Roger Smith was fascinated. The battle seemed to be reaching a crescendo, with the shields on the two frigates and the lead destroyer growing weaker by the minute. The two frigates had completed their dragging maneuver four times now and each time they had scored enough photon hits to degrade the SkyHawk's shields slightly. The effect was almost like rubbing something with sandpaper. The bridge crew had even begun to cheer their own strikes quietly, and to good-naturedly boo those of their sister ship. Four passes, eight shots each, and the score was tied five-all.

        But the feeling of good will would not last much longer. Their own shields had been degraded from the constant fire of Romulan phasers, a factor made worse by the fact that the SparrowHawk and the second SkyHawk were now close enough to take shots at the two ships with phasers. SkyHawk Beta had even bolted both torpedoes against Rommel. Neither had hit, but the fact that the Romulan had fired them showed that they realized that their ordinary methods of fighting were not going to work in this battle.
       At an order from O'Donnell, Guderian turned once more, the crew working with a seamless synchronicity of purpose that he had never seen before. It was as if the only point in their existence was to deliver the judgment of the fleet onto a hated foe.
       "Fire both photons - narrow salvo," he heard O'Donnell say. Instinctively he released his chair restraints and stood up. He turned to watch as the two orbs of glowing energy arced slowly for the destroyer, seemingly linked together like two balls on a chain. Both torpedoes smashed into the remnants of the SkyHawk's right front shield, overpowered it, and spent the bulk of their explosive energy against the unprotected hull of the Romulan ship. A stream of molten and vaporized metal poured from several holes torn across the body of the ship. Crystallizing atmosphere sparkled in the void, trailing behind the ship like colorful streamers in the cold galactic wind.
   A roar of approval sounded from the bridge crew. He saw the corners of O'Donnell's mouth lift up into the wolfish smile the man often wore. He couldn't help but to be impressed. Damn fine shooting.
   The Romulans fired. Every bearing phaser on the three ships locked onto Guderian and smashed into the frigate's battered shields. He felt the ship shake hard as one of the shields failed. The ship slammed sideways a second later as another bolted plasma torpedo smashed through the hole torn into the ship's defenses by the phaser fire. He felt himself flying across the bridge toward the engineering station. He managed to throw up an arm as he impacted into the back of the engineering officer's seat. That probably saved him from a broken neck as his head connected with a thud, but it didn't save him from unconsciousness. Everything went black.
       He came to a moment later. T'Chira hovered over him, no sign of compassion on her greenish-tinted face. Smoke filled the air, and he found himself coughing. Distantly, he wondered about the halo of stars the Vulcan seemed to be wearing. Suddenly, the pure exoticness of her alien origin made her beauty increase tenfold. Her lips parted, and he found himself staring at them. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as he waited for the words of heaven to drip from her lips and he wondered why he had ever disliked Vulcans.
     "The journalist will live, Commander," she paused for a moment, her voice like honey. He could see that she would direct her next words at him. "Perhaps next time, Mr. Smith, you will not be so quick to undo your protective restraint."
     She stood and turned away from him, headed back to her station, but not before he heard her say, almost under her breath and against all logic, sarcasm rolling from every syllable.
    "Only a human could be so utterly witless."
     All the myriad reasons why he disliked Vulcans rushed back into his mind.

     "Fire photons," McGilland commanded. He watched in anticipation as both torpedoes sailed for the gap that was normally covered by the left rear shield of the SkyHawk. One torpedo missed, but the other impacted heavily against the boom area of the ship. Again, a stream of debris trailed behind the ship and the speed of the destroyer slackened noticeably. The ship was also virtually without shields now.
    "Guderian reports moderate damage to crew quarters, a slight loss of warp power, one light and one standard phaser disabled, and a casualty on the bridge," Jolandae reported.
  "The Cutlass is turning off, Sir, but the SparrowHawk is slowly gaining on us," Callaway noted. He turned back to face forward.
"Pearce, Jolor, finish the cross behind them and prepare to initiate the next attack as soon as the photons are armed again. He briefly debated using proximity fuses for the second time in the battle, but decided that even though they were more likely to hit a target, the decreased damage they caused when they exploded farther away made them less useful in this situation than normal. He needed solid damage output every time from here on out. Time to check on O'Donnell.

        "Jolandae, open a channel to Guderian."
"Aye, Sir," the voice of the Arcturian tinkled melodiously through the tense atmosphere of the bridge. A moment later, the image of his fellow commander appeared on his main viewscreen. He winced as he noted the blood-stained bandage wrapped around the man's upper chest. His tunic was also in tatters. Smoke lazily floated through the air of the bridge behind him.
   "Everything holding together over there, Jake?" He tried to keep the concern out of his voice, but he knew he was unsuccessful.
"As well as can be expected, Ron," the other man coughed, and a look of pain crossed his face as he did so. Behind him, McGilland could see a medic hovering anxiously.
"We can slow them down, maybe give you a little time to move off and fix up some shields," he offered. "Your port side is completely unprotected."
      "Then we'll fight from the starboard side, Ron, we're not bugging out," O'Donnell flared. He paused a moment, struggling to get his anger under control. "We're not leaving you and your crew out here alone," he finished grimly.
      "I appreciate your concern for my crew, Jake," he offered, genuinely touched at his friend's show of support.
   "Ron, if your crew could shoot worth a darn, I'd already be off my fixing shields." O'Donnell grinned at him through the haze of smoke. Then with a wag of his finger, the channel went dark.
   There was nothing McGilland could say at that point. He just shrugged his shoulders and turned back to the task of fighting his ship.