Omake: Battle of Agaron Prime (2158) [1]
StriderInCosmos
Wanderer in the Worldsea
- Location
- Somewhere in... Terminal Dogma? I think?
Reflections, in All Their Forms
Agaron Prime, Antares Sector, Late 2158
Flag Captain Fuku Sukuda of the UES Thunderchild was a well-read man.
Any crewmember or officer of the ship that spent any great amount of time onboard both knew that quite well and thought that it had little bearing on their assignments. Especially now. Here, as 2158, in Earth time at least, threatened to tip over into 2159, they found themselves at a research station and civilian outpost keeping watch as what the Andorian ambassador was quick to classify as 'important weapons data', alongside nearly 8,000 scientists and civilians, was evacuated from the single habitable planet in the system.
All in all, the small task fleet under their command was enjoying the brief respite in combat operations. Warspite, their only sister vessel at the moment, was raising quite the furor elsewhere with her own task fleet, keeping the Romulan fleets busy while they worked. Even still, Captain Sukuda sat in the command chair on the bridge, watching out the viewscreen as the civilian ships slowly began to float away from Agaron 4. He didn't need to look back to know that Rear Admiral Afolayan, the woman in charge of the fleet, was at his shoulder.
Finally, the silence broke. "Captain!" Lieutenant Nelson said as he looked back from his tactical station. "Reading a wolfpack of signatures, 9 in all, coming in from the shadow of Agaron 2."
The wolfpacks had been growing larger since the battle of Denobula. But that didn't matter. They had them outnumbered by 5 ships. "Red alert, all power to combat systems," Sukuda said firmly. "All ahead full."
Afolayan nodded. "Contact the Bentfin and the Spinetail, and tell them to run security for the refugee fleet."
The fleet sprang into action, a well-maintained instrument oiled and tuned to the tempo of battle as they swept out toward their enemies. But even such grand action was mostly undertaken in silence, their intercept course making contact with the enemy fleet halfway between Agaron 4 and Agaron 1. The wolfpack's signatures glided ever closer. Strange, that they'd decloaked this far out.
"They're in torpedo range, sir," Nelson said.
"Full barrage on the lead warbird, then pairs on any vulnerable enemies that come up on the fleet tac-net on my mark," Sukuda replied, watching the sensor panel on his chair intently as the seconds ticked by, then green dots resolved on the barren backdrop of Agaron 1. "Fire!"
The buzzing, blaring hum of the photonic torpedoes preceded their brilliant, scintillating orange forms lancing out, accompanied seconds later by their dimmer atomic cousins that glowed a pale white. The warbirds, now almost discernable, began to swoop away in pairs and trios. The atomic torpedoes launched by the other ships began to struggle in their tracking patterns, but the photonics were a more dogged sort, slamming into the starboard stern of their target warbird, two hits on its hull sending a winged nacelle shearing away as it tumbled helplessly towards them.
Then they came into gun range, the stars crossed with ribbons of orange and green as NXs, Stingrays, and warbirds began to engage in the deadly dance of the duel, turning about as polarized hulls clashed with shielded targets. And at the center of it all was Thunderchild, a fortress of energized metal and hyperfocused fire, boring through the shields of the warbirds and offering her cohort opportunities to strike and triumph, one warbird after another soon enough going up in flames as their reactors quenched and exploded.
She still took her licks, of course, warbirds pelting her with fire as best they could. Four topside pulsed phase cannons had been knocked out by the time they halved the fleet, along with three bottom-mounted cannons and an aft torpedo tube.
"Captain!" Sukuda's communications officer called, breaking him from the focus of his task. "The Bentfin is reading four more warbirds decloaking in front of the refugee fleet!"
Sukuda's eyes flashed down to his pannel, and his heart went cold as he saw the truth of it. Four ships, arrayed in a line in front of the fleet and the two Stingrays, waiting patiently for the helpless fleet to reach them. But they just... waited where they were. No engagement, no first strike, everything flying in the face of Romulan combat doctrine as Starfleet knew it.
'They want them afraid before they die.' Sukuda realized as his jaw clenched. 'They want to show how powerful they are to them.'
He looked up at the battle that raged around him. "What's the status of the fleet here?" he asked Nelson.
Nelson spared a glance down at his console. "The Munk's Pygmy and the Sicklefin have taken heavy damage and are peeling off. The Atlantis and the Buran are down a few phase cannons and a torpedo launcher. Otherwise, these last five ships shouldn't be much of a problem."
Sukuda nodded as he looked up at Afolayan. "Ma'am, I'm about to turn this ship around. Shall I inform Captain Koenig?"
