Fareons arched out at us almost instantaneously in green and violet menace. Our shields dipped to an appalling low. One of our convoys rippled in red, then exploded in ruin, her shields weak or malfunctioning.
I grimaced in astonishment. “Jesus, Noss. What’s going on? Now, Phel! Fucker, get those jammers working!”
It seemed Phel wanted to draw out the Warhawks more, lengthen the charade. Perhaps the jammers were fucked? What was one sacrifice? For a second, I thought we’d been had.
But Vulpin’s fareons did go haywire and stray fire lashed out from her cannons and ignited one of Mong’s own lead craft that was firing on us. I smacked my fist in my palm. Wren locked fareons on the nearest ship in the enemy line. Noss kept Starrunner on a sweeping tangent over the warcraft’s hulls—a risk, even if we avoided their haywire beams, yet maximizing the damage we could inflict on them at such close range. We rained destruction on their hulls, penetrating their mega shields with repeated bursts. I waited for the rest of the Melinarian fleet to show up with their Vendecki scrabblers.
But they did not come. Or at least not too soon. I saw a hundred Warhawks blitz into existence from various parts of the galaxy and they sent flash bombs after us—salvos that had not been affected by the jammers. Our shields would not hold out for long. The rebel fleet materialized at last. The fireworks began. But this was a different type of fireworks. Little glowbugs on the underdog side burning and biting the big blackbirds. From grey, tiny fuselages pricks of red light lashed out and slammed into the larger Warhawks.
Enemy craft lit in orange and yellow and foundered as their shields gave way.
“There!” I cried in triumph. “Target Mong’s shitty flagship! Spare nothing! We have no better chance than now. Do it, Wren!”
She opened full fareons on Vulpin. The superstructure rippled, a complex metalworks of folds and dark, twisted cannons and com towers. Rebel craft from all angles opened fire on Mong’s mother ship along with others of the fleet. We pelted them with all our megavolts could give, and the enormous craft started to list and fall in orbit toward Melinar.
“Hot damn!” I cried. Vulpin flared, pitched and rolled and continued her descent toward Melinar and we raced after her.
Phel’s voice came rasping over the com, “Do not go in, Rusco!”
“Bring your ships over!” I cried. “Mong is falling. We’ve got him. We’ve already got our weapons locked on his rude bastard hide!”
“Can’t. We’re too busy fighting Warhawks and having a hell of a time of it.”
I could see on the ship’s holo tactical that the Vendecki craft were taking heavy losses from flash bombs and were prey to Mong’s superior numbers. Sparrow 1 ignited to starboard; the last two of our team lay heavily taxed by enemy fire.
“The warbirds have no com,” Phel shrilled, “but their limited reserve weapons are still wreaking havoc on us.”
Flash bombs and convention torps. I gave a miserable sigh.
Wren hit the override switch for reserve fareon power. “That bastard Mong’s going to get away. Too many slimy tricks up his sleeve.”
“Not if we can help it,” I growled. I peered over at Noss. “Can you bring us in close enough?”
Noss grinned.
Sure enough, Vulpin jettisoned an escape craft from the starboard port as she hurtled planetside. I boomed at Noss, “There!”
Wren targeted the shuttle.
Phel grunted in amazement. “A blip has appeared on our scanners. Wait…No, we do not see him anymore. Mong must have curled around the shadow side of the planet.”
“No, we’re tracking the bogie jettisoned from Vulpin.”
“Rusco, I forbid you to go down there—”
I cut the channel. Enough of meister Phel for one day. “Fire every volt of fareon juice we have into that bastard’s ass, Wren!”
She unleashed full fareons. We streaked after the fleeing shuttle, a dark bottle-green shape with bulbed prow and twin fins. Straight to the dimming planetside the shuttle spiraled. We entered Melinar’s atmosphere. Glowering scarlet hue of early evening fell on the rich landscape. We skimmed over the featureless plains in pursuit of the shuttle.
Vulpin nosedived several miles in front of us then smashed into a large paddy field. A bright blue explosion marked the crater of her entry. The shuttle cut through the smoldering cloud and roared skyward, barely saving its hide. Wren’s continued blasts hit it square on, shearing off the rear fins and sending the fuselage spinning out of control. Corkscrewing, it crashed at the side of a hill at the edge of an arid field, smoke trailing from its crumpled fuselage.
As the haze cleared, we saw three figures emerge dazedly from the blackened husk. Magnified resolution revealed one hulking shape, garbed in half-scorched leather and furs, staggering out with two of his henchmen. All were disoriented, blood streaming from their faces and arms. Wren’s holo screen showed higher resolution and her fingers twitched over the fareon blaster.
I reached over and grabbed her hand. “Wait!” I rasped. “As much as I want to nuke that bastard’s ass right now, we can take him alive! To suffer a thousand deaths for the ones he has given to so many others.”
She exhaled an exasperated breath, but the others nodded in agreement.
“Give us air coverage, Noss. An eagle-eye’s view. We’re going in on foot. Keep us apprised of any unpleasant surprises. We don’t want any predators biting us in the ass.”
“Roger that.”
Starrunner settled beside Mong’s broken escape craft, at the rising hill to our right. Noss checked shields and disengaged the rear cargo door. We glimpsed the crash survivors struggling up the hillside on the holo display.
“Zan, you stay behind and help Noss with weapons and nav. Your back wounds are still not healed enough to do
