He changed over to a squad-level channel, addressing his people. “You heard the lady. I want you to do your jobs, but don’t get your ass fried for nothing. If you’re in a strike zone, watch the clock. If you can’t get out, find cover and hunker down.”

Contrary to what most people thought, nuclear blasts were far from all-encompassing. Shock waves that could turn a man’s insides to Jell-O had a disconcerting habit of bouncing back and canceling themselves out at the oddest times. If you could find reasonable cover, and were either far enough to avoid the searing heat of the blast or armored enough to endure it, you had a reasonable chance of survival.

It was one reason why Eric was far from convinced that the nuclear option was a good one, though he knew that there were few options left and none of them were any good. No matter. They’d have to comb the strike zones after the blast, just to be sure. There was no room for error in what was coming. That much he knew for certain.

“Alright,” he leaned forward, tapping the pilot’s shoulder to emphasize the words. “Take us to our assigned sector.”

“You’ve got it, sir.”

The Cherokee banked hard to the right, coming around as the pilot charged the CM generators. Eric felt the familiar tingle of the hair standing up on the back of his neck just before the turbines’ scream turned into a roar and he was slammed back in his place, along with everyone else, as the Cherokee leapt past Mach One and headed for hypersonic.

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY

“BRAVO SQUADRON, SPREAD out,” Thane ordered as his instruments began showing the targets ahead of them more clearly. “Targets are being prioritized and assigned. Lock and stand by your Thunderbolts.”

The squadron acknowledged as he flipped a panel of switches, bringing his own array of Thunderbolt High-Velocity Missiles online and making them live. The Thunderbolt was the designation for the antiship variation of the missile platform, equipped with far more expensive and heavier-duty CM capabilities.

The theory was that they could take out even the most powerful of capital ships, but that was something he hadn’t seen much proof of just yet. They’d seen some light use in previous battles, but mostly it was the fighter screen variations that saw the heaviest use.

Time to see just how well these things really work.

The enemy ships were an ugly blood red on his screens, and he took his time confirming the firing arcs. It wouldn’t do to miss and take out one of their own ships in the process. That wouldn’t just be disastrous . . . it would be humiliating too.

The flight commander of Bravo Squadron chuckled to himself as he finished the calculations. Death and destruction are part of the business. Embarrassment, however? That’s just not acceptable.

“Targets assigned,” he said. “Fire on my command.”