“All power to navigational thrusters,” Vkruk said. The flight crew behind him raced to comply. The low roar of the dropship’s guidance thrusters grew to a shriek as the landing zone drew near. As the Zdonek passed over the other dropships its thrusters failed. The nose drifted to starboard, then the ship began an unstoppable roll onto its port side. Half a second later the Zdonek struck the ground with a sound like thunder caught in a bottle. One thudding impact after another rattled the ship as it careened over the boulder-strewn plain.

  Shinzon was transfixed by the tumbling kaleidoscope of darkness and churning dirt visible through the cockpit windshield, which quickly spider-webbed with deep cracks. His body flailed against his seat’s safety-harness straps as up and down reversed themselves over and over again. The brutal rolling motion knocked the wind out of his lungs, and every new breath he took was poisoned with the smoke that belched from his console and from every widening crevice in the ship’s hull.

  The rolling slowed, then stopped for a brief moment. Just when Shinzon thought it might be safe to release the lock on his safety harness, the ship began to roll again—back the way it had come. Several disorienting seconds later the rolling slowed again, and the ship rocked to a stop lying on its port side.

  Shinzon exited the wreck of the dropship and coughed. He took a breath of the hot, dusty air and reveled in the darkness of the moonless night. Looking back, he marveled at the scar in the ground that had been cut by the Zdonek’s crash landing.

  The smoldering gouge glowed like the embers of an old grudge. It was interrupted by patches of pristine ground where the ship had bounced off of one obstacle or another. The cuts in the dirt were strewn with small bits of debris torn from the Zdonek’s hull. Slashing across its path were several other burning trails, each of which terminated at the twisted, flaming wreck of a Scorpion-class fighter.

  Shinzon stepped down the gangway and turned around to look at the shallow, craggy slope that had brought his ship to a halt. By fortunate coincidence, the incline that had stopped the Zdonek was less than a kilometer from the landing zone—and it was also the assembly point for the final charge toward the entrance to the hidden Tal Shiar laboratory, which was in the bottom of the crater on the other side of the rise.

  Vkruk and the rest of the command platoon followed Shinzon out of the Zdonek. The troops from the other dropships were quickly approaching, moving across the plain at a double-quick march as they followed the Zdonek’s crash scar. Shinzon made a rough head count and was dismayed to find that, including his own command platoon, just fewer than two hundred fifty of his soldiers had reached the surface of Goloroth alive.

  He waited for his troops to gather around him. The Jem’Hadar were probably already deploying their forces into the crater to defend the lab’s entrance. There was no time now for rallying speeches. He began walking up the gradual slope and motioned for his troops to follow him. Giving his orders over his shoulder, he and his regiment climbed toward the lip of the crater, seventy-five meters ahead.

  “As soon as we go over the top, expect the enemy to open fire. Scout their positions, then take cover.” He motioned with his rifle. “The Jem’Hadar will be using their chameleon camouflage, so don’t bother aiming—you won’t be able to see them. Just lay down as much suppressing fire as you can.”

  He crouched as he neared the top of the slope. His troops did likewise and spread out along the slope on either side of him, dividing into five-person squads for the attack.

  “Remember the plan,” Shinzon said, stressing each word. “Once I give the order to charge, we’ll only have four minutes. No prisoners, no retreat. No matter what happens—go forward.” With grim determination, every one of his troops nodded their understanding.

  “Charge rifles,” Shinzon said as he activated his disruptor rifle. It hummed to life with a high-pitched tone that was echoed a split-second later by more than two hundred others just like it. “Stand ready.”

  Vkruk gave a fraternal squeeze to Shinzon’s shoulder. “Victory and freedom,” he said, loud enough only for Shinzon to hear. Shinzon nodded, hefted his rifle and faced forward.

  “Advance!” he bellowed, and led his troops over the edge and down the steep interior slope. The bottom of the crater was lit by the blazing wreck of a Scorpion-class attack flier.

  He and his men were greeted by a barrage of blaster fire from the concealed Jem’Hadar troops that were scattered across the bottom and sides of the crater.

  Shinzon fired back at any flash of light in front of him and sprinted awkwardly toward a large rock formation. Diving forward, he narrowly escaped a blast that had been targeted at his head. He slammed hard against the back of the long, smooth-topped rock barrier and looked back.

