The Terminal War: A Space Opera Novel (A Carson Mach Adventure) by A. C. Hadfield

out to be very real, and dangerous.
    Dim lights winked amongst a jumble of floating junk.  
    Babcock caught sight of one of the red oval pods and its flashing beacon. It would be easier to send out one of the Intrepid’s drone fighters to pull the small craft in, rather than risk the Intrepid’s deflector shield bouncing them into deep space.
    Sanchez bolted upright from his usual slumped position. “We’ve got company.”
    Two energy sources had appeared on the scanning screen on the opposite side of the orbital, either side of Steros’ destroyer, the Chester . The signatures matched typical readings of lactern frigates. Both closed in on its position.
    Babcock jumped from his chair, not wanting to waste any precious seconds fiddling with his smart-screen, and raced to the comms system. He hit the CWDF channel transmit symbol on the pad. “Steros, put your shields to full and hold them. We’ll be there shortly.”
    A young female officer, dressed in the stiff blue Fleet uniform and cap, appeared on the screen. “We’re searching for a path, preparing to L-jump.”
    She jerked to one side and the image flickered. The Chester must’ve taken its first hit from the lactern cannons. Steros moved around in the background, barking orders at other members of the crew.  
    “You won’t find a path,” Babcock said. “There’s too much debris.”
    Steros barged the woman off her chair and leaned forward. “Our shields won’t hold long enough. You’re too far away. We can’t outrun them on photon drives.”
    “You don’t know the Intrepid ,” Babcock said. “Hold your nerve and return fire.”
    “This is utter madness. I haven’t got time for this.”
    Lines of static fizzed across the screen again, and Steros grabbed hold of his chair to maintain balance. Babcock knew there was just a single way out of it. “Fire your lasers. Keep your shields up and keep them interested.”
    “Shields down to eighty percent,” one of Steros’ crew shouted in the background.
    “Hold your nerve,” Babcock said. “We’ll get through this together.”
    Steros closed his eyes for a moment. “Okay. Keep the channel open. I hope to God you’re right, Babcock.”
    A distant red glow from Chester's lasers illuminated chunks of debris. At least no other enemy ships had uncloaked. Two lactern frigates were easily manageable. They would be completely unaware of the Intrepid’s power. Only a few people in the Axis knew about the vestan-produced prototype, and they wouldn’t be expecting it to be part of the Commonwealth Fleet.  
    “Take us beneath the closest frigate,” Babcock said to Lassea. “As fast as you can.”
    Lassea turned and gave him a wild-eyed look. “How close?”
    “I’ll hit the bastard as soon as we’re in range,” Sanchez said. “Don’t worry about that.”
    Squid Three chirped through Babcock’s smart-screen.  
    “They have the Chester in a pincer move,” he replied.
    The Intrepid’s engines ground to a high whine as they thrust forward. The deflector shield battered away pieces of twisted metal in their path until they hit clear space. Lasers streaked across the distant blackness.  
    “Shields at sixty percent,” Steros shouted through the comms channel.  
    Babcock moved to Sanchez’s shoulder. “How much longer ’til we’re in range?”
    “Thirty seconds at this speed, unless we can go any faster?”
    Tulula didn’t say a word while she focused the crosshairs of the laser’s guidance system toward the ongoing battle.  
    “Shields at fifty percent,” Steros said, sounding even more frantic.
    The standard operating procedure for any destroyer was to retreat at this level. Babcock knew it was flawed. When facing enemy ships with faster engines and superior firepower, the only way to defeat them was to destroy them. Running led to a prolonged death.  
    “Forty percent,” Steros said. “We can’t keep taking these hits. You’ve left us as a sitting duck. I’m