Randolph Lalonde - Spinward Fringe Broadcast 08 - Renegades by Randolph Lalonde Page A

through the
field.
    The enemy ship’s
dorsal and rear shell cannons fired, blasting several of the
station’s power collection panels into thousands of tiny pieces.
Suddenly, the lead ships in Minh-Chu’s wing were flying through a
field of hardened debris. His ship registered several impacts but
didn’t take any serious damage.
    “Cockpit strike!”
Dent announced. “I have a control malfunction, trying to
recalibrate.”
    Minh-Chu checked Dent’s
condition and nodded to himself. Several chunks of cockpit shielding
broke free in the impact, but Dent’s suit saved him. His Ramiel
fighter had a severe vulnerability with its cockpit compromised. “I
need you to drop back on this one, Dent.”
    “Ronin, I just got my
controls recalibrated, I’m still in this,” Dent replied.
    “We don’t fly
around with busted cockpit armour unless we have to. Head for cover,”
Minh-Chu replied.
    “Aye, sorry,” Dent
replied. His fighter broke off and his position was taken by Tempest.
    “I’ve got two
uglies on my scanners,” Minh-Chu said as they appeared on his
tactical display. An instant later, his system reported that all his
pilots looked at the new enemies and understood what they were thanks
to the mental tracking systems built into their fighters. “You’re
headed straight for them, Dent.”
    “I know, evading,”
he replied.
    Beams of orange-yellow
light erupted from the enemy fighters as he rotated his ship so his
damaged cockpit was facing away from the enemy. The shuttles’
destructive beams swept over the surface of the much smaller Ramiel
fighter, reducing Dent’s shields to twelve percent and ripping
through one of his engine pods before he could find cover behind one
of the station’s docking terminals. “Holy hell, that is some
serious firepower,” Dent said, chuckling nervously. “Okay, one
engine pod down, some other minor damage, but I’m okay. My scanners
got a snapshot of their systems – looks like a small antimatter
reactor powers each ship. Wish I could help out more, but I’ll be
over here licking my wounds.”
    “Nice work, Dent. All
fighters, direct main power to shields and switch to explosive
rounds,” Minh-Chu ordered. The uglies, twelve-man transit shuttles
with shield plating and several particle beams, were on course to
cover the Turano’s rear. Rods began extending out from the sides of
the ugly shuttles, and it only took a moment for Minh-Chu to realize
what they were. “They’re getting ready to put up some serious
shielding, I’m opening fire.”
    “Ronin, intelligence
suggests we won’t have more players on the field, and the station
is only sending us the standard warning,” Singe said. “Permission
to move in and engage?”
    Minh-Chu and his two
accompanying wingmen passed behind a large segment of the station and
he held his answer as he listened to the communicator. “Warlord to
Turano,” Jake addressed. “You tested me.” The channel closed.
The Warlord was moving on to the next phase of their plan; Minh-Chu
and the Samurai wing had to hurry.
    “Come in on their
starboard side,” Minh-Chu said as he reversed thrust. Tempest and
Quack, to his left and right, did the same, and they held position
behind one of the station’s main docking segments. “We need you
to distract them so they don’t have us dead-to-rights as soon as we
break cover.”
    “Aye, on it,” Singe
said.
    A small surge of
atmosphere burst from one of the Warlord’s fore airlocks, and
Minh-Chu’s sensors marked a new rescue target on screen.
    “Did the Warlord just
airlock someone?” asked Joyboy.
    “He’s alive, in an
emergency evac bag,” Singe said. Minh-Chu was glad she was
explaining the situation, because he was still staring at his
tactical readouts in disbelief. “Looks like our captain chose a
wise compromise – he didn’t kill his hostage, but he’s given
our target something new to worry about – a son-in-law adrift in
space.”
    The Warlord’s engines
flared