The Defense of Donatu V

Posted on Sat Feb 21st, 2026 @ 8:51pm by Captain William Abernathy

1,670 words; about a 8 minute read

Mission: Forgotten Wounds
Location: Donatu V
Timeline: 2245

The first volley of disruptor fire had split the sky above Donatu V like green lightning, crackling and bolting through a funeral shroud of fog. Seeing it from the surface of the planet was likely grim and unsettling. That was the perspective of the Federation colonists that had just survived a Klingon orbital bombardment before help arrived.

Above, that help came in the form of Captain William Abernathy, Donatu's Archangel who now stood at the center of the USS Onondaga’s cramped bridge, his boots braced against the deck as the Hiawatha class frigate shuddered under evasive thrust. The viewscreen burned with the image of two Klingon Birds-of-Prey cutting through orbit, lean and predatory. They had launched an orbital strike on the planet, nearly annihilating Federation colonists.

“Open a damn channel,” Abernathy ordered. He was a man of peace, but hardened during this era of cold war with the Klingons. Cold that was ironic. The Federation nor Klingons had formally declared war, but actions spoke loudly. Actions like this. Klingon and Federation vessels at a disputed system.

Static. Then a harsh face filled the screen with tightly braided hair, armor worn by old victories. That's a Klingon thought Abernathy assessing the man, his counterpart from one of the two Klingon vessels.

“This is Captain William Abernathy of the Federation starship Onondaga,” he said evenly. “As you are undoubtedly aware, you are violating Federation territory. There are...were civilian colonists on the surface. Withdraw, and we will escort you safely back to your space so that we may render assistance to our surviving colonists.”

The Klingon commander bared his teeth. “We have not come for your escort, Human. We have come for blood. This system belongs to the Empire!"

"Not on our star charts it doesn't" quipped Abernathy. The channel snapped to an immediate closure. The Klingons were not here to squabble about star charts and territorial claims.

Abernathy’s jaw tightened and his fist clenched. He had been given clear orders: Hold Donatu V. Protect the colonists until evacuation transports arrive. Diplomacy first, but the Klingons circling above were not here to posture. He had already failed to protect the colonists. There had been more than just a few casualties reported, dozens of fatalities. The Onondaga was late.

“Helm, bring us between them and the planet. Tactical, lock phasers. Target disruptor arrays. We're going to disarm these sons of bitches!” He was not a man that cussed so liberally, his wife, Georgina would have given him a stern lecturing otherwise, but even sweet Georgina would give him a pass in this case.

The Onondaga lunged forward, shields flaring as the first direct hit slammed into her port side. Consoles sparked. Someone screamed, then silence swallowed it.

“That's enough of that... Return fire" quipped Abernathy. "Take those weapons out!" shouted Captain Abernathy standing from his chair.

Phaser beams lanced outward, scoring a Bird-of-Prey’s wing. The Klingons answered with torpedoes that detonated in savage bursts, rocking the frigate hard enough to throw Abernathy against his command rail.

“Shields at sixty percent!" reported the officer.

“Helm, keep us steady,” he snapped. “They want us sweating and angry. Don’t oblige" explained Abernathy. If we get angry we're going to be more vulnerable he reminded himself.

He watched them maneuver... one feinting high, the other diving low, angling for a clear line on the colony’s atmosphere processors. It was textbook predatory behavior. Split the prey’s attention. Strike the soft underbelly. "The hell with that" muttered Bill.

“Change of plan. Pattern Delta Echo,” Abernathy said sternly.

His helmsmen hesitated. “Sir, that puts us inside their turning radius.”

“Yeah... I know. Just do it" replied Abernathy.

Onondaga cut engines and dropped, coasting dead in space for a breathless second. The lower Bird-of-Prey overshot, expecting pursuit. Abernathy slammed his fist down.

“Full impulse. Roll starboard, and fire torpedoes...now!”

The Federation frigate spun violently, torpedoes streaking from her tubes at near point blank range. The blast tore through the Klingon vessel’s weakened wing, sending it spiraling in flame.

The second Bird-of-Prey howled in fury and dove. They hit shields hard enough to blackout half the bridge. Emergency lights bathed the compartment in crimson red, and Abernathy tasted copper in his mouth. He pulled himself off from the decking and spat the mouthful of blood.

“Boarding pods inbound!” someone shouted.

Of course they are thought Abernathy. It was typical Klingon mentality. You could disarm their weapons, and they would just turn their vessels into weapons. Damaging the Onondaga, wounding it's shielding, and allowing themselves to send boarding pods.

