centerbChapter 2: The Ambush/b
briThe beginning of utter destruction./i/center
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Dreamlessly time swept passed without a hiss. Marcos blinked several times before he was sure he was awake. He lay on the dense mattress, slipping in and out of consciousness as he toyed with the idea of taking that shower.
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Then all of it was forgotten as a loud buzzard reverberated through the small cell of his private quarter. He snapped out of his bemusement and streaked out of the room in a mindless but vigilant daze, heading for the launch deck. Throughout the hall he could see crimson red emergency lights filling the passage with a sense of urgency he had never experienced before.
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"What's going on?" Marcos managed to blurt out as he reached the launch room.
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"It's the ambassador fleet! They're under attack!" Cried one of the operators just as the rest of Six-team arrived, most of them half or barely dressed.
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"Get your flight suits on, we're heading for combat!" His order barely carried over the deafening roar of the sirens and the loud screech from the commander of the station ordering all crafts to be scrambled out.
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"Yes, Captain!" The team responded with surprising agility as they hurried to the flight rooms and changed.
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Within moments they were ready and so were their fighters. The seven pilots switched off their magnetic boots and jumped toward their cockpits under the low gravity. They caught the rails on the sides of the canopy and swung themselves into position. A low rumble could be felt through out the dock as the fighters initiated their semi-self-sustained nuclear reactors.
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The mechanics and engineers were safely behind shielded compartments. The local personnel responsible for the dock gave the pilots the go ahead signal. Their expressions a mix of panic and excitement. Soon, all of it was obscured by the plasma thrust exuding out of the ends of the interceptors.
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IShit/I! Admiral Orin Naabal thought instinctively as he saw the five orange blimps encroaching on the left screen in his station. The computer-generated display was based on an estimation of speed and direction of the crafts previously detected. But there were no confirmation of their coordinates after the intruders breeched the twenty-kilometer perimeter.
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"Analysis?" He requested.
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"Sir, from what we've gathered there're 5 crafts, approximately corvette class in size."
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IWhy are they sending corvettes?/I He asked himself, trying to guess the enemy's move. Then the obvious answer came to him: IDecoys!/I "Activate all ECM and ESM equipments and give me a thirty-ping analysis." IThe actual strike force must be within the vicinity, probably hiding behind cloak generators./I
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IDaphnia/I is the only ship of its class equipped with an Integrated Proximity X type sensor-array built directly into its inner and outer hull. The IPX worked by radiating bursts of electromagnetic waves called pings. The higher the ping-number the greater accuracy and detectable range of the analysis will be generated. A thirty-ping pulse is the standard military protocol when enemies are suspected to be within a fifty-kilometer radius.
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"Deploying all Electronic Support Measures and readying all Electronic Counter Measures on stand by for immediate deployment." The ECM/ESM officer replied at once.
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"Admiral, three-zero ping analysis indicates no enemies in the detectable vicinity."
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"Broadcast all active sensors on full and heightened. Sound General Quarters and order two missile destroyers, IRaf-Sak/I and IRaf-Kal/I, to intercept the corvettes." Orin's mind was racing. What kind of tactic is this? His eyes looked around unconsciously as he tried to remember any military doctrines by any forces, friend or foe, with similar attacking procedures. IHow could the enemy send such a small squadron against us? And what kind of new cloaking devices are they using that could elude even our sensors?/I
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"Destroyers in position, Admiral."
"Fire when ready."
"Aye, sir."
"Should we request reinforcements, Admiral?" This was the XO, second in command of the ship.
"No, we can handle a few pesky corvettes." IIf the enemy wishes to send in a suicide squad, then let them./I
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Suddenly the squadron of five revealed themselves to the armada, their dark hulls hard to distinguish from the backdrop. They were in a very loose formation and a full ninety degrees portside of where they were expected to be.
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"Admiral! We have them on screen." A window of the intruders popped open on the main screen.
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"Fire!" Orin ordered.
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The general order by the Admiral meant all combat ready crafts were to initiate the usual exchange of projectiles. The four Destroyers were separated into two pairs and both groups immediately released their loads of missiles. The three Heavy Cruisers trained their immense ion cannons and heavy turrets on the enemy crafts. Even the six Assault frigates unloaded their share.
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Amidst the seizure of heavy caliber shells and volleys of missiles loaded with plasma warheads the enemy corvettes blended into the fabric of space and avoided all incoming fire. They did not reemerge until the last of the ion beams finished their first and longest burst.
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IDid we get them?/I Admiral Orin wanted to question but knew that would be impudent and restrained himself. Instead he said, "Enemy status report."
