Chapter 15: Five Minutes to Midnight
"Our goal is not the victory of might, but the vindication of right- - not peace at the expense of freedom, but both peace and freedom, both in the Beta quadrant, and, we hope, around the galaxy." – Ken Wescott.
"I think I've had all the fill of Armageddon for one lifetime." - Sairose Fitzpatrick.
"I think I've had all the fill of Armageddon for one lifetime." - Sairose Fitzpatrick.
Duck and Cover
Subspace Telescope ST-183 was not a military installation. To be correct, It was built to conduct close subspace radio imaging of the Paulson Nebula in the early 2200s, with funding and oversight through the Federation Science sub-council. Any upgrades with multidirectional imaging scanners in the 2240s – including ones aimed at the Romulan Neutral Zone and the Klingon Fringe – were simply circumstantial. Certainly, the Signals Intelligence department of Starfleet Intelligence did not regard it as a priority asset, especially when compared to the Earth-Designate and Federation-Designate outposts along the Neutral Zone or the “Chain Regulus” network that ran across the outer edge of the Dilithium Belt. It was, however, the closest high-power array to the Acamar system.
ST-183 had been conducting regular imaging scans of Acamar from the 21st of May, documenting the planet with visual, electromagnetic, infrared and radiological scans. It was only a small part of the massive information-gathering operation that had kicked into gear in the run-up to Operation Barbary Coast; in many senses, it was that debacle’s only success. The need to rapidly build an intelligence picture of the BGU’s capabilities and dispositions had, for the first time, forced the SIGNIT, covert operations, diplomatic intelligence, and analysis departments of SI to work together on a practical basis. With the heat off them in the aftermath of Barbary Coast, the analytic department of SI (based out of Cambridge Circus, London & Palácio Itamaraty, Brasilia) would work to combine ground sources on Acamar with information from the Botchtok Whigs and Signals Decrypts to ensure that Starfleet Command would never repeat that mistake.
It was surprisingly easy work; testament to the fact that SI’s incompetence in the 2240s and 50s was largely down to administrative instead of institutional failures. The fact that this intelligence “grouping” (known as the Unified Intelligence Task Group or more commonly as “The Circus”) was being run by Akihiro Abawe, a former staff of Admiral Nogura, was a great help. The “Grand Old Man” was perfectly willing to use his own influence to ensure that Abawe did not suffer from Admiral Moduna’s (Chief of Starfleet Intelligence) usual micromanaging. By early July, St-183’s photoscans were being targeted at specific areas of Acamar and its orbit, based on BGU decrypts and information that the Orion merchant N’Garriez has passed on about closed airspace in the region. July 2nd’s photographs were focused on the Yinal’pa peninsula on the northern continent, a reasonably remote spot, but perfect for a privateer base or repair yard.
The first batch of scans ST-183 took were duds; magnetic interference from the system’s star and cloud cover made even visual imaging useless. A second scan, taken 6 hours later, would result in much clearer imaging. What it showed was not the low-signature reading of plasto-concrete landing bays; but deep silos embedded into the surface. Heat scans showed the presence of matter-antimatter pods, but in too small groupings to be fuel dumps. Most critically, a full spectrum radiological scan confirmed the presence of high-grade pergium; an element not native to the Acamar system. 2nd Fleet would, on Abawe’s request, order the Marco Polo to make a long-range scan of the same location from the edge of the 3 light-years limit. The result was the same, if not worse; Marco Polo’s imaging scans returns photographs of open silos with launch platforms raised; platforms carrying Long-Range Interstellar Missiles.
“The discovering of LRIMs on Acamar changed the tone of the crisis completely,” recalled Nogura in an interview. “The deployment of conventional military forces to the planet fit a concerning, but predictable pattern of Klingon behaviour that went back to the fall of Krios and the Enolians. Interspatial Missiles represented a dramatic escalation not just in potential destruction, but in the Klingon commitment to removing the UFP from that part of the disputed zone.”[1]
The problem with understanding LRIMs – especially in the minds of contemporaries - is that nothing like them had existed before. What we know now about payload issues, speed deficiencies and vulnerability to local point defence was speculation in 2262. Furthermore, the Mark III and IV Kash-Ro’s contained the latest ECM systems developed by the Klingon Empire; systems that were already out-pacing Starfleet sensors aboard the I-2 destroyer and D4-E cruiser. The expectation amongst weapons analysis services was that, with the correction of existing issues with the Mark II and III Kash-Ro, the Klingons were only years – maybe even months – away from making “such a significant breakthrough in long-range stand-off weaponry that the nature of interstellar warfare may be transformed forever.”[2]
Starfleet Intelligence was, generally, correct. The Mark IV “Kash-Ro”’s liquid pergium fuel tanks carried enough propellant to carry them as far as Argelius or the Rigel colonies. What they had not realised is that the Mark IV Kash-Ro’s fuel tanks were also the warhead. Experiments with a liquid-propelled Mark II in early 2262 had resulted in a launch accident at the Adraxin firing range; however, the explosion in the launch tube (which killed the 5 operators aboard a nearby shuttle) produced a higher KaliFrons (Megaton equivalent) output than the warhead itself – nearly eight times that of the Mark II and III’s small antimatter warhead.[3] The Imperial Navy realised that liquid pergium could produce massive explosive power when condensed at the right pressures and still function as a warp-capable propellant if an external subspace bubble could be generated. The “spare parts” that SI had previously identified were, in fact, warp sledges for the Mark IV Kash-Ro, designed to accelerate the missiles to Warp 7 (or higher) before detaching. Almost the entirety of the missile was devoted to targeting computer and fuel storage, with little room for any physical explosives beyond some proximity photonic devices no larger than that of an anti-personnel mine. The antimatter warhead itself had been replaced with a small gravitic device, designed to destabilise deflector shields and subspace bubbles before the missile contacted the target. The final detonation would surpass that of a traditional warhead by five times, even after a journey of over 20 light years.
The danger was clear. “The LRIM threatens not just our trade capacity and our civilian population centres, but also our ability to mobilise and organise the fleet for war,” Moduna would warn Nogura. “One carefully aimed missile aimed at a Starbase could destroy the entire striking capability of a Fleet in one go.”[4] Passive and active defences against LRIMs remained frighteningly primitive; long and medium range sensor technology struggled to pick up warp-shuttles at over 5 light-years; a Mark IV Kash-Ro was essentially invisible.
Starfleet Tactical’s best advice in May was to sow spatial mines on suspected approach routes and to rely on Chain Regulus and other early warning arrays to spot the launch of the devices first. It was a small comfort, considering that it was distinctly possible that ,if a missile from Acamar was fired at a fringe colony or minor outpost, Starfleet would not know until the detonation was detected on subspace sensors; at which point, it was far too late. A full barrage of missiles fired during a fleet mobilisation period was estimated to destroy up to 65% of 2nd Fleet’s combat strength and all 8 Starbases in the region before dispersal orders could be disseminated.[5] The implications were clear. The Klingons had developed a decisive first-strike weapon – and were preparing to use it.[6]
With the offensive capability of the LRIM disavowed the reasoning behind the deployment is suspect. The official language used in directives issued by the Imperial Admiralty and Chancellor is surprisingly defensive; a directive issued to Kesh on the 1st of July emphasises the “importance of restraint in this situation…for the benefit of long-term regional security; the deploy of Kash-Ro and Maq’Un weapons is not to be used as an excuse for escalatory raids and privateering in the region.” In the mind of the Admiralty, the missile bases seem to have existed as a countermeasure to the success of anti-piracy operations; the fact that the Mark IV and Mark III Kash Ro’s were outnumbered two-fold by the Maq’Un shipborne Interspatial missile points towards.[7] The low count of missiles in the initial deployment also speaks to the defensive role; despite SI’s claim of 75 missiles being ready for action on the 12th, only thirteen missiles were recorded as combat ready by the Special Engineering Group that day; ten of which were Maq’Uns.[8] Most of these had arrived before the assignment of Kesh’s combat group for the region: a force that was covering the movement of the majority of offensive weapons into the sector.
The full brief on the 3rd of July was a complete surprise to the leadership of Starfleet, especially Rittenhouse. Even Nogura – a man who very rarely displayed any sign of being caught out – was visibly shocked by the report. The fact that the Klingon military build-up was only increasing was even more frightening to the Presidio. The likelihood of Acamar being a mere jump-off point for further annexations up the Barolia highway towards Ukrainia Novya, Japori and even Regulus were all discussed with conviction.[9]
Broadhurst had a similar reaction; after he had recovered from the briefing, his first question was to ask whether Moduna had been sacked yet. Certainly, the presence of LRIMs on Acamar should have completely re-orientated the President’s strategy towards intervention: the fact that the BGU was now using Klingon missiles as a deterrent would, to most people, make the prospect of further involvement incredibly risky. Peter Broadhurst was not like most people. In his mind, the presence of the missiles only made the need for more intervention even more serious. Much to the disbelief of the Military Staff Committee, later on the 3rd the President would order the Federation Ground Forces, Marines and Star Fleet to draw up formal plans for the implementation of Operation Introspection by the end of the month. General Sh’Xiyna of the FGF would walk out of the room shaking her head; Defence Commissioner Alohk Ixan drafted a copy of their resignation letter that evening.
The LRIMs represented the leverage Broadhurst needed to fulfil his promise to the Acamarians. The parliamentary battle to get arms released had ground to a halt at the end of June; two votes for aid in the council had been killed by increasing margins, as somewhat supportive members of the Charterites swung against the bill after a party line call was made by Wescott.[10] The second motion had been followed by a movement for censure by Sarek; though the censure failed, it made it clear that a third attempt to pass the bill via the main assembly would probably end in disaster. The Acamarian exiles were growing increasingly displeased too; on the 27th of June they would, in a closed meeting, threaten to reveal Broadhurst’s written promise publicly. With his political reputation at risk, the drastic escalation on Acamar might offer one last roll of the dice; offering a chance to deliver Acamar from despotism and preserve the “Broadhurst Doctrine” as a legitimate political strategy.
Late that night, Admiral Rittenhouse returned to the Palais for an emergency briefing of the Federation Security Council. By now the press had begun to suspect something; news that Decker’s task force had been enlarged from 9 to 25 vessels by order of Starfleet Command had leaked. This, combined with a closed session, drew a throng of journalists to the Palais, who milled around in the public promenades and waiting areas. The Security Council took then news badly; Ambassador Zinn apocryphally called Rittenhouse a liar on several occasions before being convinced. The possibility of Acamar turning into an “indestructible Klingon Battle Station” was terrifying, especially for those concerned with returning some form of normalcy to the border region. Broadhurst and Rittenhouse certainly did a good job convincing the 12 members that some form of containment was necessary; they struggled, however, to commit them to a military response.
Despite the shift against doctrinal pacifism since the end of the Klingon war, the security council remained dominated by very traditional attitudes to diplomatic activity. Certainly, the weight of office encouraged cooler heads to prevail, but the longevity of a Security Council seat compared with Assembly Council seats meant that rapid political shifts took time to reach higher offices. In retrospect, Broadhurst should have understood this, but instead, he let himself get caught up in the Security Council’s dithering; accepting their motion to consult and debate options with the Diplomatic Office and Interstellar Affairs before deciding. In the meantime, however, he managed to extract from them a motion for “the exploration of steps to ensure harmony in the Acamar Sector.” On paper, this meant nothing; in practice, it was exactly what was needed to get Starfleet Intelligence to prepare a shipment to Acamar.
Why Moduna went along with this massive stretch of logic is a subject of serious debate. The lack of inquiry or impeachment hearings afterwards means that no detailed explanation has ever been entered into the public record. The Pasak report would conclude that the President’s legal team had “assured representatives of the Star Fleet Command…that they were within their legal right to prepare military aid for Acamar.”[11] Moduna’s ‘retirement’ from Starfleet immediately after the Presidio Reshuffle in the autumn, combined with his refusal to contribute to the Pasak under his 7th Guarantee rights, means that his voice has effectively been lost.[12] Though, considering the speed with which Moduna was ejected from Starfleet Command, it is easy to suppose that he knew exactly how thin the ground Broadhurst was standing on was: and went along with the scheme anyway.
Moduna – as Starfleet Intelligence chief – probably understood the precarity of the situation better than anyone else, exempting possibly Nogura. Klingon pressure on the Treaty Zone was proceeding on multiple fronts by Summer 2262. Outside of the “War of the Merchant”, Klingon patrols were pushing closer to Kobax and New Leningrad, drawing even more of Starfleet’s destroyer and scout strength into those regions: Other violations of the armistice agreements around J’Gal, alpha Lyncis and the overstretched Task Force Garm in the Dayos sector hung in the balance. Both Fitzpatrick at Second Fleet and Chrisjen Paris at overall theatre command had made the Presidio aware that any more concentration on Acamar would seriously affect their ability to hold the line.
The strain was already having an effect; the movement of the Marco Polo to monitor Acamar had allowed a Klingon supply convoy to land 3500 soldiers on Mardikian II, along with nearly 450,000 tonnes of equipment. Any opportunity to level the playing field was being considered by the Admiralty; semi-formal support for the Tandaran opposition, the expansion of planetary militias; and even the wild proposal of building a 6th Deep Space Starbase in the Oort Cloud of the Ardana system had been considered as ways to ease the pressure throughout the disputed area. The supply of arms to an internal civil war may have once been considered a gross violation of the Prime Directive, but now – to people like Moduna and Rittenhouse – it merely stretched the boundaries to the same level that Operation Singapore, the Ardanan entry agreement and Operation Kadis-Khot had.
In this environment of extra-legal hypotheticals and drastic military measures, secret orders were delivered by courier from Paris to San Franisco and deposited in the hands of Admiral Moduna. They could – and should – have been reported then. But Moduna was not a man known for personal bravery. The Starfleet Intelligence ship Basra – a converted merchant ship previously used for unmarked surveillance in the Orion system – was chosen by Moduna for his “semi-authorised act of incompetent skullduggery”.[13] Basra would depart Starbase 24 in the morning with false papers for M’talas; her skipper was told by Moduna that his orders “would be authorised and legal by the time of his arrival on Acamar”.[14] It is unclear whether this wishful thinking was Moduna’s or Broadhurst's; certainly, Moduna might be excused for not knowing exactly what the Security Council was, but he would not have issued these orders without clearance from Broadhurst; at the very least, Fleet Admiral Luteth (who sat in on the hearings) would have prevented him from making an independent call on political policy. If the briefing came from the president, however, it might corroborate Moduna’s later shock when the whole scheme fell apart around him.
Basra would follow the traditional route towards Acamar along the civilian highways, reaching the blockade line on July 6th about 0.5 LY out of Levitt’s World. Serendipity put Constellation in her path as she returned to station after a confrontation with two Orion blockade runners. Commodore Decker and his crew were tired, having been closed awaiting action for nearly 20 hours before the Orion cruisers gave up their flight. No one wanted to go through the motions again; Decker even considered letting the Basra pass; she was a Federation-registered ship, after all. His guts told him otherwise, however. Constellation ordered the ship to halt at roughly 0521 ship-time. In reply, however, the Basra’s skipper would send a coded message to Decker, ordering him to let the ship pass under “Special order from the Federation Security Council.”
Decker wasn’t exactly sure what to do with the information. The skipper of the Basra seemed puzzled too. He might have sailed with sealed orders under subspace radio silence, but his orders (which he still refused to show Decker) suggested to him that the shipments were already approved. With the skipper still refusing to let a landing party on board – or heave over – Decker grew more suspicious; especially as the Basra’s skipper grew tetchier by the minute. After 35 minutes, Decker ordered the Basra to stand by for boarding. “That little fucker went mad, screaming fury about how I’d be breaking rocks on Elba II by the end of this. He shut up when I told him that I could have him arrested for smuggling.”
Constellation’s boarding party beamed aboard 3 minutes later with a full complement of phasers; just in case, of course. Decker’s XO would immediately detain her command staff in the wardroom before opening the hold; whereupon they discovered that the “medical shipments” were weapons; hundreds of phaser rifles, mortars, repeating pulse cannons and power packs destined for Acamar. When the Basra’s captain was returned to Constellation under charge of smuggling, he demanded to speak to Decker.
“He seemed so smug when he pulled out his orders – paper orders – for me to read. I’m not surprised. These had been written up by the president’s office and sent down by courier; watermarked and everything. The computer verified it as such. If he was a civilian, I suspect I’d have let him off – maybe even assumed that I’d stumbled into an SI op by accident. What caught me was the fact his orders had two empty signature slots: one for the Chair of the Security Council, and another for the Starfleet C-in-C. I told him that I made these invalid orders, and he demanded that I check with my superiors. So, I did. In the meantime, I chucked the arrogant bastard in the brig.”
Decker – the professional maverick – was aware of how absurd it seemed. Surely there had to be a reason for this level of skullduggery and not a good one. Basra’s secret orders and manifest, seized from her computers by a Security Lieutenant “with a hand on his holster”, were transferred into Constellations’ black box recorder. With Constellation now briefly within instantaneous Comms range of USS Maxwell Forrest (Admiral Fitzpatrick’s flagship), Decker broke communications silence to report the find to 2nd Fleet. “Sairose seemed to think I was joking – until I sent her the manifest. That was no joke.” Fitzpatrick asked Decker why he hadn’t reported this up his chain of command to Rittenhouse; even this early, Decker made it clear that he didn’t trust Rittenhouse one bit. Neither did Fitzpatrick. The two agreed to make separate copies of each document, before passing them up the chain at double priority.
It is likely that if Rittenhouse was still running Klingon Command, the whole incident might have been suppressed. His distaste for anything outside of his ‘plan’, combined with his semi-psychopathic relationship with Broadhurst could easily have seen the whole thing written off and ignored; at the very least, any suspicion of wrongdoing would have been suppressed. But KLICOM was already moving out of the Rittenhouse mould. He had done immense work to reshape the structure, intent and operational goals of the Regional Command, but the culture was not a Rittenhouse one; it was a Starfleet one. Even the brief presence of Chrisjen Paris as interim CO on Starbase 19 had lifted the “cloud of displeased silence” within staff headquarters; while there had been some loss of focus at the start, Paris’s intensity was combined with a staff much more willing express themselves when necessary. As such, when Fitzpatrick passed the Basra’s manifest up the chain indirectly, the staff personnel who handled it were much more willing to read it, exercise some critical thinking skills (generally frowned up under Rittenhouse) and keep moving it upstairs.
At every stage, Broadhurst’s scheme had largely depended on Starfleet Officers following the chain of command to the letter, and understanding their place within the machine that was stellar service. But – as we will be reminded again and again on the road to Khitomer – Starfleet Officers are not just soldiers. They are scientists and investigators, who value critical thinking just as much as discipline. At every level from Decker up to Nogura, senior officers’ judgement had told them something was not right; and even with only half the picture, they had been vindicated. Decker, Fitzpatrick, Paris and Nogura were all aware that if they were wrong, their careers could end on the spot. But they were willing to take that risk; as Nogura would later point out, “career suicide is a lot less lethal than general interspace warfare.”
The Basra Dossier – as it was later dubbed – would arrive on Earth 47 hours after the Basra had been stopped. The sheer luck of the Maxwell Forrest being within communications range of the Constellation and the Mayweather II relay chain meant that Broadhurst’s other gamble (that the arms would already be with the rebels by the time anyone realised what he had done) had also failed; what would normally have taken nearly 3 weeks to reach earth arrived in two days, a testament to the quality of the relay chain that ran from SB19 to the federation core. According to Peter Toussaint, Nogura “took one look at the thing, quietly shut down his computer console, told me to go to lunch and then stormed down the hall towards Starfleet Intelligence with the ferocity of a tiger.”[15] Apocryphally, Moduna attempted to lock Nogura out of his office; Nogura denied the allegation, though Toussaint noted that it “was just as likely that the Old Man kicked the door in”. Moduna pleaded ignorance at first, before eventually caving; he had given the authorisation “based on orders from the civilian government.” He did not say Peter Broadhurst; Nogura figured that out himself.
The closed-door meeting of the senior admiralty on July 8th remains unknown to history. Only scant minutes were taken, clearly written after the events had concluded. Only Nogura, Luteth and Moduna knew the exact topic; even Rittenhouse was blindsided by the revelation that illegal arms shipments were arriving in the Acamar system unannounced. The process unit Considering everything that this collection of admirals had allowed in the last four years – from expeditionary warfare in the Triangle and battleship development to mass minelaying and unprecedented economic warfare, it is forever intriguing that this – the reinforcement of an existing policy direction on Acamar – was beyond the pale. The illicit arms agreement, however, broke three crucial rules. The Council must consent; Starfleet Command must consent; and Starfleet Command must approve the plan. None of these had been met in any way; Wwrse, the Basra’s papers indicated the Moduna had transmitted their orders on the night of the 2nd of July; hours before anyone in the Admiralty saw the dossier on the LRIMs. In some senses, then, the Admiralty were angrier with Moduna than they were with the President; not by much, however. Considering how both men would be remembered for their disregard for checks and balances, Rittenhouse and Nogura were uncharacteristically united in their demands for an investigation – or worse. “[Moduna] put the reputation of the service at risk,” Nogura would recall in an interview. “Worse, he broke our codes of conduct on military action overtly and unapologetically, as if ‘I was just following orders’ is an acceptable alibi in the 23rd century.”
Heads would have to roll; and not just Moduna’s. Luteth – ever the Vulcan logician – accepted a level of culpability for the debacle, and for (as she put it) the “alarming failure of inter-departmental communication and oversight in a time of increasing uncertainty.”[16] No one wanted her to go; no one wanted to admit she was right; no one wanted to face the fact that the mutual decision to keep Luteth on after 2258 had allowed Moduna and others to ignore the push towards de-compartmentalisation. Everyone except for Luteth, of course; ever the direct Vulcan, she could accept that she was the problem when no one else could. The only concession anyone could drag out of her was not to resign on the spot. It would no one any favours if Starfleet was decapitated during this crisis.
But something had to be done. Starfleet was not about to “sit on top of a Constitutional” bomb and repeat the institutional self-harm of the Colonial Crisis; political obligations had to be followed, and soon.[17] Luteth would inform the Starfleet Secretary and Defence Commissioner at around 7am Paris time on the morning of the 9th (the infamous “she’s not fucking with us, Alohk,” conversation); Defence Commissioner Ixan – an appointee drawn not from Broadhurst’s right wing of the old Archerites but a concession to the OSFP – went straight to the security council, the Basra dossier in hand.
Broadhurst’s calendar for the 9th was very light – no council sessions were on the order paper, and he intended to take advantage of the lull before making another attempt at the arms agreement on the 11th. Yesterday’s intelligence report buoyed his mood; Klingon movements in the Acamar sector seemed to lean towards an offensive posture and further LRIM deployments, which would encourage the council to support his actions. His hope was this – combined with the imminent end of the mid-year session of the council at the end of the week – would push the Security Council over the line. At approximately 6:30 pm – ten minutes into the president’s early dinner with the Bolian Ambassador to the UFP – deputy chief of staff Safa entered the dining room with an urgent summons from the Security Council. Broadhurst seemed annoyed, if he knew what it was about, he did not betray so to his guests. His memoir claimed otherwise; “I knew. I had to know. In that moment, as Safa leant over to talk to me, I passed through my own Gethsemane, and accepted that I my political career would have to die to save the Federation.”
Whether or not one believes Broadhurst’s biblical sophistry, one thing was certain: Broadhurst’s long streak of being ahead of the political curve was over – for good.
“An Unconstitutional Obligation”
The special session on the night of the 9th – forever dubbed “Basra Night” by the New Berlin Times – is considered the most important Security Council session of the mid-23rd century. If the council had let Broadhurst slide or accepted his excuses or had even one less of its several smoking guns, then the primacy of Presidential power – and presidential abuses of power – may have been tacitly endorsed forever.
Confronted with a hostile council probing him on dealings with the Acamarian Exiles, Broadhurst could have easily gotten away with non-answers or misdirection; Th’rhahlat had certainly been a master of issue avoidance. His decision, however, to go after Sarek’s first questions on the Basra Dossier has gone down in history as probably the worst judgment call he made (outside of, possibly, authorising the Basra mission in the first place). The president’s flip-flopping between absconding himself of responsibility (blaming Moduna for his choice) and saying that if he had authorised it, it would be legal, seemed to do nothing but convince the council that everything they had been told by the Admiralty was probably true. Certainly, the legal ground for the arms agreement was slippery; retroactive authorisation would probably have stood up in a constitutional court if it had happened. It seems very likely that a vote on arms delivery might have passed the general council in early July if the LRIM revelation had not been made public. The Security Council – advisors and guardians of the Federation, not its overt representative – may have understood this sentiment. The Rev’nak Convention (yet to be broken by the Coridan question) would probably have forced the Council to accept whatever decision the assembled Ambassadors made, no matter their own opinion. But that was all hypothetical. What was not hypothetical was that the President – with the complicity of the Starfleet Secretary and at least two Starfleet Admirals – had engaged in a conspiracy to provide illicit military support to a foreign power. At the very least, Moduna and the CO of the Basra were liable to court-martial under the Javas ruling on General Order One. What exactly Broadhurst could be guilty of was dependent on the explanation he gave.
Once it became clear that the president was determined to blame Starfleet for the Basra, the Council pounced. The dossier from Decker and Fitzpatrick – complete with the ‘Special Order’ that the council had yet to sign – proved not only that the President was lying about it being a Starfleet problem, but that he had just perjured himself to the Security Council. Worse was to come. During a short recess, the Federation Security Council decided to summon the Argelian Minister Vymor of Tri’Lesta to speak on the matter. Their intention was probably not to twist the knife. If Sarek is to be believed, the council was leaning towards formal censure, an investigation, and probably disqualification from electoral nomination at the end of the month; an end to Broadhurst’s career, but not to his reputation.
Unfortunately for the President, Minister Tri’Lesta was having a late dinner. The Acamarian minister was, for lack of a better phrase, a glutton for human foods; so much so that their staff were ordered to hold all calls during that time.[18] The Security Council summons – delivered in person by an aide to Ambassador Sarek – was a serious imposition on Tri’Lesta’s special time. When the aide insisted on their presence, Tri’Lesta sent her away with a copy of the treaty that their government had signed with Broadhurst. “The tone of the discussion turned instantly,” Sarek recalled. “As did the volume.” The scheduled 20-minute recess was extended twice; the council only returned to the chamber at 10:15 pm. Attorney General Agudon slipped into the room behind them, catching Nogura’s eye; the President having no idea that his own cabinet member had doomed him. Agudon had been a Th’rhahlat appointee; an Elder Ithenite statesman, he had never liked the grandstanding Broadhurst or his continued attempts to push the council towards intervention. Now, with the Tri’Lesta Treaty in hand, his worse fears about Broadhurst were confirmed.
The President could not plead ignorance on the Tri’Lesta treaty. He had promised full and unadulterated military support to a foreign power without the consent of either the General or Security Council, and he had done so with a government whose legitimacy was suspect at best. The sheer act of signing the treaty was an impeachable offence; there had not even been a discussion of Federal ratification at the cabinet level. Most of the secretariat had note even seen the document, and those who had went along with it on the assumption that it would eventually ratified. By stringing along the Acamarian exiles with the promise of arms, there was also a serious case to be made that the Tri’Lesta Treaty had artificially extended the conflict on Acamar longer than necessary. The Federation Government would be liable in its own courts for incitement to violence on a neutral world; the legality of the Acamarian trade protection squadron could even be called into question. Had the president planned for Starfleet to confront the Acamarian Defence Forces? Was that a prelude to invasion? Suddenly Interlude looked less like the worst-case scenario and more like the final chess move of some Machiavellian strategy.
Faced with these accusations, Broadhurst, in a sudden moment of moral clarity, caved. “The President reacted with a kind of cold logic humans only demonstrate when there is no other way out,” Sarek recalled. “He admitted that he had signed the treaty, and that he had agreed non-interference in Acamarian Affairs in full knowledge that he had tied himself to the Sovereignty government.” This was probably not the best personal choice on his part – certainly, the damage to his eardrums caused by the Tellarite Ambassador yelling into his ear is on record – but it was certainly the right decision for the political health of the Federation. The President admitted to lying to the council, on record, on four different occasions since the 1st of May. At every stage had endangered the lives of Federation service personnel in the sector, jeopardised the independence of Acamar and dragged the UFP further towards a general war. It is difficult to have much sympathy for his tinnitus.
