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more, nearly twice
as many as the Duchess ’s sensors were reporting. How they had managed to
hide so many of their numbers was beyond Shawn’s comprehension. But one thing
was certain: the combined Unified fleet was decidedly outmatched. Based on
detailed sensor information provided earlier by the Kafarans, Shawn’s computer
quickly went to work identifying the targets. There were light and heavy
cruisers, destroyers of three different hull types, two fleet carriers, troop
and equipment transports, and a few types that the computer was completely at a
loss to identify. He quickly turned on his sensor recorder. The information his
computer was now obtaining would be invaluable to the tacticians at Sector
Command headquarters—if they made it back from this mission alive at all.
       Before Shawn was within a hundred miles, the lead
Meltranian collector opened fire, its powerful isotonic burst streaking below
the Rippers’ nimble fighters. A half second later, from nearly every ship on
the front line of the Unified Collaboration of Systems combined forces, long
lances of blue and yellow laser blasts sprang out in an attempt to perforate
the front line of the Meltranian forces.  These were quickly followed by the
heavy, puncturing rounds from the Rugorian battle cruisers’ heavy cannons.
While the blasts from Sector Command and the Kafarans did only superficial
damage, the powerful bolts of the Rugorians scored direct hits on the lead
collector, blowing off building-sized chunks from the enemy vessel.
       One down, ninety-nine to go. 
       As soon as a damaged Meltranian ship moved out of
formation, another collector rushed in to take its place.
       Seconds later, the Rippers, Red Skulls, Hunters,
and a dozen other Sector Command squadrons were winding their way perilously
through the maze of Meltranian warships, themselves continuing to fire on the
combined fleet. Shawn was doing a masterful job at dodging and jinking around
the lumbering capital ships until an enemy frigate made an abrupt turn to
starboard, putting its bulk directly in line with his fighter. With cat-like
reflexes, Shawn slammed the fighter hard forward, narrowly avoiding the seemingly
massive Meltranian warship, only to find his fighter rushing toward the top of
a cruiser only a few hundred yards away.
       “Pull up,” his computer replied calmly. “Collision imminent.
Pull up, or I will be forced to take control.”
       “Not today, sister.” He pushed the stick forward,
inverting his fighter. The momentum brought his Maelstrom closer to the spine
back of the Meltranian than he’d have liked, and a small jolt he felt a moment
later told him that a collision had indeed occurred.  Not only will I never
live this one down, but Trent’s going to kill me. “Damage
report!”
       “Port stabilizer damaged. Rudder control is not
responding.”
       Not too bad. That’s for atmospheric operations
only. It has nothing to do with in-space combat.
       “Port
thruster nozzle is obstructed,” the computer continued after a pause. “Output
is thirty percent of normal.”
       I take it all back. That’s not good. If I get
into a pinch, I’ll need all the thrust this puppy has.
       Shawn switched the communications channel to address
his entire squadron. “Attack pattern Beta-Two!” Slipping his fighter to port,
he barely missed another warship by a matter of yards, then ducked under the
bow of a destroyer before coming to a clearing in the Meltranians’ battle
formation. Allowing himself a moment to breathe, he looked at the short-range
sensors. His entire squadron was right there with him. Thank God.
       “Drake?” Shawn asked.
       Drake’s image came up on the screen. Although the
tactical officer was sweating, he managed a smile. “Amazingly, sensors are
showing that we’re right where we need to be.”
       “Now that's a stroke of luck I wasn’t
counting on,” Raven said. “No offense, Commander.”