"Don't worry about it," Afolayan replied, striding over to the comms station. "Dream Chaser, this is Fleet Command. Thunderchild is breaking off to assist the refugee fleet. Can we leave this in your hands?"
"We'll mop things up here, Admiral." Captain Koenig replied. "Give them hell."
Afolayan nodded, and Sukuda wasted no time. "Bring us about, Ensign, full speed ahead! Inform the Bentfin and the Spinetail we're on our way and tell them to prepare to attack the furthest left warbird on our signal. On my mark, launch a full spread of torpedoes at that target. We'll engage the remaining three."
They worked as he spoke, the ship making the best headway it could toward the fleet in distress, the Romulan screen slowly creeping closer. Finally, as time seemed to stretch its seconds into hours, they were within range. "Torpedo barrage, fire! Helm, adjust heading to face the center of our three ships and begin long-range fires."
The torpedoes flashed away again, slicing through the void and over the heads of the refugee vessels and the Stingrays to slam into the warbird, its shields flashing as they failed, the final torpedo slamming into the hull as it began to maneuver away. The Bentfin and Spinetail leaped into action, peeling away from the head of the fleet to chase their newly vulnerable prey.
The remaining warbirds, however, wasted no time focusing on the Thunderchild, disruptor beams lancing across the vessel's thick-skinned hull as it fired torpedoes and phase cannons at the terrorizing vessels. The battleship wasn't suited fully for this sort of direct, driving attack, and the ship rocked from the impacts as sections of hull polarization faltered and failed. Finally, however, a warbird went up in a brilliant explosion, a twin of the one the two Stingrays had doggedly worn down.
Their focus turned to another warbird, their phase cannons piercing through its shields and scoring one nacelle, then another, the warbird drifting slowly to a stop in front of them, its top side facing them even as it continued to fire.
Then, several disruptor beams scored the front of the hull, the impact of them nearly sending Sukuda and the rest of the bridge out of their chairs. "Damage report!" he shouted.
"Power to the weapons is fluctuating, sir!" Nelson said, panic edging into his voice. "We're down to one forward torpedo tube functioning, and repair teams are being dispatched to torpedo tube 3."
The guns of the ship were silent, the hull pounded on again and again by the warbirds. They needed to do... something.
Then, Sukuda looked at the drifting warbird before them, and an idea clicked into place in his mind.
"Ensign," he told the helmsman, "all ahead full through that drifting warbird."
The ensign, a fresh-faced young man named Quinn, looked at him like he'd gone mad. And likely, he might have. "You want to ram them, sir?"
"We don't have many other options. Do it!" Sukuda stabbed the ship-wide comms button. "All hands, evacuate from the port side and brace for impact!"
He hoped, as he felt them getting up to speed, that his warning had come soon enough, the warbird growing larger and larger in the viewscreen as it fired more and more. Then... impact.
They got lucky enough to clip the bow of the ship, the back of it flipping down on them like a coin landing on pavement before it bounced up off them, debris from both ships mixing as it trailed the now thoroughly ruined warbird. The blow sent most of the bridge, and most likely most of the warship, sprawling on the deck. For long moments, it was still. Surprisingly silent, as if their last warbird was simply aghast at the desperate maneuver.
Then, Sukuda lifted himself off the floor. "Power to the starboard weapons as quickly as possible, then get a firing solution on that last warbird. Quickly!"
The rest of the bridge crew struggled back into their seats, Nelson's fingers flying over the console as he tried desperately to make his captain's orders come to pass. The warbird began finally to fire on them again, yet more of the hull scored by disruptor fire. Then, finally, the starboard weapons that remained roared to life, phase beams lancing out to the warbird as a pair of torpedoes streaked from the remaining tubes toward it. After long, almost agonizing moments, the final warbird detonated.
Captain Sukuda slouched slightly in his chair as he sighed heavily. "Ensign Colms, what's the status of the fleet?" he asked his comms officer.
She was silent for a moment. "The rest of the warbirds have been destroyed, sir. The fleet's returning to us." she paused again. "The Andorian fleet sends their thanks for ensuring their escape."
"Good," Afolayan said, looking down at Sukuda with a critical eye. "Fuku, speaking frankly, I ought to strip you of command for putting your ship at risk like that."
"You'd have every right to, Mosi," Sukuda replied. "That ram was risky. Too risky. But if I hadn't done something..."
He paused, then chuckled softly. "Well, Thunderchild wouldn't have lived up to her name. Or maybe she would have. Who's to say?"
Afolayan sighed quietly. "Well, if nothing else, the civilians are safe." she paused. "I wonder what Wells would think of that."
"I think he'd be impressed his ironclad made it out this time," Sukuda said with a slight grin as they limped back to the task fleet.
