Sorry for the delay. This is a long chapter, but it's important to the advancement of the overall plot. Hope you're all still enjoying the story.
Captain Maya Miyamoto sat rigidly behind the compact desk housed in her personal quarters aboard the SSV Moscow. She was double-checking a procurement list that was to be sent off to the fleet HQ whenever their spotty connection with the local comm-buoy network was restored. It was extensive and included a number of items requested by the personnel of her ground detachment that was sent planetside when they'd arrived in system. The majority of the list was comprised of medical supplies: bandages, gauze, medi-gel, stim cell boosters, tissue regeneration salves, burn treatment supplements, blood, plasma and so much more.
In order to save on fuel consumption, the Moscow maintained a geosynchronous orbit around man's oldest colony in the Verge, Elysium. The Reapers had wreaked havoc on the planet when the war had come. Tens of thousands had been killed, if not more, and the planetary defense platforms in orbit around the planet had largely been destroyed. The Moscow, and her flotilla, were what remained of an assault and raiding force sent to harry the Reapers at every opportunity. They paid dearly for incremental successes and what remained of the beleaguered force was dispatched to Elysium in the post-war mess in order to best support the colonist's with humanitarian assistance.
But the piecemeal flotilla was scarcely able to render aide to the ravaged planet. Consisting of just four ships, Miyamoto commanded neither the manpower nor resources necessary to adequately help the people on the war-torn planet. The Moscow itself was an aging cruiser that had survived the war thanks to the wily abilities of its commander, veteran crew, and hasty retrofits that had equipped it with a dizzying array of new armaments. But her glory years were well behind her and Miyamoto's crew had to spend a lot of time and a great deal of ingenuity just to keep her operational. Aside from the Moscow Miyamoto's flotilla enjoyed the support of the frigates SSV Gaugamela, and SSV Kursk. Additionally the stalwart turian frigate Primagenus still counted themselves amongst the flock. The unflappable Commander Serverus had brought the Prima limping along to rendezvous with the assault force during the war; his ship the only survivor of a similar squadron put together by the turians. The Prima fought beside the Alliance from that day forward and Serverus had no intention of abandoning Miyamoto now.
The thought of the turian Commander brought a grin to the Captain's face. She had a deep respect for the turian's and Serverus in particular. He was the consummate military professional. He exhibited the duty and devotion that was so highly stressed in the martial hierarchy that existed in turian culture. Once his ship had been repaired he volunteered to join their flotilla to carry on the fight against the Reapers. He had reasoned that it was the most rational course of action. Miyamoto liked him instantly.
Of course as a military woman herself she had immense admiration for the way turians conducted themselves professionally. Having graduated from the Naval Academy at Arcturus and served aboard ships her entire career, she very much considered herself a career officer. She was most comfortable in the CIC, or surrounded by like-minded officers in the ward room. She couldn't sympathize with civilians, and a certain part of her even felt slightly agitated by their weakness and inability to mount even the smallest resistance. Too many had simply surrendered themselves to a horrible fate at the Reaper's figurative hands. How many of her fellow sailors had died trying, in vain, to save a group of civilians who could hardly be bothered to save themselves? There were so many of them throughout the war that resigned themselves to their deaths—to the harvest. It was all doom and gloom for many. Hopeless in the face of the Reaper menace. And there was Miyamoto and her people, forming the raggedy line of defense against an unstoppable force. Her bitterness was shared by many Alliance officers who were now war-weary and finding themselves in positions of continued danger and hardship. Reconstruction and the post-war galaxy was no easy place to serve. But at least now the risk of death was severely reduced.
Miyamoto sighed as she spent a moment with her eyes loitering over a few of the final items on the list. She'd added some things herself—like civilian food stuffs to break up the tedium of military rations, video games, books and a few other assorted items she thought she might get a hold of in order to improve morale among her subordinates. She'd even requisitioned new guitar strings for Serviceman First Class Pacceretti, who had broken his last remaining spares a week prior. She took pride in knowing the habits, likes and nuances of most of her crew and it was no secret aboard the Moscow that Pacceretti was talented and his playing did a lot for morale. One thing was certain aboard the Moscow, mission accomplishment was the priority, but troop welfare was always a close second. Despite the hard line Miyamoto took with her sailors (almost turian-like in its rigidity), she was well respected and they were all loyal.
