Convicted

Author: Transwarp

Rating: PG-13

Genre: Action/Drama

Disclaimer: Paramount owns Star Trek names, and related intellectual property.

Summary: The Romulan War enters its fourth year. T'Pol is tried in an Andorian court and sentenced to prison while Trip assumes command of Chosin. Fourth in a series (order of stories: 'Commissioning', 'Liaison', 'Command', then 'Convicted').

Note: It's been a long time since my last update, and my apologies for that. I also thank you all for sticking with me on this journey. I'll try to be better going forward, especially now that I'm seeing light at the end of the tunnel!

TWELVE

Imperial Sixth District Prison for Women, 12 April 2159

T'Pol stepped through the prison's outer door and onto Andoria's surface for the first time since her arrival four days ago. Just as they were then, her wrists were shackled to a belt around her waist. The shackles were standard procedure for all convicts entering or leaving the prison, but T'Pol did not let them detract from the moment. She paused just outside the door and savored it. All of it. The gas giant Andor was low in the eastern sky, its vivid colors muted by the light of mid-day, while a breeze coming off the distant peaks ruffled her hair. The breeze smelled of clean snow and crystal streams, a stark contrast to the dank, musty odor inside the prison.

"Your world is very beautiful," T'Pol said to Vaneth, the overseer who escorted her on this jaunt to the surface.

"Yes, it is," Vaneth agreed, "but I'm a surprised that a Vulcan would think so."

"Is that because you think Vulcans would not appreciate the beauty of this world in particular, or that Vulcans do not appreciate beauty at all?"

Vaneth had to consider her answer. "I didn't think Vulcans appreciated beauty at all," she admitted. "It just doesn't seem... very logical."

"That is a common misconception, but entirely untrue. Vulcans have a strong sense of beauty, although our aesthetic can be markedly different from yours."

"In this case, we seem to share the same aesthetic," Vaneth stated, taking in the surrounding landscape.

"Indeed."

"Come, sit here," Vaneth directed, taking T'Pol by the arm and leading her to a low wall that ran along the perimeter of the shuttle pad. The wall was just high enough that T'Pol could not gracefully seat herself with her arms restrained. She resorted to a backward hop onto the wall, then wriggled herself into a more comfortable position.

Vaneth—with greater ease—took a seat next to her. "Is it true what Thera says about you?" she asked, casting a curious gaze at T'Pol. "About your accomplishments in the war?"

"Some of her details are wrong, but she is correct in the main. However, the credit is not mine, but belongs to my ship and crew."

"I think you're being modest," Vaneth said. "You've clearly earned the respect of the humans—remember, I was in the room when they promoted you to Captain—and the respect of some Andorians, or you never would have been adopted into Clan Gharal. Also, I've seen your accomplishments since arriving here. You stood up to Anasha and her gang of cronies, and you stood up to the Head Overseer when he tried to break you. Despite their best efforts, you made them all look foolish. In my experience, what you've done is unprecedented. I have no difficulty believing that a ship under your command would inflict great damage on the Romulans."

T'Pol had no response for that. She closed her eyes and absorbed her surroundings while the pair sat in silence.

Vaneth continued to watch her, struck by her air of calm serenity. After several minutes, she spoke again. "I'm curious about the wager you made with Faran. I can understand why you'd want vegetarian meals, but why did you ask for these trips outside?"

T'Pol opened her eyes and looked at Vaneth. "Have you ever been to Vulcan?"

"No."

"The deserts where my people live are harsh and untamed, even today. The air is thinner than here, and much drier, which allows the horizon to be viewed with great clarity. From a mountain peak it's as if you can see forever. Vulcans evolved in that environment. We are accustomed to the open spaces of the desert, and do not like being underground. We do not like cold or damp. In fact, it would be difficult for a Vulcan to imagine a worse place to be confined than this prison. I appreciate the opportunity to get outside, if only for a little while, and I am gratified that Faran chose to honor his debt."

"I think I understand," Vaneth said, "but it's different for Andorians. For us, being underground means life and security. As for Faran honoring his debt, he had no choice. If he hadn't, he would have lost the respect and support of all the overseers."

T'Pol's eye caught a glint of light in the distance, and she focused her attention in that direction. "A shuttle is approaching," she said. "I believe it is human."

"Ah, your daily embassy briefing," Vaneth said. "They're here a bit early."

They watched as the shuttle approached and made a quick circuit around the field before coming to rest on the shuttle pad. The side door slid open and discharged two passengers. The first, Sergeant Bonnie Doyle, T'Pol knew quite well. She had been a part of the daily embassy visits from the start.

The second she knew by reputation only, and he was the first to address T'Pol as the two newcomers approached. "Peace and long life, Captain T'Pol," he said in Vulcan, raising his hand in the split-fingered Vulcan ta'al.

"Live long and prosper, Ambassador Skovas," T'Pol replied. She was unable to reciprocate the ta'al with her arms restrained, but Skovas seemed to take no notice.

But Bonnie did. "Good afternoon, Captain. We weren't expecting to see you out here. Is everything okay?" She glanced over at Vaneth, and was reassured by the Andorian overseer's impartial expression.

"Good afternoon, Sergeant Doyle," T'Pol replied. "Everything is fine. I have managed to arrange periodic trips outside for a little fresh air and unfiltered daylight." She turned back to Skovas. "I was not expecting a visit from Vulcan's Ambassador to Andoria. I am honored, sir, but I am also somewhat... perplexed."

"There is no need for perplexity," Skovas replied, this time in English. "I assure you that my purpose is strictly logical. I am here for two reasons. First, to meet the remarkable Captain T'Pol that I've heard so much about, and second, to meet the Warden of Sixth District Prison and remind him that his Vulcan prisoner enjoys the full backing and support of Vulcan's government. I was planning on meeting with the Warden first, but since you are here I can adjust my schedule."

Even though she didn't understand a word he was saying, Vaneth waited for the Ambassador to finish talking before taking T'Pol by the arm. "I'm sorry, T'Pol. I can't have you out here with a human shuttlecraft idling on the pad. Not that I think you'll attempt to escape; it's just protocol."

"I understand," T'Pol said, also in Andorian. She knew that Faran would leap at any excuse to curtail her visits to the surface. Also, she did not wish to be the cause of any problems for Vaneth. "Ambassador Skovas, Sergeant Doyle," she said, switching back to English, "we must take our discussion inside. Please follow me."

She turned and let Vanath lead her back into the prison. When the door clanged shut behind her, the sound lacked the ominous finality it had the first time she passed through it.

#####

T'Pol and Bonnie were left in the prison's visitation room while Vaneth took Ambassador Skovas to his meeting with the Warden. Bonnie took advantage of that time to give T'Pol her daily embassy briefing, and had barely finished when Skovas returned.

"Warden Sheleth is now fully apprised of Vulcan's position regarding your status, Captain," Skovas announced as he swept into the room. "Now we can get to my primary reason for coming."

"Which is to meet the 'remarkable' Captain T'Pol?" T'Pol asked in dry tone.

