The Commodore watched with interest as the enemy capital ships shifted their fire, giving the Imperial fleet a brief reprieve, to the mines that had been launched only a moment ago.
Evidently, being trapped was high on the enemy commander's list of dislikes.
But that was hardly the purpose of the mines, and even now the dark shape of the EMPIRE SOb reappeared, hovering off the stern of the
Pegasus. Even before the enemy sensors had registered her presence (as, indeed, they would have some trouble doing, the EMPIRE being protected under rudimentary cloak), she was firing, her heavy guns biting with relish into the shields of the enemy capital ship.
"Sir! We're getting strange data from the EMPIRE... the enemy's hull does not appear to be taking damage."
Indeed, the few stray shots that had penetrated the enemy shields had scorched and blackened the hull of the mock Star Destroyer, but had not blasted through it, as was expected.
"Keep up the bombardment." The Commodore ordered, not daring to wonder too much about this peculiarity at the moment.
The Imperial fleet had a distinct advantadge now: formed in a line, they could concentrate a good deal of shield power against the vector the enemy was firing upon. But the
Pegasus, caught between the fleet and the EMPIRE, was forced to shift shield power between fore and aft. And as the long range exchange intensified, that was beginning to take its toll.
"Jamming." The communications officer reported easily. Nothing out of the ordinary, nor honestly of terrible greivance to the Empire. Their training was second to none, and they had their orders.
The next report came from sensors, noting hyperspace terminus of projectiles: more of the hyperspace missiles. There was no need to relay to gunnery to take them down: the Phalanx guns began to spit fire, destroying missiles in midflight. By virtue of their stealth design some of the warheads made it through, impacting against the heavy shields of the CPECs.
There was no way for the Commodore to know with the jamming that the
Centurion had lost launching for her port side missile cluster, but it hardly mattered - that vessel's Captain was compitent, and knew his role well.
"Sir! Bombers!" Indeed, difficult to detect and forgotten in the heat of the battle, a number of enemy ships had managed to slip past the Imperial line and bear down on the Curiassier class Heavy Cruiser
Bismark. The fallacy of the enemy manouver was obvious, however: they flew at the ship in line, strung out for some distance.
The
Bismark's antistarfighter guns began to fire, and the enemy fighters had two choices: break, and lose their chance at attack, or shoot and die.
They chose the latter, and though a number of the fighters were shot to pieces on their approach, a significant ammount survived to launch their missiles. These impacted against the shields of the
Bismark, overwhelming them and allowing ever more of the bombs to strike against her reinforced engine spar.
That it did not seperate might be called a miracle, but only just: fire streaming from her side, the vessel's Captain struggled to bring her under control. One after another, the engines flamed out, shut down lest they rip themselves free. And through this, in a testament to the training of the Imperial Fleet, the guns did not cease firing.
The enemy bombers had had to continue on over the top of the
Bismark, and in doing so subjected themselves to the veangeful fire from the Cruiser's other canons. That the enemy bombers were nearly as agile as
Lambda shuttles did not help them, and nearly offset the fact they were almost invisible. Many more fell to the fire of the
Bismark as they fled.
The Commodore, watching the events unfold, crossed himself (an unusual motion, as anyone who knew him even in passing would tell you).
"Take a note," he said, his voice low, "if Captain Ballard survives this engagement, he is to be nominated for a Hero of the Empire medal."
Indeed, even now as the
Bismark struggled to retain her place in the Imperial line, she continued to fire, her turbolasers targetting the smaller enemy destroyers now assaulting her sistership, the
Hood.
These ships, less than half the size of the
Hood, found themselves subject to fire from nearly all directions: nearly every gun in the fleet that could rotate to fire opened up, covering them from a half dozen angles.
Even the ultrachrome protective armour of the ships could not protect from the onslaught, and one of the smaller ships trailed fire as it fled back towards its own lines.
But they did not leave the
Hood unscathed: fire blossomed from her hull, the engine spar again taking the brunt of the attack. This time the heavily reinforced spar held, and as the enemy ship's passed the Cruiser's location a missile volley lanced out from two of the Imperial frigates, towards the rear of the enemy ships.
The bridge crew of the CPEC breathed a sigh of relief as the two lines crossed, and once again the battle was back to relative normal: the two lines fired at each other from range, licking their wounds.
Normal, save for the EMPIRE SOb, still hammering away at the enemy shields. Her regular lasers had weakened them, and now a pair of blasts from her Super Turbolasers were dispatched, the first crashing like a tidal wave into the weakened shields, so powerful that those shields turned pink before faltering, if only for a second.
Long enough for the second blast to strike home at full power. Too much power even for ultrachrome to compensate for.
The lead CPEC at the same time fired its main guns again, this time picking on the second enemy Star Destroyer. The other two CPECs followed suite shortly thereafter, the combined effect of the group's heaviest cannons having a similar effect to that of the EMPIRE's STLs.
"I wonder," the Commodore mused, "if they know yet, about Metalorn?"
And he smiled.
This is a good time because Kas is so up-tight you could stick a coal up his ass and in two weeks you would have a diamond.
-Theren Gevel