The Starbase auditorium was packed with clusters of officers, some in red-trimmed uniforms, others in plain grey flight suits. A buzz of hushed conversations filled the air, thick and tense as if any louder word might disrupt the fragile calm.

Junior Lieutenant Sh’iv sat close to the center, next to her flight CO. She hadn’t spoken a word, her lips pressed tight as her Andorian antennae flicked subtly, sensing every shift and murmur around her. Her gaze drifted toward the broad steps leading to the twin exit doors, an instinctual glance that betrayed her tension. She could feel the weight of anticipation pressing down on the room, thick as smoke, as everyone awaited what was coming.

Lieutenant Marcus Ming sat next to his Andorian XO, quietly observing the room.  He could feel the press of excitement, anticipation, and anxiety in the room despite his mental shields being up.  He was a weak telepath but in a group this size a collective press like this was still impactful.  Sh’iv’s discomfort was damned near palatable.

The Knight’s CO knew that a gathering like this meant one thing.  The Fleet was making a damned big push.  It was about time, in Ming’s opinion.  The disaster at Betazed was a debacle in the kindest sense.  This huge gathering signaled at least something in the way of better planning whatever they were doing.  The lieutenant leaned toward his XO and murmured, “Whatever is going on, I’m certain that we’ve got this.  Try not to stress too much, XO.  No help ”

“I can’t help feeling a bit nervous,” she replied with a frown. “I’d be nervous regardless,  but with these antennae sensing everyone else… Well, all I can say is I’m glad I’m not Betazed,  but I do long for the blissful ignorance of a human.”

Ming paused for a moment and gave his XO a sad smile.  He said in a hushed tone, “Sadly, not all of us have the pleasure of a low to non-existent ESPer rating.”

A pair of Starfleet officers emerged from the back of the auditorium, and a hush fell over the assembled officers. Leading the way was a tall, slender man in a gray flight suit trimmed with red; his Lieutenant Commander pips glinting above his right breast. His close-cropped hair, now streaked with salt and pepper, had once been raven black.

Beside him walked a slight woman; her gold-trimmed duty uniform was pressed and perfectly tailored to fit her curves. Her bright blue eyes scanned the room with sharp precision, framed by hair the color of sun-bleached straw, pulled back into a severe ponytail.

Stepping to the podium, the man spoke. “Good morning.  Some of you may know me, and others may not. Unfortunately, I see a lot of new faces here. I am Commander Jeperson of the 335th Fighter Squadron, and beside me is Commander Margaret O’Hara. She is the Intelligence officer for the 7th Tactical Wing.”

Stepping aside, Jeperson allowed O’Hara to step up to the podium, “Thank you, Commander. Now that introductions are over, let’s get down to business.”

She entered commands. The vast view screen illuminated, displaying a tactical map of the area with Federation and Dominion dotting it. “As of 02:00 this morning, our operatives on Betazed informed us of a massive redeployment of enemy assets.  The Dominion fleet comprises the Cardassian 8th, 12th, and 17th Orders. Several squadrons of Jem’Hadar fighters and three Dominion Strike Groups are accompanying the Cardassian forces. Based on their current course, they are heading here.”

Ming blinked a couple of times as he processed the information.  Yet another Dominion push.  He had hoped that the news would be about a Federation offensive, but that hope just died for now.  He murmured, “Well shit…Things just got way more interesting.”

Sh’iv felt a knot tighten in her stomach, a wave of nausea clawing its way up her throat. She clenched her fists, forcing the sensation down, her mind spinning. Why am I reacting like this? she thought. I’ve been in combat for over a year. This isn’t new. But it felt different, and that unease lingered.

O’Hara’s voice cut through the low hum of the room, steady and commanding. “As of now, you are all detached from your ships. Report to your squadron commanders immediately for further orders.”

The announcement sent a ripple through the auditorium as officers exchanged hushed whispers. Conversations buzzed with speculation and uncertainty, but they quickly fell silent as Jeperson returned to the lectern. Clearing his throat, he projected his voice over the room.

“The following squadrons will proceed to their designated briefing rooms: 27th to 302, 96th to 301, 104th to 300, and 335th,” he said, his gaze settling on them. Remain seated. Your briefing will take place here. Dismissed.”

The stadium-style seats creaked softly, their spring-loaded cushions flipping up with muted thumps as bodies shifted and rose. Across the rows, the members of the four flights that made up the 335th exchanged glances—some curious, others wary—while the departing squadrons filed out in uneven clusters. The rustle of boots on concrete and the low murmur of conversation filled the air, blending with the faint metallic tang of the room.

Ming felt a mix of both curiosity and wariness; however, some of that was the press of the 335th who surrounded him and his XO. There was something else.  A cold fury.  It was past time for the Federation to enact some better tactics.  He’d routed some suggestions to a mentor who was now serving in Starfleet command, but there was no sign of any sort that there was any implementation, whole or in part.  He wasn’t an Admiral quite yet, so he was likely to stay disappointed.

