By Nathan Warner
Admiral Lathe leads a daring assault on a Dominion-held colony in the final days of the war.
In the last year of the Dominion War, Admiral Andrew Lathe led an evening assault on New Normandy Colony, recently captured by Dominion ground troops. Earlier in the morning, the 5th fleet had swept through the Solasta System, defeating the Jem-Hadar fleet at Antiochas 4. Now, mop-up operations were underway to drive Jem-Hadar defense forces from each planet’s surface in the system.
So far, the work had been slow and costly. For the past two hours, the U.S.S. Vital and U.S.S. Revived (Both Akira class starships) had bombarded New Normandy on Antiochas 5 with phaser fire and lower yield Quantum torpedoes (so as not to irreparably harm the biosphere), destroying all visible weapon platforms and troop emplacements.
“Cease fire!” Admiral Lathe ordered to the fleet from the bridge of his newly refitted Galaxy class star ship. Dubbed the War-Galaxy, the U.S.S. Angurvadal was as formidable an addition to the war as the Norse sword it was named after, and like that mythical weapon, it too could change the gentle gleam of its peacetime countenance into the fiery glow of a war-machine. And as every mighty sword needs a hero to bear it into battle, Admiral Lathe was its formidable champion—a legend in Starfleet and a renowned tactician. Standing at the front of the bridge, he leaned into the viewscreen, taking in the immense view of the planet below. A tall and imposing figure in his 70s, his gaze could scratch flint. Every few seconds, his bright sapphire eyes flickered from the unfolding scenes outside to the old 19th century gold pocket watch in his palm. It was a family heirloom handed down from the American Civil War. He had carried it into every conflict he’d seen during his decorated service as a Starfleet officer.
As if announcing the approaching steps of fate, he had clasped and unclasped the hunter case of the pocket watch every ten seconds, exposing his mind to the unforgiving hands of time: “click—tick, tick, tick—click...click—tick, tick, tick—click.” The sound had become quite unnerving to the bridge crew, who felt the weight of greatness in his presence, but also the impending test of their own metal. The Admiral considered his next move carefully, each one a carefully forged link in the chain of military strategy. Sensor readings from orbit had been inconclusive, and a low-altitude reconnaissance team would provide detailed scans of the colony. He glanced down at his watch one final time.
“Send in the scouts,” he commanded, waving his hand towards the planet. Lt. Adrian Anvil nodded, his hands dancing the flamingo over the controls at the Conn.
“Done, Sir,” he announced a little too enthusiastically. Lathe took a few precious seconds to stare the young man sober before turning back at the exact moment to witness his orders commence—two Danube class Runabouts pulsed forward from the fleet and descended into the atmosphere in frictional balls of fire. The seconds ticked away until the scout transmissions broke through the Dominion jammers.
“No life signs...no signs...enemy operations,” Lt. Saunders, reported from his fly-over, “dampening field...in effect and sensors...can’t penetrate it.” His report threatened to crush the enthusiasm on the Angurvadal’s bridge as Admiral Lathe moved to Lt. Commander Brevish’s science station behind the arch—the officer had an unfortunate condition that caused his ears to burn when he knew the Admiral was watching him. They were practically glowing as Lathe observed his confirmation of Saunder’s report.
“There’s definitely a dampening field down there,” Brevish concurred, “It is responsible for our sensor issues.” The dampening field was centered over the Averopolis Municipal Space Port on the West side of the metropolis—an optimal location for the Dominion defense. But as there was no sign of Dominion activity, it was possible that the field was all that remained of their forces. Lathe knew better. Not only did the field interfere with sensors, it also prevented transport within two miles of the Port. The fleet would be forced to beam their troops several miles outside the perimeter into the exposed prairies of the surrounding nature reserves. Or they would have to commence a shuttle landing party, but it would be forced to fly into the dampening field and expose themselves to ground fire before they could reach the main landing sites. Lathe straightened and turned to the Bridge crew with the stoicism of a Vulcan.
“So,” he reflected, as if he was giving a lecture to first year cadets, “to our sensors, the city appears to be as quiet as a cemetery, but there might as easily be several garrisons of Jem’Hadar down there digging our graves as we speak.” Lathe turned back to Con officer. “Lt. Saunders, have you been able to make any visual sightings of the enemy,” he inquired. There was a pause, filled with static—probably from the dampening field.
“Negative,” came the reply, “Visual scans...inconclusive, but that doesn’t mean...”
“Yes, Lieutenant, I know,” Lathe interrupted. Everyone even remotely involved the war was intimately aware of the ability of Jem-Hadar soldiers to shroud themselves in a light bending cloak—making them effectively invisible. Cautiously optimistic with the bombardment, Admiral Lathe decided to commence the ground invasion with a surprise.
