“Commander! Enemy status changed!”

Roberts turned and approached Waters’s bridge station. “What happened, Ensign?”

“They accelerated once they rendezvoused with the sixth ship, sir. New ETA is still being calculated, but it’ll be less than eight hours.”

“All right. I’ll inform the captain. Are all our people back yet?” Roberts asked as he turned around.

“Yes, sir,” Ensign Lamont replied. “The last SAR flight just came back in. All we have left out there are dirt-side, sir.”

“Major Brinks and his team are going to be on their own shortly,” Roberts said.

“Yes, sir.”

“Lamont, contact the captain. Inform him of the new ETA.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

Chief Corrin smiled under her hard suit helmet, knowing that no one could see her. The work on the flight deck had been superb, and she was proud of the damage-control team that had guided and done most of it. Not that she was going to tell them that.

“Not bad,” she said over the com-channels. “Not half bad at all.”

The figures around her relaxed noticeably.

Well, she wouldn’t tell them in so many words. Good crews knew without being told. That was what made them good crews.

“Awright,” she said.

The men and women snapped back to attention, each of them focusing on her.

“We’re going to war, ladies. That means that damage control just got bumped up to the front lines on this here tub. You’re all off shift starting now, but by God, you better be ready when I call.”

A chorus of acknowledgments came from the fatigued group. Corrin waved a half salute and dismissed them without a word. They quickly made for the locks, and she knew they’d be riding them up to the crew berths in short order.

The chief looked over the repair job one last time, noting the smooth bead on the laser weld.

“Not half bad at all.”

“Captain.” Lieutenant Amherst saluted as his feet clanged together on the deck. “You asked for me, sir?”

“I understand that you refused to allow my message to reach Stephanos,” Weston said.

“Sir, I decided that the commander needed the rest, sir.”

Weston suppressed both the urge to smirk at the format of the response and the desire to club Amherst in the back of his head. “I see.”

Amherst didn’t respond.

“Well, in that case, Lieutenant, I believe that you have some decisions to make.”

“Me, sir?”

“You are the XO of the flight group, are you not?”

“Yes, sir but…” Amherst paled.

“Well, then you make the decisions, and Steph will rubber-stamp them when you decide he’s had enough sleepy time,” Weston said, with just a hint of sarcasm to his voice.

“Uh…yes, sir.”

“Good. First, what’s the status of the flight?”

“We’re down by four pilots and planes, sir. Two losses, not counting Flare, and Brute is in the med-lab.”

Weston nodded. “We’ll need you to be at your best in a few hours…”