The run to the scene had felt like minutes. If anything, the bulk of the actual battle felt like it barely lasted five minutes. Shards of metal hull plating spun through the black between bursts of weapons fire, red and green and orange stitching space with streaks of color.

Wasp and Mok’tal needed little coordination- as though both captains simply knew what the other would do. As the first escort was liberally redistributed across a square kilometer of space, the two escorts split courses. The green Bird of Prey rounded on the next closest escort, disruptor blasts hammering at her prow before a photon torpedo evaporated the bow all the way back to what looked like some sort of gunfire control system before the bridge. The wounded frigate staggered out of line, starboard weapons stitching Mok’tal‘s underbelly as she roared past, trading fire with her aft disruptor turret before both vessels wheeled on each other again.

Wasp originally angled straight for the cruiser, only to abruptly stand on her starboard nacelle and dive for the remaining frigate, swinging about to try and get a bead on the transport ship. Red beams splashed against her nose as the venerable old Defiant-class thundered towards her foe, and once more the crew felt the ship thrumming all around them as the quad phaser cannons opened up once more. No time for a torpedo shot before the vessels passed, not from the bow tubes- but the Draxan was already struggling, her side torn to ribbons, shedding chunks of hull plating and internal components into space as she tried to swing around and respond in kind. Ever agile, Wasp was already rearing on her again- the cannons blared, a quantum torpedo streaked out of the number-two tube, and most of the frigate’s stern structure vanished in a brief ball of fire.

The little escort ducked underneath the transport and pulled up over her other side, flashing past still-lit windows backlighting someone, people, watching her pass them by. Too brief to make out much, but Song would remember the viewscreen panning around just in time for a short figure to point at Wasp and tug on another being’s arm for the rest of her life.

She hadn’t realized she’s breathed that sigh of relief aloud until Rainet softly commented, “Yeah, me too.” They weren’t too late. Their greatest fear assuaded, the engines kicked back into high gear and rocketed the little escort straight for the cruiser. The brief flicker of light across the transport’s hull marked the end of the final frigate, and undoubtedly, Mok’tal coming hard about to follow Wasp in.

The Draxans took much pride in their cruiser designs- large, powerful, almost ornate in their design, intended to strike fear with just their presence alone, much less their firepower. She was twice as long as Mok’tal and Wasp lined bow to stern, likely outmassed them easily five to six times, and almost certainly had twice the on-paper weapon count. But none of those things mattered against two vessels that’d seen, fought, and beaten the Dominion war machine at its peak.

Wasp swung in first, fore and ventral shields flaring under fire, stitching the cruiser’s port side from bow to stern- sweeping so close to her hull that everyone aboard heard a dull clunk! as the nose sheared off what must’ve been a communications antenna of some sort. Song glanced wordlessly at Az, who glared at Rakko, who just shrugged his shoulders in response and kept flying. The escort added a torpedo from her aft tube as she wheeled back around, ventral phaser arrays pounding away. Mok’tal began her own run from the opposite side as Wasp pulled away, a photon torpedo blowing away an impulse thruster assembly and bodily shoving what was left of it backwards and away.

The cruiser faltered, weapons blazing away at the two little escorts with more desperation than anything else. The third torpedo from Wasp must’ve struck her shield generator, because those failed completely just as torpedo three from Wasp and number two from Mok’tal slammed into her unprotected hull. Gouts of fire rippled from within, forward momentum falling, and yet she kept moving forward, blasts of energy and the odd torpedo still flying at the two escorts.

And thus, the fire continued. Another torpedo from Wasp. Two more from Mok’tal. Another pair from the Starfleet ship. Every time Song was about to order a ceasefire, thinking the cruiser was finally done, it opened up with another barrage again and the action continued apace. More lances of red, green, and orange split space between them. More torpedoes slammed home. And yet, seemingly through sheer defiance, the cruiser simply refused to give up the ghost. It’d be impressive if it all wasn’t for the sake of destroying a ship full of civilians.

And then finally, mercifully, the fire slackened. The cruiser went dark, drifting, her dessicated hull finally quiet for the first time. Simultaneously, the two escorts ceased fire, watching as little specks ejected from their foe’s hull. Escape pods. A surprising amount, even, considering the beating she’d taken.

“… counting about 550 life-forms in those pods, skipper,” Rainet murmured, her voice wavering slightly. Song wasn’t sure what had her shaken more- the sheer destruction they’d just wrought, or the determination the Draxans seemed to have just to destroy this one ship full of refugees. “Even if we loaded both ships up to capacity, we wouldn’t be able to save even half those people.”

Song’s lips pursed, but at least this time, she seemed much more sure of their decision. “Comm Engineering. Tell T’Vara I want a probe remodulated for signal broadcast. We’ll drop it once we’re done here, let the Draxans pick up their survivors.”

Nobody argued if that was better than they’d deserved- just a quiet nod, Rainet’s hushed talk with T’Vara, and the viewscreen blurring as Wasp hauled away from the dying cruiser and towards the equally battered transport. Mok’tal silently doubled back around as well, falling in off the port bow of the escort.

Song’s eyes surveyed the pitted, scarred hull of the transport, only to fall back to the windows still glowing from within. The figures staring back at them. The little one, who even as a silhouette seemed to look into her very soul and touch it.

“… open a channel to the freighter,” she declared, huffing out a sigh and straightening her collar. “Let’s see who’s around to talk.”