“Blind.” Tanner grimaced, his fist slapping down in realization. “Even the best sensor systems would be overwhelmed by staring right into a star the size of Okana.”

“They don’t see the Cerekus, Admiral,” Milla said. “And even if they did…They would as likely believe it to be Drasin as anything else.”

Tanner’s curse echoed across the pit, making the ratings go pale white and bringing a booming laugh from the army control pit.

“Oh, shut up, Nero!” Tanner growled in response, staring at the displays again.

There had to be a way.

The form-fitted seats kept him from bouncing around as Stephanos pushed the limits of his fighter’s capabilities, even with the CM cutting into his personal inertia. He snapped his plane around, not changing his velocity as he first penetrated the enemy line and yanked his finger down on the forward auto-cannon.

The gimbal mounted eighty millimeters locked onto the first target he haloed, its roar lost in the vacuum of space, but not on Steph himself. The vibrations shaking the hefty fighter wrapped around him as it sent out a burst.

Forty rounds found the enemy fighter, the explosive ordinance they had loaded in preparation for just this mission ripping it to shreds and sending shrapnel flying along its previous course.

Steph twisted the throttle hard, slamming it forward at the same time, and his plane spun on its axis as its twin reactors opened up fully and his minimized personal inertia slammed him back in the seat. The fighter darted off in another direction, in seeming defiance of all the laws of physics.

Around him, the old dance had begun again, the dying over a completely unimportant section of space, merely a repeat of an age-old ritual of which Comdr. Stephen “Stephanos” Michaels was intimately familiar.

The Archangels were acquitting themselves well, as he knew they would, but there was already one emergency beacon blaring on the search and rescue frequency, so they’d taken their hits.

His mind wandered briefly, wondering how the new kid was doing, but he didn’t have time to focus on her, so he brought himself back to the moment.

“Angel Two, this is Lead…Make your run. I’ll cover,” he ordered.

“You got it, boss.”

Stephanos tapped his controls, coming up behind Angel Two and prepared to jump back into the fight.

Same old dance, he thought wryly. Only a different partner.

“Ranging bursts,” Weston ordered. “Paint them if you can, Mr. Waters.”

“Aye, Captain,” Waters responded.

The firing of the ranging lasers was silent and did nothing to provide the crew with the same level of comfort or satisfaction that the hum of the main array did. There was something to be said, psychologically, for the noise of a real weapon.

After the bursts were fired, Weston had nothing to do but wait for the return, something that would take just under one minute now.