Almost there. Almost there!

The Krell destructors flared. Hit. Hit again. And then…

A burst of light. A spray of sparks.

And Morningtide died in a massive explosion. She didn’t have a chance to eject.

Kimmalyn screamed—a high-pitched, panicked, pained sound.

“No!” Jerkface said. “No, no, no!”

I arrived, flying at Mag-3—too fast for normal dogfighting maneuvers—but still managed to spear one of the Krell ships with my light-lance. But it was too late.

The fiery sparks that had been Morningtide went out as they fell.

I spun and reversed my thrust, letting go of the light-lance and flinging the Krell ship to the side. Another of our fighters came in after it, shooting and managing to blast it down.

I fell in beside Jerkface, silently smothering my own screams. He’d lost his wingmate. Where was Arturo?

I couldn’t make out anything tactical in the fray. My flight zipped in all directions, drawing fire—yes—but also adding to the confusion. A few larger classes of DDF fighters wound through it all, mixing with some dozen Krell ships, each trailing wires in that same unfinished way.

I was crying. But I set my jaw and kept on Jorgen’s wing. He expertly speared a Krell ship with his light-lance, and it tried to break away, so I speared it as well.

“That debris, Jorgen,” I said. “Coming down at your two, falling slowly.”

“Right.” We both hit our throttles, as Cobb had taught us, and pulled the enemy ship toward the debris. At the last minute, we cut our lines and split to the sides, slamming the Krell ship into the debris in a fiery explosion.

“What are you two doing?” Cobb said over the line. “You were ordered into defensive postures.”

“Cobb!” I said. “Morningtide—”

“Keep your head, girl!” he shouted. “Grieve when the debris rests. Right now, obey orders. Defensive. Postures.”

I gritted my teeth, but didn’t argue, following Jorgen as he wound through the smoke trails left by falling chunks of debris. That looked to be Arturo and Nedd to my right, leapfrogging each other with quick accelerations and decelerations, to keep the enemy from focusing on either one of them. That kind of technique could confuse the Krell, much like overwhelming them with targets.

Morningtide…

“Quirk?” Jorgen said. “What are you doing?”

I realized I could still hear Kimmalyn’s soft whine of pain over the radio. I searched the scanner, then spotted a single Poco—without a wingmate—hovering near the perimeter of the fight.

“Quirk, move!” Jorgen said. “You’re a clear target. Get in here.”

“I…,” Kimmalyn said. “I was trying to line up a shot. I was going to save her…”

“Join the fight!” Jorgen shouted. “Cadet, hit your throttle and get in here!”

“I’ll cover her,” I said, moving to break off as we zoomed past two Krell coming the other way. So many sparks and destructor shots lit the sky, I almost felt I was down in Igneous, swallowed up by a forge.

“No,” Jorgen said to me. “You see Bim? At your eight? Cover him. I’ll deal with Kimmalyn.”