He leaned over and whispered to Sh’iv, “This is getting more and more interesting.  We could stand a major win right about now.  I believe we are very much past due.  Personally, I have a lot more Dominion Jem’hadar and Vorta to start making up for things.”

Sh’iv glanced at Ming and arched an eyebrow. He was right; they were overdue for a win. It hadn’t been this bleak since the fall of Betazed, though it wasn’t precisely sunny either. Despite the Romulan alliance, progress had been slow. Their victories had been… well, she smirked, recalling a boyfriend from the Academy, a self-proclaimed “Good ol’ boy” from Alabama. He’d probably say their victories were “as rare as hen’s teeth.”

O’hara stared across the auditorium, “Okay, 335th, you will escort a formation of ten heavies led by the Sovereign-class USS Oklahoma as they assault the Dominion battleship dispatched to this fight.”

The mention of a Dominion Battleship sent murmurs through the crowd. Everyone remembered the USS Valiant‘s encounter with one, as reported by Jake Sisko. True, the ship had been crewed by cadets intoxicated by their own legend, led by the arrogant Cadet Waters. Still, the fact remained: the battleship had destroyed a Defiant-class ship, taking little to no damage in return. Sh’iv swallowed hard, her throat as dry as Andoria’s ice deserts. Would ten ships be enough?

Ming listened to the briefing and chatter with interest.  He didn’t realize his outer demeanor seemed much more serene than he felt.  This was going to be interesting.  The Jem’Hadar battleship was a monster around 52.5% bigger than the Sovereign class.  They had more firepower as well.  Marcus hoped it would be 10 Sovvies; otherwise, this was likely to be another “L’ for the Fleet unless the brass hats had a major ace up their sleeve they were not talking about.  He took a slow breath in, followed by a slow breath out.  There had to be more to come.  The Knight’s CO looked over at his XO.

Taking over from O’Hara’s overall briefing, Jeperson broke down squadron-specific assignments. “We’ll split the squadron in two,” Jeperson said, his tone firm. “I’ll lead Alpha and Delta flights. Mr. Ming, you’ll take Bravo and Charlie.”

He paused, tapping a command into the console. The main screen lit up, displaying a list of ten starships. With a subtle hum, the display separated five ships, expanding them into detailed profiles: three Galaxy-class vessels, a Nebula-class, and one of the sleek, new Prometheus-class ships. Starfleet was pulling out all the stops. Letting a Prometheus-class leave the Sol system meant they were deadly serious.

“Mr. Ming,” Jeperson continued, his gaze steady, “these ships are your responsibility. Keep Dominion fighters off them at all costs.”

Marcus took a brief moment to commit the ships in question to memory.  He had not expected to see his responsabilities grow so suddenly but then this was war and this was something that he’d been training for.  Letting his poker face slip into a mask of quiet confidence focusing his attention fully onto Jeperson and projected his voice, “Understood.  We’ll keep our Dominion counterparts busy and out of their hair, sir.”

The lineup he saw wasn’t quite what he had envisioned but it had potential. The magnitude of the Prometheus Class being involved was not lost on him.  The Galaxy Class had solid merits even if they were a bit older than the Soveriegn Class and he knew quite well how the Nebula Class starships were smaller powerhouses that were starship sized Swiss Army Knives.

There might be some hope after all.  Marcus knew better than to get cocky however.

Jeperson entered commands, and the screen displayed a single ship, slowly rotating and tilting to reveal its form from all angles. It was an unusual assembly of salvaged Excelsior and Miranda-class components, forged together into what was known as the Curry class. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is USS Sternbach.  This ship will be our support base for replenishment and emergency repairs.”

Ming studied the screen as the commander spoke.  He studied the image as he considered the briefing.  His hand went up, and he said with a soft tone that he projected with respect, “Query, sir?”

Jepperson straightened and leveled his gaze on Marcus. “Yes, Mr. Ming.”

Ming spoke as he processed everything he could, “Respectfully, I am not as familiar as I would like with the Curry Class.  What are we talking about regarding the replenishment rate?  Can I presume this ship will be replenishing fighters as well as the primary ships, or will it be limited to one versus the other?  Who gets priority, assuming the answer is both?”

“The Sternbach is here for us. It is not to supply the larger fleet. It may respond to the recovery of escape pods, but that should not impact your ability to return for resupply. You should be aware that it will likely not be stationary, and you should have your computer or weapons officers maintain continual tracking.”

Ming nodded and said, “Understood.  Thank you sir.”

The Knight’s CO settled into his chair once again doing his best to give the Commander the right cues that he was done.  Once the speaker’s eyes focused elsewhere, he gave Sh’iv a subtle sideways glance.  She was his right hand, and he suddenly felt a little self-conscious for reasons he was unsure about.

