The ship rocked.
David stood on the deck of his starship, staring at the forward viewer, watching as a Jem’Hadar fighter bore down on him, its phaser banks spitting its energy to disperse harmlessly across the Sekigahara’s shields, leaving only the wake of the impact of forced particles against the shields to bear witness of the Dominion’s attack. David stood, as he did for all battles, in the center of his bridge, believing in the principal that a man could not fight his battles from a seated position. He would stand to the last possible moment. It was his pride, his strength. It was what gendered the myths about him, the legend that circled around in the bowels of the ship, as long as David Nash stood on the deck plates of an Achillies class starship, Q himself would be hard pressed to make him fail.
“Captain, sensors show three more Dominion ships on an intercept course,” the tactical officer spoke as David felt his ship rock again, the Sekigahara sitting quiet, the monstrous beast biding its time while the fly continues to buzz in its ears to make itself known. David could take the small assault ship down with one command, one volley of the arsenal of his starship, but it was serving a purpose. Dominion sensors still were inferior to those of the Federation, and though the one fly he had to contend with was about to be joined by three of its older, larger brothers, David’s eyes also held another prize off in the distance. A centaur class vessel limped just on the edge of sensor range, and if the Dominion were to proceed unhindered.
“How close to Paulson nebula?” Nash asked, while turning his eyes back to his science officer, who continued to work on raising the Centaur class starship on subspace. The science officer simply shook his head, Nash’s mind theorizing that their comm systems must have failed, or be failing. They were deaf, but were they blind of what was coming their way?
“Paulson Nebula, 0.561 lightyears away. Estimated 63 minutes at full impulse,” the answer returned, and Nash’s eyes looked out the forward viewer again. The nebula had its advantages, tactically. Sensors were useless within, nobody could scan its interior, and nobody within could see more than 300 feet off their bow. The Dominion would be fools to follow him into it. But he couldn’t simply make a break for it. He knew the sensor range of the first starship, but the others that headed towards him at high warp? Would they be able to see the other Federation starship?
“Captain, Dominion starships entering into the system,” the tactical officer spoke, and David casually, as though ordering someone to walk across the room, ordered the strike that would swat the initial fly. The forward pulse phaser banks of the Sekigahara suddenly, and with lethal force, became active. Each firing bursts of six pulses at the Dominion starship, the small craft rocking with each impact, as Nash watched the first three beat down the Dominion shields, the other three finding their mark above the small vessel’s warp core, causing first a hull breach which ultimately ended the small ship’s threat in a brilliant explosion.
“Helm, Come to 195.167, bring us around,” Nash spoke, and felt the subtle movements as the ship whipped around to face the three larger dominion attack cruisers that were bearing down on his position. He stood, watching the three forms growing every larger on the view screen, impatiently tapping his foot, waiting. In his mind, cursing the damn sluggish Centaur, counting seconds, breaths, as though down to his last. He would fight. That’s what he was born to do. The logic of it made little sense. The Centaur carried less crew, had less potential than the Sekigahara, but it was unsuspecting. The Dominion would simply ambush it, toss it away in the first volley… a waste of life.
was this any different? he asked himself, as he watched the forward viewer, keeping his stone faced mask on his face, that look every captain had when the situation became tense and he knew all eyes were on him. They were well trained, all waiting with baited breath for the order to turn and make a run for the Nebula… an order every one of them was praying would come swiftly, and yet all knew wasn’t guaranteed to come at all.
“Target the lead ship,” Nash spoke, his mind still counting, his eyes still looking on the forward viewer, as the Dominion ships dropped from warp, slowing to sublights… to engage with the Federation battleship.
“Captain, USS Johnston sends word. Communication and warp power restored. Setting course and engaging at maximum warp,” the communication’s officer, a Vulcan woman dressed in a sharp looking red uniform spoke in her dull, calm voice. Nash exhaled, his head stopped counting.
“Acknowledge the Johnston’s transmission and tell them good luck,” Nash ordered, his words coming quickly now, “Lieutenant O’Keif, I want a volley of torpedo’s launched at the lead ship the moment before we break for warp. Helm, set course for the nebula, maximum warp.
The orders given, and carried out without hesitation. Nash didn’t believe in giving orders, then needing to activate them with a command unless he specified a mark. The Sek spat forward a volley of torpedoes at the nose of the center Dominion starship, before streaking forward, then curving back at full impulse a moment before entering high warp.
“Keep an eye on those ships, and let me know when he reach the Nebula,” David spoke, as he took his seat, and his eyes met those of his first officer, another human male quite a bit younger than the old warhorse. He didn’t say anything, he didn’t’ feel like he needed to. It was foolish. And it was the right thing to do.
