me?! Where?" Q exclaimed and looked around in a mock surprise.

"Q, I don't have time for your antics!" Picard rubbed his temples. He could already feel a headache forming.

"You don't know the half of it, Mon Capitan!" A vicious smile appeared on the uninvited visitor's face, that was so unlike him that it startled Picard. "How does it feel, Jean-Luc, to stand at the dawn of a new era?"

Picard narrowed his eyes. He had a bad feeling about this. Despite his seemingly nonchalant mannerism, this time there was something very odd about Q. His eyes shone with unrestrained glee. The way Q spoke, his tone was like that of a kid who couldn't wait to share a big secret.

It all made Picard feel uneasy.

"Oh, you haven't heard yet?" Q looked surprised. He glanced at his left wrist, where now stood an old fashioned watch that wasn't there a moment ago. "Ah, my bad, old friend. It's happening just as we speak! Let's go see history in the making!" with those words, Q snapped his fingers and they disappeared in a flash of light.

To Picard surprise, they appeared in the void of space. However, before the captain could react his attention was grabbed by what was in front of them and their location was suddenly forgotten. They were giants overlooking a vast light-show. It took Jean-Luc a moment before the Starfleet officer comprehended what he was seeing.

It was a great space battle between the Federation, their Klingon Allies and the Dominion along with the mislead Cardassians.

"Q, what is the meaning of this?" Picard snapped. Distantly he felt a bit of wonder that he could simply float in open space without protection yet feel as if they were still back on the Enterprise. Jean-Luc soon dismissed that train of thought. Q. That was an answer enough. The important question was why they were here?

The inquiry was ignored. Instead, Q pointed a giant finger at a particular spot of the melee. "There! Watch closely or you might miss it. Here history unfolds!" Q declared grandly.

Picard frowned, though he looked more closely at the battle. Whole squadrons of Starfleet capital ships, wings of fighters and smaller detachments of Klingon ships threw themselves into a breach within the enemy lines. For a moment it looked like they would succeed into splitting the Dominion force into two... until Picard's experienced eyes noticed the folly of that particular attack.

The Starfleet vessels and their allies were flying straight into a lethal crossfire. The enemy was attempting to surround them by using their significant numerical advantage. Jean-Luc looked more carefully at what Q was pointing at and noticed that a Defiant Escort led the charge, flanked by two Klingon Birds of prey.

Two wings of Dominion fighters pounced on those ships, cutting the Klingon light crafts to pieces within seconds. The Federation Escort valiantly evaded the brunt of the enemy fire for few moments, a testament for her helmsman's incredible skill and luck.

It didn't last. It couldn't. Lances of pure energy strafed over the struggling shields of the Defiant. Soon, incoming fire hammered the defenses one too many times. The shields folded allowing two purple beams to hit the Starfleet vessel mid-ship. The energy lances carved deep lines into the hull and the Escort listed, suddenly slowing down. Only its ablative armour allowed it to survive those hits.

That proved to be it's undoing anyway.

Either by design or accident, one of the pursuing fighters flew straight at the crippled ship. It plowed into it at a steep angle and both vessels shattered before the pieces were immolated by the flames of breached warp-cores.

The view of the battle zoomed out. It revealed that all Federation ships that entered the breach were either destroyed or trapped. The enemy proceeded to tear them apart one after another. Meanwhile, the remaining Alliance forces, now outnumbered more than ever, were acting without direction.

"What is this?" Picard asked. As he watched, chill ran up his spine. There was a hint of dread in his voice too. The Captain suspected that he knew very well what he just saw, and the consequences didn't bear thinking about.

"It's the end of the Line, Jean-Luc. The dawn of a new era. The Federation as a whole and Humanity in particular had been slumbering for too long. It's time to awake from your comfortable dreams." Q smirked. "The Federation as it is today, just lost the war. This is a defeat from which you can't recover while you maintain your high and mighty ideals. This time, there won't be a divine intervention. No Q or those unruly kids, the Prophets saving the day. Welcome to the future, Mon Captain." Q's expression and voice softened. "You know, I do like you, Humans. Again and again, I showed you a glimpse of the storms coming your way, gave you an opportunity to prepare and you squandered them all. Good bye, Jean-Luc and good luck, you all are going to need it."

Q snapped his fingers and Picard was back in his ready room, alone. He stood there, stunned for a moment before shacking his head and tapping his comm badge.

"Number One..."

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Bridge

USS Millennium, Akira class cruiser

"Alex, find out who is in charge of the fleet!" Commander Sinclair hissed through clenched teeth. Every movement, every whisper made the edges of his broken ribs grate at each other, sending stabs of fiery agony in his left side.

He forced himself to disregard the pain and focus on the job at hand. His friend and commanding officer, Captain Shran laid in a crumpled heap near his chair. The last salvos of dominion fire to hit their ship had caused their dampeners to fluctuate for an instant, tossing the bridge crew around. It was a stroke of fortune that they didn't fail or fluctuate more, because otherwise there wouldn't be anyone left alive on board. As it was, they fared bad enough. The Andorian Skipper had the misfortune of landing even worse than John, breaking his neck. That left Sinclair in charge of Millennium and her remaining crew.

"It's a mess, Commander! All flag ships are either destroyed or out of action. No one has taken command since we lost contact with the Defiant." Lieutenant Alexis Felix was trying to keep her voice calm but he could hear her desperation.

