Commodore Sorev sat on the bridge of the recently re-commissioned ship, the USS Battle, staring out the viewscreen at the swarm of ships. Her Tactical officer broke the silence of the moment. “I count two Astika class Battleships, Commodore, plus twelve Manasa class escorts, and a squadron of fighters. They haven’t seen us yet.” 

“Shields up. Target the nearest ships, full spread. No hesitation.” Sorev said. “Helm, ahead full impulse.” The Akira class surged ahead, its old hull plates creaking slightly under the stress of acceleration. The Battle’s torpedoes caught the first Vaadwaur battleship by surprise, slamming into its exposed flank with a bloom of light and shrapnel. The enemy ship reeled, and its shields flared, but it was not out. From behind, the Leif Erikson charged in from the blind spot, lancing the damaged ship’s smoking nacelle with a precision phaser burst. The nacelle exploded in another flash, and the first Vaadwaur battleship began to flounder. 

“We’ll keep those fighters off your backs!” Dathasa called into the radio as the pair of corsairs streaked across space towards the outpost, dodging polaron bursts and torpedo trails. 

We’ve got seven, dead-ahead. Dranoj growled over the comms, her voice low. 

“You say that like it’s a good thing.” Dathasa replied, her hands steady on her controls, her icy green eyes watching the Vaadwaur fighters fan out into a pincer maneuver. 

Hey, you’re in the lead. Dranoj said, I’m just your distraction.

“C’mon Dranoj” Dathasa said, rolling her eyes, “We both know Klingons don’t do distractions. You do vengeance with shitty aim.” 

Dranoj’s laugh broke over Dathasa’s comms, sharp and guttural, then she punched her ship into a steep dive, corkscrewing beneath a burst of fire and plasma. Yea, you can tell that to the Vaadwaur scum I just destroyed. Dathasa pulled up hard on the controls as the fighters met them, but they followed her movements with a disciplined precision. Dathasa could not help but admire them a little. Vaadwaur fighters looked like rusted blades, but their pilots flew with machine-like precision.

“They’re still behind us.” Dathasa said, pitching and rolling her corsair, “Stubborn little fuckers, aren’t they?” Three targets locks

That’s the point, isn’t it? Dranoj replied. She swooped in and peppered the lead Vaadwaur fighter with green disruptor bolts. It flared and peeled off, venting gas, but the rest stayed firmly behind Dathasa. They were too focused and too angry now. 

“They’re trying to herd us into the conduit wall” Dathasa muttered

Let them think they are. Dranoj replied. Dathasa banked her corsair hard, skimming the edge of the distortion field. One wrong move, and her ship would be hurtled out into the void or worse, but she held, and the fighters followed after her. 

She opened a channel to the Erikson and the Battle. “The fighters are chasing us. The field is yours.” 

Scott’s voice answered, and her breath caught in her throat for a second. Acknowledged, Dathasa. Get yourself out of there if you can. 

“That’s the plan.” she said through gritted teeth. A blast rocked her ship from behind. Her shields flickered., and her cockpit filled with the sound of a proximity alarm. “Dranoj?” she called. 

I see them.

One of the fighters was diving fast, trying to flank her. Before Dathasa could shift course, Dranoj dropped her ship into its path, letting loose with a hail of disruptor fire. The Vaadwaur ship exploded, pelting the Saeihr with fragments of its hull. 

You owe me again, Dathasa. Dranoj said, A bottle of bloodwine and a scar story. 

“Fine.” Dathasa replied, breathing heavily, “But you have to survive to collect.” The two Corsairs dove low, skimming the outer edge of the battlefield, dragging the squadron of fighters along with them. 

The USS Battle was tearing across underspace like a crazed animal. Torpedoes flashed from her forward launchers in rolling salvos and phaser banks lashed out, softening the Vaadwaur’s fleet defenses. Commodore Sorev sat poised in her command chair, barking orders with the calm precision of a veteran commander. “Concentrate fire on quadrants three and five,” she said, not taking her eyes off the viewscreen, “Don’t let them close in behind us.” The ship pitched violently, and one of the bridge officers hit the floor. 

“Starboard nacelle has been hit, Commodore, we’re venting plasma but we’re hanging on.” said the Tactical officer, turning to face her. “And we’ve got a hull breach on decks 4 and 5.” 

“Understood, Lieutenant.” Sorev replied. “How are the weapons systems looking?”

“Forward weapons down to forty percent, Ma’am.” replied the Lieutenant. 

