Solo Player vs Troll (7)

"Fuck! Why the hell can't I reach the Overseer?!"

"I'm sorry, Commander. We're still attempting to reestablish communications… Kyaa!"

"Don't just say you're attempting it! Fucking do it already! Do it! Get a connection and show me that goddamn ship is still in one piece! You piece of shit!"

Melon wasn't content with simply striking Maya for delivering a report. He poured every obscenity he could invent onto her, and anyone looking into his eyes would have understood exactly why. Panic was written all over them — the panic of a man who had just lost contact ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠with the one thing that had kept him alive through every tantrum and every act of sabotage he'd ever pulled: the SSS-grade cruiser Overseer. No status message. No reply. Nothing.

Of course, the real reason the link had gone dead was that Icarus's assault pod had smashed the communications antenna on its way to becoming a shooting star in the void — an outcome neither Melon nor Icarus had anticipated. But from Melon's perspective, the silence meant only one thing: the fighting inside the Overseer had gotten so desperate that the crew couldn't even spare a transmission.

So he threw the fleet he had just finished fighting with — no formation, no repairs, nothing — into a full-speed charge toward the Overseer.

Then he saw it. The Overseer was still sitting right where it had been. Melon felt his mind snap back into something resembling stability.

Overseer still in place = either the boarding fight is ongoing, or our side already held the line!

That miraculous little equation assembled itself in his head, and with it came a sudden jolt of terror — if his fleet slammed into the Overseer at full burn, he might damage his precious SSS-grade cruiser.

"Ah— slow the fleet down! You're gonna ram the Overseer!"

"Understood. All ships, reduce speed."

He yanked his charging fleet back from maximum velocity and began a careful approach.

And right then—

Beep-beep-beep-beep! Beep-beep-beep!

"?!"

"Commander! Enemy fleet appearing at the ten o'clock position!"

Icarus — the same man who had already rammed an entire picket fleet into him — had just committed six destroyers. Not transport hulls, either. Properly armed warships. Melon decided the bastard was making a last-ditch attempt to sink the Overseer by any means necessary, and he immediately ordered his fleet to screen the cruiser and engage Icarus.

His loyal ships swung into position, clustering across the Overseer's bow and stern, forming a defensive wall so that Icarus's incoming fire couldn't touch the prize.

And even though communications were still dead, Melon watched his Overseer swing its massive main batteries forward — and a triumphant smile spread across his face.

"Look at that, Maya! We held it! We won the defense!"

"…"

But Maya, his adjutant, only narrowed her distinctive cat-like eyes and stared hard at the display. Then something clicked. She rushed to her commander's side with urgent counsel.

"Commander! We've been played!"

"Huh?"

"The Overseer has already fallen to the enemy! If we keep going like this, we'll be hit from both sides!"

"Haha, don't bullshit me. There's no way the Overseer got taken."

Her warning, born of genuine loyalty, never reached a man whose eyes were locked on the perfect chance to crush the Icarus who had humiliated him so thoroughly. The moment Icarus's fleet entered weapons range, Melon gave the order to fire.

KRAAAAAANG!!!!

KRAAAANG!

BOOM! KRAANG!

"…Huh?"

Exactly as Maya had warned, Melon could only gape as the Overseer — right in front of his eyes — opened up with its main batteries and missiles… on his fleet.

Pashtura's battleship-class particle beam barrage, the coordinated volley from six destroyers, and — from behind them — the Overseer's main guns and missiles. Together, they were more than enough to chew through ninety percent of my picket ships and absolutely demolish Melon's already-wounded fleet.

The real killer was how his main destroyers had all bunched up in the center to "escort" the Overseer. From their perspective, it was like taking battleship main-battery fire from both front and rear at once. Of the five destroyers clustered in the middle of Melon's formation, four went down in a single exchange. One nearby escort ship cooked off in a sympathetic detonation from a destroyer's explosion, and the rest ate a delicious combination of my destroyers' guns and a full spread of Overseer missiles. The result looked less like a fleet engagement and more like a fireworks show.

Our destroyers took a few hits in the process, sure — but compared to the cascading fireballs that used to be his fleet, it barely registered.

Ahh, that hits the spot. Now this is a fleet battle.

I'd accidentally stumbled into a full-scale fleet engagement, but whatever — it worked out beautifully. Using the destroyers I'd thrown out as bait and then lost, plus the escorts and destroyers I'd reinforced with, I drove off the remnants of Melon's fleet that were still hanging around. At the same time, I sniped them one by one with the Overseer's magnificent main batteries, forcing additional losses on him even as he ran.

Once his forces had completely vanished from sensor range, I started sweeping the battlespace. The destroyers I'd sacrificed as bait, the mineral deposits, every wrecked hull and scrap of salvage I could find — I called in resource mining ships and ordered everything worth recovering hauled back to base. Anything that could be restored, I intended to restore.

As for the real prize of the battle — the SSS-grade cruiser itself — I put the mining ships' drones to work repairing it on-site in real time while it made its way home.

I did, however, order three destroyers — including the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠one carrying Pashtura — to return to base ahead of the rest. The reason was simple.

"Ah, for fuck's sake."

"Commander, all we have left at the base right now are two patrol ships that just finished construction."

I'd barely won a war, and now the pirates were about to hit us from behind.

Granted, the base had finished its Level 3 upgrade, so we were no longer the trembling wrecks who'd once flinched at every pirate raid.

"All base defense systems online. Unmanned defense drone hangars are prepped for launch."

"Mm. Excellent."

The base's own defensive suite was now solid enough to hold against run-of-the-mill pirates. Still—

"Jessica, what's the size of the approaching pirate force?"

"One moment… four destroyers and five escorts."

"…"

Unfortunately, it seemed some delightful level-scaling system was in effect. The pirates had upgraded right along with us, and all I could do was blink back tears.

Anyway. We finished the fight, scraped through the pirate raid by the skin of our teeth, and got the fleet back into something resembling working order. The next day, a sudden curiosity hit me — how exactly had that bastard melted down over yesterday's battle?

The reason I wondered was simple. Yesterday, while I was scrambling to deal with the pirates, I'd accidentally lifted his chat block and gotten a whiny mail from him begging me to give the cruiser back. My response had been extremely concise.

Then I'd blocked him again on the spot. So I had no idea how he'd reacted after that.

Sure, I could probably guess — but human nature being what it is, I couldn't just shrug and move on.

I told Jessica to form the newly completed resource mining ships into a New Resource Fleet and put them straight to work, then stretched out in my personal command chair and opened the community window, starting with the gallery boards.

It didn't take long to find exactly ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠what I was looking for.

Heheheheheheh. What a loser…

He wasn't even bothering with an anonymous nick anymore — just openly sniping at me by name. And the raw, seething rage bleeding through every line of that post…