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"Admiral, there was no physical confirmation of the destruction of the enemy," No explosions or debris. "But I don't think they could've very well survived that."
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"Admiral, we need a designation for these USOs." Any unknown crafts are labeled as Unidentified Spatial Objects by default.
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"Phantoms," Orin said, saying the first thing that came to his mind.
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Before Orin could give another order two of the five 'Phantom' corvettes decloaked and trained their guns toward the carrier, their movements irrefutably deft and graceful, before disappearing again. No sign of aggression was made, but the Assault Frigate directly between the carrier and the corvettes exploded as two small gaps formed from the shells as they entered the bow of the vessel and its reactor in the rear exploded. Two streaks of light exited the frigate, ricocheting the sides of the carrier. The shot had punctured the core of the frigate reactor and the superheated plasma melted through the opening and ignited the ammunition hold at the front of the ship within moments.
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"Helms, full reverse!" Orin yelled in aghast at the brusqueness of the assault. "Bring us thirty degrees starboard!" IThe reactor of the frigate was about to explode any moment!/I
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At that instant the reactor overloaded and the superheated plasma ate their way through the plasma storage and the nuclear fusion reaction spread across to the hydro-plasmatic compartment. With the dampening field no longer functioning, the fusion process grew exponentially before the structural integrity of the ship failed all together. The frigate was blown to oblivion as the lower rear section of the ship disintegrated into its basic sub-atomic components by the intensity of the heat blast. The multitudes of radiation shielding held the bridge intact as it was propelled to the depths of space by the fusion blast. The combined detonation of the nuclear reactor and the ammunition dump instantaneously vaporized the bow.
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The concussion shook the bridge of the commanding carrier and the rest of the escorting fleet. Admiral Orin was knocked off his station and hit the side of the room by the shock wave.
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"Admiral, are you hurt?" The XO hurried to help him.
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"Yes, I'm fine." Orin took a deep breath, "Order the Angel-Per and Claw squadron to train their guns at 'em, and put everyone on full alert!"
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IThe attack was too sudden, what kind of weaponry are those?/I The XO thought, his state of mind still intact. IWe can't even detect them when they're right next to us. And their firepower is several orders of magnitudes above ours!/I
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"Call for backups. We'll need everything we can get." Admiral Orin was racing to the brink of exhaustion. II'm not built for this./I "How long before we can hyper out of here?"
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"Capacitors are at 98 percent, we should be ready in another minute."
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The partial impacts on the carrier knocked everyone in the hangar out of balance in the zero gravity of outer space. The Spectra flight team was taking care of their wing of Spectre Cloak Fighters when the shocks interrupted their regular maintenance. The Admiral had ordered all fighters to remain in the hold and consequently made no announcements of the ambush to the hangar bay.
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"What was that?" Lieutenant Goten Naabal exclaimed, floating off to the ceiling of the hangar. The delicate inner components of the Spectre fighters had forced the crew to take off their magnetic boots before dismantling the fighters. He pulled his safety cable around his waist to get back down to the hangar floor.
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The rest of the squadron was carping with agony as they bounced off of whatever crates or surfaces they had happened to crash into. Several unsecured pipes and small metallic carcasses floated away. None of them seemed to be paying any attention to their leader.
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As Lieutenant Goten reeled himself back toward his craft, the siren rang off, signaling imminent hyperspace entry. "IWhat the…/I" Everything was too sudden, only moments before Goten felt the carrier maneuvered in such a way as if it was positioning it self in a defensive pose, now this. It suddenly came to him: IWe're under attack. Why didn't the Admiral sound General Quarters?/I He didn't know nor did he care. He snapped back on a small section of hull plating he had just took out and prepared his fighter for immediate takeoff while his crew and the rest of the staff urged him to leave for the inner quarters just outside of the bay. Launch bays in carriers are especially vulnerable when undergoing hyperspace entry and exit.
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The group of 7 Blade Mk. 5c rose above the launch pads and inserted themselves for launch. "This is Six-team, we're ready for launch." Marcos said into the microphone implanted into his helmet. The Traffic Controller replied by raising the blast shield and gave Marcos the green sign for takeoff. Marcos slid the throttle forward and blasted out of the hangar. His teammates streaming behind, just aft of him.
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Immediately Marcos saw the Naabal carrier, already in place for the hyperspace entry. Surrounding it were five modified Assault Frigates in a tight protective fan formation, three heavy cruisers as the vanguard, and four missile destroyers in two pairs off to either side of the carrier. Marcos didn't recognize the models or the variations of the escorts nor the carrier itself, but he instantly marked out the shimmering sparkles seemingly dashing in and out of reality. There were no IFF signatures from the mysterious objects and all of the missile trails were encircling them – failing to get a hard lock. There were already six other strikecraft formations strafing into and out of the small cluster of Phantoms.