Unfortunately for the crew and the people of Elysium it was unlikely they'd get the items that had been requested. It was not the first procurement request Miyamoto sent up the chain of command. The Captain was quite familiar with the dire situation the Alliance and mankind was currently in. Winning the Reaper War had been no walk in the park. But she could always try. Otherwise they'd have to make do with what they had—probably the most oft repeated line she heard from her superiors.
She tapped a few keys on the haptic surface of her console, finished things off with her virtual signature and then forwarded the procurement list to her requisitions officer for a final check before submission to HQ. It was the ponderous bureaucratic system of the Alliance Navy. A sometimes plodding and annoying system, but necessary to avoid mistakes. In the Fleet redundancy was everything. There was a backup for the backup's backup. All designed to provide sturdy and resilient systems and subsystems to keep them in the fight. Procedures amongst the rank and file were equally as important and thorough, especially for the officers. But for now there was no rush. Comms were still down and her engineering team was still laboring to repair the spotty link with a badly damaged buoy network.
Miyamoto rose from her desk, slid into the double breasted coat of her Alliance uniform and buttoned up. There was ample room in the jacket and she noted her weight loss had continued. She frowned slightly as she buttoned the top button and adjusted the mandarin collar on her uniform. Before the war she'd been a lean officer with arms of ropey muscle and broad shoulders that had all but the most confident of men shying away from her on a night out. Since the war had begun, however, she was unable to contribute much time to working out. And if the time was there, her duties kept her sufficiently sapped of any strength to get herself in the ship's gym. Stress had led to rapid weight loss and sleep deprivation had maintained a constant lack of energy. It was a poor excuse, she knew. Especially when she demanded so much of her crew. She would make a better effort to turn things around now that things were beginning to settle down.
She exhaled then glanced at the wall-mounted clock and, without much else to do, decided to relieve the operations officer on watch in the CIC. It was twenty minutes until she was scheduled, but she loved the CIC and her other officers always enjoyed the minor respite of early relief. With that in mind she headed out of her cabin and down the lengthy corridor toward the Moscow's Combat Information Center.
As she made her way forward the accented voice of her executive officer echoed through the halls over the Moscow's PA system. "Captain to the CIC, Captain to the CIC," he requested calmly. But the Captain noticed a slight of edge of concern normally vacant from the affable Commander's voice. She picked up her already brisk pace in order to find out what was going on.
Commander Vikram Sarkaria stood rigidly over the LADAR and targeting systems personnel who worked vigorously behind their respective stations. "Run another scan and confirm size and number," Sarkaria said commandingly. "Emissions," he chirped. From a few feet away another sailor sounded off with a buoyant Sir! "Catalogue all heat emissions and match them to known warships—give me an idea of what we're dealing with."
Captain Miyamoto arrived just as Commander Sarkaria turned around. She was shorter than her XO. He was tall and slender—a man that loved to run but was seldom seen lifting weights. She trusted him implicitly, but he lacked the aggression she desired in her second. He was an engineering officer by trade and as a result was cosmically astute to the finer technological workings of the ship. But Miyamoto was a fighter and tenaciously aggressive. Sarkaria favored caution, pragmatism, and a deliberate approach. He was not a risk taker. Nevertheless, he was more than capable and any grumblings Miyamoto may have had were merely preferential in nature.
"Captain," he gave her a respectful nod. His thoughtful brown eyes looked relieved from beneath his thick black eyebrows. He wore a black Dastar, or turban, that was characteristic of his devotion to Sikhism. Correspondingly, he also wore a dense black beard upon a strong, jutting jawline.
"Commander," she replied with a resultant nod of her own. "What's going on?"
"An assortment of ships just dropped out of FTL on the far side of the system," he informed her seriously. "By their size and heat emissions initial scans indicate warships."
"Pirates?"
Commander Sarkaria shook his head. "I don't think so, ma'am. They appear to be in a spread formation. Dispersion is good, but the ships are close enough to provide mutual support if necessary. It's textbook. They're military, but not our own."
"Comms," the Captain alerted loudly. "Any contact?"
"Negative ma'am," the communications operator replied.
"And no IFF?" Miyamoto asked aloud. Sarkaria shook his head grimly. "Are we in contact with Fleet HQ?"
"No ma'am. Comm-buoy network is non-operational and the maintenance team was not scheduled to depart for another two hours," the young serviceman responded evenly.
