force flagship. Shiva had found the fleet at last. Anatoly didn't have much time left.
His surviving HellBender dodged another countermissile. Enemy laser fire grazed it, but it was too close now, and a flash of light blossomed on the screen as the missile struck, halfway between two of the countermissile batteries.
"Victory!" Anatoly shouted to no one in particular, raising his fist in defiance of the seemingly invincible Shiva. He had just set a new world record—he was the first person in history to get two scores against the goddess of destruction.
Examining the results of his hit, his practiced eye suggested he might have wiped out six of the counterbatteries, not just the two closest to the blast. A good score, indeed.
Another flash lit the screen, but this time it was not good news. The cruiser Phnom Penh disintegrated as a pair of missiles struck home. Then Anatoly stiffened; three Hydras veered toward his own South Hampton.
There wasn't really any chance of surviving a three-Hydra salvo. He would have to hurry.
Anatoly punched buttons to fire again, and found he couldn't: his missile bays were empty. He was out of a job.
But someone else on some other ship had noticed the weakened counterfire in the area where he'd nailed the countermissile launchers. And someone was trying exploit the weakness. Anatoly could see missiles streaking toward the plasma tube from the undefended angle. If they could keep it up long enough, they'd surely get another hit.
He watched idly as the South Hampton's countermissile fire nailed one of the Hydras. His mind turned
His surviving HellBender dodged another countermissile. Enemy laser fire grazed it, but it was too close now, and a flash of light blossomed on the screen as the missile struck, halfway between two of the countermissile batteries.
"Victory!" Anatoly shouted to no one in particular, raising his fist in defiance of the seemingly invincible Shiva. He had just set a new world record—he was the first person in history to get two scores against the goddess of destruction.
Examining the results of his hit, his practiced eye suggested he might have wiped out six of the counterbatteries, not just the two closest to the blast. A good score, indeed.
Another flash lit the screen, but this time it was not good news. The cruiser Phnom Penh disintegrated as a pair of missiles struck home. Then Anatoly stiffened; three Hydras veered toward his own South Hampton.
There wasn't really any chance of surviving a three-Hydra salvo. He would have to hurry.
Anatoly punched buttons to fire again, and found he couldn't: his missile bays were empty. He was out of a job.
But someone else on some other ship had noticed the weakened counterfire in the area where he'd nailed the countermissile launchers. And someone was trying exploit the weakness. Anatoly could see missiles streaking toward the plasma tube from the undefended angle. If they could keep it up long enough, they'd surely get another hit.
He watched idly as the South Hampton's countermissile fire nailed one of the Hydras. His mind turned