Running, scrambling, flying

Rolling, turning, diving, going in again

Run, live to fly, fly to live, do or die

Run, live to fly, fly to live. Aces high.

Move in to fire at the mainstream of bombers

Let off a sharp burst and then turn away

Roll over, spin round and come in behind them

Move to their blindsides and firing again.

Bandits at 8 o'clock move in behind us

Ten ME-109's out of the sun

Ascending and turning our spitfires to face them

Heading straight for them I press down my guns

Iron Maiden - “Aces High”

Admiral Matevosian had a problem.

He had several problems, in fact, but foremost on his mind...other than wanting to know who the hell these newcomers were, and what they were doing here...was how he was supposed to respond. The Prime Minister would take a dim view of him starting a war without provocation, but if their ships kept boring in without so much as a peep, he had to assume they were up to no good.

Which brought him to his problem: the minor detail that Gzuj didn’t belong to the Tetrarchy.

This was Khonhim space, and while they had accepted his presence...because Marshal Fujimoto had made it quite clear she would go to war again in a heartbeat if they didn’t...opening fire under these circumstances would be what the Brits used to call “Bad Form”. It was political dynamite, a powder keg with a lit fuse...meaning the only way he could justify pulling the trigger would be if the Khonhim requested his help.

Which given Commander Ganakh’s stiff-necked, touchy pride, was about as likely as him gaining the ability to breathe vacuum.

“...there is still no response to our hails,” his Tactical officer informed him.

Azhum Ganakh scowled as he viewed the display. They were continuing to have difficulties tracking the incoming Armada...and it was a hostile force, he was certain of that. The only question now was what to do about it.

The Dhyaksh had responded to his message, but there was very little he could do. Dakik was days away, and no reinforcements would be forthcoming. So Jiyazh Ghuuyaz had informed him he would stand behind whatever decision he made. Except…

...You know what you must do, his mind whispered, but to even say the words aloud stuck in his throat like a raw piece of meat. He had reinforcements at his disposal, close by, willing to fight, proven in battle. All he had to do was ask.

And it galled him.

The civilian ships in the system were scattering like minnows before a shark, burning hard to place themselves out of harm’s way, so he put them out of his mind and focused his attention on the strangers in their midst. Given that they had aimed their fleet at him, an ambush was out of the question, which meant there was only one tactic left.

“Inform the fleet we will engage the enemy,” he ordered at last. “We will meet them head-on...and show them the price of their arrogance.”

His Tactical officer swelled with emotion as she passed the orders, while Azhum kept from shaking his head in sorrow. She was young, unblooded, her head filled with tales of glory. She had never been in this place before when warrior stood before warrior...each knowing that only one would walk away.

He, on the other hand, knew this place all too well.

...and yet he still could not bring himself to ask the Tetrarchy for aid.

Screw this.

Maybe he couldn’t open fire without permission, but that didn’t mean Matevosian was out of options. He couldn’t shoot...but he could maneuver.

“Bring us to 157 by Mark 229,” he ordered, “and flush the fighters. Once the squadrons have formed, they are to hold station with the Task Force until I have given them formal release.”

“Aye Sir,” the Helmsman replied, as the orders went out. Unless Ganakh knocked them out in one swift strike...not bloody likely...eventually even that hidebound idiot would recognize the necessity of asking for his help.

And when he did, they would be ready.

Given the difficulty they were having locking onto their targets, Ganakh held his fire. He wanted, needed to get closer, so as they passed from extreme range to long, and then to medium, he waited...though he could not help but wonder why they had not yet fired.

Perhaps their weapons are even shorter-legged than ours, he mused. If so he dare not wait any longer. “This is the High Commander,” he announced on the fleet channel, “All ships…fire.”

The Khonhim Task Force belched out thousands of missiles, sending them roaring at the enemy as their drives burned hard. They still couldn’t pack an FTL drive in something that small, but they were still far swifter than the ones he'd used against the old Triumvirate. Their onboard sensors went active, pinging hard as they searched for their prey. Within seconds they were closing the distance between the two fleets...when at last the interlopers responded.