"Yes, precisely that," Skovas said, ignoring or perhaps unaware of the humor in her words. "I've spoken with Minister T'Pau about you. She said she spoke with you at the war's beginning. Apparently, she tried to convince you to resign from Starfleet and return to Vulcan, but she now realizes that would have been a mistake. Not only were you instrumental in convincing the High Council to authorize the use of Vulcan's military against Romulus, but your performance as captain of a Starfleet warship far exceeded anyone's expectations. And now, this..." Skovas gestured at the surrounding room.

T'Pol raised an eyebrow. "This?"

"This. Your willingness to face Andorian justice to preserve the Coalition. When Romulus is finally defeated, it will be due in large part to your actions."

"I only did what was necessary. And logical."

Bonnie listened, mildly surprised that the two Vulcans conversed in English. "Ambassador, if you need to talk to Captain T'Pol privately, I can wait outside," she suggested.

"I'd like you to stay," Skovas replied. "I'm interested in the Human perspective on Captain T'Pol." He turned back to T'Pol, "Are you familiar with Project Vulcan?"

"No."

"Starfleet was very impressed by your performance as Captain of Chosin, and they attempted to replicate it. They had a shortage of Human officers qualified to command warships, while Vulcan had a shortage of warships for all our qualified officers. Project Vulcan was a plan to have Vulcan officers command Human ships. It was initially trialed on five Starfleet vessels."

"I have not heard of this project."

"That's because it failed. Three of the five Vulcan captains asked to be reassigned within months of assuming command, and the other two were relieved of command by Starfleet just as quickly. Project Vulcan was discontinued shortly thereafter."

"That does not surprise me," T'Pol said. "In fact, that is precisely what I would have predicted."

"Yet you succeeded where five highly qualified and experienced Vulcan captains failed. Why is that?"

"Ambassador, command experience is only one of the requirements needed to successfully captain a Human ship. The other is experience dealing with Humans. At the time I assumed command of Chosin, I had been living among Humans for ten years, I had been First Officer on Enterprise for five years, and I had been bonded with my Human husband for two years. I doubt that any Vulcan Captain would have been successful without a similar understanding and appreciation of Humans and their ways."

"The record supports your claim; however I'm not convinced that is the totality of it. Sergeant Doyle, do you concur with Captain T'Pol's assessment that command experience and familiarity with Humans are the sources of her success?"

The question took Bonnie completely by surprise, and she hesitated a long moment before answering. "I, uh... Sir, I'm not sure I'm qualified to answer that. I've only known Captain T'Pol since the trial, so anything I say is just opinion."

"That would suffice."

"Okaaay... so, based on what I've heard about Captain T'Pol, and what I've seen of her first-hand, I think she earned the loyalty of her crew by first giving them her loyalty. By that, I mean she made clear to them that her full allegiance was to Starfleet and not to her native Vulcan. For Humans, loyalty is a big deal."

"Big deal?"

"Uh, that means very important."

"I see," Skovas said. "Captain, is there merit to Sergeant Doyle's words?"

"There is. Humans do value loyalty, but so do most—maybe all—sentient species."

Ambassador Skovas considered that before responding. "Do you believe that the Vulcan officers in Project Vulcan were not as loyal to their Human crews as T'Pol was to hers?" he asked Bonnie.

"I know they weren't," Bonnie stated. "You just said yourself that Minister T'Pau tried to get Captain T'Pol to return to Vulcan and she refused. What would the other Vulcan captains have done if Minister T'Pau had asked the same of them?"

"I believe they would have returned to Vulcan," Skovas said, impressed by the simple logic of Sergeant Doyle's observation.

"Right," Bonnie said, smiling. "They would have returned to Vulcan. But not Captain T'Pol. She said 'hell no' because her allegiance was to Starfleet. Her crew would do anything for her because they knew she would do anything for them, up to and including going to prison for a crime she didn't commit in order to keep the Coalition from falling apart. If you ask me, that kind of loyalty is rare in any species."

"I find I must concur," Skovas said, gazing steadily at T'Pol.

Skovas was a high-ranking diplomat with decades of experience, a background which made him harder to read than average Vulcans (who start out in the hard-to-read category). Despite this, T'Pol had the distinct impression that Skovas held her in high esteem. It was an attitude she was finding more often in her fellow Vulcans since the war's beginning, and while it was a vast improvement over the reproach and ostracism she'd experienced before the war, she still felt the need to set the record straight: "Sergeant Doyle is almost correct; she just has the sequence reversed. Humans did not give me their loyalty because I was loyal to them; rather they earned my loyalty by first giving me theirs." Even though I had done nothing at the time to deserve it.

Judging strictly from their expressions, T'Pol's admission seemed to have little impact on their opinions of her.

#####

Chosin, with Task Force 2.1 in pursuit of retreating Romulan fleet, 13 April 2159

"Captain, I'm picking up something on sensors. Could be rommies. Range is twenty-one light days."

"Bearing?" Trip asked. His voice was calm, but the way he leaned forward in the command chair revealed the underlying tension that the sensor operator's words had invoked. Any group of ships detectable over that distance would have to be large. A fleet-sized group, at the very least.

"Bearing dead ahead, zero by zero."

"Comm, new orders for the task force," Trip directed. "Prepare to drop from warp, engines all stop. On my command." Shouldn't be any rommies this close, he mused. Their main fleet should be a good half-day ahead of us.

The crewman at the communications console opened a channel and murmured into his headset mike, then looked up at Trip. "Orders sent and confirmed, Captain."

Trip nodded. "Execute."

"Engines all stop," helm said. The background drone of Chosin's warp drive faded to silence, and the warp trails in the forward view screen contracted to fixed points of starlight.

Trip rose from the command chair and made his way to the sensor console, peering over the operator's shoulder at the information on display. The data originated from the Vulcan cruiser T'Kuht, which did not surprise Trip, given the superior sensitivity of Vulcan sensor suites. It showed the entire Romulan fleet proceeding along the expected course at the expected speed. What was unexpected was the fleet's position, thirty-two light days from where it should have been.

Minutes passed while Task Force 2.1 idled in interstellar space, passive sensors on every ship straining to piece together a coherent picture of the distant Romulan fleet. As new sensor data arrived, it revealed a smaller group of ships, twenty in number, straggling behind the main fleet. The stragglers were moving at warp three and showing signs of malfunctioning warp drives.

While Trip silently studied the sensor data, Chief Verley strode onto the bridge, giving his Captain a quizzical look. "Problem, sir? We've dropped from warp."

Trip never looked up from the sensor display. "Not sure, Chief. Probably just some more rommie ships with engine trouble. Shouldn't be a surprise, not after the butt-walloping we handed them at Rho Virg, but..."

"But..?"

"But something doesn't smell right."

Verley scanned the data himself and grunted. "Trust your gut, Captain."

Trip nodded. "Comm, notify all Task Force captains: Tactical briefing in thirty minutes. Set up a virtual link."

"Aye, sir."

Trip headed for the door. "C'mon Chief, I'm going below for coffee. Lieutenant Walder, you have the deck."

"I have the deck," she confirmed as Trip left the bridge.