The Security Council was, rightly, enraged that they had been caught out. They had been labouring under the pretension that the whole crisis had been inflamed by Klingon aggression and Acamarian action alone, with Starfleet simply acting as an “honest broker” to protect the independence of the Acamarian people. This seems naïve in retrospect, but the position of the UFP as the “Arsenal of Freedom” – as exemplified by the Wescott Doctrine after 2263 was not a popular stance in ’62. Even if it had been, the idea of inflaming an existing crisis with even non-critical support would have been anathema to even the most dogged Unionist. Sending the Sovereign government weapons – and advisors – was beyond the pale. Even if the Security Council agreed with the principle (certainly, Sh’Belulos of Andoria was somewhat supportive of the idea before the revelation), they were horrified that the decisions had been made around them without even considering consultation with the legislature. That terrified them more than the LRIMs ever could. The guarantees that the Council had extracted from the president to treat Acamar itself as a “hands-off world” had been ignored; the sanctity of legislative primacy has been ignored; and the spirit of the Federation charter had been callously abused. There would be no easy recovery from this.
The Council, for obviously reasons, wanted Broadhurst out as soon as possible. For equally obvious reasons, this was not as easy as they might have hoped. The crisis on Acamar was not going to go away if Broadhurst was impeached; especially now, with the threat of the Interspatial Missiles looming over the Federation. There was no question of letting Broadhurst run for a second term; the real issue was whether the Basra-Tri’Lesta Affair could be made public yet. It would destroy Broadhurst and his government when it did; another government collapse after Barreuco could cause secession in the frontier regions, especially in vulnerable regions like Sauria and Kobax.
Broadhurst’s final plea was that the meeting remained sealed under the “national security” clause would not be answered directly; Sarek, as chair, said that the security council would consider it. Presumably, waking up the next day ton news of his cack-handed treatment of the constitution covering the front pages of Le Monde, The New Berlin Times and every other paper of record all the way to the Benecia Gardanto was a shock. It probably wasn’t to the Federation Security Council, who had already decided to make the session public in ten days by the time three different sources leaked the material to the press.
The outcry was immediate. President Broadhurst – the man who had “kept the peace in the east” as the San Francisco Herald put it – had admitted, on record, to deliberately escalating tensions with the Klingons on the soil of a neutral power. Protestors swarmed the Palais by midday on the 11th, even as his office attempted some form of damage control; his press office was booed by collected journalists while attempting to spin the incident as a “misunderstanding of constitutional obligations”.[19] The council – already breaking up for the summer recess – was hurriedly recalled. Almost all the members off-world had turned their transports around upon hearing the news; the furthest away Ambassador, Farid Zulfikar of Daran V, would beg a lift off a Starfleet Courier craft, arriving on the planet only 25 minutes before Broadhurst’s final session began on the 14th. Many others from the frontier regions only found out about the crisis when they arrived on their home worlds; adding to the sense that what was about to happen was a “core world coup”.
Footage of Broadhurst’s special report to the Council seems to come from a parallel timeline. The President looked nervous and distracted; sweat drooped from his brow despite the ambient temperature of the chamber remaining at a cool 14oC. At one point he dropped his notes – physical – notes, a prop that he had never used before. The council smelt blood immediately. Every assertion of innocence was met with a jeer. An attempt to point to Klingon's pressure was met with outright laughter. Broadhurst’s coalition of hawkish progressives and conservatives was nowhere to be seen that evening. The fact that the crux of his argument was that he had “acted in the interests of the Federation, and the council, based on a political obligation of the highest importance” only aggravated the council more.[20] The reply from Pagros Sh’Belulos – once a staunch ally – said everything.
“You are not allowed to use this council as a cover story for your political ineptitude, your constitutional illiteracy, or your total disregard for the interstellar rules of diplomacy. We’re not Klingons, mister President. Or have you forgotten that?”[21]
Many have pointed to Sh’belulos’s outrage at the Acamar deal as a sign of her erratic politics. The mistake there is projecting the universal hawkishness of the Unionist movement onto a political environment that was still largely, supportive of “reactive pacificism”. The conservative wing of the council may have supported the Resource Denial Act, Starfleet reform and the arming of the previous Acamarian government, but all of those were reactive responses to a changing environment. To use the famous analogy coined by Nancy Hedford, the previous acts had been “a move of a piece on the board; now, Broadhurst was attempting to add another piece to the table while hoping nobody noticed.”[22] There had been some hope that, maybe, changes on Acamar – or an appeal from the Acamarians – would encourage the Council to understand the diplomatic necessity of their actions. Instead, Tri’Lesta hung him out to dry in a notorious press conference, in which the Acamarian Sovereignty’s Minister-in-exile called the embattled President a “professional liar” who had promised the Sovereignties the world and given them nothing. The General Council would table a motion of no confidence the next day. Broadhurst’s attempt to warn off the council with the threat of further Klingon deployments to Acamar was met with even more cheers. Ch’Shukar – watching the disaster on a viewscreen in San Fransisco – would remark to Nogura that “Th’rhahlat would have loved this.”
The possibility of two no-confidence votes in four years did not seem like a good sign. Le Monde ran a cartoon on the 13th which showed Broadhurst clinging to a shattered doorframe as Marianne and a Klingon soldier attempted to drag him out.[23] Three Secretariat members resigned by 10 am; bringing the total to eight, not including Agudon (who had told Broadhurst that he was only staying on to make sure the impeachment articles were filed properly).[24] It was only a matter of time at this point; once the news reached Qo’nos – which it did on the 19th – the whole situation would get worse very quickly.[25] “He’s got to go now,” Nafros Xaall would tell the Rigellian Ambassador after Lunch. A vote of no confidence would require a full session, however; something that would be impossible for a week at least.
Broadhurst cracked first, however. Pressure from Agudon seems to have been the key factor, as well as his mental health. He had barely slept since the 11th, and the near-constant sitting of the (still not quorum) General Assembly was beginning to fray his nerves, as were the insults.[26] A council directive on the 14th that called for an end to “all secret diplomatic agreements, treaties and alliances throughout the Quadrant” was correctly interpreted as a signal for his exit; as were the hurried meetings of the Andorian Caucus and Archerites, who were scrambling to ensure Sh’Belulos could step into the void. A final attempt to rally supporters at the Tuillerie club on the 14th would go nowhere; the proto-unionists abandoned Broadhurst entirely, appalled by his inability to “back words with open action and dignity”.[27] His political project was over; his high-stakes gamble to seize the tenuous centre ground between frontier radicals and core world reaction killed by his own hubris. He would inform the Security Council of his intention to resign that evening, telling his deputy Chief of Staff that “he doubted Sh’Belulos could manage this shitshow as well as him.” For most, the ascent of the Andorian Councillor was inevitable. The poor Charterites couldn’t muster anything close to the feverish lobbying of the proto-Unionists; most of their leadership had departed for the summer recess, as had their Assembly supporters; Wescott had gone home to support his wife after a series of gender-affirming surgeries; even in Boston, he was too secluded from the political centre of gravity to have any sway – or so many thought.
Despite strong momentum with those representatives present in Paris, many were sceptical that Sh’Belulos could capture the regional Ambassadors; especially the critical Benecian and Regulan councillors who had absolutely no faith that she cared about anything that happened beyond Rigel. Even by the night of the 14th, it was rather clear that the Archerite push for the presidency had run out of steam short of the necessary nominees. There would be no easy path to succession now. Wescott’s name emerges earlier than most imagine. The Security Council were already thinking about an interim leader by the 12th; Sarek was, for the third time in his career, nominated, but declined because “he was an inadequate choice.” Sh’belulos – early frontrunner by default - had been foisted on the Security Council by popular demand, but once it became clear that she would not make the nominations, the floor opened again. Names like Elledge (Luna) and Curoa (Izar) were floated as respectable statespersons, but they lacked popular support. Then Sarek suggested Wescott. The earth ambassador was reasonably popular; despite the reformist stance of the Charterites, most regarded him as the sanest of the constructional reformers; compared to Q’uarn nash Poc (de facto leader of the “Tellartie” Centrist bloc, the only other heavyweight within within the Council) Wescott was both more experienced and more respected. The security council could put him in place through constitutional contrivance; the same clause that had allowed them to appoint Vanderbilt President pro tempore in 2161. It would require General Council ratification, but that was not as hard as anticipated. Many of the progressive Archerites would vote with the Vulcan and Tellarite caucus for Wescott; certainly, a plurality of votes is necessary for an emergency government to be formed.
The overture to Wescott was made through AR Vale; once a Starfleet shuttle pilot, then a writer turned lobbyist, he had been a close confidant of Wescott’s since his time in the United Earth cabinet. Not quite as reformist as Wescott, he was still a vital link between the Charterites and the Federation political establishment. It was he who fielded the call from Sarek to see if Wescott would accept a special nomination. Vale would call on Wescott in person on the 15th, appearing at his townhouse on the Boston Commons early in the morning.
“[Vale] didn’t look like he had slept, so I offered him some strong coffee and took him into the front room. It was clear he wasn’t here to well-wish Marsha after he sat down. ‘Broadhurst’s going, Ken.’
‘I know. Who do they want to replace him? Sarek? Xaall?’ He laughed at Xaall.
‘No. They want someone sensible. Someone who isn’t going to get us all blown up over a trite tariff reform. Someone who can hold a council majority.’
‘They’ll need someone the Charterites can vote for,’ I told him. ‘We can’t have another staller like Broadhurst back in.’ I suggested a few names – Phoenix,nash Poc and Elledge. Vale shook his head to both and then cracked a smile. ‘They have a name, you know. One the security council has already approved.’
‘Not Pagros.’ Sh’Belulos – even then, before the Unionists had grown to match us, was a heavyweight of some calibre. But no, it wasn’t her. After a rather dramatic pause to gulp coffee, Vale pointed to me. ‘They want you, Ken.’”[28]
Wescott baulked at the offer. “It’s career suicide,” he told Vale. “They’ll make me shoulder the blame for it all then put me out to pasture as Ambassador to Rigel or something.” It was true; the Security Council had no love for the Charterite reform programme or the proposals for ‘total monetary abolition’. But if Wescott could survive the moment of crisis – and prevent a federal collapse in the aftermath – the opportunities could be incredible. Wescott remained hesitant. The whole idea of Federal reform could be destroyed by association with corruption and external weakness; tied to the Basra affair, appeasement and a secession crisis. “If we do this, we can’t do it half-heartedly,” he told Vale. “We can’t act like there are second chances.” Before Vale could try and press the issue, Marsha Wescott – woken by the noise of the coffee machine – would intervene from the upstairs landing, shouting “take the f*cking job, Len, before they get someone with no guts to do it!” After Marsha had disappeared back into the bedroom – and Vale had stopped laughing – he turned back to Wescott. “Will you do it then?”
Wescott’s reply was simple. “That’s ‘will you do it, Mister President’.”
Enter Wescott
Kate Bugos had only been on Earth for about 20 days when Wescott entered office. The Benecia Born journalist – yet to make her name as a commentator and known chiefly at this point for her sports reporting – was still getting used to “a world of ancient monuments used as restaurants and cafes, where the locals complained about how the avenues ‘hadn’t been the same since the Second World War’”. Sharing an apartment with another colonial reporter – Sviq’la Vr’Chinnalli of New Andor – her late slumber after a heavy night of drinking was ended abruptly when her roommate burst into her room with news.
“Broadhurst’s out!” She yelled, only making my headache worse. So. That was it. The Federation Nightmare was over. Would the Klingons find out about it before they blew Regulus up? I hoped so. I like Regulus. I certainly liked the idea of Regulus. I rolled back over and tried not to throw up. Then I rolled back when I realised, she was still in my room, smoking one of my Tarkelian cheroots and wearing her girlfriend’s shirt. (Which girlfriend was it? I can never remember. I think she had three or four at the time.) ‘Are we finally getting the Sarek Government then?’ If he got in, I owed her a trip to Greenland. A significant threat if you’ve never seen snow in your life.
‘Oh, no. No, no, no.’
‘nas Poc?’
‘That ice-slider?’ I stared at her. ‘It’s Vest-Cott.’ She said it like it was a German word for a wool waistcoat.
‘Wescott? Earth Ambassador?’ She nodded. What a time to be alive. Klingons breathing down our necks again, weapons of mass destruction aimed at half the union and the wisest sentients in both quadrants had chosen to elect a substitute teacher.”[29]
It is safe to say that no one had high expectations for Wescott. The New Berlin Times, sceptical of his emergency appointment, dubbed him the “Beamed in Premier”. This was almost certainly the nicest thing the press had to say about him; “President Pupil” and “The Boy Failure” were also thrown about by less supportive outlets; a pundit on Tellarite Television declared that he was “only there so no one important had to cave to Qo’noS.” The Utopia Planitia Star (one of the less reputable tabloids) would ensure its place in history when it put a picture of Wescott on its cover with the headline “DO YOU KNOW THIS MAN?” No one expected much of his ad-hoc administration either. “This government – if we can even call it a government – will almost certainly not make it to the election,” declared Siobhan Tilly on EBS News. “In many senses, I do not believe it is meant to. Someone must take the blame for this nightmare, and it is a great shame that it must be Mister Wescott.”
Many within the Palais felt the same way. The security council had sworn Wescott in in a hurry; there was no formal ceremony, beyond “a hand on the charter and a hand to the sky in the basement” while Broadhurst filed out of his resignation speech in the General Council. Wescott’s confirmation vote was scheduled for the 19th; he would not, officially, become the President of the United Federation of Planets until Midnight Paris time on the 20th. But there was no time to wait. The handover from Broadhurst’s team bordered in high-paced farce; what normally took six weeks had to be completed in roughly 72 hours, with many of the outgoing staff blaming the successors for Broadhurst’s political demise. A.R. Vale had the keys to his new office thrown at him by the outgoing chief of staff; many of the junior aides were still packing when Wescott’s team arrived. Broadhurst made his resignation speech – a hollow apology for “offending the principles of the council” that failed to touch on the fact that it was to be followed immediately by a debate over impeachment – while clerks piled the boxes from his offices in the corridor outside the chamber. “The moving companies have never had a busier day”, noted the Times of London.
The Secretariat offices were just as busy. Despite assurances from Wescott, many senior Commissioners and other members of the Secretariats had resigned with Broadhurst, leaving massive holes at the top of the administration. Oguntoye, Vuxi and Yurada - the big names who represented the next generation of the Federation political establishment - had all gone out with Broadhurst, either stained by their complicity or dragged down by association. Only Agudon, who was already marked as the “one who held the knife” agreed to stay on, but only until the after an election. “Most of us were afraid to unpack,” recalled Vale. “I didn’t even bother giving security my transporter ID. We weren’t going to be around long enough to unpack it.” The President did not share this opinion, however; and he made this very clear to his staff and his ad-hoc cabinet. “We are not here to take the fall for the other man’s failures. We are here to fix them. [30] We are here to ensure peace in both quadrants, freedom for all stars and then, once we have achieved that, we are here to win an election.” That first objective was the hardest.
The Klingon government had not reacted well to the Basra Affair. “Earther meddling” of such proportions resulted in equal levels of outrage and jubilation amongst the meddling houses on Acamar; finally justifying their protests and demands for Imperial support. On Qo’noS, the debacle was interpreted as an inconsolable political snub. The Federation had tried to offset the balance of power on the sly, and when they got caught, the instigator of it all had absconded; worse, the authorities had let him. Some were even applauding it. “It seemed like the earthers were trying to trick us,” recalled Zym, whose position as senior advisor to L’Rell put him at the heart of the political crisis. “Or at the very least, they were goading us. All that talk of ‘democratic checks and balances’ just made the council angry, as did the appointment of that boy Wescott.”
Political pressure from the high council – even in its weakened state – was beginning to mount, as the aristocracy goaded their supporters in the streets of the first city. The calls from the crowd for blood were being repeated within the halls of power by senior nobles, including many who had been dogged supporters of L’Rell. The Imperial Military was more apprehensive; but while the high command was aware of their existing logistical weaknesses, they still advocated for some form of military action. The unswerving loyalty of the Klingon professional solider was always far more conditional than the propaganda machine pretended; the rank and file were just as eager for a proper was as the aristocracy was. With the collapse of the Broadhurst government, it seemed like now might be the best time possible to strike; while the Federation was at its’ weakest, shepherding a young, inexperienced leader into office. Assault plans were dusted off and orders sent to forward commanders, even as the Chancellor dithered over whether or not to commit to a general war that might dwarf T’Kuvma’s Crusade.
L'Rell had, largely, depended on Sturka’s influence to keep the Imperial Armed Forces in line. She was, even as “mother” of the empire, still a family-tied aristocrat; far removed from the brutally meritocratic military that she’d let Sturka, Korok and others create underneath her. Now, as L’Rell consulted Sturka on how to react, the first-ever Chief of the Imperial General Staff spoke the hard truth.
“[Sturka] told the Chancellor what I had, in my despair, expected him to say: that the loyalty of the Imperial Navy could not be guaranteed without some form of confrontation with the Star Fleet. Of course, it couldn’t. Their honour had been disconnected from that of ours a long, long time ago: it had spun away, carried away on a momentum sustained by duels in the Cajitar Concession and the Hromi Cluster. What could Mother do? To her, they were the Empire as much as she was. Their honour was her honour. So, if they wanted – needed a fight with the Earthers now to prove themselves, they had to have it.”
Zym seems to present the loss of control over the professional armed forces as an inevitability: not being Klingon fatalists, we should probably search for a better thesis than the “will of Kahless.” Too much authority had been granted to the General Staff and their juniors. They set their agendas; they controlled their recruitment and deployment; since the collapse of the Darsek a year before, they had de jure control over the financial organs of the state as well. The Imperial civil service had never been large enough to handle the size of the state L’Rell had wanted, especially while shutting the Great Houses out of the system. So many of the Chancellor’s great political projects (notwithstanding the conquests) were built on military resources; Industrial and taxation reform, state enslavement directives, and even prison reform; all were dependent in one way on the Imperial Navy or Army to work.
Did L’Rell realise this before Acamar? Possibly. The Imperial Security Regime can be interpreted as an attempt to put power back in the hands of the chancellery, projecting central authority out into the regions through decrees and regulations: but said regulations were still being enforced by professional soldiers with an independent agenda. When that agenda diverged from that of the Chancellor is difficult to work out; some say as early as Caleb IV or the Raktajino Revolution, but most historians point to the bungled response to the Embargo as the turning point. Whenever L’Rell had sowed the seeds of discontent, they were being reaped now. The Imperial Navy would have its war – if Starfleet deigned to let them. Deployments into the Acamar sector increased at pace, including the deployment of 4 D9 and B2 “Heavy Battle Cruisers”; joining the 3 B1s already assigned to Kesh, this represented the first real deployment of the Klingon “Battle Line” into deep space. Other orders made clear the shifting to a confrontational stance. On Acamar, the Kash-Ro silencers began to fuel their missiles up for launch; Infantry regiments prepared defensive positions across the planet. “Ra’ SuD” – the Imperial Navy plan for the rapid takeover of the Cajitar Concession – was moved to six hours of operational notice.[31]
Starfleet couldn’t help but notice – in many senses, the Imperial Navy wanted them too. Warp displacements over Mastocal were enough of a giveaway, as were heightened Klingon patrols along the Enolian line of contact. Starfleet had expected a significant response from the Empire, and between the 10th and 18th they had watched Kesh’s task force concentrate around the deep space anchorage at Mraada. Many of these orders had been issued before the Basra Affair; movements that had begun in conjunction with Kesh’s force concentration. These moves could be matched and countered and prevented – just. The LRIMs were the missing link; too new to judge the effectiveness of; too fast and too small to intercept, and capable of delivering the devastation of an orbital bombardment for a tenth the cost of a starship without even setting off a subspace warning system. It was distinctly possible that an LRIM launch from Acamar would strike Regulus before the 2nd Fleet even knew it had been fired; let alone Earth. “This is going to come down to the Officer on the spot,” Vale told Wescott. “We can set policy here all we want: whoever is on the line there is the only person who can stop this.” They were also, however, the only person who could start it.
Sairose Fitzpatrick was aware of this: She had kept the Maxwell Forest close to the SB23 relay network, but this still put her 22 hours away from Earth by subspace communique. In the meantime, intelligence from Decker and DESRON 5 (spread out on a patrol net from Vergius K to Vola) tracked the massing of Klingon forces in the region. Acamar itself remained a mystery; Acamarian Patrols had prevented Marco Polo from making any further scans, and what information Starfleet Intelligence could give her was useless. Unlike many of her predecessors in the region, however, Fitzpatrick was willing to take risks with her authority. From the 12th onwards, the Archer-class ships USS Hengist and Horsa had been put on standby on the edge of the Acamar system, awaiting a gap in the Acamarian patrol line. At 0145 ship time on the 14th, (roughly midday Acamarian Capital time), the Gatherer cruiser Victor broke patrol to intercept an Orion blockade runner.
Hengist’s skipper – Lieutenant Commander Cyal Prakoso Mattiasbur – would act immediately. Aboard the Hengist was the signals intelligence officer Yéwándé Paton, who recorded the experience of Operation Hornet in her memoir.
“The tactical officer looked up from their console suddenly. ‘Contact moving off at bearing 028 mark 85. Speed is…Warp five.’ Matti jumped up instantly.
‘Scanners off! Stand by for rapid warp! Signal to Hornet 2, green, green.’
The tiny bridge of the Hengist snapped into action; even the deck plates began to hum with excitement. ‘Round the horn!’ yelled the chief.
‘Scanners go!’
‘Warp reactors go!’
‘ Weapons go!’
‘Deflectors go!’
Then the same affirmation from the Horsa. ‘Helm, course for Acamar, ahead full warp factor, execute.’
Hengist and Horsa – stripped down, their torpedoes and probes removed and replaced with a rapid imaging scanner – would cover the 55.2 Aus from the launch position to Acamar III in just under 4 minutes, accelerating to a top speed of Warp 7.3 from a dead stop.
“Standby for sublight!’ the chief moved across the bridge glancing at me and my team. ‘Prepare for orbital insertion; damage control to level III preparation!’ Matti appeared over my shoulder; unlike me, or the rest of her crew, they moved with ease in the bucking, careening ship.
‘Have you ever done a warp insertion into the atmosphere, Yéwándé?’ I shook my head. ‘It’s quite fun.’ Chief Mavrc looked less pleased.
‘Sublight in five – four – three – two – one – mark!’ The Hengist bucked like a stalled shuttled; I clung onto the scanning console as the stars shimmered in a kaleidoscope before settling into the blue-black haze of an upper atmosphere.
‘Hornet Two signals ready for imaging run.’
‘Reply confirms. Open outer doors; prepare for imaging scan. Ahead full impulse, 014 mark 290.’ Hengist’s nose dropped into a steep dive, and I ignored the alarms from every console as I turned the scanners on. None of the calibrations had misaligned. ‘New contact! Orbital fighters closing from bearing 180-190-200-‘
‘Poor fucker can’t keep up,’ Matti growled. There was a wild kick and another alarm sounded. ‘Damage report!’
‘We’re taking ground fire; Klingon disruptor cannons, but they can’t get a lock.’ The dark blue has turned into azure; pockets of grey-white cloud flash past the viewscreen. A patch of arid green-sand landscape turns into a quilt, and then a blanket of ground below, before dropping away as the Hengist levels out.
‘How long to the targets?’
‘Fifteen seconds.’
I turned to Ensign Yun. ‘Scanners to active, setting 14-P.’ Head down into the viewing glass. The ground rushes past as I adjust, and then- one, two, five, ten, twelve launch platforms with towering missiles ready to go, lined up along the coastline like obelisks, machinery and crews scuttling about as we pass overhead. We can’t be more than 15 kilometres from the ground. We pass over a hilltop and the scanner whines with alarm; more targets in the ridgeline itself. ‘I’ve got more missiles in bunkers, sir,’ Yun says. ‘And I’m picking up Pergium traces in that complex by the town too.’ I want to check her work, but there’s no time. The Hengist rocks again; sparks shimmer from an overhead conduit, and then we’re shoved back into our seats as we climb back out of the atmosphere.
‘Run complete!’
‘Stand-by for warp! Close outer doors!’
Matti climbs up the steep deck plate with learned ease. ‘Where the hell is the Horsa?’
‘Can’t read here with the flash from the disrupt- got a lock; she’s alright, taken more damage than us though.’ I watch concern flash over Matti’s eyes, but it’s gone in a second. ‘Can she fly?’
‘She’s signalling green, green.’ The concern drops away.
‘Let’s get out of here then. Full Warp speed, course 000 mark 045, execute. Our excursion to Acamar is over in less than fifteen minutes; the green data card in my hand carrying the weight of worlds in its’ memory.’[32]
The multi-vector imaging scans taken over the northern hemisphere on Acamar gave Fitzpatrick frightening clear images of the three key launch sites, as well as the support base in the Nugza foothills and the massive liquid Pergium storage facilities the Imperial Navy was building beneath them. It also showed that the Pergium vats were empty. The Kash-Ro’s were sitting on the launch pads without fuel; some, it appeared, did not even have any warheads. Yet.
The early briefings with Wescott – begun on the 14th once he’d accepted the council’s nomination – were rife with speculation. The Admirals were unsure of the new premier, and what his position would be; on top of their anxiety about another general war, they were keenly aware that their reputation for integrity was on the line. Despite anxiety at the top, Rittenhouse continued to push for a planetary intervention on Acamar. “If we don’t put our boys on the ground, dug in and ready for the Klingon Fleet,” he told the council and president, “we’ll never get them off that rock at all!”[33] Wescott’s reply – “How'd that go for MacArthur on Bataan, Admiral?” earned a laugh from some better-informed listeners and a look of shocked scorn from Rittenhouse. Wescott may not have worked with Starfleet before – or have steeped himself in as much military history as the Admiralty – but he was a voracious reader, and incredibly well-advised. He had read the entire mission plan for Introspection twice, on top of discussions with Nogura and Lieutenant General Lakoneelon (the prospective commander of any ground deployment to Acamar). Both had agreed with Wescott and Vale’s sentiment; that any military action on the planet itself would only make war inevitable.
Mehkan – much more malleable on the issue than the quietly seething Rittenhouse – pressed the President on what response could be taken. Wescott would agree with the general principle that Acamar could not be allowed to fall into Klingon's hands completely, but pointed out that said grip was largely dependent on their ability to sustain defences on the planet. “If their missiles were not fully armed, and their silos were not full, then their defences were not complete;” Wescott elaborated in his memoir. “They could not secure the antimatter they needed from Acamar itself, or even the interstellar medium surrounding it. They would need to stockpile on the planet if they intended to defend it, let alone use it as a forward base. And that stockpiling was something that could be prevented.”
Wescott was, however, apprehensive to give Fitzpatrick full ability to act. “I can’t have another war start while I am making the last effort for peace”, he told Luteth and Rittenhouse. “Whoever makes the call has to know that.” Rittenhouse was confident that “his boys, girls and others could get the job done handily,” even though he baulked at the very strict rules of engagement and control that Paris wanted to enforce; especially the use of subspace relay ships to bring transmission times down to 45 minutes each way. Wescott, still mistrustful of the Admiralty, was forced to bend to their expertise once again. On the 16th, Fitzpatrick was given full authorisation to “blockade the Acamar system and prevent Klingon access to the surface,” by the Security Council, but only if “there is a clear and present danger to Federation security based on Intelligence information.” She was also explicitly told – through informal channels – that her direct orders from the President were to “avoid any form of action that could be used as an excuse by either Starfleet or the Imperial Navy for a military escalation.”
