'Crap,' said Verloff as he leaned onto the display. This wasn't good. Twelve task forces as screens and another six heading directly for him. 'Hammer them but let them pass!' he absentmindedly ordered and his own task forces jumped to, bombarding the Novicans with all they had. Shields flared up and dissipated, hulls were raked by lasers, missiles criss-crossed between the two factions and vessels burned as the race to cut off the snake's head had begun.

Battleships moved in position and exchanged broadsides with one another, Dreadnaughts barrelled on ahead, leading the way and causing destruction every which way they went. Citadel-classes flanked their Novican counterparts while Imperial vessels manoeuvred to avoid meeting the enemy flagships head on. The screening task forces would brook no such tactics and changed course, throwing themselves into the midst of the Imperial armada, causing severe damage as they died in a blaze of glory, exchanging their lives for time. Time in which the other six groups raced towards the Ad Astra and its commanding officer. Verloff knew he didn't have long, minutes would be the deciding factor as the Novicans used brute force and raw tonnage to break through the Imperial lines, using sheer numbers to get through unscathed. Fire slammed into their flanks and more ships fell out of formation with every passing heartbeat, but battleships and dreadnaughts were tough to kill and even when their flanks were ripped open and their vulnerable innards exposed, they kept up their charge. Fires raged across the tormented vessels, explosions blossomed throughout dozens of decks, tearing out support struts and blowing open hatches. Radiation, heat and vacuum claimed their toll. Missiles broke through shields and armour, lasers lit up barriers and scoured hulls clean, pulsars bounced off thick plates and railfire slammed in or through hulls.

And still they came, their suicidal charge spurred on by the yells of millions as the brave men and women spat in the face of Death itself to kill Admiral Verloff while the Imperials fought tooth and nail to prevent that.

'Licali and Mezdez are requesting permission to plug the gap!' communications yelled as the eleven screen task forces were reduced to five. The screening elements lacked dreadnaughts of their own and were paying for not having the defensive envelope that the massive capital ships provided.

'Denied!' shouted Verloff. 'Everyone holds their position! I will not sacrifice my battle line!' he roared. Even as he said that, he knew the risk. He couldn't die. He was, as much as he hated it, a figurehead. He needed to stay alive. If he died against the Kra'lagh, that'd be one thing. But against the Novicans? That would shatter morale. Not to mention the political backlash that his death would cause. Or the simple, annoying fact that he was the best damned Admiral in the whole Imperial fleet and him being torn to atomic shreds would cause countless more soldiers to die. No, if he died, they had lost. Just like how Kolpovka had to die in order to remove the Novicans from the strategic picture.

He blocked out the larger battle, focused on his personal task force. Then he looked to the dozen-odd ships trailing a good way behind him, tucked away in between two other dreadnaughts. If he moved those up, he could destroy this assault easily. But if he played that card now, he'd show his hand too early. He grimaced and looked at the massive defence grid looming darkly ahead of Nemesis. Then he turned and zoomed in on the several dozen ships heading his way, lead by six very threatening, if wounded, dreadnaughts. His fingers hovered over the comms button as he ran through dozens of scenarios in his mind. He couldn't win against six. By the time those task forces would hit him, he'd estimate that, aside those six blasted flagships, there'd be at least two dozen battleships and another dozen battlecruisers tagging along. Meanwhile his own task force, Fenris, only had the Ad Astra, six Hammers, a dozen battlecruisers and three dozen escorts. Those weren't winnable odds, especially not since they'd concentrate their fire on him anyway. Precious seconds ticked by and the deadline for calling in support drew closer as his mind raced through scenario after scenario. It wasn't winnable. It couldn't be done. But the defence grid!

An explosion wracked through one of the advancing dreadnaughts, an Imperial battleship darting dangerously close to their foe and risked it all to deliver a full, short ranged broadside that tore through its rear, damaging their engines. More hindered than damaged, the dreadnaught returned fire in annoyance and battered down the shields of the Roberta while thousands of missiles switched their targets to the vulnerable vessel. More Imperial ships darted out of formation, throwing out a barrage of interceptors, wiping out a good portion of the missiles. Several dozen broke through and slammed into the battleship with world-scouring power, blowing open its flank. Imperial engineering triumphed as the ship's superstructure held and the vessel managed to pull back, heavily damaged but still functional, while the Lucem closed in on her damaged sister, leaving dangerously little space between the two but blocking the follow-up salvos with her own shields.

