If, however, the enemy was able to get its full complement of fighters into space, he would slow his fighters on the final approach. He would begin a protracted dogfight, one in which his people would destroy or drive way the enemy fighters. He didn’t expect the Confeds to be a pushover, as the high command did, but neither did he think they could stand up to his veteran squadrons. And once he’d stripped the battleship of its fighters, his second wave, equipped for an anti-ship strike, would go in and pound the giant vessel. He knew his people didn’t have to destroy the enemy; his purpose was to damage the vessel, weaken it so Invictus could finish the job. Still, he couldn’t help but think of the glory of the kill, to hold out some prospect of his birds winning the victory on their own.

He heard an alarm bell going off, the warning that enemy launches had been detected. His eyes dropped to the display, waiting, watching as the AI assimilated incoming scanner data and updated the screen. It looked like one squadron launching, in addition to the one the Confeds had already sent into planetary orbit.

His hands moved to the com unit, his fingers moving lightly over the headset. The enemy launch could mean they had detected his strike force. But only one squadron? He hesitated, trying to decide if it was time to break the silence.

No, wait. More than one squadron. Two, at least. Possibly a third.

There was little doubt. The Confeds had located his fighters.

“Attention all squadrons, initiate active scanners. Close to attack formations.”

His eyes were locked on the screen, watching the Confed fighters shake out into battle array. They moved smartly, crisply. Indeed, they reminded him of his own squadrons. They were heading right toward his force, moving slowly, positioning themselves to intercept his attack.

This is not what we were told to expect…

He watched, waiting for signs of disorder, for a ragged formation. But the Confed fighters were positioned perfectly, far enough from their mother ship to engage the assault force before it entered range, but moving slowly enough to quickly change course, to fight a protracted battle. Exactly how he would have formed up in their position.

He hesitated for a few more seconds. Then he sighed softly. He couldn’t blow past these fighters—he had to destroy them. They were too good, too much of a danger if they were allowed to operate freely.

He reached down, grabbed the headset and pulled it on. He pressed the button for the main channel. “All fighters are to cut acceleration on my mark and begin full deceleration.” He paused for a few seconds, and then he added simply, “Mark.”