“Sir, unidentified bogies are underway.”
   “Destination?” He knew the answer but he hoped he was wrong.
   Dale answered without looking up from her control panel. “Home.”
   “All right people, let’s take these buggers out and not leave anything for the fleet to do. We’ll take them on in the same order they arrived. Pop, target everything you have on the lead ship in the formation.” He entered his plan of action into the ship’s log.
   “Navigation, set an intercept course across their bow. We’ll give them a missile broadside that will give them pause, I should think. Comm, feed a steady stream of everything that happens to fleet.”
   “Sir, the lead ship is breaking formation and heading our way,” said Tomi.
   “Good. I wasn’t looking forward to taking all of them on at once. Kal, evasive maneuver alpha delta. I want to finish the maneuver with our main launchers facing the lead ship. It will allow less time for any antimissiles to lock on.”
   “Aye aye, Sir.” Kal worked his controls. “Course laid in, Sir. Distance set for two thousand kilometers.”
   Buster checked the computations. The evasive maneuver would put them through a gyrating series of charges, feints and speed changes ending within optimum missile range.
   As they waited for the ominous black shape to approach, Buster observed his crew. They were tense but not nervous, alert but not fearful. He nodded to himself. They would do.
   “Bogey entering the zone in five, four, three, two, one, zero – ” The Thrustingsword leaped forward at full speed in a twisting, diving maneuver that would hopefully avoid the enemy’s weapons obtaining a lock.
   “How are we doing?” asked Buster.
   “Sir, they are faster than anticipated. Adjusting timing. We’ll be in range in ten seconds, Skipper.”
   “Very good,” said Buster. He glanced at Pop who checked his board, then nodded back at him.
   The countdown seemed to last forever, pressure building on the crew’s nerves with each passing second. When the ship finally launched its missiles and the mass drivers began firing, it was a release for the entire crew.
   “Status,” said Buster, a bit louder than he wanted.
   “All missiles away.” Pop’s answer was even louder than Buster’s. They glanced at each other, shared a slight smile, then glued their eyes to the main screens.
   The black ship plowed through the barrage on a steady course, not even bothering to evade the bombardment. Missile after missile exploded just above the black ship’s surface, their expended energy rolling around and over the hull like lightning scattering over a blue ball.
   “They must have some sort of force field screen,” said Pop.
   “Damn! Evasive maneuvers, Mr. Quail. Keep the mass drivers firing, Mr. Grenner.”
   “Bogey still closing, Sir.”
   The black ship matched their movements and increased its speed.
   “Skipper, missile tubes reloaded and ready.”
   “Thank you, Mr. Grenner.” The mass driver rounds smashed into the black ship’s shield and he noticed a change. “Is it my imagination or does their force field color fading? Dale, do our scanners tell us anything?”
   “My scans show a lessening of gamma emissions in the delta range. Could be a weakening of their shields.”
   Buster grabbed onto this bit of information like a drowning man.
   “Pop, fire everything we’ve have and keep on firing! We’ll kick his butt yet.”
   “Aye aye, Sir.”
   The news cheered the crew but the black ship came on relentlessly as the second salvo of missiles pummeled the bogey. There was a marked difference in the shield's coloration. The first salvo had caused a blue glow to form around the ship. Now the shield color had faded to a dull red and in places had no color at all.
   “She’s taking hits!” yelled Pop.
   As they watched, a missile slipped through a hole in the shield and exploded on the surface of the black ship.
   Cheers from the bridge crew were cut short as the black ship opened fire. It had closed to one thousand kilometers and red energy beams shot out from the ship’s five weapons pods. They lanced through the Thrustingsword like hot needles through a stick of butter. The first burned through missile bay number three, igniting the missile’s fuel cell, blowing most of missile bay and several crewmen into space.
   The second knifed through the crew quarters and ship’s galley, weakening the structural support enough to allow internal pressure to blow out a section of the hull.
   The third beam hit the engineering section, and the Thrustingsword’s main engines quit, leaving her moving only on inertia. The left thruster continued firing, rolling the ship over in a continuous spin. The last two red lances had missed their target. It didn’t matter. They weren’t needed.
    The black ship slowed, then turned to rejoin its comrades.