Shepherd's Crook: Omegaverse: Volume 2 by G.R. Cooper

said, “fire!”
    The nose of the Westy blazed into a rapidly flashing flare of lights and a brief, quickly left behind, stream of smoke as the missiles began launching from either side of his bow batteries. The light show moved aft as the batteries along the sides launched in turn. Eric pounded his right fist onto his chair arm, thrilled!
    He slewed the forward view to the left to watch, awestruck, as the port stream of missiles began striking the shield of the 23rd Ronin. The explosions flashed in rapid succession until, after only a second or two, they ceased. Eric looked to the sensor station. The 23rd Ronin was down to sixty percent shield, the 12th Ronin about the same. He laughed, grimly. Even an alpha strike directed solely at one of these destroyers with full shields wouldn’t have broken through. If he’d begun with a full plasma broadside, then followed up quickly enough with an alpha strike, he might have been able to punch through the shield and taken out an engine or two.
    “Not today, though,” said Eric.
    In response, the 12th and 23rd Ronin fired a plasma burst, this time from their midships turret, and brought the Westy’s shields back to zero percent. The rest of the squadron remained silent in their vigil, seemingly shepherding the Westy to the jump point.
    “Are you lot just toying with me?” he wondered. “Then why fire at all? That doesn’t make sense.” When the Westy reached the L5 point, now less than a minute away, he’d be able to jump from the system, to safety.
    “Missile bays reloaded,” said his XO.
    Eric looked to the sensor display; the 12th and 23rd Ronin’s shields were back up to seventy-five percent. He thought for a few seconds, calculating on a mental napkin.
    “Target the engines of the 23rd Ronin, both batteries. Alpha strike. Fire!”
    Again the Westy was enveloped in light and smoke as it sprayed missiles into space. His targeting system dispersed the firing order to ensure a continual stream of hits as the missiles from the starboard side curved around the ship toward the target on the port.
    Eric looked to the viewscreen again, watching as his missiles struck in rapid succession. The 23rd Ronin’s shields dropped quickly, at a constant rate, as each hit took away a little more of its stored energy. Finally, the shield dropped to zero and the remaining two missiles impacted into the engine bay, exploding gloriously. The 23rd Ronin began to fall behind, its acceleration stunted. Eric looked to the sensor array. The bastard’s engines were at ninety percent. Eric laughed. He laughed at the joy of combat, and he laughed at the futility of this fight.
    Then he reached the waypoint.
    “JUMP!”
     
    The Westy was away, ensconced in the gray safety of hyperspace. Eric leaned back in the captain’s chair, incredulous. He began to let out a sigh of relief.
    Then choked on it.
    Stars leapt into view on the screen. Almost immediately, the Westy began rocking from a series of explosions. Smoke filled the forward viewscreen as the bridge began to burn. Lights turned off for a brief second before emergency backups, bathing the smoke in red, came online.
    Eric looked to damage control. His engines were out. His shields were gone. Two of his three plasma turrets were destroyed, and innumerable holes filled his ship, which began a slow roll to port. Exhaust fans sucked the smoke from the bridge, and the now clear view forward showed a dance of stars, swirling slowly around the screen. Into that view crept a large ship - a Grizzly class battle cruiser. The sensors showed the name; The Last Ronin.
    “We’re being hailed, sir,” said his executive officer.
    “On screen,” said Eric, dejectedly.
    Kato, on the bridge of The Last Ronin, stood in front of the captain’s chair, again slow clapping. His crew, shown along the bottom of the screen, in front of and below their captain, began to join in the clapping. Kato put his hands behind his back, smiling.
    “Do you know,” he