Episode 11

Star Trek New Order

Episode 011

“Revolution in Romulus PT. II”

Previously on Star Trek New Order: It's war!  Romulus has set its sights on the federation. With battle looming on the horizon, Hunt must undertake a desperate secret mission to gather crucial intelligence. While the rest of the crew must prepare to fight the biggest battle since the Dominion War, The fate of the universe hangs in the balance.

…And now the continuation

 

 “Shields are down to sixty percent,” Taurik reported, “we cannot take much more of this pounding.”

“Entering weapons range,” Dergos stated.

“Fire at will,” Tertian spat.  Dergos jammed his finger down on the firing control and a volley of Quantum torpedoes and phaser beams reached out toward one of the Romulan Warbirds.  The quantum torpedoes detonated against the Warbird’s shield, weakening them enough to allow the phaser beams to cut through to the hull.  Tertian ordered a second volley, which lanced out and blasted the target to pieces.

“Yes, got one!” Dergos shouted, and then the Battle Bridge shook from a plasma torpedo hit on the shields, snapping Dergos back to duty.

“The Prince of Wales is taking a pounding from a bunch of Valdore class Warbirds,” Dace reported, “They are reporting heavy damage.”

“Break formation,” Tertian ordered, “move to assist the flagship.”

“Aye,” answered the Helmsmen.

                        *                                  *                                  *

“Good luck,” Chavin wished.

 “Thanks,” Hunt kissed her on the lips before fitting the helmet over his head, and shutting the inner hatch.  Hunt then opened the space door, and waited for the ship to get closer to the moon.  At the right moment he leaped off into space.

For several seconds Hunt let himself float, tumbling through space in the general direction of the moon.  The momentum of the Majahual allowed him to travel rather rapidly toward the planetoid.  As soon as Hunt was positive the ship was clear of the Romulan defenses, he engaged the thruster pack, adding to the momentum.

While he waited for the moon’s gravity to pull him in, he prepared the gear he would need for planet fall.  He placed a modified forcefield emitter on his chest plate, then he armed the parachute canister attached to his back, and finally he fired a thruster to line himself up for atmospheric entry.

                        *                                  *                                  *

“What could be taking him so long?” Chavin said, as she paced the Majahaul’s small cockpit.

“Well,” A’Cillia explained as if for the up-tenth time, “he has to make planetfall before he can do anything for us, so stop pacing.”

“Alright,” Chavin relented, settling into the chair in front of the Science station, and nervously pulling her knees to her chest.

“Ok,” A’Cillia queried, swiveling her chair away from the Conn and towards Chavin, “what’s up?”

“He proposed to me,” Chavin announced.

“He finally did it,” A’Cillia meowed, “wow; he never quite got up the courage to ask me.”

“I don’t have claws?” Chavin guessed.

“I think it’s something else,” A’Cillia suggested, “Jon is, well, he’s different, I don’t think he could get his head around the choice.”

“Choice,” Chavin asked, “what choice?”

“Which was more important, me,” A’Cillia answered coyly, “or his ship.”

An alarm beeped on the console behind Chavin, she turned around to check it, pushing the subject to the back of her mind.

                        *                                  *                                  *

The Beliskner swooped in, in defense of the flagship.  A D’Deridex class Warbird or two was an easy match for a Sovereign Class starship, but four of the massive Valdore class Warbirds easily overpowered the mighty vessel.  The Prince of Wales was taking a severe punishment from these vessels.  The Enterprise and Beliskner quickly arrived to even out the match.  From the Bridge of the Flagship, Admiral Hayes watched the battle unfold.  The bridge was in shambles.

Hayes ordered a full spread of quantum torpedoes fired at one of the attackers; they lanced out and struck one of the Valdores amidships, penetrating the shield and snapping the neck, essentially disabling the vessel.  The Prince shook again from the force of the close warp core breach as the Valdore’s quantum singularity drive lost containment and swallowed a large portion of its vessel. 

Pausing only long enough to celebrate their small victory, the crew of the Flagship went to work on the next one, while the Beliskner and Enterprise Held off the other two.  In a combined effort the two vessels smashed another Warbird.  Unfortunately, before it exploded, it launched a squadron of Scorpion suicide fighters.  The Enterprise and Beliskner spun around to intercept the small crafts, and the latter launched her alert fighters.