Wescott’s decision was not unanimously supported, however; the pressure from others within Starfleet to escalate further was powerful. Mehkan and Nogura had authorised –behind Wescott’s back - the deployment of KLICOM’s reserve to the blockade. Rittenhouse had also ordered the deployment of USS Atlas, Ramillies and North Carolina to SB 19; USS Federation – considered the most capable “space control ship” in the Starfleet roster – would follow them on the 19th.[34] The firepower being concentrated in the core ward region of the border was increasing at a rate that seemed uncontrollable; by the 21st of July, 8 of the 24 Capital ships in active service had been deployed to Klingon Command; 6 in the Acamar region alone.[35] Vale expressed his reservations to the President that evening, asking openly if “we hadn’t just capitulated to the sort of dangerous sabre rattling that Broadhurst wanted to make normal.” Wescott didn’t have an answer. “’[Rittenhouse] still wants to send the Marines in. Nogura wants to seal off Kuvat and Mastocal with destroyers. Mehkan thinks we should send the [Andorian] Guard to the Cajitar Concession. Everywhere I look, AR, I see doom. Everywhere except here. And if we can’t pull this off – and bring the Klingons to the table properly – I don’t want to be remembered like Samuels.”[36]
The diplomatic effort was not providing the easy out many had hoped. Many of the minor powers – even those who had put pressure on the UFP to protect trade in the Acamar sector – baulked at the prospect of another general war in the region; unprompted declarations of neutrality from the Barolians, Asparax states and the Malurians signalled their discomfort with the UFP’s handling of the crisis. The negotiations through the Orion embassies were just as grim. Ambassador Kuvec warned Rogers that the Klingon Empire intended to back Acamarian independence “to the blood soak-hilt”.
Rogers’ attempt to broach the topic of a peace summit on Babel had been cast aside immediately. Instead, Kuvec told the Federation representative “It will remain the policy of the Imperial Government to consider Acamar, like Cajitar, Enol and Krios, a special vassal of the Empire, no matter what rebellious exile groups may say,” adding that “The Federation has no right under moral law or facile Interstellar law to prevent the Empire from acting in the defence of its’ friends”: a re-iteration of various declarations Kuvec had made earlier in the week in support of the Samaritan Gatherers. Pushed, Kuvec also reiterated that the LRIMs were purely defensive and that the Klingon government by no means supported the offensive action of “a few pirate captains claiming to be Acamarian soldiers.” The most concerning part of the meeting on the 17th was Kuvec’s final warning: that, if the United Federation of Planets continued to interfere with the rights of “the fraternal allies of the Klingon people in the Rigellian core”, then they too may find themselves protected by the “Golden Shield of the Kash-Ro.”[37] Kuvec’s threat – made based on official orders that had been dispatched by warp courier no later than the 3rd of July – does speak to a correlation between the LRIMs’ and overall strategy. Broadhurst or not, the Kash-Ro’s were allowing the Klingons to put pressure on the UFP’s core for the first time since 2257.
Beyond the theatrical language, the threat was tangible. The possibility of LRIMs being deployed to Yridia, Tandar or even Orion was frighteningly possible; as early as March of that year, the Tandaran government had considered allowing Kash-Ro’s to be deployed in their territory (something Starfleet Intelligence only learned after the start of the Tandaran Emergency). SI was also aware that the Klingon Military had considered deploying an LRIM battery in orbit of J’Gal and D’Rakar too. If Broadhurst’s “Domino Effect” was to be halted, action needed to be taken – and quickly. “Drawing a line now would mean risking escalation in this moment of crisis,” Wescott wrote in his memoirs. “If it worked, we might avert a greater disaster in five years. We had to gamble with today to save tomorrow.” Operation Hornet – while confirming the presence of nearly 80 LRIMs on the planet – also confirmed that only 30 of them were fuelled and ready for launch. The lack of fuel was the only thing preventing a complete Federation capitulation.
Tensions were just as high outside of the halls of power. On Andoria, a public petition demanded that Broadhurst be brought to trial immediately; another one demanded that Andorian citizens be allowed to abstain from “any military activity in the Acamar system.” Saurian Officials would make a backdoor overture to the government of Asparax for an “external diplomatic arrangement”; the second time since 2256 when Sauria flirted with secession. A peace rally on July 19th by Berkeley and UCSF students would be met by a counter-protest by Starfleet Academy cadets in Golden Gate Park. By mid-afternoon, nearly 30,000 people had gathered in the park, both sides screaming insults at each other while a nervous SFPD watched. Amongst the collection of worried onlookers was the 17-year-old Pavel Chekov. A native Russian, Chekov had successfully applied for early entry to Starfleet Academy. His parents had, with some trepidation, agreed to let him move to San Francisco two months earlier than matriculation. “I wanted to know the place; get the feel of it. If it was to be my home for four years, I wanted to know it as well as I knew St. Petersburg.”[38] From a position overlooking the park (where he was ostensibly picnicking with his girlfriend of the time, the future civil liberties activist Irina Galliulin), he had a front-row seat when the protest went violent. “I didn’t see that famous brick get thrown – if it even was thrown – but I did watch the class of ’62 run down the UCSF students like they were Marines at the Mayweather Pennant.” 82 cadets and students would be hospitalised before the local police and Starfleet shore patrols managed to separate both groups and round up the protestors.[39]
Many justifications for the outlet of violence would be thrown around by the press afterwards, but the fact remained that the whole Federation was on a knife’s edge.[40] The speed of the crisis had outstripped subspace communication: New Bordeaux and Regulus heard the Klingon denouncement of Broadhurst before they even knew about the Basra Incident, while others were more reliant on Imperial state broadcasts than the Federation press itself. Wescott understood, right now, that confusion and misinformation were just as dangerous as military posturing. “We owed it to the public to inform them of our intentions, our plans and our beliefs. Broadhurst had taken it for granted that they were behind him, and that had completely eroded their trust. I wasn’t about to repeat that.” Plans for a federation-wide broadcast had begun very soon after Wescott had assumed power. Hypothetical discussions between Starfleet, the Merchant Marine, the Secretariat of Infrastructure, and various planetary governments to put together a Federation-wide rapid-relay system were hauled out and put into practice.
At its core was Starfleet’s small but powerful fleet of subspace relay ships and packet vessels. Equipped with high-power arrays equal in size to planetary communication systems, they could turn eight hours of transmission delays into 45-minute ones, if positioned correctly within subspace currents. Combined with Merchant Navy warning satellites and the incredible mathematics of the Vulcan Science Academy, Starfleet Engineering managed to get the delay from Earth to Regulus down to 45 seconds. A burst transmission sent on the 18th from Earth was sent to all Federation planetary governments, informing them of the scheduled time and subspace frequency of the transmission. All Wescott had to do now was prepare the speech.
In the meantime, Decker and his force prepared for war. Constellation had linked up with Fitzpatrick and the Maxwell Forrest on the 19th; with C-in-C 2nd Fleet taking command in the sector, Decker was given command of the forward task force. “That was foreboding enough. Then the tenders came alongside, and I realised that this was for real.” Commodore Decker was to act as the blockade tripwire; for the first time since 2257, he had authorisation to fire first if he believed that the Klingons were going to make a break for Acamar. “All this over a bunch of rockets,” he told his wife in a letter he dispatched with the S.S. Piquant. “I’d like to say that I’ll be fine, Jane, but I don’t know anymore. This whole business is slipping out of control hour by hour. Hug the kids for me. Please.”
Our Unswerving Objectives
The Acamar Address – the first presidential broadcast made in near real-time to the Federation population – is seen as the turning point of the whole crisis, and even the whole Cold War. It was the first moment that Wescott appeared to the people as the leader of the Free Galaxy; the first moment that the crisis on Acamar was outlined in detail publicly; and, for many, the moment when it became abundantly clear that the “boy from Boston” was not a sacrificial animal for the Security Council. It was also the first moment where the Federation outlined its ideological intent and diplomat redlines; not just to its population, but to the Klingon Empire. Th’rhahlat and Broadhurst may have laid the groundwork for Wescott’s policy of “enlightened containment” but the 30-minute broadcast on July 20th made it real.
Concerns about technical issues meant that the transmission array went online 40 minutes before the presidential address: meaning that the first visual programme beamed live to over 85% of the Federation’s population was The Frankopan, a soap opera set on a boomer hauler in the 2150s that was best known for its odd sense of comedic timing and a notoriously bizarre incest plotline. [41] While Starfleet Engineering, the Federation Broadcasting Service and Palais technicians frantically made their final checks, Vale, and the communications staffers – most of whom had no major political experience – went over the speech for the 9th, 10th and 11th time. Wescott stepped out of the Archer room three minutes before the start to be sick into a potted plant; his hands were still shaking seconds before he began to speak.
The next 25 minutes, however, were a tour de force. Wescott used all his skills as a teacher, campaigner, and advocate to make his case directly to the Federation people, calling out Klingon's hypocrisy while making it clear why this was the moment to act. While many historians have centred the attacks Qasar, Barreuco and Broadhurst as the clear breakpoint in Wescott’s stance, it is important to remember that his declaration that the Federation would regard “any military attack launched from [Acamarian] space…as an attack by the Klingon Empire on the United Federation of Planets” was the most shocking stance. In a single stroke, the collective security of the UFP was being applied to the neutral worlds indisputably. Since 2258, the Klingon Empire had invaded, absorbed and annexed nearly three dozen independent worlds along their borders, and pressured dozens of other nations into unequal trade agreements and military deployments. This declaration – combined with his appeal to the “Free people of Acamar” – made it abundantly clear that Wescott was thinking beyond this crisis, towards a policy of arresting and reversing Klingon expansion in the region. The fact that the catalogue of Klingon lies over Acamar preceded these declarations only hammered home the point: The Federation will no longer tolerate the Klingon Empire working outside of its’ diplomatic rules of conduct.
The Klingon people heard this message just as loudly as their Federation counterparts, at least in the border region. Starfleet Engineering and SI’s SIGNIT department had beamed the broadcast towards Klingon space, expecting very little. Instead, Wescott’s speech – “the voice of the earther” – was heard by an estimated 4.2 billion Klingon subjects; a tiny proportion of the Empire’s total population, but still significant considered that for most this was the first time they had ever seen a Federation President on screen; even though it wasn’t seen in Kinza D’elma and K’Vort until late September due to communication lag, it was still seen there. Watching the broadcast was proscribed on Qo’onS but it was still broadcast in many bars, private clubs and residences across the planet. Kor, Son of Rynar – awaiting the arrival of his first ship, the IKS Kodal’vIk on Ty’Gokor, would watch the address in a crowded officers’ mess. During the vicious debate afterwards, he would be introduced to Koloth, son of Lasshar. Koloth – the upwardly mobile second son of a Kodalin Business dynasty – was quietly impressed with Wescott; even if the earthers were “fighting their war with words”, they seemed to have made their point: They were not going to let Qo’noS keep walking all over them in their own backyard.
In many senses, the public announcement of the blockade – legally termed a ‘quarantine’ to avoid violating the STAR act - was no more than a diplomatic footnote to the Klingon government. Imperial Intelligence decrypts had all but confirmed the sealing of the Acamar system and the deployment of Capital Ships into the sector, as well as the disposition and readiness of the Marine Expeditionary Force earmarked for Introspection. The public statement, however, caught the Klingons out. In their minds, the Federation had abandoned the strategic (and moral) high ground by openly laying out their intentions, goals, and desired outcomes. It could easily be considered an insult; a blasé assumption that your opponent wasn’t smart enough to figure out why or what you were fighting for. Worse, Ken Wescott – who Zym described as a “hinterland schoolyard master barely over the cusp of adulthood” – had made a direct appeal to the conscience of L’Rell, calling for her personally to come to terms peacefully. This meant one of two things to most Klingons; firstly, that the Federation respected the Empire and its leadership so much they thought that both parties were above even the glory of combat; or that they thought L’Rell was some form of cowardly stooge who could be intimidated back to the negotiation table. Most Klingons fell into the latter camp; the former required them to believe the Federation was just as honourable as the Empire. The Empire was not about to change course on the word of a human whelp. The die had been cast.
The first two days of the blockade were quiet; Kesh’s main force, tailed from a distance by USS Horsa and three warp shuttles launched from the Maxwell Forest, maintained its distance from the blockade line. On the other side, the Acamarian Defence Forces were equally compliant; the fact that legitimate trade was continuing through the line (after Starfleet scanning) seemed to allay their concerns. The fracturing of the BGU central command was also a significant distraction; disagreements over the spoils of victory alongside the growing moment of Brill’Tek’s offensive (now dubbed the Valley March) was driving the Gatherers into clan line factions. Kesh had originally intended to try and skirt towards the coreward end of the blockade, further away from where Fitzpatrick was concentrating, but he struggled to break contact completely with Starfleet; heavy ion storms near Carraya and 33 Sextantis made moving dangerously unstable pergium impossible, while also shielding the movement of Starfleet forces operating out of Starbase 20.[42] So long as a Starfleet vessel was in spotting range of the Central Assault Group, it was impossible for any escorts could break away to cover the transports. It did not help that the Klingon freighters – mostly Hasparth ‘fast’ transports – were still slower than most of the Starfleet cruisers, with an extremely visible warp signature when running at maximum speed.
Despite their disadvantages, there was several extremely close calls in the first week. On the 25th a trio of transports – carrying conventional munitions and supplies – would be caught by a patrol group consisting of the Hong Kong and three Burke class escort frigates; unable to break contact and unwilling to be inspected, they withdrew under the disruptors of the D10-class cruisers Kon’a and Zuza Ras. Another group of slower transports – led by the D5 light cruiser Tarab Victor – would be caught by the Hong Kong the next day. Bolder than the Hasparth captains, the Tarab would attempt to make a run for Acamarian territory, only to blink after the third and final warning shot grazed her.
The Klingons’ lack of resolve baffled Fitzpatrick. “The [Imperial Navy] appears to be operating under equally strict rules of engagement to [Starfleet} despite having a local firepower superiority. Kesh’s Fleet Group seems unwilling to break our resolve through the commitment of his cruisers or battleship line to combat.”[43] Kesh had more ships, and more modern ships in theatre than Fitzpatrick; and even with the local advantage in destroyers and escorts keeping the exclusion zone intact, they could not survive a heated battle with the Klingons. Rittenhouse’s briefing to Wescott on the 28th was stark. “If the enemy fleet commits it’s strength to a fleet engagement, they will likely force us back beyond the edge of treaty zone.” Again, Commander Starfleet would advocate for a planetary landing on Acamar to pre-empt the Klingons. “I am growing tired of this would-be liberator,” Wescott told Vale that evening. “My worst fear is that the Klingons will call our bluff and vindicate the bastard. And yet, as the last days of July slipped away, Kesh did not make a move. The light scouts of the 2nd FG continued to test the blockade; three Hasparths carrying Kash-Ro’s made it as far as Adelphous before Decker turned them around. But the Battleships remained at the staging point near Bonus Run.
The High Council seethed at Kesh’s inaction; “what is that peasant doing?” demanded Councillor Koraf of Duras, alluding to the General’s provincial origins. “He has the best warships the empire has built, led by the fiercest captains we have? Has he no fire in his body? Or has the chancellor doused it with words and promises?” Zym always blamed Kesh for not pressing home his advantage while he could, even alluding that the General was acting on sealed orders from Sturka and the Admiralty as part of a plot to undermine L’Rell. Despite this view, and the accusations of revisionist Klingon historians, Kesh was no coward, and he was not part of any anti-L’Rell cabal. His sealed orders from Imperial High Command – issued on the 15-16th July – authorised him to
“Engage with Federation forces where necessary to achieve space superiority in the Acamar region, so long as it does not jeopardise the deployment of the special bombardment groups to the planet Acamar III.”
Kesh was willing to bring what he could to bear on Starfleet; his scouts had exchanged fire several times with the blockade group, but he was hamstrung on multiple fronts. Despite having concentrated the most powerful Imperial Klingon fleet since the battle of Avastam, it increasingly felt to Kesh like a “plastic targ”.[44] His Strike force was operating at the end of a long supply line, reliant on a collection of powerful by fuel hungry capital ships for firepower. Unlike the Starfleet ships, the Klingon liner cruisers and battleships needed regular and constant refuelling. The specific intermixes needed to run the high yield reactors aboard the B1 and D9 could not be run using the low purity antimatter most Klingon warships ran on. Special tenders – direct from Praxis – were meant to follow the fleet to keep them going. Unfortunately, the contracted yard was behind on its’ delivery schedule; largely because the yards’ owners (house Morak) were siphoning off state funds. Instead of the four antimatter tenders he was meant to have, Kesh had just one two; one of which had struck a dangerous leak on the 24th of July.
Kesh’s ships had the fuel for battle – but just for that. He understood well that any confrontation with Starfleet that involved the two battle lines meeting would almost certainly lead to a general war; and if that happened, he would be fighting it with a fleet of fuel-starved ships that would become extremely vulnerable to Fitzpatricks’ escorts. Kesh had no intention of winning that battle if it meant he would be the man who lost the Empire the war. Getting the Kash-Ro’s fuel through to Acamar, however, would upset that balance; once active and armed, they would force Starfleet to withdraw from the sector. If there would be a war afterwards, then Kesh’s battleships would do it from a secure base on Acamar. It was an operational risk; but one that protected Kesh largely from the consequences of a drastic failure. He would not be the man who lost the Empires’ battleships to a ‘clerical error’.
An opportunity came on the 27th. Three Orion heavy blockade runners carrying heavy weapons for the BGU made a run into the exclusions zone at high speed, forcing Fitzpatrick to detach Decker with USS Constellation and Hector to intercept. This – combined with further harassment by Klingon light groups – left an opening in the patrol lines near LTT 2341. Kesh saw an opportunity to run the gauntlet and took it. The Pergium was offloaded into a trio of D5 cruiser-tenders, while 20 Mark IV Kash-Ro’s were hurriedly stowed into the cargo holds and shuttlebays of the 2 escorting D7s. Kesh’s Battleline would stand off while the transports made their run; close enough to come to their aid, but still far enough to not force an immediate confrontation. Their escort was no match for the Starfleet group, but if they were fired upon – if they forced Starfleet to fire upon them – Kesh would have the excuse he needed to bring the battleships to bear before they would have to withdraw for refuelling. In a pitched battle, even one B1 would easily overpower both Constellation and Hector; 7 would almost certainly force Decker to withdraw completely into the cover of Task Force Vr’ryill and the Atlas Class force. “In one stroke, Kesh could have forced the blockade back and push the [missiles] through to Acamar”, recalled one biographer of the general. “Fate, however, decided that the General would be remembered for other feats of glory.”[45]
Constellation and Hector detected the convoy group’s warp trail in the early hours of the 30th; traces elements of pergium in the distortion area confirmed that this was, as Decker put it, “the big one”. Now behind the Klingons, the two cruisers raced to catch up; Hector managed to peak at WF 9.53 to Constellation’s 8.76. The Pioneer class light cruisers Mombasa and Belfast – would pick up the transport convoy on their main sensors at 1145 hours, over 8 hours after Decker had begun the chase. At around 15:50, the two chasing ships began to overhaul the Klingons, who (still largely blind to the Starfleet ships) were proceeded at a comparatively sedate WF 5. Instead of overhauling them then, Decker decided to “force the whole thing into the open”. SIGNIT intercepts by the Marco Polo had been passed to Decker on the 29th; both he and the Hector’s Captain, the Pandrilite war hero Tenitra were aware that Kesh and the Battleships were lurking over the proverbial horizon. Decker planned to do more than turn the ships away; he was going to hold them – and their cargo – hostage.
The trap was pounced at position 31.71.4; approximated 0.5 AU’s from the demarcation of the exclusion zone. As the Klingons reached the demarcation line, Belfast moved in, ordering the group to heave to and prepare for inspection. The D7s – hamstrung by the slow speed of the converted D5 tankers – were unable to break formation to take up attack positions; the group commander, however, decided it was worth attempting to smash through the two light cruisers. Despite being overmatched, the two cruisers fought valiantly, inflicting serious damage on the D7s despite casualties of their side; Mombasa took direct hits on her Fire control suite and deflector. It was not in vain, however; 35 minutes after Belfast issued its’ challenge, Constellation and Hector dropped out of warp on top of the Klingons. Decker had them exactly where he wanted.[46]
The two heavy cruisers’ arrival forced the Klingons back to defend the D5s; with battle slowing to a lull, both sides stopped around 800,000 km from each other; just beyond the Phaser Range of Constellation. At that moment, Decker broke subspace radio silence to inform Fitzpatrick of his position; it was also an invitation for Kesh to make the next move.
“Vessels BELFAST and MOMBASSA have engaged Klingon forces on blockade line at position 31.74.1. Casualties have been sustained by all ships are still operational. HECTOR and CONSTELLATION on station. Intention is to board and inspect transports and impound their cargo if they do not withdraw.”
Decker knew that Kesh would hear this transmission before Fitzpatrick; signalling the Maxwell Forrest on the 050 Interstellar watchkeeping frequency made it certain that he would pick it up in the clear.[47] Decker had the prize – at least part of it – under his guns and knew that only that might force the Klingon commander to open a dialogue; or, at the very least, force him to prematurely commit his battle line.
Kesh did not take long to respond. At 0151 on the 31st of July, Constellation was hailed by the IKS Forcas, the Klingon Flagship. Decker – hauled out of bed by his XO, with a tunic hastily pulled over his pyjamas – came face to face with General Kesh for the first time. “He’s not a bad guy, at least by Klingon standards. He didn’t shout, or bluster. He seemed less arrogant than frustrated.”[48] Kesh informed Decker that if he did not withdraw immediately, then he would be fired upon by the Imperial Warships that were en route to their position. “If that happens,” Decker told him, “then I will have no choice but to destroy the transports here before they can be allowed to proceed into the exclusion zone, and fight you until my reinforcements arrive.”
Kesh did not want this battle to happen with his precious cargo in the centre of it. It is unclear as to whether he wanted this battle at all. But there was no way now – now that blood had been shed – that Kesh could allow Decker to board the ships. There was a way out, however. Decker suggested that he might allow the Klingons to withdraw if, and only if, they dumped the pergium from the transports. In exchange, Decker would halt Task Force Vr’ryill. “The war can wait for another day, and other men, General.”[49] Kesh offered no reply beyond a reasonably typical grunt, leaving Decker wondering if he was about to the first casualty of the next Klingon war.
Six minutes later, all three Klingon transports vented their cargo pods; several million cubic litres of liquid pergium were purged into space in roughly 3 minutes. A minute after that, the Starfleet ships withdrew to the edge of the exclusion zone; the Klingons departed in the direction of KH 2067 a few minutes afterwards. The “Battle” of position 31.71.4 was over.
Officially, the dispersal was blamed on poor cargo handling and the brief engagement with Mombasa and Belfast. Kesh would never admit that he’d taken Deckers third option; only that his orders had been to “protect the integrity of the special bombardment force”. The after-action report from the Forcas also alludes (in very unclear flowery language) to the possibility that the Klingon battle line was essentially out of fuel by the time Decker contacted them. Had Kesh blinked? Possibly. Many within the Imperial Navy wondered if he had lost his bottle and talk of replacing him with a more decisive commander like Korok – the victor of Caleb IV – was rife in the Admiralty for the rest of the crisis. On Qo’noS, however, Kesh’s decision was applauded as a “masterful strategy” by L’Rell and her supporters. Not only had he forced Starfleet’s Battleships into the open, but his Cruisers had also fought her Starfleet’s’ ones to a standstill and scared the earth battle line off without a shot being fired, Cracks were beginning to show, however. Kesh’s dispatch to the Admiralty, while optimistic, ended with a warning that “enemy strength in the region continues to increase, while our ability to gather direct intelligence information or whereabouts is hampered by the masking of enemy pickets.” The Admiralty seemed to share his concerns about Fitzpatrick’s strength and fuel issues; The stockpile of U’Alc antimatter (equivalent to Federation 18-3-gauge Antimatter) was only at 41% of the desire wartime stockpile, drained by the need to keep the Navy going through the Federation Embargo; and most of that stock was in storage in the Kling’Zhai system. Moving it to the front would take time. Even then, it would not sustain the Klingon fleet for a long period of time.
The fortuitous move was to conserve existing stocks; Kesh was not going to wait for orders to act logically. The B1s and B2s were withdrawn to the Anchorage at Mraada, 25 light years from the blockade. For a moment, the sword of Damocles over 2nd Fleet was lifted away - for long as it took to refuel and re-arm 5 Klingon battleships. Certainly, that was the conclusion Fitzpatrick and Starfleet Command took. 28 hours behind, Wescott, the cabinet and the Starfleet Chiefs followed with trepidation as Decker closed his trap. “There is something deeply unnerving about watching a feed of events that are over a day old,” wrote A.R. Vale. “Thousands could have been dead for hours, and this would be the first we knew.” Thankfully, Vale was wrong, and the Cabinet let out an audible sigh of relief when Kesh’s Battleships turned for home.
It was apparent that the assault group – even if neutered by supply issues – was still a lingering threat. Rittenhouse were keen to point out that briefly, however, Starfleet had the advantage. “We can put the pressure on now in any god-damn way we want to,” he told the President. “And I think we ought to keep it that way.” Again, Rittenhouse relitigated Operation Instrospection; this time, however, Wescott wasn’t having it.
AR Vale describes the moment COMSTAR reached the end of the line.
“[The President], who was already giving Rittenhouse his signature glare, cut into the third explanation of the contested landing with a simple. ‘Not a chance, Admiral.” The cabinet room turned to face Wescott. A pin dropping on the champs-elysée could be heard in that moment. Rittenhouse paused, then kept going pushing. Like an idiot. “The advantage in securing the return of the legitimate government of Acamar – our friends in Acamar – on our timetable – cannot be ignored.”
“There are no friends of mine, Admiral. Certainly, they’re no friends of democracy.” Wescott did not raise his voice at this point. “I will not inflict further violence on the people of Acamar for a short-term advantage in a war that I do not intend to fight.”
The Admiral kept going. “We won’t have a choice; and I think all of us-“Rittenhouse gestures to Moduna and Nogura, who are both pointedly looking out of the window- “are agreed that we cannot make another mistake on Acamar.”
Wescott raised an eyebrow – never a good sign. “And a ground invasion with no overall goal is not a mistake, Admiral?”
“With the greatest respect, sir, I’ve been handling this situation for longer than you have – for longer than you’ve been in the council. Now Mister Wescott -Ken-“
“You call me Mister President, Admiral,” Wescott snapped. He did not shout; but he might as well have screamed it. The room sat in stunned silence for what felt like five minutes but could have been no more than ten seconds. And then we moved on to discuss Cajitar.”[50]
After the meeting, Wescott turned to Vale and asked, “what do I have to do to get rid of that tinpot?” “You’re the president, Ken. Very little,” replied the Chief of Staff. Sacking Rittenhouse – like invading Acamar – would have to wait.
In the meantime, however, the diplomatic offensive entered its’ critical stage. HW Rogers – still the closest thing the Federation had to a direct ambassador to Qo’noS – had been working day and night on Orion to try and deliver a peaceful resolution. Kuvec’s position, however, was immovable; the Klingon government would not accept any withdrawal from Acamar under any circumstances; the imposition of a blockade made that position even firmer, at first. The Empire had found other ways to put the pressure on as well; 7th Fleet Group had entered the Cajitar Concession in force after the 11th of July, pre-empting Klingon Commands’ efforts to reinforce the far-flung region and forcing Task Force Tallonus to evacuate the sector diplomatic staff from Dorala. Klingon forces operating out of Keto-Enol were also now sitting withing striking distance of SB18, threatening the Hromi sector with the possibility of a first strike. Three D7’s on a reconnaissance patrol penetrated as far as Amaterasu on the 2nd of August; a small prelude to the mass infiltration that would herald the Four Days’ War.
Despite this, the Empires’ leadership remained hesitant. The Navy and Army – neither of whom had been particularly keen on the Acamar project before the Great Houses got entangled in it – were apprehensive about their ability to win a war at this point. What optimism had existed a mere 20 days before had evaporated in front of Starfleets’ resolve, and growing supply issues. The new Klingon Navy was light-years more organised than the house fleets of T’Kuvma’s War; but it was largely untested. Its’ senior ranks still contained many of the sinecure commanders and “YuH’CaV” (desk-filler) officers who earned their rank through political loyalty, not military merit. Neither L’Rell not the High Command trusted them to deliver the strategic thinking a total interspace war would require. There were also significant reservations about the logistics. Only eight of the forty-five “strategic forward locations” the Imperial Navy had selected in Planning Directive A16-Q had been seized or developed, leaving the fleet drastically short of forward supply bases. The army was also still bogged down in colonial policing operations on Efros, Valt and J’Gal which tied down most of the Army and Auxiliary units earmarked for landing on frontier colonies.[51] The deployment of forces in the Cajitar Concession – while largely a success – had consumed fuel reserves at nearly twice the estimated rate; revised estimates for a general mobilisation were grim reading.