"Bloody hell..." John cursed. Sinclair grunted in pain as he grabbed the side of the Captain's chair and made his way onto it. He stared at the forward screen showing him the mess in which the remains of the Federation fleet and their allies found themselves in. The Dominion lines were folding in. They were surrounding and concentrating their fire into the tattered remains of the ships, which tried to fight their way to DS9. He didn't need to be a tactical genius to figure out what was about to happen. More than half the fleet would be gone in a few minutes. The rest of the Alliance fleet was in light contact with the enemy's forward elements, which were numerous enough to hold them down, while the bulk of the Dominion fleet was mopping up everyone who charged after the Defiant.

Of course, those forward Dominion elements were nothing to sneer at either. Not now, when the fleet was leaderless. The enemy ships weren't content to just play defense and wait until the main fleet action was resolved behind them. On the contrary, they were forming the bulk of their numbers for an all out attack, while wings of fighters and lighter ships screened them.

John closed his eyes for a moment, trying to clear his mind. Unless someone did something, soon, the fleet was doomed. He shook his head. He was just a Commander and a lot of captains were still alive, yet no one seemed to be doing anything constructive. Perhaps they are shocked, he thought. Just as he was. Until moments ago he too believed that they would succeed despite the odds. The Federation had always managed to pull off something stunning at the most desperate of times. It was their thing – they excelled in snatching victories from the jaws of defeat!

Sinclair opened his eyes and starred at the screen. More ships were dying while he was wondering what to do. It was as if everyone in the fleet was waiting for a miracle to happen and save the day. He grimaced. Was that it? If he was honest with himself, John knew that Operation Return was a long shot. An act of desperation that was crumbling around him, killing a whole fleet.

"Alex, open a channel to every Alliance ship still fighting." He grit his teeth and straightened up, doing his best to present a confident facade. A moment later, he got a thumb's up from the LT. "This is Commander John Sinclair, Acting Captain of the Millennium. I'm taking command of the fleet. All units, reform around the surviving Sovereign divisions then assume formation Beta Seven. Then wait for further orders." He glared at the tactical plot. "Alex patch me through to the most senior Klingon that's still alive."

"I'm on it."

"Engineering, what's our status?"

"Shields are down to twenty percent – we might be able to bump them up to forty if we have half an hour to replace critical emitters and left the other cool off and repair as many of them as we can. A third of our phaser grid is gone and we have breaches on multiple decks." Came the terse reply from Lieutenant Commander Cole Tirol, the Chief Engineer.

"Damn. Engines and warp?" Sinclair dreaded the answer.

"Online. For now. That all? I'm a bit busy over here."

"Carry on."

So they could run, which they should be doing as soon as the fleet manages to disengage… or die.

"Spirit of Hope and Vigilant are acknowledging." Lieutenant Felix informed him. "What's left of our squadron as well."

"That's something." A surge of relief and hope washed over Sinclair.

"This is Worf! I've taken command of the Klingon forces in this theater," a familiar face appeared on the main view screen.

The former Starfleet officer looked much worse to wear. There was blood slowly leaking down his ridges from a nasty looking head wound, making him look like a monster straight from an ancient Earth myth.

"Worf, we need to get out as much of the fleet as we can." John started. He needed a way to convince the Klingons to die gloriously another day. "I..."

"I know." Worf interrupted him. "This is the last offensive force that the Empire has left." he announced with a haunted voice. Only now Sinclair remembered hearing earlier that Worf had done it without authorization. A victory could wash off such as sin in the Klingon Empire, sometimes even in the Federation. A disaster like this however? He didn't want to be in Worf's boots if he survived this hell.

"We've got a few minutes before their main forces are free to come after us." Sinclair took a deep breath. What he was going to do, what he needed to do, went against everything he had been taught as a Starfleet officer. Yet, it was the only way to salvage something from this disaster.

"Less. Their vanguard will hit us long before the rest of the Dominion fleet regroups." Worf grunted.

"I know." the Commander glanced at Alex, who gave him a thumbs a sad nod. She had a good head on her shoulders and at the least suspected what he was about to do. John hoped that he didn't misinterpret her gesture and most of the Alliance fleet will follow his orders too. No mater how... distasteful they were. Yeah, let's go with that word. Its sounds better than cowardice.

"Alex, give me a status of the fleet. I want to know how many ships can't maintain maximum warp. Same goes to your forces, Worf."

The Klingon's eyes widened then blazed with furry for a moment, before his discipline won the day, showing that he was head and shoulders above most of his people. "I see. You'll get the data ASAP."

"We've got thirty ships of all classes, which have suffered engine damage." Alex was her usual, efficient self.

"Not enough. What's your status, Worf?"

"About a third of our remaining ships won't be able to get away."

"That might just be enough. Alex, give me a fleet wide channel, both to Starfleet and the Klingons."

"You are on, sir."

Sinclair paused for a moment. He sucked at making speeches, damn it.

"Men and women of the Alliance, I won't sugarcoat it. We gambled on our courage and determination to carry the day against impossible odds." He took a deep breath. Something clenched in his side and he hacked off a glob of blood. "We failed. Now our duty is to preserve as many of our ships and crews as possible, so we can face the Dominion another day, at a time and place where we can stop them cold!" He paused, gathering his thoughts. "Right now, the Dominion commanders believe that they have won not only this battle, but the war itself. If we let our fleet perish here, they might very well be right. That's why I'm asking you for one more sacrifice. The Millennium will lead all our damaged ships in a counterattack, buying time for the fleet to disengage and regroup with friendly forces."

Sinclair looked at the tactical display. They were running out of time.

"All ships able to go to warp, disengage by divisions and go. The rest of the fleet will advance. Helm, pull us next to that listing Sovereign."

"The Hood? I'm on it, skipper."