The bridge shuddered under the heavy impact of Vaadwaur weapons fire. Captain Samson Bradley sat in the center chair, tensed as the race to the edge of the interference was on. Five minutes remained in their seven-minute window.

In the tactical one chair behind the CO was Lieutenant Kondo De La Fontaine, one of the few experienced officers onboard. He coordinated with their starfighter squadron while he poured Zephyr’s might and fire into the pursuing forces. Kondo called out, “Eight fighters have been launched – we’re having them attempt to stall the some of the enemy forces and distract them.” The bridge shuddered again. “We’re having some luck.”

Next to Kondo, at the tactical two station, was Lieutenant Seraphina Pearce. Pearce was focused on the starfighters but kept a small part of the console with a security screen just in case. Her interim position as Starfighter Control had been one of necessity – they hadn’t thought the position would need activating. She was tapping furiously at her console as she said, “West One to Four are intercepting the small craft while West Five to Eight are working on keeping our flank clear.”

Bradley glanced at her from his chair. Her file suggested she was damn near fearless. He worried that this was going to test her. Hell, he thought, it was going to test all of them. They needed to get out of this chaos. And fast.

The attack intensified as the large starship pushed forward, phasers arcing across and into targets while torpedoes scattered into firing patterns. Kondo’s face told the story, and he turned to Pearce, “Order the fighters to take on the small ships; I’ll punch the larger ones.” She nodded, slipping on her earpiece and giving the order. Kondo went to work, and while he was having success, the numbers of ships chasing them grew. The bridge shuddered again, some sparks flying from the rear stations.

Lieutenant Calvert Rogers gripped his console, absentmindedly touching the seat restraint that had activated moments ago. He kept his eyes on status reports across the various departments on the long, sleek starship. “Shields at 85% – weapons fire is instensfying. Engineering reports they’re starting to focus on the warp engines and related locations.”

Bradley’s brows – furrowed deeply, carved a hard line on his forehead. This wasn’t a fight. This was a flight. He wasn’t about to lose the chance to get home. “Lieutenant Pearce, have all starfighters focus on keeping the warp nacelles and systems as clean as possible. Mr. Kondo, take note of who’s trying to keep us here and hold them accountable.” The renewed orders took effect, and the Zephyr slogged on, shields taking the brunt of the fire.

The clock at the front of the bridge clicked down to two minutes. Samson gripped the arms of the center chair as the bridge shuddered for a third time, but the lights flickered now. Bradley knew what that meant, and the concerned feeling in his gut began to sour into a quiet fear. They needed to get out of this place.

Kondo worked the phasers and torpedo systems like a mad orchestra conductor. He said, “They’re shifting targeting to the bridge and saucer section. Realigning attack plan.”

Bradley ordered the fighters to split their attention – four to the saucer attack and the other four to maintain the attention on the warp nacelles. The bridge suddenly shook, eliciting shouts from the crew as the safety restraints held them in place.

Rogers at operations worked his console. Bradley could see his hands shaking slightly as he reported, “Shields at 70% – bridge and saucer shields are at 60% – they’re hitting hard, sir. Aft shields at 55% and holding.” Bradley could hear a trace of fear in the young officer’s voice, and he didn’t blame the officer. The overwhelming force now trying to force its way down their collective throats wasn’t just trying to push them out. It was trying to wipe them out.

Bradley watched the clock tick to 1:30. They needed to get out. Faster. He ordered, “Helm – redline the impulse engines to maximum emergency speed – add maneuvering thrusters to it.” It might only give them a ten-second chance. He set his teeth on edge, staring at the clock as the deck shook, reminding the crew of what was at stake. The clock clicked down to 1:20.

The bridge violently dropped, and the lights above exploded, sending glass and sparks flying. Smoke was quickly removed by heavy fans above, and the captain called out, “Report!” He glanced around. A few officers were limp at their stations, and he tapped the arm of his chair, “Medical team to the bridge.” The emergency lights clicked on, casting eerie shadows that skewed across the deck.

The head of Rogers at operations popped up, and he attempted to clear the fog. His hands worked the console slowly. “Shields are at 40% – they hit us pretty hard across the board. We’ve had an increase in attacking ships to over one hundred.” The clock above the view screen ticked down to 00:50.

Samson turned as the doors to the bridge flew open, and a fast-moving medical team swarmed the bridge. He noted with satisfaction that they were equipped with gravity boots and impact protection suits. He glanced at the helm. A medic was tending to Ensign Gabriela Castillo while she continued to push the Zephyr forward. Another shake of the bridge as the numbers ticked to 00:20. Bradley ordered the fighters home on emergency landing procedures.

00:15.

Rogers was coming out of his concussed fog with the help of a medic, and his belabored attention was improving. “Shields at 35% – warp engines and core remain stable.”

00:10.

Pearce reported the starfighters were crash-landing in the bays. A small smile crossed her lips as she confirmed that all of them had come home—every single one. Bradley shared in her smile. His greatest worry was the damage and injuries across his ship – they had taken a beating. But they were going home—all of them. The bridge shook once more as gasps of pain and frustration came in reply.

00:05

Castillo blinked as she worked at her console, making the final countdown as the ship shuddered more constantly, reaching for the finish line.

4.

Bradley could hear the baited breath across the bridge. He continued giving orders and accepting reports. They needed to get out.  They needed to get home.

3.

EPS conduits above them exploded in sparks and fire, and a damage control team, similarly equipped as the medics, entered the bridge. The roar of extinguishers filled the air.

2.

A lull in the sound of weapons fire carved a deep silence on the bridge.  Everyone held their breath.

1.

The silence held.  So did their breath.

0.

With a final shudder, Castillo stabbed the engage command on her console.