Sturka, despite generally being in favour of “keep Acamar out of the Earthers’ grubbed hands”, would warn L’Rell that the military could not sustain an offensive for longer than 85 Klingon days before supply issues started to bite. He urged the use of “discourse-based weaponry” as a way to counterbalance this shortcoming; drawing out concessions from the Federation to counterbalance operational shortfalls. “If the earthers can be made to abandon Cajitar, Mardikian, Ajilon and other vital locations…the Imperial Navys’ chances of achieving a Yi’Kah’Va (rolling decisive battle) increase exponentially.[52] The Imperial bureaucracy, still suspicious of the military, deigned to concur; even extracting some form of trade concession might, in Zym’s words, “allow us to refill our strategic coffers for the inevitable struggle.” With this in mind, the aristocracy baying for blood seems absurd; but it is worth remembering that the war they wanted was not one of “rolling decisive battles”, but of honor-based rivalries and competition for glory.
Many of the houses needed the money from a good war to stay afloat as much as they needed the prestige. Five years of L’Rell had made feudal service both economically and socially unappealing; better prospects for promotion and pay were increasingly found in the ranks of the Imperial forces, civil service and industrial sector. War – proper war would bring privateering, prize courts and the chance to plunder a few Federation colonies. “A war in the old style”, Kar of Durak would say to the council on the 22nd of July, “will lift us all up like ships’ on a rising tide.” At this point, aristocratic codes of honor demanded a war. And yet, L’Rell refused to give them one. The house retinue fleets skulked on the edge of Klingon space; a few ventured into Federation space, but without official recognition, their glories (and prizes) remained unrecognised. Despite the call of battle, L’Rell remained hesitant. There was too much at stake. The economy was too fragile; the civil service too weak; the army and navy still beholden to aristocratic whim. “The revolution was not complete,” Zym explained. “And a war now would betray it.” The diplomatic ‘dagger’ would have to be wielded instead.
For most of the diplomatic sparring, Rogers had been the one forced to open the discussions, “laying [themselves] bare for the other to inspect like a carrion-eater.” But this time, Kuvec came to talk. Arriving at the Federation mission late on the 6th of August, the Klingon minister carried in hand a missive directly from the Chancellor herself. L’Rell would “consider the removal of the Imperial forces on Acamar” if the Federation could concede “equal threats to Imperial security”; namely, the withdrawal of Federation forces from Cajitar, the Prospero systems and Mardikian, as well as a guarantee that “the United Federation of Planets would never invade Acamar III or use military force within the Acamar system.” It was a big ask; especially abandoning Prospero, the last remaining success from the short and controversial diplomatic career of Dak’Rah, son of Ra’ul. Rogers told Kuvec that he would need time to consult his government – 50 hours minimum, considering transmission time. Kuvec replied that, if he did not have an answer within 46 hours, his government would break off all diplomatic relations.
A rapid burst transmission to Paris relayed this ultimatum; even that took 4 hours to reach Earth. Wescott – who was barely sleeping at this point – knew nothing of Rogers, their relationship with Kuvec, or the importance of this diplomatic link. He turned to William Fox – elder statesman and head of the diplomatic corps for advice. Fox did not like Rogers; he had exiled the junior diplomat to Orion over a policy dispute. Once the Orion embassy had transformed itself into a vital backchannel to Qo’noS, he had repeated advocated for Rogers’ replacement by a more “capable official” (usually one of his four younger siblings), only to be vetoed by Starfleet Intelligence due to their links to the Botchtok Whigs. Fox’s position softened over time, but he remained scornful; “[Rogers] is a file clerk who has to power to start or end a general war in an afternoon.” So, when Wescott asked Fox what Rogers should be allowed to concede, everyone was surprised by his answer; “let them act as their see fit.”[53]
HW Rogers received the go-ahead to negotiate at 9:30pm on the 9th of August; forty-five earth minutes after Kesh’s Battleships finished refuelling, and four earth minutes before they broke orbit of Mraada. According to his memoir, Rogers’ read the dispatch, finished his late meal, drank two cups of coffee while preparing his notes, and the walked to the Klingon embassy “with the confidence of a person who is ready to face the higher power of their choosing.”[54]
Kuvec’s deadline had 11 hours and fifteen minutes remaining when Rogers entered his study. The final agreement: argued, counter-argued, re-litigated and re-drawn, was agreed fourteen minutes before time ran out; but it was agreed upon. The Klingon Empire agreed to the withdrawal of all the LRIMs, as well as all military facilities, supplies and personnel from the Acamar system. In exchange, the Federation would agree to “never impinge upon the sovereignty of any government of Acamar at any point.” The blockade of Acamar would end “forty hours after the last Klingon soldier leaves Acamarian soil.” This triumph had not been easily won. The crucial concessions by the Federation were over Cajitar and the Resource Denial Act. The Cajitar Concession had been a thorn in Starfleet’s side since the end of the war; too far out from the core to patrol effectively, but still ostensibly under Starfleet protection; even if the complicated power-sharing treaty had worked, the Federation was losing ground in the semi lawless region anyway. No withdrawal there would be made as part of an open agreement, however; 7th Fleet would instead simply not replace Task Force Tallonus after its tour of duty ended in February 2263. This detail – as well as the removal of the listening posts on Doctari Alpha and Ajilon – would remain secret.
Ending the trade was the real concession from Rogers, however. The UFP would agree to a “moratorium on Klingon trade” for 400 days, or until a new trade treaty was signed by the two powers. In exchange, the Klingon government would agree to curtail the activity of “Klingon-based pirate action” and protect non-aligned trade in the region. In Rogers’ eyes, it was a reasonable quid-pro-quo, and the first step towards a dialogue. For Kuvec, it was a skilful tactical move by the Federation; but one that left them extremely vulnerable if the Klingons did not uphold their end of the bargain fully. Honour demanded they follow any diplomatic agreement; but not that they interpret it generously.
The deal – agreed by both diplomats with full authority; was received with tepid support by both governments. Wescott was apprehensive about the signal that abandoning Cajitar and ending the trade war gave, but – like most of his cabinet, and the Federation – anything that avoided another total war was worth trying. “As the old saying goes”, wrote Vale, “’to Jaw-Jaw is better than to War-War.’” The agreement – as well as the announcement of the end of the Acamar blockade – was met with general relief within the Federation core – so long as the Klingons upheld their end of the bargain.
The treaty was not as popular in the Empire. Certainly, the Admiralty and Military High Command saw it as a victory; the vital dilithium fields of the Cajitar Concession had been ceded without a shot being fired; Acamar had been rendered neutral ground; and Starfleet’s eyes in the Archanis Sector had been ‘plucked out’. Everyone else, however, was much more negative. The aristocracy fumed, incensed that they had retroactively endorsed an agreement that ‘sold our honour to protect the wallets of the merchants’. The Duras, Durak and Kozak were particularly aggrieved; not only was a forced withdrawal from Acamar an attack on their honour, but it also represented a particularly aggrieved attack on their bank accounts. Significant investments had been made in the future of Acamar under the gatherers, and now they were expected to remove it all, at cost. The rank and file of the Imperial Armed Forces was displeased too; they, unlike their superiors, felt ready to take on the earthers “in every system they hide in”, as Kor said. They found equal cause with the aristocracy in blaming L’Rell for the “savage stain on Klingon honour.”
It was the people’s anger, however, that mattered most. It was difficult to explain to the Imperial populace – especially the politically charge citizens of Qo’noS and the first city – that the Empire might have gained more than it lost. They had forced the Federation to the diplomatic table; dictated the key terms; gotten what it wanted without blood being shed. But there had been no glory to it; no honour; none of the key tenets of Klingon idealism that the L’Rell system had pumped out of every piece of state media available. There had been no tangible victory beyond that of the diplomat, and that was the lowest of all victories. There was no victory parade; not presentation of prize money and captured treasures to the Imperial Palace. Sure, the value of the darsek rallied, but so what? The Federation had forced the Klingons to work their way, and not the Klingon way. Faith in ‘mother’, shaken by the economic crisis, waned rapidly, aided by an uncharacteristically dry summer and delays to the Klothos grain deliveries. The First City simmered with discontent; agent provocateurs mixed with disgruntled junior officers to mutter treason under their breath, while the MIS – standing on every street corner – let them walk by.
Did L’Rell know the writing was on the wall? It is difficult to say. She certainly recognised the threat from the aristocracy; Internal security reports on Great House rallies increased, as did surveillance of off-planet political meetings. But she clearly did not know that the Generals and Admirals were meeting too, and plotting just as hard as the Lords and Governors were. They might have no qualms about what the Kuvec-Rogers deal represented, but they could tell which way the wind was blowing. There was a reason that, when Kesh finally removed all the Kash-Ro’s from Acamar’s surface on August 20th, he did not proceed directly to Qo’noS to return the missiles to their stores. The machinations of plotters had begun; and now appeal to legitimacy could stop them now. L’Rell, however, had weathered worse. She had survived being marooned in the wrecks of the Binary Stars; she had survived the machinations of the old aristocratic guard; she had navigated the Empire from post-war stagnation into a period of economic growth and martial prowess and weathered the worst civil rising of the modern era. She could survive this.
The mood within the Federation was similar, not quite the opposite, but still different enough. There had been jubilation over the deal, even if most of it remained secret. Matt Decker returned to earth as a hero. His promotion to Commodore confirmed, he would be awarded with the Star Cross for his actions at 31.71.4 by President Wescott. “You stopped a war, Commodore, how do you feel?” Wescott asked. “I don’t know, sir,” Decker replied. “Ask me after the election.”[55]
Deckers’ thoughts echoed almost everyone’s in the UFP. Wescott had rocketed his way to hero status for his handling of crisis; but many wondered if the “substitute secretariat” would survive the strains of real government. Nevertheless, Wescott did not hesitate to announce his intention to run in the election. Despite his popularity boost over the crisis, it was not a foregone conclusion. Wescott’s cabinet was an ambitious set, committed to their reformist programme when it seemed unlikely that the Federation Council – or the voter – would support it. The other candidates – the ‘continuity archerite’ Pagros Sh’belulos and the OSF-P nominee Jla’Chae of Tiburon - had strong, existing political machines in the Federation. And yet, the Charterites persisted; galvanised by the rise of Wescott to the top, his youth was turned from a liability to an asset. The substitute teacher become the “man of the moment”: the “New Leadership for the 60s” campaign across the core worlds pitted Wescott and the Charterites against the older, tired establishment: Sh’Belulos the hawk and Jla’Chae the conservative struggled to compete with the promise of post-monetary reorganization and concrete constitutional reform.[56] The other two candidates were also hampered by their positions on Broadhurst; both entangling themselves with the Federation Councils’ decision to not impeach him while Wescott backed the Supreme Court’s charge of “constitutional negligence”.
The polling period would vindicate the Charterite gamble. Wescott proved surprisingly popular in the core; very popular. Even the traditionally conservative voters of Mars and Andor voted in high numbers for him on polling day. The outer core colonies – those still linked to the core, but underrepresented by the current settlement, would upset many predictions by abandoning the OSF-P for the Charterites promise of tangible change. Along the frontier, however, the attitude was different. Broadhurst’s resignation, the Acamar Address and the Blockade had all come and gone before they even found out about the Basra Affair. Many colonies far away from the trade lanes had no idea what was going on until a tramp freighter or Starfleet courier dropped off the news. Tellarite trader Qiv Grathak would come face to face with this communications delay in mid-September during a run towards Cajitar.
“When I offloaded at Forcas beta, I put my head into the customs house for a bit while the cargo drones worked. I turned to the boss – a miserable-looking human called Vanos – and asked him what he thought of his new president, Mister Wescott. He looked at me blankly, and then said, ‘Who the fuck is Wescott?’.”[57]
Wescott might have been a reformer – even the reformer – but on the colonial fringe, he was a violent reminder that they had no control over their political destiny at a time when Earth was flexing its legislative muscles to an unprecedented level. Most of the Federation-born population of the Cajitar concession would find out about the Acamar Crisis when the Imperial Navy deported them; emphasising the resolution that Wescott was just another core world politician who was here to sell them all out. The fragile peace in the Altair system would not survive the winter; the diplomatic corps would cite, amongst many factors, “a loss of trust in the central institutions of the Federation, and in the integrity of our systems of representation and redress.”[58] Wescott would have no honeymoon period before he had to tackle the myriad of crises facing the Federation. Despite significant Charterite wins at the local level in co-current planetary elections, the ministry struggled to pass its’ initial confidence vote. The wafer-thin council majority – propped up by the OSF-P, the Vulcan Caucus, and the left flank of the now collapsed Tellarite Caucus – did not look steady enough to weather the storm of constitutional reform, economic instability and the lingering threat of total collapse from the outside in – or the inside out. “This is going to be a very, very long four years,” Galactic High Commissioner A.D. Phoenix remarked to Vale at the inauguration ball on the 29th of September, while Wescott and his wife danced to Sufjan Stevens. “I’m sure we’ll find a way to make them feel as long as 2262 has felt,” he replied. “If we don’t, the Klingons will.” It was a rueful statement; roughly 13 hours later, L’Rell would be deposed as Chancellor of the Klingon Empire, disappearing from Qo’noS – and history – forever. What would come after would make many regret their decision in time.
There were changes at the top in Starfleet too. Secure, and with a popular mandate, Wescott finally flexed his executive muscles. Rittenhouse – whos’ aggressive plans had provoked the Klingons over Acamar and nearly turned the blockade into open warfare – would get the sack on October 2nd. He would be replaced by none other than “the returning hero”; Ch’Shukar, who graciously accepted his appointment by Wescott on October 1st. He - along with Nogura, who had replaced the disgraced Moduna as Chief of Starfleet Intelligence – would inform the infuriated Rittenhouse of his removal personally. Shukar – unable to hide his pleasure – would soften the blow by telling Rittenhouse that he was to be made Chief of Starfleet Tactical and tasked with preparing Starfleet for “a more regular and organised military posture.” It was technically a promotion; but it was also a clear slight on Rittenhouse from his civilian masters. “They want me out because they know I was right about Acamar”, he told an unsympathetic Nogura. “We could have had that planet, but that son-of-a-bitch teacher was too chicken to send in my boys.”
Rittenhouse would never trust a politician again; in fact, his disgust for civilian officials would only grow exponentially from here, setting directly on course for Operation Caesar. In the meantime, other shake-ups at Starfleet Command demonstrated the “sea change” that Acamar represented. Bob Comsol of Kzinti Command was moved to Operations; Chrisjen Paris was confirmed as C-in-C of Klingon Command, much to Nogura’s relief. With Lutheth finally resigining, Mehkan was accepted as overall Commander in Chief, much to their own horror; former JAG Chief Sydney Javas would replace him as Chief of Staff. Peter Toussaint – who had witnessed most of the crisis from the centre as Nogura’s aide – would move on too. On his former bosses’ recommendation, he was appointed as the Starfleet Liaison to the President. He would be confirmed in the position on December 30th 2262; Commander Toussaint would ring in the new year from the 14th floor balcony of the Palais de Concorde, shivering slightly alongside Vale, Nancy Hedford and Synal of Vulcan. “Here’s to less world-ending 2263”, Hedford toasted. “Don’t jinx it, Nancy,” replied Vale.
2262 was the watershed year for Federation and Empire. They weather their first galactic crisis as peer level superpowers, threatening a conflict that would have drawn in almost every other power in the quadrant (barring the Romulans). The Federation had gone through three Presidents in seven months; one had been thrown out of office in disgrace, going from leader of the free galaxy to pulp novelist under house arrest in a matter of weeks. The Klingon Empire’s ambitions for relentless, subversive expansion in the alpha quadrant had been arrested; L’Rell had chosen an honourable deal over a brutal war, signing the death warrant of her political programme. Only the Armed forces and nobility had gained from her saving the peace.
And what of Acamar? The BGU’s apex of control over the planet could not survive the Klingon withdrawal, even with Starfleet’s hands off policy, the Gatherers’ haemorrhaged supporters and territory for the rest of the year. The troublesome exile government would return on a wave of popular support; the war would not end, however. The BGU, while forced out of power, still had armies in the field and supporters in the hills. Even with the Federation and Empire standing back (officially) the violence would continue, with no apparent end in sight. “It appears,” wrote Kate Bugos depressingly, “that we have gotten into the habit of starting things we don’t know how to finish. At least Broadhurst had a plan where the killing ended at some point.” In early 2263, under pressure from a new Klingon government, the Federation would agree to send phaser rifles to Acamar, so long as Qo’noS did not object. The Klingon government – distracted by a myriad of other issues – assented. They no longer had any interest in the planet anyway. Such is the fickleness of astropolitics.
The Acamar crisis did a lot more than lock the Empire and Federation into a test of wills in the beta quadrant. The fallout of Broadhurst’s perjury and constitutional violations was well handled: mistakes, errors and violations of Constitutional Law and precedent were rightly dealt with. The President – and the cabinet that had allowed him to circumvent the council – were thrown out of office, replaced by those in better control of their wills and ambitions. But those leaders – confronted with a different crisis than the ones their predecessors had bungled – solved it with the same realpolitik as those they had ousted. Wescott might not have sent the Phasers to Acamar: but he did sell out the Cajitar Concession, and Prospero, and re-open the galaxy to Klingon arms dealers. And the Acamarian Sovereignty did, in the end, get what they had asked for from Broadhurst; returned to legitimacy, with tacit Federation backing.
There is nothing technically wrong with this. The reasons Broadhurst was ousted have very little to do with the weapons. However, that is not the lesson that was taken away from 2262. To observers within the Federation – whether they were aggressive Starfleet Officers like Rittenhouse, isolationists like Sh’Belulos and Garv or the coalescing rebels on Altair – the lesson was that Broadhurst had gotten what he wanted. The saga ended with Acamar’s Sovereign council back in power and the streets lined with government troops carrying phaser rifles while they hunted in the hills for BGU insurgents: a situation that very much looked like the belligerent democratic ideal Broadhurst idealised. The fact was that to many on all sides of the argument, Broadhurst had gotten away with it, and easily. He might not be in office, but he wasn’t in prison; some members of his cabinet were even still in government. Even as the “Broadhurst” Doctrine evolved into the “Wescott” doctrine via Kobax, Altair, Rimbor and Mastocal, political society continued to view Broadhurst as some sort of misguided sage. To those who agreed with him, his removal from office for the empty suit that was Ken Wescott was a critical sign that the civilian democratic organs of the UFP were increasingly unfit for the galaxy they lived in.
Broadhurst got away with unconstitutional orders: what was to stop the Kobaxite Reactionaries from using their armed forces to overthrow an election? was to stop the Altair rebels from going around the council through force of arms? What was to stop the Tellarite Government from simply going around any colonial reform? All one had to do was ensure that, eventually, one got away with it through retroactive legitimisation. There is an uncomfortable direct path from Broadhurst’s resignation, through the Coridan affair and the Rittenhouse Coup, all the way to the Khitomer Conspiracy. The logic of Cartwright and West – who thought that their illegal actions would be legitimised by immediate history – is an undeniable extrapolation of exactly what occurred in Summer and Autumn 2262.
But it also produced a great deal of hope and aspiration. The meteoric rise of Wescott – his compassionate address and careful management of the crisis – showed that one could lead without being corrupted by office. Wescott was yet to break the mould in summer 2262, but he made it abundantly clear that he intended to break it at some point. Underestimated at every stage, he had ducked and weaved his way past Klingon disruptor and establishment practice to the highest office in the stars. Now, all he had to do was deliver.
[1] Nogura to Sherwood, quoted in Masego, Three Months in Summer
[2] ST-352-252 Starfleet Tactical Memorandum ST(IM) Interspatial Missile Development (IV) – Klingon Empire SD1522.2 (London – Federation Archives Service)
[3] Unto Zin, Duck and Cover! The short-lived terror of the Long-Range Interspatial Missile, 2260-2275. (London; Pen and Ushaan, 2341)
[4] Moduna, quoted in Toussaint, Starship Captain
[5] SFT-353-014 Starfleet Tactical Memorandum ST(IM) Interspatial Missile Deployments (Acamar), SD 1556.
[6] The problem with hindsight is that we know that this conclusion is incorrect. The range calculations of the LRIM were based on the Pergium carrying capacity, which means that the further the missile travels, the smaller its payload is upon detonation. If an MIV Kash-Ro had been fired at a Starbase or planet at its’ maximum range, the empty casing would likely impact on a hull, with minor damage inflicted by the contact explosives. Rigel was, frankly, never in danger; even SB19 would be a struggle to hit with any significant force.
[7] The Maq’Un was the operational version of the original version of the Kash-Ro; its primary purpose was to act as a mine clearance device and long-range sensor spoof. Later versions of the Maq’Un would carry versions of the I’noq Stasis Field Generator.
[8] LM4-984-Quch, Folio 15, “Field Report to General Kesh”, Imperial State Archives
[9] SFC-101-9015-M Intelligence Briefing-Acamar (Minutes), SD 1559.8.
[10] A “party line call” – sometimes known as a “whipped vote” in older terminology – is when the representatives of a political party all vote according to the bloc’s political intentions together. While this kind of voting was common in planetary and historical legislatures, it was rarely seen in the Federation Council before the 2260s.
[11] SF-JAG-024-0501 Report into the Conduct of Intelligence Efforts, Acamar Sector, p.95
[12] Moduna would remain out of public life until his death in 2295; he was, however, on the list of senior officers who the Rittenhouse plotters planned to use as legitimising figureheads.
[13] This famous quote, while usually attributed to Admiral Nogura, remains apocryphal; it is distinctly possible it was invented by The San Francisco Herald.
[14] Deposition to the Kana Inquiry, SD 1654.1
[15] Toussaint, Starship Captain
[16] Vchin-V’gren Luteth, Letter to the President of the United Federation of Planets, 21st August 2262
[17] The Tilly Inquiry (2247-48) had indicted the C-in-C of Starfleet and several planners for deliberate negligence, based on the fact that various mid-level admirals and staff officers had warned about the possibility of famines and disease outbreaks on the frontier before in 2244, and been ignored.
[18] For the curious, Tri’Lesta’s dinner for that evening was a “traditional non-denominational winter meal” in the form of the Cantonese Diasporic Cuisine apocryphally known as the “Chinese takeaway.” It is also worth remembering that Acamarian metabolisms are far quicker than human ones.
[19] The New York Times would respond to this by printing the offending articles of the Federation Charter on their front page, “in case the President needed reminding.”
[20] Masego, Three Months in Summer & Hansard, FC Deb 12 July 2262 vol.632.
[21] Denos Vr’Ninqushen, The Ice-Climber Cometh: The Unsteady Rise of Pagros Sh’Belulos, (Andor: The Laikan Imprint, 2331)
[22] Nancy Hedford on EBS Terranews, 11th July 2262.
[23] Marianne – who had gone through several forms since her appearance as the symbol of the French Republic in the 19th century – was, by the 2260s, generally presented as an Andorian Chaan wearing Vulcan Robes and a Tellarite Advocate’s cap.
[24] The eight resignations were Yurada (Galactic High Commission), Ixan (Defence), Knott (Travel), Hirashito (Commerce), L’Cabax (FEDAC), Vurik (Board of Trade), Starfleet (Alacark) and Frontier Allocations (Simonovic).
[25] This speed of transmission – eight days from Earth to Qo’noS, via the UFP, Orion and Imperial Relay system – was incredibly fast and incredibly unreliable. The clear uninterrupted transmission was only possible on roughly 100 days out of every solar year; and even then, averaged at closer to twenty-five days than eight. The eight-day transmission in July 2262 was almost certainly achieved because the Imperial Network was being attuned towards the Federation to support General Kesh’s efforts.
[26] In one notorious moment, Broadhurst would reach into his pocket and accidentally produce a condom packet, to which the junior councillor for Deneb would yell “put that away, you've already fucked us enough.”
[27] Sh’Be Vr’Ninqushen, The Ice-Climber Cometh.
[28] AR Vale, In the Heat of Our Night; (Paris; Norton & Mav’bak, 2281)
[29] Kate Bugos, Notes from Le Monde Originale, Vol. I: Paris, (Benecia;Penguin, 2316)
[30] Vale, In the Heat of Our Night
[31] Ra’ SuD directly translates as Case Yellow. One fascinating (and amusing) curiosity of Klingon military nomenclature is the difference in the naming convention; those drawn up by aristocratic officers and planners tend to have names drawn from romantic epics and mythology; those drawn up by the conscripted middling classes stick out due to their origin in Qo’noS neighbourhoods, stadiums or Targ-Pit sites, while those conceived by the military elite are notorious for being unbelievably dry, often simply “Case [colour]” or “Directive [Date]”.
[32] Yéwándé Paton,In Search of the Farthest Star, (New Berlin; Penguin 2282)
[33] Rittenhouse’s use of masculine gendered language was such an antiquated rhetorical quirk that it had to be pointed out to many. On some occasions, he was known to refer to non-binary, xeno-gendered and feminine identifying personnel and officials in the singular masculine as a rhetorical device.
[34] The reclassification of “space control ships” as Battleships and/or Dreadnoughts would happen in summer 2263; though most of the press was referring to these ships as battleships from mid-2261 onwards.
[35] USS Atlas, Ramillies, New Jersey, Federation, Hector and Heracles; Ranger had withdrawn to SB20 after developing reactor imbalance issues. The other two – USS Siegfried and Cheron – were deployed to 4th Fleet, leading Task Force Syvuk.
[36] Nathan Samuels – Prime Minister of Earth during the Romulan War – was criticised by many after his passing for not understanding the Romulan threat before the atomic bombing of Draylax, Coridan and the occupation of Denobula.
[37] The “Golden Shield” was a reference to the Great Klingon Epic of “Mokn’am; the baker-turned-warrior who carrier a shield of hard bread that could blunt the fangs of an adult Grishnar. While some “Klingologists” attribute the use of the metaphor to a “strength through bread” approach from L’Rell, it is far more likely that Kuvec was simply using the first idiom he could remember to annoy Rogers.
[38] Chekov, Pavel, A Russian Invention, (St. Petersburg: Pushkin Interstellar, 2340)
[39] Kevin Riley – who served as a navigator aboard Enterprise alongside Chekov – would be amongst those arrested by the Starfleet Academy Shore Patrol but was released later that evening due to a lack holding evidence.
[40] It is important to bear in mind that, while civil disobedience was more common in the 23rd century than our 24th, the last incident of major injury in a protest had occurred in 2244 during the last peak of the “Return to Earth” movement.
[41] Involving two fathers, three cousins, a daughter who turns out to be someone else’s but that someone else is a Suliban spy, and a dog that can speak Orion.
[42] Most of 2nd Fleet’s blockade group was operating rimward of Acamar; if Kesh had persisted through the ion interference, it is likely that he might have evaded his tails within the storms.
[43] COPOs dispatch 105613-B (COKLICOM to COMSTAR).
[44] A paper tiger.
[45] Ty’koq, The Universal History of the Great Chancellor Kesh, (Qo’noS; 2289).
[46] After Action Report, CO USS Constellation SD 1545.9.
[47] While the Klingons were not signatures to the STAR treaties, by convention they did monitor the 050 frequency to for intelligence and sentientarian purposes.
[48] Matt Decker to Jane Decker, letter date 2nd August 2262, in The Lost Nelson.
[49] Transcript, USS Constellation Flight Recorder, SD 1543.1.
[50] Vale, In the Heat of Our Night
[51]14th (Otar) Shock Army – which was meant to spearhead the invasions of Sauria,Japori and Regulus under the 2260 Victory Plan – had been deployed to Efros and Morska after the failure of the Retinues of the Morak and Duras to supress rebellions there.
[52] Yi’Kah’Va – sometimes translated as “rolling decisive battle” or even Blitzkrieg by the press, formed the core of New Imperial Warfare theory after 2258. The theory abandoned older ideas of sustained raiding and harassment in favour of a focus on the decisive defeat and pushing back of enemy star fleets to facilitate the deployment of planetary forces.
[53] William Fox in Robson, To Prevent Hell
[54] Rogers, Left to the Diplomats.
[55] Gupta, The Lost Nelson
[56] Ch’Rella, The End of Indecision.
