A little one-shot I wrote a while ago back on SDN. Figured I should import it here.
In The Face Of Armageddon
"How long?" Commander Bareil starred straight ahead at the Chekov's view screen, his body rigid with barely controlled tension. He wondered if this was how men felt on their way to the firing squad. How his father had felt, when the Cardassians took him away to die, one of hundreds killed in retribution for the Resistance's attacks.
"Approximately two minutes, Sir", Ensign Romanov replied quietly, and once again he wished that she'd taken that transfer to Vulcan. She was too damn young to be here, and too damn brave not to be.
He glanced sidelong at the cool features of Lt. Commander T'pel. His First Officer's features were calm, but there was something in her eyes that he'd never seen before. Was it fear?
"Fleet-wide message coming in from the Chin'toka", Ensign Romanov said in a strained voice. "Shall I put it on speakers, sir?"
He nodded absently, then hastily clarified.
"Yes Ensign." There was a pause, and then the calm, stern voice of Admiral Jellico came over the channel.
"This is Admiral Jellico. All ships to battle stations.
To paraphrase a man who's name is now legend- Starfleet expects that every being will do their duty."
Commander Bariel smiled tightly as the brief message ended. He knew then that it would be the last time he ever heard the Admiral's voice.
Don't think like that, he told himself. You don't know. There's always a chance. We've survived worse, we all have.
It sounded hollow even in his head, though, and he could not shake the sudden certainty that this time, they would not escape.
"Thirty seconds, sir", Ensign Romanov said.
"Status, Lt. Shar?" The Andorian Lt. replied from his station at Tactical, his voice calm and matter of fact.
"Shields and structural integrity fields at half-power. All available power has been directed to sensors, impulse drives, and weapons."
"Thank you, Lt." A few months ago, he never would have imagined directing power away from shields and structural integrity fields before going into battle, but their defenses wouldn't help them here. If you were hit, you were dead. A single one of those damned turbolasers would go through his shields and hull like lightning through a clear sky.
He glanced at Lt. Commander T'Pel again. She met his eyes briefly, her features coldly beautiful, and he swallowed. There was so much that he wanted to say, but now, they would never get the chance. His denials were hollow, so he simply nodded, trying to convey in that one gesture a lifetime of admiration and respect. After a moment, she returned it, and then they both turned back to face the view screen, and the streaks of warp flight as they raced towards the inevitable.
He glanced at his control panel, counting down the seconds. Ten, nine, eight...
"Lt. Nox, bring us out of warp in three, two, one... Now! Ensign Romanov, Red Alert!"
They dropped out of warp, the streaks of light snapping back to normal, star-strewn space. Before them, like a great spider web in space, hung the shipyards and facilities of Bastion Station, ringed by battle stations and sensors and communications arrays. Strange, he thought again, that the Imperials' technology and culture, like their biology, in so many ways resembled their own, and yet was so utterly alien in its power and will to destroy. Directly ahead of them, waiting, lay a trio of Star Destroyers, the mile-long daggers that had become synonymous with utter destruction seeming almost tiny at this distance. But around them lay the fleet, everything that could be cobbled together, conscripted, or pulled out of mothballs after the slaughters at Quo'nos and Eridani, from science ships like the Chekov to hundred-year old ore haulers to untested prototypes to Orion mercenaries, five hundred and seventy three ships of the last fleet of the Grand Alliance. There were a handful of proper warships too- he could see the USS Chin'toka, flagship of the fleet, swinging around to face the enemy a few thousand kilometers ahead. There were even, he knew, a few old Bajoran attack ships, towed by the lager vessels because their obsolete warp drives couldn't match the speeds of the newer designs. The thought, and the sight of this fleet, made his heart ache with desperate pride and love. They might be outnumbered, outmatched, outgunned, but they were here. He had to believe that that would mean something, that such valor and resolve could not perish for nothing. He found himself grinning fiercely, the adrenalin surging through him lending him a kind of almost manic energy. Was this how they'd felt, those martyrs of the Resistance? His cousins? Father?
I'll see you soon, he thought. But first, we're going to give these Wraith-spawned bastards a hell of a show.
The Chin'toka is signaling", Ensign Romanov said, and though her voice trembled slightly, the words were loud and clear. "All vessels lock on coordinates and fire at will."
He barred his teeth.
"Ensign Romanov, jamming at full. Lt. Nox, evasive maneuvers. Lt. Shar: Fire at will!"
The first wave of torpedoes was already racing out, orange and yellow orbs crossing the distance to the waiting enemy. Green turbolaser bolts raced back to meet them, passed them halfway, inter-mixed with the blue-white pulses of ion canons. He watched as if in a dream as the storm of brilliant death struck the front of the fleet, vessels vaporizing by the dozen, secondary explosions from proximity detonations destroying some of the smaller ships, as he finally witnessed for himself the firepower that had destroyed whole fleets. He never saw when the Chin'toka died. He watched as tens of thousands perished in an instant, as the wave of fiery destruction swept over the fleet towards them. He sat unmoving, unable to turn away, and found himself leaning forward slightly as though in anticipation, almost eager for that wave of fire to hit them. The view screen went white, and the Chekov lurched, nearly throwing him from his chair. He heard a scream from behind him and felt hot sparks rain down on him as Ensign Romanov's consul exploded, saw the impact toss Lt. Nox from his chair.
And then they were through the fire, impossibly alive, with nothing but open space crisscrossed with diminishing weapons fire between them and the Imperial fleet, as the wave of torpedoes fired by ships now dust and gas washed over their shields like drops of rain. He turned to T'Pel and-
The End.