But it was always the simple things, wasn’t it? And he knew now. The long, lumpy trails of pods deployed astern of the battleships and battlecruisers in ungainly tails, revealing themselves to his sensors, and there were far more of them than he had.

“Course change,” he said. “Let’s close the range.”

“Close the range, Sir?” his chief of staff asked as Tennard’s flag captain acknowledged the order.

“Close it,” the rear admiral confirmed grimly. “Those people are going to blow the ever living hell out of us when they launch. And then, if they have a clue at all, they’ll be the ones holding the range open. They’ll stay outside our energy envelope and pound us with more missiles until we’re scrap metal.”

“But—”

“I know,” Tennard said softly. “But our best shot is going to be to get in close enough to land a few good licks with our energy weapons before they take us out.” He managed a tight, bitter smile. “I screwed up, and I’m going to lose this system, but nothing I can do will get our people out of the trap I walked them right into,” he said almost calmly. “That being the case, all we can do is try to take some of them with us.”

“They’re altering course, Citizen Admiral,” Foraker reported, and studied her plot carefully. “They’re coming to meet us again,” she announced after a moment.

“Trying to get into energy range,” Tourville grunted. He rubbed his luxuriant mustache for a moment, then shrugged. “Bring us about as well, Karen,” he told Citizen Commander Lowe. “They must have figured out how Shannon suckered them, but there’s an old, old saying about suckers and even breaks.”

The two forces continued to close, but at a much lower rate, and as the range fell below six and a half million kilometers, both opened fire almost simultaneously. Rear Admiral Tennard’s missiles slashed out, driving for the solid core of Tourville’s battleships. But unlike Alice Truman, he had none of Ghost Rider’s experimental missiles. Those he possessed had marginally greater range and marginally greater acceleration than the People’s Navy’s, coupled with superior penaids and seekers, but not enough to make up the difference in numbers. Even with his internal tubes to thicken the launch, he could put only twelve hundred missiles into space; Lester Tourville and Shannon Foraker replied with almost six thousand.

The two salvos interpenetrated and passed one another, and both admirals turned their walls of battle broadside-on to one another, swinging the most vulnerable aspects of their wedges away from the incoming fire… and also clearing their broadside tubes to pour maximum-rate fire into one another.

The displays in CIC showed the holocaust reaching out for both of them, showed the fury hurtling through space, and yet there was something unreal, almost dreamy about it. There were only the light dots of hostile missiles, not the reality—not yet. For now, for a few seconds still, there was only the professional tension, the slivered edges of what they had thought was fear only to feel the reality of that emotion trying to break loose within them, and wrapped about it all the quiet hum of ventilators, the beep and murmur of background chatter, and the flat half-chants of tracking officers.