The Klingons latched onto Onondaga’s hull like carrion birds, drilling their burrowing beaks deep into the duranium hull. The deck bucked as magnetic clamps sealed. Captain Abernathy went to draw his phaser, then reconsidered, unholstering instead the blade he kept sheathed at his back, a captured Klingon d’k tahg from an earlier skirmish he had with the Klingons weeks ago.

“If they want blood,” he muttered, “those bastards can bleed for it" he announced, rallying his bridge crew.

The corridors of the USS Onondaga were narrow and dim, billowing with smoke that curled along the ceiling. Klingon warriors stormed through ruptured bulkheads, roaring as they cut down security officers left and right in brutal hand-to-hand combat. Federations Phaser fire lit the passageways in bursts with the occasional streaking of Klingon disruptor blasts, but the Klingons were clearly preferring to use their bladed weapons.

Abernathy did not scream when a blast, grazed his arm. He just moved precise, calculated, and deadly.

A warrior lunged; Abernathy sidestepped quickly driving the d’k tahg under the armor plate at the clavicle. He twisted. The Klingon fell without so much as a growl. Another came, disruptor raised. Abernathy shot him once in the knee, then finished him off with cold efficiency that would haunt him years later. He ran the blade across the Klingon's throat.

When Abernathy reached the junction outside the port airlock, he saw the remaining Bird-of-Prey unleashing another barrage. The hull screeched and became scorched.

There, amid the carnage, stood the Klingon commander from the viewscreen. He was a lot taller in person, armor etched with sigils of conquest. His blade was already wet from a fresh kill.

“You should have yielded, Human,” the Klingon growled.

“And you should have listened,” Abernathy replied. "You were warned" added Abernathy.

They collided like colliding stars.

The Klingon was much stronger physically. Every blow jarred Abernathy’s bones. He had practically felt some of them shatter. The d’k tahg flashed between them, curving blades catching and locking. The corridor rang with the metallic shriek of steel on steel.

The Klingon headbutted him hard enough to split skin. Abernathy staggered but did not fall. He let the next strike glance off his shoulder, baiting the warrior forward. Then he moved inside the Klingon’s guard.

He wrenched the d’k tahg free, reversed his grip, and drove the blade across the commander’s face in a savage arc. Blood sprayed the bulkhead. The Klingon roared, clutching at the ruin carved from brow to jaw. Abernathy did not dare hesitate. This was his chance, his only real opportunity.

He seized the warrior’s wrist, forcing the blade upward, and quickly plunged the tip directly into the Klingon’s eye.

The scream that followed was primeval. Abernathy twisted the knife and withdrew it slowly, letting the Klingon fall to his knees.

Around them, the fight faltered. Klingon warriors froze at the sight of their commander broken and bleeding on Federation steel. Abernathy grabbed the Klingon by the collar, hauling him upright enough for the others to see the devastation. “You came for blood,” Abernathy said, voice low and terrible. “Take his as proof. Donatu V may be yours for now, but we will be back.”

He shoved the commander aside, discarding him like a sack of garbage. “Return to your ship,” he barked at the remaining warriors. “Or we will finish what I started here today.”

There was a long and tense silence. Then the Klingons began to withdraw. It may had been a good day to die, but the Klingons chose do it another day. A Klingon transporter beam swept the Klingon trash from the Onondaga's corridors.

Minutes later, the surviving Bird-of-Prey disengaged, tractor beams hauling its crippled sister away from orbit. Donatu V remained scarred but intact. Smoke rose from the colony’s surface. Evacuation transports were still hours out, but Abernathy had bought them precious time.

On the bridge, medics worked in grim silence. Abernathy stood amid the wreckage, uniform torn and dark with drying blood, a mixture, some was his, but most was not.

“Sir,” his first officer said hoarsely, “the Klingons are transmitting.”

The viewscreen flickered. The wounded commander appeared, face wrapped in crude bandages, one eye gone, the other burning with something deeper than hatred.

“You fight like one who has lost fear,” the Klingon rasped. “You are not Human. You are… qu’bogh.”

Abernathy held his gaze. “What the hell does that mean?”

The Klingon bared bloodied teeth.

“It translates to... wild one, sir" commented the communications officer on Onondaga's bridge.

The transmission ended. Silence settled over the bridge. Abernathy looked down at the d’k tahg still in his hand. He wiped it clean against what remained of his sleeve before returning it to its sheath. Below them, the colonists of Donatu V still lived. Behind them, two Klingon warships started to limp away into the dark abyss.

In the years that followed, Klingon captains would whisper of the Human who met them blade to blade and marked their own commander with his knife. They would call him qu’bogh.... the Wild One; however, Starfleet would call him something else, The Guardian of Donatu V, but on that day in 2245, amid all that smoke and blood, and the dying echoes of battle, Captain William Abernathy earned both names.

 

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