The enemy dreadnaught slowed and a new scenario appeared in Verloff's head. Risky? Yes. Suicidal? Possibly. Feasible? Bloody unlikely. Was he going to attempt it? FUCK yes!

He swiped across the display, replacing the support group with the ship commanders of Fenris. 'Wolves!' he shouted. 'We hunt! Drop speed and prepare for close quarters! They issued us a challenge and we'll respond in kind!' He ran his fingers through the comms, adjusting task forces around him to batter the enemy into positions he wanted.

He couldn't stand up to their firepower. If they all got to shoot at him, he'd be dead six times over. If he got in close, however, his Nova Cannons could cripple a dreadnaught with a single salvo. With the damage they accumulated so far, he wouldn't even need all his cannons for a finishing shot.

Secondary energy ranges were crossed and the fire intensified as the first task group began firing upon his just as the last of the Novican screening elements went up in flames, the once proud capitals belching air and fire as it spattered out a final few shots, defiant to the last. He could respect that, even if they were his enemies. Further along the line the battle was going much more in the favour of the Imperials, with most of their experienced commanders either with Lebriski's fleet, leading the charge or dead. The second wave was now fully embattled with his own and they weren't so much losing as that they were being slaughtered, losing cohesion while the Imperials kept moving ships in and out of firing zones to give their shields a chance to restore themselves and their guns the time to cool down.

But right here, right now, the final battle of the mobile fleets would be fought. And if he lost, well, he wouldn't be around to see the fight between Nemesis and the defence grid, let alone the rest of the war.

The Citadel-class shuddered as the Novas spoke, tendrils of plasma reaching out across the stars and clawing apart an enemy battlecruiser that had gotten through relatively unscathed. Scyllas rolled out of their protective cover and unleashed a hellish barrage. Some Novican commanders returned fire, lasers far surpassing the missiles in speed and several Scyllas fell back into the safety of the heavy capitals, belching smoke. Others ignored it, preferring to keep their fire on the Ad Astra. Apollos slipped into the holes of the formation, peeking out in between their heavier frontline brethren and stabbed enemy ships with their spinal lasers, doing significant damage from this close. The beams slammed into the damaged vessels, cutting through them as the Novicans fought to constantly adjust their course to deny the Imperials a critical hit. Albarests surged forward, appearing in between the battleships and the Ad Astra and began aggressively jamming the incoming fire, foregoing their own targeting locks as they blind fired their missile loadout. The Imperials had few heavy missiles left, their opening gambit and follow-up salvos having depleted their heavy armaments, whereas the Novican second wave was still fully stocked. Countless missiles streaked back and forth, ECM fighting to punch through jamming and find a target. Fenris, in a close formation and covering one another expertly, shot down nearly everything thrown their way, their experience offsetting the huge numbers the Novicans were throwing at them, even as the Albarests began taking hits. More than once Verloff had to order one to fall back rather than risk the ship going up in flames. His men were precious to him, those in Fenris even more so. If a ship was too damaged to keep up its role, he forced it back.

The range shrunk and more enemy battleships and cruisers fell out of formation, his men proving that they were the elite within the elite as his high expectations were met.

The enemy kept closing, however, undeterred by their losses and the taken damage and he could feel his ship begin to groan under the massed fire. He'd have to act soon. He looked at the display, saw how the enemy dreadnaughts were moving. Two dozen battleships were a major threat to a dreadnaught, but not an impossible challenge and certainly not for an Imperial Citadel-class;. Six other dreadnaughts on top of that, however...

'Patrick, I'm sending you a targeting sequence. I don't want to stress you out, but this shot will make or break your career,' the old Admiral chuckled dryly. 'And probably my life,' he added. 'So if you screw up, I'm coming back to haunt you.'

'Not to worry sir,' replied the slightly younger Captain. 'I'm sure if I miss the shot, you'll not have much time to come visit me before I join you in the here-after.'

Verloff grinned from ear to ear at that reply, then turned to Cindy and pointed to one of the crash harnesses that were installed into the wall. 'Better get in there.' For once the spook gave no reply but simply obeyed, sprinting towards it and clicking it shut around her as fast as she could.

'All hands, we're about to hit some space turbulence. Make sure everything's strapped in and get ready to do the same shortly after. I'm saying this because we stuffed so many guns in this ship that we didn't have any space left to install 'fasten your seatbelt' signs. Or, as less articulate bastards might express it, brace yourself for damned collision.'