"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 grinned as he talked. We are also detecting a new object approaching, my lord." Said the operator in a panic.
"What is it? Could it be the Tartarusios finally making an appearance?" The staff muterd.
"No matter what it is, all ships — fire at once as soon as it gets close."
Marquis Norda Miller's voice rolled across the bridge like iron. He dismissed their arrivals with a sneer that had guided too many easy victories. "Those imbeciles think they can hold their own. They got lucky last time, but they face Marquis Norda Miller this time. There is no battle I won't come out of victorious, especially against mere outlaws like them."
On the other end, the Raven pilots cursed and clenched as their craft shuddered under the new orbitons' unpredictable maneuvers. "My lord, the Raven unit is struggling. What is More doing?!" someone reported. "They are currently engaging the Tartarusios' titan unit. A few orbitons should be child's play for our newly developed Ravens." The confident tone wavered when reality contradicted hubris: "We are not sure how, sir, but somehow their type seems to be the perfect match for our unit."
Back on the frontline, sparring reports sharpened into alarm. "Captain, we are struggling to keep up — the enemy is on par with our units!"
"Don't lose focus, Palmer. They might be taught, but we've got the numeric advantage. Keep hitting them with all you've got."
One by one the Raven channels blinked dead. "[Raven 6 signal lost]" someone shouted. "What happened?!" The answer came ugly and fast: "Captain, we're being shot from behind — enemy reinforcements just arrived." The sky had folded on them; floating engines and low-signature drives had crept a second strike into the battle. "They were using floating engines so they would not be noticed. Those bastards think they've got one on me. All available units — direct fire at the new enemy units. Shoot them down!"
An explosion. Then another. The flagship, proud and blazing with authority, took an impossible hit. "Captain — the mother ship has been hit!" someone screamed. "What?!" Ship alarms turned into a chorus of disbelief. Marquis Miller's voice, once full of bluster, cracked with a grief that tasted like rage. "How did it come to this? I, Norda Miller of great Terria, have been shot down. I never lost to anyone. Even in the face of my emperor I was a renowned warrior of space. To reach such a conclusion — and against a band of mercenaries at that — I cannot ever face my emperor again. But there is one last thing I can do: take you all to hell with me!" A last explosion sewed an ugly dagger of finality through the bridge.
On the Tartarusios the comms were cleaner, sharper — voices that had to be heard. "This is Captain Meilton speaking. I admire your bravery for coming here and thank you all for your presence. But even if we are winning, this battle will be very tough. I have a plan that can finish this quickly. Our target is the main assault ship, but to penetrate their plasma shields we will be defenseless. Our ship has a special weapon — it acts as both a shield and a cannon. They can be used at the same time, but they don't have the same effect as when used separately. I think if we can fire our main cannon directly at their ship we can penetrate their shield and hit them head-on. To do that we'll need someone to play the decoy so we can get in shooting range. This may be a selfish request, but we need your help."
A steady, steady answer came on the channel. "Captain Meilton, this is Captain Barry speaking. I'm the acting commander of the reinforcement force. We heard you loud and clear. Leave the baiting to us — you focus on hitting the target." Relief and grim pride threaded through Oscar's reply: "Thank you, Captain Barry. We will not let you down." Captain Barry's voice closed with the kind of trust born in war: "No need for thanks, Captain. If Commander Stefan trusts you, it's our duty as his soldiers to do so as well. All ships — get ready to surface. We will hit them from the rear and draw their attention. We need to buy enough time for the Tartarusios to take its shot."
From the deck, Oscar's calm command edged the crew forward. "Oscar — they are about to surface. Keep getting closer. We will take the shot once they turn their backs." Sensors screamed a lock. "Rebel ships have engaged, Captain. Lock on the target. Get ready to fire the plasma cannon." Energy surged. "Plasma cannon output at 200% — fire!" Somewhere the crew held their breath while the universe rang. "Enemy ship has been hit, Captain. I can never get used to this sensation. Every time we fire that cannon it's like something out of this world."
Smoke and trembling hulls replied. "Well, let's just hope we will not need it again. Captain — the enemy ship is trying to fire their cannon at us!" Chaos meant quick decisions. "Shit! Quickly, allocate the energy to the plasma shields." Explosions detonated against the hull and the field; then calm stepped in like a thin, miraculous edge. "Thank you for the opportunity, Captain Meilton. We will take care of the rest." A cheer rang through the comm corridors: "They saved us. Holy shit — I thought we were done for a moment."
As the enemy tried to limp away, Oscar considered the aftermath. "They are trying to retreat, Captain. Should we apprehend them?" The answer was war-wise and cold. "No. Let them be — they just lost their commander. They can't do anything now."
In the Raven squadron the mood cratered. "Captain — the ship's gone. Everyone retreat. Get to the nearest ship — we have been defeated." Pain and fury did physical work: fists met consoles. "Goddamn it." Amid the shock a voice carried a prayer and an order: "May God have mercy on you, Commander Miller. I repeat — all ships retreat. We have lost Commander Miller. I think this is enough bloodshed for today."
The battlefield stuttered into a new heartbeat: smoke and cooling wreckage, pilots nursing wounds and pride, survivors counting loss and breath. The Tartarusios had gambled—used cunning and sacrifice—and the gamble had paid in the hottest coin there is: survival and the ruin of a powerful foe. Above them, orbitons and Titans drifted back into the dark, the angry eddies of war folding into silence.