At the targeting station Serviceman Second Class Isabelle Spiegel, a diminutive young girl of Bavarian descent, worked feverishly over her console. "Ma'am," she interjected suddenly, tucking a lock of her short brown hair behind an ear. "Initial scans indicate a possible total tally of 10 warships… emissions…" she trailed off a moment as she tapped a few keys and analyzed the data streaming in from her sister station manned by a less experienced crewmember. "Thermographic emissions indicate two cruisers and seven frigates." As the words escaped her lips, so too did a sound of despair she hadn't counted on. Silence hung over the CIC momentarily. It was an estimate. Long range passive scans were not accurate, but a trained eye was able to discern details like ship size and formation simply by looking at heat emissions. However, for a more detailed assessment they'd need radar scans to flesh things out. That would have to wait until the two forces closed the distance between one another.
"Ten ships," Sarkaria muttered. "Tens ships to our four."
"We don't know if they're hostile yet," Captain Miyamoto said coolly. "Weapons, arm forward-mounted mass accelerator batteries—all three. I want both Thanix cannons spooled up and ready. Comms, get on the hook with the Gaugamela, Kursk and Prima."
"Yes ma'am."
"Tell them I want disruptor torpedoes ready to fire in concentrated salvos at their two largest ships."
"Copy that, Captain."
"Drones," Miyamoto said calmly, glancing over to a bank of displays which lit a team of five pilots in a warm, orange glow. "On my command you'll launch your craft and take up a dispersed formation. All forces will be split between Yellow and Red Squadron. I'll leave the designations up to you Mr. Hoshi, but I want multiple attack vectors plotted and when I say the word you get in close to the bastards and make use of those javelins."
"I thought you said they weren't hostile," Commander Sarkaria said plainly.
"I said we didn't know if they were, Mr. Sarkaria. Best to play things on the safe side," she explained evenly. She turned back to face her comms officer. "Tell the others as soon as we have good effects on target from our disruptor salvos they are to focus all Thanix and main gun fire on the two cruisers. Hopefully we can disable their kinetic barriers and do some damage."
"Aye, aye, ma'am," the comms officer chirped in response. He bent over his console and relayed the orders into the microphone positioned over his lips. He nodded several times to himself as words and information were exchanged then a hand shot up to the headphones over his head as if he were straining to hear something. "Ma'am, I have an incoming transmission from the unknown flotilla."
"Put it on."
The officer acknowledged and played the transmission over the loudspeakers for all to hear within the CIC. Though a hive of activity initially, as soon as the voice spoke up everyone halted what they were doing. The voice was unfamiliar, but the tone was unmistakable. Many looked shocked, others angry.
"Alliance warship this is Captain Grul Ib-Nalak of the batarian External Forces, shutdown your thrusters and weapons targeting systems, deactivate your kinetic barriers and stand down. Prepare to be boarded and taken prisoner. I repeat, standby and prepare to be taken prisoner. Elysium has been annexed on behalf of the Batarian Hegemony," the disembodied voice declared resolutely. There was a distinct growl that punctuated the end of every sentence, but a pride loomed deep within the inflection of each word. Whoever this Captain was, he was happy to be hear making his demands.
"The batarians?" Commander Sarkaria said aloud, disbelieving.
"But I thought they were our allies?" a voice stammered from somewhere in the CIC.
"They fled the battle of Earth when things got really bad," another responded. "They're cowards. They're traitors."
"They outnumber us."
"At ease," Captain Miyamoto commanded and the CIC fell silent. She paced back and forth momentarily, hands clasped behind her back. "Comms, are they still on the line?"
"Negative, it wasn't an open channel. Just a pre-recorded transmission."
"So they don't care to negotiate," Sarkaria observed. He scratched errantly at his beard.
"They're making a demand. They aim to take us prisoner and lay claim to Elysium," Miyamoto offered to no one in particular. She was still pacing about the CIC. The sound of her boot steps echoed in the silence. "Fire control, do we have a firing solution for our main batteries?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Comms, I want a status update on the others."
"Prima reports Thanix is armed, main batteries spooled, and enemy cruisers targeted for disruptor salvos," there was a pause in the report as the operator nodded, still clutching the left part of his headset. "Gaugamela and Kursk are also ready and waiting, Captain."
"Good. Drones, launch your squadrons and close on enemy formation from opposing attack vectors," she ordered calmly. "Get in nice and tight. After your javs are expended get to work with kinetic weapons. I want you to swarm them. Move fast. Don't make it easy. You're main priority is to disrupt and distract."
"Affirmative," the senior drone operator chimed. "Launching in five seconds." There was a flurry of activity as the pilots linked into an advanced targeting and operations control program. It created a virtual interface that showed the opposing ships, now more clearly defined thanks to LADAR scans, as well as friendly ships. Each pilot could control six drones, which acted autonomously based on routines and commands entered by the flock pilot. A total of thirty drones were split between two squadrons with fifteen drones a piece. With a final few taps of their consoles the drones were released and became immediately visible on their operations control program's interface.