“Separate the ship!” he ordered, and turned to Captain Thomes Rebores, “Thomes, you have the Star Drive.” Rebores nodded his bristling red head and eagerly vacated the bridge with a few select officers, confident it was in the hands of a legend. Lathe counted the seconds—each one a mathematical unit of potential spent in the moment. For years, he had taught Advanced Combat Tactics at Starfleet Academy, and he’d dedicated a whole class to the importance of timing.
“It’s a space-time continuum out there, folks,” he would say, “So if you know your operating space, time becomes the chief variable of interest. Your optimum moment is a moving target. Act too soon and you miss it, falling to your death—act too late and you miss it, falling to your death. Get the picture? Don’t miss it!”
“Admiral, the Drive is signaling their readiness,” Lt. Anvil reported, trying unsuccessfully to keep the nervousness from betraying his voice.
“Proceed!” Lathe commented. With a few brief taps on the console, the Saucer lifted off from the docking clamps—only a slight jolt, and the Angurvadal Saucer banked clear of its Drive. “Set a course for the colony” Lathe said, “and signal our escort to provide cover.” The impulse engines flared alive and the Saucer pulsed forward into the planet’s upper ionosphere, the light gasses of the atmosphere at this altitude were easily blown aside by the deflector. Below, and a little behind, the U.S.S. Reprieve and Rejoinder—two Defiant class starships—pulled into formation, providing a deadly deterrent to any potential attackers. Without flinching, Lathe drove their formation directly over the metropolitan’s downtown district in a show of force.
They passed low enough that he could see the rapids in the turbulent river that cut through it. But he smiled wanly as he caught sight of glass windows shattering into showers of crystalline rain from the heads of the tallest skyscrapers, raining down on the empty streets below—the sheer power of their passing had shattered them with the boom of broken Mach barriers. It was a sad metaphor to the fragility of the lives that had once lived on this thriving colony and the lives that would yet be shattered before the day was through. But before Lathe could wax melancholy, the Angurvadal had thundered out 10 km over the northern prairies, and gained altitude to meet the climbing terrain of the mountain ranges. The ship slowed as it approached the "Conference Table" - a high Mountain plateau overlooking the colony.
“Commence landing cycle,” the Admiral ordered, unclasping the hunter case on his pocket watch and nodding with approval as the hands ticked away their excellent posture in the space-time continuum. In the deck below their feet, the bridge crew sensed the slight vibrations betraying the six landing pads extending from just inside the saucer’s dorsal phaser strip diameter, and moments later they felt the slight jolt as the ship touched down on the granite plateau. They glanced uneasily at each other as they heard the faint rumble of the Defiant escort gaining altitude again to provide higher cover.
According to the Mission plan filed with Starfleet Command, the next phase of the assault would see the saucer serve as a mobile command post for the invasion. Its main shuttle bay was listed as carrying 5 federation attack fighters for enemy fire suppression and to call in precision “air” strikes from the orbiting fleet contingent, but the bulk of the invasion would come from orbit—every available shuttle the fleet could spare. The Defiant classes would provide air-superiority against any counterattack by hidden Jem-Hadar fighters as well as serving a potent ground-attack role from mid-altitude. But this was not to be the course of action. Admiral Lathe believed Starfleet’s subspace channels had been compromised, so he had met with his fleet Captains in the conference room of the Angurvadal and delivered them his alternate plan in person—only after a joint blood-screening to prove no changelings were in their midst. His final act was to take command of the Angurvadal.
And now, from the Angurvadal’s bridge, Lathe set in motion his alternate battle strategy. He leaned forward, almost touching his nose to the viewscreen.
“Magnify!” he ordered. For ten minutes, exactly, he viewed various sections of the once-beautiful, sprawling metropolis, now in ruins. There was no sign of movement or life - it looked like a 24th century ghost-town. Taking a glance at his pocket watch, he turned to Lt. Anvil at the Conn. “Open a channel to all our forces," he ordered.
"Yes, sir,” Anvil gulped, “channel open.”
“This is your Admiral,” Lathe declared, “the mission of our troops is to locate and destroy the dampening field source so we can deploy our full forces. You’ll be deployed at least 500 meters from the Dominion's last known front—the Averopolis Municipal Space Port on the West side of Averopolis. Destroy the field's power source at any cost. Once the field is down, we’ll beam down more troop reinforcements and supplies from orbit. God speed to us all...commence invasion.”
He hoped he sounded convincing, because the message was meant for Dominion intelligence, not his fleet. Even now, he could sense enemy forces funneling into the space port to defend it.
Lathe opened the hunter case on his stopwatch and followed the seconds hand as it observed each moment’s passing into the unreachable past. At last, after two minutes had elapsed, he clicked it closed.