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In many ways the havoc in front of him reminded him of an organized chaos. Like pulsars pounding out radio waves to the beat of his thoughts from their most violent and erratic core. There was a rhythm to the ghost-like attackers that he couldn't predict. An algorithm unbreakable even by Karan Sjet, ex-Fleet Command, herself. He discarded the idea and ordered his squadron toward the Phantoms, joining the other defending Hiigaran flights.
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"Six-flight, go evasive and form claw, two-one, on me." Marcos ordered and the team responded instantly with four fighters forming the upper claw and two forming the lower claw. He could tell everyone was thoroughly pumped for action. "Gray, how many of them do you see?" He knew Gray had the best eyesight and judgment.
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"Six-three," Gray reported in, " I see four – no, make that five."
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"Roger that, commence flight path epsilon-eight." Marcos ordered as Six-flight approached the Phantoms. His strikecraft rattled intensively as he pushed his fighter toward the extreme. The acceleration was exhilarating. The immense thrust gave him a psychological sense of protection as he dove toward the fray.
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The flight of seven interceptors broke off formation as they entered the field of fire. Missile trails obscuring other fighters. They opened fire wildly toward the invisible intruders and flew into the cloud of pandemonium.
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IBoom, boom, boom./I
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Fireballs exploded in the mist of the chaos. The random firing struck five missiles and the explosions ripped into a wing of Light Interceptors. Two other missiles struck a flight of Attack Bombers by accident and another crashed into Six-flight. Fighters snapped into pieces as friendly fire inadvertently broke each other's backs and they twisted uncontrollably onward like cometic fireball. Other bombers intercepted these shrapnel and missiles and were lacerated to pieces. Spewed plasma glowed brightly and caught onto several more Hiigaran fighters, causing even more explosions.
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"Diverge!" Marcos ordered as more and more explosions clogged his screen and his sensors. The raging fury of the blossoming inferno consumed more and more of his flight. The mass of fireballs grew larger and larger as it devoured more fighters. "Get your asses out of here!" He screamed into the intercom., the anxiety overwhelming him.
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"Copied!" Only one teammate, Gray, made out of the mayhem alive. Then only after they had completely escape did he add, "Sir, those are exactly what I saw during the patrol."
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"Roger that, lets retreat and regroup with the rest of the fleet." Marcos turned toward the Naabal carrier. IShit!/I He realized. He had left the diskette from Gray on the table of his quarter.
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"IOPEN THE HANGAR!/I" Lieutenant Goten ordered tauntingly, infuriated at the incompetence of the Admiral. IWe need to get out there and fight!/I "Open it now!"
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"Are you deaf?" The Flight Control, Davik Naabal, was equally enraged at the open insolence of the pilot. "The Admiral specifically ordered no one is allowed out of the hangar. And that means Iyou/I, too!"
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"Shit, Davik, if you don't open the damn door right now I'll blow it off!" Goten was furious, his rage gaining control over him. IIf we don't fight then we won't make it, strike crafts are the backbones of any forces, shouldn't even that/I idiotic IAdmiral know that?/I "For the last time, IOPEN IT!/I"
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"And for the last time: INO MEANS NO!/I" Davik commed the Admiral before anything serious happened. Davik knew Lieutenant Goten well, and he knew that Goten wasn't bluffing.
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"Then you leave me no choice." Goten lowered his voice, a delirious smile spread beneath his airtight helmet and he whispered, "I always hated this hangar, anyway."
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"No, wait. IDON'T!/I" Davik shouted at the top of his lungs. "We're hypering out'a her' right now."
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A deafening roar pierced through the bridge as the explosions from the cruisers rocked the bridge. Three blistering fireballs scorched the carrier and its escorts' armor plating with the wrath of a nova. The entire command deck trembled from the multiple concussions.
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"Fire everything we have!" Orin ordered over the raging blast. "Where're the reinforcements?"
"Sir, they're ten more seconds away."
IHow do we stall?/I "Tell the Perditions to initiate their Missile Volley attack!"
"Ay-ay, Admir-"
"Admiral, we have an emergency situation down on the launch deck!"
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IWhat?/I "Patch me through!" He picked up his headset. "What?" A distant voice informed him of Goten's defiance. "Get him on the line!" Orin had no time for this insubordination. Unfortunately, an explosion in the hangar may disrupt the quantum waveform, blowing their only chance of escaping alive.
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"Admiral, we won't survive if there's no strike craft support. Let me go!"