"Another transmission from the batarians," comms reported. "They're demanding we disable our drones and comply with their previous demands. If we do not they say they'll destroy us. No survivors."
"That was their intent to begin with. I will not disable our defenses and leave us dead in the water at the mercy of the batarians."
Tension pervaded in the confines of the CIC. But the men and women of the Moscow were professionals. They were veterans of a dozen cataclysmic battles with the Reapers and an even great number of skirmishes and minor actions. They had seen their fleet whittled down to four ships, lost comrades, survived harrowing odds and they were still alive. They were, by battlefield induced evolution, the best of the best. Now they strapped into their seats as the a-grav was deactivated. All non-essential systems were shutdown to spare the crew the heat buildup that would invariably begin once the shooting started.
"Comms, all stations are to fire on my command," Miyamoto said commandingly as she took up position in the Captain's chair, which sat in a position that allowed her to overlook all subordinate stations.
"Copy that, Captain."
The swarm of drones spread into two separate clouds. One headed in a 'westerly' direction while the other went 'east'. The drone pilots were buzzing with information as they spoke to one another, exchanging information on course corrections, formations and targeting data.
"Batarians are launching their own drones," the targeting officer, Serviceman Spiegel, reported.
"All ships… fire!"
The space between the Batarian Fleet and the Alliance Flotilla came alive with flurry of streaking rocket contrails as the Alliance frigates let loose with their disruptor salvos. The torpedoes arced toward the Batarian cruisers who attempted to evade the onslaught. Flashes of purplish light ignited alongside the ships, warping the kinetic barriers and weakening their strength.
Moments after the flurry of disruptor torpedoes were fired the mass accelerators came alive with a booming echo that reverberated through their respective ship's hulls. Lengthy trails of light sped toward their mark just as the drone operators piloted their deadly charges into the batarian fleet. GARDIAN lasers lanced out from the batarian ships, stabbing at the drones that flocked around them as they released javelin payloads into ship barriers and then rocketed out of range.
Slugs crashed into kinetic barriers. One cruiser's protection shuddered from the disruptor strikes and a few slugs streaked into the hole created in the protective bubble. The hull lit up as slugs exploded on impact against the ablative armor.
"Good effects on target," Fire control reported.
"Batarians are opening fire," Spiegel said.
"All ships break formation. I want the frigates in close, spread out and stay fast. Tell them to use the batarian ships as cover against the others." Captain Miyamoto told the comms officer. "Helm, maintain some standoff. I want erratic, evasive lateral movement while we slug it out with them."
"Yes, ma'am."
So the Gaugamela, Kursk and Prima shot forward to enter into a close range contest with a force that outnumbered them greatly. It was the knife-fight that typified frigate engagements and the crew of these frigates were some of the best the Alliance had to offer. Meanwhile the Moscow utilized its external maneuvering thrusters to maintain as much evasive movement as possible as the mass accelerated slugs fired by the batarian fleet began to streak by. The Moscow's hull shuddered as she released another barrage of her own slugs aimed at the batarian cruisers. Then the crew was rocked by a strike from several shots that struck the barriers that protected the venerable old ship.
"Barriers are holding."
"Maximize lateral thrust, and give me more standoff."
"Affirm."
"Drones inbound."
"GARDIANs armed. Batteries A through H firing. Good hits… good hits."
"Batarian cruiser taking heavy damage—it's splitting off! Other ships moving to support."
"Fire control, focus on the wounded bird."
"Yes, ma'am!"
More slugs pounded at the flagging batarian cruiser as it maneuvered away from the cavalcade of fire. Explosions rippled along its shimmering kinetic barrier. Several slugs penetrated and fireballs erupted on the hull of the ship. Smoke arose from the port side, but by now the frigates had closed ranks and defended the cruiser from anymore oncoming fire.
The Prima, Gaugamela, and Kursk darted into the fray with all guns blazing. Mass accelerators alongside their hulls fired in all directions and Thanix cannons were hard at work. Torpedo contrails crisscrossed with lances of light that followed in the wake of shells accelerated to hyper velocities. Through it all the Alliance frigates maneuvered like a flock of birds, delivering accurate and damaging fire. This was their talent—their profession. It was what they did best.
