At the border in Rhontaka, near the intersection point where Rhontaka 1 would soon cross the border into Federation space. Aloran on the Farragut had sent a curt message to what they had identified as Tholian flagship in the system. It was short and warned the Tholians that they would be on manuevers near the border at that time and requested that they respect interstellar law. The Tholians acknowledged receipt of the message, but that was all.

All ships were in position and ready for 1056h precisely when the station crossed what the Federation recognized as the border. As Commander Wong from the Blythe had noticed it appeared as though the Tholians were recognizing and operating as if the border was still in the position it was in when the agreement was signed roughly 150 years before. They indeed hadn’t accounted for stellar drift on their charts.

USS Farragut, Main Bridge

The action had moved from the fusion centre to the main bridge: the intelligence gathered had prepared them as best as could be expected, but now the situation called for rapid decision-making and no small amount of good fortune.

“Captain, Lieutenant Elkader reports that fighters are launching and will move forward in a defensive screening pattern.” The second officer, Commander Kincaid, was in his element. Confident, unhurried, experienced.

“Thank you, Kincaid.” Ayres was in the command chair, Aloran sitting to his left and Parr on his right. He could feel his body flooding with adrenalin and wished, not for the first time, that he had the composure of his Vulcan counterpart. “Aloran, you’re sure about this? I won’t shy away from a fight, but this is the most aggressive we’ve been. The Salvation is taking a risk. What if our actions are misconstrued?”

Kincaid said “Sir, we’re picking up a group of Sheliak ships moving from their staging area towards Rhontaka 1 again…several Tholian ships are breaking off to intercept them.”

“Captain, I respect your query but I think you may misunderstand my sensibilities.” Aloran had sent a coded message to the Sheliak for the first time since they crossed the border. He had simply informed they that they would be on manuevers near the border and may have to ‘remove some space debris’ that would cross onto the Federation side of the border at roughly 1056h.

“Diplomacy functions as much on upholding principles as it does on discussions or debate. In this situation, a border is a border. We are not Federation diplomats. We are Starfleet. Our objective here is to uphold the territorial integrity of the Federation and demonstrate that we observe and honour our treaty commitments. Power is a statement. And, the Sheliak and us have interests that just so happen to align in this case.”

From the tactical station behind them, Kincaid raised an eyebrow, looked toward the Vulcan, inclined his head with a smile and returned his concentration to the console. “Fighters are assembling in position.”

“Then let’s exercise some power, shall we?” Ayres took a deep breath. “Helm, maintain the distance to the fighter screen and move us forward on thrusters only. I want us to edge forward. Kincaid, as we do, let the squadron know that they should alternate between the predetermined screening patterns.”

“Aye, sir. I’ll let Elkader know she should put on a show.”

“Yellow alert.”

((Bridge – USS Salvation))

While the Farragut was the direct connection with Starfleet Command, the Salvation was the striker.  The crew that had come through the Vaadwaur conflict in a California-Class ship using tactics to best a small group of Vaadwaur fighters now held their position in the smaller, faster, and far punchier Rhode Island class Salvation.

“This isn’t an easy run.” Commander Ibanez intoned, mostly because he figured that someone had to be the voice of protest.

“So was Mireya.” Captain Dal returned.

He didn’t mind Ibanez’s protests anymore. It had become a system of checks and balances. If he didn’t have a good answer, if he didn’t feel confident, then Ibanez would catch him and he would reconsider. But this time Captain Dal was sure they could get the job done.

The path to the station was hazardous and they had to pull this off without aggressing the Tholians. Plausible deniability. Which was, perhaps, the most difficult part. But they could stick to the border, punch in fast, target at warp, drop to impulse, fire and hit warp again. The Salvation’s highly mobile engines could handle the tricky maneuvers and Captain Dal had faith in Lieutenant Jols’ skilled piloting abilities and Lieutenant K’Lim’s excellent targeting.

Beside him Commander Roix eyed the viewscreen. “We have enough ships at our back to draw fire if needed. They need us, we need them. Together we will make this work.”

“I could not say it better.” Dal leaned forward, his soft voice like the eye of a growing storm. “Commander Ibanez, condition red, all hands to battle stations, get us ready to go in.”

And for once Jason Ibanez didn’t even argue.

((Bridge, Blythe))

The ship was in position about 10.5 million miles behind the other 3 capitals ships and the 3 runabouts. The Salvation was infront of them and to the left hiding in the asteroid belt ready to spring the trap. The Farragut and her fighters directly to their front, ready to cover the Salvation. The Culver City was was to their front right and would provide a flank screen or and/or a distraction and/or a secondary rescue platform for any downed fighters or, Spock forbid, any crippled vessel. The Blythe was to serve as the primary combat search amd rescue vessel and would comprised the only ‘reserve’ that the little formation had.

“Lets get some boys and girls. Unh! Yeah!” Mee IH said as he popped his head up in the corner pool on the bridge.

“Cetacean ops, Sciences, and all damage control teams are ready sir” the beluga reported, Wong had given him the job of organizing the damage control efforts since he was becoming really handy(pun intended) at using his headset to access and control various systems throughout the ship.

“Elm es hastandeng bye H’sir” the frenchman reported from the HCO console.

“Tactical ready” Ingram reported from his station behind the command area.

“Ships ready sir, my boards green. 2 minutes until go time.” Wong said to Tyler’s right.

“Well all. Its uh, time to do our duty. If we, uh, could have quiet on the bridge. I want to able to hear allcomms calls for assistance. Our job is to jump in where we needed, uh…Everyone stay focused.” He tried, but it was no use, the old stutter was drawn out of him by the stress of the moment.

“If we are called in to the fight, the XO has conn, and I will handle inter and intraship comms as we’ve drilled on.”

Though it wasn’t the most professional or rousing speach, but the crew trusted their dorky, nervous Captain and replied with a chorus of Aye and Yes sirs.

The Danube class runabouts Spallumcheen and Irrawaddy, crewed by 6 Blythe crew were to be apart of the right hand feint. Each little ship had a pilot, tactical and operations officer in their cockpits.