The lights on the bridge of the Zephyr had turned red, and the soft hum of the klaxon echoed in the background. Engineering had worked miracles in twelve short hours. Shields had been repaired, and the bridge lighting was functional. The carpet had been cleaned as much as possible, but the stains from the battle the day before remained. Captain Samson Bradley was pleased but also thankful his ship would be able to have a hand in the coming fight. “Helm, put us in position.” The starship shifted into position at the side of the station, her fighters ready to launch. Twenty Vaadwaur fighters were on the horizon, and several Manasa-class Assault Escorts escorted them. “They’ve brought friends this time,” he observed dryly. “Science – anything we can use?”

Ensign Lita Morrison worked at her console. “No new readings – working to build a profile on the Manasa-class.” She worked with her team decks below as the sensors worked to connect the scans they saw to a modern-day equivalent. “Reading…twelve polaron cannons and four torpedo launchers.” Her voice sounded shaky, as the revelation sobered the bridge crew quickly.

Kondo De La Fontaine, at tactical, adjusted his threats and tactical screen. “Captain, we’re readying quantum torpedoes – they’re not hiding any of this from us.” He looked to Morrison for confirmation.

Her eyes were wide as the unsettling threat became clear: “He’s right, sir. They’re not making any effort to hide any of this—they want us to see what they have.”

Bradley drummed his fingers on the arms of his chair, “Arrogant buggers. Given what we think they’ve been doing behind the curtains all around us, they seem convinced it’s earned. Copy everything to Montana as we go. Mr. Kondo, when they are in range – fire. They’ve made it clear they’re not here to talk.”

“No responses on any channels, captain.” Captain Elbert Burton’s voice was heard through the speaker at the command table in the middle of command and control. “It was worth a try, sir.”

Fleet Captain Geronimo Fontana grimaced. “That’s the last time we try to talk to them. They’re still sending their manifesto of surrender or die?”

Burton sounded tired on the other end, “On every channel and in every language they know. Not a lot of variation in the speech.”

“Keep monitoring, captain.” He closed the channel and glanced over to the tactical operations department. Commander Thasaz watched over her weapons officers, her screens shifting as she searched the incoming ships and the space around them. He walked over and up the stairs. “Commander – I wanted to thank you in person for the post-mortem early this morning on yesterday’s fight. You did well.” He glanced around at her team. They were focused, earpieces in and hands working their consoles with various battle plans and reports.

She smiled in reply. “I take the protection of this place seriously, Fontana. I’m not taking any chances.” She pointed at the various screens around them. “Given what little we know, I had expected more of an attack force.” A look crossed her face, and she added, “We’re a pretty big target with plenty of protection. This class of station is relatively new – they may be looking to gain experience as they go.”

Fontana grumbled, “They’re going to try and wear us down, then.”

The Romulan’s lips went wide in a menacing smile. “They will try, sir. They can try.” She shook her head. “They might think they got a human Starfleet officer out here in the rimward who’s never faced a fight.” Her chuckle was dark, and Fontana knew from the depths of her history it was calling. “Wait until they get a load of me.”

“Circle up on Zephyr.” Lieutenant and Wing Commander Falcon Llewellyn ordered his West Wings into formation. The incoming fighters, along with the three escort ships, had decreased their speed. “They’re slowing down.” He clicked over to his new flight commander on Montana. “West Wing formed up and ready.” Commander Ethan Wilder’s gravelly voice confirmed his report and closed the channel. Montana’s fighters had also launched, moving to defensive postures around the station. Falcon switched to his team. “We’ll still engage the fighters at first, but Montana’s wing will keep them busy. We’re to take on the three lead ships, see if we can pull them closer to the station where they can put a few holes in ‘em.” He checked the threat screen out of habit. They were still holding just out of range of all of them. “Follow my orders directly. If Flight Command gives you an order, you follow. Do not try and make shit up as you go, West Wings.” A chorus of ‘Aye, aye’ came back from the group. “Good. Let’s get ready to make a mess of some Vaadwaur.”

Thasaz announced from her corner, “They’re moving forward – fighters are coming into range.”

Fontana felt the air shift in the room, as big as it was. He ordered, “Flight Command, activate Montana Flight Squadron and West Wing.”

Wilder repeated the order and turned in his chair, speaking his orders as he sent commands to the various fighters arrayed around Montana Station. He felt an old thrill snaking through his soul. It was time to take up the fight again.

Falcon pushed his fighter out in front of his team, giving them their orders and adjustments as he flew towards the growing crowd of Vaadwaur. The seconds ticked down on his display, and he announced, “Weapons range…now. Evasive and engage!” The entire wing split like a practiced group of dancers, quickly swarming the enemy, firing as they put the pressure on them. Montana’s Squadron of fighters and bombers swept in seconds later, increasing the pressure on the Vaadwaur, who, for a moment, scattered.

“West Wing, that’s our signal – intercept those big boys! Let’s see if we can pull them closer to Montana. Hit ‘em quick and fast!” The Valkyrie class fighters kicked forward, and the three Manasa-class ships hesitated at the sudden running attack. They recovered quickly, and the blasts from the 12 polaron cannons and four torpedo launchers began earnestly. Falcon swerved as the fire intensified, “West Wing, let’s bring these bastards home!”