“Come on, you people!” Sally MacBride’s voice cracked like a whip. “Move your asses—now!”

Dominica Santos dragged herself up out of her pit of horror and stumbled back towards the gutted drive circuits.

Honor clutched at her command chair, head snapping savagely back despite her shock frame as Fearless leapt about her. Fresh damage signals shrilled, and she shook her head, fighting off the blurred vision and confusion of concussion.

She made herself look at her battle board. At least a dozen compartments were open to space now, and Lieutenant Webster smashed both fists against his own console.

“Direct hit on the com section, Ma’am,” he reported in a voice of raw, dull anguish. He turned to look at her, his face shocked and white, and tears gleamed in his eyes. “It’s gone. Dear God, half my people went with it, too.”

“Understood, Lieutenant.” The sound of her own voice startled her. It was too calm, too detached. She was murdering her own ship by matching it against Sirius. She knew she was… just as she knew she wouldn’t—couldn’t—break off. She wanted to say something else, to share Webster’s pain and loss, but the words wouldn’t come, and she turned back towards Cardones just as he punched his firing key again.

A missile spat from Fearless, but only one, and a warning buzzer snarled. Cardones jerked at the sound and hit a system-test button. Then his shoulders clenched, and he turned towards his captain.

“Missile One is down, Ma’am. We’re down to one tube.”

Honor stabbed her intercom key. “Damage Control, this is the captain. What’s the status of Missile One?” she snapped.

“Sorry, Ma’am.” Lieutenant Manning’s voice was slurred and indistinct. “Two of my people are dead down here. We’ve got damage reports from all over the ship, and—” The acting damage control officer paused, and his voice strengthened as he dragged himself back together. “Sorry. What did you say, Ma’am?”

“Missile One. What’s the status of Missile One?”

“Gone, Ma’am. We’ve got a four-meter hole in the starboard bow. The whole compartment’s gone—and its crew.”

“Understood.” Honor released her key and looked back at Cardones. “Continue the engagement with Missile Two, Guns,” she said.

· · • · ·

“That last one must have hurt her bad, Sir,” Lieutenant Commander Jamal said, and Coglin grinned back at him in triumph. The range was down to under six million kilometers, and the vaporized alloy and atmosphere streaming back from Fearless’s bow was plain on their sensors. More than that, the cruiser was firing only single-missile salvos. Now if only—

Sirius shuddered as another Manticoran missile detonated just astern of her, and crimson damage signals flashed on Coglin’s panel.

“Spinal Four gone, Sir!” someone reported. “We’ve lost the secondary fire control sensors, too. Primaries unaffected.”

Coglin spat out a savage curse. “Hit that fucker again, Jamal!” he snarled.

Dominica Santos waved MacBride aside and slammed the last replacement box into place. The green ready light glowed, and she switched back to Central Damage Control’s net.