[57] Grathak, I don’t like to call it a living
[58] DC-105(N)-521 Report on Altair Negotiations – Diplomatic Office Conclusions, SD 2/1640.1 (London – Federation Archives Service).
Subspace Telescope ST-183 was not a military installation. To be correct, It was built to conduct close subspace radio imaging of the Paulson Nebula in the early 2200s, with funding and oversight through the Federation Science sub-council. Any upgrades with multidirectional imaging scanners in the 2240s – including ones aimed at the Romulan Neutral Zone and the Klingon Fringe – were simply circumstantial. Certainly, the Signals Intelligence department of Starfleet Intelligence did not regard it as a priority asset, especially when compared to the Earth-Designate and Federation-Designate outposts along the Neutral Zone or the “Chain Regulus” network that ran across the outer edge of the Dilithium Belt. It was, however, the closest high-power array to the Acamar system.
ST-183 had been conducting regular imaging scans of Acamar from the 21st of May, documenting the planet with visual, electromagnetic, infrared and radiological scans. It was only a small part of the massive information-gathering operation that had kicked into gear in the run-up to Operation Barbary Coast; in many senses, it was that debacle’s only success. The need to rapidly build an intelligence picture of the BGU’s capabilities and dispositions had, for the first time, forced the SIGNIT, covert operations, diplomatic intelligence, and analysis departments of SI to work together on a practical basis. With the heat off them in the aftermath of Barbary Coast, the analytic department of SI (based out of Cambridge Circus, London & Palácio Itamaraty, Brasilia) would work to combine ground sources on Acamar with information from the Botchtok Whigs and Signals Decrypts to ensure that Starfleet Command would never repeat that mistake.
It was surprisingly easy work; testament to the fact that SI’s incompetence in the 2240s and 50s was largely down to administrative instead of institutional failures. The fact that this intelligence “grouping” (known as the Unified Intelligence Task Group or more commonly as “The Circus”) was being run by Akihiro Abawe, a former staff of Admiral Nogura, was a great help. The “Grand Old Man” was perfectly willing to use his own influence to ensure that Abawe did not suffer from Admiral Moduna’s (Chief of Starfleet Intelligence) usual micromanaging. By early July, St-183’s photoscans were being targeted at specific areas of Acamar and its orbit, based on BGU decrypts and information that the Orion merchant N’Garriez has passed on about closed airspace in the region. July 2nd’s photographs were focused on the Yinal’pa peninsula on the northern continent, a reasonably remote spot, but perfect for a privateer base or repair yard.
The first batch of scans ST-183 took were duds; magnetic interference from the system’s star and cloud cover made even visual imaging useless. A second scan, taken 6 hours later, would result in much clearer imaging. What it showed was not the low-signature reading of plasto-concrete landing bays; but deep silos embedded into the surface. Heat scans showed the presence of matter-antimatter pods, but in too small groupings to be fuel dumps. Most critically, a full spectrum radiological scan confirmed the presence of high-grade pergium; an element not native to the Acamar system. 2nd Fleet would, on Abawe’s request, order the Marco Polo to make a long-range scan of the same location from the edge of the 3 light-years limit. The result was the same, if not worse; Marco Polo’s imaging scans returns photographs of open silos with launch platforms raised; platforms carrying Long-Range Interstellar Missiles.
“The discovering of LRIMs on Acamar changed the tone of the crisis completely,” recalled Nogura in an interview. “The deployment of conventional military forces to the planet fit a concerning, but predictable pattern of Klingon behaviour that went back to the fall of Krios and the Enolians. Interspatial Missiles represented a dramatic escalation not just in potential destruction, but in the Klingon commitment to removing the UFP from that part of the disputed zone.”[1]
The problem with understanding LRIMs – especially in the minds of contemporaries - is that nothing like them had existed before. What we know now about payload issues, speed deficiencies and vulnerability to local point defence was speculation in 2262. Furthermore, the Mark III and IV Kash-Ro’s contained the latest ECM systems developed by the Klingon Empire; systems that were already out-pacing Starfleet sensors aboard the I-2 destroyer and D4-E cruiser. The expectation amongst weapons analysis services was that, with the correction of existing issues with the Mark II and III Kash-Ro, the Klingons were only years – maybe even months – away from making “such a significant breakthrough in long-range stand-off weaponry that the nature of interstellar warfare may be transformed forever.”[2]
Starfleet Intelligence was, generally, correct. The Mark IV “Kash-Ro”’s liquid pergium fuel tanks carried enough propellant to carry them as far as Argelius or the Rigel colonies. What they had not realised is that the Mark IV Kash-Ro’s fuel tanks were also the warhead. Experiments with a liquid-propelled Mark II in early 2262 had resulted in a launch accident at the Adraxin firing range; however, the explosion in the launch tube (which killed the 5 operators aboard a nearby shuttle) produced a higher KaliFrons (Megaton equivalent) output than the warhead itself – nearly eight times that of the Mark II and III’s small antimatter warhead.[3] The Imperial Navy realised that liquid pergium could produce massive explosive power when condensed at the right pressures and still function as a warp-capable propellant if an external subspace bubble could be generated. The “spare parts” that SI had previously identified were, in fact, warp sledges for the Mark IV Kash-Ro, designed to accelerate the missiles to Warp 7 (or higher) before detaching. Almost the entirety of the missile was devoted to targeting computer and fuel storage, with little room for any physical explosives beyond some proximity photonic devices no larger than that of an anti-personnel mine. The antimatter warhead itself had been replaced with a small gravitic device, designed to destabilise deflector shields and subspace bubbles before the missile contacted the target. The final detonation would surpass that of a traditional warhead by five times, even after a journey of over 20 light years.
The danger was clear. “The LRIM threatens not just our trade capacity and our civilian population centres, but also our ability to mobilise and organise the fleet for war,” Moduna would warn Nogura. “One carefully aimed missile aimed at a Starbase could destroy the entire striking capability of a Fleet in one go.”[4] Passive and active defences against LRIMs remained frighteningly primitive; long and medium range sensor technology struggled to pick up warp-shuttles at over 5 light-years; a Mark IV Kash-Ro was essentially invisible.
Starfleet Tactical’s best advice in May was to sow spatial mines on suspected approach routes and to rely on Chain Regulus and other early warning arrays to spot the launch of the devices first. It was a small comfort, considering that it was distinctly possible that ,if a missile from Acamar was fired at a fringe colony or minor outpost, Starfleet would not know until the detonation was detected on subspace sensors; at which point, it was far too late. A full barrage of missiles fired during a fleet mobilisation period was estimated to destroy up to 65% of 2nd Fleet’s combat strength and all 8 Starbases in the region before dispersal orders could be disseminated.[5] The implications were clear. The Klingons had developed a decisive first-strike weapon – and were preparing to use it.[6]
With the offensive capability of the LRIM disavowed the reasoning behind the deployment is suspect. The official language used in directives issued by the Imperial Admiralty and Chancellor is surprisingly defensive; a directive issued to Kesh on the 1st of July emphasises the “importance of restraint in this situation…for the benefit of long-term regional security; the deploy of Kash-Ro and Maq’Un weapons is not to be used as an excuse for escalatory raids and privateering in the region.” In the mind of the Admiralty, the missile bases seem to have existed as a countermeasure to the success of anti-piracy operations; the fact that the Mark IV and Mark III Kash Ro’s were outnumbered two-fold by the Maq’Un shipborne Interspatial missile points towards.[7] The low count of missiles in the initial deployment also speaks to the defensive role; despite SI’s claim of 75 missiles being ready for action on the 12th, only thirteen missiles were recorded as combat ready by the Special Engineering Group that day; ten of which were Maq’Uns.[8] Most of these had arrived before the assignment of Kesh’s combat group for the region: a force that was covering the movement of the majority of offensive weapons into the sector.
The full brief on the 3rd of July was a complete surprise to the leadership of Starfleet, especially Rittenhouse. Even Nogura – a man who very rarely displayed any sign of being caught out – was visibly shocked by the report. The fact that the Klingon military build-up was only increasing was even more frightening to the Presidio. The likelihood of Acamar being a mere jump-off point for further annexations up the Barolia highway towards Ukrainia Novya, Japori and even Regulus were all discussed with conviction.[9]
Broadhurst had a similar reaction; after he had recovered from the briefing, his first question was to ask whether Moduna had been sacked yet. Certainly, the presence of LRIMs on Acamar should have completely re-orientated the President’s strategy towards intervention: the fact that the BGU was now using Klingon missiles as a deterrent would, to most people, make the prospect of further involvement incredibly risky. Peter Broadhurst was not like most people. In his mind, the presence of the missiles only made the need for more intervention even more serious. Much to the disbelief of the Military Staff Committee, later on the 3rd the President would order the Federation Ground Forces, Marines and Star Fleet to draw up formal plans for the implementation of Operation Introspection by the end of the month. General Sh’Xiyna of the FGF would walk out of the room shaking her head; Defence Commissioner Alohk Ixan drafted a copy of their resignation letter that evening.
The LRIMs represented the leverage Broadhurst needed to fulfil his promise to the Acamarians. The parliamentary battle to get arms released had ground to a halt at the end of June; two votes for aid in the council had been killed by increasing margins, as somewhat supportive members of the Charterites swung against the bill after a party line call was made by Wescott.[10] The second motion had been followed by a movement for censure by Sarek; though the censure failed, it made it clear that a third attempt to pass the bill via the main assembly would probably end in disaster. The Acamarian exiles were growing increasingly displeased too; on the 27th of June they would, in a closed meeting, threaten to reveal Broadhurst’s written promise publicly. With his political reputation at risk, the drastic escalation on Acamar might offer one last roll of the dice; offering a chance to deliver Acamar from despotism and preserve the “Broadhurst Doctrine” as a legitimate political strategy.
Late that night, Admiral Rittenhouse returned to the Palais for an emergency briefing of the Federation Security Council. By now the press had begun to suspect something; news that Decker’s task force had been enlarged from 9 to 25 vessels by order of Starfleet Command had leaked. This, combined with a closed session, drew a throng of journalists to the Palais, who milled around in the public promenades and waiting areas. The Security Council took then news badly; Ambassador Zinn apocryphally called Rittenhouse a liar on several occasions before being convinced. The possibility of Acamar turning into an “indestructible Klingon Battle Station” was terrifying, especially for those concerned with returning some form of normalcy to the border region. Broadhurst and Rittenhouse certainly did a good job convincing the 12 members that some form of containment was necessary; they struggled, however, to commit them to a military response.
Despite the shift against doctrinal pacifism since the end of the Klingon war, the security council remained dominated by very traditional attitudes to diplomatic activity. Certainly, the weight of office encouraged cooler heads to prevail, but the longevity of a Security Council seat compared with Assembly Council seats meant that rapid political shifts took time to reach higher offices. In retrospect, Broadhurst should have understood this, but instead, he let himself get caught up in the Security Council’s dithering; accepting their motion to consult and debate options with the Diplomatic Office and Interstellar Affairs before deciding. In the meantime, however, he managed to extract from them a motion for “the exploration of steps to ensure harmony in the Acamar Sector.” On paper, this meant nothing; in practice, it was exactly what was needed to get Starfleet Intelligence to prepare a shipment to Acamar.
Why Moduna went along with this massive stretch of logic is a subject of serious debate. The lack of inquiry or impeachment hearings afterwards means that no detailed explanation has ever been entered into the public record. The Pasak report would conclude that the President’s legal team had “assured representatives of the Star Fleet Command…that they were within their legal right to prepare military aid for Acamar.”[11] Moduna’s ‘retirement’ from Starfleet immediately after the Presidio Reshuffle in the autumn, combined with his refusal to contribute to the Pasak under his 7th Guarantee rights, means that his voice has effectively been lost.[12] Though, considering the speed with which Moduna was ejected from Starfleet Command, it is easy to suppose that he knew exactly how thin the ground Broadhurst was standing on was: and went along with the scheme anyway.
Moduna – as Starfleet Intelligence chief – probably understood the precarity of the situation better than anyone else, exempting possibly Nogura. Klingon pressure on the Treaty Zone was proceeding on multiple fronts by Summer 2262. Outside of the “War of the Merchant”, Klingon patrols were pushing closer to Kobax and New Leningrad, drawing even more of Starfleet’s destroyer and scout strength into those regions: Other violations of the armistice agreements around J’Gal, alpha Lyncis and the overstretched Task Force Garm in the Dayos sector hung in the balance. Both Fitzpatrick at Second Fleet and Chrisjen Paris at overall theatre command had made the Presidio aware that any more concentration on Acamar would seriously affect their ability to hold the line.
The strain was already having an effect; the movement of the Marco Polo to monitor Acamar had allowed a Klingon supply convoy to land 3500 soldiers on Mardikian II, along with nearly 450,000 tonnes of equipment. Any opportunity to level the playing field was being considered by the Admiralty; semi-formal support for the Tandaran opposition, the expansion of planetary militias; and even the wild proposal of building a 6th Deep Space Starbase in the Oort Cloud of the Ardana system had been considered as ways to ease the pressure throughout the disputed area. The supply of arms to an internal civil war may have once been considered a gross violation of the Prime Directive, but now – to people like Moduna and Rittenhouse – it merely stretched the boundaries to the same level that Operation Singapore, the Ardanan entry agreement and Operation Kadis-Khot had.
In this environment of extra-legal hypotheticals and drastic military measures, secret orders were delivered by courier from Paris to San Franisco and deposited in the hands of Admiral Moduna. They could – and should – have been reported then. But Moduna was not a man known for personal bravery. The Starfleet Intelligence ship Basra – a converted merchant ship previously used for unmarked surveillance in the Orion system – was chosen by Moduna for his “semi-authorised act of incompetent skullduggery”.[13] Basra would depart Starbase 24 in the morning with false papers for M’talas; her skipper was told by Moduna that his orders “would be authorised and legal by the time of his arrival on Acamar”.[14] It is unclear whether this wishful thinking was Moduna’s or Broadhurst's; certainly, Moduna might be excused for not knowing exactly what the Security Council was, but he would not have issued these orders without clearance from Broadhurst; at the very least, Fleet Admiral Luteth (who sat in on the hearings) would have prevented him from making an independent call on political policy. If the briefing came from the president, however, it might corroborate Moduna’s later shock when the whole scheme fell apart around him.
Basra would follow the traditional route towards Acamar along the civilian highways, reaching the blockade line on July 6th about 0.5 LY out of Levitt’s World. Serendipity put Constellation in her path as she returned to station after a confrontation with two Orion blockade runners. Commodore Decker and his crew were tired, having been closed awaiting action for nearly 20 hours before the Orion cruisers gave up their flight. No one wanted to go through the motions again; Decker even considered letting the Basra pass; she was a Federation-registered ship, after all. His guts told him otherwise, however. Constellation ordered the ship to halt at roughly 0521 ship-time. In reply, however, the Basra’s skipper would send a coded message to Decker, ordering him to let the ship pass under “Special order from the Federation Security Council.”
Decker wasn’t exactly sure what to do with the information. The skipper of the Basra seemed puzzled too. He might have sailed with sealed orders under subspace radio silence, but his orders (which he still refused to show Decker) suggested to him that the shipments were already approved. With the skipper still refusing to let a landing party on board – or heave over – Decker grew more suspicious; especially as the Basra’s skipper grew tetchier by the minute. After 35 minutes, Decker ordered the Basra to stand by for boarding. “That little fucker went mad, screaming fury about how I’d be breaking rocks on Elba II by the end of this. He shut up when I told him that I could have him arrested for smuggling.”
Constellation’s boarding party beamed aboard 3 minutes later with a full complement of phasers; just in case, of course. Decker’s XO would immediately detain her command staff in the wardroom before opening the hold; whereupon they discovered that the “medical shipments” were weapons; hundreds of phaser rifles, mortars, repeating pulse cannons and power packs destined for Acamar. When the Basra’s captain was returned to Constellation under charge of smuggling, he demanded to speak to Decker.
“He seemed so smug when he pulled out his orders – paper orders – for me to read. I’m not surprised. These had been written up by the president’s office and sent down by courier; watermarked and everything. The computer verified it as such. If he was a civilian, I suspect I’d have let him off – maybe even assumed that I’d stumbled into an SI op by accident. What caught me was the fact his orders had two empty signature slots: one for the Chair of the Security Council, and another for the Starfleet C-in-C. I told him that I made these invalid orders, and he demanded that I check with my superiors. So, I did. In the meantime, I chucked the arrogant bastard in the brig.”
Decker – the professional maverick – was aware of how absurd it seemed. Surely there had to be a reason for this level of skullduggery and not a good one. Basra’s secret orders and manifest, seized from her computers by a Security Lieutenant “with a hand on his holster”, were transferred into Constellations’ black box recorder. With Constellation now briefly within instantaneous Comms range of USS Maxwell Forrest (Admiral Fitzpatrick’s flagship), Decker broke communications silence to report the find to 2nd Fleet. “Sairose seemed to think I was joking – until I sent her the manifest. That was no joke.” Fitzpatrick asked Decker why he hadn’t reported this up his chain of command to Rittenhouse; even this early, Decker made it clear that he didn’t trust Rittenhouse one bit. Neither did Fitzpatrick. The two agreed to make separate copies of each document, before passing them up the chain at double priority.
It is likely that if Rittenhouse was still running Klingon Command, the whole incident might have been suppressed. His distaste for anything outside of his ‘plan’, combined with his semi-psychopathic relationship with Broadhurst could easily have seen the whole thing written off and ignored; at the very least, any suspicion of wrongdoing would have been suppressed. But KLICOM was already moving out of the Rittenhouse mould. He had done immense work to reshape the structure, intent and operational goals of the Regional Command, but the culture was not a Rittenhouse one; it was a Starfleet one. Even the brief presence of Chrisjen Paris as interim CO on Starbase 19 had lifted the “cloud of displeased silence” within staff headquarters; while there had been some loss of focus at the start, Paris’s intensity was combined with a staff much more willing express themselves when necessary. As such, when Fitzpatrick passed the Basra’s manifest up the chain indirectly, the staff personnel who handled it were much more willing to read it, exercise some critical thinking skills (generally frowned up under Rittenhouse) and keep moving it upstairs.
At every stage, Broadhurst’s scheme had largely depended on Starfleet Officers following the chain of command to the letter, and understanding their place within the machine that was stellar service. But – as we will be reminded again and again on the road to Khitomer – Starfleet Officers are not just soldiers. They are scientists and investigators, who value critical thinking just as much as discipline. At every level from Decker up to Nogura, senior officers’ judgement had told them something was not right; and even with only half the picture, they had been vindicated. Decker, Fitzpatrick, Paris and Nogura were all aware that if they were wrong, their careers could end on the spot. But they were willing to take that risk; as Nogura would later point out, “career suicide is a lot less lethal than general interspace warfare.”
The Basra Dossier – as it was later dubbed – would arrive on Earth 47 hours after the Basra had been stopped. The sheer luck of the Maxwell Forrest being within communications range of the Constellation and the Mayweather II relay chain meant that Broadhurst’s other gamble (that the arms would already be with the rebels by the time anyone realised what he had done) had also failed; what would normally have taken nearly 3 weeks to reach earth arrived in two days, a testament to the quality of the relay chain that ran from SB19 to the federation core. According to Peter Toussaint, Nogura “took one look at the thing, quietly shut down his computer console, told me to go to lunch and then stormed down the hall towards Starfleet Intelligence with the ferocity of a tiger.”[15] Apocryphally, Moduna attempted to lock Nogura out of his office; Nogura denied the allegation, though Toussaint noted that it “was just as likely that the Old Man kicked the door in”. Moduna pleaded ignorance at first, before eventually caving; he had given the authorisation “based on orders from the civilian government.” He did not say Peter Broadhurst; Nogura figured that out himself.
The closed-door meeting of the senior admiralty on July 8th remains unknown to history. Only scant minutes were taken, clearly written after the events had concluded. Only Nogura, Luteth and Moduna knew the exact topic; even Rittenhouse was blindsided by the revelation that illegal arms shipments were arriving in the Acamar system unannounced. The process unit Considering everything that this collection of admirals had allowed in the last four years – from expeditionary warfare in the Triangle and battleship development to mass minelaying and unprecedented economic warfare, it is forever intriguing that this – the reinforcement of an existing policy direction on Acamar – was beyond the pale. The illicit arms agreement, however, broke three crucial rules. The Council must consent; Starfleet Command must consent; and Starfleet Command must approve the plan. None of these had been met in any way; Wwrse, the Basra’s papers indicated the Moduna had transmitted their orders on the night of the 2nd of July; hours before anyone in the Admiralty saw the dossier on the LRIMs. In some senses, then, the Admiralty were angrier with Moduna than they were with the President; not by much, however. Considering how both men would be remembered for their disregard for checks and balances, Rittenhouse and Nogura were uncharacteristically united in their demands for an investigation – or worse. “[Moduna] put the reputation of the service at risk,” Nogura would recall in an interview. “Worse, he broke our codes of conduct on military action overtly and unapologetically, as if ‘I was just following orders’ is an acceptable alibi in the 23rd century.”
Heads would have to roll; and not just Moduna’s. Luteth – ever the Vulcan logician – accepted a level of culpability for the debacle, and for (as she put it) the “alarming failure of inter-departmental communication and oversight in a time of increasing uncertainty.”[16] No one wanted her to go; no one wanted to admit she was right; no one wanted to face the fact that the mutual decision to keep Luteth on after 2258 had allowed Moduna and others to ignore the push towards de-compartmentalisation. Everyone except for Luteth, of course; ever the direct Vulcan, she could accept that she was the problem when no one else could. The only concession anyone could drag out of her was not to resign on the spot. It would no one any favours if Starfleet was decapitated during this crisis.
But something had to be done. Starfleet was not about to “sit on top of a Constitutional” bomb and repeat the institutional self-harm of the Colonial Crisis; political obligations had to be followed, and soon.[17] Luteth would inform the Starfleet Secretary and Defence Commissioner at around 7am Paris time on the morning of the 9th (the infamous “she’s not fucking with us, Alohk,” conversation); Defence Commissioner Ixan – an appointee drawn not from Broadhurst’s right wing of the old Archerites but a concession to the OSFP – went straight to the security council, the Basra dossier in hand.
Broadhurst’s calendar for the 9th was very light – no council sessions were on the order paper, and he intended to take advantage of the lull before making another attempt at the arms agreement on the 11th. Yesterday’s intelligence report buoyed his mood; Klingon movements in the Acamar sector seemed to lean towards an offensive posture and further LRIM deployments, which would encourage the council to support his actions. His hope was this – combined with the imminent end of the mid-year session of the council at the end of the week – would push the Security Council over the line. At approximately 6:30 pm – ten minutes into the president’s early dinner with the Bolian Ambassador to the UFP – deputy chief of staff Safa entered the dining room with an urgent summons from the Security Council. Broadhurst seemed annoyed, if he knew what it was about, he did not betray so to his guests. His memoir claimed otherwise; “I knew. I had to know. In that moment, as Safa leant over to talk to me, I passed through my own Gethsemane, and accepted that I my political career would have to die to save the Federation.”
Whether or not one believes Broadhurst’s biblical sophistry, one thing was certain: Broadhurst’s long streak of being ahead of the political curve was over – for good.
“An Unconstitutional Obligation”
The special session on the night of the 9th – forever dubbed “Basra Night” by the New Berlin Times – is considered the most important Security Council session of the mid-23rd century. If the council had let Broadhurst slide or accepted his excuses or had even one less of its several smoking guns, then the primacy of Presidential power – and presidential abuses of power – may have been tacitly endorsed forever.
Confronted with a hostile council probing him on dealings with the Acamarian Exiles, Broadhurst could have easily gotten away with non-answers or misdirection; Th’rhahlat had certainly been a master of issue avoidance. His decision, however, to go after Sarek’s first questions on the Basra Dossier has gone down in history as probably the worst judgment call he made (outside of, possibly, authorising the Basra mission in the first place). The president’s flip-flopping between absconding himself of responsibility (blaming Moduna for his choice) and saying that if he had authorised it, it would be legal, seemed to do nothing but convince the council that everything they had been told by the Admiralty was probably true. Certainly, the legal ground for the arms agreement was slippery; retroactive authorisation would probably have stood up in a constitutional court if it had happened. It seems very likely that a vote on arms delivery might have passed the general council in early July if the LRIM revelation had not been made public. The Security Council – advisors and guardians of the Federation, not its overt representative – may have understood this sentiment. The Rev’nak Convention (yet to be broken by the Coridan question) would probably have forced the Council to accept whatever decision the assembled Ambassadors made, no matter their own opinion. But that was all hypothetical. What was not hypothetical was that the President – with the complicity of the Starfleet Secretary and at least two Starfleet Admirals – had engaged in a conspiracy to provide illicit military support to a foreign power. At the very least, Moduna and the CO of the Basra were liable to court-martial under the Javas ruling on General Order One. What exactly Broadhurst could be guilty of was dependent on the explanation he gave.
Once it became clear that the president was determined to blame Starfleet for the Basra, the Council pounced. The dossier from Decker and Fitzpatrick – complete with the ‘Special Order’ that the council had yet to sign – proved not only that the President was lying about it being a Starfleet problem, but that he had just perjured himself to the Security Council. Worse was to come. During a short recess, the Federation Security Council decided to summon the Argelian Minister Vymor of Tri’Lesta to speak on the matter. Their intention was probably not to twist the knife. If Sarek is to be believed, the council was leaning towards formal censure, an investigation, and probably disqualification from electoral nomination at the end of the month; an end to Broadhurst’s career, but not to his reputation.
Unfortunately for the President, Minister Tri’Lesta was having a late dinner. The Acamarian minister was, for lack of a better phrase, a glutton for human foods; so much so that their staff were ordered to hold all calls during that time.[18] The Security Council summons – delivered in person by an aide to Ambassador Sarek – was a serious imposition on Tri’Lesta’s special time. When the aide insisted on their presence, Tri’Lesta sent her away with a copy of the treaty that their government had signed with Broadhurst. “The tone of the discussion turned instantly,” Sarek recalled. “As did the volume.” The scheduled 20-minute recess was extended twice; the council only returned to the chamber at 10:15 pm. Attorney General Agudon slipped into the room behind them, catching Nogura’s eye; the President having no idea that his own cabinet member had doomed him. Agudon had been a Th’rhahlat appointee; an Elder Ithenite statesman, he had never liked the grandstanding Broadhurst or his continued attempts to push the council towards intervention. Now, with the Tri’Lesta Treaty in hand, his worse fears about Broadhurst were confirmed.
The President could not plead ignorance on the Tri’Lesta treaty. He had promised full and unadulterated military support to a foreign power without the consent of either the General or Security Council, and he had done so with a government whose legitimacy was suspect at best. The sheer act of signing the treaty was an impeachable offence; there had not even been a discussion of Federal ratification at the cabinet level. Most of the secretariat had note even seen the document, and those who had went along with it on the assumption that it would eventually ratified. By stringing along the Acamarian exiles with the promise of arms, there was also a serious case to be made that the Tri’Lesta Treaty had artificially extended the conflict on Acamar longer than necessary. The Federation Government would be liable in its own courts for incitement to violence on a neutral world; the legality of the Acamarian trade protection squadron could even be called into question. Had the president planned for Starfleet to confront the Acamarian Defence Forces? Was that a prelude to invasion? Suddenly Interlude looked less like the worst-case scenario and more like the final chess move of some Machiavellian strategy.
Faced with these accusations, Broadhurst, in a sudden moment of moral clarity, caved. “The President reacted with a kind of cold logic humans only demonstrate when there is no other way out,” Sarek recalled. “He admitted that he had signed the treaty, and that he had agreed non-interference in Acamarian Affairs in full knowledge that he had tied himself to the Sovereignty government.” This was probably not the best personal choice on his part – certainly, the damage to his eardrums caused by the Tellarite Ambassador yelling into his ear is on record – but it was certainly the right decision for the political health of the Federation. The President admitted to lying to the council, on record, on four different occasions since the 1st of May. At every stage had endangered the lives of Federation service personnel in the sector, jeopardised the independence of Acamar and dragged the UFP further towards a general war. It is difficult to have much sympathy for his tinnitus.