Clouds of drones swarmed all over the Moscow slinging disruptor torpedoes into her barriers. The ship shuddered with every impact, but the crew was held in place by their harnesses. GARDIAN lasers licked at the assaulting drones. Some exploded in a glittering ball of flames, while still more continued to swarm like a tornado of angry bees.
"Barriers are taking heavy damage."
"Get me a solution for those drones!"
"There are too many, Captain. They're overwhelming our detection and targeting caps."
The Alliance frigates expertly piloted themselves between their batarian foes. They used their enemy ships as cover to prevent the batarian's fellow ships from getting an accurate bead on them. All the while they poured fire from their small broadside accelerators into the flanks of the batarian ships. The entire storm of ships was alight with explosions and mass accelerated slugs. It could've been a beautiful fireworks display on some distant, verdant world—celebrating something grand, something wonderful. But it was a dreadful fight for life.
One of the batarian frigates shook tremendously as the Kursk passed by, simultaneously dumping shot after shot into its port side. Blasts rippled along the hull, cascading aft toward the anti-proton thrusters there. For a moment they died down, then suddenly erupted once more near the aft section of the ship. The violent detonation tore the frigate in two, its momentum carried the decrepit forward half forward, sputtering clouds of smoke from the gnarled hull, while the rear compartments and dysfunctional thrusters drifted harmlessly away.
"One ship destroyed!"
"Temperatures are increasing, Captain. I'm not sure how long we can keep up this maneuvering."
"Intensify forward fire power," Miyamoto ordered.
"That will dramatically increase temperatures, ma'am," one of her crew reminded the Captain. It was already hot inside the CIC and every member of the crew were sweating through their uniforms.
"I'm aware," Miyamoto assured him calmly. "I want four to six more salvos and then we close on the enemy fleet."
"Close?" The idea seemed ludicrous. Cruisers didn't belong in a knife-fight engagement. That was frigate territory. That close took away the Moscow's greatest weapon, her bow accelerators.
But Miyamoto was aware of that. She also understood that the current position she maintained was untenable. The Moscow was a juicy target. Many of the batarian ships that would otherwise be engaging her frigates more effectively were instead firing at the Alliance cruiser, allowing her flotilla to wreak havoc in close. But the extra work, coupled with the damage they were taking meant that very soon she would be unable to continue her evasive maneuvering. At that point the Moscow would be an easy target. If she could get them in close at the very least her broadsides could be brought to bear and the ablative armor on her flanks would hold up well against the batarians frigates. She repeated her command to the CIC staff and they acceded. The compartment jumbled as another pair of their own shells were launched toward the batarian fleet.
At this point, with the loss of one of their own, the batarians began to understand the danger the Alliance frigates posed. Three ships broke formation and pursued the Kursk. Likewise, a detachment of drones broke off their attack on the Moscow and made a dash for the maneuvering Alliance frigate. Its GARDIAN lasers streamed outward in an attempt to shoot down disruptor torpedoes and drone attacks, but some of the projectiles managed to break the defensive cloud of laser fire. The Kurk's kinetic barrier hissed and the ship shook violently, then she was defenseless trying to gain some distance from her pursuers while they routed power back to the kinetic barriers. But the batarians were relentless. A volley of shots from their bow cannons ripped past the fleeing Kursk, but some hit their mark. Three rounds struck hard on the starboard anti-proton thruster. The blue glow of the thruster seemed to absorb the slugs, but then enormous explosion erupted from the bowels of the engine then undulated forward shredding the SSV Kursk into a thousand chunks of debris.
"The Kursk is gone!" Spiegel reported after her next LADAR scan. She double-checked her information. No IFF. And comms had no contact. The Kursk was gone…
"Any escape pods?" Captain Miyamoto demanded almost harshly.
"No, Captain. It was too fast."
The Captain let out a saddened sigh, wiped the sweat from her brow and adjusted her position in the seat. "All ahead full. Keep firing."
The Moscow lurched forward, towing with it the cloud of drones that still harried its every movement despite an array of lasers trying to swat them away. More slugs fired from the batarian ships zipped past. The Moscow had taken extra care to ensure the planet was not in its backdrop so that no errant misses would strike Elysium's surface. Each slug could be catastrophic. Still, the shots from the batarians seemed to pass perilously close to Elysium.
The Gaugamela pulled some acrobatic moves to sail through a few batarian frigates that attempted to hamper its attack run. But she was able to expertly target several ships with bow shots and effectively put two rounds from her bow cannon on target, effectively disabling the already wounded batarian cruiser. The cruiser glided listlessly out of the fight, power reduced and barely clinging to the remnants of its kinetic barriers.
