Still, his mind drifted back to Invictus’s sixth squadron. He’d left the Gleaming Shields behind, committed to combat space patrol duties. It was standard procedure, but now he wondered if he’d made a grave error, if those twelve fighters would have been the weight that shifted things to total victory.

There was no point in debating such things now. The Gleaming Shields were too far away to intervene, even if Commander Rigellus would be willing to release them. He had what he had…and he’d just doubled down.

Once thing he knew for sure. He needed every fighter in the mix. Every fighter.

He gripped his ship’s controls, angling the vessel toward the center of the melee. Then he pulled back, fired his engines at full thrust. It was time to finish this.

One way or another.

*   *   *

“Green squadron reports heavy losses, sir. Casualties in excess of fifty percent.”

Barron heard the words, but his mind blunted the true meaning. There was no point in beating himself up over the deaths of so many pilots. Not now. There would be time for that later, when the battle was won. And if it was lost, Barron would likely join them in death. The only reward for such a disastrous outcome would be to escape the doubts and recriminations.

He’d almost held the raw Greens back, but there had just been too many enemy fighters inbound, and he’d needed their numbers…especially with the Reds all the way over at Santis, too far away to intervene in time.

If we had Federov’s people here…

“Very well, Commander.” Barron almost didn’t answer at all. He probably wouldn’t have if it had been anyone else but Commander Travis. But he knew she was mourning the lost pilots as much as he was.

“Commander Jamison reports the remainder of Green squadron is hopelessly scattered. Two enemy squadrons equipped for anti-ship strikes are moving through the gap.”

Barron just sat in his chair, staring across the bridge at Dauntless’s exec. He felt the urge to answer, to react to the report, somehow. But the crew was already at battlestations, all weapons manned and ready. There was nothing to do but wait.

Finally, he said, “Put estimated time to combat range on the display, Commander.” Then, a few seconds later, “All crew are to take a course of stims five minutes before contact.”

“Yes, Captain.” Travis’ hands moved over her workstation. “Forty-one minutes until fighter strike enters firing range.”

“Time until Red squadron arrives?”

“Twenty-nine minutes, sir.”

Barron sighed, trying to keep it as silent as he could manage.

That’s twelve minutes to refuel and relaunch…not enough.