Two Marine regiments advanced on the Dominion garrison, preparing to enter the last valley that lay before the gates of the huge fortress. A third regiment sat in reserve, having given up several battalions to the others to make up for the losses they had suffered.

It all comes down to this, thought Admiral Sri Ganudi. The division commander sat in a command vehicle a kilometer behind the front line of the battle. He turned to his chief of staff: “How soon until we’re within range of the garrison?”

“Just a few kilometers, sir. But the 172^nd and the 52^nd are reporting that the enemy formations are breaking contact and making a fighting retreat for the garrison,” said the captain.

“Order them not to pursue or break formation. Don’t let them string us out or open up a fissure in our lines.”

The captain hesitated. “Admiral, if we let those units get back into the garrison, we may have to dig them out later. Wouldn’t it be better to destroy them now while we have them on the run?”

Ganudi pondered for a moment, rubbing his bare chin, brows furrowed. “No. Let air support and artillery pound them. This retreat may be a tactic to get us to break our lines and string ourselves out and pursue them raggedly. They could have a fresh couple of regiments waiting just inside their gates to take advantage of our overextended reach.”

The aide sighed as he relayed the admiral’s order. “I guess we’ll have to dig in for a long siege.”

“Have you ever read Tolstoy, Captain? No? In ‘War and Peace,’ the Russian general Kutuzov says, ‘The greatest of all warriors are Time and Patience.’ And, my friend, I want those great warriors on our side in this battle. With time and patience, we will win.”

 

Eagleclaw Base
8^th Air Wing
100 kilometers south of the Dominion garrison

Lt. Rebecca Cuddihy stood in front of the replicator in the mess tent, impatient as the machine slowly produced her cup of coffee.

“Wheels up in five minutes, Becca.” Her squadronmate, Rudy Terragno, stood in the door of the tent waving his hand at Becca. She quickly grabbed the newly assembled cup of joe, carefully sipping as she tried to hurry without spilling it. “I’m coming, Rudy. I just need something to keep me going.”

“I know what you mean,” the thin Latino said as they fell into step, heading back toward the launch pad for their squadron. “This sortie rate is wearing me out. I flew 16 hours yesterday.”

“Yeah, but I bet the Jemmies hate us being up there even more,” she replied with a grin. “And with the division at their gates, this isn’t going to go on much longer.”

“How do you figure?” Rudy asked.

“Either we enter a long siege, in which case we scale back to easy patrols, or the division breaks through and the battle ends soon and no more sixteen-hour cockpit tours.”

“Yeah, or enemy reinforcements drop in and we’re back where we started,” he said sardonically.

Becca grimaced at him. “You’re cheery today. I think you need to take out some of your frustrations on the enemy.”

Rudy just grunted and jogged away, across the duracrete launch pad to where his Viper was being prepared. The ten remaining fighters of the 261^st sat ready to launch on the pad. Shuttle pads and their attendant squadrons were scattered across the wide base, dispersed to avoid any single enemy attack causing catastrophic damage to the strength of the air wing.

A crew of technicians repairing battle damage and engaged in refueling surrounded her Viper, and her co-pilot, Rich Founaux, was already in his seat in the rear of the cockpit. “Ready to go again, partner?” she yelled up to him.

“Once more into the breach!” he replied, throwing a fist into the air.

Becca chuckled at her co-pilot’s bravado, which was in such marked contrast to Rudy’s mood. The war made different personalities react in different ways. Maybe it actually intensified your true self—so that the taciturn Rudy and the jovial Rich became even more so when faced with the life and death struggle.

She sat in her seat and strapped in, punching in the codes and commands that brought her fighter to life. So what part of her personality did war intensify? She thought her friends would probably say it was her own intensity, her focus on the situation before her. But then she realized that was probably a biased assesment and they would undoubtedly find something else about her had changed. Maybe she was crabbier than usual. Ironically, that thought made her chuckle.

Above the forward line of battle
Grid 3425 Golf

Once the ground war had begun in earnest and the enemy fighters had been swept from the air, the air wing’s tactics had shifted to close support. Fighter squadrons were assigned to patrols just behind enemy lines and then tasked by forward controllers to swoop in and attack targets on the ground. The mission was not without risk, despite the absence of enemy fighters, because the ground troops could still aim their various weapons into the air. The tank guns and other direct fire artillery were fully capable of knocking an unlucky or inattentive pilot out of the air.

