Star Trek: Enterprise: The Romulan War: Beneath the Raptor's Wing (Star Trek : Enterprise)

by Michael A. Martin

  Shran nodded. “Which is why we must strike with our best-armed ships, hard and fast, before they have the opportunity to deploy it.”

  “Starfleet has upgraded Yorktown’s armaments, defenses, and propulsion systems quite a bit over the past few months, General,” said Shosetsu.

  “Not nearly enough, I fear, Captain. The Imperial Guard reports that your technology is still somewhat... backward when compared to ours, generally speaking.”

  “I’ll grant you that our food reconstitutors still can’t do justice to Andorian ales and citrus drinks,” Shosetsu said around a wry smile. “But ‘backward’ isn’t always a bad thing, General. Even your own engineers can’t dismiss the Cochrane Institute team’s findings about Earth technology in comparison to what the Romulans have.”

  Shran’s antennae probed forward, suggesting either suspicion or curiosity, or perhaps a mixture of both. “Findings, Captain?”

  “The ones that suggest that the more ‘backward’ a ship is, the less vulnerable it should be to having the Romulans seize it by remote control. That’s why I believe Mister Mayweather’s suggestion has some merit, General. The Yorktown should go after the mother ship.”

  “We have made every command-and-control-system retrofit that the Cochrane team has recommended so far,” Shran said. “With these initial countermeasures in place, we should be no more vulnerable than you are.”

  “Perhaps. But I’m sure you’re no more eager than I am to wager the safety of either your ship or your homeworld on untested research, however brilliant it might look on paper.”

  “That’s a good point, Captain,” Shran said, nodding.

  “I recommend that the Weytahn and her support ships stay clear of the carrier vessel and concentrate on the sublight fighters instead. Protect your homeworld. Yorktown and Challenger will engage the mother ship together.”

  It occurred to Mayweather that while Shran might not be comfortable staking everything on the Cochrane Institute’s high-tech brain trust, Captain Shosetsu seemed to carry no such compunctions. He seemed perfectly willing to make a life-or-death gamble that the Cochrane team’s analysis of Earth’s relative vulnerability to an insidious Romulan weapon was correct. But however risky that assumption might turn out to be, it still seemed the way the smart money should bet—provided Challenger didn’t turn out to be the Achilles’ heel of today’s Andorian-human flotilla.

  “Very well, Captain,” Shran said at length, though his expression remained stiff and guarded. “But the Weytahn will return to assist you just as soon as I make certain that the sublight threat to Andoria has been neutralized. Shran out.”

  As an infinite gulf of star-bejeweled blackness replaced the general’s face, Shosetsu said, “Let’s hope we can take that mother down before Shran gets back here. The last thing we need is a fight with the Romulans and a hijacked Imperial Guard warship.”

  “Amen to that,” Mendez said.

  “We’re just close enough for visual contact now,” Giannini said.

  “On-screen,” said Shosetsu, retaking his chair. “Maximum magnification.”

  The starfield shimmered and reoriented as dim foreground objects—the lumps of frozen volatiles and dirt common to many Kuiper belts—grew from the apparent size of dust motes to boulders.

  A menacing, hawklike shape now hung near the viewer’s center.

  “Ensign Krawczak,” Shosetsu said. “Raise Challenger. Let’s go get ’em.”

  Bird-of-Prey Dhivael

  Commander T’Voras shifted uncomfortably in the high, thronelike chair that dominated his vessel’s bustling control center. “The squadron should have finished its work by now,” he said, simultaneously addressing everyone and no one.

  I should have flown with them as I did back at D’caernu’mneani. Sometimes a commander had to guide a delicate operation with his own hands in order to ensure its success, which in this case could only come once a clear flight path, unobstructed by the presence of any functional warp-field detection apparatus, lay between the Dhivael and the homeworld of the steki’ehrhe blueskins, the Andorsu.

  “The squadron has just reported engagement with enemy forces, deep inside the system,” Decurion Morek reported from the com station.

  “Identify enemy ships,” T’Voras snapped.

  “Assorted Andorsu vessels, ranging from large warships down to medium-sized patrol craft. Precise number indeterminate. The hostiles appear to be trying to jam the squadron’s comm traffic, and are using portions of the system’s defense grid to obscure our sensors. From the fragments of comm traffic that are getting through, it appears that the ship-to-ship battle is not going well. I am sorry, Commander.”

  T’Voras muttered a curse. The system’s defenders had made their appearance somewhat earlier than he had anticipated. It appeared highly unlikely that any of the Dhivael’s complement of Nei’hrr-class attack raptors would reach Andoria now, given the current circumstances; though the raptors had the advantage of maneuverability in subwarp combat, they were still no match for Andoria’s military spacefleet, either in armaments or in sheer speed. The raptors’ principal advantage was their capacity for stealth, but that advantage had just become a red-feathered hlai’hwy that had escaped from its cage, taken wing, and flown far, far away.

  Of course, had Admiral Valdore granted him all the raptors he had requisitioned for this mission—a number sufficient to have cleared the way more quickly for the Dhivael’s undetected warp-speed approach of Andoria—then the tide of battle would be flowing in an entirely different direction at this very moment. He might already be raining destruction down upon Andoria’s cities.