The Security Council was, rightly, enraged that they had been caught out. They had been labouring under the pretension that the whole crisis had been inflamed by Klingon aggression and Acamarian action alone, with Starfleet simply acting as an “honest broker” to protect the independence of the Acamarian people. This seems naïve in retrospect, but the position of the UFP as the “Arsenal of Freedom” – as exemplified by the Wescott Doctrine after 2263 was not a popular stance in ’62. Even if it had been, the idea of inflaming an existing crisis with even non-critical support would have been anathema to even the most dogged Unionist. Sending the Sovereign government weapons – and advisors – was beyond the pale. Even if the Security Council agreed with the principle (certainly, Sh’Belulos of Andoria was somewhat supportive of the idea before the revelation), they were horrified that the decisions had been made around them without even considering consultation with the legislature. That terrified them more than the LRIMs ever could. The guarantees that the Council had extracted from the president to treat Acamar itself as a “hands-off world” had been ignored; the sanctity of legislative primacy has been ignored; and the spirit of the Federation charter had been callously abused. There would be no easy recovery from this.
The Council, for obviously reasons, wanted Broadhurst out as soon as possible. For equally obvious reasons, this was not as easy as they might have hoped. The crisis on Acamar was not going to go away if Broadhurst was impeached; especially now, with the threat of the Interspatial Missiles looming over the Federation. There was no question of letting Broadhurst run for a second term; the real issue was whether the Basra-Tri’Lesta Affair could be made public yet. It would destroy Broadhurst and his government when it did; another government collapse after Barreuco could cause secession in the frontier regions, especially in vulnerable regions like Sauria and Kobax.
Broadhurst’s final plea was that the meeting remained sealed under the “national security” clause would not be answered directly; Sarek, as chair, said that the security council would consider it. Presumably, waking up the next day ton news of his cack-handed treatment of the constitution covering the front pages of Le Monde, The New Berlin Times and every other paper of record all the way to the Benecia Gardanto was a shock. It probably wasn’t to the Federation Security Council, who had already decided to make the session public in ten days by the time three different sources leaked the material to the press.
The outcry was immediate. President Broadhurst – the man who had “kept the peace in the east” as the San Francisco Herald put it – had admitted, on record, to deliberately escalating tensions with the Klingons on the soil of a neutral power. Protestors swarmed the Palais by midday on the 11th, even as his office attempted some form of damage control; his press office was booed by collected journalists while attempting to spin the incident as a “misunderstanding of constitutional obligations”.[19] The council – already breaking up for the summer recess – was hurriedly recalled. Almost all the members off-world had turned their transports around upon hearing the news; the furthest away Ambassador, Farid Zulfikar of Daran V, would beg a lift off a Starfleet Courier craft, arriving on the planet only 25 minutes before Broadhurst’s final session began on the 14th. Many others from the frontier regions only found out about the crisis when they arrived on their home worlds; adding to the sense that what was about to happen was a “core world coup”.
Footage of Broadhurst’s special report to the Council seems to come from a parallel timeline. The President looked nervous and distracted; sweat drooped from his brow despite the ambient temperature of the chamber remaining at a cool 14oC. At one point he dropped his notes – physical – notes, a prop that he had never used before. The council smelt blood immediately. Every assertion of innocence was met with a jeer. An attempt to point to Klingon's pressure was met with outright laughter. Broadhurst’s coalition of hawkish progressives and conservatives was nowhere to be seen that evening. The fact that the crux of his argument was that he had “acted in the interests of the Federation, and the council, based on a political obligation of the highest importance” only aggravated the council more.[20] The reply from Pagros Sh’Belulos – once a staunch ally – said everything.
“You are not allowed to use this council as a cover story for your political ineptitude, your constitutional illiteracy, or your total disregard for the interstellar rules of diplomacy. We’re not Klingons, mister President. Or have you forgotten that?”[21]
Many have pointed to Sh’belulos’s outrage at the Acamar deal as a sign of her erratic politics. The mistake there is projecting the universal hawkishness of the Unionist movement onto a political environment that was still largely, supportive of “reactive pacificism”. The conservative wing of the council may have supported the Resource Denial Act, Starfleet reform and the arming of the previous Acamarian government, but all of those were reactive responses to a changing environment. To use the famous analogy coined by Nancy Hedford, the previous acts had been “a move of a piece on the board; now, Broadhurst was attempting to add another piece to the table while hoping nobody noticed.”[22] There had been some hope that, maybe, changes on Acamar – or an appeal from the Acamarians – would encourage the Council to understand the diplomatic necessity of their actions. Instead, Tri’Lesta hung him out to dry in a notorious press conference, in which the Acamarian Sovereignty’s Minister-in-exile called the embattled President a “professional liar” who had promised the Sovereignties the world and given them nothing. The General Council would table a motion of no confidence the next day. Broadhurst’s attempt to warn off the council with the threat of further Klingon deployments to Acamar was met with even more cheers. Ch’Shukar – watching the disaster on a viewscreen in San Fransisco – would remark to Nogura that “Th’rhahlat would have loved this.”
The possibility of two no-confidence votes in four years did not seem like a good sign. Le Monde ran a cartoon on the 13th which showed Broadhurst clinging to a shattered doorframe as Marianne and a Klingon soldier attempted to drag him out.[23] Three Secretariat members resigned by 10 am; bringing the total to eight, not including Agudon (who had told Broadhurst that he was only staying on to make sure the impeachment articles were filed properly).[24] It was only a matter of time at this point; once the news reached Qo’nos – which it did on the 19th – the whole situation would get worse very quickly.[25] “He’s got to go now,” Nafros Xaall would tell the Rigellian Ambassador after Lunch. A vote of no confidence would require a full session, however; something that would be impossible for a week at least.
Broadhurst cracked first, however. Pressure from Agudon seems to have been the key factor, as well as his mental health. He had barely slept since the 11th, and the near-constant sitting of the (still not quorum) General Assembly was beginning to fray his nerves, as were the insults.[26] A council directive on the 14th that called for an end to “all secret diplomatic agreements, treaties and alliances throughout the Quadrant” was correctly interpreted as a signal for his exit; as were the hurried meetings of the Andorian Caucus and Archerites, who were scrambling to ensure Sh’Belulos could step into the void. A final attempt to rally supporters at the Tuillerie club on the 14th would go nowhere; the proto-unionists abandoned Broadhurst entirely, appalled by his inability to “back words with open action and dignity”.[27] His political project was over; his high-stakes gamble to seize the tenuous centre ground between frontier radicals and core world reaction killed by his own hubris. He would inform the Security Council of his intention to resign that evening, telling his deputy Chief of Staff that “he doubted Sh’Belulos could manage this shitshow as well as him.” For most, the ascent of the Andorian Councillor was inevitable. The poor Charterites couldn’t muster anything close to the feverish lobbying of the proto-Unionists; most of their leadership had departed for the summer recess, as had their Assembly supporters; Wescott had gone home to support his wife after a series of gender-affirming surgeries; even in Boston, he was too secluded from the political centre of gravity to have any sway – or so many thought.
Despite strong momentum with those representatives present in Paris, many were sceptical that Sh’Belulos could capture the regional Ambassadors; especially the critical Benecian and Regulan councillors who had absolutely no faith that she cared about anything that happened beyond Rigel. Even by the night of the 14th, it was rather clear that the Archerite push for the presidency had run out of steam short of the necessary nominees. There would be no easy path to succession now. Wescott’s name emerges earlier than most imagine. The Security Council were already thinking about an interim leader by the 12th; Sarek was, for the third time in his career, nominated, but declined because “he was an inadequate choice.” Sh’belulos – early frontrunner by default - had been foisted on the Security Council by popular demand, but once it became clear that she would not make the nominations, the floor opened again. Names like Elledge (Luna) and Curoa (Izar) were floated as respectable statespersons, but they lacked popular support. Then Sarek suggested Wescott. The earth ambassador was reasonably popular; despite the reformist stance of the Charterites, most regarded him as the sanest of the constructional reformers; compared to Q’uarn nash Poc (de facto leader of the “Tellartie” Centrist bloc, the only other heavyweight within within the Council) Wescott was both more experienced and more respected. The security council could put him in place through constitutional contrivance; the same clause that had allowed them to appoint Vanderbilt President pro tempore in 2161. It would require General Council ratification, but that was not as hard as anticipated. Many of the progressive Archerites would vote with the Vulcan and Tellarite caucus for Wescott; certainly, a plurality of votes is necessary for an emergency government to be formed.
The overture to Wescott was made through AR Vale; once a Starfleet shuttle pilot, then a writer turned lobbyist, he had been a close confidant of Wescott’s since his time in the United Earth cabinet. Not quite as reformist as Wescott, he was still a vital link between the Charterites and the Federation political establishment. It was he who fielded the call from Sarek to see if Wescott would accept a special nomination. Vale would call on Wescott in person on the 15th, appearing at his townhouse on the Boston Commons early in the morning.
“[Vale] didn’t look like he had slept, so I offered him some strong coffee and took him into the front room. It was clear he wasn’t here to well-wish Marsha after he sat down. ‘Broadhurst’s going, Ken.’
‘I know. Who do they want to replace him? Sarek? Xaall?’ He laughed at Xaall.
‘No. They want someone sensible. Someone who isn’t going to get us all blown up over a trite tariff reform. Someone who can hold a council majority.’
‘They’ll need someone the Charterites can vote for,’ I told him. ‘We can’t have another staller like Broadhurst back in.’ I suggested a few names – Phoenix,nash Poc and Elledge. Vale shook his head to both and then cracked a smile. ‘They have a name, you know. One the security council has already approved.’
‘Not Pagros.’ Sh’Belulos – even then, before the Unionists had grown to match us, was a heavyweight of some calibre. But no, it wasn’t her. After a rather dramatic pause to gulp coffee, Vale pointed to me. ‘They want you, Ken.’”[28]
Wescott baulked at the offer. “It’s career suicide,” he told Vale. “They’ll make me shoulder the blame for it all then put me out to pasture as Ambassador to Rigel or something.” It was true; the Security Council had no love for the Charterite reform programme or the proposals for ‘total monetary abolition’. But if Wescott could survive the moment of crisis – and prevent a federal collapse in the aftermath – the opportunities could be incredible. Wescott remained hesitant. The whole idea of Federal reform could be destroyed by association with corruption and external weakness; tied to the Basra affair, appeasement and a secession crisis. “If we do this, we can’t do it half-heartedly,” he told Vale. “We can’t act like there are second chances.” Before Vale could try and press the issue, Marsha Wescott – woken by the noise of the coffee machine – would intervene from the upstairs landing, shouting “take the f*cking job, Len, before they get someone with no guts to do it!” After Marsha had disappeared back into the bedroom – and Vale had stopped laughing – he turned back to Wescott. “Will you do it then?”
Wescott’s reply was simple. “That’s ‘will you do it, Mister President’.”
Enter Wescott
Kate Bugos had only been on Earth for about 20 days when Wescott entered office. The Benecia Born journalist – yet to make her name as a commentator and known chiefly at this point for her sports reporting – was still getting used to “a world of ancient monuments used as restaurants and cafes, where the locals complained about how the avenues ‘hadn’t been the same since the Second World War’”. Sharing an apartment with another colonial reporter – Sviq’la Vr’Chinnalli of New Andor – her late slumber after a heavy night of drinking was ended abruptly when her roommate burst into her room with news.
“Broadhurst’s out!” She yelled, only making my headache worse. So. That was it. The Federation Nightmare was over. Would the Klingons find out about it before they blew Regulus up? I hoped so. I like Regulus. I certainly liked the idea of Regulus. I rolled back over and tried not to throw up. Then I rolled back when I realised, she was still in my room, smoking one of my Tarkelian cheroots and wearing her girlfriend’s shirt. (Which girlfriend was it? I can never remember. I think she had three or four at the time.) ‘Are we finally getting the Sarek Government then?’ If he got in, I owed her a trip to Greenland. A significant threat if you’ve never seen snow in your life.
‘Oh, no. No, no, no.’
‘nas Poc?’
‘That ice-slider?’ I stared at her. ‘It’s Vest-Cott.’ She said it like it was a German word for a wool waistcoat.
‘Wescott? Earth Ambassador?’ She nodded. What a time to be alive. Klingons breathing down our necks again, weapons of mass destruction aimed at half the union and the wisest sentients in both quadrants had chosen to elect a substitute teacher.”[29]
It is safe to say that no one had high expectations for Wescott. The New Berlin Times, sceptical of his emergency appointment, dubbed him the “Beamed in Premier”. This was almost certainly the nicest thing the press had to say about him; “President Pupil” and “The Boy Failure” were also thrown about by less supportive outlets; a pundit on Tellarite Television declared that he was “only there so no one important had to cave to Qo’noS.” The Utopia Planitia Star (one of the less reputable tabloids) would ensure its place in history when it put a picture of Wescott on its cover with the headline “DO YOU KNOW THIS MAN?” No one expected much of his ad-hoc administration either. “This government – if we can even call it a government – will almost certainly not make it to the election,” declared Siobhan Tilly on EBS News. “In many senses, I do not believe it is meant to. Someone must take the blame for this nightmare, and it is a great shame that it must be Mister Wescott.”
Many within the Palais felt the same way. The security council had sworn Wescott in in a hurry; there was no formal ceremony, beyond “a hand on the charter and a hand to the sky in the basement” while Broadhurst filed out of his resignation speech in the General Council. Wescott’s confirmation vote was scheduled for the 19th; he would not, officially, become the President of the United Federation of Planets until Midnight Paris time on the 20th. But there was no time to wait. The handover from Broadhurst’s team bordered in high-paced farce; what normally took six weeks had to be completed in roughly 72 hours, with many of the outgoing staff blaming the successors for Broadhurst’s political demise. A.R. Vale had the keys to his new office thrown at him by the outgoing chief of staff; many of the junior aides were still packing when Wescott’s team arrived. Broadhurst made his resignation speech – a hollow apology for “offending the principles of the council” that failed to touch on the fact that it was to be followed immediately by a debate over impeachment – while clerks piled the boxes from his offices in the corridor outside the chamber. “The moving companies have never had a busier day”, noted the Times of London.
The Secretariat offices were just as busy. Despite assurances from Wescott, many senior Commissioners and other members of the Secretariats had resigned with Broadhurst, leaving massive holes at the top of the administration. Oguntoye, Vuxi and Yurada - the big names who represented the next generation of the Federation political establishment - had all gone out with Broadhurst, either stained by their complicity or dragged down by association. Only Agudon, who was already marked as the “one who held the knife” agreed to stay on, but only until the after an election. “Most of us were afraid to unpack,” recalled Vale. “I didn’t even bother giving security my transporter ID. We weren’t going to be around long enough to unpack it.” The President did not share this opinion, however; and he made this very clear to his staff and his ad-hoc cabinet. “We are not here to take the fall for the other man’s failures. We are here to fix them. [30] We are here to ensure peace in both quadrants, freedom for all stars and then, once we have achieved that, we are here to win an election.” That first objective was the hardest.
The Klingon government had not reacted well to the Basra Affair. “Earther meddling” of such proportions resulted in equal levels of outrage and jubilation amongst the meddling houses on Acamar; finally justifying their protests and demands for Imperial support. On Qo’noS, the debacle was interpreted as an inconsolable political snub. The Federation had tried to offset the balance of power on the sly, and when they got caught, the instigator of it all had absconded; worse, the authorities had let him. Some were even applauding it. “It seemed like the earthers were trying to trick us,” recalled Zym, whose position as senior advisor to L’Rell put him at the heart of the political crisis. “Or at the very least, they were goading us. All that talk of ‘democratic checks and balances’ just made the council angry, as did the appointment of that boy Wescott.”
Political pressure from the high council – even in its weakened state – was beginning to mount, as the aristocracy goaded their supporters in the streets of the first city. The calls from the crowd for blood were being repeated within the halls of power by senior nobles, including many who had been dogged supporters of L’Rell. The Imperial Military was more apprehensive; but while the high command was aware of their existing logistical weaknesses, they still advocated for some form of military action. The unswerving loyalty of the Klingon professional solider was always far more conditional than the propaganda machine pretended; the rank and file were just as eager for a proper was as the aristocracy was. With the collapse of the Broadhurst government, it seemed like now might be the best time possible to strike; while the Federation was at its’ weakest, shepherding a young, inexperienced leader into office. Assault plans were dusted off and orders sent to forward commanders, even as the Chancellor dithered over whether or not to commit to a general war that might dwarf T’Kuvma’s Crusade.
L'Rell had, largely, depended on Sturka’s influence to keep the Imperial Armed Forces in line. She was, even as “mother” of the empire, still a family-tied aristocrat; far removed from the brutally meritocratic military that she’d let Sturka, Korok and others create underneath her. Now, as L’Rell consulted Sturka on how to react, the first-ever Chief of the Imperial General Staff spoke the hard truth.
“[Sturka] told the Chancellor what I had, in my despair, expected him to say: that the loyalty of the Imperial Navy could not be guaranteed without some form of confrontation with the Star Fleet. Of course, it couldn’t. Their honour had been disconnected from that of ours a long, long time ago: it had spun away, carried away on a momentum sustained by duels in the Cajitar Concession and the Hromi Cluster. What could Mother do? To her, they were the Empire as much as she was. Their honour was her honour. So, if they wanted – needed a fight with the Earthers now to prove themselves, they had to have it.”
Zym seems to present the loss of control over the professional armed forces as an inevitability: not being Klingon fatalists, we should probably search for a better thesis than the “will of Kahless.” Too much authority had been granted to the General Staff and their juniors. They set their agendas; they controlled their recruitment and deployment; since the collapse of the Darsek a year before, they had de jure control over the financial organs of the state as well. The Imperial civil service had never been large enough to handle the size of the state L’Rell had wanted, especially while shutting the Great Houses out of the system. So many of the Chancellor’s great political projects (notwithstanding the conquests) were built on military resources; Industrial and taxation reform, state enslavement directives, and even prison reform; all were dependent in one way on the Imperial Navy or Army to work.
Did L’Rell realise this before Acamar? Possibly. The Imperial Security Regime can be interpreted as an attempt to put power back in the hands of the chancellery, projecting central authority out into the regions through decrees and regulations: but said regulations were still being enforced by professional soldiers with an independent agenda. When that agenda diverged from that of the Chancellor is difficult to work out; some say as early as Caleb IV or the Raktajino Revolution, but most historians point to the bungled response to the Embargo as the turning point. Whenever L’Rell had sowed the seeds of discontent, they were being reaped now. The Imperial Navy would have its war – if Starfleet deigned to let them. Deployments into the Acamar sector increased at pace, including the deployment of 4 D9 and B2 “Heavy Battle Cruisers”; joining the 3 B1s already assigned to Kesh, this represented the first real deployment of the Klingon “Battle Line” into deep space. Other orders made clear the shifting to a confrontational stance. On Acamar, the Kash-Ro silencers began to fuel their missiles up for launch; Infantry regiments prepared defensive positions across the planet. “Ra’ SuD” – the Imperial Navy plan for the rapid takeover of the Cajitar Concession – was moved to six hours of operational notice.[31]
Starfleet couldn’t help but notice – in many senses, the Imperial Navy wanted them too. Warp displacements over Mastocal were enough of a giveaway, as were heightened Klingon patrols along the Enolian line of contact. Starfleet had expected a significant response from the Empire, and between the 10th and 18th they had watched Kesh’s task force concentrate around the deep space anchorage at Mraada. Many of these orders had been issued before the Basra Affair; movements that had begun in conjunction with Kesh’s force concentration. These moves could be matched and countered and prevented – just. The LRIMs were the missing link; too new to judge the effectiveness of; too fast and too small to intercept, and capable of delivering the devastation of an orbital bombardment for a tenth the cost of a starship without even setting off a subspace warning system. It was distinctly possible that an LRIM launch from Acamar would strike Regulus before the 2nd Fleet even knew it had been fired; let alone Earth. “This is going to come down to the Officer on the spot,” Vale told Wescott. “We can set policy here all we want: whoever is on the line there is the only person who can stop this.” They were also, however, the only person who could start it.
Sairose Fitzpatrick was aware of this: She had kept the Maxwell Forest close to the SB23 relay network, but this still put her 22 hours away from Earth by subspace communique. In the meantime, intelligence from Decker and DESRON 5 (spread out on a patrol net from Vergius K to Vola) tracked the massing of Klingon forces in the region. Acamar itself remained a mystery; Acamarian Patrols had prevented Marco Polo from making any further scans, and what information Starfleet Intelligence could give her was useless. Unlike many of her predecessors in the region, however, Fitzpatrick was willing to take risks with her authority. From the 12th onwards, the Archer-class ships USS Hengist and Horsa had been put on standby on the edge of the Acamar system, awaiting a gap in the Acamarian patrol line. At 0145 ship time on the 14th, (roughly midday Acamarian Capital time), the Gatherer cruiser Victor broke patrol to intercept an Orion blockade runner.
Hengist’s skipper – Lieutenant Commander Cyal Prakoso Mattiasbur – would act immediately. Aboard the Hengist was the signals intelligence officer Yéwándé Paton, who recorded the experience of Operation Hornet in her memoir.
“The tactical officer looked up from their console suddenly. ‘Contact moving off at bearing 028 mark 85. Speed is…Warp five.’ Matti jumped up instantly.
‘Scanners off! Stand by for rapid warp! Signal to Hornet 2, green, green.’
The tiny bridge of the Hengist snapped into action; even the deck plates began to hum with excitement. ‘Round the horn!’ yelled the chief.
‘Scanners go!’
‘Warp reactors go!’
‘ Weapons go!’
‘Deflectors go!’
Then the same affirmation from the Horsa. ‘Helm, course for Acamar, ahead full warp factor, execute.’
Hengist and Horsa – stripped down, their torpedoes and probes removed and replaced with a rapid imaging scanner – would cover the 55.2 Aus from the launch position to Acamar III in just under 4 minutes, accelerating to a top speed of Warp 7.3 from a dead stop.
“Standby for sublight!’ the chief moved across the bridge glancing at me and my team. ‘Prepare for orbital insertion; damage control to level III preparation!’ Matti appeared over my shoulder; unlike me, or the rest of her crew, they moved with ease in the bucking, careening ship.
‘Have you ever done a warp insertion into the atmosphere, Yéwándé?’ I shook my head. ‘It’s quite fun.’ Chief Mavrc looked less pleased.
‘Sublight in five – four – three – two – one – mark!’ The Hengist bucked like a stalled shuttled; I clung onto the scanning console as the stars shimmered in a kaleidoscope before settling into the blue-black haze of an upper atmosphere.
‘Hornet Two signals ready for imaging run.’
‘Reply confirms. Open outer doors; prepare for imaging scan. Ahead full impulse, 014 mark 290.’ Hengist’s nose dropped into a steep dive, and I ignored the alarms from every console as I turned the scanners on. None of the calibrations had misaligned. ‘New contact! Orbital fighters closing from bearing 180-190-200-‘
‘Poor fucker can’t keep up,’ Matti growled. There was a wild kick and another alarm sounded. ‘Damage report!’
‘We’re taking ground fire; Klingon disruptor cannons, but they can’t get a lock.’ The dark blue has turned into azure; pockets of grey-white cloud flash past the viewscreen. A patch of arid green-sand landscape turns into a quilt, and then a blanket of ground below, before dropping away as the Hengist levels out.
‘How long to the targets?’
‘Fifteen seconds.’
I turned to Ensign Yun. ‘Scanners to active, setting 14-P.’ Head down into the viewing glass. The ground rushes past as I adjust, and then- one, two, five, ten, twelve launch platforms with towering missiles ready to go, lined up along the coastline like obelisks, machinery and crews scuttling about as we pass overhead. We can’t be more than 15 kilometres from the ground. We pass over a hilltop and the scanner whines with alarm; more targets in the ridgeline itself. ‘I’ve got more missiles in bunkers, sir,’ Yun says. ‘And I’m picking up Pergium traces in that complex by the town too.’ I want to check her work, but there’s no time. The Hengist rocks again; sparks shimmer from an overhead conduit, and then we’re shoved back into our seats as we climb back out of the atmosphere.
‘Run complete!’
‘Stand-by for warp! Close outer doors!’
Matti climbs up the steep deck plate with learned ease. ‘Where the hell is the Horsa?’
‘Can’t read here with the flash from the disrupt- got a lock; she’s alright, taken more damage than us though.’ I watch concern flash over Matti’s eyes, but it’s gone in a second. ‘Can she fly?’
‘She’s signalling green, green.’ The concern drops away.
‘Let’s get out of here then. Full Warp speed, course 000 mark 045, execute. Our excursion to Acamar is over in less than fifteen minutes; the green data card in my hand carrying the weight of worlds in its’ memory.’[32]
The multi-vector imaging scans taken over the northern hemisphere on Acamar gave Fitzpatrick frightening clear images of the three key launch sites, as well as the support base in the Nugza foothills and the massive liquid Pergium storage facilities the Imperial Navy was building beneath them. It also showed that the Pergium vats were empty. The Kash-Ro’s were sitting on the launch pads without fuel; some, it appeared, did not even have any warheads. Yet.
The early briefings with Wescott – begun on the 14th once he’d accepted the council’s nomination – were rife with speculation. The Admirals were unsure of the new premier, and what his position would be; on top of their anxiety about another general war, they were keenly aware that their reputation for integrity was on the line. Despite anxiety at the top, Rittenhouse continued to push for a planetary intervention on Acamar. “If we don’t put our boys on the ground, dug in and ready for the Klingon Fleet,” he told the council and president, “we’ll never get them off that rock at all!”[33] Wescott’s reply – “How'd that go for MacArthur on Bataan, Admiral?” earned a laugh from some better-informed listeners and a look of shocked scorn from Rittenhouse. Wescott may not have worked with Starfleet before – or have steeped himself in as much military history as the Admiralty – but he was a voracious reader, and incredibly well-advised. He had read the entire mission plan for Introspection twice, on top of discussions with Nogura and Lieutenant General Lakoneelon (the prospective commander of any ground deployment to Acamar). Both had agreed with Wescott and Vale’s sentiment; that any military action on the planet itself would only make war inevitable.
Mehkan – much more malleable on the issue than the quietly seething Rittenhouse – pressed the President on what response could be taken. Wescott would agree with the general principle that Acamar could not be allowed to fall into Klingon's hands completely, but pointed out that said grip was largely dependent on their ability to sustain defences on the planet. “If their missiles were not fully armed, and their silos were not full, then their defences were not complete;” Wescott elaborated in his memoir. “They could not secure the antimatter they needed from Acamar itself, or even the interstellar medium surrounding it. They would need to stockpile on the planet if they intended to defend it, let alone use it as a forward base. And that stockpiling was something that could be prevented.”
Wescott was, however, apprehensive to give Fitzpatrick full ability to act. “I can’t have another war start while I am making the last effort for peace”, he told Luteth and Rittenhouse. “Whoever makes the call has to know that.” Rittenhouse was confident that “his boys, girls and others could get the job done handily,” even though he baulked at the very strict rules of engagement and control that Paris wanted to enforce; especially the use of subspace relay ships to bring transmission times down to 45 minutes each way. Wescott, still mistrustful of the Admiralty, was forced to bend to their expertise once again. On the 16th, Fitzpatrick was given full authorisation to “blockade the Acamar system and prevent Klingon access to the surface,” by the Security Council, but only if “there is a clear and present danger to Federation security based on Intelligence information.” She was also explicitly told – through informal channels – that her direct orders from the President were to “avoid any form of action that could be used as an excuse by either Starfleet or the Imperial Navy for a military escalation.”
