Vadia - Firefight Above the Prison

Posted on Sat Mar 14th, 2026 @ 8:14pm by Commander Jenna Ramthorne & Commander Rosa Coy & Lieutenant JG Micheal Stevens & Lieutenant JG Jacob Rosen & Lieutenant JG Olivia Voight & Lieutenant JG T'Lar

2,183 words; about a 11 minute read

Mission: Beholder
Location: USS Sunfire - Above Vadia IX
Timeline: Current-ish

USS Sunfire - Bridge

Twin phaser arrays from the carrier’s forward hull speared across the battlefield, hammering the smuggler vessel with sustained fire that lit its shields in brilliant cascades of energy. The larger ship shuddered as its defensive field struggled to absorb the punishment.

Blue Squadron arrived seconds later, cutting across the smuggler’s flank in a tight attack sweep. “Blue One engaging port quarter,” came the call. “They’re trying to bring torp racks online.”

Rosa rolled her fighter onto its side and accelerated toward the threat. “Negative,” she said calmly. “We're not going to give them that option.” Her micro-photon launcher cycled and fired. The small torpedo streaked forward and detonated along the torpedo rack assembly in a violent bloom of white light. Secondary explosions rippled along the smuggler’s hull as ammunition cooked off inside the damaged launcher.

Handzon laughed inside her thoughts. Now that is how you ruin a man’s afternoon.

The smuggler captain responded with brute force. Heavy engines flared as the vessel attempted to power through the engagement, turning directly toward the Sunfire with weapons blazing.

“They’re charging the carrier,” Red Two warned.

Rosa inhaled slowly while the tactical display updated around her. “Gold Squadron,” she said, opening the reserve channel, “launch and cut them off. Full intercept pattern.” Five more fighters burst from the hangar rails behind the carrier and accelerated toward the enemy’s rear arc.

The trap tightened.


USS Sunfire - Bridge

"Shields holding at 45%!" Came the report from Ops.

"They're getting tunnel vision over there." Jacob said, engrossed in the tactical display. "Helm bring us closer to the plane, right into the gravity well." He looked to T'Lar, "I hope you're not completely over my ideas yet."

T'Lar shot him a look with a raised eyebrow, narrowed eyelids and a tense mouth; a look that anyone trained in recognizing Vulcan non verbal cues would be able to interpret as are you f*cking kidding me with this $#!+ right now? She was winning the battle against fear and nausea but looking greener than usual for the effort.

Standing and making his way back over to the Tactical station Jacob bent over to look at the display, nonverbally motioning an apology to the fellow JG. "Let's get a firing solution targeting their propulsion systems, fire as soon as they close the distance and join us within the planet's gravity well." Tapping a few commands into the console himself while the tactical officer began carrying out his instructions, Jacob sent their firing solution to the Fighters.

From a counselor's perspective, T'Lar had to admit that Rosen was hitting his marks admirably; projecting cool under pressure, even with a bit of swagger to which even in her motion sick state she was not immune. The man was confident, moved like a leader and if she were doing crew evaluations, or personal counseling she would suggest that he had much to offer the command track should he ever decide to give up the gold of Ops. It did not hurt that he was aesthetically pleasing to look at either, but she couldn't be bothered with such thoughts at this time. None of it mattered if they did not survive the next several minutes, and she was quite literally done with the combat foreplay. This needed to end, and end quickly.

Vulcans are not prone to hopes and prayers, but she found herself hoping he was really as good as he was letting on. Lives depended on it.


Wing Command Flight Group

The tactical picture shifted the moment the new telemetry packet arrived.

Rosa saw it instantly on her display. The Sunfire’s vector bent sharply toward Vadia, the carrier sliding deliberately into the growing pull of the gravity well while the enemy ship continued pressing forward with its guns blazing. The updated firing solution unfolded across her targeting grid like a map drawn in red light. Propulsion systems. Engine cluster. Reaction control assemblies along the stern.

Lt. Rosen had changed the play. Rosa allowed herself the smallest smile inside the helmet. Bold.