  But now was not the time for either regrets or recriminations.

  “Are the hostiles within range of our arrenhe’hwiua telecapture system?” T’Voras asked. Since none of the subwarp raptors could generate sufficient power to operate such an energy-intensive weapon, the telecapture unit had to be the sole province of the Dhivael on this mission.

  “No, Commander,” Morek said. “We would have to make a closer approach.”

  And just how close an approach, T’Voras knew, would depend greatly upon what measures the Andorsu may have taken to “harden” their systems against the arrenhe’hwiua device.

  “A stealthy approach would seem to be out of the question,” T’Voras said as he came to a decision. “Helm, put us on a direct heading for Andoria. Maximum warp.”

  “Yes, Commander,” Decurion Rarek said from the flight control board, into which she was began to enter a swift series of commands.

  “Since they discovered our attack raptors so quickly, Commander, we should assume that they have detected the Dhivael as well,” Centurion T’Vak said, standing ramrod straight beside the T’Voras’s chair. “Withdrawal would be our most prudent course of action.”

  T’Voras glared hard at the centurion. Prudence, he thought with disdain. The Romulan Star Empire was not built by men who valued prudence over victory.

  He noticed then that Rarek seemed frozen over her flight controls as she regarded the Dhivael’s two most senior officers uncertainly. Ignoring T’Vak, T’Voras addressed Rarek directly.

  “You will carry out my order, Decurion.”

  Rarek nodded as her hand moved toward the “execute” switch. “Yes, Commander.”

  “Commander T’Voras!” T’Vak cried. A flashing green alarm on the nvaimn-side scanners had evidently just attracted his attention.

  “What is it now, Centurion?” T’Voras said, his patience rapidly thinning.

  “Two more large ships have just dropped out of warp, Commander. They’re both already within weapons range of the Dhivael, and they seem to be trying to bracket us between them.”

  Interesting. “More Andorsu?”

  “No, sir. They’re Earth ships. Starfleet Daedalus-and NX-class.”

  T’Voras grinned. For reasons that remained obscure, the Romulan Star Empire had succeeded in acquiring precious few Starfleet ships so far. Admiral Valdore would be gratef
ul indeed if the Dhivael managed to increase that small number by even one—particularly if that one belonged to the NX-class, Starfleet’s most advanced ship of the line.

  “Should I hold our position here, Commander?” Rarek asked, again looking uncertain. Her hand still hovered above the “execute” switch.

  “Take us to Andoria, best speed,” he said, his grin broadening. “And get the arrenhe’hwiua ready to deploy against multiple targets.”

  He was counting on his prey to chase him.

  I.G.S. Weytahn

  “The Romulan carrier ship is headed into the system,” Lieutenant ch’Narv reported from the tactical station. “It is headed toward Andoria at high warp.”

  “Pursue!” Shran barked. “Redeploy the Yravas-class fighters to engage the incoming enemy, and scramble as many more from Andoria as you can get.” It had grieved him to learn that six small fighters were the only elements of his flotilla that had survived the initial engagement. But life had taught him long ago to adapt to changing circumstances, using whatever tools came to hand. If ice borers killed your alicorne, you used their heat to cook up a batch of alicorne steaks.

  “The Romulans are jamming our ground communications,” said Lieutenant sh’Rreev from the comm station.

  Shran muttered a curse as he tried to rein in his rapidly mounting dread. Surely one lone Romulan vessel, even one as apparently well-armored as this one, couldn’t stand for long against a concerted attack by six agile fighter craft, not to mention the combined firepower of the Weytahn and two of Starfleet’s ships of the line. Especially when the remnants of its complement of sublight auxiliary craft were presently too far away to render assistance.

  The Weytahn lurched slightly as the inertial damping system momentarily lagged in compensating for the ship’s sudden burst of acceleration. Ignoring this slight discomfort, Shran studied the central viewscreen, which Nras had split into a simultaneous real-time subspace-band-enhanced display of the imagery coming from the ship’s electronic “eyes.” The aft camera was focused on the rapidly dwindling Romulan mother ship, which was receding quickly ahead of the Andorian Yravas-class fighter craft that were closing from behind even more rapidly; the forward camera showed the disk-shaped and globular forward sections, respectively, of Challenger and Yorktown, the Earth ships that were bringing up the rear. Of the two Starfleet vessels, only the warp-five-capable Challenger seemed to have a realistic chance of catching up to the Romulan carrier vessel before its speed took her all the way to Andoria.

  “Can we intercept them in time?” Shran quietly asked Subcommander Nras, who was standing beside him, rapt by the dramatic tableau on the viewer.

  “They won’t get any closer than two orbital units before the Weytahn can engage them directly,” Nras said.

  Shran was delighted to hear that, though he would have preferred a somewhat thicker safety margin than twice the mean distance between Andoria and her primary star.

  “The fighters should be on top of them before that,” ch’Narv said.

  “They’ll be space dust before they get anywhere near Andoria,” Nras said. “Unless...”

