"My lord, there are five new rebel ships approaching," said the radar operator.
"That doesn't mean anything. They'll only delay the inevitable." Miller was grinning as he said it, and the grin did not falter even when the operator's voice climbed toward panic.
"We are also detecting a new object approaching, my lord."
"What is it?" one of the officers muttered. "Could it be the Tartarusios finally making an appearance?"
"No matter what it is," Miller said, "all ships fire at once as soon as it gets close." Marquis Norda Miller's voice rolled across the bridge like iron, and he dismissed the new arrivals with the same sneer that had carried him through too many easy victories. "Those imbeciles think they can hold their own. They got lucky last time, but this time they face Marquis Norda Miller. There is no battle I won't walk away from victorious, least of all one against mere outlaws."
Out in the field, the Raven pilots were cursing and clenching their teeth as their craft shuddered under the new Orbitons' unpredictable maneuvers. "My lord, the Raven unit is struggling," someone reported. "What is More doing?"
"He's engaging the Tartarusios' Titan unit. A few Orbitons should be child's play for our newly developed Ravens." The confidence in the officer's voice wavered the moment the next report came in.
"We're not sure how, sir, but their type seems to be the perfect match for our unit."
On the front line, the reports had sharpened into alarm. "Captain, we're struggling to keep up. The enemy is on par with our units!"
"Don't lose focus, Palmer," the squadron leader barked back. "They might be well trained, but we have the numbers. Keep hitting them with everything you've got."
Then, one by one, the Raven channels began to blink dead. Raven Six's signal vanished from the board, and someone shouted, "What happened?" The answer came ugly and fast. "We're being shot from behind! Enemy reinforcements just arrived!"
The sky had folded in on them. Stefan's backup fleet had crept into the battle on floating engines and low-signature drives, slipping beneath the Empire's sensors until they were close enough to strike. Now they were firing into the Imperial formation from the rear.
"They used floating engines so we wouldn't notice them," Miller said, and for the first time something cold crept into his voice. "Those bastards think they've got one over on me. All available units, direct fire at the new arrivals. Shoot them down!"
On the Tartarusios, the comms were cleaner and sharper, full of voices that had to be heard. Oscar opened a channel to every rebel ship in range. "This is Captain Meilton. I admire your bravery for coming here, and I thank every one of you. But even if we're winning right now, this battle is going to be tough, and I have a plan to finish it quickly." He glanced at the targeting display, where the Imperial flagship sat glowing at the center of its escorts. "Our target is their main assault ship. To get through its plasma shields, we'll have to leave ourselves defenseless. Our ship has a special weapon that acts as both a shield and a cannon. We can use both at once, but neither works as well that way, so if we want to punch through, we have to fire the main cannon directly at their ship with everything we have. To get in range, we need someone to play the decoy." He paused. "I know this may be a selfish request, but we need your help."
The answer that came back was steady. "Captain Meilton, this is Captain Barry. I'm the acting commander of the reinforcement force, and we heard you loud and clear. Leave the baiting to us. You focus on hitting the target."
Relief and grim pride threaded together in Oscar's voice. "Thank you, Captain Barry. We won't let you down."
"No need for thanks, Captain. If Commander Stefan trusts you, then it's our duty as his soldiers to trust you too." Barry's voice turned outward to his own fleet. "All ships, prepare to surface. We hit them from the rear and draw their attention. We need to buy the Tartarusios enough time to take her shot."
On the Tartarusios' bridge, Bjorn's calm voice edged the crew forward. "Oscar, they're about to surface. Keep closing in. We'll take the shot the moment the flagship turns its back." A moment later the sensors screamed a lock. "Rebel ships have engaged, Captain! Target locked. Ready to fire the plasma cannon."
Energy surged through the ship until the deck itself seemed to hum under their feet. "Plasma cannon output at two hundred percent," Oscar said. "Fire!"
For one long moment, the whole crew held their breath while the universe rang. Then the readout flashed. "Enemy ship has been hit, Captain!" Bjorn let out a shaky laugh. "I'll never get used to that feeling. Every time we fire that cannon, it's like something out of another world."
Across the gap between them, the Imperial flagship was burning. Alarms howled across its bridge in a chorus of disbelief, and officers stared at their screens as if the numbers on them might change if they looked hard enough. Miller stood in the middle of it all, and the bluster had gone out of his voice, leaving behind a grief that tasted like rage.
"How did it come to this?" he said, to no one in particular. "I, Norda Miller of great Terria, have been shot down. I have never lost to anyone. Even before my emperor, I was a renowned warrior of space. To come to such an end — and against a band of mercenaries, no less — I could never face my emperor again." His hand closed around the railing. "But there is one last thing I can do. Turn the main cannon on that ship. I will take them all to hell with me!"
"Captain, the enemy ship is trying to fire its cannon at us!" Bjorn shouted.
"Shit! Quickly, divert the energy back to the plasma shields!"
The flagship's last shot slammed into the Tartarusios' shields and broke against them in a storm of light. The whole ship bucked as explosions detonated across the field. For a terrible second it seemed as though the shields would not hold. Then they did, and a thin, miraculous calm settled over the bridge.
"Thank you for the opening, Captain Meilton," Barry's voice came over the channel. "We'll take care of the rest."
Barry's ships surfaced behind the crippled flagship and fired. The last explosion ran through its bridge like an ugly dagger of finality. When the light faded, the Marquis was gone along with his ship, and a cheer rang through the Tartarusios' corridors. "They saved us!" someone shouted. "Holy shit, I thought we were done for a moment there!"
As the remaining Imperial ships began to limp away, Bjorn glanced up from his station. "They're trying to retreat, Captain. Should we go after them?"
Oscar watched them go. His answer was war-wise and cold. "No. Let them be. They've just lost their commander. They can't do anything now."
In the Raven squadron, the mood had cratered. "The flagship is gone," the squadron leader said. "Everyone retreat to the nearest ship. We've been defeated." Somewhere in a cockpit, a fist slammed into a console, and a voice came over the channel thick with pain. "Goddamn it." Then, more quietly, the squadron leader spoke again, half prayer and half order. "May God have mercy on you, Commander Miller. I repeat, all ships retreat. We have lost Commander Miller. I think that's enough bloodshed for one day."
The battlefield stuttered into a new rhythm of smoke and cooling wreckage, of pilots nursing their wounds and their pride, of survivors counting what they had lost against the fact that they were still breathing. The Tartarusios had gambled with cunning and with other people's courage. The gamble had paid out in the hottest coin there was: survival, and the ruin of a powerful enemy. Above them, the Orbitons and Titans drifted back into the dark. The angry eddies of the war folded slowly into silence.