Sh’iv’s antennae twitched, sensing the unease radiating from her superior officer. She offered him an encouraging smile, though it felt hollow. Ever since the briefing had been called, an overwhelming sense of dread had settled over her. The revelations shared moments ago hadn’t eased her fears; if anything, they had only made them worse.

An ugly realization clawed at the edges of her mind: there was a real chance she wouldn’t return to the Denver. The thought lingered, heavy and oppressive, like a stormcloud she couldn’t escape. Taking a steadying breath, she held onto the smile. One of them had to believe they’d survive this, even if it was only for show.

Ming sensed his XO’s gloomy mood.  He leaned a bit closer and said softly, “I’ll have your back XO.”

“If there are no further questions, you are all dismissed until 03:00 tomorrow. I’ll see you at the rendezvous coordinates,” Jeperson concluded, stepping away from the podium.

The assembled pilots rose, their tense whispers buzzing like nervous bees. Sh’iv stood with them, glancing around at the faces in the room before letting out a deep breath. “I need a drink,” she muttered.

“I like that idea, XO.  Points for a brilliant command level suggestion,” Marcus said softly but lightly to Sh’iv.

“Mr. Ming, a moment, please,” Jeperson called over the rising hum of voices.

Sh’iv shrugged and gave Marcus a faint, forlorn smile. “I’ll save you a seat at the bar.” Without waiting for his response, she turned and trudged up the steps, weaving through the dispersing pilots.

The corridor outside felt no less oppressive, the sterile lighting doing little to soften the weight of her thoughts. Following a pair of chattering female pilots, she walked toward the lift, forcing herself to focus on the small promise she’d made. She’d save Marcus a seat. If nothing else, it was something to hold onto.

Lieutenant Ming gave Sh’iv a reassuring smile before turning his attention to Commander Jeperson.  He made his way through the exiting pilots until he reached a spot near his CO for this mission.  He stood at attention, “Lieutenant Marcus Ming reporting as ordered sir.”

Jeperson chuckled, running a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair as he sat on the edge of the auditorium’s stage. “Relax, XO, before you bust a gasket.”

Marcus grinned and chuckled as he loosened up a little.  He said simply, “Yes, sir”

Jeperson leaned forward slightly, his expression shifting to something more curious. “Are you ready for this? You haven’t done much squadron work lately, stuck out there on the Denver. Probably used to being the one in charge, huh?”

Ming looked thoughtful for a moment before he answered.  He nodded, “Am I ready for this?”

The Lieutenant chuckled lightly though his violet eyes were confident, “I don’t think I have much choice. Lives will be on the line and we need to tip the balance of this war in our favor.  It’s a case of coming home victorious or on my shield as it were.  I have no intent to get a ride home on a shield, sir.”

The junior officer continued, “The scale is bigger, sure.  The machine may have more cogs but it’s a matter of being aware.  Regards to the being in charge I know I have autonomy within my flight and I am aware of my having operational command.   In the end I still had to report to my commanding officer and either take the pat on the shoulder or a kick in the ass.  Either way at the end of this mission I’ll have a doozy of a sore butt or sore shoulder.”

Jeperson shook his head and sighed. “You’re a good pilot, Marcus. I wouldn’t make you my second in command, and I wouldn’t have assigned you to the Denver if you weren’t. You are ready for your own squadron, but that ship you are on cannot accommodate a full squadron, and I need you there for now.”

Marcus nodded with a small smile, “Understood, sir. Denver is a good ship and a good crew with a solid command staff which has made it a good vessel to work out of.  Even so, I am a Starfleet officer and I will go wherever you and the fleet order me.  That said if I am to stay where I am for now I can’t really complain.”

Jeperson paused, shifting gears. “Oh, by the way, Starfleet still needs that operational and tactical report on the Valkyrie fighters. They want to roll them out fleet-wide, and our pilots need to understand their strengths and weaknesses.”

Marcus nodded, “Yessir.  Overall they’re very damned fine fighters.  They are a very decent balance of weapons versus agility / speed.  We’ve had a few damaged however the crews survived intact with much fewer losses as I’d expect compared to the Sparrows and Peregrines.  Having trained on the Sparrows I know they have metric tonnes of speed and agility but they’re very comparitively weak on armorment.  The Peregrines are for all intents and purposes the polar opposite.  The Valkyries are a solid balance between the two and I belive quite strongly that they’d be an asset to the fleet when put into full production.  They’re damned good assets AND their performance in the live fire missions has been, ultimately, very successful in my professional opinion.”

“Good. I need that full report to send it up to Command.” He slid off the edge of the stage and placed a massive hand on the other man’s shoulder. “I’ll see you out there, Marcus. Now, go take care of your flight, they need you.”

“Yessir.  I will get on that in short order.  But for now, with your permission, I have my pilots to look after,” Marcus said with a growing grin.  Once he got a nod from his senior officer he nodded his respectful gratitude before he headed out of the auditorium exit.