Barron knew he was being unfair to himself. He’d been careless at the transwarp link, that was true. But the rest of the tactical advantage the enemy had enjoyed had more to do with being the defender. He’d had no choice but to move toward Santis…but his adversary had been warned by the scanners deployed at the link, and had time to hide, to prepare. From the very beginning of the engagement, Barron had been at a disadvantage in information, in position.

What do I do, Grandfather? Is there some secret, some kind of sight you had that I lack? I’m ready to fight, to strike at the enemy with all I have. But that seems so inadequate. There must be something else. What did you do? How did you win so many victories?

And how did you live with the dead whose lives purchased those triumphs?

*   *   *

“All fighters have landed, Commander.”

“Very well, Optiomagis. Initiate refueling operations…and rearm all ships for anti-fighter operations.” She wanted to order the squadrons armed for shipping strikes, to send them against the Confederation vessel again…but the math just didn’t work. Invictus was moving at nearly 0.2c. That was fast. At that velocity, she would zip by the Confederation battleship, with barely enough time for a passing exchange of fire. She was already decelerating, but it would take hours to come to a halt, and more time to accelerate back the toward the Confed vessel. And fighters launched with an intrinsic velocity that high would have no chance of executing an attack run.

Even thinking about the fighters now was upsetting. The three squadrons that had engaged in the dogfight had been shattered, losing half their number. She knew some of her pilots might have managed to eject…but with Invictus ripping toward the enemy vessel at such high speeds, there was no chance of performing any rescue operations, or even scanning to locate lifepods. She told herself she could return after she destroyed the Confed ship, but she knew that was an empty thought. By the time she decelerated and returned to the site of the fighter battle, any of her people who’d survived the destruction of their craft would be dead, their life support exhausted.

“Firing range in four minutes, Commander.”

“Very well. Charge all batteries. All crews, prepare to engage.”

“Yes, Commander.”

Her thoughts were still on the fighters. As badly as the dogfighting squadrons had suffered, the two that had engaged the enemy ship had almost been wiped out. The enemy had launched a fresh squadron, and it had torn into the strike force. Black Fist had lost eight out of twelve birds…and Hydra had fared even worse, losing ten ships. The few survivors were scattered, with far too little fuel to accelerate and match velocity so they could land.