“All pilots, all fighters, this is Captain Hilleboe of the Von der Tann. Coordinate immediately with squadron leaders and prepare for immediate dust off and engagement of the enemy. Squadrons from the Constantine and the Carl Sagan will provide layered support for Zulu and Fea squadrons launching from the Karkadann.” Hilleboe paused, fixed the stars with an iron stare. “Chief Marshall Imalda Grande, you’re leading the fight.” He cracked a grin. “Good luck, everyone, and bring our people home safe.”

Imalda’s coarse laugh echoed static laced and distant. “That’s what we’re here to do.”

“Ten seconds to normal space, Captain.”

“Steady as she goes, Abrams.” Hilleboe stepped forward, rested one hand on the Navigator’s shoulder. “Steady as she goes.”

“This is Captain Labov of the Ducornet.” Another voice echoed into the frequency, eaten by the heavy, undulating static of distances through bent space. “We’re about ten minutes behind you guys, Hilleboe, but both my ship and the Feynman will be ready for bear the instant we hit normal space. Can you hold them that long?”

“Entering normal space, sir!”

“We’re about to find out, Ducornet. Hilleboe out.” The Captain spun to face his tactical officer, caught the woman’s steely eyes instantly. “Leighton?”

“Three ships! Two Coralate, one Navy.” She shot back, eyes darting back to the console. “Status... what the hell?”

Hilleboe stepped up, crossed the distance between them. “I’m going to need more than that, Lieutenant.”

“They’re...” She shook her head. “I’m having trouble separating the signatures, they’re just...” She looked up again, locked eyes with Hilleboe. “I can separate the two Coralate ships, but the Hok is just lost somewhere in between.” She shook her head. “I honestly don’t know if I could tell where their ships end and ours begins.”

“Then don’t fire between them.” He said levelly. “Burn them from the outside in. Let them retreat to the Hok if they want to. It’s a sure bet we know the layout of a Wallace Class better than they do.”

“Right, sir.” Came Leighton’s quick response. “Priming ship to ship emitters.” Nearer the viewer, the Von’s Comm officer looked up, worked a quick series of commands through his mental interface.

“Sir! I’m picking up something on the standard open frequency you might want to hear.”

Hilleboe shot a glance at him, fixed him with that same, level stare. “Is it the Hok?”

“No sir, it’s one of her pilots...” The Comm officer glanced away, worked his mouth in silence, glanced back. “Lieutenant Commander Cavalcanti, Anubis Squadron.”

Hilleboe nodded once, crossed back to the center of Operations. “Patch it through to speakers.” The Comm officer nodded once, turned away, gestured the go-ahead.

“This is Captain Hilleboe of the Von der Tann IV.” Hilleboe pulled in a deep breath, smiled, fixed the stars in the viewer with a confident half-smile. “It’s good to know someone’s still alive down there.”

“Jesus, it’s good to see you guys.” Static bit into the words, the rich tones of the pilot’s voice. “I figured we were all goners for sure.”

“What can you tell me about the status of the Hok, Lieutenant Commander?”

“She’s shot... totally shot. the Cygnans...” Words were lost in the static, killed by squeals and washes of white noise. “...something to the ship, like... eating it alive... Admiral Minear... blow the whole thing in about a minute.”

Hilleboe hesitated for an instant, letting the words sink in. “That doesn’t sound good.” He shot his Comm officer a glance. “Binford, see if you can raise the Hok. If they’re planning on blowing the drive, we’re going to need to bend back out of here, and fast.”

“Roger, Captain.”

“How are we for weapons, Leighton?”

The tactical officer grinned reflexively. “Ready to fire the instant you give the word, sir.”

“Good.” He nodded at her, glanced back to the viewer. “Lieutenant Commander Cavalcanti, how many of you are left? How many pilots from the Von and the Hok?”

“About twenty of us, I think.” There was a pause, the sound of static rushing through the channel. “We’re running reformed squadrons, it’s been a while since we’ve had proper repairs, and a lot of us have lost LC’s, so we’re flying kind of rough out here, but I think I speak for all of us when I say we’re ready to join the fight, Captain.”

“Negative, Lieutenant Commander.” Hilleboe’s words came decisive, strong. “You people have been through enough. Proceed immediately to the hangar bays. Sirius and Spica squadrons from the Carl Sagan will cover you as you withdraw.” He made a quick gesture to Binford, a clear indicator to issue the order. Cavalcanti let the silence hang a moment, came back with the tail end of a deep, relieved breath.

“Roger that, Captain, and thanks. Cavalcanti out.”

Hilleboe nodded reflexively, half-turned to Binford. “Any response from the Hok?”

The Comm officer shook his head. “Nothing, sir.”

Hilleboe swallowed, hesitated. For a moment, his mouth hung slightly open, mind lost, uncertain, not ready to give the order he knew he had to give. He paused again, pulled in a deep breath, turned back to the stars. “Order all units to withdraw under maximum sublight. If the Hok goes critical, I doubt the distance is going to make enough of a difference to keep us from going right back to Thuban Reticulae after this is over, but I think we can all agree that we don’t stand a chance this close.” He closed his eyes, breathed, glanced down at his Navigator. “Are you detecting any rescue pods?”

Abrams looked up, hesitated. “Several hundred, sir.”

Hilleboe swallowed again, let his eyes wander again to the stars, to the endless stretching distances of void and light that seemed almost to stare back at him, studying him, challenging him. He closed his eyes, pulled in a deep, slow breath.

“This is going to get a lot worse before it gets any better.”