  In the strobing glow of Jem’Hadar blaster pulses flying over his head and flaring against the sandy crater wall, he counted roughly thirty of his men dead. Their bodies slid and rolled down the steep slope. Their more fortunate comrades took cover behind boulders and other rock formations, then quickly stripped the dead of their weapons.

  He activated his comm. “Shinzon to Draco.”

  “Go ahead, sir,” said R’Vek, who he had left in command of the warbird.

  “Begin your attack in five seconds,” Shinzon said.

  “Acknowledged. Draco out.”

  “Down!” Shinzon said, gesturing toward the ground with his open palm. “Close your eyes!”

  If his plan worked, all that would remain would be a brutal charge against a force twice the size of his own. If it failed, he would be dead before he felt the sting of regret. He pressed his face to the ground and shielded his head with his arms.

  R’Vek had been staring at the computer-generated crosshairs on the main viewscreen since the moment Shinzon had departed the Draco. The young Reman was honored that Shinzon had chosen him for this task. It spoke of Shinzon’s faith in him as a soldier.

  All systems were at full power and standing by when the centurion’s voice crackled over the static-filled comm.

  “Shinzon to Draco.”

  R’Vek pressed the switch on the arm of his chair that opened the reply frequency. “Go ahead, sir,” he said.

  “Begin your attack in five seconds,” Shinzon said.

  This was it. The order had been given.

  “Acknowledged. Draco out,” he said and closed the channel. “Helm, engage on my mark.” For Remus, R’Vek told himself.

  “Three…” Victory…

  “Two…” And…

  “One…” Freedom!

  “Mark!”

  The helmsman pressed the warp drive master control. For the main Jem’Hadar battalion on the surface, and for R’Vek and the Reman skeleton crew of the Draco, the Battle of Goloroth ended three thousandths of a second later.

  The night sky above the crater flared white from the supernova-like flash beyond the horizon. The ground quaked for several seconds, then a blistering thunderstorm of fire and sand swept across the plain and roared over the top of the crater. Red-hot ash and sand rained down in torrents on Reman and Jem’Hadar alike. Shinzon winced as it coated his back and singed the hairs on the nape of his neck.

  As the maelstrom raged, Shinzon checked his disruptor rifle. It was inert, its power cell neutralized. His plan had worked: The warp-speed suicide attack of the Draco had caused a subspace disruption wave powerful enough to disable everything from energy weapons to communications to shields.

  Shinzon knew the Tal Shiar lab’s shielded backup generators would reinitialize in just over four minutes. Until then, the other half of the Jem’Hadar regiment—who, predictably, had been held in reserve by their overcautious Vorta handler—would remain trapped inside the lab, whose doors would not open without power.

  But more important, the Jem’Hadar remaining on the battlefield could no longer pick off Shinzon’s men at a distance. Now they would have to fight on the Remans’ terms.

  Shinzon stood and drew his longsword. “Grenades!” he said, and pointed his blade toward the last observed enemy positions. The Remans stood and plucked chemical-fuse grenades from their belts, then launched the fist-sized orbs on shallow trajectories toward the enemy.

  Seconds later, the crater echoed with the sharp reports of one explosion after another. Jem’Hadar bodies were revealed in the flash of each explosion, their chameleon camouflage deserting them in death as they were hurled through the air. As the last explosions’ echoes faded, Shinzon heard the low growl of cloaked Jem’Hadar troops moving closer.

  He leaped atop the rock that he had used for cover and turned to face his men. He raised his longsword over his head. “Victory!” He drew his shortsword. “Freedom!” He turned to face the oncoming front of Jem’Hadar, and mustered his voice into a thunderous bellow: “Charge!”

  The Remans’ war cries reverberated in the crater as they surged forward, swords drawn, toward their unseen opponents. Shinzon leaped forward and sprinted ahead, leading the attack. The burning husk of the downed attack flier and scattered fires from the Remans’ detonated grenades were the only illumination on the battlefield; small patches of greenish flame lighted Shinzon’s path as he tensed to strike.

