Alpha bay was operational, barely. Ideally, he’d have launched a full strike force to deal with the laser buoys in orbit around Santis and its moons, but with the bays virtually wrecked and a large number of personnel reassigned to damage control duties, his people had only managed to get ten fighters repaired and refit. And if ten pilots were going to clear the laser platforms, it had to be his ten best.

He was still unsure how he felt about landing the Marines. He understood their attitudes, that the Marine code required them to come to their comrades’ aid. But he didn’t like sending his men and women into a totally blind situation. He had no idea how many ground troops the enemy ship carried, or if they had all been landed. And Dauntless’s contingent was at half strength, just one company where two would have been normal.

He didn’t have a choice, though. Not a real one. The fight his people were in would be decided in part by hardware, in part by the abilities of Fritzie and her crews to get as much of Dauntless’s weaponry and equipment back online in time. But he knew morale was just as important. The gunner who kept his shit together instead of panicking…and who scored that last vital hit. The pilot who ran down the enemy ship’s throat and planted a torpedo right in its guts instead of firing from long range and then breaking off. He couldn’t expect that kind of courage and effort from his people if he didn’t respect them. And that included the Marines.

He shook his head. He was never going to be comfortable about it, but his decision was already made. He leaned forward, tapping the com unit.

“Prepare assault shuttles for launch.”

“Shuttles report ready, Captain.” The response was quick. Darrow had clearly known already that the Marines were ready to go.

Barron nodded gently. He was thankful, at least, that the shuttles didn’t use the fighter bays. There was no way the bulkier ships could have managed their way through the debris and damage the agile fighters had struggled to avoid. The heavy landing craft docked directly against the ship’s hull, and it was a miracle that, with all the damage Dauntless had taken, none of the shuttles had been damaged.

Barron sat silently for a few seconds. Then he hit the com again.

“Launch the shuttles.”

*   *   *

Sam Carson was lying on his bunk, trying desperately to get to sleep. It seemed absurd, because he’d never been so tired in his life, but he had been there almost an hour, and he was still wide awake. He’d spied the same small scratch on the ceiling at least ten times.

It must be the stims. Your body is all strung out…