Phasers blazing, the two ships, and dozens of fighters, valiantly defended the Flagship from the fighters as it fought one of the remaining Valdores.  Unfortunately, one of the Scorpions was able to slip through the net, and made a Kamikaze run against the stricken starship Prince of Wales, passing through it’s already weakened shields and slamming into the bridge.  The admiral was killed instantly, along with much of the crew as the warp core destabilized and exploded.  Only a handful of escape pods were able to survive.

From the bridge of the Enterprise, Captain Picard addressed the rest of the fleet.  He quickly took command, and ordered the formation to tighten up, and what fighters were left spaceborne to defend against further suicide runs.

                        *                                  *                                  *

As Hunt finally neared the atmosphere, his suit began to glow orange with atmospheric friction.  Hunt activated the forcefield generator, which formed a flattened sphere around his body, which he tucked into a ball.  He stayed this way for several minutes as he passed through the upper layers of the atmosphere.  When the friction slowed him down enough that he was no longer experiencing the heating effects of reentry, he disengaged the forcefield.  He stretched out into a spread eagle position, in order to control his decent.  When the atmosphere was thick enough, he deployed the parachute, and glided softly to the surface.

Upon reaching the surface, he removed the bulky spacesuit.  Now useless to him, he vaporized the suit and parachute with a hand phaser he had attached to his belt.  Hunt then began walking towards the Romulan base, where he hoped he could find the transporter inhibitor.

                        *                                  *                                  *

“I have a contact,” Chavin reported, “Warbird decloaking dead ahead.”

Then the Warbird hailed the two of them, “You lied,” the commander said, “We saw you launch something at the other moon, you aren’t on a survey mission.”  The commander punctuated his sentence with a salvo of pulses across their bow.

Without a word, A’Cillia brought the ship about and began to flee, hoping to find a place to hide, while they waited.  The Warbird began to pursue, so A’Cillia opened fire.  The weak phaser beams tickled the Romulan’s shield, but did not do any damage.  The Romulans answered with another salvo, which struck the Survey ship aft.

“We’ve lost weapons and shields,” Chavin reported.

“Sister, we didn’t have any in the first place,” A’Cillia hissed.

“There is a deep crater on this close moon’s southern pole,” Chavin suggested, “maybe we can lay low for a while.”

Dodging more disruptor fire, A’Cillia brought the ship down in the crater, and shut down the engines, “I hope Hunt can call us back soon.”

                        *                                  *                                  *

Unfortunately, at the very same moment, Hunt was having his own problems.  The Romulans had seen his decent, and were probing the jungle.  Hunt lay low in a grove of trees while Romulan troops scoured the jungle around him.  He set his tricorder to emit a false lifesign, in order to conceal his own, and it was working for the moment.  As lunar night fell, the Romulan’s retreated back to their base.  Hunt slowly made his way towards the direction of the inhibitor according to his tricorder.

Then, Hunt tripped and tumbled down a hill.  He landed at the feet of a straggling Romulan centurion.  The Romulan spun around and drew his disruptor, but before he could raise the alarm, there was a loud bang, and his head exploded.  Hunt cradled a large black .45 caliber Colt M1911 pistol, smoking at the muzzle.  Hunt was glad that he decided to bring this old antique, even though he cursed the noise it made. 

Although he could not do anything about the layer of green blood covering everything, Hunt dropped the Romulan body into a small gulley, and covered it with brush.  Hunt then continued to move toward the source of the inhibitor field.  Soon he came to a clearing.  At the center of the clearing, was a hill with the emitter he was looking for on top.

                        *                                  *                                  *

“Sir,” Dergos reported, “The Turtle has just been destroyed.”

Although he had never served on her, Tertian hung his head.  The Turtle was a sister ship of the Lapon, which many crew members had served on before it was destroyed by its former first officer.  Tertian knew that the Fleet was vastly outnumbered by the Romulans, and was taking heavy casualties.  He had to think of something to do, and fast.  He turned around towards Dergos, “Major,” He asked, “What is the disposition of the wrecks at from the Battle with the Borg?”

