When you are over six feet tall and built like a tank, Jeffries tubes can become somewhat claustrophobic. Shymel sh’Insynaph was very glad indeed that she wasn’t… and that, if Otto Petrenko was, he was keeping quiet about it. Every time she finds herself worrying about the shy, jumpy ensign, he manages to surprise her. But even without, the passageway was more than a bit cramped for the big Andorian.

If only it felt like she could breathe when she exited, and not like the air had been stolen from her lungs.

The bridge was in shambles. Small fires flickered out of shattered consoles, sparks flew from ceiling cables, entire sections of the floor had completely collapsed down to the deck below. The light of the flames doused the mangled room in an eerie orange glow, like they’d stepped into hell itself.

Not a single person remained standing.

Shy grumbled a curse under her breath, hopping over chunks of steel plating and dessicated wiring towards the nearest body. A Bolian- the comms officer, she vaguely recalled. A strangely quiet guy for his species who just tended to keep to himself. He’d caught one too many pieces of shrapnel in one too many places to still be alive. Petrenko let out a quiet gasp behind her, but even as she turned to see, he was dragging the science officer out from under a chunk of ceiling. She, too, was dead… but he still slumped her up against the wall, lightly clapped her shoulder, and murmured something she couldn’t quite catch.

“Petrenko-”

“I know, Commander.” The ensign gulped, stood up straight, wiped his hands on the front of his jacket.

The grinding of something moving behind them made both security officers jump. Shymel spun on her heel, turned… and found the familiar face of Lieutenant Carmen Espinoza trying to drag herself into her seat. Trying being the operational word- her legs refused to move and even from a cursory glance, the security chief could tell her back was broken.

“Lieutenant!” Shymel jumped another chunk of steel and scurried over to her side. “Espinoza, stop! You’re in no shape to-”

“Just- get me back in the damn seat!” the tactical officer retorted, grunting with effort as she practically willed herself up into the chair running on nothing but willpower and spite. “If the torpedoes aren’t-”

“The ship is gone, Carm!” Shy replied. “We’re done, alright? We have to get you down to the life deck-”

She hadn’t even finished when Espinoza thumped the console with a balled fist, and somehow- as far as Shy could tell, by pure force of will- it flickered back on. The readout glitched and buzzed, but through the multicolored lines that tore the readout of Oakland‘s tactical systems in half, Shymel could just barely read enough to make sense of it.

No phasers… but five torpedoes.

Shymel stopped arguing, hooked her arms under Espinoza’s, and hauled the shattered tactical officer up into the chair. “Can you target it from here?”

“Targeting system’s down, but I still have some external cameras. We’ll have to aim and fire them manually,” Espinoza replied with a quiet wheeze, propped up on her elbows to keep her from falling back off the chair. “Do you know anyone else who’s still alive?”

“Might be our lucky day.” Shymel just barely stopped herself from clapping a hand on Espinoza’s shoulder, fearing that could knock her out of what little balance she still had, and tapped her commbadge. “sh’Insynaph to T’Vara. Can you do me two favors?”

“I do not believe they will classify as favors if they may save our lives and potentially the ship,” T’Vara’s deadpan voice replied, “but I am listening.”

“First of all, I need some engineers to redirect power to the RCS thrusters, gyros, and the helm,” she responded, even as Petrenko passed by with an unconscious Ensign M’Rakko in his arms. “Second of all… how quickly can you get a team down to both torpedo launchers? We’re firing them manually.”

“As it is, I and my engineering team are already on the proper deck. I will dispatch Lieutenant Lon’ya to restore power to the helm console.”

“You’re a lifesaver, T’Vara. Out.” The Andorian turned to her junior, fixing the skittish, wide-eyed ensign with determination in her gaze. “Petrenko, on the helm. Should be nice and easy, all you’ll be doing is turning the nose. You got that?”

The poor man’s eyes flickered between Shy, the paraplegic Espinoza, the collection of dead and wounded on the back wall, and the sparking, sad little console in front. He gulped, and then spoke, voice wavering. “… yes, sir, I can do that.”

Maybe if this was a better time, Shy would find more humor in being called “sir” instead of “ma’am”. Instead, she just clapped him on the shoulder. “I have faith in you.”

A nod, and he scuttled past and sat down in the chair. Moments later, the console hummed back to life. “Okay, okay… maneuvering thrusters are on. Uhm… where do I-”

Espinoza answered before he could finish, strong despite the pained wheeze underneath her words. “Sixteen degrees to the right, nine up. Move slow, we don’t want them thinking we’re still active.”

Bits of shrapnel crunched under Shy’s boots as she moved to glance over Espinoza’s shoulder at the camera feed. The battlecruiser loomed large in front of them… and close. Very close. So much so, in fact, its prow and stern were completely off screen. “So… how exactly are we going to take out a ship that big with five photon torpedoes?”

She wasn’t sure how the hell Espinoza found it in her to manage a sly grin. “We’re not going to.” A finger tapped dead center on the camera screen. “Hard to make out, but that’s the other escort. We’re gonna hit her. With any luck, we’ll either knock her into the cruiser or she’ll be caught in a warp core explosion.”

“If we hit.”

“We’ll hit.” Her tone was more bravado than bravery, but at least Shy could respect the attempt.

The commbadge buzzed. “T’Vara to sh’Insynaph. We are ready and standing by.”

“Hold just a second longer.” Shy’s eyes shot up to Petrenko. “On target?”

“Almost… is that good?”

“Bingo, beautiful flying.” Even Espinoza seemed to be trying to boost his confidence. “Espinoza to T’Vara… on my mark. Three… two… one… mark.”

The speed at which everything came apart was such that the Vaadwaur might not have ever figured out what happened to them. One moment, the battlecruiser’s guns were showering the cities of Narendra III in hellfire, the escort standing by ever-faithfully- and then the photon torpedoes came.

The escort’s shields caught one and two, but the concussive force of the warheads on a stationary and unprepared target knocked it sideways. Torpedo three caught the starboard pod and severed it, sending it careening away into space. Torpedo four caught the ship’s underbelly as it flipped on its beam ends and was bodily shoved up into the cruiser’s port side, upper works crushed flat as both ships’ hulls crumbled.

Then torpedo five struck home, and the escort vanished in an all-too-familiar warp core explosion.

A second one came shortly after.

The battlecruiser had no chance to react before the double core explosions disintegrated seventy-five percent of its length- first the escort’s core vaporizing the ship amidships, and then the stern vanishing as the battlecruiser’s own core was set off.

All that was left was the bow, dead and adrift as it floated off into space.

There was no wild cheering on Oakland‘s shattered bridge. No celebration of victory. Just Shymel’s quiet sigh, shoulders slumping, as she watched the fireballs dissipate into the vacuum of space. Her hands shook as she pushed herself away from the tactical console, glancing between both of the junior officers. “… Petrenko. Gently, and very carefully, take Lieutenant Espinoza down to the triage on deck six.”

“What about you?” the ensign asked, not even daring to wonder what the safest way to carry someone with a broken back was.

Shymel moved to the edge of one of the jagged holes in the floor, glancing between it and him. “I’m going to go find Charlie.”

And then, she jumped, and the hole in the floor seemed to swallow her whole.