He was calm and cool now, as he was in battle and everywhere else, a trait that had long ago given him his call sign. But he felt the same anger as the rest of the pilots, rage at the losses they had suffered and the urge to chase the enemy down, to destroy every last one of them. But that wasn’t possible.

“Negative, Lieutenant…all personnel, listen up. Fuel status says we head back now.” He watched as the dots on his screen moved away, the enemy fighters returning to their own mothership. He wanted to believe Dauntless’s squadrons had won the fight, that the enemy was indeed fleeing, as his pilots were shouting. But he knew better. The Alliance fighters had come even farther than his own people had. They were breaking off to refuel and rearm, not because they were broken. They’d be back, Krill was sure of it. And his people had to be ready. Right now, they were low on fuel, out of missiles. No, there was no question of trying to continue the battle.

“Back to Dauntless, now. Form up on me.”

He got a wave of acknowledgements, though the number of responses was small, especially considering he was in command of three squadrons right now. What was left of three squadrons.

He stared down at his screen, at the large blue oval that represented Dauntless. And the seven small dots following a cluster of enemy fighters, so close now, the icons were barely distinguishable on their own. The enemy strike force was almost in range…and no seven fighters ever made were going to stop it cold. Dauntless was going to endure a bombing run, and Krill knew his people might return to a mothership whose landing bays had been blown to oblivion.

“C’mon you guys…catch those bastards. Take some of them down.” His words were barely a whisper.

Krill and Stockton were rivals, the two best pilots on Dauntless. They baited each other constantly, vied for the informal title of best on the ship. Though Krill would never admit it, he knew he was number two, and he considered Stockton the best natural pilot he’d ever known.

If anyone can catch and engage those bombers…

He smiled, his best wishes for his rival.

Get it done, Raptor. Get it done.

*   *   *

“Launch clearance granted. Transferring controls to your console. Good luck, Lieutenant.”

Federov was strapped in, her hands on the throttle. “Acknowledged, control. And thanks.”

She flipped the lever next to the throttle, activating the magnetic catapult. The force slammed into her like a hurricane, pushing her hard into her chair as her fighter raced down the launch tube and back out into space.