“Most of them were salvaged and either taken back into service or towed to Qualor II, why?”

“I have an idea,” Tertian answered, “and the remaining ones?”

“Melbourne, Kyushu, Princeton, Gage, Buran and Tolstoy, all have munitions and antimatter removed for safety reasons,” Dergos responded.

“Can we access their prefix codes?”

“Most of their intact systems were removed prior to their dedication as a memorial,” Taurik chimed in.

“Then we’ll have to do this the old fashioned way,” Tertian declared, “Helm, set a course for the wreck yard.”

“Aye, sir,” Came the reply as the helmsmen dialed in the coordinates.

“Major,” Tertian said as they came within range, “Lock a tractor beam onto the Kyushu; helm lay in a collision course on the nearest Warbird, full impulse.

“Tractor Beam engaged; the Kyushu is under tow.”

“Course set,”

“The Federation Historical Service is going to have my head for this,” Tertian admitted, “Engage.”  The Beliskner shot forward, the New Orleans class hulk in tow.  Captain Picard caught on and the Enterprise swooped in and picked up the Princeton.

Both ships shook as the fleet’s guns shifted focus onto them.

                        *                                  *                                  *

The commander of the target Warbird stared in awe as a massive Galaxy class battlecruiser Stardrive section loomed larger in his viewscreen.

“What in the name of the Emperor is that ship doing?” he asked rhetorically, “Centurion, open fire.”  The centurion opened fire with a spread of Plasma torpedoes, which struck the ship barreling in on them.  Suddenly, just before it hit, the Galaxy class veered off.  The commander shouted defiantly, and then he noticed a small vessel approaching fast from the same direction.  Before he could order the vessel destroyed, it slammed into the Warbird’s beak like head.

                        *                                  *                                  *

“Hooyah,” Dergos shouted as the Warbird erupted in a ball of fire.  The Enterprise’s target met a similar fate.  As they broke through the enemy formation, Dergos fired a tricobalt device at a Warbird that wandered in front of them, “and there goes another one!”

                        *                                  *                                  *

Hunt was about to run through the clearing to his target, when he noticed several guards in partially hidden positions around the emitter tower.  They would surely cut him down if he tried to leave his cover.  Hunt holstered his Colt and removed his Hand phaser.  Hunt opened up the casing and removed the overload safety circuit, and then he held down the beam intensity control until the phaser started to emit a high pitched hum.  Satisfied with his work, Hunt demonstrated why security personnel often referred to this model as the “Boomerang Phaser” by chucking it toward the hill.  The weapon tumbled end over end through the air and landed at the base of the tower. 

One of the Romulan guards stood up and walked over to investigate the strange object now emitting a steadily increasing whine, seconds later the top of the hill was engulfed in a small nuclear explosion.  When the mushroom cloud cleared, the top of the hill, the guard post and field emitter were replaced by a crater.  Knowing that the explosion would attract attention, Hunt quickly tapped his comm. badge and called the ship.

                        *                                  *                                  *

Chavin and A’Cillia were still waiting in the moon crater when the call finally came in, “The field should be down now,” Hunt’s voice crackled over the comm., “You should hurry though, it’s attracting some unwanted attention.”

“We’re on our way,” Chavin replied as she closed the channel, then she lifted the ship out of the crater and set a course for the other moon.  In route, the Warbird which had been searching for them, caught sight of them and took up pursuit.  As the small vessel was raked by weapons fire, Chavin set the craft on automatic pilot and the two women retreated aft to the transporter room.

A’Cillia dialed the coordinates into the transporter console, while Chavin grabbed two phaser rifles from the weapons locker and the two women stepped onto the pad.

“Good bye, poor Majahual,” Chavin said to the ship as she dematerialized.  As if mourning its caretakers’ departure, the ship’s shields finally gave out and its warp core imploded.

                        *                                  *                                  *

Chavin and A’Cillia materialized in the clearing, and Hunt ran up to greet them.

“Now that’s what I call enjoying your job,” Chavin said, admiring the crater.

