A full power standoff blast from the Sentinel gun at Scorpion One Three drilled the Kingsblade with a full power direct hit on her forward leading edge.

The blast filled the bridge with debris and fire. Automatic suppression systems kicked in immediately. Captain Doverly wrenched herself back into a seated position.

“Report!”

Only one of the two crewmen at the helm was still conscious. “Forward battle screens down to 18 percent!”

On the bridge of Argent, Jason rose from his chair, eyes locked on the 160-foot red hot gouge the battle station’s gun had torn in his flagship’s sister vessel. “Tactical! Lock all main batteries on ground targets designator Scorpion One Three!”

With Kingsblade burning, Argent’s weapons rose with a chilling majesty. They locked their targeting mechanisms on the gun that had very nearly ripped a heavy battleship in half.

“Tactical reports a hard waveform lock and bearings match on Scorpion One Three!”

“All batteries fire! Fire at will!”

Had Captain Doverly not ordered her bridge crew into their shock harnesses, few would have survived. As it was, the room was filled with smoke and particulates. Emergency life support and air filtration systems kicked in while the bridge crew fitted themselves with flight masks.

The Captain pulled her release latch and rushed to the helm where her pilot had fallen.

“Ensign! Ensign!” Doverly shook Ensign Winchester and leaned down, putting her ear next to the injured woman’s face.

“Briggs! Get me the field medkit! There’s one next to the life sciences board!” Doverly ripped the pilot’s tunic open, clearing the area around her neck.

Kingsblade began to veer. The front viewer showed the other ships in the fleet rising and pitching to one side as the larger vessel lost her maneuvering systems. Its drive field began to fail. A moment later, Ensign Briggs arrived with the kit. He looked like a pack of lions were right behind him.

“Open it and find me the metal scalpel. It’s the only thing in the kit that is silver colored. It will be sealed in a sterile pack.”

“But wouldn’t the–”

“Yes, yes. The LASER scalpel is more accurate, but if we add another energy source to the atmosphere on this deck we’re going to blow the bridge out into space. Put on a pair of gloves. She’s choking on something.”

Ensign Briggs watched sickly as his Captain used the scalpel to cut a two-inch vertical incision in the pilot’s neck. An alcohol-soaked tube from the medkit was inserted, and the young woman practically scared Briggs out of his socks when she involuntarily sucked in a deep breath through the tracheotomy.

“Take this scalpel and cut both pantlegs from cuff to belt. You’re going to find a bleeding wound on the outer edge of one or the other thigh and hip. Take the dressings from the medkit and put pressure on it.” Doverly left the Ensign with her patient and climbed back to the conn. Briggs wasn’t entirely sure what had just happened, but there was no arguing the value of having a trained surgeon on the bridge.

“Engineering, report!”

“The mains are online, but our drive field is fluctuating.”

“I need battle screens forward!”

“Not happening today, Captain.”

“Very well. Helm, bring us about. Heading one six one. Tactical, give me a weapons status!”

“Dorsal weapons are off line! Main battery ventral is operational!”

“Affirmative! Do what you can with our dorsal batteries! Transfer target lock to guns seven and eight! Arm weapons and stand by! Open a channel to the flag!”

Titanic bolts of cataclysmic rail caster energy exploded from Argent’s main batteries one after the other. The heatsinks inside the hull under the gun emplacements glowed red hot and pulled even more energy from the battleship’s huge reactor matrix to hyper-accelerate the cooling systems. With Kingsblade momentarily out of the fight, Argent’s main guns were the heaviest weapons in the fleet. The other ships in the battle group held their fire. Their captains knew their weapons weren’t designed for this kind of action. Missiles and precision energy weapons were designed to knock out weapons systems, engines and enemy fighters. When it came to blunt force trauma, there was only one kind of ship suitable for duty, and her designation always included the letters “BB”

The Captain spoke without taking his eyes off the viewscreen. The blinding white beams firing from Argent’s weapons and the explosions in the distance silhouetted him as he stood resolute and faced his enemy’s superior weapons. The tone of his voice was low and ominous.

“Signals, get a message to Second Marines and do it quickly. We’re about to get hit. We might not survive the first shot. We definitely won’t survive the second. Get the Highlanders off the deck and in space for a ground assault. Target: Scorpion One Three. Their orders are to take that battle station. All other considerations are secondary.”

The signals officer hesitated with a shocked look on his face. Then he swallowed. “Aye s-sir. Coding your message.”