"The enemy fleet is shifting formation."
Adam's voice was steady and cold, as he observed the enemy vessels maneuvering on the tactical display.
The two escort frigates had repositioned themselves in a linear formation, acting as a shield for the heavily damaged Lunar-class cruiser limping behind them. Their void shields were critically weakened, and they knew it, hence their constant, almost frantic adjustments to their vector and facing, attempting to soak incoming lance fire as effectively as possible.
The lead frigate took the first lance strike, its shields flaring in a burst of blue light, flickering violently under the impact. Immediately, the second frigate surged forward, positioning itself ahead to intercept the next blast.
Yet, maneuvering warships of this scale was never a swift affair. Even among capital ships, agility was a relative term measured in kilometers.
The lead frigate, now struggling to decelerate after absorbing the initial hit, failed to reposition fast enough. Before its counterpart could take over the defensive role, a second lance beam lanced through its shields, completely overloading them.
The second escort vessel had barely managed to move into position when the third shot arrived.
The crimson beam struck its prow, piercing the adamantium ram before burrowing deep into the vessel's core. For a few fleeting moments, the ship continued to drift forward, but then, its engines flickered, its weapons dimmed, and its void shields collapsed.
Dead in the void.
Perhaps some crew still clung to life inside the wreckage, but for all intents and purposes, the warship was out of the fight.
"Continue firing." Adam's tone remained unchanged.
"Captain, with all due respect, that frigate seems to be out of action. Would it not be more effective to focus on the remaining escort or the cruiser?"
"I said, fire."
The lance crews hesitated only for a moment before obeying.
The next lance shot seared through the frigate's crippled hull, bursting out the aft section in a brilliant eruption of plasma and burning debris. Seconds later, the ship detonated, a silent supernova that momentarily illuminated the darkness of space.
"Maintain fire." Adam watched the explosion before explaining his reasoning.
"Never tell me a ship 'seems' to be disabled. Either it is sinking, or it is dust. We cannot afford to have 'dead' ships suddenly return to haunt us in the heat of battle."
As Adam reprimanded his crew, lances continued to fire, but the distance between the two forces was closing fast.
The enemy Lunar-class cruiser was still unable to retaliate effectively, but its last surviving escort had one final gambit left.
Torpedoes.
A spread of ten warheads erupted from beneath the escort frigate, streaking toward Adam's ship at blistering speed.
But torpedoes were not Adam's concern.
That responsibility belonged to his escort frigates and the ship's point defense grid.
As the torpedoes neared, the Legion frigates' point-defense turrets activated. Flak batteries unleashed a storm of autocannon fire, forming a dense web of shrapnel in the torpedoes' path. Meanwhile, laser-based point defenses tracked the incoming projectiles, unleashing rapid bursts of precision fire.
Nine torpedoes were intercepted, either obliterated mid-flight or deflected by the sheer volume of defensive firepower.
Only one torpedo reached the cruiser's energy shields.
Upon impact, a blinding explosion rippled across the shield barrier, momentarily revealing the flickering energy field as it absorbed the brunt of the blast. Moments later, the shield stabilized, returning to its invisible state.
The shields were still holding.
Now it was Adam's turn to return the favor.
"Return fire. Torpedoes away. All batteries, full salvo."
His ship launched its own torpedo spread, each warhead trailing white contrails of plasma, closing the distance toward the enemy at breakneck speed.
At the same time, the lances were recalibrated, sacrificing range in favor of maximum firepower.
The broadside macro-cannons roared to life, unleashing a devastating fusillade. In the span of seconds, the combined barrage overwhelmed the last frigate's void shields. The second salvo ripped the escort apart, its armored hull shattered, sending burning wreckage spiraling into the void.
Now, only one enemy ship remained.
A battered Lunar-class cruiser. Wounded. Vulnerable. Yet still advancing.
Adam studied the approaching warship, then issued his next order.
"Cease macro-cannon fire. We'll need the ammunition for continued orbital bombardment."
His crew acknowledged the command, conserving their munitions.
"Lance batteries, maximum yield. Hold fire until the enemy cruiser closes in. Two shots. That's all we'll need."
His officers nodded. The power output of the lances surged. Their range was now significantly reduced, and their recharge time was longer, but their destructive power had been pushed to its absolute limit.
Adam waited.
He watched as the enemy Lunar-class cruiser grew closer.
....
Aboard the "Talon's Hope"
The enemy captain stood at the heart of his ship's bridge, staring intently at the approaching Imperial warship.
Under his command, the cruiser was now accelerating at full speed, its prow pushing through the burning wreckage of its fallen escorts without hesitation.
The crew knew.
They all understood what was happening.
Their captain intended to ram the enemy ship head-on, a final, suicidal collision. A death charge to drag the Traitors down with them.
But not all agreed with this course of action.
The Talon's Hope, a grand name for a doomed ship was crewed entirely by followers of the Machine God from Talon II. Though they were loyal, many were not willing to die in such a desperate maneuver.
Some sought escape.
Escape pods and transport craft were seized and overloaded with desperate crew members, scrambling to abandon ship before the inevitable impact.
Then came the order that sealed their fate.
"Point-defense grid, fire on the cowards!"
The captain's voice roared across the bridge.
His most loyal followers relayed the order. Moments later, flak batteries and laser turrets rotated inward, obliterating the fleeing escape pods in bursts of fire and shrapnel, before they could even clear the ship's hull.
No one was leaving.
The captain stood firm as the Imperial ship loomed ahead. The distance was closing rapidly.
The enemy lances were charging.
Then came a report from a tech-priest servitor, hovering before him:
"Void shields restored to 20%. System reboot complete."
A flicker of triumph flashed in the captain's eyes.
The previous lance strike hadn't destroyed the shields outright.
In truth, he had deliberately powered them down at 11% capacity, feigning critical damage, waiting for this exact moment.
As the First Legion lance beam fired, surging toward his ship.
The void shields snapped back online.
The energy barrier absorbed the blast, dispersing the lethal beam harmlessly into the void.
"NOW! IGNITE ROCKET THRUSTERS!"
The captain drew his power sword, its blade humming with caged fury, and bellowed his final command.
"BRACE FOR IMPACT! FOR THE OMNISSIAH!"
With the thrusters fully engaged, the Talon's Hope accelerated even faster.
The ship's adamantium prow, reinforced with a solid auramite ram, was aimed directly at the enemy cruiser's command section.
Both crews could now see each other through their viewscreens.
Closer.
Closer, IMPACT.
A devastating shockwave ripped through the ship. Crew members were thrown to the deck as the entire vessel shuddered from the force of the collision.
The captain rose, expecting to see his shattered warship embedded in the enemy hull.
Instead, his heart sank.
They had struck the "void" shields.
The reinforced prow buckled as friction against the energy barrier generated intense heat, warping even its auramite plating.
Beyond the shields, the enemy cruiser remained untouched.
Its turrets rotated.
Its guns locked on.
The entire arsenal of the First Legion warship opened fire at point-blank range.
The Talon's Hope, the last ship of Talon II was annihilated in a blinding explosion.