#####

Trip took a seat at his customary table on the mess deck while Verley sat across from him. Moments later, PO3 McCourtney approached the table bearing two steaming mugs of coffee.

"Here you go, Captain," McCourtney said, placing a mug in front of each man, "just the way you like it."

"Thanks, Rick," Trip said. He took a generous sip from the mug, and set it back down with a sigh. "Being captain of a frigate in wartime is a bitch of a job, but at least I don't have to get my own coffee."

Verley chuckled. "It's good to be king."

I'd rather be Chief Engineer, Trip thought, but he smiled along with Verley.

Trip's smile didn't fool Verley, and he quickly changed the subject. "What about those rommie ships?" Verley asked.

"They're probably exactly what they seem," Trip replied, "but I still think a consultation with my tactical expert is in order."

Verley knew that he meant T'Pol. "Give Khartlan my best," he said, then settled back to wait.

Trip nodded, took another sip of coffee, and reached across the bond. *T'Pol...*

*Yes, Trip.*

*Are you busy?*

*I am currently engaged in the important work of carrying large rocks from one side of a cavern to the other. I am also telling the story of Ali Baba from 'One Thousand and One Arabian Nights' to the other prisoners.*

*Can you take a break? I need your advice.*

*Certainly, my love.*

*We've detected the rommie fleet about half a day short of where they should be. We've also detected a smaller group of twenty rommie ships moving at warp three. They appear to be stragglers from the main fleet, experiencing engine problems.*

T'Pol was silent for a long moment, and Trip could sense her unease. *The Romulan fleet's course and speed are unchanged?* she asked.

*Yes. Still on a heading for Terix, running at warp four.*

*Then it would appear the Romulan fleet stopped along this route for approximately twelve hours. The question is why.*

*They may have been trying to fix the engines on those twenty ships.*

*Perhaps,* T'Pol said, *but I am doubtful. Those twenty ships are the key. Can you tell me more about them?*

*Sure. There are three charlie class warbirds, two deltas, five foxtrots, and ten of those new strike cruisers.*

T'Pol's unease grew stronger. *Trip, does anything about the composition of those ships strike you as unusual?*

Trip frowned. *Yeah. Those are some of rommie's fastest ships. It's like their fleet is a pack of dogs, but only the greyhounds went lame. What are the odds of that?*

*Given equal probability of engine damage across all ships, the odds are approximately... ten to the negative eight.*

That's one in a hundred million, Trip thought, *definitely not pure chance.* Trip's level of unease now matched T'Pol's.

*Trip, what is the range to those twenty ships?*

*Just under sixty light hours.*

*If my supposition is correct, and those ships are not damaged, the slowest of them is capable of warp 6.6. At this range they could overtake your task force in fifty minutes.*

*And then we'd kick their butts,* Trip pointed out. *We're carrying full combat loads of torpedoes, while they've not been reprovisioned since expending most of their ordnance at Rho Virg.*

T'Pol hesitated before responding. *Unless... unless the purpose of the Romulan fleet's twelve hour stop was to redistribute any remaining torpedoes to those twenty ships.*

She had no sooner said it than Trip knew, with absolute certainty, that she was right. Shit!

He passed T'Pol's suspicions on to Verley, who nodded his agreement. "Khartlan's nailed it," Verley said. "That's exactly what rommie is up to. And the only ships in our task force that could outrun them if they attacked are Vulcan. And Chosin. The question is, what do we do about it?"

"We fight," Trip answered. Even though I don't see how we'd stand a tinker's chance in hell...

"Aye, sir," Verley said. If he had any doubts of his own, he did not reveal them.

#####

Trip read the message from Fleet HQ in disbelief. He had been on his way to the bridge for his tactical briefing with his task force commanders when the message arrived, and he was viewing it directly from the communications console display. His First Officer, Commander Graham, stood behind him and waited patiently for guidance.

"Mitch." Trip said, gesturing at the display. He stepped back, giving Commander Graham room to lean in. It was a short message which Graham didn't take long to read:

To: Commander TF 2.1
From: Commander 2nd Fleet
DTG: 13 1432Z APR 59
TF 2.1 ordered to return to Rho Virginis at best speed. In the event of Romulan attack, slower ships in TF 2.1 unable to retreat will engage. Faster ships are directed not to risk damage or destruction by attempting to assist slower ships. Acknowledge immediately on receipt.

Graham looked up, tight lipped. "They're ordering us to abandon half the task force!"

"We'll see about that," Trip said. He addressed the bridge crew, "Comm, postpone the tactical brief. Tell them to stand by and then set up a link to Second Fleet. I need to talk to Admiral Chu directly. I'll take it in my office. Mitch, join me." He stalked from the bridge, with Graham at his heels.

The call to Second Fleet went through just moments after Trip settled into his desk chair, and he was surprised to see Admiral Chu's image on the display. Normally I'd have to go through two layers of staff officers to reach the Admiral.

"Captain Tucker, I've been expecting your call," Chu said without preamble.

"I'm sure you have, Admiral. You just ordered me to turn tail and run, leaving five of my ships and three hundred of my comrades to fight twenty rommie warbirds on their own. That's Yorktown, Verdun, Chickamauga, Galloway, and Armstrong, to put names to them."

Chu nodded, and Trip was struck by how tired he looked. No, not tired. Weary. "Yes, I know," Chu said, "but answer this question for me: If I let all fourteen ships in your task force fight those twenty Romulans, how many would survive? Honestly?"

Trip gritted his teeth. "Honestly? Probably none of us, sir."

"I'm sorry, Trip. I need Chosin, and I need those eight Vulcan cruisers. I can't afford to throw them away fighting a lost cause. So unless you can pull one of those Chosin dirty tricks out of your ass, my orders stand."

Trip's reply died on his lips as a Chu's words sank in. Dirty tricks..?

"Captain?" Chu prompted, as the silence dragged on.

"Admiral, there may be a way to save the task force AND give rommie another ass-whooping."

Chu lifted his eyebrows. "I'm listening..."

#####

Moose stepped off the ladder outside of the launch bay just as Petty Officer Hodges rushed by. He carried a PADD and had a torpedo data cable draped around his neck, but what struck her most was the intent expression on his face. "Glen," she called, before he could disappear around a corner.

He paused and looked back. "Hey, Moose. Didn't mean to ignore you, but Captain's got me on an urgent mission."

"I can see that. What's going on?"

"Were you at the last meeting of the Board of Dirty Tricks?"

"Yeah. So?"

"So, you remember Lieutenant Koussa's idea about cascading torpedo fire?"

Moose did remember. The concept was actually quite simple: launch a sequence of torpedoes at two second intervals, all at the same rommie target. The torpedoes would be progressively detonated in a sort of rolling barrage, each detonation closer to the target than the last. The detonations would momentarily disrupt rommie sensors, blinding their point defenses and prevent effective targeting of the following torpedoes. The last torpedo in the sequence would strike the target. In theory, a cascade of ten torpedoes could be as effective as a salvo of twenty or thirty torpedoes. Moose also remembered that the concept had been shelved.

