“Eighty-seven brave pilots,” the announcer continued, “are making their way to engage the Krell to rescue the salvage. Victory will bring our league unprecedented glory and spoils!”

She had a voice like the announcers I’d listened to down below. Strong, but almost monotone—with an air of reading pages as they were put in front of her.

“This is too sterile,” I said. “Can we hear the real chatter? Tune to the pilot bands?”

Arturo looked at the others. Nedd shrugged, but Kimmalyn nodded. So Arturo turned the volume down further. “We’re not supposed to listen to these,” he said softly. “But what will they do? Kick us out of the DDF?”

He tuned a few notches until he hit the general flightleader channel. The radios in Igneous wouldn’t be able to decrypt what they were saying, but obviously Arturo’s family was important enough to have a radio with an unscrambler.

“They’re coming in,” an unfamiliar voice said. “Scud. There’s a lot of them.”

“Get us counts,” Ironsides said. “How many flights? How many ships?”

“Scouts reporting in.” I recognized that voice—it was Cloak. She was one of the scouts who had fought alongside us before. “We’ll get you numbers, Admiral.”

“All active flights,” Ironsides said, “stay on the defensive until we get enemy numbers. Flight Command out.”

I pulled my seat closer, listening to the chatter—trying to imagine the fight. A different scout described the falling shipyard. An enormous, ancient construct of steel, with gaping holes and twisting corridors.

Scout numbers came back. The first wave of Krell had been fifty strong, but another fifty followed. The enemy knew how important this fight was. They’d sent every ship; they were as committed as we were.

“A hundred ships,” Nedd said softly. “What a fight that must be . . .” He looked haunted; perhaps he was remembering our chase through the bowels of the shipyard.

“That’s it, they’re fully committed,” Ironsides said. “Riptide Flight, Valkyrie Flight, Tungsten Flight, and Nightmare Flight, I want you to provide covering fire. Inner flights, keep the Krell away from that shipyard. Don’t let them detonate a bomb on it!”

A series of affirmatives came from the flightleaders. I closed my eyes, imagining the swarm of ships, the destructor blasts in the air. It was a relatively open battlefield, with little debris except for the one enormous shipyard.

My fingers began going through motions, as if I were controlling a ship. I could feel it. The rattling of my cockpit, the rushing of the air, the flare of the booster…

Saints and stars. I was going to miss it so much.

“That’s a bomber,” one of the flightleaders said. “I have confirmation from three ships.”

“Scout confirmation,” Cloak said. “We see it too. Flight Command, a bomber is heading toward the shipyard. It’s carrying a lifebuster.”

“Drive it away!” Ironsides said. “Protecting the salvage is our most important objective.”

“Yes, sir,” a flightleader said. “Confirm. We push back, even if it means driving the bomber toward Alta?”