The four enemy ships spun around, orienting toward me. Working together was a good idea, but these obviously hadn’t drilled on ideal ship distance. As I’d recently taught the Broadsiders, when you flew in a formation, you wanted to be just far enough away from one another to protect against IMP blasts.
I went barreling toward them, slamming my overburn. They landed a few shots on me, which was fine. As I darted through the middle of the quartet, I hit my IMP. They reacted too slowly, and I caught three of the four—which M-Bot obligingly painted on the display for me—dropping their shields.
As I’d suggested, Peg and the members of Cutlass Flight focused on these ships. Sprays of destructor fire lit the air behind me, and I found myself grinning. The fighting here reminded me of something…
Training with the holographic projectors, I realized. That was the last time I flew without fearing for my life.
“That was quite the stunt, Spin,” Peg said over the comm. “Can’t decide if you’re growing muluns or hemels.”
“That’s nothing, Captain,” I said, spinning into evasive maneuvers as someone took shots at me. “You should see me do something like that when we’re fighting for our lives. It’s way more stupid then.”
“I can imagine,” she said. “You need a wingmate?”
“Nah. You and Maksim might want to go help Gibsey though. He’s somehow picked up two more tails.”
I still had my own tail. M-Bot helpfully pointed out this was the one ship from a moment ago that I hadn’t IMPed. Which meant they had a shield and I didn’t.
Huh. They were sticking to me pretty well. In fact—
A couple bolts of blue destructor light grazed my canopy, inches from connecting. Scud. This one was actually good.
My grin widened. I slammed on my overburn, sat back in my seat, and really got into it. There was no way I’d be able to restore my shield to duel them properly—that required precious seconds sitting still. So instead I focused on outflying my enemy.
The next few minutes were a glorious chase through the battlefield, swerving and swooping, light-lancing around fragments, buzzing the Broadsider base. That tail stayed on me, as if proving a point. They soon left off shooting though.
Waiting for the perfect shot, eh? I thought. Well, I’m not going to give you one.
I pulled up for a while, soaring into the pink-white sky. Then I turned and dove. My new ship’s GravCaps absorbed the worst of the g-forces, but I was still slammed with them as I accelerated downward. That had me grinning. Yes, g-forces suck, but at this point they were an old friend. All the blood pushing to the back of my body, threatening to claim my eyesight—then my consciousness…
I soared past my tail, then pulled up at just the right moment. A glance at the monitor showed me Chet’s head rolling on his neck. He shook himself, coming alert. Seemed I’d knocked him out in that maneuver. I’d have to be a little more careful.
Yet even despite all of that, my enemy kept with me. They were good. So I roared back into the snarl of fighting ships—and then started blasting an enemy ship that had been gunning for Shiver, knocking out its shields. I then took to the side, drawing a bead on another ship, and fired and locked it up.
My tail finally unloaded on me, firing wildly instead of waiting for the right moment.
Great, now I just—
My ship jolted. The control panel went dark and the controls locked up. I found myself hovering forward at a steady pace, nothing working, as that enemy ace buzzed my ship. Scud, I’d been hit. I checked Chet’s vitals on my monitor—he was fine, by the numbers—so I sat back in my seat, then laughed.
“Spensa?” M-Bot asked. “Oh my. Is the stress causing your emotions to erupt irrationally? Oh! I’ve felt that now. Um, what do I say? Let’s see… Humm…”
“I’m great,” I said, wiping my eyes.
“No, no. I need the correct words…”
I stretched forward in my seat, trying to get a visual on that ace. Fighting was fun, but knowing there was someone in here who could match me? That was even more exciting.
“Ah!” M-Bot said. “I’ve got it. Spensa. Feel better, please.”
“Okay,” I said, smiling. “I already do.”
“Success! I’m going to remember that one.”
“Chet, how are you feeling?” I asked him.
“Enthused,” he said, his voice wan, “but nauseous and…embarrassed. I fear I lost consciousness earlier.”