“Let’s get moving, Hunt urged, “I have a feeling that had attracted some attention from the main base.”  The Group moved out toward their final objective, the base where, hopefully, the Romulan’s were keeping some of their fighters.

                        *                                  *                                  *

The Federation fleet’s new tactic quickly took the fight out of the Romulans.  The Enterprise and Beliskner continued to cut through the enemy formation.  Suddenly a wing of Birds of Prey swooped in and began firing on the Beliskner.  As the ship shook, Dergos dispatched one of them with volleys from the aft torpedo launcher, but the others were able to evade it.  Fortunately, the Prometheus class Gilgamesh pounced on the rest, separating into three parts so that it could more easily divide the work.  The Gilgamesh easily destroyed them with volleys from their own quantum torpedo launchers.  The battle was rapidly turning against the Romulans.

“That’s right,” Dergos yelled as his torpedoes blasted another Warbird.  Tertian thought that the prophets must be smiling on them, as they were winning against such long odds.  Suddenly his hopes were dashed as Dace made a startling discovery.

“I am detecting a massive subspace distortion off the port bow,” Dace reported, “Something that large could only be caused by a massive cloaked fleet.”  Suddenly fifteen Warbirds decloaked.

“Alter course,” Tertian ordered, “Prepare to engage the newcomers.”  Instead of opening fire on the federation fleet however, the new Warbirds fired on the other Romulans.

“What in the Fire Caves?”

The lead Rebel ship hailed the federation fleet, “Hello Starfleet,” Said the beautiful Romulan woman commanding it, “I am Commander S’renk of the IRW Jarok we are here to stop our brethren from taking the Romulan Empire to war.  We’ll take care of the big ones if you’ll handle the rest.”

“Thank you, Commander,” Replied Picard, then he signaled the fleet to do as the woman suggested.

Tertian ordered an attack run on a wing of Bird of Preys, and then told Dace to launch the rest of his fighters.

                        *                                  *                                  *

Hunt, Chavin and A’Cillia finally reached the fence of the Romulan Base of operations after a short walk.  They hid in the bushes just outside the fence.

Chavin Experimentally threw a stone at the barrier, “No forcefield,” she determined, “odd, why build a secret base that is only guarded by a fence.”

“It’s secret,” Hunt said, “they don’t need a force field to keep out nothing but animals.”

They continued along the fence until they came to the main gate.  It was guarded by three centurions.  Taking cover in the brush, Chavin and A’Cillia activated the sights on their rifles, Hunt gauged the distance and attached a small cylinder to the muzzle of his Colt; the three took aim and fired.   Now silenced, Hunt’s Colt was drowned out by the noise of the two phaser rifles.  Simultaneously, two of the guards flew back with smoking holes in their chests and the third collapsed, a green stain spreading across the front of his uniform from a group of three bullet wounds.  Then Chavin took aim and vaporized the gate’s locking mechanism.  Before more guards could respond, the threesome snuck through and began moving towards a massive hanger.

                        *                                  *                                  *

“Alright boys,” Stormin’ Norman Dace said as his fighter floated over the Gravity Catapult, “Let’s go!”  His fighter, along with three others, shot out of the launch bay, followed shortly there after by a further eight.  His twelve fighters joined together and Dace ordered them to engage some of the Romulan birds of prey.

Just as Dace lined his fighter up on one of the targets, the voice of one of his pilots screamed in his helmet, “I’m under attack,” the pilot reported, “I can’t shake him.”  Dace moved to intercept, but by then it was too late, the pilot’s fighter exploded.

Just then, something flashed in front of his canopy, He figured that it was the thing that attacked his wingman, he turned to pursue, and within seconds he closed enough that he could make out the general shape of the craft.

“What the hell?”

                        *                                  *                                  *

“These almost look like Peregrines,” Chavin observed, as they watched mechanics work on several small craft parked in the hanger. 

“This must be what we’ve been looking for,” Hunt established.

“How did they get their hands on them?” A’Cillia asked.

“I have no idea,” Chavin pronounced.  Suddenly, every Romulan in the room stood up and left as an intercom called them to an assembly.

“What’s going on,” A’Cillia pondered.