“As long as they keep firing,” said Sorev, watching the spiraling chaos unfolding in front of her. Two of the Manasa escorts moved to intercept them as they came about. The ventral phaser bank lit up mid-turn, cutting a deep gouge in one of their hulls. The Battle followed them up with a complement of Photon Torpedoes, which caught the injured one as its shields faltered, destroying it in a flash of plasma, and crippling the other as the torpedoes buried themselves into the aft of the ship. 

The bridge crew held their stations with a white knuckled focus, beads of sweat visible on every brow as their hands danced over consoles that sparked with every power surge. Smoke filtered in from the ventilation ducts, but the Battle pressed on, determined to break through to the spire. Another enemy ship clipped the port side, pelting the saucer with polaron bursts. Consoles exploded on the bridge, and one of the officers let out a panicked scream, clutching at her burnt arm, but Sorev didn’t flinch, she just flipped the switch to override auxiliary power rerouting. 

On the bridge of the Leif Erikson, Captain Bowman didn’t waste a breath on the opening the corsairs had created. “Ezra, take us in, full impulse. Target the power relays along the station’s edge. Hit them before they can restabilize.” 

“Aye, Captain!” Ezra replied. The little Nova Class surged forwards, darting between debris fields and disrupted plasma trails. The ship’s phasers hummed as they cut precise lines through the weakened shields along the station’s flank. Explosions rippled across the station’s edge as one of the relays ruptured in a cascade of electrical fire. 

“Captain!” Vail called from tactical, “The Battle is taking fire, Sir. We can’t let those ships get in behind them.” 

Scott’s eyes were fixed on the viewscreen. “Then we won’t let them.” Without an order, Ezra banked the ship hard to starboard, dropping elevation to match the Vaadwaur line. She lit up her phasers in coordinated bursts, burning through the exhaust ports of an escort that was attempting to get behind the limping Akira before its shields could adapt. Each burst landed with surgical precision, and Vail let out a small whoop as the escort flickered, and began drifting aimlessly. 

“Good work, Lieutenant.” Scott said over his shoulder. “Weapons pattern to Beta-Six. Light ‘em up and fade, Ezra. Keep those escorts off the Commodore.” 

“Yes Sir, Executing.” Ezra replied, carrying out the orders. The Erikson cut sharply across the Vaadwaur formation, dropping its torpedoes in a crisscross pattern. The concussive force sent a pair of ships reeling, one into a drifting wreck, the other spinning uncontrollably out of formation. Out of the viewscreen, Scott could see the Battle hammer forward. Without the Erikson she would have been overrun, but Ezra flew the little Nova through blind spots, firing into weakened hulls and crippled engines. The moment a ship left formation to pursue, the Erikson was already gone, moving on to its next target.

Aboard the bridge, the lights dimmed with every pulse of rerouted power, and smoke coiled from Ensign Pym’s damaged ops console as another surge rattled the power conduits. “We’re starting to overheat the EPS grid, Captain.” He said with a note of panic in his voice, “Too many fast strikes. We need to cool her down, Sir.”

“Not yet, Mr. Pym.” Scott replied. “We keep that corridor open until the Battle gets through.”  

Two more of the Manasa class destroyers had broken through and were attacking the Battle with deadly precision. Her shields buckled under coordinated fire. Deck plating groaned and fires broke out along the dorsal hull. On the bridge, Commodore Sorev clung to the arms of her chair as the ship lurched violently. “Divert power to the port nacelle! Helm, evasive pattern Delta-nine!” a cascade of sparks poured down into the bridge from a blown conduit. An officer hit the floor hard, and the emergency bulkheads dropped behind them, sealing the bridge from the rest of the ship. 

We’re losing propulsion! Came a voice from engineering. Impulse power is barely hanging on! Smoke coiled through the bridge like a ghost. Consoles sparked, and the lights flickered, struggling against the power drain. Sorev stood steady amidst the chaos, one hand on the railing and her uniform was torn at the shoulder. She stared out the viewscreen at the outpost’s spire, now flickering with shield impacts and power surges. 

The Chief Engineer’s voice sounded again. We’ve stabilized the Impulse engines, Commodore. They are holding at sixty percent.

With a deep breath, Sorev resumed her seat. When she spoke, her voice was cold and heavy, like iron. “Helm, plot a course. We take out the spire.” 

The helm officer hesitated, then turned and blinked at her. “Commodore, a direct hit will…”

“Destroy that station, Ensign.” Sorev said, finishing his sentence, “And us.” A long silence followed. As she looked around the bridge, her eyes met the eyes of her crew, one by one. No one objected. They had followed her through worse. 

“Understood, Commodore.” said the Helm officer quietly, turning back around. The Battle banked hard to port, and the engines howled under the strain as they pushed the smoking ship towards the heart of the Vaadwaur outpost.