Chương 3: 02.Desperate Gamble 02-2

"Prepare for a suicide charge." The moment I said it, the bridge went so quiet it felt like even the air had stepped out to write a will. College boy didn't answer immediately. He just stared at the console, throat working, fingers hovering over controls that would determine whether we pulled off something legendary or just turned into a brief radiation signature.

The Federation grunts were worse—one looked like he'd just vomited up his soul, another was death-gripping his rifle, and the third had the expression of someone mentally drafting a bathroom break request. Too bad. Even dying required waiting in line right now. I looked up at the fractured observation window. Outside, space was black as an unlit ocean. The Imperial and Federation fleets moved through it like two packs of animals tearing at each other in dark water.

Artillery flashed and died, lighting up wreckage, twisted hull plating, venting atmosphere, and small drifting shapes I was better off not thinking about. Genuinely spectacular. The kind of scene that should have orchestral scoring and a gravelly narrator saying this was the moment history changed. My actual thought was: if I die right now, is someone going to throw out that half-finished bag of cherry cola under my bunk? Absolutely unacceptable.

"College boy." I knocked the tactical display.

"From now on, do exactly what I say."

"... Tell me first. Then I'll decide whether to regret it."

"Lock bow attitude into an unstable state. Throttle main engines to thirty percent. Make the port thruster compensation deliberately erratic. I want this ship looking like it took a bad hit and the flight computer's running on its last breath." His fingers flew across the interface, translucent panels lighting up in sequence.

"Done."

"Now broadcast everything—reactor overload warnings, shield decay curves, internal pressure loss alerts. Make it as pathetic as possible. I want every Imperial bastard to take one look and think: that thing's almost dead, one more shot and we're done."

"... You're disturbingly good at performing near-death."

"Life experience."

"Nothing to be proud of."

"Shut up and type." He actually smiled down at the console. Being able to smile at a time like this meant either his nerves were made of something extraordinary, or hanging around me had broken something in his brain. Honestly, the second seemed more likely. Another shudder rolled through the bridge. Not a direct hit—debris from Imperial secondary battery sweeps hammering our hull. The whole ship groaned with harsh scraping sounds, like someone dragging heated iron wire across a coffin.

On the main projection, the largest Imperial capital ship finally completed its attitude correction. It didn't rush to fire again—just cut smoothly outward, positioning itself where Federation crossfire couldn't reach. At the same time, a medium assault cruiser began closing on us from a nasty angle, clearly intending to move in and confirm the kill. Right. There it was. Not stupidity—professionalism. In chaos like this, they'd made the correct call: eliminate the anomalous threat first. We were that anomaly.

"They're taking the bait," College boy said quietly. I watched the Imperial cruiser's silhouette grow on the projection and felt the corner of my mouth move.

"Told you. Show someone something about to explode, and they always want to be the one who finishes it off."

"That sentence is uniquely terrifying coming from you."

"Because I'm usually the one doing the finishing." I turned to the Federation grunts standing around looking dazed.

"You lot—anyone still breathing, seal the rear bulkhead doors. Secure everything that can be secured, tie down everything else. Drag those surrendered Imperials into a corner while you're at it—I don't want them bouncing around taking my spot when we hit!"

"Y-yes ma'am!"

"And strap into crash webbing. Anyone who flies into a wall and cracks their skull—I'm not writing you a heroic death report." They scattered, and the bridge briefly resembled a functional command center. Briefly. Because the next second, a near-miss particle beam scorched a glowing red gash across the starboard bulkhead, metal lining peeling back like split flesh. Three new alarm tones immediately joined the noise. Fucking hell. Was the Empire running a music festival?

"Time to contact?"

"Thirty-two seconds," College boy said.

"If they hold current heading."

"They won't."

"I know."

"Calculate for the worst case."

"... Twenty-seven seconds then."

"Good." The fairest thing about the universe: it never gave you enough time to overthink. So I focused on the only thing that mattered. The gamble.

"What about the Federation?" College boy opened a secondary window. All four Federation ships were pushing through the gap we'd torn—not a full counter-offensive yet, but they'd dragged the situation back from about to be reverse-encircled to everyone hitting each other until someone stops breathing.

"Second and Fourth pushing successfully. First charging main batteries. Third took damage—still trailing." I nodded. Good enough. As long as they were moving forward, our insanity wasn't wasted. The Imperial cruiser kept closing. Close enough now that through the fractured observation window I could make out its hull lighting and scorch marks along the armor belt from earlier exchanges. It wasn't using main guns—just secondary batteries and cutting fire, steadily pressing us.

Like a hunter with a rifle barrel against a wounded animal's head, checking if it was actually dead. Tactically sound. Also deeply satisfying to be about to ram. A thought hit me. I turned to College boy.

"Hey."

"What?"

