Read War Against the White Knights for Free Online Page A

defense.
    Romulus set his engine cone to forty meters’ length, firing a single millisecond burst every second. The effect on his Mustang’s velocity was minimal, but the Hardit Marines and the rear of their boarding pod vaporized. More Marines and equipment were spat out the missing rear of the pod, flailing helplessly with limbs and tails. But unlike the mystery tech that allowed their vessels to push against the void, these Hardits pushed against only vacuum. Without even thruster packs they were trapped in an inescapable vector away from Beowulf .
    That was all Romulus had time to care about.
    He took a deep breath and did it all again.
    He searched out more boarding parties, accelerating at an insane 30 gees just a few meters off Beowulf’s hull, dodging her storage lockers, heat radiators and weapon ports to come up close to the enemy and wipe them off the face of his home with a swipe from his zero-point engine exhaust. The slightest miscalculation and he would scrape against Beowulf’s hull or crash into one of the boarding pods. If he fired his engines at the wrong orientation relative to his home ship, his engine would cleave through its hull.
    “Rom! Look out!”
    Just in time, Romulus swung the Mustang’s nose up and away before colliding with Beowulf’s starboard nacelle.
    “Need a quick break for coffee,” he quipped. He shut his eyes. Even with the Hardit defensive clouds dissipating he had been concentrating so intensely he could barely see.
    Just need a few seconds…
    He opened his eyes onto something new. A larger craft racing down toward Beowulf . Romulus guessed this was a command vessel, Hardit officers coming in to command the boarding operation.
    Co-ordinate this, you furry bastards!
    Romulus swung round and poured fire into the Hardit command boat. The target refused to die, protected by some serious armor. It fired back too, but its targeting systems were not up to tracking the random dance of the Mustang with its momentum conversion system allowing its engine to open up without crushing the pilot and his passenger.
    The Hardit boat exploded in livid white fire.
    “Gotcha!”
    His head clear now, Romulus pivoted around for another run sweeping the filth from Beowulf’s hull. The space around his home was filled with the wreckage of Hardit attack boats, but the survivors of the boarding assault were over Beowulf like a black rash. It was too late. The knowledge pierced his heart that even his best wasn’t going to be good enough this time.
    All he could do was limit the number of Hardits the Legion Marines had to fight off in the hand-to-hand combat that must be opening up throughout his home. He glanced out toward the minefield and saw that fresh waves of boarding craft were still incoming.
    He gritted his teeth against despair. Job’s still got to be done.
    His comm flickered and buzzed. Probably someone from Beowulf but whatever they were telling him was being jammed.
    As Romulus began building up to his attack run, a sudden and total flash of light seared into mind, blinding him momentarily.
    When some semblance of function returned to his eyes, what they saw turned his blood to ice, locking up his entire body.
    His home… Beowulf … All that remained was a wave front of debris and a ball of hot, ionized gas.
    Captain Lubricant had given up hope. She’d hit the self-destruct…
    “Rom!” screamed Janna “Snap out of it!”
    Her cry unlocked his muscles and his hand stretched out for the flight control… but his hesitation proved fatal.
    The Mustang shuddered under a hail of fire. He burned away at maximum gees until the engine safety limiter cut in and a sudden weight crushed the breath out of his chest. The momentum dump system had failed. He was a sitting target. While jinking as best he could, he assessed the damage.
    Still numb from the loss of Beowulf , he could barely register what the Mustang’s system status was telling him. They’d been hit by corrosive munitions. His