"I remember," she said. "Everyone thought it was brilliant until we realized how easy it would be for the rommies to use it against us."

"Yeah, except Fleet just told the Captain they're working on a surprise for rommie that will also protect us from torpedo cascades, so now we can use them. Captain's got me reprogramming the torpedoes and fire control systems.

"Ooh, Fleet has a surprise for the rommies? What is it?"

Hodges shrugged. "They wouldn't tell us. Hush-hush, need-to-know, and all that. Listen, I gotta run, Captain wants this done asap."

Moose watched as he darted away. Wait'll Dat hears this, she thought. Then she realized that he probably already knew, given that he worked in Ops and stood watches on the bridge. Good! Maybe I can coax the whole story from him. She smiled in anticipation. Coaxing information from Dat was always fun.

#####

Finding Dat proved to be harder than usual, as he wasn't in any of his normal haunts. Moose finally located him—on a tip from a crewman—in the forward torpedo room, squatting next to the starboard torpedo autoloader while busily tapping on a PADD.

She announced her presence with an affectionate pat on his back. "There you are! Quite a ways from your usual stomping grounds; what's going on?"

Dat didn't look up from his furious tapping. "I was drafted to help Hodges modify the targeting routines in his torpedoes. He's updating them remotely, but wants manual verification that the changes were accepted."

"Oh, right. To implement torpedo cascades."

Dat looked up at that, mildly surprised. "You know about that? Word sure does travel fast. Captain Tucker only announced it a few minutes ago at his tactical brief with the task force commanders."

Moose made no effort to keep the smug look off her face. "I have my sources," she proclaimed. Then, more seriously, "but I wasn't at the briefing. What's going on?"

"Plenty," Dat said. "There are twenty rommie warbirds about sixty light hours from here. They're all fast ships; charlies, deltas, foxtrots, and ten strike cruisers. They're less than an hour away, and we're pretty sure they're carrying full combat loads of torpedoes."

"That explains why we dropped from warp," Moose said, in a quiet voice. She didn't have Dat's tactical expertise, but she was pretty sure twenty fully-provisioned warships was a bad match for Task Force 2.1's fourteen ships. Especially when half were the new rommie strike cruisers, which the Coalition had seen for the first time at Rho Virg, and which had proven to pack quite a punch.

"Yeah," Dat confirmed. "We could be up to our asses—" he was interrupted by a beep from the comm panel by the door, "—in rommies anytime now."

Dat strode to the door and stabbed the talk button. "Trinh here."

Glen Hodges' voice came across the speaker. "Dat, I'm done updating the port magazine. How're you looking?"

"I'm still checking the starboard side," Dat replied. "Give me a minute or two."

"Great. That'll be the last of them, then you can get back to drinking coffee and scratching your butt, or whatever it is you helmsmen do with all that free time you have."

Dat snorted. "I'd be a lot more sympathetic with how terribly overworked you are if I wasn't down here in the torpedo room doing YOUR job."

"And a fine job you're doing. Really. I appreciate your help, but there's a lot more I need to do to before rommie gets here." The comm light blinked off as Hodges disconnected.

Dat turned back to Moose, smiling. "Sorry about that. I'm sure you didn't track me down just to say hi. What's up?"

Moose was still processing what she'd just learned. "Looks like we're in for a fight," she said. "These, uh, these torpedo cascades... will they work? I mean, against that many rommies?"

Dat's smile faded, and he took Moose's hand into his own. "I don't know," he admitted. "We could completely kick their asses if this works like we think it will, or it could be a total disaster if we've miscalculated. And even if it does work, those rommie strike cruisers are bad news. They each have twelve torpedo launchers, almost twice what their older cruisers carry. We'll be looking at some pretty large swarms of torpedoes."

Dat's words brought a pang of anxiety to Moose, but she forced a smile. "Did anyone ever tell you that you don't do 'reassuring' very well?"

Dat gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "Just try not worry and trust the Captain to get us back in one piece."

She nodded and pulled him into a hug. "If we don't make it," she murmured, "I'm glad I got to know you. And if we do make it... you and I are going to have a talk. About us. About our future."

She kissed him, hard, and departed through the door.

Dat's heart raced as he watched her leave, and he marveled that Moose was able to affect him in ways that even an approaching Romulan force could not.

#####

Romulan Star Navy Headquarters, Romulus, 13 April 2159

Admiral Parnius straightened as Grand Marshall Vokalus entered the planning room. "Grand Marshal, we've received a report that the Coalition task force just dropped from warp. They are sixty light hours from our ambush force."

Vokalus crossed the room to the tactical display, and glanced at the situation. He had been asked to be notified immediately if anything changed regarding Chosin or the Coalition task force, but had not been expecting an update so soon. "They've seen our ships," he concluded, "and they don't believe they're having engine problems or they would have continued on by now."

Parnius agreed. "I concur. But if we attack now, we can overtake and destroy at least five of their ships. Chosin and the Vulcan cruisers are fast enough to escape."

Vokalus studied the display for several long moments. Logically, he knew Parnius was right. If he was the coalition Commander, he would certainly save his faster ships by withdrawing them. In fact, I'm doing that now. I've ordered my fleet to retreat at top speed, leaving a trail of damaged warships for the Coalition to destroy at their leisure.

But he couldn't forget that one of the ships in the Coalition task force was Chosin. That fact alone was enough to inspire an abundance of caution.

"I advise an immediate attack, Grand Marshall," Parnius stated, as the silence lengthened. "The longer we wait, the more time the Coalition has to plan or prepare."

Yes, Vokalus thought, there is nothing to gain by waiting. "Very well, Parnius. Send the order to attack at once."

#####

Chosin, with Task Force 2.1 in pursuit of retreating Romulan fleet, 13 April 2159

"Rommies are changing course, Captain. New heading is directly toward us. New speed, warp 6.6. ETA thirteen minutes."

Trip was not surprised. We already knew they were faking those engine problems. "Comm, new Task Force orders. All ships to warp six on course neg 130 by 21, on my command.

"Orders sent and confirmed, Captain."

"Execute."

Trip felt a slight shudder as the warp engines engaged and Chosin surged forward on a heading directly away from the approaching Romulans.

"New ETA fifty minutes," helm reported.

Less than an hour, Trip thought. "Comm, get a status from the task force on the torpedo modifications."

It took a minute for the update to come back, but Trip was not pleased by the results. Chosin had modified all of her torpedoes for cascading fire, thanks to the herculean efforts of Petty Officer Hodges and his torpedo techs. The other Starfleet vessels were still updating torpedoes, but expected to be completed in time. The eight Vulcan cruisers would have less than a quarter of their torpedoes modified by the time the rommies arrived.

Trip activated an internal comm circuit from the arm of his command chair. "Petty Officer Hodges, please contact the bridge."

Hodges responded moments later. "Hodges, aye." The chair's display showed he was in the aft torpedo room.

"Glen, this is Captain Tucker. The Vulcans seem to be a little slow in modifying their torpedoes. Is there anything we can do to help?"

There was a short pause before Hodges replied. "How much time do we have, Captain?"

