>>6017492“Well, he never said any-thing about not shooting a few rounds.” Silas rubs his brows, “Moynihan, whats the status on the Ayutthaya?” Your sensor officer stares almost in trance at the blinking radar screen, “Sir, they're closing in for a flyby, maximum acceleration. Sparrow-1 is peeling off on torpedo vector. What's this Thanaret brewing?”
“Shanghaian purse-snatching. Their tactics must have rubbed off on him after so many battles. If we want to follow your plan, we have to ditch his instructions. Else there's too much risk of blue on blue.” With each moment the blue blip gains a little on the two red dots. You have to act fast.
“Inger, keep course steady. Elysium, you have permission to fire. Turn that Marlin into slag.” The radio emitter sweeps across Thanaret's predicted world lines, broadcasting your change of plans. One can only hope the Sparrow is not equipped with proper codebreakers.
“Torpedoes and flares detected. From both the Ayutthaya and the Sparrow. Point-blank range. Reckless, no, insane.” You catch Salzar crossing himself. Any moment now, one or both of them could burst into a ball of flame, whose light would reach you in but a handful of seconds. Underneath your feet the periodic thump of 12-inch railguns continued unabated.
Suddenly, the Sparrow's dot stops blinking. You can barely make out the mumblings of a shaken and shaking Salzar, “... can't believe it... nails that destroyer.” Moynihan, realising your disapproving glance, slaps the ensign's head with a thump, “Want to end up like Torres?” Ah, that high-strung idiot who almost foiled your first ambush. He's lucky he was only expelled from the academy, not dragged before a court-martial.
Thanaret's raspy voice breaks your chain of thought. “Thornton. You did not follow my suggestions. No matter. Have your guns corner the rat into this coordinate. I have a surprise for him. Over and out.” You shout into the intercom, “You heard him, Elysium. Give ‘em hell.” Immediately, the thumping picks up in pace. Unconstrained from having to guess the light cruiser's precise position, your gunnery officer can rev the shell loader to full throttle. Everything now depends on your new friend’s ‘surprise.’
“They're charging up some kind of energy weapon. Readings all over the place. No, it couldn't be.” Tim calls in from the bridge, “Are you seeing this? Seem to be deploying additional radiators.” The eight structural spur radiating from the ship's stern grows nearly twofold, radiator panels fanning outwards peacock-style. The Marlin captain, sensing his doom approaching, swerves ever more desperately, but the hail of depleted uranium from your battery surround him like a tidal wave crashing on the panicked surfer.