“I don’t know,” Hunt said, “but here’s our chance.”  They left their cover and made their way toward one of the fighters.

“I’m sorry Jon,” A’Cillia said suddenly.  Hunt spun around and saw that she was now aiming her phaser rifle at him, “I cannot allow you to continue.”

“Whoa,” Hold on there A’,” Chavin urged.  A’Cillia’s furry finger tightened on the trigger.  Then there was a clap sound and she flew back, a cloud of dark red blood spurting out of her chest.  Hunt’s shaking hands held his smoking Colt .45 pistol.

“I’m sorry A’,” Hunt cried as he holstered the weapon and retrieved A’Cillia’s phaser rifle from the ground.

“Come on, Jon lets get moving,” Chavin urged as she climbed onto the fighter.

*                                  *                                  *

Dace lined up on the Romulan fighter and fired a Micro-Photon. The torpedo sailed towards its target, which didn’t seem to notice, as it hadn’t jinked or launched any countermeasures, and then suddenly the weapon exploded away from its target.  Dace was about to fire another torpedo when he realized something was wrong, he switched to pulse phasers and raked the bogey, this seemed to do the trick, as the Romulan was engulfed in a ball of fire.

“Mayday!” came a voice over the comm. in his helmet, “I am being pursued by bandit; I can’t shake him.”  Dace craned his neck to look out the side window, and there was a peregrine trailing a cloud of plasma, being chased by a Romulan fighter.  Dace pulled back on his stick and brought his fighter into position on the bandit’s six o’clock low. 

Learning from his previous mistake, Dace angled the nose up and fired a burst at the Romulan’s undercarriage.  Just as the pulses hit, the Romulan opened its bomb bay and fired a missile.  Fortunately, one pulse struck the weapon before it could fly towards its intended target.  The missiles plasma yield warhead detonated and consumed the Romulan in an intense ball of white light, leaving nothing but dust.

Dace’s victory was short lived though as another Romulan fighter dove down from above and strafed Dace’s.  The fighter shook from the impacts and panels shorted out in the cockpit, and then Dace’s impulse engines faltered, his fighter was adrift.  The Romulan came around for another pass, and this time severed his wing at the root.  Knowing that he didn’t stand a chance inside, Dace double checked his suit pressure, lowered his sunvisor, then reached down and grabbed the yellow ejection handle.

                        *                                  *                                  *

Chavin looked down into the open cockpit of the Romulan fighter, “What the Frak,” she said, “There’s no controls and only one seat Jon, how the Hell are we supposed to get outta here?”

“They’ve got to fly these things some how,” Hunt urged “get in and find out.”  Chavin climbed in to the seat and the smart polymer chair formed itself around the contours of her body.

“Cool,” she said as she settled into the very comfortable seat, “I wish there was some way you could come with me.”  Suddenly, in the open space behind her a second seat materialized.

“Wow,” Hunt exclaimed, “Intelligent replication, there’s something we could use in ours.”  Hunt climbed in and let the chair form around him.  “Let’s get this thing preflighted, before they get back.”  As if by magic, the fighter’s engines began to heat up, and its systems came online.  “It must be thought controlled.”  All of a sudden, information about the fighter’s status began to flood into his head, almost overwhelming him.

“We are still years away from technology like this,” Chavin observed.  She could almost feel the energy of the EPS system as if it were the blood coursing through her veins; the craft’s quantum singularity, swallowing antimatter and pumping out energy, seemed to beat like her hearts.  She could almost feel the thermal concrete of the hanger floor under her feet.  She could see, even outside of the hanger, and beyond the horizon with the sensors.

Just then, the maintenance crew returned.  They raised the alarm as soon as they saw the fighter powering up.

“Uh oh,” Chavin exclaimed, “we’ve got company.”

“Than maybe we should get out of here!”  Suddenly the fighter lifted off the ground and began moving forwards. “Door,” Hunt shouted as they neared the entrance.  Chavin fired a disruptor pulse at the large hanger doors and flew through the hole, roaring out over the gathering security troops.  A few blasts from disruptor rifles bounced off the shields as Chavin tried to escape.  Unexpectedly a ground launcher fired a torpedo towards them.  “Can we go any faster?”

