Five blips on his monitor. Five blips, flying in formation toward their vessel. Another alarm. Five more came towards them from the other ship. They were little more than streaks on the video feed. Min'canari readied his turret. He had switched to burst fire and was just waiting for an opportunity to strike.
"What is the situation?" Captain Naash's voice came in unexpectedly. He retained an air of confidence, but there was a slight panic to his tone.
"We have two squadrons of fighters closing," Yeel's voice was steady.
"I've got a visual," Harrit said. "Preparing to fire."
"Our communications array has been jammed," Captain Naash's voice was clear over Min'canari's shoulder. "For the time being, act as you see fit." His voice trailed off as footsteps receded.
"Don't let up," Yeel said, "make their job as hard for them as possible."
Min'canari singled out the leader and watched as they grew in the distance. He recognised the model, but not the decals or colour scheme. They were flying an older model ship. Pre-war. Human. Confederation. They seemed to have undergone some retrofitting. He noticed the one behind the leader had some damage. Cosmetic. These fighters had seen battle, but that didn't mean the pilots had seen conflict. Being outgunned was a problem. An enemy without experience, though, was enough to sway the outcome.
Harrit moved rapidly in his seat. His fingers worked overtime while attacking. Out of the corner of his eye, Min'canari could see points rising. As the number grew, it seemed like Harrit gained composure. His eyes darted from his score to the targets. If he were to warrant a guess, he was more concerned with the score than actually winning this battle.
The leader was well within firing distance before Min'canari pulled the trigger. Pull, release, pull, release. His shots were controlled. Suppressive fire. The ship evaded. Weaving from side to side. As it banked, missed shots landed on those behind. The fighters began to fire. Many of the shots landed. The shields flashed to life as they reflected incoming fire. He tracked the leader. His fingers moved faster. His turret unleashed a hail of blue orbs. Sparks. Emergency lighting. He could see the pilot flailing with each new impact. A flash of light. In a beautiful display, the leader's fighter had been destroyed.
"Great shot, Min!" Yeel shouted. "That will scramble their formation a bit."
"Yeah," Harrit sapped. "Don't let up now, there are still plenty more to take out."
Min'canari noticed Harrit glancing at his score, which was quickly catching up. Those stupid numbers. He could see the appeal to something like this. It made the process "fun," but there shouldn't be fun in this. It is not a sport. Combat. Death. This battle was about survival. Defense. The lives of those on board. A points system stripped that away. Yet another peculiar thing that Humans do.
The fighters retreated and regrouped. As they moved away, the three turret gunners let off many more shots. One of the ships was destroyed. Many now seemed worse for wear. It didn't stop them from coming again. Another pass. Min'canari continued to fire at them. His target was worn down and damaged. It limped along. Slower than the rest. Its pilot maintained control of his ship, but he must have felt the eyes watching him. Fire. A flash of light. Another explosion. All that was left was debris that rained in all directions. If the room was quiet enough, he may have been able to hear the ping of fragmented steel against their hull.
No more shields. The familiar blue shimmer has stopped. They were depleted. The video feed showed another fighter. Another target. It was no longer firing; it was just flying. Then a dot of red light appeared on it. It grew over the course of a few seconds and launched. The orb of red light flew beyond the video feed. He could feel a tremor. He continued to fire, but it manoeuvred in such a way that it disappeared. He tried to track it. As he turned right, a ship would come and go from the left. As he rotated the turret up. Another would pass below. He was too slow to keep up with them. He fired wildly out of frustration, knowing he wasn't going to hit anything.
"I can't find a target!" He shouted.
"I'm having trouble too," Yeel said. "Just breathe, and stay calm."
Another tremor punctuated her sentence.
Min'canari rotated the turret. There was nothing but the blackness of space. No trial of an engine. No receding shots. Nothing. He continued to move. A red ball off light appeared. It grew rapidly. He didn't even have time to fire. Flash. His monitor lit up. He shielded his eyes too late. He couldn't see. The ground hit him hard as he landed.
"I can't see," he shouted.