"Forty-nine—no, forty-eight minutes."

"Sorry sir. There's nothing we can do in that time frame."

"Any particular reason it's taking so long?" Trip asked.

"Yes sir. Vulcan torpedoes have the detonation logic hardcoded in a circuit block that has to be manually replaced. They can't just flash a new routine into memory like we can on the mark 2's. A possible work-around is to fire the unmodified torpedoes in a cascade and command-detonate each one at the appropriate time. Of course, the first detonated torpedo would probably disrupt the command links to the others, so I'd advise against trying that."

"Understood," Trip said. "We'll make do with what we've got, then. Bridge out." He stood and began unstowing his EV suit. "Go to general quarters."

#####

Moose was in the laundry when the general quarters alarm sounded, and even though it was expected she still felt a surge of apprehension. She finished loading the washer—the familiar routine helping to restore her composure—and started a wash cycle. It should be done by the time we've beaten the snot out of those rommies, she thought, and smiled at the realization that she expected nothing less than full victory, in spite of facing ten of the Romulan Star Navy's fearsome new strike cruisers. Odds be damned, she thought, this is Chosin!

She made her way to her battle station in the launch bay, donning her EV suit with the ease of long practice, then jumping to help Delgado remove the cargo straps that secured the six-packs to the deck.

Chief Verley entered the bay as they finished loosing the last of the six-packs, his EV suit helmet under one arm. "Get the first two six-packs moved up," he directed. "We'll open the launch doors in five minutes."

Moose and Delgado took positions on either side of the first six-pack. "Release brakes," she said.

"Brake released," Delgado replied.

"Push," she said, and put her back into the six-pack. It rolled smoothly forward, and Moose watched for the line of tape on the deck that let her know the six-pack was in position. "Set," she said, and engaged the brake on her side. Across from her, the port-side pusher team had their first six-pack in position as well.

"Brake set," Delgado confirmed, followed almost immediately by, "Data cable set."

She took the tether and connected it to the detonator pin that would blow the latch and release the six torpedoes from the pallet when it reached the end of its four-meter length. "Tether set. Starboard six-pack ready to deploy." Seconds later, the port team announced the same.

Chief Verley's voice crackled in Moose's helmet. "Check your suits, everyone. Launch bay is depressurizing in 30 seconds."

Moose verified the integrity of her EVA suit and responded to Verley's roll call with a thumbs-up and verbal 'okay'.

The depressurization alarm started its annoying beep, closely followed by the whoosh of the evacuation pumps sucking the launch bay's atmosphere into the ship's storage tanks, a process that took about five minutes. The joints of her suit stiffened in response to the lowering pressure, but that had become a familiar sensation and Moose paid it no mind.

"Opening launch doors," said Verley, and Moose watched as the big doors slid open, revealing the blackness of interstellar space.

Now we wait, she thought.

#####

*Do not fidget, my love,* T'Pol sent.

*I don't fidget,* Trip shot back across their bond. *I have nerves of steel and ice water in my veins!*

*You are tapping your foot.*

Trip became aware of the toe of his left foot rhythmically tapping the side of his foot rest, and he willed it to stop. *Tapping is not fidgeting.*

*If you insist.*

Trip smiled. That's an argument I'll never win. He turned his attention back to the main view screen, where the approaching Romulan force was displayed with great clarity. There was no uncertainty in their ranges, speeds, or bearings since both sides had discarded passive measures and gone to full-powered active scans. There was also no doubt where the Romulans were heading: Directly at his Task Force.

*Have I missed anything?* he sent.

*We will not know until the fighting begins. You have devised the best possible plan, given what we know or suspect of Romulan capabilities and intentions.*

*Right,* he replied. *So that means I have the perfect plan for another*—he read a number from the corner of the view screen—*five and a half minutes.*

*Just so.*

The plan he had devised was not complex. Once the rommies were in range, the six Starfleet vessels would engage them with rolling cascades of modified mark 2 torpedoes, with the ten rommie strike cruisers being the highest-priority targets. The Task Force's eight Vulcan ships, with their superior fire control systems and fewer modified torpedoes, were given the task of targeting and destroying inbound rommie torpedoes (which Trip was certain they would see in large quantities).

The plan had been briefed to the Task Force captains and all had agreed it was sound, even the curmudgeonly Captain Wexler on Verdun. Now Trip could only wait for the rommies to react, and adjust his plan accordingly.

#####

Moose watched as the six-pack shoot into the void, then on Verley's command, she and Delgado sprang to the task of positioning the next six-pack in line. She was pleased to see they finished ahead of the starboard pusher team, even if just barely. We're getting good at this, she thought, not without a little smugness.

Moose was happy to finally be doing something. For the first few minutes of the battle, both six-pack teams had been idle while Task Force 2.1 engaged the rommies with torpedo cascades fired from the auto-loading torpedo launchers. This idleness was in marked contrast to the frenzy of recent battles, when pushing six-packs out the launch-bay doors as fast as humanly possible had been the norm.

Judging by the chatter in her headset from the bridge, the initial wave of cascaded torpedoes had caught the rommies completely flat-footed, taking out five of their ten strike cruisers. But rommie wasn't going down without a fight. Each of the new strike cruisers had twelve launchers that could fire an anti-ship torpedo every fifteen seconds, and those launchers had been busy while the Coalition torpedoes were inbound. The fourteen ships of Task Force 2.1 now faced two waves of torpedoes, a hundred and fifty in each wave.

The compressed air tank opened and the second six-pack shot into space, leaving behind the detonating-pin tether and a cloud of frozen vapor that dissipated as quickly as it bloomed. Moose pulled the tether in, coiled it neatly out of the way, and went back to help Delgado push up the next six-pack. She was spurred on by a voice from the bridge crackling in her headset, "One-five-zero torpedoes inbound. Fifty torpedoes targeting Chosin. Impact in sixty seconds."

What the hell..? Moose thought, startled by the information. A third of rommie's torpedoes are targeting Chosin? A third? They must REALLY want us dead...

She retrieved the tether and clipped it to the six-pack's firing pin. "Tether set." She said, looking for Delgado's thumbs up. There it is. "Pusher's are clear, port six-pack clear to fire," she said.

"Firing," intoned the bridge. There was a silent bloom of vapor and the six-pack lurched into space, but it jerked to an abrupt stop when it reached the end of the tether.

Moose was already reaching for the tether to pull it back in when she noticed the six-pack still attached. What?! A quick glance revealed the problem. The tether had somehow become entangled with the cargo pallet's right rear wheels—perhaps due to a slight misalignment of the compressed air tank or the tank valve. Whatever the reason, the detonator pin had not deployed and the six-pack's torpedoes held firmly to the pallet. Pallet and torpedoes danced at the end of the tether, just four meters beyond the launch doors.

"Rommie torpedoes inbound," said the voice from the bridge. "We need that port six-pack, now."

"The tether's hung," Moose replied, "I'm going to free it. Delgado, get ready to pull me back."

She was reaching to unclip her safety line when she felt a hand on her shoulder and Verley's voice in her headset. "Don't unhook, I've got this."