"Are you scared?" He didn't answer right away. Just kept watching the console, fingers moving. If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. After a moment, he said quietly:"Yeah." Honest. I liked that.

"Me too."

"You don't look it."

"That's because I'm good at faking it."

"... I genuinely can't tell."

"Fuck." Was his mouth getting sharper? I shot him a look—and he happened to glance up at exactly that moment. One corner of his glasses was cracked. A patch of hair near his ear was singed from the earlier beam graze. He looked like he'd crawled out of an explosion lab. But without that interview-room stiffness, his face was actually— No. Stop. We were about to ram a warship. Why was my brain doing this right now? Definitely a concussion.

I snapped my gaze back to the tactical display, pretending nothing had happened.

"Twenty-second countdown," College boy said.

"Right." I took a slow breath.

"Final confirmation. When that Imperial cruiser hits uncomfortable abort range, we drop the act. Release all stored thrust correction in one burst—full reactor output into attitude thrusters, bow down four-point-seven degrees, starboard roll nine degrees. We hit their mid-hull, aft section." College boy's mouth twitched.

"You even planned exactly where to hit them?"

"Obviously. Hit the bridge and they react early. Hit the bow and they can deflect the impact. Mid-hull is where it gets nasty—that's where lateral bulkhead breaches hurt most. Power systems, weapons, crew quarters, all packed together. Get lucky and you take out three problems at once."

"... I'm suddenly very glad you're not Imperial."

"Same here. Otherwise it'd be the Federation getting rammed right now." The bridge shuddered again. This time the deck actually buckled upward. A pipe burst somewhere overhead with a sharp crack, venting scalding steam that hit one of the Federation grunts hard enough to make him howl. I snapped around.

"Stop screaming! If you're not cooked through, you're still alive!"

"Y-yes ma'am!" Good. Still had enough fight left to get yelled at. Mental state wasn't completely shot.

"Fifteen seconds," College boy said. The Imperial cruiser was uncomfortably close now. I could make out its attitude thrusters flickering along the hull—like a shark swimming up to show you its teeth. They were clearly expecting a dying counterattack, so they weren't coming straight in. Instead, they were angling for a clean side confirmation kill. Steady. Professional. The kind of captain I'd hate personally but couldn't help respecting. Too bad he was dealing with me.

And my greatest asset had always been caring significantly less about survival than most people.

"Federation First Ship main battery online," College boy reported quickly.

"If we can throw that cruiser off-axis, First Ship gets a clear shot."

"Then let's throw it off."

"You make it sound easy."

"Feel free to suggest something more elegant." He drew a quiet breath—like suppressing a laugh.

"Ten seconds." Everyone still standing held their breath without thinking. Me included. My brain wasn't supplying heroic final words. Just: Did I even wash my hair today? If we survived this impact, blood and coolant were going to be impossible to wash out. Fuck. Interstellar warfare really should include complimentary hair treatments.

"Nine." College boy's voice stayed steady.

"Eight." The Imperial cruiser began its lateral drift, moving to bracket our stern. They genuinely thought we were dying. Perfect. A little closer.

"Seven." On the main projection, Federation First Ship's main battery axis quietly lit up. The blue-white charging ring opened like an eye.

"Six." I pressed my palm against the tactical display edge. Completely soaked with sweat. Not fear. Well—partly fear. But mostly something stranger. That feeling when you know the next step is either legend or splatter, and you're already past the point of backing down.

"Five." College boy said quietly: "Hold on." I blinked.

"What?" The next second, his left hand stayed on the console while his right reached over and grabbed my wrist. Firm. Warm. Steadier than it had any right to be. I went completely still. Not from pain—because he'd actually done that. Right now. In the middle of this. We were on a battlefield. People were getting blown apart nearby. What kind of timing was this? Heat rushed to my ears. Thank God my face was already covered in blood.... This was not attraction.

This was normal physiological response to contact under extreme stress. Textbook human biology. Obviously.

"Four." I cleared my throat.

"Your hand. Where exactly—""Keeping you alive." Fuck. That was completely unfair. He usually sounded like a school announcement—where did that come from? My brain nearly short-circuited. Only the Imperial cruiser expanding across the projection saved me.

"Three."

"Now!" I shouted. College boy released my wrist and slammed both hands down. The ship came alive in that instant. No—more like something dying that suddenly bit down on its last breath and hurled itself forward on pure spite. The port thrusters we'd been faking as damaged flared at full burn. Every stored correction released in one massive burst. The hull first slid outward—selling the illusion of continued loss of control—then the next instant, bow pitched down hard and rolled starboard.

The whole ship moved like a predator that had played dead until the perfect moment to strike. The Imperial cruiser clearly realized something was wrong in the final two seconds. Every flank thruster fired at once. Too late. Way too late.