Wescott’s decision was not unanimously supported, however; the pressure from others within Starfleet to escalate further was powerful. Mehkan and Nogura had authorised –behind Wescott’s back - the deployment of KLICOM’s reserve to the blockade. Rittenhouse had also ordered the deployment of USS Atlas, Ramillies and North Carolina to SB 19; USS Federation – considered the most capable “space control ship” in the Starfleet roster – would follow them on the 19th.[34] The firepower being concentrated in the core ward region of the border was increasing at a rate that seemed uncontrollable; by the 21st of July, 8 of the 24 Capital ships in active service had been deployed to Klingon Command; 6 in the Acamar region alone.[35] Vale expressed his reservations to the President that evening, asking openly if “we hadn’t just capitulated to the sort of dangerous sabre rattling that Broadhurst wanted to make normal.” Wescott didn’t have an answer. “’[Rittenhouse] still wants to send the Marines in. Nogura wants to seal off Kuvat and Mastocal with destroyers. Mehkan thinks we should send the [Andorian] Guard to the Cajitar Concession. Everywhere I look, AR, I see doom. Everywhere except here. And if we can’t pull this off – and bring the Klingons to the table properly – I don’t want to be remembered like Samuels.”[36]
The diplomatic effort was not providing the easy out many had hoped. Many of the minor powers – even those who had put pressure on the UFP to protect trade in the Acamar sector – baulked at the prospect of another general war in the region; unprompted declarations of neutrality from the Barolians, Asparax states and the Malurians signalled their discomfort with the UFP’s handling of the crisis. The negotiations through the Orion embassies were just as grim. Ambassador Kuvec warned Rogers that the Klingon Empire intended to back Acamarian independence “to the blood soak-hilt”.
Rogers’ attempt to broach the topic of a peace summit on Babel had been cast aside immediately. Instead, Kuvec told the Federation representative “It will remain the policy of the Imperial Government to consider Acamar, like Cajitar, Enol and Krios, a special vassal of the Empire, no matter what rebellious exile groups may say,” adding that “The Federation has no right under moral law or facile Interstellar law to prevent the Empire from acting in the defence of its’ friends”: a re-iteration of various declarations Kuvec had made earlier in the week in support of the Samaritan Gatherers. Pushed, Kuvec also reiterated that the LRIMs were purely defensive and that the Klingon government by no means supported the offensive action of “a few pirate captains claiming to be Acamarian soldiers.” The most concerning part of the meeting on the 17th was Kuvec’s final warning: that, if the United Federation of Planets continued to interfere with the rights of “the fraternal allies of the Klingon people in the Rigellian core”, then they too may find themselves protected by the “Golden Shield of the Kash-Ro.”[37] Kuvec’s threat – made based on official orders that had been dispatched by warp courier no later than the 3rd of July – does speak to a correlation between the LRIMs’ and overall strategy. Broadhurst or not, the Kash-Ro’s were allowing the Klingons to put pressure on the UFP’s core for the first time since 2257.
Beyond the theatrical language, the threat was tangible. The possibility of LRIMs being deployed to Yridia, Tandar or even Orion was frighteningly possible; as early as March of that year, the Tandaran government had considered allowing Kash-Ro’s to be deployed in their territory (something Starfleet Intelligence only learned after the start of the Tandaran Emergency). SI was also aware that the Klingon Military had considered deploying an LRIM battery in orbit of J’Gal and D’Rakar too. If Broadhurst’s “Domino Effect” was to be halted, action needed to be taken – and quickly. “Drawing a line now would mean risking escalation in this moment of crisis,” Wescott wrote in his memoirs. “If it worked, we might avert a greater disaster in five years. We had to gamble with today to save tomorrow.” Operation Hornet – while confirming the presence of nearly 80 LRIMs on the planet – also confirmed that only 30 of them were fuelled and ready for launch. The lack of fuel was the only thing preventing a complete Federation capitulation.
Tensions were just as high outside of the halls of power. On Andoria, a public petition demanded that Broadhurst be brought to trial immediately; another one demanded that Andorian citizens be allowed to abstain from “any military activity in the Acamar system.” Saurian Officials would make a backdoor overture to the government of Asparax for an “external diplomatic arrangement”; the second time since 2256 when Sauria flirted with secession. A peace rally on July 19th by Berkeley and UCSF students would be met by a counter-protest by Starfleet Academy cadets in Golden Gate Park. By mid-afternoon, nearly 30,000 people had gathered in the park, both sides screaming insults at each other while a nervous SFPD watched. Amongst the collection of worried onlookers was the 17-year-old Pavel Chekov. A native Russian, Chekov had successfully applied for early entry to Starfleet Academy. His parents had, with some trepidation, agreed to let him move to San Francisco two months earlier than matriculation. “I wanted to know the place; get the feel of it. If it was to be my home for four years, I wanted to know it as well as I knew St. Petersburg.”[38] From a position overlooking the park (where he was ostensibly picnicking with his girlfriend of the time, the future civil liberties activist Irina Galliulin), he had a front-row seat when the protest went violent. “I didn’t see that famous brick get thrown – if it even was thrown – but I did watch the class of ’62 run down the UCSF students like they were Marines at the Mayweather Pennant.” 82 cadets and students would be hospitalised before the local police and Starfleet shore patrols managed to separate both groups and round up the protestors.[39]
Many justifications for the outlet of violence would be thrown around by the press afterwards, but the fact remained that the whole Federation was on a knife’s edge.[40] The speed of the crisis had outstripped subspace communication: New Bordeaux and Regulus heard the Klingon denouncement of Broadhurst before they even knew about the Basra Incident, while others were more reliant on Imperial state broadcasts than the Federation press itself. Wescott understood, right now, that confusion and misinformation were just as dangerous as military posturing. “We owed it to the public to inform them of our intentions, our plans and our beliefs. Broadhurst had taken it for granted that they were behind him, and that had completely eroded their trust. I wasn’t about to repeat that.” Plans for a federation-wide broadcast had begun very soon after Wescott had assumed power. Hypothetical discussions between Starfleet, the Merchant Marine, the Secretariat of Infrastructure, and various planetary governments to put together a Federation-wide rapid-relay system were hauled out and put into practice.
At its core was Starfleet’s small but powerful fleet of subspace relay ships and packet vessels. Equipped with high-power arrays equal in size to planetary communication systems, they could turn eight hours of transmission delays into 45-minute ones, if positioned correctly within subspace currents. Combined with Merchant Navy warning satellites and the incredible mathematics of the Vulcan Science Academy, Starfleet Engineering managed to get the delay from Earth to Regulus down to 45 seconds. A burst transmission sent on the 18th from Earth was sent to all Federation planetary governments, informing them of the scheduled time and subspace frequency of the transmission. All Wescott had to do now was prepare the speech.
In the meantime, Decker and his force prepared for war. Constellation had linked up with Fitzpatrick and the Maxwell Forrest on the 19th; with C-in-C 2nd Fleet taking command in the sector, Decker was given command of the forward task force. “That was foreboding enough. Then the tenders came alongside, and I realised that this was for real.” Commodore Decker was to act as the blockade tripwire; for the first time since 2257, he had authorisation to fire first if he believed that the Klingons were going to make a break for Acamar. “All this over a bunch of rockets,” he told his wife in a letter he dispatched with the S.S. Piquant. “I’d like to say that I’ll be fine, Jane, but I don’t know anymore. This whole business is slipping out of control hour by hour. Hug the kids for me. Please.”
Our Unswerving Objectives
The Acamar Address – the first presidential broadcast made in near real-time to the Federation population – is seen as the turning point of the whole crisis, and even the whole Cold War. It was the first moment that Wescott appeared to the people as the leader of the Free Galaxy; the first moment that the crisis on Acamar was outlined in detail publicly; and, for many, the moment when it became abundantly clear that the “boy from Boston” was not a sacrificial animal for the Security Council. It was also the first moment where the Federation outlined its ideological intent and diplomat redlines; not just to its population, but to the Klingon Empire. Th’rhahlat and Broadhurst may have laid the groundwork for Wescott’s policy of “enlightened containment” but the 30-minute broadcast on July 20th made it real.
Concerns about technical issues meant that the transmission array went online 40 minutes before the presidential address: meaning that the first visual programme beamed live to over 85% of the Federation’s population was The Frankopan, a soap opera set on a boomer hauler in the 2150s that was best known for its odd sense of comedic timing and a notoriously bizarre incest plotline. [41] While Starfleet Engineering, the Federation Broadcasting Service and Palais technicians frantically made their final checks, Vale, and the communications staffers – most of whom had no major political experience – went over the speech for the 9th, 10th and 11th time. Wescott stepped out of the Archer room three minutes before the start to be sick into a potted plant; his hands were still shaking seconds before he began to speak.
The next 25 minutes, however, were a tour de force. Wescott used all his skills as a teacher, campaigner, and advocate to make his case directly to the Federation people, calling out Klingon's hypocrisy while making it clear why this was the moment to act. While many historians have centred the attacks Qasar, Barreuco and Broadhurst as the clear breakpoint in Wescott’s stance, it is important to remember that his declaration that the Federation would regard “any military attack launched from [Acamarian] space…as an attack by the Klingon Empire on the United Federation of Planets” was the most shocking stance. In a single stroke, the collective security of the UFP was being applied to the neutral worlds indisputably. Since 2258, the Klingon Empire had invaded, absorbed and annexed nearly three dozen independent worlds along their borders, and pressured dozens of other nations into unequal trade agreements and military deployments. This declaration – combined with his appeal to the “Free people of Acamar” – made it abundantly clear that Wescott was thinking beyond this crisis, towards a policy of arresting and reversing Klingon expansion in the region. The fact that the catalogue of Klingon lies over Acamar preceded these declarations only hammered home the point: The Federation will no longer tolerate the Klingon Empire working outside of its’ diplomatic rules of conduct.
The Klingon people heard this message just as loudly as their Federation counterparts, at least in the border region. Starfleet Engineering and SI’s SIGNIT department had beamed the broadcast towards Klingon space, expecting very little. Instead, Wescott’s speech – “the voice of the earther” – was heard by an estimated 4.2 billion Klingon subjects; a tiny proportion of the Empire’s total population, but still significant considered that for most this was the first time they had ever seen a Federation President on screen; even though it wasn’t seen in Kinza D’elma and K’Vort until late September due to communication lag, it was still seen there. Watching the broadcast was proscribed on Qo’onS but it was still broadcast in many bars, private clubs and residences across the planet. Kor, Son of Rynar – awaiting the arrival of his first ship, the IKS Kodal’vIk on Ty’Gokor, would watch the address in a crowded officers’ mess. During the vicious debate afterwards, he would be introduced to Koloth, son of Lasshar. Koloth – the upwardly mobile second son of a Kodalin Business dynasty – was quietly impressed with Wescott; even if the earthers were “fighting their war with words”, they seemed to have made their point: They were not going to let Qo’noS keep walking all over them in their own backyard.
In many senses, the public announcement of the blockade – legally termed a ‘quarantine’ to avoid violating the STAR act - was no more than a diplomatic footnote to the Klingon government. Imperial Intelligence decrypts had all but confirmed the sealing of the Acamar system and the deployment of Capital Ships into the sector, as well as the disposition and readiness of the Marine Expeditionary Force earmarked for Introspection. The public statement, however, caught the Klingons out. In their minds, the Federation had abandoned the strategic (and moral) high ground by openly laying out their intentions, goals, and desired outcomes. It could easily be considered an insult; a blasé assumption that your opponent wasn’t smart enough to figure out why or what you were fighting for. Worse, Ken Wescott – who Zym described as a “hinterland schoolyard master barely over the cusp of adulthood” – had made a direct appeal to the conscience of L’Rell, calling for her personally to come to terms peacefully. This meant one of two things to most Klingons; firstly, that the Federation respected the Empire and its leadership so much they thought that both parties were above even the glory of combat; or that they thought L’Rell was some form of cowardly stooge who could be intimidated back to the negotiation table. Most Klingons fell into the latter camp; the former required them to believe the Federation was just as honourable as the Empire. The Empire was not about to change course on the word of a human whelp. The die had been cast.
The first two days of the blockade were quiet; Kesh’s main force, tailed from a distance by USS Horsa and three warp shuttles launched from the Maxwell Forest, maintained its distance from the blockade line. On the other side, the Acamarian Defence Forces were equally compliant; the fact that legitimate trade was continuing through the line (after Starfleet scanning) seemed to allay their concerns. The fracturing of the BGU central command was also a significant distraction; disagreements over the spoils of victory alongside the growing moment of Brill’Tek’s offensive (now dubbed the Valley March) was driving the Gatherers into clan line factions. Kesh had originally intended to try and skirt towards the coreward end of the blockade, further away from where Fitzpatrick was concentrating, but he struggled to break contact completely with Starfleet; heavy ion storms near Carraya and 33 Sextantis made moving dangerously unstable pergium impossible, while also shielding the movement of Starfleet forces operating out of Starbase 20.[42] So long as a Starfleet vessel was in spotting range of the Central Assault Group, it was impossible for any escorts could break away to cover the transports. It did not help that the Klingon freighters – mostly Hasparth ‘fast’ transports – were still slower than most of the Starfleet cruisers, with an extremely visible warp signature when running at maximum speed.
Despite their disadvantages, there was several extremely close calls in the first week. On the 25th a trio of transports – carrying conventional munitions and supplies – would be caught by a patrol group consisting of the Hong Kong and three Burke class escort frigates; unable to break contact and unwilling to be inspected, they withdrew under the disruptors of the D10-class cruisers Kon’a and Zuza Ras. Another group of slower transports – led by the D5 light cruiser Tarab Victor – would be caught by the Hong Kong the next day. Bolder than the Hasparth captains, the Tarab would attempt to make a run for Acamarian territory, only to blink after the third and final warning shot grazed her.
The Klingons’ lack of resolve baffled Fitzpatrick. “The [Imperial Navy] appears to be operating under equally strict rules of engagement to [Starfleet} despite having a local firepower superiority. Kesh’s Fleet Group seems unwilling to break our resolve through the commitment of his cruisers or battleship line to combat.”[43] Kesh had more ships, and more modern ships in theatre than Fitzpatrick; and even with the local advantage in destroyers and escorts keeping the exclusion zone intact, they could not survive a heated battle with the Klingons. Rittenhouse’s briefing to Wescott on the 28th was stark. “If the enemy fleet commits it’s strength to a fleet engagement, they will likely force us back beyond the edge of treaty zone.” Again, Commander Starfleet would advocate for a planetary landing on Acamar to pre-empt the Klingons. “I am growing tired of this would-be liberator,” Wescott told Vale that evening. “My worst fear is that the Klingons will call our bluff and vindicate the bastard. And yet, as the last days of July slipped away, Kesh did not make a move. The light scouts of the 2nd FG continued to test the blockade; three Hasparths carrying Kash-Ro’s made it as far as Adelphous before Decker turned them around. But the Battleships remained at the staging point near Bonus Run.
The High Council seethed at Kesh’s inaction; “what is that peasant doing?” demanded Councillor Koraf of Duras, alluding to the General’s provincial origins. “He has the best warships the empire has built, led by the fiercest captains we have? Has he no fire in his body? Or has the chancellor doused it with words and promises?” Zym always blamed Kesh for not pressing home his advantage while he could, even alluding that the General was acting on sealed orders from Sturka and the Admiralty as part of a plot to undermine L’Rell. Despite this view, and the accusations of revisionist Klingon historians, Kesh was no coward, and he was not part of any anti-L’Rell cabal. His sealed orders from Imperial High Command – issued on the 15-16th July – authorised him to
“Engage with Federation forces where necessary to achieve space superiority in the Acamar region, so long as it does not jeopardise the deployment of the special bombardment groups to the planet Acamar III.”
Kesh was willing to bring what he could to bear on Starfleet; his scouts had exchanged fire several times with the blockade group, but he was hamstrung on multiple fronts. Despite having concentrated the most powerful Imperial Klingon fleet since the battle of Avastam, it increasingly felt to Kesh like a “plastic targ”.[44] His Strike force was operating at the end of a long supply line, reliant on a collection of powerful by fuel hungry capital ships for firepower. Unlike the Starfleet ships, the Klingon liner cruisers and battleships needed regular and constant refuelling. The specific intermixes needed to run the high yield reactors aboard the B1 and D9 could not be run using the low purity antimatter most Klingon warships ran on. Special tenders – direct from Praxis – were meant to follow the fleet to keep them going. Unfortunately, the contracted yard was behind on its’ delivery schedule; largely because the yards’ owners (house Morak) were siphoning off state funds. Instead of the four antimatter tenders he was meant to have, Kesh had just one two; one of which had struck a dangerous leak on the 24th of July.
Kesh’s ships had the fuel for battle – but just for that. He understood well that any confrontation with Starfleet that involved the two battle lines meeting would almost certainly lead to a general war; and if that happened, he would be fighting it with a fleet of fuel-starved ships that would become extremely vulnerable to Fitzpatricks’ escorts. Kesh had no intention of winning that battle if it meant he would be the man who lost the Empire the war. Getting the Kash-Ro’s fuel through to Acamar, however, would upset that balance; once active and armed, they would force Starfleet to withdraw from the sector. If there would be a war afterwards, then Kesh’s battleships would do it from a secure base on Acamar. It was an operational risk; but one that protected Kesh largely from the consequences of a drastic failure. He would not be the man who lost the Empires’ battleships to a ‘clerical error’.
An opportunity came on the 27th. Three Orion heavy blockade runners carrying heavy weapons for the BGU made a run into the exclusions zone at high speed, forcing Fitzpatrick to detach Decker with USS Constellation and Hector to intercept. This – combined with further harassment by Klingon light groups – left an opening in the patrol lines near LTT 2341. Kesh saw an opportunity to run the gauntlet and took it. The Pergium was offloaded into a trio of D5 cruiser-tenders, while 20 Mark IV Kash-Ro’s were hurriedly stowed into the cargo holds and shuttlebays of the 2 escorting D7s. Kesh’s Battleline would stand off while the transports made their run; close enough to come to their aid, but still far enough to not force an immediate confrontation. Their escort was no match for the Starfleet group, but if they were fired upon – if they forced Starfleet to fire upon them – Kesh would have the excuse he needed to bring the battleships to bear before they would have to withdraw for refuelling. In a pitched battle, even one B1 would easily overpower both Constellation and Hector; 7 would almost certainly force Decker to withdraw completely into the cover of Task Force Vr’ryill and the Atlas Class force. “In one stroke, Kesh could have forced the blockade back and push the [missiles] through to Acamar”, recalled one biographer of the general. “Fate, however, decided that the General would be remembered for other feats of glory.”[45]
Constellation and Hector detected the convoy group’s warp trail in the early hours of the 30th; traces elements of pergium in the distortion area confirmed that this was, as Decker put it, “the big one”. Now behind the Klingons, the two cruisers raced to catch up; Hector managed to peak at WF 9.53 to Constellation’s 8.76. The Pioneer class light cruisers Mombasa and Belfast – would pick up the transport convoy on their main sensors at 1145 hours, over 8 hours after Decker had begun the chase. At around 15:50, the two chasing ships began to overhaul the Klingons, who (still largely blind to the Starfleet ships) were proceeded at a comparatively sedate WF 5. Instead of overhauling them then, Decker decided to “force the whole thing into the open”. SIGNIT intercepts by the Marco Polo had been passed to Decker on the 29th; both he and the Hector’s Captain, the Pandrilite war hero Tenitra were aware that Kesh and the Battleships were lurking over the proverbial horizon. Decker planned to do more than turn the ships away; he was going to hold them – and their cargo – hostage.
The trap was pounced at position 31.71.4; approximated 0.5 AU’s from the demarcation of the exclusion zone. As the Klingons reached the demarcation line, Belfast moved in, ordering the group to heave to and prepare for inspection. The D7s – hamstrung by the slow speed of the converted D5 tankers – were unable to break formation to take up attack positions; the group commander, however, decided it was worth attempting to smash through the two light cruisers. Despite being overmatched, the two cruisers fought valiantly, inflicting serious damage on the D7s despite casualties of their side; Mombasa took direct hits on her Fire control suite and deflector. It was not in vain, however; 35 minutes after Belfast issued its’ challenge, Constellation and Hector dropped out of warp on top of the Klingons. Decker had them exactly where he wanted.[46]
The two heavy cruisers’ arrival forced the Klingons back to defend the D5s; with battle slowing to a lull, both sides stopped around 800,000 km from each other; just beyond the Phaser Range of Constellation. At that moment, Decker broke subspace radio silence to inform Fitzpatrick of his position; it was also an invitation for Kesh to make the next move.
“Vessels BELFAST and MOMBASSA have engaged Klingon forces on blockade line at position 31.74.1. Casualties have been sustained by all ships are still operational. HECTOR and CONSTELLATION on station. Intention is to board and inspect transports and impound their cargo if they do not withdraw.”
Decker knew that Kesh would hear this transmission before Fitzpatrick; signalling the Maxwell Forrest on the 050 Interstellar watchkeeping frequency made it certain that he would pick it up in the clear.[47] Decker had the prize – at least part of it – under his guns and knew that only that might force the Klingon commander to open a dialogue; or, at the very least, force him to prematurely commit his battle line.
Kesh did not take long to respond. At 0151 on the 31st of July, Constellation was hailed by the IKS Forcas, the Klingon Flagship. Decker – hauled out of bed by his XO, with a tunic hastily pulled over his pyjamas – came face to face with General Kesh for the first time. “He’s not a bad guy, at least by Klingon standards. He didn’t shout, or bluster. He seemed less arrogant than frustrated.”[48] Kesh informed Decker that if he did not withdraw immediately, then he would be fired upon by the Imperial Warships that were en route to their position. “If that happens,” Decker told him, “then I will have no choice but to destroy the transports here before they can be allowed to proceed into the exclusion zone, and fight you until my reinforcements arrive.”
Kesh did not want this battle to happen with his precious cargo in the centre of it. It is unclear as to whether he wanted this battle at all. But there was no way now – now that blood had been shed – that Kesh could allow Decker to board the ships. There was a way out, however. Decker suggested that he might allow the Klingons to withdraw if, and only if, they dumped the pergium from the transports. In exchange, Decker would halt Task Force Vr’ryill. “The war can wait for another day, and other men, General.”[49] Kesh offered no reply beyond a reasonably typical grunt, leaving Decker wondering if he was about to the first casualty of the next Klingon war.
Six minutes later, all three Klingon transports vented their cargo pods; several million cubic litres of liquid pergium were purged into space in roughly 3 minutes. A minute after that, the Starfleet ships withdrew to the edge of the exclusion zone; the Klingons departed in the direction of KH 2067 a few minutes afterwards. The “Battle” of position 31.71.4 was over.
Officially, the dispersal was blamed on poor cargo handling and the brief engagement with Mombasa and Belfast. Kesh would never admit that he’d taken Deckers third option; only that his orders had been to “protect the integrity of the special bombardment force”. The after-action report from the Forcas also alludes (in very unclear flowery language) to the possibility that the Klingon battle line was essentially out of fuel by the time Decker contacted them. Had Kesh blinked? Possibly. Many within the Imperial Navy wondered if he had lost his bottle and talk of replacing him with a more decisive commander like Korok – the victor of Caleb IV – was rife in the Admiralty for the rest of the crisis. On Qo’noS, however, Kesh’s decision was applauded as a “masterful strategy” by L’Rell and her supporters. Not only had he forced Starfleet’s Battleships into the open, but his Cruisers had also fought her Starfleet’s’ ones to a standstill and scared the earth battle line off without a shot being fired, Cracks were beginning to show, however. Kesh’s dispatch to the Admiralty, while optimistic, ended with a warning that “enemy strength in the region continues to increase, while our ability to gather direct intelligence information or whereabouts is hampered by the masking of enemy pickets.” The Admiralty seemed to share his concerns about Fitzpatrick’s strength and fuel issues; The stockpile of U’Alc antimatter (equivalent to Federation 18-3-gauge Antimatter) was only at 41% of the desire wartime stockpile, drained by the need to keep the Navy going through the Federation Embargo; and most of that stock was in storage in the Kling’Zhai system. Moving it to the front would take time. Even then, it would not sustain the Klingon fleet for a long period of time.
The fortuitous move was to conserve existing stocks; Kesh was not going to wait for orders to act logically. The B1s and B2s were withdrawn to the Anchorage at Mraada, 25 light years from the blockade. For a moment, the sword of Damocles over 2nd Fleet was lifted away - for long as it took to refuel and re-arm 5 Klingon battleships. Certainly, that was the conclusion Fitzpatrick and Starfleet Command took. 28 hours behind, Wescott, the cabinet and the Starfleet Chiefs followed with trepidation as Decker closed his trap. “There is something deeply unnerving about watching a feed of events that are over a day old,” wrote A.R. Vale. “Thousands could have been dead for hours, and this would be the first we knew.” Thankfully, Vale was wrong, and the Cabinet let out an audible sigh of relief when Kesh’s Battleships turned for home.
It was apparent that the assault group – even if neutered by supply issues – was still a lingering threat. Rittenhouse were keen to point out that briefly, however, Starfleet had the advantage. “We can put the pressure on now in any god-damn way we want to,” he told the President. “And I think we ought to keep it that way.” Again, Rittenhouse relitigated Operation Instrospection; this time, however, Wescott wasn’t having it.
AR Vale describes the moment COMSTAR reached the end of the line.
“[The President], who was already giving Rittenhouse his signature glare, cut into the third explanation of the contested landing with a simple. ‘Not a chance, Admiral.” The cabinet room turned to face Wescott. A pin dropping on the champs-elysée could be heard in that moment. Rittenhouse paused, then kept going pushing. Like an idiot. “The advantage in securing the return of the legitimate government of Acamar – our friends in Acamar – on our timetable – cannot be ignored.”
“There are no friends of mine, Admiral. Certainly, they’re no friends of democracy.” Wescott did not raise his voice at this point. “I will not inflict further violence on the people of Acamar for a short-term advantage in a war that I do not intend to fight.”
The Admiral kept going. “We won’t have a choice; and I think all of us-“Rittenhouse gestures to Moduna and Nogura, who are both pointedly looking out of the window- “are agreed that we cannot make another mistake on Acamar.”
Wescott raised an eyebrow – never a good sign. “And a ground invasion with no overall goal is not a mistake, Admiral?”
“With the greatest respect, sir, I’ve been handling this situation for longer than you have – for longer than you’ve been in the council. Now Mister Wescott -Ken-“
“You call me Mister President, Admiral,” Wescott snapped. He did not shout; but he might as well have screamed it. The room sat in stunned silence for what felt like five minutes but could have been no more than ten seconds. And then we moved on to discuss Cajitar.”[50]
After the meeting, Wescott turned to Vale and asked, “what do I have to do to get rid of that tinpot?” “You’re the president, Ken. Very little,” replied the Chief of Staff. Sacking Rittenhouse – like invading Acamar – would have to wait.
In the meantime, however, the diplomatic offensive entered its’ critical stage. HW Rogers – still the closest thing the Federation had to a direct ambassador to Qo’noS – had been working day and night on Orion to try and deliver a peaceful resolution. Kuvec’s position, however, was immovable; the Klingon government would not accept any withdrawal from Acamar under any circumstances; the imposition of a blockade made that position even firmer, at first. The Empire had found other ways to put the pressure on as well; 7th Fleet Group had entered the Cajitar Concession in force after the 11th of July, pre-empting Klingon Commands’ efforts to reinforce the far-flung region and forcing Task Force Tallonus to evacuate the sector diplomatic staff from Dorala. Klingon forces operating out of Keto-Enol were also now sitting withing striking distance of SB18, threatening the Hromi sector with the possibility of a first strike. Three D7’s on a reconnaissance patrol penetrated as far as Amaterasu on the 2nd of August; a small prelude to the mass infiltration that would herald the Four Days’ War.
Despite this, the Empires’ leadership remained hesitant. The Navy and Army – neither of whom had been particularly keen on the Acamar project before the Great Houses got entangled in it – were apprehensive about their ability to win a war at this point. What optimism had existed a mere 20 days before had evaporated in front of Starfleets’ resolve, and growing supply issues. The new Klingon Navy was light-years more organised than the house fleets of T’Kuvma’s War; but it was largely untested. Its’ senior ranks still contained many of the sinecure commanders and “YuH’CaV” (desk-filler) officers who earned their rank through political loyalty, not military merit. Neither L’Rell not the High Command trusted them to deliver the strategic thinking a total interspace war would require. There were also significant reservations about the logistics. Only eight of the forty-five “strategic forward locations” the Imperial Navy had selected in Planning Directive A16-Q had been seized or developed, leaving the fleet drastically short of forward supply bases. The army was also still bogged down in colonial policing operations on Efros, Valt and J’Gal which tied down most of the Army and Auxiliary units earmarked for landing on frontier colonies.[51] The deployment of forces in the Cajitar Concession – while largely a success – had consumed fuel reserves at nearly twice the estimated rate; revised estimates for a general mobilisation were grim reading.