She looked around to see Verley dive headfirst through the launch doors. He collided with the rear of the six-pack, and grabbedt the edge of a torpedo's drive shield to avoid rebounding into space.

Moose's heart raced as she watched Verley pull himself hand-over-hand toward the tether-entangled wheel. Without a safety line, the slightest slip would send him tumbling into interstellar space. Been there, done that. I don't recommend it.

"Torpedoes inbound, impact in forty-five. Where's that six-pack?"

The announcement brought a pang of fear to Moose. C'mon Chief, she thought, willing him to be faster. And to be safe. Yeah, fast AND safe.

"Impact in forty."

But mostly fast.

Verley reached the snarled tether and wasted precious seconds trying to work it free. "No good freeing the tether, it's jammed tight," he said, "I'm pulling the pin manually."

Oh shit, Moose thought. I wouldn't want my fingers anywhere near that detonator when it goes off.

#####

Imperial Sixth District Prison for Women, 13 April 2159

T'Pol placed the rock she'd been carrying onto the growing pile, then turned back to the cavern's far side to retrieve the next one.

As she plodded from cavern wall to cavern wall, she spoke: "...after the forty thieves mounted their horses and rode away, Ali Baba came down from his hiding place in the tree. He went straight to the rock outcropping where a cave opening had been only moments before, but all he saw was a smooth and featureless rock face. He ran his hands over it, feeling nothing but cold, hard stone. Ali Baba spoke the strange words he had overheard from the leader of the thieves: 'Open sesame.' For several seconds nothing happened, but then the smooth rock face split open with a grinding rumble to reveal the dark opening of a cave."

Bronth plodded along beside T'Pol, intent on her words, and she wasn't alone. The other prisoners had ceased the idle chatter that normally accompanied their work so they could better hear the story unfold. At first, many had tried to pretend they weren't listening or that they didn't care, but that pretense had not lasted long.

"Ali Baba took a deep breath—"

*One-five-zero torpedoes inbound. Fifty torpedoes targeting Chosin.*

"—before stepping into..." T'Pol's voice trailed off as her concentration shifted to the disquieting information that had just come across her bond with Trip. At that moment, Trip's focus was (understandably) not on her, but he allowed her to access his sensory input rather than deal with the distraction of providing her with a blow-by-blow account of the action. She'd been following the situation with half her attention, concerned but not yet worried.

*Impact in sixty seconds.*

Now she was worried.

*Rommie torpedoes inbound. We need that port six-pack now.

*The tether's hung. I'm going to free it. Delgado, get ready to pull me back.* T'Pol recognized Moose's voice coming across the bridge circuit.

*Trip, what has happened to the six pack?*

*Dunno, T'Pol. I'm a little busy here...*

*Understood.* She suppressed her worry and sent a surge of support and affection across the bond. Trip responded in kind.

Meanwhile, Bronth was tugging at her sleeve, "Tip-Ahl? Tip-Ahl? Story?"

"I am sorry, Bronth. I must take a short break."

"No..." Bronth started to protest, but something in T'Pol's face brought her up short.

The next update brought T'Pol up short: *Torpedoes inbound, impact in forty-five. Where's that six-pack?* T'Pol's grasp tightened around the rock in her hands, but she forced herself to start moving again. Trip...

#####

Chosin, with Task Force 2.1, 13 April 2159

"Impact in thirty."

Verley wrapped one hand around the standing end of the tether, grabbed the detonator pin with the other, and pulled. The explosive bolt detonated with a bright flash and Verley flinched as the cargo straps holding the torpedoes sprang loose, narrowly missing his helmet. He felt a sudden chill in his right hand, and saw that the explosion had blown holes in the fingertips of his right gauntlet. Air spurted from the openings, then dwindled to nothing as the suit's self-sealing feature kicked in. A sharp pain in his hand caused Verley to take another look, and he was shocked to see not just holes in his gauntlets, but the tips of three of his fingers missing as well. Ah, hell...

"Pull me back," he commed, and grasped the tether with his good hand while Delgado tugged the other end. Moose was waiting at the opening to assist him with the transition from zero-gee to full gravity.

"Chief, your hand!" she gasped.

"Never mind that," he said, "just get that next six-pack pushed up. Rommie's still out there!"

Moose glanced at Delgado and they rushed to comply.

Verley flexed his right hand, which was starting to hurt. Bad. A series of flashes—so bright that they activated the protective polarization in his helmet visor—lit the hanger deck, and he knew the six-pack had reached its intended targets.

He also knew that at least one of the rommie torpedoes had survived, because the flashes were followed immediately by vibrations in the deck plates from Chosin's point defense rail guns as they sent streams of high-velocity projectiles into the void.

Verley turned his attention back to the pusher crews, putting the torpedoes out of his mind. If the rail guns did their job, he'd know in a matter of seconds. And if they didn't? Well, at least my hand won't hurt anymore.

#####

The last inbound torpedo disintegrated under a hail of projectiles from Chosin's rail guns—a mere five seconds before impact—and Trip released the breath he'd been holding. "Any more inbound?" he asked. The tactical display showed nothing, but he needed confirmation from his sensor operators before he relaxed his defensive posture.

"None detected. No further launch signatures."

"Looks like they've shot their wad," Trip remarked. "Now let's finish them off. Weapons, direct cascades at—"

His command was interrupted by an urgent voice from the comm station, "Captain, I've lost the data link to Galloway!"

The sensor operator provided the reason. "Direct torpedo strike on Galloway... detecting debris field... no evidence of survivors..."

Shit! "Task Force status?" Trip asked.

"All ships accounted for but Galloway. None are reporting damage."

Trip nodded to himself. There would be time to grieve later. "Weapons, assign Task Force targets for immediate execution. Target the ten warbirds first, one cascade each, then shift fire to the remaining strike cruisers."

The Romulan commander had reacted to the devastation from the first wave of cascaded torpedoes by repositioning his remaining four strike cruisers so they were shielded by the lower-value, more expendable warbirds. This forced Trip to engage the warbirds first, buying the strike cruisers a little extra time. Not that it matters, Trip thought. If rommie really is out of torpedoes, this is gonna be like shooting fish in a barrel.

He watched stone-faced as the outbound tracks of the Coalition torpedoes crawled across the tactical display. His expression didn't change as, one by one, the Romulan warbirds winked out of existence. His expression didn't change as the same fate overtook the strike cruisers. After the last rommie warship had been reduced to its component atoms, he finally spoke. "Weapons, what's our remaining inventory of torpedoes?"

Commander Graham looked up from the primary weapons console. "Total or by ship?"

"Total."

"Stand by, sir." He looked back down, fingers flying as he compiled the requested data.

While Trip waited, the bridge doors opened and Verley walked through, coming to stand by the command chair. He opened a private channel to Trip's suit. "You okay, Captain?"

"I'm fine," Trip answered. A faint smile touched his lips as he realized how much like T'Pol he must have sounded.

"Right." Verley's tone told Trip he was not fooled. "We got off light, you know. The rommies had four hundred torpedoes. If they'd had full combat loads..."

