The Perilous Edge

by Michael Marek

So SATAN spake, and him BEELZEBUB 
Thus answer'd. Leader of those Armies bright, 
Which but th' Omnipotent none could have foyld, 
If once they hear that voyce, their liveliest pledge 
Of hope in fears and dangers, heard so oft 
In worst extreams, and on the perilous edge 
Of battel when it rag'd, in all assaults 
Their surest signal, they will soon resume 
New courage and revive, though now they lye 
Groveling and prostrate on yon Lake of Fire. 

                  -- Milton, Paradise Lost, Book 1
      "It is 0900 hours," I announced to crew on the bridge of the USS Crazy Horse. "Helm, lay in a course for Cardassia."
      It was an order I had long waited to give, though it foreshadowed yet another battle, this time one that would likely decide the fate of the Alpha Quadrant. The Crazy Horse had been on almost continuous combat duty for the last year, often slipping behind Dominion lines to collect intelligence or stage raids. Stealth had become our forte. Some unique technology developed by our crew had made it possible for us to hide almost under the noses of the enemy. But that would not help us now.
      After the initial victories of the Jem’Haddar and Cardassian forces, the Federation Alliance had slowly beaten the enemy back to near Cardassian space. The critical outpost at Deep Space Nine was recaptured weeks earlier. Except for a brief crisis, quickly solved, in which Starfleet ships were found to be vulnerable to Breen weapons, the war was finally going our way, although at a tremendous cost of lives and ships.
      Alliance ships had been massing at DS9 for the last several days. One area near the station was thick with proud, if beleaguered, Starfleet ships. Another swarmed with Klingons, while hawkish Romulan ships filled another segment of the sky. Among these powerful fleets also flew ships of other powers, including the few remaining Peregrine Class ships of surviving former Maquis freedom fighters, now welcomed back into the good graces of the Federation.
      There was no question that the coming battle, an all out frontal attack, would settle the war. Either this offensive would break the back of the Dominion, or our fleet would be destroyed.
      The Admiral’s briefing the previous evening assigned the USS Crazy Horse to Attack Wing 54, to be led into combat by Captain Sisko aboard the USS Defiant. In the planned three-prong attack the Romulans would hit the Dominion on the left, the Klingons on the right and Starfleet’s forces would plow into the middle of the Dominion line, three dimensionally speaking.
      "Right down their throats is more like it," muttered our chief of security, Commander Dolores Scott, at breakfast. As was our tradition before major action, the senior command staff of the Crazy Horse had breakfast together prior to departing for the front.
      "Well, there’s nothing like being in the thick of things," chief engineer Ray Brown offered back. "We’ve got some tricks up our sleeves that will keep them guessing."
      I didn’t speak much, preferring to gauge the others’ moods by listening. I was pleased that their spirits were high. We’d been in combat more times than we could count in recent months, and come through well, though with losses we all regretted.
      As breakfast wound down, there was a ceremony I had to perform as senior officer present. Standing to attract the attention of the crew, I reached for a small glass jar. The jar itself was unremarkable, save that it came from Rita’s Kitchen on Terra. Replicated fare would not serve for this purpose. Quietly, they stood to join me. The tradition, a long-standing one on the Crazy Horse, was adopted from an Old Earth ritual. I dipped my knife into the jar’s contents and passed the jar to my wife, Charlotte. As the jam made its way around the table, each crewmember repeated the action. When all had been served, we lifted our hands and I said, "To absent friends." We each took a mouthful and reflected on those friends, how far we had come and what we still had to do to honor them.
      "Speaking of people who are absent," spoke up Lt. Marina Lemar, after we seated ourselves again. "Has anybody heard from the Captain lately?" Most of the people at the table looked around expectantly then shrugged.
      "As usual," I said, finally, "‘The Captain’s special duties require extended absence from the ship.’ I am assured that the Captain is actively involved in the war effort."
      "Oh," answered Marina thoughtfully. After a moment she added, "Well, he’s not as much fun as you are anyway. Sir."
