Marshal Farrell was indeed an outstanding military strategist, blessed with both imagination and the ability to execute his plans. His gaze was fixed on the future, and on the stars.
Of course, he had no idea that a small-scale battle was unfolding somewhere in a branch system along the New World Route, "behind" him.
Unending beams of light pierced the void and plunged into the belly of an Amangus transport ship. Explosions burst from its swollen hull, ripping through the armor as flames and shock waves spread. Though no sound could be heard, it was still like the devil calling.
That ship was just about finished. Colonel Horatio Wayne reached that conclusion and immediately ordered, "All ships, cease fire."
"Begin decelerating. Reform the formation and prepare to withdraw."
"Landing parties, start searching and collect anything of value. You have thirty minutes."
"Navigator, confirm our heading."
"Observation team, determine whether there are any survivors."
"Damage control, I want a damage report in fifteen minutes."
His deputy, Lieutenant Colonel Mishir Kent, relayed the entire string of orderly commands and added some more detailed instructions of his own.
The capable crew sprang into action at their stations. The scene remained hectic, but everything was in order. Before long, the Earth warships taking part in the hunt had all stopped firing.
The dazzling ion beams faded, but explosions continued without pause inside the bloated Amangus transport. Shock waves tore through the enormous hull from within, splitting it cleanly in two. More than a thousand crew members lost their lives in an instant, and millions of tons of supplies promptly became part of the space junk.
Still, given how neatly the ship had been wrecked, there were bound to be survivors—and supplies left behind.
As for her two escort destroyers, they had been sunk half