A/N: My Thunderchild omake, as promised.
Agaron Prime, Antares Sector, Late 2158
Flag Captain Fuku Sukuda of the UES Thunderchild was a well-read man.
Any crewmember or officer of the ship that spent any great amount of time onboard both knew that quite well and thought that it had little bearing on their assignments. Especially now. Here, as 2158, in Earth time at least, threatened to tip over into 2159, they found themselves at a research station and civilian outpost keeping watch as what the Andorian ambassador was quick to classify as 'important weapons data', alongside nearly 8,000 scientists and civilians, was evacuated from the single habitable planet in the system.
All in all, the small task fleet under their command was enjoying the brief respite in combat operations. Warspite, their only sister vessel at the moment, was raising quite the furor elsewhere with her own task fleet, keeping the Romulan fleets busy while they worked. Even still, Captain Sukuda sat in the command chair on the bridge, watching out the viewscreen as the civilian ships slowly began to float away from Agaron 4. He didn't need to look back to know that Rear Admiral Afolayan, the woman in charge of the fleet, was at his shoulder.
Finally, the silence broke. "Captain!" Lieutenant Nelson said as he looked back from his tactical station. "Reading a wolfpack of signatures, 9 in all, coming in from the shadow of Agaron 2."
The wolfpacks had been growing larger since the battle of Denobula. But that didn't matter. They had them outnumbered by 5 ships. "Red alert, all power to combat systems," Sukuda said firmly. "All ahead full."
Afolayan nodded. "Contact the Bentfin and the Spinetail, and tell them to run security for the refugee fleet."
The fleet sprang into action, a well-maintained instrument oiled and tuned to the tempo of battle as they swept out toward their enemies. But even such grand action was mostly undertaken in silence, their intercept course making contact with the enemy fleet halfway between Agaron 4 and Agaron 1. The wolfpack's signatures glided ever closer. Strange, that they'd decloaked this far out.
"They're in torpedo range, sir," Nelson said.
"Full barrage on the lead warbird, then pairs on any vulnerable enemies that come up on the fleet tac-net on my mark," Sukuda replied, watching the sensor panel on his chair intently as the seconds ticked by, then green dots resolved on the barren backdrop of Agaron 1. "Fire!"
The buzzing, blaring hum of the photonic torpedoes preceded their brilliant, scintillating orange forms lancing out, accompanied seconds later by their dimmer atomic cousins that glowed a pale white. The warbirds, now almost discernable, began to swoop away in pairs and trios. The atomic torpedoes launched by the other ships began to struggle in their tracking patterns, but the photonics were a more dogged sort, slamming into the starboard stern of their target warbird, two hits on its hull sending a winged nacelle shearing away as it tumbled helplessly towards them.
Then they came into gun range, the stars crossed with ribbons of orange and green as NXs, Stingrays, and warbirds began to engage in the deadly dance of the duel, turning about as polarized hulls clashed with shielded targets. And at the center of it all was Thunderchild, a fortress of energized metal and hyperfocused fire, boring through the shields of the warbirds and offering her cohort opportunities to strike and triumph, one warbird after another soon enough going up in flames as their reactors quenched and exploded.
She still took her licks, of course, warbirds pelting her with fire as best they could. Four topside pulsed phase cannons had been knocked out by the time they halved the fleet, along with three bottom-mounted cannons and an aft torpedo tube.
"Captain!" Sukuda's communications officer called, breaking him from the focus of his task. "The Bentfin is reading four more warbirds decloaking in front of the refugee fleet!"
Sukuda's eyes flashed down to his pannel, and his heart went cold as he saw the truth of it. Four ships, arrayed in a line in front of the fleet and the two Stingrays, waiting patiently for the helpless fleet to reach them. But they just... waited where they were. No engagement, no first strike, everything flying in the face of Romulan combat doctrine as Starfleet knew it.
'They want them afraid before they die.' Sukuda realized as his jaw clenched. 'They want to show how powerful they are to them.'
He looked up at the battle that raged around him. "What's the status of the fleet here?" he asked Nelson.
Nelson spared a glance down at his console. "The Munk's Pygmy and the Sicklefin have taken heavy damage and are peeling off. The Atlantis and the Buran are down a few phase cannons and a torpedo launcher. Otherwise, these last five ships shouldn't be much of a problem."
Sukuda nodded as he looked up at Afolayan. "Ma'am, I'm about to turn this ship around. Shall I inform Captain Koenig?"
"Don't worry about it," Afolayan replied, striding over to the comms station. "Dream Chaser, this is Fleet Command. Thunderchild is breaking off to assist the refugee fleet. Can we leave this in your hands?"