      "Engage," I said firmly, at the scheduled moment of departure. "Form up with the 54th behind Defiant. Expect red alert in two hours."
      The ship surged with power as we jumped to warp, the various sounds and frequencies signaling to the experienced ear that all systems were tuned to the peak of efficiency. Crazy Horse took up it’s spot on the left flank of the wing, a few ships astern of Defiant. It seemed odd that a large percentage of the fleet would be led into battle by what was no more than a glorified gunship, heavily armed though it might be. The entire Defiant could almost fit in our main shuttle bay. She was the chosen ship of our appointed leader, however. "Maybe he likes her maneuverability," I mused silently to myself.
      Two hours is too long to be geared up for combat, so I did what I could to keep my people from getting on edge too early. I spent part of the time in my office and part on a visit to engineering that was as informal as I could make it. A half-hour before we would hit the Dominion lines, I was back in the center seat.
      I called for a tactical display on the main view screen.
      "Dominion lines were thin along the center," reported Dolores. "But Jem’Haddar ships moved up fast from Cardassia to reinforce. The good news is that they came in at flank speed. Their engines will still be recovering from the strain when we engage."
      The Federation Alliance was moving at a moderate warp seven. The enemy knew we were on the way the moment we left Deep Space Nine. No reason to overwork our ships before action since we could not have beaten the reinforcements to the front.
      "It also looks," added Dolores, "like there are some Jem’Haddar weapons being discharged on the surface of Cardassia Prime. We don’t have good enough resolution to tell what’s going on."
      "I’ll give good odds that Cardassian resistance finally woke up," said our second officer Moira, an artificial intelligence that resided in the Crazy Horse computers. For this battle she was wearing her human simulacrum body.
      "I’ve been analyzing Dominion tactics, as you asked, Michael," she added. "In 147 engagements of over 40 ships, weaknesses appeared between the Dominion center zone and right flank 83% of the time. The Federation track record is that it almost never works to go up the center, but going through their line to the left is often possible, if our commanders are alert enough to notice the weakness. I’ve sent details to your console and the tactical stations."
      "Good," I approved, scanning my seat arm display quickly. "Brief the flagship. We’ll try to work our way in that direction and take advantage of any holes that appear."
      Soon the fleet order for red alert flashed from Admiral Ross. Crazy Horse answered full ready within twenty seconds because all crew were already at their combat posts in anticipation. With two minutes to go I addressed the ship and offered what I hoped were inspirational words. I don’t remember exactly what I said. At thirty seconds, I turned and subtly, so nobody else would notice, blew Charlotte a kiss. She was at one of the aft science stations, configured for tactical duty.
      Then in the blink of an eye we were at impulse, up to our armpits in Jem’Haddar fighters. They were backed up by a depressingly large number of the huge Breen starships. Later study of sensor tapes revealed that there were as many of the big Breen ships as there were Jem’Haddar fighters in action that day.
      It is a common misconception among civilians that a ship’s commander issues every maneuvering order and every firing command during combat. Nothing could be farther from the truth. Things tend to move much too fast for that kind of voice ordering. In reality, a starship crew is highly trained. Each of them knows their jobs. Lieutenant Bill Willmerdinger on helm wove us in and among the swarm of ships. Phaser fire was in "coordinated automatic" mode. On a Galaxy Class starship, there are phaser nodes on the top and bottom of the saucer section, on the front and back of the main pylon, on the top and bottom of the secondary hull, and on each of the warp nacelles. Each of them fired for one out of every three seconds. Sensors tied to each phaser bank used the remaining two seconds to evaluate damage on enemy ships, scan for other targets and to actually retarget the phasers. Because Moira, in effect, was the ship’s computer, she governed all of the phaser operations, supervising the targeting and sensor analysis in minute detail. The multiple tactical stations also monitored ship movements over a longer term and attempted to predict patterns in advance.