"...we'd have lost more than Galloway." Trip finished. "Yeah, I know. It still hurts." Because it happened on my watch. It was the first ship lost under my command.

Verley had no reply for that, so he reverted to ship's business. "Captain, recommend we secure from GQ."

Trip passed on the order, and it went out over the ship-wide address system. "All hands, secure from general quarters. Normal wartime cruising, set watch section three."

Trip joined the others on the bridge in removing and stowing his pressure suit, but Verley only removed his helmet, tucking it under one arm. "Might as well get comfortable, Chief," Trip said to him.

Verley held up his right hand, letting Trip see the fingers missing their tips. "I might need medical assistance to remove my suit," he admitted.

"How the hell did you do that?"

Verley chuckled. "My hand got a little too close to the explosive bolts on that hung six-pack. Hurts like a sonuvabitch."

"I'll bet. Get your ass down to sickbay, right now."

Any response Verley might have had was preempted by Commander Graham at the weapons console, "I have that torpedo inventory for you, Captain. Task Force 2.1 is at sixty-eight percent of combat load. Vulcan cruiser Kurtra expended the most ordnance; she's down to fifty-four percent."

"Thank you, Mitch," Trip said. "Comm, new Task Force orders. Set course for the retreating Romulan fleet, standard formation, flank speed, on my command."

"Setting course fifty by neg twenty-one, aye. Task Force orders sent... orders acknowledged."

"Execute." Trip said.

"Executing." Chosin surged to warp and the background hum of her engines filled the bridge.

"Captain, have we received new orders from fleet..?" Verley's voice held an edge of concern.

"No, Chief."

Verley looked uneasily around at the bridge crew, all within ear shot. He did not want to have this discussion in front of them. "Captain, may we talk in your office?"

"No, Chief. I already know what you're going to say, so let me make things clear. I have not received orders to attack the rommie fleet, so yes, I am embarking on this course of action on my own initiative. But there is strong evidence that the rommie fleet is completely out of torpedoes, and I am not going to return to Rho Virg with sixty eight percent of my torpedoes unexpended. Not when I can use them to take out another dozen or so rommie warships!"

If Verley had any reservations about Trip's plan, he kept them to himself. "Damn straight," he growled, "rommie's gonna pay for Galloway." His statement had the immediate approval of the bridge crew, who had been wide-eyed on hearing their Captain admit to acting without orders from fleet.

Rommie's gonna pay!

#####

Imperial Sixth District Prison for Women, 14 April 2159

Sergeant Bonnie Doyle and Steve Collins both stood as T'Pol entered the visitor's room for her daily embassy briefing. "Mornin' Captain T'Pol," Bonnie greeted.

"Good morning, Bonnie. Good morning, Steve." They had both insisted she use their first names, and she was happy to comply.

"How are you, ma'am?" Bonnie asked, as she always did. She gave T'Pol a searching look while she waited for her answer.

T'Pol had learned that Bonnie would not be satisfied with her standard 'I am fine' response. She had also earned T'Pol's full trust and confidence, so T'Pol answered her with complete honesty. "I am cold and hungry, but otherwise alright."

Bonnie seemed satisfied with that answer, for she nodded and smiled. "I can't help you with the cold, but this might help the hungry." She pulled out a pair of granola bars and handed them to T'Pol. "The overseer's are getting lax in their searches," she explained.

T'Pol accepted the bars with gratitude. One was honey-almond and the other cranberry-raisin. Both were orders of magnitude better than the prison fare she'd been eating, even the special vegetarian meals she'd recently started getting. "Thank you, Bonnie. These will help."

"I'd eat them now so the overseers don't get them."

Sound advice, T'Pol thought, and began unwrapping the cranberry-raisin bar.

Bonnie sat back, "Floor's all yours," she said to Steve.

He cleared his throat and pulled a PADD from his bag. To T'Pol's eye he seemed a little apprehensive. "Shortly after our briefing yesterday, Task Force 2.1 engaged and defeated a Romulan force of twenty ships. The corvette Galloway was lost with all hands, but no other casualties were reported."

T'Pol nodded. For her, this was old news.

"Then, uh, then Task Force 2.1 went comm silent and stopped responding to messages from Second Fleet. We think they are planning to attack the retreating rommie fleet, but we have no confirmation."

"That is precisely what they are planning. Are you suggesting they are acting without orders from Fleet?"

"Yes," Steve confirmed, "at least that's what the military attaché's office tells me."

T'Pol's eyes narrowed. Trip left that part out when he told me of his plans.

Steve continued, "Given it's Chosin we're talking about, Admiral Chu is willing to provide a large degree of slack, but... but we still don't know where they're going, or why."

"Please relay to Admiral Chu that Task Force 2.1 is indeed pursuing the retreating Romulan fleet. They believe that the twenty Romulan warships they destroyed yesterday were carrying all that remained of the Romulan's torpedoes. If this is so, it means the torpedo magazines of the retreating Romulan ships are all empty, and Task Force 2.1 intends to take advantage of this. In approximately three hours they will intercept the Romulan fleet. As soon as they are inside torpedo range, they will fire their entire inventory of torpedoes at high-value targets, using torpedo cascades to penetrate Romulan point defenses. Then they will return to Rho Virginis at best speed. If all goes to plan, another twelve to twenty-four Romulan warships could be destroyed."

Steve stared at T'Pol in amazement. "Uh... what is the source of this information?"

"Do not concern yourself with the source. Just see that Admiral Chu is informed. He will understand." He knows of my bond with Trip.

"Got it," Steve said. "Do I, um, do I need to finish this briefing..?"

"Yes, please do." It's better than carrying rocks, she thought, and there might be some new developments since I last talked to Trip.

He continued, but T'Pol learned nothing new. Operation Javelin, the attack on the sixty-four damaged Romulan vessels, would commence tomorrow as planned. On the logistic front, the first of many convoys loaded with supplies, ordnance, repair parts, and replacement personnel were beginning to arrive in the Rho Virg system. Every day another handful of newly constructed warships arrived from the space docks and ship yards of the Coalition, sent to the front as fast as they could be built and their crews trained. In most cases, the voyage to Rho Virg was their shake-down cruise, and any major problems identified en route were left to the Coalition fleet's increasingly busy repair tenders to correct.

Steve completed his briefing while T'Pol completed her granola bars. She returned the wrappers to Bonnie and thanked them both again as they left. She called for an overseer to escort her back to the work rooms, and reached across her bond while she waited. *Trip, are you available?*

*I'm a little busy here, T'Pol. Got a little surprise for rommie I'm working on. Can this wait?*

*No, Trip, this cannot wait. Why did you not inform Admiral Chu of your plans?*

Trip didn't respond for several seconds. *I couldn't risk him ordering me back to Rho Virginis.*

*You think he would have disagreed with your plan to attack the Romulan fleet?*

*I don't know,* Trip admitted, *but I wasn't willing to take that chance.*

*Why not?*

*T'Pol, they destroyed Galloway and all of her crew. Fifty of our comrades are dead!*

*And you destroyed them. All twenty vessels.*

*It's not enough, T'Pol. Not nearly enough.* His pain and bitterness were evident to T'Pol, even without their bond.