  Shran scowled as he watched the small Andorian fighter craft begin breaking formation.

  “Unless what?” Shran wanted to know, though he feared the answer to his question was already unfolding, quite literally, right before his eyes: two of the six remaining little Andorian fighter ships suddenly broke off from their roughly hexagonal attack formation and reversed course, followed a few heartbeats later by another, and another, and another.

  “Unless that happens,” said Nras as he nodded toward the screen, his antennae going limp.

  All six Andorian Yravas-class fighters in Shran’s squadron had come about completely, each taking on a direct heading for the Weytahn. Though their new formation was less organized than the one they had just broken, the air of menace they presented was palpable nevertheless. Shran’s antennae raised themselves like a pair of sharpened Ushaan-Tor blades being prepared for ritual combat.

  All six of the fighter ships’ forward weapons tubes began to glow a perilous blue-white.

  “Evasive maneuvers!” Shran cried as the two nearest craft released their first salvos...

  U.S.S. Yorktown

  “The Andorian fighter ships have broken off from the Romulan carrier vessel,” Lieutenant Albertson said from the tactical console, his pale features presenting a study in both puzzlement and horror. “And they’ve just opened fire on the Weytahn!”

  “Damn!” said Captain Shosetsu, who looked as stunned as Commander Mendez, who stood mutely beside him.

  Travis Mayweather felt every bit as much horror as everyone else on the bridge, if not nearly as much surprise. What had just happened seemed to him not only perfectly obvious, but also entirely predictable.

  “The Romulans have hijacked them,” he said. So much for quickie off-the-shelf countermeasures. Looks like it’s back to the drawing board for the Cochrane team.

  Mendez seemed to be thinking along similar lines. “We build a three-meter wall, and the Romulans make a three-and-a-half-meter ladder to climb over it.”

  “How soon will we engage them?” Shosetsu asked.

  “Maybe not soon enough, even at maximum warp,” Mayweather said, his eyes riveted to the main viewer. “But Challenger will reach the Weytahn almost five full minutes before we do. Maybe they can keep the Romulans occupied until we arrive.”

  “Get us there as fast as you can, Mister Mayweather,” Shosetsu said before relaying essentially the same order to engineering.

  Mayweather put the spurs to his throttle controls; he tried to ignore the almost painful whine of the overtaxed propulsion system, instead focusing his attention toward the main bridge viewer.

  Thanks to the images collected by the long-range subspace scanners, the screen now displayed orange petals of fire blossoming across the Weytahn’s hull—and the sleek shape of Challenger as she dropped out of warp apparently only a few hundred meters away from the beleaguered Andorian warship. Challenger’s phase cannons blazed to life at the same instant, immediately crippling one of the Andorian fighters even as two others began concentrating their fire on their newest target, leaving the remainder to maintain their single-minded focus on the Weytahn. Yellow-orange impacts flared against the NX-class starship’s polarized hull plating, which already looked scorched in places.

  “Just hang in there for a few more minutes, Dunsel,” Shosetsu muttered, his voice nearly drowned out by the whine of the warp engines.

  Challenger

  The ship rumbled with the relentless impact of the hijacked Andorian guns, briefly prompting Captain Roy Dunsel to wonder if his teeth were coming loose.

  “The Romulan carrier is accelerating downsystem,” said Ensign Hendricks. “She could make it all the way to Andoria if these fighters delay us here any further.”

  “I’ve managed to cripple two of them so far, Captain,” said Lieutenant Rubin at tactical. With a doubtful shake of his prematurely gray head, he added, “But it takes a lot more luck and effort to shoot a gun out of a bad guy’s hand than it does to squeeze off a lethal gut-shot.”

  “They’re allies,” Dunsel said. “We can’t just destroy allied ships, Lieutenant.”

  Lieutenant Commander Estelle Granger, Challenger’s first officer, approached Dunsel’s chair and spoke in a tone deliberately pitched to be all but inaudible to anyone but the captain. “Even if that turns out to be the only way to save an entire planet?”

  For the first time in his career, Dunsel felt completely stymied, utterly helpless, and absolutely useless.

  And if there was any one thing he truly hated more than anything else, it was to feel useless.

  I.G.S. Weytahn

  “Must I remind you that there are still pilots aboard those last four fighters?” Nras said, his tone bristling with anger, his antennae jabbing forward antagonistically. A console smoldered behind him, its flames having just been smothered by the fire-suppression system, le
aving the command deck redolent of ozone and fear.

  “No,” Shran said with affected calm, though he was well aware that one of the Yravas pilots out there was Nras’s only son, Skav. “And I trust I need not remind you that all of Andoria will be in peril if we allow those craft to destroy us or cripple us—or even delay us any further. Forgive me, my old friend. I am only doing what I must.”

  He turned away from Nras, trusting his exec to maintain proper command-deck decorum in spite of the terrible sacrifice that circumstance had thrust upon him.

  Turning toward ch’Narv at tactical, Shran said, “Destroy them all.”

  Can Jhamel forgive me as well? he thought. He wondered if he could ever again face his peace-loving Aenar shelthreth mates or the child Jhamel would soon bear them all.