Sturka, despite generally being in favour of “keep Acamar out of the Earthers’ grubbed hands”, would warn L’Rell that the military could not sustain an offensive for longer than 85 Klingon days before supply issues started to bite. He urged the use of “discourse-based weaponry” as a way to counterbalance this shortcoming; drawing out concessions from the Federation to counterbalance operational shortfalls. “If the earthers can be made to abandon Cajitar, Mardikian, Ajilon and other vital locations…the Imperial Navys’ chances of achieving a Yi’Kah’Va (rolling decisive battle) increase exponentially.[52] The Imperial bureaucracy, still suspicious of the military, deigned to concur; even extracting some form of trade concession might, in Zym’s words, “allow us to refill our strategic coffers for the inevitable struggle.” With this in mind, the aristocracy baying for blood seems absurd; but it is worth remembering that the war they wanted was not one of “rolling decisive battles”, but of honor-based rivalries and competition for glory.
Many of the houses needed the money from a good war to stay afloat as much as they needed the prestige. Five years of L’Rell had made feudal service both economically and socially unappealing; better prospects for promotion and pay were increasingly found in the ranks of the Imperial forces, civil service and industrial sector. War – proper war would bring privateering, prize courts and the chance to plunder a few Federation colonies. “A war in the old style”, Kar of Durak would say to the council on the 22nd of July, “will lift us all up like ships’ on a rising tide.” At this point, aristocratic codes of honor demanded a war. And yet, L’Rell refused to give them one. The house retinue fleets skulked on the edge of Klingon space; a few ventured into Federation space, but without official recognition, their glories (and prizes) remained unrecognised. Despite the call of battle, L’Rell remained hesitant. There was too much at stake. The economy was too fragile; the civil service too weak; the army and navy still beholden to aristocratic whim. “The revolution was not complete,” Zym explained. “And a war now would betray it.” The diplomatic ‘dagger’ would have to be wielded instead.
For most of the diplomatic sparring, Rogers had been the one forced to open the discussions, “laying [themselves] bare for the other to inspect like a carrion-eater.” But this time, Kuvec came to talk. Arriving at the Federation mission late on the 6th of August, the Klingon minister carried in hand a missive directly from the Chancellor herself. L’Rell would “consider the removal of the Imperial forces on Acamar” if the Federation could concede “equal threats to Imperial security”; namely, the withdrawal of Federation forces from Cajitar, the Prospero systems and Mardikian, as well as a guarantee that “the United Federation of Planets would never invade Acamar III or use military force within the Acamar system.” It was a big ask; especially abandoning Prospero, the last remaining success from the short and controversial diplomatic career of Dak’Rah, son of Ra’ul. Rogers told Kuvec that he would need time to consult his government – 50 hours minimum, considering transmission time. Kuvec replied that, if he did not have an answer within 46 hours, his government would break off all diplomatic relations.
A rapid burst transmission to Paris relayed this ultimatum; even that took 4 hours to reach Earth. Wescott – who was barely sleeping at this point – knew nothing of Rogers, their relationship with Kuvec, or the importance of this diplomatic link. He turned to William Fox – elder statesman and head of the diplomatic corps for advice. Fox did not like Rogers; he had exiled the junior diplomat to Orion over a policy dispute. Once the Orion embassy had transformed itself into a vital backchannel to Qo’noS, he had repeated advocated for Rogers’ replacement by a more “capable official” (usually one of his four younger siblings), only to be vetoed by Starfleet Intelligence due to their links to the Botchtok Whigs. Fox’s position softened over time, but he remained scornful; “[Rogers] is a file clerk who has to power to start or end a general war in an afternoon.” So, when Wescott asked Fox what Rogers should be allowed to concede, everyone was surprised by his answer; “let them act as their see fit.”[53]
HW Rogers received the go-ahead to negotiate at 9:30pm on the 9th of August; forty-five earth minutes after Kesh’s Battleships finished refuelling, and four earth minutes before they broke orbit of Mraada. According to his memoir, Rogers’ read the dispatch, finished his late meal, drank two cups of coffee while preparing his notes, and the walked to the Klingon embassy “with the confidence of a person who is ready to face the higher power of their choosing.”[54]
Kuvec’s deadline had 11 hours and fifteen minutes remaining when Rogers entered his study. The final agreement: argued, counter-argued, re-litigated and re-drawn, was agreed fourteen minutes before time ran out; but it was agreed upon. The Klingon Empire agreed to the withdrawal of all the LRIMs, as well as all military facilities, supplies and personnel from the Acamar system. In exchange, the Federation would agree to “never impinge upon the sovereignty of any government of Acamar at any point.” The blockade of Acamar would end “forty hours after the last Klingon soldier leaves Acamarian soil.” This triumph had not been easily won. The crucial concessions by the Federation were over Cajitar and the Resource Denial Act. The Cajitar Concession had been a thorn in Starfleet’s side since the end of the war; too far out from the core to patrol effectively, but still ostensibly under Starfleet protection; even if the complicated power-sharing treaty had worked, the Federation was losing ground in the semi lawless region anyway. No withdrawal there would be made as part of an open agreement, however; 7th Fleet would instead simply not replace Task Force Tallonus after its tour of duty ended in February 2263. This detail – as well as the removal of the listening posts on Doctari Alpha and Ajilon – would remain secret.
Ending the trade was the real concession from Rogers, however. The UFP would agree to a “moratorium on Klingon trade” for 400 days, or until a new trade treaty was signed by the two powers. In exchange, the Klingon government would agree to curtail the activity of “Klingon-based pirate action” and protect non-aligned trade in the region. In Rogers’ eyes, it was a reasonable quid-pro-quo, and the first step towards a dialogue. For Kuvec, it was a skilful tactical move by the Federation; but one that left them extremely vulnerable if the Klingons did not uphold their end of the bargain fully. Honour demanded they follow any diplomatic agreement; but not that they interpret it generously.
The deal – agreed by both diplomats with full authority; was received with tepid support by both governments. Wescott was apprehensive about the signal that abandoning Cajitar and ending the trade war gave, but – like most of his cabinet, and the Federation – anything that avoided another total war was worth trying. “As the old saying goes”, wrote Vale, “’to Jaw-Jaw is better than to War-War.’” The agreement – as well as the announcement of the end of the Acamar blockade – was met with general relief within the Federation core – so long as the Klingons upheld their end of the bargain.
The treaty was not as popular in the Empire. Certainly, the Admiralty and Military High Command saw it as a victory; the vital dilithium fields of the Cajitar Concession had been ceded without a shot being fired; Acamar had been rendered neutral ground; and Starfleet’s eyes in the Archanis Sector had been ‘plucked out’. Everyone else, however, was much more negative. The aristocracy fumed, incensed that they had retroactively endorsed an agreement that ‘sold our honour to protect the wallets of the merchants’. The Duras, Durak and Kozak were particularly aggrieved; not only was a forced withdrawal from Acamar an attack on their honour, but it also represented a particularly aggrieved attack on their bank accounts. Significant investments had been made in the future of Acamar under the gatherers, and now they were expected to remove it all, at cost. The rank and file of the Imperial Armed Forces was displeased too; they, unlike their superiors, felt ready to take on the earthers “in every system they hide in”, as Kor said. They found equal cause with the aristocracy in blaming L’Rell for the “savage stain on Klingon honour.”
It was the people’s anger, however, that mattered most. It was difficult to explain to the Imperial populace – especially the politically charge citizens of Qo’noS and the first city – that the Empire might have gained more than it lost. They had forced the Federation to the diplomatic table; dictated the key terms; gotten what it wanted without blood being shed. But there had been no glory to it; no honour; none of the key tenets of Klingon idealism that the L’Rell system had pumped out of every piece of state media available. There had been no tangible victory beyond that of the diplomat, and that was the lowest of all victories. There was no victory parade; not presentation of prize money and captured treasures to the Imperial Palace. Sure, the value of the darsek rallied, but so what? The Federation had forced the Klingons to work their way, and not the Klingon way. Faith in ‘mother’, shaken by the economic crisis, waned rapidly, aided by an uncharacteristically dry summer and delays to the Klothos grain deliveries. The First City simmered with discontent; agent provocateurs mixed with disgruntled junior officers to mutter treason under their breath, while the MIS – standing on every street corner – let them walk by.
Did L’Rell know the writing was on the wall? It is difficult to say. She certainly recognised the threat from the aristocracy; Internal security reports on Great House rallies increased, as did surveillance of off-planet political meetings. But she clearly did not know that the Generals and Admirals were meeting too, and plotting just as hard as the Lords and Governors were. They might have no qualms about what the Kuvec-Rogers deal represented, but they could tell which way the wind was blowing. There was a reason that, when Kesh finally removed all the Kash-Ro’s from Acamar’s surface on August 20th, he did not proceed directly to Qo’noS to return the missiles to their stores. The machinations of plotters had begun; and now appeal to legitimacy could stop them now. L’Rell, however, had weathered worse. She had survived being marooned in the wrecks of the Binary Stars; she had survived the machinations of the old aristocratic guard; she had navigated the Empire from post-war stagnation into a period of economic growth and martial prowess and weathered the worst civil rising of the modern era. She could survive this.
The mood within the Federation was similar, not quite the opposite, but still different enough. There had been jubilation over the deal, even if most of it remained secret. Matt Decker returned to earth as a hero. His promotion to Commodore confirmed, he would be awarded with the Star Cross for his actions at 31.71.4 by President Wescott. “You stopped a war, Commodore, how do you feel?” Wescott asked. “I don’t know, sir,” Decker replied. “Ask me after the election.”[55]
Deckers’ thoughts echoed almost everyone’s in the UFP. Wescott had rocketed his way to hero status for his handling of crisis; but many wondered if the “substitute secretariat” would survive the strains of real government. Nevertheless, Wescott did not hesitate to announce his intention to run in the election. Despite his popularity boost over the crisis, it was not a foregone conclusion. Wescott’s cabinet was an ambitious set, committed to their reformist programme when it seemed unlikely that the Federation Council – or the voter – would support it. The other candidates – the ‘continuity archerite’ Pagros Sh’belulos and the OSF-P nominee Jla’Chae of Tiburon - had strong, existing political machines in the Federation. And yet, the Charterites persisted; galvanised by the rise of Wescott to the top, his youth was turned from a liability to an asset. The substitute teacher become the “man of the moment”: the “New Leadership for the 60s” campaign across the core worlds pitted Wescott and the Charterites against the older, tired establishment: Sh’Belulos the hawk and Jla’Chae the conservative struggled to compete with the promise of post-monetary reorganization and concrete constitutional reform.[56] The other two candidates were also hampered by their positions on Broadhurst; both entangling themselves with the Federation Councils’ decision to not impeach him while Wescott backed the Supreme Court’s charge of “constitutional negligence”.
The polling period would vindicate the Charterite gamble. Wescott proved surprisingly popular in the core; very popular. Even the traditionally conservative voters of Mars and Andor voted in high numbers for him on polling day. The outer core colonies – those still linked to the core, but underrepresented by the current settlement, would upset many predictions by abandoning the OSF-P for the Charterites promise of tangible change. Along the frontier, however, the attitude was different. Broadhurst’s resignation, the Acamar Address and the Blockade had all come and gone before they even found out about the Basra Affair. Many colonies far away from the trade lanes had no idea what was going on until a tramp freighter or Starfleet courier dropped off the news. Tellarite trader Qiv Grathak would come face to face with this communications delay in mid-September during a run towards Cajitar.
“When I offloaded at Forcas beta, I put my head into the customs house for a bit while the cargo drones worked. I turned to the boss – a miserable-looking human called Vanos – and asked him what he thought of his new president, Mister Wescott. He looked at me blankly, and then said, ‘Who the fuck is Wescott?’.”[57]
Wescott might have been a reformer – even the reformer – but on the colonial fringe, he was a violent reminder that they had no control over their political destiny at a time when Earth was flexing its legislative muscles to an unprecedented level. Most of the Federation-born population of the Cajitar concession would find out about the Acamar Crisis when the Imperial Navy deported them; emphasising the resolution that Wescott was just another core world politician who was here to sell them all out. The fragile peace in the Altair system would not survive the winter; the diplomatic corps would cite, amongst many factors, “a loss of trust in the central institutions of the Federation, and in the integrity of our systems of representation and redress.”[58] Wescott would have no honeymoon period before he had to tackle the myriad of crises facing the Federation. Despite significant Charterite wins at the local level in co-current planetary elections, the ministry struggled to pass its’ initial confidence vote. The wafer-thin council majority – propped up by the OSF-P, the Vulcan Caucus, and the left flank of the now collapsed Tellarite Caucus – did not look steady enough to weather the storm of constitutional reform, economic instability and the lingering threat of total collapse from the outside in – or the inside out. “This is going to be a very, very long four years,” Galactic High Commissioner A.D. Phoenix remarked to Vale at the inauguration ball on the 29th of September, while Wescott and his wife danced to Sufjan Stevens. “I’m sure we’ll find a way to make them feel as long as 2262 has felt,” he replied. “If we don’t, the Klingons will.” It was a rueful statement; roughly 13 hours later, L’Rell would be deposed as Chancellor of the Klingon Empire, disappearing from Qo’noS – and history – forever. What would come after would make many regret their decision in time.
There were changes at the top in Starfleet too. Secure, and with a popular mandate, Wescott finally flexed his executive muscles. Rittenhouse – whos’ aggressive plans had provoked the Klingons over Acamar and nearly turned the blockade into open warfare – would get the sack on October 2nd. He would be replaced by none other than “the returning hero”; Ch’Shukar, who graciously accepted his appointment by Wescott on October 1st. He - along with Nogura, who had replaced the disgraced Moduna as Chief of Starfleet Intelligence – would inform the infuriated Rittenhouse of his removal personally. Shukar – unable to hide his pleasure – would soften the blow by telling Rittenhouse that he was to be made Chief of Starfleet Tactical and tasked with preparing Starfleet for “a more regular and organised military posture.” It was technically a promotion; but it was also a clear slight on Rittenhouse from his civilian masters. “They want me out because they know I was right about Acamar”, he told an unsympathetic Nogura. “We could have had that planet, but that son-of-a-bitch teacher was too chicken to send in my boys.”
Rittenhouse would never trust a politician again; in fact, his disgust for civilian officials would only grow exponentially from here, setting directly on course for Operation Caesar. In the meantime, other shake-ups at Starfleet Command demonstrated the “sea change” that Acamar represented. Bob Comsol of Kzinti Command was moved to Operations; Chrisjen Paris was confirmed as C-in-C of Klingon Command, much to Nogura’s relief. With Lutheth finally resigining, Mehkan was accepted as overall Commander in Chief, much to their own horror; former JAG Chief Sydney Javas would replace him as Chief of Staff. Peter Toussaint – who had witnessed most of the crisis from the centre as Nogura’s aide – would move on too. On his former bosses’ recommendation, he was appointed as the Starfleet Liaison to the President. He would be confirmed in the position on December 30th 2262; Commander Toussaint would ring in the new year from the 14th floor balcony of the Palais de Concorde, shivering slightly alongside Vale, Nancy Hedford and Synal of Vulcan. “Here’s to less world-ending 2263”, Hedford toasted. “Don’t jinx it, Nancy,” replied Vale.
2262 was the watershed year for Federation and Empire. They weather their first galactic crisis as peer level superpowers, threatening a conflict that would have drawn in almost every other power in the quadrant (barring the Romulans). The Federation had gone through three Presidents in seven months; one had been thrown out of office in disgrace, going from leader of the free galaxy to pulp novelist under house arrest in a matter of weeks. The Klingon Empire’s ambitions for relentless, subversive expansion in the alpha quadrant had been arrested; L’Rell had chosen an honourable deal over a brutal war, signing the death warrant of her political programme. Only the Armed forces and nobility had gained from her saving the peace.
And what of Acamar? The BGU’s apex of control over the planet could not survive the Klingon withdrawal, even with Starfleet’s hands off policy, the Gatherers’ haemorrhaged supporters and territory for the rest of the year. The troublesome exile government would return on a wave of popular support; the war would not end, however. The BGU, while forced out of power, still had armies in the field and supporters in the hills. Even with the Federation and Empire standing back (officially) the violence would continue, with no apparent end in sight. “It appears,” wrote Kate Bugos depressingly, “that we have gotten into the habit of starting things we don’t know how to finish. At least Broadhurst had a plan where the killing ended at some point.” In early 2263, under pressure from a new Klingon government, the Federation would agree to send phaser rifles to Acamar, so long as Qo’noS did not object. The Klingon government – distracted by a myriad of other issues – assented. They no longer had any interest in the planet anyway. Such is the fickleness of astropolitics.
The Acamar crisis did a lot more than lock the Empire and Federation into a test of wills in the beta quadrant. The fallout of Broadhurst’s perjury and constitutional violations was well handled: mistakes, errors and violations of Constitutional Law and precedent were rightly dealt with. The President – and the cabinet that had allowed him to circumvent the council – were thrown out of office, replaced by those in better control of their wills and ambitions. But those leaders – confronted with a different crisis than the ones their predecessors had bungled – solved it with the same realpolitik as those they had ousted. Wescott might not have sent the Phasers to Acamar: but he did sell out the Cajitar Concession, and Prospero, and re-open the galaxy to Klingon arms dealers. And the Acamarian Sovereignty did, in the end, get what they had asked for from Broadhurst; returned to legitimacy, with tacit Federation backing.
There is nothing technically wrong with this. The reasons Broadhurst was ousted have very little to do with the weapons. However, that is not the lesson that was taken away from 2262. To observers within the Federation – whether they were aggressive Starfleet Officers like Rittenhouse, isolationists like Sh’Belulos and Garv or the coalescing rebels on Altair – the lesson was that Broadhurst had gotten what he wanted. The saga ended with Acamar’s Sovereign council back in power and the streets lined with government troops carrying phaser rifles while they hunted in the hills for BGU insurgents: a situation that very much looked like the belligerent democratic ideal Broadhurst idealised. The fact was that to many on all sides of the argument, Broadhurst had gotten away with it, and easily. He might not be in office, but he wasn’t in prison; some members of his cabinet were even still in government. Even as the “Broadhurst” Doctrine evolved into the “Wescott” doctrine via Kobax, Altair, Rimbor and Mastocal, political society continued to view Broadhurst as some sort of misguided sage. To those who agreed with him, his removal from office for the empty suit that was Ken Wescott was a critical sign that the civilian democratic organs of the UFP were increasingly unfit for the galaxy they lived in.
Broadhurst got away with unconstitutional orders: what was to stop the Kobaxite Reactionaries from using their armed forces to overthrow an election? was to stop the Altair rebels from going around the council through force of arms? What was to stop the Tellarite Government from simply going around any colonial reform? All one had to do was ensure that, eventually, one got away with it through retroactive legitimisation. There is an uncomfortable direct path from Broadhurst’s resignation, through the Coridan affair and the Rittenhouse Coup, all the way to the Khitomer Conspiracy. The logic of Cartwright and West – who thought that their illegal actions would be legitimised by immediate history – is an undeniable extrapolation of exactly what occurred in Summer and Autumn 2262.
But it also produced a great deal of hope and aspiration. The meteoric rise of Wescott – his compassionate address and careful management of the crisis – showed that one could lead without being corrupted by office. Wescott was yet to break the mould in summer 2262, but he made it abundantly clear that he intended to break it at some point. Underestimated at every stage, he had ducked and weaved his way past Klingon disruptor and establishment practice to the highest office in the stars. Now, all he had to do was deliver.
[1] Nogura to Sherwood, quoted in Masego, Three Months in Summer
[2] ST-352-252 Starfleet Tactical Memorandum ST(IM) Interspatial Missile Development (IV) – Klingon Empire SD1522.2 (London – Federation Archives Service)
[3] Unto Zin, Duck and Cover! The short-lived terror of the Long-Range Interspatial Missile, 2260-2275. (London; Pen and Ushaan, 2341)
[4] Moduna, quoted in Toussaint, Starship Captain
[5] SFT-353-014 Starfleet Tactical Memorandum ST(IM) Interspatial Missile Deployments (Acamar), SD 1556.
[6] The problem with hindsight is that we know that this conclusion is incorrect. The range calculations of the LRIM were based on the Pergium carrying capacity, which means that the further the missile travels, the smaller its payload is upon detonation. If an MIV Kash-Ro had been fired at a Starbase or planet at its’ maximum range, the empty casing would likely impact on a hull, with minor damage inflicted by the contact explosives. Rigel was, frankly, never in danger; even SB19 would be a struggle to hit with any significant force.
[7] The Maq’Un was the operational version of the original version of the Kash-Ro; its primary purpose was to act as a mine clearance device and long-range sensor spoof. Later versions of the Maq’Un would carry versions of the I’noq Stasis Field Generator.
[8] LM4-984-Quch, Folio 15, “Field Report to General Kesh”, Imperial State Archives
[9] SFC-101-9015-M Intelligence Briefing-Acamar (Minutes), SD 1559.8.
[10] A “party line call” – sometimes known as a “whipped vote” in older terminology – is when the representatives of a political party all vote according to the bloc’s political intentions together. While this kind of voting was common in planetary and historical legislatures, it was rarely seen in the Federation Council before the 2260s.
[11] SF-JAG-024-0501 Report into the Conduct of Intelligence Efforts, Acamar Sector, p.95
[12] Moduna would remain out of public life until his death in 2295; he was, however, on the list of senior officers who the Rittenhouse plotters planned to use as legitimising figureheads.
[13] This famous quote, while usually attributed to Admiral Nogura, remains apocryphal; it is distinctly possible it was invented by The San Francisco Herald.
[14] Deposition to the Kana Inquiry, SD 1654.1
[15] Toussaint, Starship Captain
[16] Vchin-V’gren Luteth, Letter to the President of the United Federation of Planets, 21st August 2262
[17] The Tilly Inquiry (2247-48) had indicted the C-in-C of Starfleet and several planners for deliberate negligence, based on the fact that various mid-level admirals and staff officers had warned about the possibility of famines and disease outbreaks on the frontier before in 2244, and been ignored.
[18] For the curious, Tri’Lesta’s dinner for that evening was a “traditional non-denominational winter meal” in the form of the Cantonese Diasporic Cuisine apocryphally known as the “Chinese takeaway.” It is also worth remembering that Acamarian metabolisms are far quicker than human ones.
[19] The New York Times would respond to this by printing the offending articles of the Federation Charter on their front page, “in case the President needed reminding.”
[20] Masego, Three Months in Summer & Hansard, FC Deb 12 July 2262 vol.632.
[21] Denos Vr’Ninqushen, The Ice-Climber Cometh: The Unsteady Rise of Pagros Sh’Belulos, (Andor: The Laikan Imprint, 2331)
[22] Nancy Hedford on EBS Terranews, 11th July 2262.
[23] Marianne – who had gone through several forms since her appearance as the symbol of the French Republic in the 19th century – was, by the 2260s, generally presented as an Andorian Chaan wearing Vulcan Robes and a Tellarite Advocate’s cap.
[24] The eight resignations were Yurada (Galactic High Commission), Ixan (Defence), Knott (Travel), Hirashito (Commerce), L’Cabax (FEDAC), Vurik (Board of Trade), Starfleet (Alacark) and Frontier Allocations (Simonovic).
[25] This speed of transmission – eight days from Earth to Qo’noS, via the UFP, Orion and Imperial Relay system – was incredibly fast and incredibly unreliable. The clear uninterrupted transmission was only possible on roughly 100 days out of every solar year; and even then, averaged at closer to twenty-five days than eight. The eight-day transmission in July 2262 was almost certainly achieved because the Imperial Network was being attuned towards the Federation to support General Kesh’s efforts.
[26] In one notorious moment, Broadhurst would reach into his pocket and accidentally produce a condom packet, to which the junior councillor for Deneb would yell “put that away, you've already fucked us enough.”
[27] Sh’Be Vr’Ninqushen, The Ice-Climber Cometh.
[28] AR Vale, In the Heat of Our Night; (Paris; Norton & Mav’bak, 2281)
[29] Kate Bugos, Notes from Le Monde Originale, Vol. I: Paris, (Benecia;Penguin, 2316)
[30] Vale, In the Heat of Our Night
[31] Ra’ SuD directly translates as Case Yellow. One fascinating (and amusing) curiosity of Klingon military nomenclature is the difference in the naming convention; those drawn up by aristocratic officers and planners tend to have names drawn from romantic epics and mythology; those drawn up by the conscripted middling classes stick out due to their origin in Qo’noS neighbourhoods, stadiums or Targ-Pit sites, while those conceived by the military elite are notorious for being unbelievably dry, often simply “Case [colour]” or “Directive [Date]”.
[32] Yéwándé Paton,In Search of the Farthest Star, (New Berlin; Penguin 2282)
[33] Rittenhouse’s use of masculine gendered language was such an antiquated rhetorical quirk that it had to be pointed out to many. On some occasions, he was known to refer to non-binary, xeno-gendered and feminine identifying personnel and officials in the singular masculine as a rhetorical device.
[34] The reclassification of “space control ships” as Battleships and/or Dreadnoughts would happen in summer 2263; though most of the press was referring to these ships as battleships from mid-2261 onwards.
[35] USS Atlas, Ramillies, New Jersey, Federation, Hector and Heracles; Ranger had withdrawn to SB20 after developing reactor imbalance issues. The other two – USS Siegfried and Cheron – were deployed to 4th Fleet, leading Task Force Syvuk.
[36] Nathan Samuels – Prime Minister of Earth during the Romulan War – was criticised by many after his passing for not understanding the Romulan threat before the atomic bombing of Draylax, Coridan and the occupation of Denobula.
[37] The “Golden Shield” was a reference to the Great Klingon Epic of “Mokn’am; the baker-turned-warrior who carrier a shield of hard bread that could blunt the fangs of an adult Grishnar. While some “Klingologists” attribute the use of the metaphor to a “strength through bread” approach from L’Rell, it is far more likely that Kuvec was simply using the first idiom he could remember to annoy Rogers.
[38] Chekov, Pavel, A Russian Invention, (St. Petersburg: Pushkin Interstellar, 2340)
[39] Kevin Riley – who served as a navigator aboard Enterprise alongside Chekov – would be amongst those arrested by the Starfleet Academy Shore Patrol but was released later that evening due to a lack holding evidence.
[40] It is important to bear in mind that, while civil disobedience was more common in the 23rd century than our 24th, the last incident of major injury in a protest had occurred in 2244 during the last peak of the “Return to Earth” movement.
[41] Involving two fathers, three cousins, a daughter who turns out to be someone else’s but that someone else is a Suliban spy, and a dog that can speak Orion.
[42] Most of 2nd Fleet’s blockade group was operating rimward of Acamar; if Kesh had persisted through the ion interference, it is likely that he might have evaded his tails within the storms.
[43] COPOs dispatch 105613-B (COKLICOM to COMSTAR).
[44] A paper tiger.
[45] Ty’koq, The Universal History of the Great Chancellor Kesh, (Qo’noS; 2289).
[46] After Action Report, CO USS Constellation SD 1545.9.
[47] While the Klingons were not signatures to the STAR treaties, by convention they did monitor the 050 frequency to for intelligence and sentientarian purposes.
[48] Matt Decker to Jane Decker, letter date 2nd August 2262, in The Lost Nelson.
[49] Transcript, USS Constellation Flight Recorder, SD 1543.1.
[50] Vale, In the Heat of Our Night
[51]14th (Otar) Shock Army – which was meant to spearhead the invasions of Sauria,Japori and Regulus under the 2260 Victory Plan – had been deployed to Efros and Morska after the failure of the Retinues of the Morak and Duras to supress rebellions there.
[52] Yi’Kah’Va – sometimes translated as “rolling decisive battle” or even Blitzkrieg by the press, formed the core of New Imperial Warfare theory after 2258. The theory abandoned older ideas of sustained raiding and harassment in favour of a focus on the decisive defeat and pushing back of enemy star fleets to facilitate the deployment of planetary forces.
[53] William Fox in Robson, To Prevent Hell
[54] Rogers, Left to the Diplomats.
[55] Gupta, The Lost Nelson
[56] Ch’Rella, The End of Indecision.
[57] Grathak, I don’t like to call it a living
[58] DC-105(N)-521 Report on Altair Negotiations – Diplomatic Office Conclusions, SD 2/1640.1 (London – Federation Archives Service).