“Red Squadron tighten up,” she said across the fighter channel, her tone carrying the steady calm that pilots learned when the sky became crowded with trouble. “New tasking from the carrier. We’re shifting targets.”

Her Peregrine rolled smoothly through open space, aligning with the enemy vessel’s aft quarter as the gravitational pull of the planet began to tug at the battlefield. The smuggler ship pushed harder toward the drifting Sunfire, convinced the wounded carrier was trying to limp away toward the atmosphere below.

“They’re chasing the bait,” Red Two reported.

“Good,” Rosa replied. “Let them commit.”

Behind her the rest of the interceptors curved through space in disciplined arcs, their thrusters flaring as they re-positioned along the enemy’s rear hemisphere. The targeting brackets around the smuggler vessel’s engines sharpened as the carrier’s firing solution synchronized with the fighter network.

Inside her mind Coy watched the unfolding maneuver with quiet appreciation. The gravity well constrains their maneuvering options the symbiont observed thoughtfully. A predator that cannot turn becomes vulnerable.

Handzon chuckled low in the back of her thoughts. Corner a brute against the wall and break his legs. Simple, elegant.

Rosa opened the squadron channel again. “All wings listen carefully. Bridge wants propulsion kills. Target their main engine cluster and reaction thrusters along the stern. We cripple their mobility and the carrier handles the rest.”

Acknowledgements rippled through the formation. “Red Squadron form attack ladder behind me. Blue Squadron sweep wide and cut off any attempt to break orbit. Gold Squadron stay high cover and watch their gun arcs.”

The smuggler vessel’s engines flared brighter as it attempted to power through the growing gravitational drag, its captain focused entirely on the damaged carrier drifting below. Disruptor fire lashed out toward the Sunfire, brilliant lines of energy tearing across space.

Rosa pushed her throttle forward. “Red Squadron,” she said quietly, “with me.”

Five fighters dropped into a steep attack vector toward the enemy vessel’s stern. Pulse phasers opened first, tight bursts of fire stitching across the armored housings that protected the propulsion systems. The smuggler’s gunners swung their turrets desperately to track the incoming fighters, but the Peregrines moved too quickly, darting through the expanding field of defensive fire.

“Red Three scoring hits on port thruster assembly.”

“Blue Squadron engaging starboard side.”

Micro photon torpedoes flashed away from the fighters in controlled pairs, detonating against the engine cluster in bright violent bursts that shook the enemy ship from stem to stern. Armor plating peeled away under the concentrated assault while superheated gas vented from ruptured fuel lines.

The smuggler captain finally realized the trap. But it was too late.

Engine output spiked as the vessel attempted to turn away from the planet’s pull, but the maneuver came too late. One of the main propulsion nozzles exploded under a direct torpedo strike, sending a plume of plasma spiraling into space.


USS Sunfire - Bridge

"They are no longer generating enough thrust to escape gravity. Target is falling to the surface. Shields are gone and we are seeing structural separation as they're burning through the planet atmosphere." Came the report from the Operations station.

The bulky form of the ship began to glow red, then orange, finally white hot as pieces began to break off. Innumerable streaks of molten steel began to angle towards the surface.

"Acknowledged Gonzo. Helm, bring us back up to standard orbit signal the Wing to standby for landing trap and ask they keep a flight out there to sweep the wreckage for survivors if the Commander would be so inclined." Jacob sat up in the command chair. reading the projected trajectory of the pieces. No estimated impact on the prison but some were going to get uncomfortably close. The ground team would certainly hear and feel the impacts.

"We make a good team Counselor." Jacob said looking towards T'Lar. "Or rather..." He paused remembering his interactions with other Vulcan crewmembers in the past. "I find our mutual performance effective and your advice agreeable in this endeavor

"Indeed. It was a privilege to serve alongside you on my first venture as an acting XO." T'Lar rejoined.

