The words came thick and fast in the hubbub of Britannia’s bridge as the crew made their preparations to strike at the vicious-looking command ship that had emerged from the underspace portal. Despite the frequent spine-shaking shudders of the ground beneath their feet, there was a buzz of energy that Harrison had not seen in the crew for several weeks. Not just in the short time since the unknown enemy had launched their invasion, putting Britannia on the back foot alongside her allies. But for the weeks that preceded it, as they wandered through the system looking for a way out. Before, Britannia had felt sluggish, trapped in orbit of the pleasure planet so many were desperate to spend their days. Now she felt energetic as the crew coiled the springs and pulled taught the ship’s great sinews to leap at the enemy’s throat.

From her proverbial throne at the rear of the bridge, the elder captain surveyed the small kingdom with a mote of satisfaction tugging at the corner of her lips. The battle continued to take its toll, and this final ride may be their last. Yet every pair of hands that worked across the bridge did so with a renewed vigour and pride. In another life, it might have elicited a tear of pride to escape the icy queen’s facade.

“Aldrin is in position between the nacelles,” Bahir announced, interrupting Harrison’s reverie.

“Mayvilis understands the plan?” Harrison replied as her attention returned to the present moment.

“That we’re going to drive headlong into the escort ring, dragging her behind and hope to all the gods that our shields hold up?” Tanek’s dislike of the so-called plan was evident, but he had raised his concerns quietly, as was his preference. In the end, it was Captain Harrison’s ship; he was merely a guest, one without an alternative. “She understands.”

“Speaking of which, defensive status?” Harrison ignored the Denobulan captain’s unsubtle frustration, instead opting to turn her focus towards Bahir, who stood at the nearby tactical station.

“We’re ready to route all auxiliary power to the forward shields & SIF generators. I have handed over secondary tactical control to Strat-ops; they will handle point defence and targets of opportunity. I will be focusing on clearing a way through.” Bahir wiped some nonexistent sweat from his brow, a habit picked up moons ago and lightyears away. “We are as ready as I can make us.”

“Well then, half a league, half a league, half a league onward.”

A strange serenity fell on the bridge as they drew a communal breath, the calm air washing over the assembled crew. Even the deck found itself sighing into an almost forgotten stillness, as the enemy attackers unwittingly joined the moment of meditation.

Harrison thumbed the small control panel in the arm of the chair, causing a whistle to race through the ship, piping the moment of serenity through the grand vessel’s arteries.

“I am not one for many words, you have all come to realise that, I trust.”

In engineering, crewmembers caked in the dark armour of grease and sweat allowed their tools to fall silent and hung from their ladders like monkeys at the cliffside, awaiting the announcement of the tiger from the clifftop.

“But I am a woman of pride, much to the distaste of my mother’s fanatical teachings.”

In the sickbay, Doctor Ashra clutched a nurse’s shivering hands in her own as the two women offered a silent prayer to a long forgotten deity; entreating the Wanderer to take the ship in hand and hold the crew to her chest, to see them safely to the dawn. Once dismissed as silly superstitions and old mothers’ tales, the whispered liturgy stilled their panicked pulses.

“Pride in the Federation. Pride in Starfleet. Pride in Britannia.”

At the tail end of the ship, secreted between tall rows of cabinets and lockers, a trio of lieutenants paused in their damage control preparations. The hurried click of rucksack clasps and emergency kit latches ceased as they all turned their face towards the nondescript forward bulkhead, where a few hundred metres beyond stood the white haired captain and general.

“But most importantly, unrelenting and unshakable pride in you all.”

Tanek felt his chest loosen; the worry that had scraped cruelly at his ribs pushed away by Harrison’s simple words. His fear suddenly declawed, he felt the cool air fill his lungs for the first time in several hours.

“Today we earn our stripes, today we prove our mettle. Today, we hold the line!”

Anyanka Harrison surveyed the bridge once more, memorising the faces of her assembled brigade of unexpected soldiers. At the far wall, an Andorian science officer whose nervous finger tapping had been a chattering ostinato found her digits stilled. From behind an archway, a Selayan engineer’s hood slowed its ripple of panicked rainbow colours, steadying into a dark maroon.  In the corner of her eye, Bahir’s chest swelled, the coral-skinned officer opening the door to a reserve of confidence that even he had not known was buried in his heart.

“I will see you on the other side.”

She allowed herself a final breath, drawing in the communal stillness of the ship into her bones. Beneath her feet, a slow groan of the deck plates warmed her heart as Britannia tested her muscles.

“All hands, prepare to engage.”

Harrison thumbed the small console once more, closing the channel with a single long whistle that crept into the ship’s bones. Had anyone been looking at it, they may have even seen the warp core swell with a glowing pride of its own.

“Remind me to invite you to the next poetry night on 47,” Tanek whispered across the small gap between their chairs as the crew took to their stations.

“I’m not really one for public speaking.” Harrison allowed the ghost of a smile to dance on her lips as she offered the man a wry look before turning her focus back to the main viewscreen.

“Signal Aldrin. Helm, full power to engines. Engage.”