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A Figure with a Face

Posted on Sat Aug 29th, 2009 @ 9:28am by

Mission: Seraphim Requiem: Season 1, Episode 2.
Location: USS Liberator

It never ceased to amazing Commander Water how much of a battering the reinforced shell of the Liberator could withstand. Being more agile then the larger crafts she had her helms-woman pull some pretty tight bends darting mostly between the exchanging fire but they were still being buffeted by the fallout.
It was only a matter of time before the Borg sphere swattered the fly size Liberator out of it's air space.

"Incoming weapon's fire!" the sharp voice of the carried behind her ear of Operations chief T'Ingar. Indistinctly Jennifer tightened her grip upon the arm rests and braced herself to be shaken around like a pepper mill.
The punch from the wounded sphere cut a deep wound onto the port side winging the ship, knocking it off course and creating all sorts of merry hell below decks.

"Damage report!" Water called out retaking her position in the command seat having slide out of it during the assault.

"Shields down to twenty seven percent and amour plating at sixty nine percent..."

"Eleven reported causties..."

"Port side plating beginning to buckle..."

Quickly she digested the news as they came in automatically rebuilding a new strategy, dimly over the conn still come the interaction from the fleet and from the station who were all in the same situation. Struggling but not out yet.

"Helm attack patten Delta two, torpedoes ready. Follow the lead of the Hood, assist their firepower," she called having weighed up the situation. The Liberator was tearing itself apart at the seams but she sill had several more punches to pull yet. She would stubbornly stay in the fray as long as possible to defend the venerable station.

Gracefully the slimline ship swooped through the rain, adding its own armaments into the torrent that slammed into the heart of the sphere creating a comforting orange hue of a blazing inferno. Slowly piece by piece they were picking it apart, perhaps with persistent and accurate blows they could bring a halt to the Borg's strengthening hold upon the facility.
Slipping out of the shadow of the Hood the Liberator moved around for another pass, however this time their assault was preempted and radically altered, when with the combination of several weapon ports of the sphere returned a visuals blow to the Defiant class veering her off course narrowly missing its great mass as is span unable to regain control.

The frontal assault had destroyed any forward shielding they had left, the duranium plating buckled under the pressure, and the scene in the bridge rotated violently upon itself as the dampeners failed to engage throwing many of the hands around the tight confides, bouncing like rag dolls off the fixed seating and consoles.

Commander Water had been among the many that jostled around the space, desperately clawing for a handhold. Around them the dim red glow dipped into darkness and the squealing from the various sensors fell silent.
Groggily Water regained her footing and stood awkwardly upright nursing her left arm against her bosom. She didn't need to know the details this time, the smoke that hung in the air, the smell of burnt out circuits told her they were in deep trouble.

"Helm not operating," Lieutenant Nary cried hoarsely from the conn.

"Heavy casualties, main power failing..."

"Hull breach on deck two section one!"

"Shields are gone, amour plating at five percent!"

Oh the trouble was much deeper then she expected. "Liberator to the fleet," she shouted still able to hear the dim of the communique through her dying ship. "We're down and out, get those bastards for us!"

She staggered back toward the center position but her injured body never made more the three step before the wounded bird was struck again putting her completely out of the battle.

In the months that followed Lieutenant junior grade Keanue T'Ingar at operations would have nightmares about what happened next over and over again like he was enduring a guilt trip, but truthfully there was nothing anyone could have done.
With their sensors fired, their ship dead in the water and main power bleeding dry they were completely blind and toothless, an easy target for the chilling Borg.

The Liberator jerked violently under the fresh volley of weapons fire, and in the bridge the emergency lighting flickered into darkness as the staff were again thrown around bumping into solid objects or being sprayed from the smoke that was streaming in.

After several second of complete disorientation T'Ingar with his Betazoid sense knew instantly something terrible had happened other then being acutely aware his nose was broken and the blood covered his console. The officers were stirring, and through the haze of smoke he could see their silhouettes moving, returning themselves half limping to their stations. There was however a lack of movement from the conn area save for the sheet of agony that hung over the ship as general. That agony bowed under the strain of another blow as the first officer Nary squared her shoulders.

A chill rippled down Keanue's spine as slowly she rose stiffly to her feet and feel heavily into the command seat to organize herself before finally she found some courage and used her voice: "I don't care how you do it, bring us about for another pass. If the Borg are to bring us down we're going to give them hell first!"

The Barjon first officer had seen her fair share of death in her time and to her Water was just another figure. But a figure with a face she'll remember for the rest of her days.

 

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