The single remaining ship was bolting from the system at an intense acceleration, and in an instant, the swarm had a hard choice. Continue on to the target world, and risk losing their last link to the dangerous species they had been tracking . . . or risk splitting forces, but that would then risk opening their force to defeat while in a weakened state.

The decision was swift, and the swarm changed course as one being, entering into a pursuit curve for the single remaining ship.

Jennifer “Cardsharp” Samuels cackled as quietly as she could, imagining the look on the face of the pilot of the Raven stealth bomber that had narrowly missed colliding with her Heracles.

“That poor bastard’s probably choking in the smell from the load he just dropped in his flight suit.” She smirked almost uncontrollably.

Captain Roberts rolled his eyes. “Some decorum, if you please, Lieutenant Commander. This is hardly the place or time.”

“Yes sir.” She grimaced.

“Besides,” the Captain went on, his voice dry as the Sahara, “he’s on canned air. The smell is hardly an issue. I’d expect that he’s more bothered by the newly squishy texture of his seat.”

Jennifer snorted, nearly breaking a rib as she failed to keep her laughter in.

“Control, this is Raven Two Three,” an angry pilot growled into his radio. “Request permission to light that sucker up!”

“Negative Two Three, that’s an ally.”

“I don’t want to shoot him. Just let me target the bastard!”

The control officer on the other side of the comm sighed audibly. It was already a long day, week, and month, but this was getting to be ridiculous.

The five Heroics had blown their tachyon projectors out in a single massive surge intended to blind the enemy temporarily as they shifted their cam-plates to best absorption levels and bolted for the surface of the Earth in order to hide the power of their gravetic reactors.

Floating in relatively low altitudes with active camouflage on was a hell of a way to introduce yourself to the local militaries that were already buzzing around like angry wasps, but there was little to be done about it. The Confederacy at least managed to provide emergency IFF beacons to their troops, but in many parts of the world the Heroics had to adjust fast on the fly to avoid midair collisions with planes and the occasional missile.

It was quick, it was dirty but, surprisingly, it worked.

President Conner stared at the long-range scans, more than a little stunned.

“I can’t believe that they’re falling for it.”

“Enemy ships are altering course. They’re laying in pursuit of the Odysseus, Mr. President.”

Conner shook his head. “Alright, Weston is buying us time . . . again. Let’s not waste it. I want more factories open, twenty-four-seven production. I want every able body either slinging a rifle or building a nuke. Am I clear?”

“We’re on it, sir.”