*Trip, it will never be enough. Never. You know this. For what it is worth, I agree with your plan, if not your reasons for it. And I believe Admiral Chu would have agreed also, had you given him the chance.*

There was another brief pause while Trip considered her words. *You're right, T'Pol. As usual. Should I inform Second Fleet?*

*Certainly*

*And if I'm ordered back to Rho Virg?*

*Then you return to Rho Virg. Fleet sees the 'big picture'; you do not.*

*Very well. I'll contact Admiral Chu straight away and let him know my plans. Thanks for talking me off the ledge.*

*I am only returning the favor. I myself have been on 'the ledge' and you have never failed to bring me back. On more than one occasion.* Be careful, my love; I need you more than you can imagine...

#####

Romulan Star Navy Headquarters, Romulus, 15 April 2159

Grand Marshal Vokalus had never seen his staff looking so worried, not even after the recent defeat at Rho Virginis. But then, they had good reason to be worried: in the space of one day, they had suffered three more ignominious defeats, two of them at the hands of that cursed Starfleet frigate Chosin.

First, the Coalition task force lead by Chosin had encountered the trap Vokalus had set with a force of twenty warships—half being the powerful new strike cruisers—and all twenty had been destroyed with apparent ease. The Coalition had lost a single corvette in the process. Next, that same small task force had attacked his retreating fleet and destroyed another fifteen warships, this time without a single loss. Finally, the long-anticipated attack on their damaged warships had been launched by Coalition forces from Rho Virginis, and all sixty-four ships destroyed. Again without a single Coalition casualty.

The loss of the damaged ships was as expected as it was unavoidable, but the other thirty-five ships... their loss hurt. In a single day, ninety-nine ships were destroyed by the Coalition while they lost just one. No wonder my staff is worried. They should be terrified; the Praetor will not be pleased.

Vokalus stepped up to the tactical display and looked around. His officers all avoided his gaze. This will not do. I need them focused on the situation, not on themselves.

He addressed their fears head-on. "No one in this room has any cause for worry," he proclaimed. "You were all executing my plan and following my orders, and you did so flawlessly. Any repercussions will fall on me and me alone." He said this with all the force and conviction he could muster, because he knew it was potentially not true. He well knew the Praetor could decide to blame his entire war-planning staff, along with Vokalus, and while this was unlikely it was still possible.

He went quickly on to the next topic so his officers wouldn't have time to dwell on their peril. "Admiral Parnius, can you explain how this happened?"

"Yes, Grand Marshal," Parnius said, looking marginally less worried now that Vokalus had accepted full responsibility for the disaster. "In past engagements, Coalition forces have always attempted to overwhelm our defenses with large swarms of torpedoes. At Rho Virginis they refined this technique to astounding new levels with an innovation they call 'six-packs'. Using these 'six-packs', they were able to overwhelm our ships with three times the volume of torpedoes we were prepared for. We expected to see similar tactics employed by the Coalition task force we engaged yesterday. We were prepared to handle large swarms of torpedoes, but they did the complete opposite."

"The Coalition always does the opposite of what we expect," Vokalus observed. "If we wanted predictability in our enemies, we should have attacked the Klingons."

Parnius paused long enough to be sure Vokalus wasn't expecting a response before continuing with his analysis. "This time the Coalition launched their torpedoes one at a time, instead of in swarms. They spaced the torpedoes about two seconds apart, and timed them to detonate closer and closer to their targets. The torpedo detonations obscured sensors and blinded fire control systems, seriously degrading the effectiveness of our defensive fire. Using this sequential-firing tactic, they were able to destroy our ships with a third as many torpedoes as they would have required using torpedo swarms."

How different would things be now if my own scientists and engineers had the freedom to think—and act—in such innovative ways? Vokalus thought, but he kept the thought to himself. "It is incredible. Incredible that such a simple concept could be so effective."

"Yes," Parnius agreed, "and because of the efficiency of this tactic, the Coalition task force still had most of their torpedoes left after they destroyed our ships. They converged on our retreating fleet, stood off beyond disrupter range, and pummeled us with their remaining torpedoes, using their sequential-fire tactic. Without torpedoes of our own, we were completely helpless. Fifteen ships were lost. Eleven heavy cruisers and four more strike cruisers."

"And then we lost our damaged warships, as we knew would happen," Vokalus said. There was no point reviewing what he already knew. "I had expected to exact a higher cost on the Coalition, but this sequential-fire tactic invalidated all my plans.."

"We have informed our weapons developers of this new technique, and they have begun work on the modifications to our torpedoes that will allow us to use it ourselves," Parnius observed. "Also, they've completed development for our own version of the six-pack and started production. They should be waiting for us when we reach Terix."

"Very well," Vokalus said. "You are all dismissed. I will brief the Praetor alone." The relief on their faces as they filed from the room would have been comical under other circumstances. But not when I'm uncertain if I'll even be alive after the next hour.

He turned to the display and began preparing his briefing for the Praetor.

#####

"Vokalus, you have claimed full responsibility for yesterday's debacle. Tell me why I should not have you executed immediately." His Magnificence Karrivus III, Praetor of the Romulan Star Empire, was angry. Not with the flush-faced, screaming rages that would sometimes overcome him, but a cold, seething anger. For his part, Vokalus preferred his screaming rages. They may have been noisier, but were much less menacing.

"You may execute me, Magnificence," Vokalus answered, "but first ask yourself who you would put in my place."

"Does that matter?" the Praetor hissed, "I don't see that a pile of crallit dung would have done any worse than you."

"Your Magnificence," Vokalus said softly, a tight smile on his lips, "if I've learned nothing else in my years of service, it's that it can always get worse." Vokalus had no expectation that his observation would have a calming effect on the Praetor, but he didn't care. "I've already told you we are losing this war. That is a fact. The only question is how much of our current military strength will remain at war's end. Your choice is simple, Magnificence. Keep me as Grand Marshal and be assured that Romulus will survive the war with our forces largely intact, or replace me with someone who still thinks the Coalition can be conquered, and see Romulus defeated and our forces decimated."

"And how would you keep our forces intact?" the Praetor asked, through gritted teeth. "Would you sue for peace now?"

"I would, if you allowed it."

"I thought so. I had thought you were the one to turn things around after Krotash, but you are so convinced we will lose that it has become a self-fulfilling prophecy. Vokalus, I grow weary of your defeatist attitude. I grow weary of you your constant insubordination. I grow weary of you." He motioned for his guards, "Take him away!"

"As you wish, Magnificence," Vokalus said, as the palace guard approached. "Just one last word." He did not wait for permission before speaking: "When your next Grand Marshal fails you—as he will—do not let your pride stand in the way of a negotiated peace. Do not let any more of my comrades in arms be sacrificed in a blind pursuit of a lost cause. When you face your next defeat, remember my words!"

Vokalus turned and let the guards lead him away to what he was certain would be his execution. I have done all I could for my Praetor, and for my people.

Continued in Chapter Thirteen