The anti-fighter lasers were Dauntless’s tertiary batteries, smaller and less powerful than the big primaries and secondaries. They were located all over the ship’s exterior, and they were designed to target incoming fighters. They were far less effective than interceptors at taking down attackers—it was hard to target something as small as a bomber with a fixed gun—but they were a hell of a lot better than nothing.

Barron stared at the display. Three bombers, maybe four. That was what was going to get through. The squadrons had performed brilliantly, virtually wiping out the enemy escorts, and tearing into the bombing force. But even one or two attackers could hurt Dauntless badly if they planted their torpedoes in the right place.

He sat still, silent, watching the red dots, the four craft that remained from a strike force of thirty-seven the enemy battleship had launched. His fighters had won a great victory…and now he would see if it was enough.

“All batteries, commence firing at will.”

“Yes, Captain.” Darrow leaned over his borrowed workstation. “All batteries, commence firing, fire at will.”

Barron sat, listening for the sounds of the point defense lasers. The primaries shook Dauntless hard when they fired, and the secondaries had a telltale whining sound that could be heard all the way to the bridge. But the smaller anti-fighter weapons were harder to hear. There was a cracking sound when each fired, almost like a gunshot, but it required paying close attention to hear it.

He sat and waited. There was nothing else to do. Jamison and the rest of Dauntless’s fighters were on the way back. Whatever the attacking ships managed to do, Barron knew none of them would get home. They’d try, but enough of Dauntless’s birds had the fuel remaining to take them down. He wanted to feel some sort of satisfaction about that, but he didn’t. He’d watched, astonished, as the enemy squadrons advanced, heedless of losses. It was hard not to respect such steadfastness, even in a bad cause, and it only reinforced the importance of somehow winning this battle. It was more than just his own survival, his crew’s. The suicidal bravery of the Alliance forces gave him a glimpse of what war with them would be.

He felt anger, of course, rage at the losses his people had suffered. But the pilots in those fighters hadn’t decided to come here, they hadn’t made some devil’s bargain with the Union. Their leaders had done that. He found it hard to despise warriors who were doing their duty so magnificently.

“Yes!”

Barron snapped his head around toward Darrow then back to the display. One of the batteries had taken out an enemy bomber.

Three left…

But they’re in range now…