The sounds of fighting grew louder as Lar’ragos, Sandhurst, Votor and Rennenger neared the bottom of the hill. It appeared that advancing Cardassian forces were skirting the base of the hill, seizing a collection of small family farms and light industrial areas from colonial defenders in series of brief but violent clashes.

Through his binoculars set to thermal imaging, Lar’ragos could make out Home-Guard and constabulary units falling back piecemeal from these engagements. Some of the groups carried wounded with them while others seemed to have abandoned their weapons during their hasty retreat.

Lar’ragos looked skyward, but the airspace above the colony appeared free of craft. At maximum magnification he could make out signs of continued fighting in orbit as the Cardassian squadron engaged the colony’s remaining orbital defenses.

His cramping hip joint was finally beginning to relax, allowing him to move without assistance. However, the sharp pain in his chest that accompanied every breath spoke of broken ribs. The old-style tactical armor he’d replicated had doubtless saved him from whatever piece of high-velocity shrapnel had collided with his torso.

The El Aurian scanned the area ahead, using both the binoculars and Votor’s tricorder. At present there appeared to be no opposition between their group and the colony’s outermost suburbs. That wouldn’t last, he knew, especially if the defenders continued to surrender ground as quickly as they had so far.

“We need to find some working ground transport,” Lar’ragos said between clenched teeth. “The enemy is swinging around the hill to our right and making good time.”

“Are they utilizing vehicles?” Votor inquired.

“Not that I’ve seen, only foot-mobile so far. They’re advancing at a quick pace, though. At this rate they’ll overtake us in about an hour.”

Sandhurst pointed off to their left, moonlight reflecting of metal objects in the distance. He gestured for Lar’ragos’ binoculars then raised them to his eyes. “That looks like a farm,” he said. “Even if they’ve evacuated, it’s a good bet they’ve left some kind of transport behind.”

“Maybe they have a replicator,” Rennenger posited. “I’m starving.”

Lar’ragos fished a survival ration bar out of a pocket of his fatigue pants and handed it to Rennenger. “I don’t suppose anyone grabbed their backpack before we came off the hill?”

There were guilty glances all around and Sandhurst cleared his throat. “No… we—uh, only grabbed phasers.”

He gave a resigned bob of his head in acknowledgement, reminding himself that given the overwhelming nature of the combat environment, he needed to continually remind them of the basics. It was only after the tumult of battle had become commonplace that they could expect to begin functioning more or less normally.

“Okay, we’re heading for that farm. Sandhurst and Votor, you two have phasers out. No more scanning until we get closer, in case the Cardies are looking for electromagnetic energy traces.”

Var and Arvik entered the structure, discovering it to be a small warehouse containing different types of robot agricultural equipment. Var gestured for his friend to go and get something to eat at a table where their platoon had set up a makeshift kitchen as he moved to report to So-Dal Urtrim.

The fight for the commercial complex had been little more dangerous than a training exercise, but the battle for this agricultural station had been significantly more ferocious. The Federation defenders’ weapons were no longer set to stun, and their assaulting force had suffered four killed and another seven wounded.

Urtrim was busy comparing the tactical map on his digital-slate to a relief map of the colony site displayed on a large viewer in one of the building’s storage bays. Var stepped forward, offering a Cardassian salute. “Squad Four reporting in, So-Dal. We suffered one wounded, Dal Lenek, though not too seriously. He’s being attended to by the medics and should be reporting back to duty soon.”

Urtrim spared him a glance. “Understood. Your men are eating and gearing up for the next push?”

“They are, So-Dal.”

The sergeant went back to his maps, noticing after a moment that Var was still standing there. “What is it?” he asked tersely.

“Our first wave, So-Dal… the commando units and shock-troops. What happened to them?”

Urtrim set the slate down on a nearby work bench. “The enemy utilized some kind of transporter scrambler. I didn’t know such a thing even existed. All of them died as a result, three-hundred of our best.”

Var digested this. “I see. So, we are now the point of the blade?”

“Just so,” Urtrim confirmed. “That is why I promoted you and other promising young leaders, Var. Fate cares nothing for men’s plans, and we must be ready to adapt when that happens as it so frequently does.”

Var came to attention. “I see. Thank you for telling me, So-Dal.”

“Keep it between us, Var. The men have enough to worry about.”

Arvik stepped up to them, issuing respectful nods to both. “The squad has requisitioned gear and are eating. They’ll be ready in ten,” he reported to Var.

Var replied, “Good.”

Distant screams caught Var’s attention, and he craned this thick neck to look back through the garage’s open cargo doors towards another cluster of pre-fab industrial buildings nearby.

In answer to his questioning look, Urtrim provided, “The Obsidian Order is interrogating enemy soldiers.”

Arvik smiled thinly at this revelation and began heading in that direction. Var called after him. “Dunan,” he said, using Arvik’s given name. “I wouldn’t. You may see things you’ll later regret.”

Another shriek could be heard, this one sounded like a female.

With a slight shake of his head, Arvik answered, “It is only the enemies of Cardassia receiving justice. Nothing to fear from that.” He walked away, his gait purposeful.