Becca found herself patrolling above the 172^nd Regiment, waiting her turn to be sent down to attack enemy tanks and troops. “How does it look down there?” she asked Rich.

“There are some tough pockets, but the Dominion looks like it’s trying to pull back to the garrison. We should get some really good targets soon.”

“Mm,” she replied. Becca had long since ceased to revel in the fighting, even in the easy victories scored against enemy soldiers.

“Hey Becca,” Rich said after a few moments of silence. “I’m getting some strange readings from the garrison.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was just calibrating the sensors by scanning the garrison and I’m getting weird life signs from inside the walls,” he said.

“Transfer it up here and let me see,” she ordered. The data scrolled across a monitor and as she read it she gasped. “Oh my God, there are natives in the walls!”

Rich was just as incredulous. “They’ve put hostages in the walls of the garrison to keep us from attacking them. That’s barbaric.”

“That’s the Dominion,” Becca replied. “We’ve got to tell Control.”

The communications system had already come to life. “Tiger Four, this is Flight Control. Your flight has been assigned a new target. Execute promptly.”

Becca interrupted. “Control, Tiger Four. We’ve got some readings of the garrison that I think headquarters should see. Transmitting now.”

A few seconds later came the reply. “Roger, Tiger Four. Data received. Execute assigned mission.”

Becca hoped someone, somehow could rescue those poor people. But her first priority now was the tanks threatening the flank of the leftmost battalion of the 172^nd.

Charlie Company, 1/172^nd
Grid 4387 Romeo
Behind the forward line of battle

The once-peaceful and green valley was now torn into muddy and burnt strips, the scars of the battle that so recently passed over this land. Weary Marines trudged forward through the mud, hundreds of soldiers alongside tanks and support vehicles.

Chief Drew Goldberg stopped for a moment to survey his command. The Marines of the 3^rd platoon of Charlie Company had been hit hard in previous battles. They’d lost a third of their comrades, including the platoon leader and now they had been rotated to the reserve force trailing the regiment.

“Tighten up there, Sana. Don’t fall behind,” Goldberg yelled.

“Sorry, Chief. There’s something strange going on over here. The ground’s vibrating something funny.” The Marine kicked at the dirt at his feet.

“What are you talking about? It’s just the tanks rolling nearby.”

“Chief, I know what tanks feel like. This is different. It feels like it’s coming from underground.”

Annoyed, the chief stomped over to where the others in the platoon had begun to gather. If they fell out of formation, it would be Goldberg’s butt that would be in a sling. He was about to cuff the closest soldier and order him to move out, when he felt the ground move under him.

“See what I mean, Chief?” Sana said as they all staggered. “And it’s getting stronger.”

Now this was damned irregular, Goldberg thought. Even if it was nothing more than a sinkhole, it would be a danger to anyone coming through here after them. “Goldberg to Harris,” he said, activating his communicator. “Lieutenant, there’s something strange going on here.”

“What is it, Chief?” the lieutenant asked. After the chief related what they had just experienced, Harris said, “I’ll alert battalion, but keep moving. They’ll have to send somebody later.” Goldberg knew that Harris was giving him the brush-off; he had just done the same thing to Sana. A major battle was raging to the front; Harris was probably thinking he didn’t have time to deal with a bunch of jumpy Marines.

“Sir, I don’t think this can wait. This is almost a seismic event and it’s getting stronger,” he said.

“Understood, Chief. I said I’d alert battalion. Now get moving.” Harris’ irritation came through the communicator very clearly. Reluctantly, Goldberg turned to order his platoon to move out when Sana disappeared before his eyes.

Actually, he didn’t disappear so much as he dropped from sight. A hole had opened up in the ground right under his feet. Everyone else stood stunned for a moment until a Jem’Hadar popped up from the hole and shot the closest Marine where he was. Goldberg dove to the ground, trying to find cover behind a small boulder. His rifle was tangled under him, so he pulled his phaser pistol from its holster and started firing.

“Goldberg to Harris! We’re under attack! A hole opened in the ground and Jem’Hadar are pouring through. There must be tunnels under this valley,” he yelled into his communicator.