"Two—!" Our bow slammed into their mid-hull, aft of center. That was when I finally understood real impact. Not a jolt. Not a shake. The entire world folded and shattered. The forward observation window didn't crack—it exploded. The thick transparent layer turned to a cloud of fragments instantly. Safety membranes and emergency shutters deployed in fractions of a second, but debris was already airborne, mixed with blood. My harness and grip caught me simultaneously.

Shoulder wrenching like something was trying to dislocate it, teeth slamming together, vision whiting out, lungs emptied by pure concussive force. Fuck. I was actually going to be sick. Our bow armor drove into the cruiser's midsection and kept going. The overloaded main reactor and remaining thrust turned our entire ship into a red-hot nail boring through their armor belt.

The Imperial hull first caved inward, then opened like a can being split—bulkheads, weapons decks, internal corridors blowing section by section. Fire. Debris. White mist from decompression. And countless small dark shapes tumbling into space. Not all components. Or not entirely. I closed my eyes for one second. Opened them. No time for squeamishness. The Imperial cruiser's attitude was violently thrown off. Its fire axis, locked on the Federation fleet, went completely wild.

Worse: with the mid-hull breached, internal munitions and power conduits began cascading failures. The whole ship convulsed through space like a gutted fish. And as it rolled— Federation First Ship's main battery arrived. A thick column of blue-white light drove straight into the breach we'd torn, with precision that was almost cruel. The Imperial cruiser broke in half. Not ordinary explosion. More like watching structure and fate rupture simultaneously.

The forward section kept sliding on momentum, not yet understanding it was dead. The rear section spun, vented fire, and disintegrated in chain detonations. Armor plates peeled like scales. Entire compartments opened to vacuum. Red light, blue fire, shattered framework, spinning wreckage—all blooming against black space in a spectacularly ugly flower. I slumped against the half-destroyed tactical table, ears screaming, and laughed anyway. Not normal laughter.

The involuntary joy of watching someone you hate miss a step and fall into a fountain.

"Hit confirmed..." someone behind me said shakily. I coughed up something bloody and rasped: "Obviously... we literally rammed them... if we'd missed I'd have died of pure rage..." But it wasn't over. The Imperial fleet didn't collapse from losing one cruiser. That would be too easy. The remaining ships reacted immediately: two outer vessels pulled back to clear blast radius, one moved to screen the flagship's repositioning, another angled to finish us while we were tangled in wreckage. Correct tactical response.

I'd do the same. The Federation didn't give them time. Second and Fourth Ships, previously getting hammered, lunged forward the moment the cruiser broke—like dogs catching blood scent. Main batteries, secondaries, missile silos, everything hitting the gap in Imperial center that had opened when they moved to deal with us. The breach we'd torn, the Federation kicked wide open. The tactical picture flipped. Not clean victory. Not that dramatic yet.

But the near-completed counter-encirclement had become the Empire scrambling to keep their own center from being bitten through. Which meant we'd actually done it. Actually pulled it off. More improbable than guessing every exam answer right. The artificial gravity failed completely. Alarms hit a pitch like someone drilling my skull. The deck went light; I nearly floated off. Blood droplets drifted lazily around me.

College boy grabbed his console edge with one hand and caught my arm with the other before I drifted into the shattered forward shielding.

"Main reactor's failing!" he shouted.

"I know!"

"Ship's breaking apart!"

"I know!"

"Then what do we do?!" I stared at the hellscape on the main projection, then at our ship—embedded in the Imperial cruiser's corpse and coming apart itself. A strange hollow feeling moved through me. Like finishing a final exam with everything you had, only for the paper to be snatched away before you could read what you'd written. I sighed.

"What we do now..." I grabbed College boy's wrist, mirroring what he'd done earlier. He blinked. Good. Turnabout.

"We run, obviously, you idiot!" I was already shouting and slinging the axe onto my back.

"All personnel—abandon bridge! Get to stern escape pods! Move! Last one there gets used as a human shield!" The Federation grunts finally snapped fully back to life—scrambling, stumbling toward the rear corridor. The surviving Imperial prisoners, terrified, ran with them. Instant chaos. As I hauled College boy into the corridor, I heard him panting beside me:"Did you just save me again?"

"Shut up! I just don't want to find a new Imperial translator!"

"That excuse is getting thinner."

"You're only noticing now?" We sprinted across tilting deck plates, past strobing warnings, through blood that wasn't entirely ours, toward the stern. Behind us, the ship tore apart in continuous metal fractures—like something enormous chewing through it section by section. Running, I couldn't shake one thought. Today had been completely, spectacularly fucked.

But the most annoying thing was that I knew, clearly and against my will, that in those five seconds before impact, what had spiked my pulse hardest might not have been the Imperial cruiser alone. Fuck. That was going to be a much bigger problem than any battlefield.