      My job, as commander, was to keep track of the big picture -- not what ship we were firing on at this moment, but how the battle was going and where we needed to move to be most effective for the Federation. Various special displays came up on the console on the arm of my chair. It was my habit to also carry a PADD displaying the same information, so I would have it wherever I was on the bridge.
      I never know how long a battle lasts until I go back to check the automatic logs. This one was no different -- a continuous flow that almost overwhelmed the senses. The shocks of weapons impact on our shields, the violent maneuvering, the crisis upon crisis... I have only fragmentary impressions.
      Lieutenant Willmerdinger, the helmsman, had a glazed expression on his face. I knew it was the result of intense concentration. The engines were almost an extension of his will as he danced the Crazy Horse around enemy ships.
      Moira, next to me, sat placidly, hands folded in her lap. She was staring into space and gasping for breath as if she were running a marathon. I knew that the demands of multiple ship combat were enough to tax even her immense multitasking capacity. I did not envy those ships with computers that were not self-aware. Their computer automatic firing mode might provide better response time than human reflexes, but Moira’s intuition coupled with her microsecond control gave us a major tactical advantage.
      As the battle dragged on, though, we took more and more of a beating. Shield power was dropping slowly but steadily. Inertial dampers were losing efficiency, meaning that we were buffeted more and more by enemy fire.
      We were fighting near a Cardassian wing, although the Cardie ships seemed a bit reluctant to engage fully. The Breen and Jem’Haddar ships peppered through the wing took up the slack, however. I remember a brief glimpse of Defiant looping past us to get into position to blast twin Jem’Haddar fighters nearby.
      I think it was just a moment later that Fleet Tactical reported the Romulan flagship lost and that the Romulan line was collapsing on our left flank. Without the Romulans to hold them, the Dominion line would be able to sweep around, trapping our ships in the middle of a sphere of enemy craft.
      "Defiant signals ‘Attack wings 53 and 54, follow us,’" cried Charlotte from her tactical station.
      "Bill, take us to the left flank," I shouted above the commotion.
      "I’ll try, but it’s damned crowded out there," he answered, not taking his eyes off his tactical displays.
      "Dolores," I said, turning to the tactical arch behind me. "Find that hole in the Dominion lines Moira predicted." Moira’s attention to microsecond by microsecond details of combat was so important to the safety of the ship that I didn’t want to distract her with interpretive processing.
      "Here’s the best I can find," said Dolores a few moments later, and a display appeared on my PADD. "I wouldn’t call it a hole," she added, "but their line is thin for a couple of kilometers."
      I punched a contact to feed the display to the helm console.
      "Take us through, Bill," I ordered, walking up to the helm console to maximize the communication between us.
      "Hang on," he answered, and Crazy Horse surged ahead, tossing us violently left and right as he maneuvered around ships in our path. We skirted a big Breen cruiser then had to dodge a half-dozen Jem’Haddar ships.
      Starship tactical displays are much more complex than simple maps, representing three dimensions as they have to. To the trained eye, however, they are incredibly more informative than simple vision. I would have called the movement of the ships a ballet, if it wasn’t for the purpose of war, but it was elegant, none the less.
      I must have watched for a minute or more, then in an instant, I saw what we needed. Bill saws it the same moment I did.
      "There," I said, and he murmured agreement. "Right through there," I said.
      He vectored us and triggered a burst of speed. Like a watermelon seed squeezed between two fingers, we slid out behind the Dominion line.
      "Fantastic," I complimented him. "Swing us around. Tactical, target their rear echelon."
      We rapidly did serious damage. Since we were only using our forward phaser banks, Moira was able to come up for air. For the moment, at least, she had capacity to spare again.
      "My," she said, brushing back a lock of her long hair. "That was busy."
      "Yes," I said, still feeling the pressure of the situation. "Now that you have a moment, would you do one of your integrating scans of the battlefield? Are there any patterns that aren’t obvious?"
      "Of course," Moira said, focusing immediately. She cocked her head and said, "that’s odd. I’m picking up a very weak signal from Cardassia."