Harris, to his credit, didn’t question the report or hesitate. He just said, “Help is on the way,” and cut the connection, presumably to call battalion headquarters.

“Fall back! Fall back!” Goldberg yelled. His platoon was on the leading edge of a Dominion counter-attack and if they were to survive, they’d have to move quickly to the protection of superior force. Already half his platoon had been cut down, and while a disorganized mass of Marines surrounded the now-enlarged tunnel entrance, the Jem’Hadar were coming through ferociously. “Get some cover and fire back! Squad leaders, organize your teams,” he ordered over the platoon frequency. With the hordes of Jem’Hadar streaming out like demons through the gates of Hell, Goldberg began to fervently pray like he had never prayed in his adult life, because he realized he might never get another chance after the next few minutes.

Grid 3423 November

“Admiral, there are Jem’Hadar in the rear area!”

“How many and where?” Admiral Ganudi demanded of the junior aide who had rushed to his side. The aide moved to the holotable and called up the display of the battlefield.

“Here, here, and here,” he said, pointing to three locations, two of them behind the 52^nd and one in the middle of the 172^nd. “There are at least several hundred in total, but there are more coming through the tunnels all the time. At the current rate, there will be thousands of them behind our front lines within an hour.”

“Dammit!” Ganudi slammed his fist against the side of the table. That was all the emotion he was going to allow himself. This is war, he thought. She’s a tempermental mistress who’ll switch her affections from one side to the other capriciously and all the anger in the galaxy won’t change that fact. All he could do was respond calmly with cool reflection.

“Signal the 52^nd to hold in place and surround the tunnel, and bring up the 438^th to support them. Have the armored cavalry move to support the 172^nd and order them to turn a battalion to surround that tunnel. Have both regiments slow their advance to a crawl and prepare for an attack from the forward. Don’t give up forward momentum, but we’ve got to deal with this counterattack first.” The aide nodded at each command, typing into the control panel before him, the orders being relayed to each unit as they were given.

“Now, get me the air wing,” Ganudi said, his eyes turning flinty hard. “I have some tunnels for them to close.”

Above the battlefield
Grid 3469 Foxtrot

Becca’s Viper clawed for altitude, dodging ground fire following her attack run. Several armored vehicles and a dozen bodies lay smoking on the ground below. “Acquire targets for another run,” she said to Rudy, completely focused on her task, all business. Just as she made a hammerhead turn, her communicator crackled to life.

“Control to Tiger Flight. Abort current mission. Proceed to grid 4387 Romeo and target enemy formation there. They’ve opened a tunnel there and are attacking the regiment from behind. Close the tunnel and then begin strafing runs on the enemy. You will receive close air support targeting from the 1^st of the 72^nd.”

Becca’s squadron commander replied and ordered his pilots to form up on him. As they moved into position a few minutes later, Becca looked out her window and gasped. “Rich, do you see that?” Hundreds of Jem’Hadar were swarming out of a huge hole in the ground, pushing outward in a circle, attacking the defending Marines, pushing them back.

“Wow,” Rich said breathlessly. “If they get a foothold back here….”

“They could break the back of the division. We’ll be caught between the hammer and the anvil,” she finished for him.

“All Tiger flights, target that hole. Close it at any cost,” the squadron commander ordered.

“You heard the man,” Becca said. “Let’s go.” She pushed her fighter over into a dive following several other Vipers into an attack run. The ground came rushing up quickly as Rich targeted a microtorpedo at the tunnel entrance. As soon as the first two fighters had fired and moved out of her way, Becca punched the fire button, and the missile popped out of its tube. Explosion after explosion shook the ground, and when the whole squadron had cleared the target zone, a huge crater filled with rubble had taken the place of the tunnel entrance.

“That’ll teach them,” Becca said, triumphantly. She brushed her hair back off her sweaty face.

“Yeah, but now we’ll have to keep an eye for other tunnels,” Rich replied. “This might not be the only one. And there are now hundreds of Jem’Hadar running around behind our lines. It isn’t over yet.”

“Humph.” Becca knew he was right, and as she prepared to start a strafing run on the enemy that had survived the initial attack and who were even now shrouding themselves to invisibility, she couldn’t help but think that her prediction that the sixteen-hour patrols would be ending had been made a little too early.