"If you'll excuse me T'Lar, I will leave you the conn for just a few moments." Jacob said abruptly, standing with forced confidence. In a few strides he had crossed the Bridge and entered the Ready Room. Waiting for the door to close Jacob opened the small private bathroom and promptly vomited the entire contents of his stomach into the recycler.

It's okay, you survived Jake. The ship is intact. There are no casualties on your watch. You're okay. You're going to be okay. Everyone is okay. Jacob thought to himself, trying to stop his involuntary anxious shaking while washing his hands and cleaning his face.

T'Lar moved to the center chair. It was a day for firsts. The knot in her stomach began to recede as she took some deep cleansing breaths. An expert poker player, T'Lar was very good at reading tells. Despite his outward appearance, she could tell that Lieutenant Rosen was as rattled by the encounter as she was, perhaps moreso. Her appreciation for his professionalism under fire was therefore enhanced greatly. He'd done what needed to be done and hadn't flinched. Her after action report would be quite favorable. But that was for later. For now she had a duty.

"Scan for lifepods." T'Lar commanded. "Beam any enemy survivors directly to the brig" Then, tapping her combadge...

"Bridge to Security, send teams to the brig to receive and process prisoners."

"Security acknowledged," came the reply.

"Lieutenant, we have four lifesigns. " came Ops.

"Bridge to Security, are you ready to receive? Be advised we have four inbound."

"Aye, Bridge send 'em our way."

"Ops secure transport of enemy combatants. Continue to scan for more."

She knew the chances were very slim that there would be any other survivors but Starfleet always did it's due diligence.

T'Lar tapped her combadge again.

"T'Lar to Rosen. Sorry to disturb you sir. I thought you should know that we have prisoners..."


Wing Command Flight Group

Rosa watched the tactical display settle into a quieter rhythm as the smuggler vessel’s propulsion signature collapsed into a sputtering drift. The planet’s gravity well had begun to claim it now, the wounded ship sliding lower along a shallow arc toward the atmosphere while the Sunfire held position above the engagement zone like a patient sentinel.

The adrenaline that had filled the channel minutes earlier gave way to the calmer cadence of trained professionals holding formation.

Rosa keyed the squadron frequency. “Blue Squadron, Gold Squadron,” she said, her voice steady and composed. “You’ve done your work today. Break formation and return to Mother.”

Blue One answered first. “Copy that, Commander. Heading home.” Gold Squadron echoed the acknowledgment seconds later, their fighters peeling away from the engagement zone in smooth arcs as they turned back toward the carrier’s waiting hangar.

Rosa watched their icons drift toward the Sunfire’s recovery corridor before switching channels again.

“Red Squadron,” she continued, “you’re with me a little longer. Form a wide perimeter and maintain sky watch. I want a clean sensor picture while the carrier finishes its work.”

“Red One copies,” came the reply. “Setting patrol pattern.”

The remaining fighters spread outward into a loose protective ring, their flight paths curving gently against the slow pull of the planet below. The battlefield had grown quiet now except for the distant glow of the crippled smuggler ship tumbling through the upper reaches of the gravity well.

Inside her thoughts Coy observed the scene with quiet reflection. The engagement concludes with minimal loss. Your decisions shaped that outcome.

Rosa rested her hands lightly on the flight controls while her Peregrine drifted in a slow orbit above the unfolding aftermath.

Handzon’s voice followed a moment later, softer than usual, touched with something that almost resembled reluctant approval. You baited them cleanly. Not bad, pilot. You fly like a woman who owns the sky.

Rosa let the silence stretch while the stars turned slowly beyond the canopy. Below, the curve of the planet glowed blue and white, clouds drifting across its surface like slow moving continents of light.

Her fighter held position while Red Squadron watched the sky. The operation had moved the way good flying often did. Pressure. Timing. A single bold maneuver that changed the shape of the fight. “Not the sky,” she murmured quietly to herself. Her eyes lifted toward the stars. “The fight.”

Rosa studied the fading tactical markers one last time before leaning back slightly in the pilot’s chair, content to remain on station while the rest of her squadron kept watch over the quiet battlefield.

TBC

 

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