      "You’d expect a lot of signals back and forth between Dominion headquarters and the front," suggested Dolores.
      "It’s not Dominion headquarters," Moira returned, standing as she spoke. "I believe it’s a rebel transmitter, but it’s so weak that I doubt the Cardassian ships are picking it up."
      "Maintain attack," I said to Dolores, then led Moira up the ramp to the rear of the bridge to Charlotte’s station. "Let me hear it," I requested, then turned. "Marina, monitor fleet traffic."
      "I’m processing this heavily to make it understandable," Moira said. "There, it’s just starting to repeat."
      "People of Cardassia, I am Damar. You may have heard that I am dead, but you can believe that I am very much alive," I heard. The image broke up frequently, but I could see that Cardassian man on the screen was weary and probably pressed for time.
      "Damar was leader of the Cardassian faction for a while," Charlotte pointed out.
      "Today, the Dominion murdered over a million loyal Cardassians in Lucarian City in a brutal act of vengeance against loyal Cardassian freedom fighters. Our leaders were wrong to give control to these demons. I was wrong to assist them. Now I see them for what they are. The Dominion has no place in Cardassian space. The Dominion is evil, and if we allow them to continue in power, they will destroy our proud and ancient civilization. The Cardassian military will not permit this. If you are a patriot, you will join us. Free Cardassia from the Dominion. Free Cardassia from the Dominion......People of Cardassia, I am Damar...."
      Charlotte turned down the volume as the message began another cycle. "If we could get the Cardassian ships to join the revolt," Charlotte began...
      Dolores interrupted. "Sir, Cardies coming in on both sides."
      "Oh, yes," trilled Moira. "I’ve got to sit down." She dropped into a spare seat at the science station and diverted her full attention to the phasers.
      "Helm, evasive!" I shouted. Bill turned and gave me a startled look. "That’s what I said, ‘EVASIVE,’" I repeated. "Disengage."
      "Flagship reports a quarter of Federation ships destroyed," interjected Marina.
      I turned to Charlotte. "I want to retransmit that message. Make it so loud that the Cardassian ships’ll hear it even if their radios are turned off," I said.
      "Main sensor dish," she replied instantly, and her fingers flew across the console.
      "Allocate full auxiliary power to Science Station One," I ordered Lieutenant Samantha Neal, staffing the engineering station nearby.
      "Here goes," called out Charlotte as she tapped a final lighted square on the board.
      The controls told me that the sensor dish was transmitting. It may have been my imagination, but the bridge seemed to vibrate from the power release. I remember hearing the overloaded signal squawking from my own communicator pin.
      "Signal from Defiant," called out Marina as the message began to repeat. "They’re in trouble, calling for support."
      I glanced at the PADD I was still carrying and saw a Breen battleship bearing down on the little ship. I couldn’t ignore the ship my attack wing commander was on.
      "Helm, intercept course for Defiant," I called, stepping forward toward the arch..
      A moment later, Dolores shouted with excitement, "The Cardassian ships are firing on the Breen."
      "YES!" shouted several people around the bridge.
      "Terminate targeting of Cardassian ships," I told Dolores. "Bill, find Defiant and render full support."
      Moira, once again able to divide her attention looked up and asked, "Michael, what have you been doing with my sensor dish?"
      Within a few minutes, the Dominion and Breen ships broke and ran, retreating with a significant lack of order toward Cardassia. Crazy Horse stood down and began repairs. Wounded who had not yet reached sickbay were cared for.
      I got myself a cup of coffee, Orion blend, and congratulated the crew for outstanding work. Sooner than I expected, we received a general hail from the Federation flagship.
      "All ships, this is Admiral Ross, for the joint command of the Alliance. Pursue to Cardassia. I repeat. Pursue to Cardassia. Rendezvous point and tactical plan to follow."
      "There it is," I announced to crew on the bridge of the USS Crazy Horse. "Time to end this all. Helm, resume course for Cardassia."