A Greater Interest: Samair in Argos: Book 4 by Michael Kotcher Page A
Authors: Michael Kotcher
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missiles came under fire from the transport’s point defense.
Typhon checked his displays, nearly salivating in anticipation. Illuyanka was nearly in range of that annoying pair of local corvettes, two of the ships that had blasted apart his own vessels. He gave the commanders and the gunners of those ships credit, though. He hadn’t been this fired up over an engagement in years. The rush of combat, feeling his ship’s engines firing, seeing space flying past for more than just a transit or an exercise. It was intoxicating and something he’d never stopped craving. It was that same rush, that same feeling that had brought him to join the Federation military in the first place. It got him into the Grenadiers, then through the war, through the ranks until he finally was in command of the Grenadiers and his small squadron. The war ended, the Federation closed its borders and pulled its forces back to protect the Core Worlds. There wasn’t as much room or need for warriors like his wolves.
But now he was on the hunt. He was actively on the hunt again. It felt so good! Ten more seconds…
“General!” the tactical officer called.
He whipped around to glare at the wolf in the tactical station. “What is it?” he snarled.
But the communications officer beat the tactical officer to it. “Incoming transmission in the clear, sir.”
He pressed a control, and a voice came over the speakers. “One vision!” the voice cried.
Typhon frowned. “What the hell is that?”
The tactical officer broke in. “General, four of the local fighters have maneuvered around the main battlespace and are launching a strike on HT-626.”
“What?” the general roared, leaping to his feet. He rushed over to the tactical station, though he could have seen everything perfectly from the displays on his command seat. “What the hell is happening?”
The tactical officer, Bek, pointed one claw to the display. A flurry of missiles streaked forth from the flight of starfighters, which were still in range of Illuyanka ’s sensors. The missiles were engaged by HT-626’s point defense weapons, but only about half of the missiles were shot down. The rest plowed into the port side of the ship, and the light cruiser’s sensors registered explosions at the center of the ship.
“What kind of damage?” he growled, his teeth bared.
“I don’t have a full report, General,” the tactical officer replied. “But HT-626’s communications are down. They’ve dropped out of the tactical net.”
Typhon roared his fury. After a second’s rage, he calmed himself. “Is it just the fighters?”
“Yes, General.” The wolf seemed unperturbed by the general’s outburst. “Just those four fighters. Now they’re hanging back, but they’re not moving off from HT-626, either.”
Typhon considered this. It would take several minutes at full acceleration to decelerate and then get moving in the right direction, and then several minutes more to get to HT-626 to attempt to help. He looked back to the display.
“Targets in range.”
“Fire,” he ordered. “We’ll take them out and then we’ll swing back to render assistance to the assault transport.”
The tactical officer stabbed several controls on his console and the ship’s turbolasers opened up on the two corvettes. The two ships broke formation, trying to move away from one another, forcing Illuyanka to split her fire. But it didn’t matter. The light cruiser had guns enough for both of the smaller ships and damaged as they were, they were no match for Typhon’s flagship.
Cavalier rocked under the onslaught. Nazan gripped the arms of his chair as the ship lurched. “Increase speed!” he ordered. “We need to try and outdistance them.”
“I’ve lost helm control!” the helmsman cried, stabbing vainly at the controls.
Another hit and the bridge just exploded around them. One
Typhon checked his displays, nearly salivating in anticipation. Illuyanka was nearly in range of that annoying pair of local corvettes, two of the ships that had blasted apart his own vessels. He gave the commanders and the gunners of those ships credit, though. He hadn’t been this fired up over an engagement in years. The rush of combat, feeling his ship’s engines firing, seeing space flying past for more than just a transit or an exercise. It was intoxicating and something he’d never stopped craving. It was that same rush, that same feeling that had brought him to join the Federation military in the first place. It got him into the Grenadiers, then through the war, through the ranks until he finally was in command of the Grenadiers and his small squadron. The war ended, the Federation closed its borders and pulled its forces back to protect the Core Worlds. There wasn’t as much room or need for warriors like his wolves.
But now he was on the hunt. He was actively on the hunt again. It felt so good! Ten more seconds…
“General!” the tactical officer called.
He whipped around to glare at the wolf in the tactical station. “What is it?” he snarled.
But the communications officer beat the tactical officer to it. “Incoming transmission in the clear, sir.”
He pressed a control, and a voice came over the speakers. “One vision!” the voice cried.
Typhon frowned. “What the hell is that?”
The tactical officer broke in. “General, four of the local fighters have maneuvered around the main battlespace and are launching a strike on HT-626.”
“What?” the general roared, leaping to his feet. He rushed over to the tactical station, though he could have seen everything perfectly from the displays on his command seat. “What the hell is happening?”
The tactical officer, Bek, pointed one claw to the display. A flurry of missiles streaked forth from the flight of starfighters, which were still in range of Illuyanka ’s sensors. The missiles were engaged by HT-626’s point defense weapons, but only about half of the missiles were shot down. The rest plowed into the port side of the ship, and the light cruiser’s sensors registered explosions at the center of the ship.
“What kind of damage?” he growled, his teeth bared.
“I don’t have a full report, General,” the tactical officer replied. “But HT-626’s communications are down. They’ve dropped out of the tactical net.”
Typhon roared his fury. After a second’s rage, he calmed himself. “Is it just the fighters?”
“Yes, General.” The wolf seemed unperturbed by the general’s outburst. “Just those four fighters. Now they’re hanging back, but they’re not moving off from HT-626, either.”
Typhon considered this. It would take several minutes at full acceleration to decelerate and then get moving in the right direction, and then several minutes more to get to HT-626 to attempt to help. He looked back to the display.
“Targets in range.”
“Fire,” he ordered. “We’ll take them out and then we’ll swing back to render assistance to the assault transport.”
The tactical officer stabbed several controls on his console and the ship’s turbolasers opened up on the two corvettes. The two ships broke formation, trying to move away from one another, forcing Illuyanka to split her fire. But it didn’t matter. The light cruiser had guns enough for both of the smaller ships and damaged as they were, they were no match for Typhon’s flagship.
Cavalier rocked under the onslaught. Nazan gripped the arms of his chair as the ship lurched. “Increase speed!” he ordered. “We need to try and outdistance them.”
“I’ve lost helm control!” the helmsman cried, stabbing vainly at the controls.
Another hit and the bridge just exploded around them. One
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