Every last bit of power Bluefin possessed had been routed to the powerful tractor beams. Had she been any other ship, a regular fleet cruiser for example, the maneuver wouldn’t have stood a snowflake’s chance in hell. But the Albacore-class border cutter had been designed to strain its tractor beams to the absolute limit.
So when the massive force of cobalt colored energy gripped the fast approaching starship turned firebomb, it did it with such might, it instantly caused the smaller vessel to tumble over itself. And therein of course also lay the problem.
The high yield thruster fuel which had been repurposed as explosives became unstable seconds after the impact and the vessel was ripped apart in a fiery explosion way too close to the desperately retreating border cutter.
Akinola watched the spectacle with morbid fascination, already aware that they were not moving fast enough to clear the incoming shockwave. “All hands, brace for impact!”
Acting quickly, Dale McBride transferred the little energy that remained in the ship’s electro-plasma grid towards the structural integrity field before holding on to the tactical station for dear life.
The rest of the crew all over the ship followed suit.
Then, the shockwave hit.
And once again it was a distinct characteristic of the sturdy border cutter””its heavily reinforced shields this time””that saved the crew from certain destruction.
On the bridge the light panels exploded first, covering it in darkness. Not a nanosecond later gravity was turned upside down and not one man or woman remained at their station as they were tossed into the air like rag dolls.
It was going to be the landings that would prove the most painful.
Some time later when Akinola opened his eyes again he experienced too many sensations at the same time. An intense light from a nearby fire blinding his vision and burning his skin. A sharp pain in his dislocated arm and a sickening taste of blood in his mouth.
He did not hear anything however which was strange because he could see McBride, bleeding from his nose and forehead standing above him, his mouth moving as if he was talking to him.
All the captain could hear was an insisting ringing that felt as if it would puncture his eardrums if that had not already happened.
The captain didn’t care. Neither did he pay attention to his clearly broken arm that had twisted unnaturally beside him. He spit out blood and slowly got to his knees. McBride continued to speak while carefully helping him to get off the floor. He could still not hear what he was saying but his expression was clear enough. He was greatly concerned.
The fires had gone as quickly as they had appeared, efficiently drowsed by the fire suppression system.
Akinola’s glance wandered across his demolished bridge. T’Ser lay against a bulkhead nursing a bleeding and possibly dislocated shoulder. Solly Brin was removing a fragment of debris which had been lodged into Nigel Bane’s leg. Akinola was thankful he couldn’t hear the junior lieutenant’s howls of pain.
The helm station was blasted to pieces, the console destroyed completely and the chair burned to a crisp. Ensign Lennox Okonedo was lying face down at the opposite side of the bridge. Akinola could feel his chest tighten as he watched the young man for a moment. He didn’t move at all.
Brushing off McBride who was desperately trying to tend to the captain’s injuries, Akinola slowly stumbled to Okonedo’s side. He knelt next to the man and a not so steady hand reached out for his neck to find a pulse. There wasn’t one.
Joseph Akinola didn’t hear the turbolift doors open and a swarm of medical technicians streaming onto his bridge. He didn’t even notice Doctor Baxter until he joined him at his side, scanning the motionless body of Okonedo with a tricorder.
Apparently not satisfied with the result the device produced, Calvin Baxter began to diagnose his patient by hand. After just a few seconds he gave up on that as well.
The captain looked at the doctor with an expression of pure anxiety, hoping against all hope for an assuring diagnosis, for any kind of sign that his nephew could have another chance at life. And that he could get another chance to talk to him, to make sure to let him know how proud he had been of the young man.
In a sick twist of fate his hearing returned just then.
“I’m sorry, Joseph.”
Akinola refused to believe. He refused to accept that he had allowed his nephew to be killed. It was a feeling unfamiliar to the veteran captain who had lost too many men under his command in his long and distinguished career in the Border Service. It was equal to and perhaps even worse to the very first casualty that had taken place under his watch so long ago it felt like half an eternity.
The corpsmen began to cover up the dead body while Akinola watched with eyes too dry to allow for tears.
“Let me have a look at you,” Baxter said softly.
But Akinola was not interested. “How many?”
“Joseph, please, you're hurt.”
“How many?” he asked again, keeping his voice perfectly even.
The former admiral sighed. “Initial numbers suggest twenty-three injured and five dead. It looks like the bridge took the worst hit.”
“Akinola, Captain Akinola, come in.”
It was Schwarzkopf’s voice coming over the speakers. It had lost the maddening desperation it had contained before and regained its authoritarian edge. “Akinola, where are those medical teams? I’ve got numerous injured over here and I have lost contact to half the ship including sickbay. I need your people over here now.”
There was silence on the bridge of Bluefin save for the subtle croak of a clearly damaged environmental system. The crew of the border cutter””nobody without their own injuries to nurse””looked at each other with empty glances.
“Goddamnit Akinola, I need help over here. If you can hear me respond.”
Calvin Baxter was the first to pierce the silence. “Joseph, our medical teams are still standing by. We should be able to dispatch them without compromising our efforts here on the ship.”
Akinola took his time to stand up. Spitting more blood however remained his only response.
“We have to help them,” Baxter said with insistence lacing his voice.
His plea appeared to fall on deaf ears on the bridge of Bluefin which currently was closer in appearance to a junk yard than a starship's command center.
Akinola walked over to where T’Ser was still sitting on the floor. He held out his good arm and with surprising strength helped the young Vulcan woman back onto her feet. She gave him an appreciative nod but didn’t say a word.
The captain looked around his bridge once more. All eyes were upon their leader, wondering exactly what his next orders would be. They would follow them without question.
“Mister McBride,” Akinola began but his voice croaked and he had to stop himself. “Mister McBride, get us in transporter range and send whoever we can spare.”
“Yes, sir.”
The captain glanced one last time at the black body bag which now contained the remains of his nephew. Then he turned his back and left the bridge, ignoring Baxter’s persistent calls to allow him to treat his wounds.