"Helms, keep him in our sights, use any amount of power you need."

Vashara would focus on the Orion keeping a tight rotation upon it's Z-axis, maybe overload power to correctional impulse engines on starboard and port as needed. That's would she would've done...but she wasn't the Helms officer. It had been the hardest lesson of her young career; letting her officers to do their jobs. Her mind was capable of things that she simply could not explain. Somehow, however, Vash assumed 'I'm so smart I sometimes can't explain things to you' really wouldn't go over well with her crew. If she couldn't trust them, they would never trust her, no matter how many victories her brain brought them. So she forced herself to give an order, and say or do nothing else.

Except pace. 

The Romulan hybrid prowled the vicinity around her command chair like a restless jungle cat, ever going this way and that and back around all over again. She could be looking over Tactical's shoulder one moment, then seemingly appear behind the Helms officer again--as if by magic if they weren't paying close enough attention to what was going on directly behind them. Which all of them were too busy and preoccupied to do. But right now, Vash paced only little, pausing shortly after starting when she was finished doing math in her mind: "They're going to get another round off on us before we can disable them, and they'll be without shields, so it's going to be an attack of desperation."

Vash's tactical musings were cut short with the Ops Chief gave her sweet release from the growing tension in her head, the sweetest words she had heard in heaven's knew how long. "Deflector ready and locked on, ma'am."

"Fire!" [i]The Orion[/i] shuddered faintly as the main deflector unleashed bursts of verteron energy, but all she saw was ribbons of slightly distorted space cascading forward and spreading at speeds she knew only from study and calculation. The Dominon ship didn't even stop moving. There was no visible sign of impact, no obvious way of knowing if the attack even had the desired outcome. Until their sensors picked it up, and the Tactical officer grinned. "Shields down."

"Do it." Vash tapped her comm badge so quickly, all the other end of the line would have heard was the hum of weapons firing initially. "Captain Vaella to Boarding Party, transport in two minutes." Luckily, Vash tapped the badge to close the channel just before the next bit came out of her mouth: "Fuck." An unfiltered to response of the image of the Dominion Ship unleashing another round of fire, just as they were firing. Vash never saw her ship's twelve Quantum torpedos, or the multiple and rapid blazing beams of phaser fire. All she saw were the Dominion weapons. There was twice as many poleron beams. This was going to hurt, a fact so evident to her, it forced her bottom right back down into her command chair. Her knuckles white with their grip upon the arms of the chair.

[i]The Orion[/i] seemed to scream, quaking so violently she saw people losing to gravity for a second, before the back of the bridge exploded in heat and venting white gas. She knew better than to go, but Vash immediately went to the source of the explosion and gas. It was a bulkhead right next to her Ready Room, what once was pristine was now twisted and charred, the bulkhead remnants sticking out in vicious jagged edges. The gas was non-toxic, but an array of isolinear chips were fully exposed, their protective housing ripped right off. 

"Direct hits, Captain! Their weapons and shields are offline."

Vash was leaned into the remains of the panel when she yelled at Tactical, "Tractor beam if they try to run, Lieutena--" 

The explosion was small, but came sudden and sounded worse than it was. It was the only noise that came from the tucked away, hidden, corner of the back of the bridge. By the time people rushed forward their Captain was slowly walking back towards the main area of the bridge. Vash appeared no worse for wear, save for a look of dazed shock upon her fine features, and a stream of blood ran from her right hand down to the carpet of the bridge so thick it oozed. 

"...Xyrx needs to assign someone to take care of that panel, it is in need of repair." It was a tiny little thing, but anyone who knew Vash, or Vulcans, would have picked up on it immediately. Vulcans never used contractions. In text, or in speech. As dazed by the sudden small explosion as she was, she seemed otherwise perfectly fine. Except for the absence of the contraction word, and the faint 'hollow' sound of her tone. Like her voice was a distant, disconnected thing.

Like she was hiding behind a wall of cold Vulcan logic. 

"Transport the Vorta to the brig. You have the bridge, Lieutenant Alton, I must report to Sick Bay. I will keep my comm badge on."

[i]No matter what that damn Doctor says.[/i]