But just as they had done with the Kursk, the batarians rallied and targeted the Gaugamela. They encircled her as she came about for another pass of the batarian fleet, this time successfully cutting off her attack axis by impeding her assault vector. They closed in on the ship, firing furiously into every side. The barriers rippled from the attack and the ablative armor sizzled as rounds collided with massive force. Like a fox cornered by hounds the Gaugamela jockeyed for space as it desperately returned fire. Escape ports opened and pods were fired in rapid succession. The Gaugamela held fast for another few moments, but blasts ignited all along her hull and before long she broke a part. Flaming debris drifted out in every direction and dead Alliance sailors drifted idly in the freezing blackness of space.
"We've lost the Gaugamela," Spiegel reported solemnly just as the Moscow entered the fray, plowing into the center of the enemy fleet and letting loose with a considerable barrage in all directions. The space around her lit up as explosions seared the dark vacuum and contrails zipped to and fro.
"Survivors?" Sarkaria asked.
"Some pods were jettisoned. No indications of how many," Spiegel replied.
The Moscow shook violently as it was struck by a number of projectiles. "Barriers are failing. Hull temperature is on the rise."
"Mr. Sarkaria give the order to abandon ship," Captain Miyamoto directed her XO. He looked at her dumbfounded, his mouth hung open. "Do it. Only essential CIC personnel are to remain aboard. We might lose the Moscow, but we won't lose the people that made her something special."
He closed his mouth, licked his lips and nodded resolutely. He picked up the receiver for the ship's PA system. Emergency alarms were already blaring inside the CIC and one of the crewman reported a hull breach in the aft section of deck four. "All personnel this is the XO… by order of the Captain," he paused for a moment, adjusting his grip on the receiver. He looked nervously at Maya Miyamoto, exhaled and then spoke some more. "By order of the Captain all personnel are to abandon ship immediately. NCOs and Chiefs round up your people, get an accurate head count and proceed to your assigned pod. Follow all protocols." With some hesitation he hung up the receiver, aware that it would be the last time he ever used it.
Already there were crew from the CIC rushing to their assigned escape vessels. Only the helmsman, fire control officer, comms and one drone pilot remained. So many drones had already been lost that Lieutenant Hoshi was able to commandeer and control what remained, allowing the others to escape.
Sarkaria watched them all leave. Scurrying out as fast as they could without any gravity to keep them on the deck. He turned gloomy brown eyes on Captain Miyamoto, a woman who had taught him something about aggression and ferocity. A woman he feared would do the foolish thing and go down with her ship.
She stared back at him. But there was a strong defiance in her eyes. The Moscow was still capable, she knew. And it would be some while before the batarians brought her to heel. "Go, Mr. Sarkaria."
"Ma'am…"
"Go. Get our people to Elysium and organize some sort of defense against what's to come."
"And you?"
"I'll follow along shortly," she said easily.
Commander Sarkaria dabbed his dried lips with his tongue again and nodded. "Very well, ma'am. I'll see you soon then." But he didn't believe it.
In the blizzard of gunfire outside the Primagenus was still fighting. As a turian frigate she was better armored than her human counterparts and Commander Serverus had handled her beautifully. With a successful pass he was able to obliterate a batarian frigate that had been party to the destruction of the Kursk, but she sustained severe damage in the effort. The turian frigate was flagging. She limped free and clear of the fray and turned to re-engage seeing the Moscow under heavy fire.
But he received different orders on a priority hail from Captain Miyamoto. His new objective was to break contact and escape at FTL speeds, reunite with a friendly Alliance fleet and tell them of the batarian's attack. Serverus protested staunchly, owing to his honor as a turian officer, but Miyamoto rebuked him. This task was far more important than winning the fight, she argued. Reluctantly Serverus gave the order to withdraw.
Sarkaria watched the distant exchange of fire from the rattling interior of his escape pod, accompanied by several other members of the crew. He could see the remaining batarian ships brings their guns to bear on the severely damaged Moscow—the cruiser that had carried them through the Reaper War. He felt a pang of guilt for abandoning her. Yet she stubbornly fought on, firing back with vicious tenacity. Sarkaria saw more explosions rock the exterior of the ship he'd come to call his home and sadness gripped at his heart. He thought he saw more escape pods jettison away from the cruiser, but he couldn't be sure as the view of them was soon obstructed by a cataclysmic, dazzling blast that erupted from deep within the Moscow's hull.
And just like that she was gone…