Blinding beams of energy radiated from every vessel, lashing out at the incoming swarm. Again and again, they struck...and every time they did, Khonhim torpedoes died. Not in one’s or two’s, but in score’s and dozen’s, and when the dust settled every missile had been obliterated...while the enemy fleet lay untouched.

Azhum Ganakh stared at the carnage in disbelief. Not even one hit? Surely, they could manage at least that.

But the intact enemy mocked his efforts as they opened fire once more...this time those same lethal rays tearing into his ships as if made of tissue. Defiance and Honor both detonated in double-pulse explosions, their reactors turning the ships into miniature suns. Alarms screamed as his flagship Vanguard was rent asunder, while he pounded the intercom icon in sudden desperation.

“Message to the Tetrarchy fleet! he shouted, “...we are requesting assistance!”

The request was unnecessary. Superfluous, in fact...as Admiral Matevosian had already sent the fleet in before they received Ganakh’s message...orders be damned. Maybe he didn’t like the Khonhim or even trust them, but they had come too damn far these past decades to let it all just fall apart now. Not when he had the power to do something about it.

“All ahead full,” he ordered, “Interceptor squadrons to take the lead.” Swarms of F-206 Copperhead fighters surged forward, diving in for the kill as their carriers fell back behind the heavies. He’d brought the fleet in as close as he’d dared before committing them to action, but it would still take several minutes to close the range.

The second wave comprised the Ronin A-49 Vipers, direct descendants of the old HK’s. They weren't as swift or as nimble as their cousins...but when a Viper struck at you, you knew they had kissed you. They were also far sleeker in appearance than their predecessors since they’d had time to perfect the design this time around. Their heavy turrets rotated towards the enemy, still engaging the Khonhim Task Force.

Behind them lagged the heavyweights, Minotaur and the gaggle of Cruisers, Destroyers, and Frigates that formed the bulk of his fleet. Their much more massive weapons had the range the smaller ships lacked, and if he’d timed it right, all three waves should hit their marks right about…

…now.

“...we’ve lost main propulsion!” his Tactical officer screamed, as yet another beam stabbed into Vanguard with the precision of an assassin’s blade, “Torpedo Bays 1 and 3 are open to space!”

“Then get me thrusters!” Azhum Ganakh shouted back, “anything we can use to maneuver!”

She moved to respond...when a nearby power conduit exploded in white-hot fury. It threw the young female officer across the bridge by the blast, her burned and shattered body impacting the far bulkhead with a sickening wet sound, her lifeless carcass leaving an ugly orange smear as her corpse slid down to the deck.

Ganakh lurched to his feet, staggering to one of the other consoles as he fought to save his ship. Orders were useless now, by the time he passed them the recipient was usually dead...or his ship destroyed. The fleet had come apart at the seams as each ship tried to save itself...when the enemy fire vanished.

Somehow, he brought up an exterior view, watching in dismay as the enemy turned away.

With his task Force in ruins...now it was Matevosian’s turn.

His first salvo had barely cleared their guns before the enemy fleet altered course, looping around on a reciprocal trajectory that sent them screaming back towards him. The fleet tracked the bandits and fired again, with far better results than the Khonhim had managed. They’d been traveling in their wake for some time now, and with them closing in their hit probabilities began to climb. They launched antimatter projectiles, striking again and again, but it was as if they were barely scratching the surface. He knew could winnow them down, Matevosian was certain of it, he just needed to…

The wave of Vipers staggered, as something unseen seemed to ripple through them. There was no damage, no weapons fire that he could make out, but as he was about to request a SITREP the formation steadied itself once again.

Which is why Fleet Admiral Ouri Matevosian had an almost pristine view of the Ronin vessels swinging their turrets around in unison...and opening fire on his own fleet.