He squeezed the firing stud, then again. And again. His eyes narrowed, he shut out everything, no thought in his head save his fighter’s lasers. The screen displayed an icon, impersonal, no more than a speck of light. But he saw his enemy there, the metal of the ship, the fear in the eyes of his victim as he brought death upon him.

He tried to relax, to let his instincts take control, to put intuition as well as math into his targeting. He stared, his finger ready. Then he fired, half a dozen shots. And with the last one, the enemy fighter’s symbol vanished from his scanner.

He didn’t cheer as he usually did. He didn’t pump his fist. He sat silently, not moving.

That was for you, Ice.

He’d avenged his comrade, but there was no satisfaction. He just felt cold, empty.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Three

CFS Dauntless

Krillus Asteroid Belt

41, 000,000 kilometers from Santis, Krillus IV

307 AC

“Third wave moving up, Captain. Commander Jamison reports his people will be engaged in seconds.” Darrow’s voice was calm, cool. Barron was proud of his people, of how they had stood up under the pressure. Some of them might not have analyzed the situation quite as extensively as he had, but they had to know the odds were against them.

“Very well, Lieutenant.” Barron toggled his own com. “Good luck, Thunder…to you and all your pilots. Our thoughts and best wishes fly with you.”

“Thank you, sir. We’ll get the job done.”

Barron cut the line. The last thing Kyle Jamison needed now was his commanding officer distracting him.

Barron had watched his first two lines of fighters engaged the enemy strike. He’d sat silently, his eyes locked on the display as his fighters fought a savage battle with the enemy, as “Ice” Krill died. Jake Stockton had gone mad after his rival was destroyed, and he’d plunged into the enemy formations with utter disregard for danger. He’d burned through his fuel reserves, ignoring every warning to break off and return to Dauntless. And the pilots with him—the survivors of Blue squadron and part of Ice’s Yellows—had followed his lead, extracting a gruesome price for Krill’s death.

Stockton fought like some demon unleashed, and he took down no fewer than six enemies before his guns fell silent from lack of power. He was out there now, moving through space along his final vector, no fuel remaining to decelerate. And the rest of his pilots, and Krill’s, the six who had survived, were in the same situation. They would be rescued if Dauntless won the battle. And if the enemy prevailed they would be captured…or they would suffocate in their cockpits as their life support dwindled.

Of course, we’ll all be dead by then…