“Scans confirm, sir. There are three million Skrreea on this planet,” stated Glinn Dosan
Chelek’toran Cerrein gazed upon the planet shown in the bridge’s viewscreen. The offensive through the heart of the Federation had brought him across the planet which captured star charts dubbed “Draylon II”. After the Bajorans refused to give them amnesty, the Skrreea were tucked away on this planet to build a new home. Escorted by six battlecruisers, Cerrein’s dreadnaught was a frightening presence above the planet’s surface.
Cerrein could not help but think of his failings when he saw this planet. During the Silent Offensive five years earlier, he was part of the strike fleet which attacked the Skrreean homeworld. The T-Rogorans proved to be little opposition to them, but a moment of empathy allowed millions of refugees to flee and proceed towards the anomaly. Cerrein had to answer for his failure, and he did not like the result.
“Sir, why are we pausing here?” asked Suba’toran Ghorral. “Liska’s orders were to regroup with the primary strike elements and proceed towards Rokalla Lota.”
His superior did not answer immediately. He took his time. “A slight breather, Suba’toran. We’ll be back on schedule within the hour.”
The planet swirled with colors of blue and green. It was a lucky thing the Skrreea were given this world; there were very few uninhabited worlds of this magnitude within twenty lightyears of the wormhole.
“Sir, we are receiving a transmission from the surface.”
“Put it through.”
A crackling voice came over the communications array. “This is First Matriarch Haneek of the Skrreea. Please leave our system at once. We have nothing to offer you…”
Cerrein cut off the message from his console. “Tenth Zarax’Revak, what is the concentration of their settlement?”
The Jem’Hadar, barely a year old, looked up from his scope. “They are concentrated within a small peninsula on the northwest continent. No major cities. If they did not have space travel, I’d say they were in a Level 5 civilization.”
“Glinn Dosan, any starships? Any way they can escape?”
The strapping young Cardassian studied his monitor. “It seems all ships on the surface have been disassembled and are being used as township structures.”
Cerrein smiled. “Like bombing an asteroid.” He walked over to the portside crewpit, which housed the primary weapons and defense systems controls. “Have all ventral and portside batteries reposition themselves to target the Skrreean settlements. Bombardment Formation Delta 6-2. Set the charges for maximum yield.”
Some of the Vorta overseers fell silent upon hearing the order.
“Do it!” shouted Cerrein. They immediately began to input commands. Doko’toran Nalla watched her monitor as the weapons emplacements began moving to their positions.
“Emplacements are in position, sir,” she said. Nalla could not help but think of what was happening down there and what was going to happen.
“Fire,” ordered Cerrein. Nalla paused for a moment, then pressed the button on her computer terminal.
On the viewscreen, the bridge crew watched as twenty phased-polaron torpedoes were deployed from the ship. As they entered the atmosphere, the casings began to form contrails. A split-second afterwards and they detonated. The peninsula glowed in a brilliant white flash. Clouds began rushing away from the point of detonation.
Thinking quickly, Cerrein magnified the viewscreen image. On the surface, forests were cast aside like matchsticks. Buildings, disassembled starships, even people were blown into the wind by the force of the impacts, before being enveloped by the blinding lights. Within seconds, the entire settlement had been completely vaporized.
The destruction did not end there. Mountains were enveloped by the cataclysm. The oceans began to boil. A shockwave continued throughout the continent, blowing aside any natural structure. Within ten minutes, the shockwave had traveled throughout the entire planet. Any green that was left began to fade away.
“Results?” he asked to the stunned crew.
Glinn Dosan almost failed to hear the request for information. In a few seconds, his superior had wiped out three million people; Dosan’s grandfather and father spent forty years killing ten million Bajorans.
“Uh…the atmosphere is beginning to dissipate, sir. There is no chance anything could have survived your assault,” he finally said.
“Good. The job I started five years ago is complete. Ninth Odar’Iklar, set a course to rendezvous with Liska’s strike fleet. We have a campaign to win.”
After fifteen minutes, Nalla finally realized she was still touching the fire control button.