The IKS Rotarran was bleeding. Shards of its own hull plating spiraled past the main viewscreen, joining the chaotic dance of the asteroid field they had been lured into. Every few seconds, another polaron blast from the hidden Jem'Hadar ships would impact an asteroid, turning rock and ice into a blinding flash of vaporized matter.
On the bridge, the air was thick with the metallic tang of ozone and the grim quiet of warriors who knew the battle was turning against them.
"Report," General Martok commanded. His voice was a low rumble, steady as the ship's grav-plates, but his one good eye betrayed the strain, fixed on the tactical display where red icons swarmed their single green vessel.
"Aft shields have collapsed. Engineering reports plasma conduits are threatening to breach," Worf answered from his post. His hands moved with disciplined precision over the console, rerouting auxiliary power, trying to staunch the ship's wounds. "The U.S.S. Lexington is still dead in the water. Their warp core is offline. They cannot run."
"They are Federation," Martok grunted, gripping the command chair. "Running is not their first instinct. Hiding, perhaps." He spat on the deck. "But they are our allies. We will not abandon them to these white-blooded wraiths."
The mission had been simple: escort the Lexington and its cargo of medical supplies through the Kalandra sector. But Dominion intelligence had been better. The ambush was perfectly laid. Now the Rotarran was the only thing standing between the crippled Federation starship and a dozen Jem'Hadar attack ships.
An explosion rocked the bridge, throwing sparks from a ceiling conduit.
"Direct hit to the forward torpedo bay!" the weapons officer yelled, his face grimed with soot. "Launchers are fused!"
"We are a beast with no teeth," Martok snarled. "Worf! What do we have left?"
"Forward and ventral disruptors are operational," Worf replied, his tone clipped. "But our targeting sensors are unreliable in this debris field. Firing blind will only reveal our position."
"So we wait for them to gut us like a gagh?" Martok slammed his fist on the arm of his chair. The old rage was boiling in him, the desire to charge headlong into the enemy, to die with a bat'leth in his hand. But he was a General now, not just a warrior. The lives of his crew, and the crew of the Lexington, depended on more than fury.
He looked at Worf. The son of Mogh was a rock in the swirling chaos, his focus absolute. He was not looking for a glorious death, but a tactical solution. In that moment, Martok saw not a Starfleet officer playing at being a Klingon, but the embodiment of what the Empire needed to be: honor tempered by discipline.
"Worf," Martok said, his voice softening slightly. "You have served on a Federation starship. You know their methods. What would Captain Picard do now?"
Worf looked up, surprised by the question. He considered it for a long moment, the sounds of battle fading into the background of his thoughts.
"He would not fight their battle," Worf said finally. "He would change the battlefield." He pointed to a large, dense asteroid on the tactical display. "That asteroid, designation 217. Its core is rich in unstable veridium isotopes. The Lexington's sensor logs confirmed it before they were disabled."
A slow, dangerous smile spread across Martok's face as he understood. "A fire ship."
"More," Worf corrected. "A bomb. If we can detonate it, the resulting shockwave and radiation burst would cripple any ship within ten thousand kilometers. It would give the Lexington time to complete their repairs."
"But the Rotarran is well within that radius," Martok stated, the smile never leaving his face. "And we have no torpedoes to trigger it from a distance."
"A disruptor blast at full power might be sufficient," Worf said. "But we would have to get within point-blank range to penetrate the outer crust. The odds of surviving the blast..."
"...are an afterthought!" Martok finished, his fighting spirit roaring back to life. "It is a plan worthy of Kahless himself! To turn the very stones of the heavens against our enemies!" He slapped the intercom. "Engineering! Give me everything you have! Divert all power, even life support, to the forward disruptors and engines for one final push!"
The deck plating groaned in protest as the Rotarran lurched forward, emerging from behind its asteroid cover. Immediately, polaron beams stitched across its hull. Shields, already weak, flickered and died. The ship shuddered under the direct impacts, but it did not slow.
"We are the sword of Kahless!" Martok roared, his voice booming across the bridge. "And we will not be broken! For the glory of the Empire!"
"For the Empire!" the crew echoed, their fear replaced by a fatalistic resolve.
They bore down on Asteroid 217. The Jem'Hadar ships, sensing the kill, closed in, their fire intensifying.
"We are in range, General!" Worf shouted over the alarms.
"Then let them hear the echo of this day for generations!" Martok bellowed. "FIRE!"
Worf slammed his fist down, unleashing the Rotarran's dying breath in a single, focused beam of incandescent energy. The green lance of the disruptor plunged into the heart of the asteroid.
For a heartbeat, there was silence.
Then, the universe turned white. The asteroid did not just explode; it detonated. A wave of pure force and searing radiation erupted outwards. The Rotarran, caught in the blast, was thrown backwards like a child's toy, its systems screaming and then dying one by one until the only light on the bridge was the hellish, fading glow from the viewscreen.
Slowly, as the ship drifted in the sudden, shocking silence, emergency power flickered on. The viewscreen cleared, showing a void where the asteroid had been. Of the closest Jem'Hadar ships, there was nothing left but shimmering dust. The others were disabled, drifting helplessly.
And in the distance, the U.S.S. Lexington, battered but whole, ignited its warp engines and vanished into the safety of hyperspace.
Martok pushed himself up from the deck. He tasted blood. He looked at Worf, who was helping an injured crewman. Their eyes met across the ruined bridge. They had survived.
"Today," Martok said, his voice hoarse but filled with a fierce pride, "the bards will not sing of glory. They will sing of resolve. They will sing of the ship that was willing to be shattered, so that the battle could be won." He clapped Worf on the shoulder, a gesture of ultimate respect. "They will sing of the Rotarran."