Var sighed. Urtrim watched him for a quiet moment before observing, “You may have a future in soldiering, Var. You fight well, you think quickly and correctly in dynamic situations, and you don’t crave casual violence.” He cast a glance in the direction of the screams. “They have a duty to perform; I know this. It is not necessary for them to enjoy it, however.”

“You don’t approve?” Var asked.

“There is a stark difference between interrogation and torture,” the So-Dal said. “One is of genuine military value, the other is merely an avenue of personal gratification.”

The younger man gave Urtrim a questioning look. “Such candor, So-Dal. You don’t fear the Obsidian Order?”

Urtrim shrugged as he picked up his data-slate and returned to mapping the platoon’s next advance. “Die at their hands or at the hands of Cardassia’s enemies… what’s the difference? Dead is dead.”

There was something indescribably comforting in the low hum of the truck’s a-grav drive as the four cadets barreled towards the colony along a deserted roadway. Lar’ragos and Sandhurst were up front, while Votor sat silently in the back seat with a well-medicated Rennenger sleeping next to him.

From the passenger seat, Lar’ragos looked across to where Sandhurst drove. “And how does a nice Earth boy like you know how to hotwire a farm truck?”

Sandhurst smirked in the darkness of the truck cab. “It’s a century old duotronic module design. I started hacking those when I was eight.”

Lar’ragos chuckled. “You’re full of surprises, kid.”

“Don’t call me ‘kid,’” Sandhurst snapped back. “As of the end of this training cruise, we’re no longer plebes. Given that Sagan is almost certainly gone now, I’d say our cruise is over.”

Lar’ragos gave him a sidelong glance. “Okay. Sorry. Didn’t mean to make you angry.”

“Besides,” Sandhurst added, “You’re not that much older than me. A decade or two doesn’t count for much these days.”

The El Aurian turned his head to regard the young Human. “I’m four-hundred years older than you, Donald.”

Sandhurst snorted derisively, “Sure you are.”

Lar’ragos shrugged in the dark, then pointed ahead towards the road. “Start slowing down, we’re approaching the outskirts. I don’t want to roar up on our defense line and get shot to pieces.”

A moment later, a silhouetted figure stepped out onto the road ahead of them and began waving frantically. Sandhurst slowed, and the truck whispered to a halt just meters away from what looked to be a hastily assembled roadblock manned by Home-Guard and colony constables.

From beside Sandhurst, Lar’ragos growled under his breath, “You have got to be kidding me.”

A Home-Guard sergeant approached the driver’s side and scanned the interior of the truck with a flashlight. “You people might be the last ones out,” the man remarked.

Sandhurst heard the truck’s passenger door slam shut and before he knew it Lar’ragos was around the cab and squarely in the sergeant’s face.

“Who’s got the tricorder?” Lar’ragos demanded.

“The what?” the sergeant sputtered.

“The scanner,” Lar’ragos roared. “How did you know we were Starfleet and not a truck full of Cardassians?”

“The Cardassians are advancing on foot—”

There was an abrupt sound of bone on flesh and the sergeant went sprawling onto the road.

“Do you have it?” Lar’ragos shouted at another Home-Guard reservist. The man held up his hands in a gesture of surrender, backing away. Lar’ragos rounded on a constable on the other side of the road. “You? Do you have it?”

The burly constable shook his head, stepping forward. “Nobody here has a scanner.” His hand moved towards his waist. “Why don’t you calm the fu—”

The stun-pistol he’d been drawing from his holster clattered to the roadway an instant before his unconscious body did.

“This!” Lar’ragos snarled. “This… bullshit… is why all of you are going to fucking die!”

Two reservists and another constable rushed him in unison. Despite Sandhurst giving the headlight-illuminated melee his undivided attention, he couldn’t precisely say exactly what had happened. The end result was undeniable, though. All three lay at Pava’s feet, two of them sufficiently conscious as to be writhing.

Lar’ragos pointed back towards where the oncoming Cardassians were, somewhere out in the darkness. “If it were me calling the shots out there, I’d pack explosives into a truck like this one and drive it right up to you idiots! Boom! No more roadblock!”

“Okay,” came a voice out of the darkness. A senior constable stepped into the glare of the truck’s headlights, her voice stern but steady. “You’ve made your point. Stand down, cadet.”

Lar’ragos stepped over the prostrate bodies at his feet, shaking his head in disgust as he made his way back around the truck. “Where are the Starfleet personnel from the commercial district?”

“Those that made it out alive are helping to man a defensive strongpoint about five klicks west of here,” she answered him. She stepped forward with her hands up, one them containing a padd. “I can show you on the map.”

She did so, and afterwards Lar’ragos gestured to the truck, still obviously seething. “Would you care to examine the vehicle to make sure we’re not being held hostage by Cardassians hiding in the back before you allow us to go about our business behind your lines?”

A cursory examination by an armed party followed and then the constable-captain waved the truck through.

“Goddamn amateurs,” Lar’ragos muttered as he clambered back into the truck.

“Your predilection for unanticipated behaviors continues,” Votor noted from the back seat.

“Shut up, Votor,” Lar’ragos said with no small amount of satisfaction.