“That should do it,” he muttered, and then turning to Lt. Commander Brevish, who had taken the helm. “Take us up,” he said. With a few short taps on the console, Brevish flicked the reigns of the War-Galaxy, and the deck shuddered as it lifted off into the thin mountain air, coursing forward towards the open fields around the space port.
“Sir, sensors just detected a defensive shield go up around the port!” Lt. Sumner reported from the tactical station behind the bridge arch, “It can repel our landing craft!” So, the Dominion had some tricks up their sleeves, Lathe smiled.
“Yes, I knew it would make its appearance,” he said, “Prepare the upgraded deflector array.” In just a few seconds, the Angurvadal was nearly on top of the space port. “Now!” Lathe ordered. An invisible beam of focused energy struck out from the Angurvadal’s belly and pounded the enemy’s hemi-spherical shield. It shuddered under the full weight of the 24th century battering ram, distorting inward like a ball of dough to the pressure of a baker’s thumb. As the Saucer hovered to a stop one kilometer above the port’s epicenter, the intense force of the deflector stretched the shield beyond its capacity. It fluctuated wildly, overloaded the generators, and the field “popped” in a deafening shockwave that blew out all the remaining windows in the city. Such a blast had to have stunned every life form for a few kilometers.
But Lathe knew the Jem’Hadar weren’t just any life-form. He motioned to Lt. Anvil. “Light them up,” he said. Anvil turned the ship’s subspace antennas to maximum and ran the harmonic frequencies of subspace mines. The powerful new array easily cut through the dampening field at this distance. The earth beneath them flared with crackling walls of flame, like a thousand firecrackers sparking along a street as small explosions rippled like waves through the spaceport below.
“Switch to infrared,” Lathe commanded, and instantly he could see hundreds of dead Jem’Hadar, their shrouds forever dropped, lying in heaps below them. They had been caught setting mines on the perimeter of there defensive line—exactly as Lathe predicted. Every subspace mine within five miles must have been detonated. Again Lathe motioned to Lt. Anvil, and he could hear the LCARS buttons chirping their reply to the Lt.’s touch. Suddenly, the Angurvadal’s radio antennas lit up. Powerful microwaves bathed the air below the ship, creating resonance patterns of ultra-low frequency that radiated down on the enemy. The sound waves were meant to overwhelm even the strongest life-form in painful sonic energy—forcing Jem’Hadar concentration from their difficultly maintained shrouds. It worked. All around the port buildings, Dominion troops popped into view, dropping their shrouds to the painful dissonance of the waves passing through them.
“Fire!” Lathe instructed. Like an artificial cloud, the Angurvadal poured out precision phaser fire on the position of every Jem’Hadar soldier visible to sensors. They didn’t stand a chance. Arcs of energy vaporized every target in sight. For two whole minutes, the firing continued, until the port was clear of combatants. “Commence beaming,” Lathe commanded. The dampening field was strong, but it was only powerful enough to repel transporters over a kilometer away. The Angurvadal had hovered to less than 500 meters above the ground. The additional 20 transporters set up in the Main Shuttle Bay had little trouble punching their matter streams through the field. Instantly hundreds of Federation troops materialized on the battle-field below, and in less than 60 seconds, over a thousand soldiers were advancing on the buildings of the space port with the massive Saucer providing cover. But it was largely a mop-up operation as the troops met with little resistance, and over 25 Vorta surrendered after witnessing the destruction of their armies.
Admiral Lathe opened his watch and counted the seconds. It only took a few more ticks before the news came.
“The port is secure,” Lt. Anvil reported. Lathe straightened and clicked the hunter case closed.
“One thousand, eight hundred sixty three,” he whispered.
“Excuse me, Sir?” Anvil asked, looking up from the Conn.
“Eighteen sixty two seconds to victory,” Lathe replied, “that, my boy, was exactly what I was aiming for—the window of time I wanted to jump through—a fitting rebuttal to a legacy of conflict and sacrifice.” He ran his fingers over the inscription on the back of his watch, and read it aloud: “Battle of Antietam, 1862, Colonel Jerome Lathe” He turned to his bridge crew.
“This watch commemorated my ancestor's disastrous decisions that made Antietam the bloodiest battle in United States history,” he said, “and in each battle I’ve fought, I’ve prayed to balance his sins with the lives saved under my command. Remember to bear the weight of the lives that surround you.” He gazed into each officer's face and then left the bridge for the transporter room, to oversee the restoration of the terrible destruction war had made of the once bustling and lively New Normandy. It would recover, in time and in space - and due to Admiral Lathe's resolve, it would recover to be a place of freedom and liberty under the watchful gaze of the Federation.
The Battle of New Normandy went down as one of the most successful engagements in Starfleet history.
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