It never was going to last long, that short period where the Vaadwaur were too shocked to shoot back. After all, they are a martial empire, their fleet designed, trained, to be one of the best combat forces to strike the Delta Quadrant, designed and trained to bring a hammer blow to Alpha and Beta’s knees. Against a glorified tugboat, they were never going to give Oakland  more than a few seconds to fire unopposed.

Some would say it wouldn’t matter in the end. Others would say a few seconds was all Oakland needed to make an impact.

Those two torpedoes to the spine must’ve done something to that cruiser- it didn’t look like they’d punched through the shields or the armor, but anyone with eyes could see how her guns seized up and power flickered on and off all across her 700-plus-meter length. Maybe the shock of the impact tripped a breaker, disconnected a few power lines, because at least for the next few minutes, she was out of action.

Considering the two smaller vessels bearing down on Oakland with guns blazing, the people who’d have said it wouldn’t matter may have had a point.

The old utility cruiser bucked and rolled around Charlie as polaron fire burst against her dorsal shields, even as the upper phasers replied in kind. Even with the inertial dampeners, she felt like she had to hold on to the arms of her chair for dear life as Rakko swung the prow back around, his usual carefree grin replaced with a tight-lipped and stony expression of concentration. This wasn’t dancing Oakland between asteroids for the fun of it- this was life and death. Charlie didn’t think she’d ever seen the Caitian so locked-in on something.

The ship jerked and bucked as they passed between the two escorts, broadsided from above and below. Something behind her sparked, and Charlie had to resist the urge to flinch and duck behind the back of her chair.

“Dorsal shields at forty percent!” the science officer- someone Charlie still didn’t know the name of, and now definitely wasn’t sure she’d ever learn- announced, clinging to their console for dear life. “Ventral shields still holding at seventy, but- sir, a few more minutes and we won’t have any shields!”

“Recycle the starboard shields to reinforce our top, Ensign! We need to keep our upper phasers in the game,” Maising barked back, lurching forward in his chair as the utility cruiser’s shields took another hard blow. “Rakko! Line us up on the port-side escort. Espinoza, get ready to hammer him, phasers and photons, target their forward weapons!”

“I thought you’d never ask!” Espinoza crowed, clearly still running the high of having disabled the cruiser, even temporarily, with the opening salvo. Space whizzed by in a blur of white stripes on black as Oakland hauled back about towards her attackers, a one-circle turn placing both sides directly into each other’s teeth.

“Intensify forward shields- now, Lieutenant! Let him have it!”

Phasers and polaron beams filled the closing gap between the three vessels- and at the very last minute, just before the escort popped up to haul over Oakland‘s bow, the two torpedo launchers popped two glowing red balls straight into her nose. Even as it passed overhead, Charlie caught a split-second glimpse of the ship actively stop in her tracks, her stern popping up over the prow like a car rear-ending another at decent speed, and heard the shower of hull fragments as they scattered across Oakland‘s saucer- a metallic sound almost like hail hitting a roof.

“First escort is hit hard and venting atmosphere!” Espinoza announced with a whoop. “She’s still in the fight, but I’d say we gave her a solid bloody nose.”

“Beautiful work, Tactical,” the captain declared. “What’s our shielding at-”

His words died on his lips as their foes took it upon themselves to answer that question. Charlie had been in ships that were hit by enemy fire before- she started her career on an old Centaur on antipiracy duty, after all- but only ever against pirates. Old energy weapons, maybe the occasional microphoton torpedo- nothing like the military-grade stuff the other escort tore into the ship’s underside with. The ship bucked from underneath her, with a feeling she could only really describe as being akin to getting punched in the ass while sitting down- and it must’ve knocked out the artificial gravity for a minute, because the impact suddenly pitched the bridge into darkness and catapulted her straight into the ceiling.

And, from the sounds of it, everyone else too. A dozen thumps and thuds and exclamations filled the darkness- and then the lights kicked back on, and everyone abruptly dropped back to the floor.

Charlie got lucky- she landed on the carpet between the tactical station and helm, the wind knocked out of her lungs. Someone else promptly landed atop her, smashing her back to the ground before she could even contemplate breathing again, and it took a moment just to stop seeing stars.

“… ugh. Sorry, Commander,” Espinoza’s voice grunted from on top of Charlie’s back, and then the weight was gone. Air finally rushed back into her lungs, and a hand grabbed onto the side of the helm to haul her back upright.

The bridge looked… intact. Which was her first indication that something was very wrong, a sinking pit in her stomach she couldn’t shake. And she found it, in the form of Captain Maising slumped against the bannister behind his chair, not moving.

“… oh no-” Charlie wasn’t even the first to get to him, Rakko a few steps ahead of her, but she was the one who hit her commbadge first. “Medical, t’is the bridge! Cap’n’s injured, we need an emergency transport now!”

No response. Charlie could feel everyone’s eyes lock on her, the dread that settled over them all.

“Medical? Doct’r Gibson? We need an emergency transport fer th’ cap’n ASAP!”

Silence met her again- followed by the ship again roiling around them, sending everyone falling back to the ground or scrambling for purchase to keep upright. Charlie just barely snagged the top of her own chair to keep her from likewise getting knocked over.

“I repeat, this is C’mander M’Colgan, requestin’ medical personnel tae the-”

A completely different voice finally answered- and it wasn’t any doctor she knew of. “Commander, it’s sh’Insynaph! Medical’s gone- whole damn deck’s been blown to hell! Best I can do is send someone up to get him!”

The dread sank further. Medical was gone. Of course- if they lost power for a second, they’d have lost any containment fields on hull breaches just long enough to completely suck the atmosphere out. Charlie’s lungs rattled in her ribcage as she sucked in a deep breath, steeling herself before replying.

“… rog, Shy. Dae wha’ ye can.”

“Aye aye… skipper.”

The line cut. Silence, again. It took far too long a time for Charlie to realize why she said that- what this meant. Maising was down. The chain of command was clear.

Charlotte MacColgan was the acting captain of USS Oakland. All her life, she’d been chasing that center chair, and now it was hers. And she hated it. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be! Hell, she stopped even wanting this what felt like ages ago! And here it was, the universe serving her everything she wanted on a silver platter- first a combat action, now a captaincy, laughing in her face as it directed hostile ships to blow her out of the sky. To destroy the awkward circus-act of a starship design she’d come to love, the ragtag crew she’d come to call friends. Her ship. Her people.

She barely noticed the ensign who’d came to collect the fallen captain until she was helping him into their arms. Hardly noticed them leave. This didn’t feel real. And yet… everyone’s eyes were on her. Charlie glanced between them- Espinoza, Rakko, a half-dozen faces she couldn’t put names to but cared for all the less. That shaking, quivering ensign who’d been dutifully calling out shield readings for what had to be the worst moments of her life.

Her ship. Her crew.

“… we’re nae dead yet,” Charlotte MacColgan declared, straightening her back, desperately hoping she gave off more determination than fear or guilt. “Tae yer stations. Oakland fights on. We got a planet’s worth ‘a civilians countin’ on us ‘n we’ll be damned ‘fore we let ’em down easily, aye?”

Glanced shared, silence settled… and then with a simple “Aye aye” from Espinoza, everyone scrambled back to their seats. Charlie sank into a seat not meant for her, a seat still warm from the previous man to hold it, a man who should still be here… but wasn’t.

She had to be the next best thing.

Time to make sure history never forgets the name Oakland.