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Massive damages to report to the engineering hall, Shaw manages to claw her way to safety

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"Shields up! Tactical, return fire. Helm, get us out of here! Engineering, report!" Chait hollers out commands as all around becomes chaos.

Shields got destroyed, targeting systems were banjaxed and helm was non responsive. Worst is the creaking in the spine connecting primary and secondary hulls.

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Grabs the com with blooded paws, panting from clawing her way out of the engineering hall;

"This is, uhm, Engineering. What the h*** is going on?? There is a massive hole in my engineering hall. Managed to save a couple of the crew, most of the crew were dragged out by the draft!"

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"Chait to Engineering, we're under attack, is Engineering servicable?

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"No, sir! It's a big hole!"

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"Evacuate and get to the saucer section. Get Doctor Telor to help." Chait turns to the bridge crew, "Tactical, how close are we to getting phasers?"

In the inky darkness something unseen turns and heads back to the stricken vessel.

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Alon opens a channel to the Bridge. =^= Sickbay to Bridge, we have massive casualties, all medical personnel are attending to the injured and the deceased are going to the morgue. Telor out! =^= After closing the channel, he resumed overseeing triage and assisting with multiple surgeries.

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"Chait to sickbay, get all casualties to the forward Saucer section." Captain Chait resists the urge to run down to the engineering hull and assist. He is needed here.

"Any word on phasers?"

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=^= Aye, sir! =^= said Alon. He turned to the Sickbay staff. "Suspend what you're doing and let's get everyone to the saucer section! NOW! Get anti-grav gurneys and move 'em out!" he barked, as he too prepped patients for emergency movement. Over the period of about 30 minutes, all personnel began prepping and moving the most critical patients first, followed by those with less severe injuries, much the same way as they were triaged. Once completed and a temporary Sickbay was set up in the largest room, Dr. Telor opened his comm. =^= Telor to bridge. All casualties and personnel have been moved, along with sufficient equipment, to continue treatment. =^=

Once things settled down, somewhat. Surgeries and other treatments resumed, in efforts to save who they can. Any who expired went to the temporary morge, set up in the lounge's large walk-in coolers. The next hours were critical for a number of those severely injured. This would go one for many hours to come.

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The enemy vessel comes in for a second attack, de-cloaking long enough to throw another salvo into the now empty engineering hull.

'Targeting protocols are still off-line sir' the tactical officer points out.

Captain Chait leaps out his chair "turn us about, full impulse, whatever shields we still have, put them between us and those Klingon bastards." he relieves the tactical officer and targets the Klingon vessel manually.

The 'neck' connecting primary and secondary hull groans and shudders, deforming under the sudden movement of the saucer section's torque as the phasers are brought to bear. "Not going down this easy . . . " and fires a wide salvo of phaser fire across the enemies bow.

For a moment time seems to pass like treacle for those that watch, urging the points of light home to their target.

{sizzle} [boom] everyone's imagination amplifies the noise the resultant light waves made when they washed across the primary hull's skin. Everyone who was watching can see, the Klingon ship's shape distorting, buckling, flickering. Surely it'd be too much to hope it was just destroyed.

It wasn't destroyed, not by far. It was however revealed to be something other than a Klingon ship. The image flickered some more, letting people see the strange and exotic machine that was previously masquerading as a familiar enemy and even now resumes it's disguise.

The starboard nacelle pylon buckles and snaps, the nacelle, now dark and dead, floats off in the general direction of the silent drifting shape of the USS Atlantis.

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"Turn about complete sir. Impulse power only, we've lost engineering hull sir." Naranja reports as the ship folds in two. "Permission to take us clear?"

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"Miss Shaw, scan the engineering hull for survivors, beam any on board, ifyou have staff that can perform triage, do so prior to sending injured to Doctor Telor. Mister Apfelsine, put the engineering between us and the attacker . . . if you can. Fire torpedoes around our cover." The Captain does the same with phasers. With each hit the opposing ship doesn't slow down much, but the holographic pretence is soon dropped.

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"Hope someone's recording this." Chait watches the main viewer as the strange craft reveals itself, a tangle of
protuberances
and antennae.

[Hull Breach] some vocal alarm sounds as cracks appear in the saucer section. Sadly the former tactical officer that Chait relieved of duty gets sucked up into the hole and his carcass blocks it for a while. Screaming as his flesh is forced through a hairline crack, it's obvious he's beyond help.

Chait looking around as his first command falls apart around about him in a shower of sparks and flying debris, he looks to the main viewer as the engineering hull, now set adrift in front of the saucer section, the starboard nacelle drifting off towards . . . towards the USS Atlantis . . .

The Caitian Captain turns to his security officer Lieutenant Abernathy who along with Lieutenant Shaw and Dr. Telor was overseeing the evacuation of all surviving personnel from the engineering hull into the saucer and organising triage.

"Abernathy, you're on tactical. Just plug the bastards, don't let up." Chait then takes his Engineer aside. "Can you get transporters working?"

Meanwhile his ex-tactical officer screams as his blood sprays like fine mist into the cold dark embrace of space.

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"Captain" calls Commander Brougham "I request permission to stay aboard the ship. I believe I can ram the ship up that gobshite's arse while you and the rest of the crew evacuate to the Atlantis. It might be your only shot."

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"I appreciate that Mags, but this shed hardly has any motive power. The craft out there could dance circles around us. Even if we had impulse it'd collapse before we got any distance. This crate is falling apart." Chait looks to the dead Comms officer slumped over her station. "Tell you what though, get on the blower to them, assault them with every message, every type of information we can muster, just give 'em constant radio chatter. That should hide the beam outs from their scanners. Make as much noise as you can. Offer them good deals on ****, cheap house home and contents insurance, tell 'em you're a Ugandan prince who needs to use their bank account to launder your daddy's inheritance."