“Not safely.”

“Try anyway.”  In response the ship suddenly jumped to warp speed and shot out of the atmosphere.

“How’s that for fast?” Chavin said as they dropped out of warp in a high orbit.

“I don’t think I have ever gone to warp atmospheric before,” Hunt remarked.

“I said it was dangerous.”

Without warning, five fighters climbed out of the atmosphere and accelerated after them.

“Crap,” Hunt shouted, “try to shake them.”

“Gee whaddaya think I’m doing,” Chavin shot back as she through the fighter into a roll.  Then one of the Romulans opened up with a phalanx of missiles, “Frak.”  As the missiles closed Chavin concentrated on countermeasures, trying to decoy the missiles, to her surprise, just before they hit the missiles were vaporized by a disruptor beam from a turret on the stern.

“Point Defense System,” Hunt observed, “that’s an interesting development.”

“It means that our pilots are going to have to relearn everything they have been taught since gunnery school,” Chavin proclaimed, “our micro-torpedoes won’t stand a chance at killing these guys.”

“Why don’t we deal with our pursuers?”

“Ok,” Chavin agreed, she spun the fighter around and experimentally rapid fired ten missiles at the oncoming formation, each one was hit by a disruptor beam, then she closed in and brought her disruptors to bear, carefully avoiding the enemies’ fire.  The Oversized cannons cut the Romulan ships to pieces.

“Not much shielding,” Hunt observed.

“I think it partially has to do with the Warbird sized cannons on this thing,” Chavin replied.  She then elected to engage the cloaking device and jump to warp.

                        *                                  *                                  *

Lieutenant Dace floated in the middle of the battlefield.  Nothing else to do, he watched the action going on around him.  A peregrine fighter zoomed past him in pursuit of an enemy fighter.  Dace watched as it lined up for a torpedo shot, “No!” he screamed through his non functional comm. system, “Don’t try it,” he urged.  The pilot fired, and the torpedo was destroyed before hitting its target.  The credulous pilot fired another round, and this time Dace saw why they kept failing, a beam shot out from the stern and hit the missile.  The pilot fired again, and missed.  “Get out of there,” Dace urged as he saw a second Romulan pounce on the unsuspecting pilot, perforating him with disruptor hits.  Dace saw no ejection.  As he watched, two more peregrines met the same fate.  “Come on guys pull it together,” he shouted.

As Dace floated, he was shook by the shock wave of a Romulan Warbird imploding under the fire of the USS Challenger.  The crew of the Sabre Class USS Cochrane committed the ultimate sacrifice by ramming a Warbird that was pummeling the Ambassador Class Ticonderoga.  Then suddenly everything began to change.  The surviving enemy Warbirds suddenly retreated at warp, followed by the Birds of Prey and fighters.

“I wonder where their going?” He asked himself as he was enveloped in the warmth of a transporter beam. 

                        *                                  *                                  *

Tertian sat in Captain Hunt’s chair in the ready room, staring out the large window into space.  Tertian’s moment of silent contemplation was interrupted however when the door chime went off.  He spun back around and straightened the desk, which was covered in ash and slag from the battle damage.  The door chimed again, and Tertian answered it.  Taurik and Dace walked in.

“How’s the damage?” Tertian asked them.

“Heavy,” Taurik replied, “The saucer took many hits, and weapons are barely operational.  Repairs are continuing smoothly, but I fear the saucer may be a lost cause.”

“We lost a lot of good pilots, sir,” Dace reported, “about half the wing; we are down to one squadron.”

“What happened?” Tertian asked.

“Our pilots are not trained for dog fighting sir,” Dace admitted, “They were trained to rely on torpedoes instead of pulse phasers and those damn Romulan birds have some sort of point defense system.  The only solution is to retrain our pilots to forget everything they learned since Gunnery School; I suggest we remove the micro-torpedoes until pilots feel comfortable fighting with phasers only.”

“I’ll consider it,” Tertian said as he dismissed them.  Then he went back to watching the stars beyond his window.  As the fleet licked its wounds and prepared to fight the next battle.