"We'll mop things up here, Admiral." Captain Koenig replied. "Give them hell."
Afolayan nodded, and Sukuda wasted no time. "Bring us about, Ensign, full speed ahead! Inform the Bentfin and the Spinetail we're on our way and tell them to prepare to attack the furthest left warbird on our signal. On my mark, launch a full spread of torpedoes at that target. We'll engage the remaining three."
They worked as he spoke, the ship making the best headway it could toward the fleet in distress, the Romulan screen slowly creeping closer. Finally, as time seemed to stretch its seconds into hours, they were within range. "Torpedo barrage, fire! Helm, adjust heading to face the center of our three ships and begin long-range fires."
The torpedoes flashed away again, slicing through the void and over the heads of the refugee vessels and the Stingrays to slam into the warbird, its shields flashing as they failed, the final torpedo slamming into the hull as it began to maneuver away. The Bentfin and Spinetail leaped into action, peeling away from the head of the fleet to chase their newly vulnerable prey.
The remaining warbirds, however, wasted no time focusing on the Thunderchild, disruptor beams lancing across the vessel's thick-skinned hull as it fired torpedoes and phase cannons at the terrorizing vessels. The battleship wasn't suited fully for this sort of direct, driving attack, and the ship rocked from the impacts as sections of hull polarization faltered and failed. Finally, however, a warbird went up in a brilliant explosion, a twin of the one the two Stingrays had doggedly worn down.
Their focus turned to another warbird, their phase cannons piercing through its shields and scoring one nacelle, then another, the warbird drifting slowly to a stop in front of them, its top side facing them even as it continued to fire.
Then, several disruptor beams scored the front of the hull, the impact of them nearly sending Sukuda and the rest of the bridge out of their chairs. "Damage report!" he shouted.
"Power to the weapons is fluctuating, sir!" Nelson said, panic edging into his voice. "We're down to one forward torpedo tube functioning, and repair teams are being dispatched to torpedo tube 3."
The guns of the ship were silent, the hull pounded on again and again by the warbirds. They needed to do... something.
Then, Sukuda looked at the drifting warbird before them, and an idea clicked into place in his mind.
"Ensign," he told the helmsman, "all ahead full through that drifting warbird."
The ensign, a fresh-faced young man named Quinn, looked at him like he'd gone mad. And likely, he might have. "You want to ram them, sir?"
"We don't have many other options. Do it!" Sukuda stabbed the ship-wide comms button. "All hands, evacuate from the port side and brace for impact!"
He hoped, as he felt them getting up to speed, that his warning had come soon enough, the warbird growing larger and larger in the viewscreen as it fired more and more. Then... impact.
They got lucky enough to clip the bow of the ship, the back of it flipping down on them like a coin landing on pavement before it bounced up off them, debris from both ships mixing as it trailed the now thoroughly ruined warbird. The blow sent most of the bridge, and most likely most of the warship, sprawling on the deck. For long moments, it was still. Surprisingly silent, as if their last warbird was simply aghast at the desperate maneuver.
Then, Sukuda lifted himself off the floor. "Power to the starboard weapons as quickly as possible, then get a firing solution on that last warbird. Quickly!"
The rest of the bridge crew struggled back into their seats, Nelson's fingers flying over the console as he tried desperately to make his captain's orders come to pass. The warbird began finally to fire on them again, yet more of the hull scored by disruptor fire. Then, finally, the starboard weapons that remained roared to life, phase beams lancing out to the warbird as a pair of torpedoes streaked from the remaining tubes toward it. After long, almost agonizing moments, the final warbird detonated.
Captain Sukuda slouched slightly in his chair as he sighed heavily. "Ensign Colms, what's the status of the fleet?" he asked his comms officer.
She was silent for a moment. "The rest of the warbirds have been destroyed, sir. The fleet's returning to us." she paused again. "The Andorian fleet sends their thanks for ensuring their escape."
"Good," Afolayan said, looking down at Sukuda with a critical eye. "Fuku, speaking frankly, I ought to strip you of command for putting your ship at risk like that."
"You'd have every right to, Mosi," Sukuda replied. "That ram was risky. Too risky. But if I hadn't done something..."
He paused, then chuckled softly. "Well, Thunderchild wouldn't have lived up to her name. Or maybe she would have. Who's to say?"
Afolayan sighed quietly. "Well, if nothing else, the civilians are safe." she paused. "I wonder what Wells would think of that."
"I think he'd be impressed his ironclad made it out this time," Sukuda said with a slight grin as they limped back to the task fleet.
A/N: My Thunderchild omake, as promised.
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