  Chameleon camouflage—the Jem’Hadar’s chief advantage in hand-to-hand combat—was useless against the Remans. Unlike any other battle force the Jem’Hadar had faced in the Alpha Quadrant, Remans did not need to see their foes in order to fight them. Remans were creatures of darkness who had learned to rely on all their senses in battle: They could hear the invisible Jem’Hadar’s footfalls on the gravelly sand; smell the bitter Dominion mind-control drug known as ketracel-white; and feel the tremors in the air and earth as they closed to melee distance.

  Shinzon felt his weight pound against the ground with each running step. Gravity and bloodlust pulled him with equal power toward the bottom of the crater. He bounded off his leading foot and spun, letting momentum carry him forward. His longsword flashed around him in a tight arc. It caught the dancing, jade glimmer of firelight as it cut through the scaly throat of a Jem’Hadar soldier. A hot spray of blood that stank of ketracel-white spattered Shinzon’s face and tunic. He finished his cut, turned full circle with the momentum of his attack, and lunged forward with his shortsword into the midst of the Jem’Hadar.

  The first rank of Jem’Hadar were cut down before they even realized they had been engaged.

  The night rang with a symphony of clashing metal and a chorus of guttural death cries.

  Shinzon parried a Jem’Hadar’s kar’takin with a downward swing of his long blade and stabbed forward and up through the Dominion soldier’s throat with his shortsword.

  He twisted his weapon ninety degrees and cut free of the taut, clinging flesh, cutting the ketracel-white supply tube of another Jem’Hadar, who was rushing past on his left side.

  Shinzon pushed his dead opponent backward onto another Jem’Hadar. He used the body as a ramp as he sprinted up its torso and somersaulted forward. He landed hard, with his feet square on the ground and his shortsword plunged into the chest of a Jem’Hadar soldier. The stunned Jem’Hadar grunted and collapsed to his knees under the force of the attack.

  Shinzon yanked his blade free, parried another trio of blows coming at him from different directions, and pushed forward. For every lethal stroke he deflected, two or three grazing cuts stung his hands, arms, or back. He ducked under a broadly swung attack and parried another with such force that his foe’s weapon shattered. He winced as a flying splinter of steel bit into his cheek.

  Shinzon barely saw the edge of the blade as it slashed downward with perfect, terrifying grace toward his skull. He crouched to delay its impact for a fraction of a second and crossed his swords to block the death stroke.

  The impact alone sent shooting pains through his arms. A steel-booted foot slammed into his solar plexus with blinding speed and stunning force. The kick lifted him off the ground. He no longer heard the hue and cry of the battle. He felt for a brief moment like he was floating in a warm, comfortingly dense salt sea. Then he hit the cold, rocky ground and felt a jagged stone tear a gash in the back of his shaved head.

  He barely rolled clear of the metal boot that stomped down toward his face. He pushed himself onto his knees and was poised to spring back to his feet when he glimpsed the maniacal snarl of the Jem’Hadar First, who kicked him in the chest. Shinzon stifled a shout of pain as he felt several of his lower ribs break. He barely parried another broad swing of the Jem’Hadar’s sword, but was unable to dodge the First’s lightning-quick left hook. The brutal punch hit Shinzon solidly in the temple.

  Shinzon allowed the force of the punch to spin him counterclockwise as he swung his longsword low and parallel to the ground. His blade bit through armor and flesh, severing the Jem’Hadar First’s right leg above the knee. The First teetered on his left leg then fell to his right as Shinzon finished his turn with a lunging stab of his shortsword, which speared through the First’s breastplate and into his chest.

  The First gurgled a mouthful of blood. He focused his shocked and furious glare at Shinzon, who sprang back to his feet, yanked his shortsword blade free, and struck again with both blades, all in one spinning blur.

  As the First’s severed head hit the ground, Shinzon pressed ahead like a tornado of limbs and steel.

  Shinzon sensed the momentum of the battle as it raged around him. A sudden push forward was met by a counterattack that forced the Remans backward. The Jem’Hadar were at a slight disadvantage in the darkness, but they still outnumbered the Remans two to one.

  Momentum was everything now. If the Remans stalled in their advance, they would die.