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"Stop your insolence at once or I'll strip you of your rank and send you to the Kadeshi!" Orin threaten as he caught sight of two Blades go up in flames. "Davik, you have my permission to stop him through any means."
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"Yes, Admiral."
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"Admiral, capacitors're at one-hundred p–"
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"Engage hyperdrive now! And tell the escorts to dump everything they've got and get themselves out of here!" Admiral Orin was on primitive instincts: fight or flight, and stay fighting would mean certain death.
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A chorus of acknowledgements followed as the officers continued to work through the havoc.
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Gleaming flashes caught his eyes. Several streaks of light exited out of one of the missile destroyers. Instantly the destroyer broke into two pieces as the plasma escaped and burned through the conduits and structural beams, crushing its spine. The nuclear reactor went critical and erupted with an exuberant intensity. The concussion wiped out the surviving fighters and knocked Marcos and Gray away from the carrier group.
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"Argh!" Marcos exclaimed, trying to recover from the eruption. "Gray, are you alright?"
"Yeah, what was that?"
"It must've been from the enemy." Marcos concluded, not yet knowing who or what the enemy is.
"Right, what are your orders?"
"Nuh…" Marcos stuttered, somewhat lost and irresolute. "We'll head for them, phase-theta, whatever they may be." He said as he quickly made up his mind. "We mustn't let them intercept the ambassadors."
"Roger!"
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Just then three rays of light burst out of the vanguard cruisers. Two of them blew their ends apart; the force driving whatever remained forward. The remaining one stopped its random firing and started to rotate about its central axis; its navigation lights flickered out as the central and auxiliary power gave out; the engine compartments blew to oblivion as the fail-safe shutdown mechanism tore itself apart. Minor explosions dotted the side of the engine section of that heavy cruiser as the thrusters at the back were blown away by the detonation. The Naabal's insignia on the side was obliterated by the discharges.
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"Charge!" Marcos and Gray spearheaded their way toward the enemy, their guns blazing.
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As the two lone fighters closed in one of the attacking corvettes unveiled it self and fired two shots toward them. They tried to evade but it wasn't fast enough. Two rays of light ruptured out of the Blades and shot out in the opposite direction of the seemingly invincible attackers. Both cockpits blasted away before their ships were ripped apart and disintegrated like a fragile meteor entering the Hiigaran atmosphere. Marcos and Gray ascended away from the fireballs, escaping certain death by a hairline.
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By now the five remaining Assault Frigates had formed a tight wall formation in front of the Naabal carrier and the three remaining missile destroyers dumped every canister they had at the encroaching aggressors.
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A large blue square opened in front of the carrier and swallowed it. Moments later the missile destroyers also hyperspaced away, followed by the five frigates. They escaped unharmed as four squadrons of heavy corvettes pounded at the menaces with charged bursts, covering their retreat.
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IWhat was that?/I The XO, Johan Dio'ru Naabal, thought as the ghostly blue rectangular corridor enveloped the entire carrier. The throbbing adrenaline pulsated through his temple and the along back of his head.
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"Status report?" The Admiral ordered, taking in deep breaths.
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"Structural integrity at eighty-seven percent, Admiral, we only suffered minor external hull damages. Though section thirty-three has lost primary power. They've switched to auxiliary feed, and they estimated it'd be another thirty minutes before they can fix the conduits at that end."
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"Good, how is the hyperspace waveform looking?"
"Sir, no observable fluctuations have been recorded. ETA to Hiigara in approximately five hours."
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The Admiral gave a curt grunt in acknowledgement, paused as if to reflect, and then proceeded to his private quarter, giving Johan the con of the ship.
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Johan stood beside the Admiral's place of honor and supervised the base of operation. He had noticed the Admiral didn't asked for the status of the rest of the fleet, but then again there was no need to: Dauphin, the leading Assault Frigate, was the first vessel lost, saving carrier Daphnia just barely; then the Arach was the next victim, followed by the Claw squadron. IThree cruisers at once./I Hiigara has never suffered such a defeat. Only the Taiidani had experienced such a slaughter, and that was during the Exodus.
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IWhy did they attack us? Or more importantly, who or what are they? Such a feat is unimaginable. Defeating an armada with five ships the size of corvettes? And with the grace of dancers as well, as if it was a demonstration,/I a play! ICould it be the Bentusi that did this to us? Only they could harness such firepower. But what could be the reason? And what did the ambassador want with the Admiral?/I Johan set aside the overwhelming questions when it became too unbearable and remained still with his back erect and his face expressionless and watching over the crew.
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However much he tried to bury it, a feeling crept up from the floor, through his spine, and into his mind. A deep, mortal fear: IHiigara is in danger./I