  “Go forward!” he commanded, his blades in constant motion. As he rushed ahead, he realized that a wave of Jem’Hadar was closing in on him from every direction. Now that the enemy had realized he was the commander, he’d become their prime target.

  He braced himself for the crush of bodies. Then two squads of Reman warriors tackled the charging Jem’Hadar in a flurry of blades and growls. Shinzon twisted his body to avoid the thrust of a Jem’Hadar dagger. A knife thrown from behind him flew past his ear and lodged in a Jem’Hadar’s throat.

  More Remans pushed in front of him. Some threw themselves onto enemy kar’takins, sacrificing themselves to clear the path ahead of him and Vkruk. The sacrificial warriors tumbled to the blood-soaked ground, entangled with their foes, stabbing and slashing with impassioned roars until death took them.

  Shinzon broke through the rear rank of Jem’Hadar and sprinted forward. He heard Vkruk and a handful of other Remans following close behind him. He stopped where he expected to find the concealed access hatch to the thalaron core.

  “Find the hatch,” he ordered. Three of his soldiers sheathed their swords, pulled entrenching tools from their packs, and began digging to find the edge of the sealed emergency bulkhead.

  Shinzon turned to face back the way they had come. A squad of six Jem’Hadar had fallen back to pursue them. They attacked in unison. Shinzon and Vkruk stood back-to-back and held their ground.

  Shinzon’s muscles burned with the effort of defending himself against three Jem’Hadar at once. A fortunate thrust of his longsword blade felled one of his attackers. Then a Jem’Hadar dagger pierced Shinzon’s left thigh and struck bone. He staggered as he pulled the blade from his leg. Sharp, crippling waves of pain shot up his spine.

  The two Jem’Hadar facing him rushed forward and lifted their kar’takin s to strike. Both were skewered from behind by Reman swords, which emerged from their chests, slicked with blood that gleamed like liquid ebony. The Remans behind them pushed the dead Jem’Hadar off their blades. The bodies hit the bloodied ground with a wet and heavy sound.

  Behind Shinzon, the three Remans had revealed the edges of the thalaron core hatch and were lining it with explosive charges. The two Remans who had just saved his life moved past him and added their own charges to the demolition effort.

  The charges’ indicator lights all blinked once in unison. The five Remans sprinted away from the hatch. “Fire in the hole!” one shouted. Vkruk grabbed Shinzon and pulled him away from the hatch. The explosives detonated. A column of fire roared skyward and illuminated the crater with its golden-orange glare. Searing heat accompanied the shockwave, which hurled them away from the blast and flattened Jem’Hadar and Remans alike.

  Seconds later the flames expired. A pillar of smoke drifted like a solid object across the battlefield, obscuring everything more than an arm’s reach away. The ten-centimeter-thick duranium hatch, which had been blasted skyward, struck the ground with a dull thump only meters from the now-exposed thalaron core control chamber.

  Shinzon was the first one back on his feet. Every step with his left leg sent new tides of excruciating pain coursing through him. He transformed his agony into battle-rage as he half-ran, half-limped toward the control chamber. “Secure the perimeter!” he said to Vkruk.

  The Remans and the Jem’Hadar all pushed in toward the exposed control chamber entrance. Shinzon reached it first. Vkruk and the Reman soldiers who had blasted it open arrived only a few steps behind him and surrounded the entrance portal.

  Beyond them, the wall of swinging blades and falling bodies closed in like a tidal wave. He looked Vkruk in the eye. “Two minutes,” he said. “Hold the line.” Vkruk nodded once and turned to face the oncoming Jem’Hadar.

  Shinzon climbed down the ladder into the control chamber as the clamor of the battle resumed above him.

  Vkruk made an upward thrust with both his swords and lifted a Jem’Hadar off the ground. The Dominion soldier’s blood ran down Vkruk’s blades and trickled in warm rivulets over his gnarled hands. The air was rank with the bitter stench of ketracel-white and chemical explosives.

  Vkruk tossed aside his dead foe. From the edge of his vision he saw another Jem’Hadar lunge at him. The enemy’s knife slipped under his parrying stroke and plunged into the elder Reman’s ribs. The serrated blade burned him as it pierced his skin. Caustic poison, Vkruk surmised grimly.