From Sol, The Fury had jumped spinward to defend a cluster of worlds that were under attack by the enemy.

They’d had a few engagements, and Justinius had found himself in awe of the power his new vessel commanded. In their first engagement, eager to prove himself, Justinius had committed the fury against three cruiser-class enemy vessels. He had thought that this was a calculated risk, and placed their odds of prevailing at seventy-five percent.

To his surprise, it hadn’t even been close.

The Fury’s shields, reverse engineered from Committee technology, were the most powerful Justinius had ever beheld. They had taken the full force of several direct blows and held with ease. The ensign who manned the defensive systems had reported that at no point had the shield’s strength dipped under eighty percent.

Justinius had hoped that he would have a chance to deploy his company via teleport assault, or even better yet make use of one the brand new breaching torpedoes the Fury boasted in its arsenal. His men had found time en route to redecorate their armour with the crimson and gold heraldry of the new vessel, and Justinius desperately wished to see them blooded and bonded with the ship.

Alas, shipmaster Halastar had demonstrated his merit. Gutting the first enemy vessel with a series of bombardments, and using the conflagration of its reactor to weaken the shields of the other two vessels, he had made the first three kills of The Fury’s service in less than an hour.

As they hung in the void above the husks of the dying vessel, Justinius watched as Halastar walked to each of the bridge stations, sharing smiles and words of encouragement with his crew. Tactfully, he also reviewed battle data, giving pointers and teaching lessons to the junior crew. Finally, Halastar walked back to Justinius, and allowed a bashfulness to creep into his grin.

“Apologies, Sir. First kills are very important for the crew, especially as for most of the Ensigns this is their first real skirmish.”

I nodded, “No apology needed, shipmaster. It’s the same amongst combat troops. A warrior's first kill is an important event. It is to be celebrated, and to serve as the first step towards greater learning.”

He smiled even wider at this.

Halastar was a tall, athletic man. His muscular frame projected the image of competence, and his handsome face had the quality of a leader. He was at all times in control, calculating, and commanding. Despite this, he had that unique quality that was unteachable in leadership.

He was adored and respected by his subordinates in equal measure.

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Justinius looked over at several bridge stations, “Did we sustain any damage during the engagement?”

The captain shook his head, “All systems are green and at one-hundred percent. Though we do have a maintenance skiff on the port-side doing some work.”

“The first tally?” Justinius queried.

“Exactly Sir, once that work is done we’re good to move on.” The shipmaster gestured towards the central display table on the bridge.

On the display, a galactic map was laid out, showing force estimations and the locations of important systems.

Justinius pointed one finger towards the map, highlighting their position.

“We’ve pushed the enemy back out from this sector.” Justinius gestured, “And we’ve distended their line of advance significantly.”

On the flat map, the enemy's line of advance was shown in red, and Halastar saw what Justinius meant. The line was a gentle curve, except where the blinking cursor that represented The Fury stood. Here the line bent back harshly, a jag in the line that left enemy territory on each side of their position, except for back towards the galactic core.

Halastar rubbed his chin, “I think it’s safe to say that we can’t continue to push deeper into enemy territory.” He theorised, “We’d end up being dogpiled, or the enemy would move past us and we wouldn’t be able to chase them down.”

“Agreed,” Justinius conceded, “But I don’t want the Fury to take the easy road back either and wait for the enemy to make the next move.”

Halastar drew his finger along the map. “We could make a redirection towards the Fariun sector. Committee forces have been deadlocked by the enemy there for a fair while now. We might be able to turn the battle.”

Justinius nodded, “It’s a sound theory Captain, but I think I have one better.” The warrior pointed at a system, along the crest of the curving enemy advance. “The main bulk of the enemy have been attacking here, near Alaron. They are being engaged by an equally measured Committee force.”

Halastar looked quizzically at the power-armoured man, “Even a ship like ours won’t be able to make much of a difference in that battle.”

Justinius smiled, “We’re not going to join the frontlines, Captain.” He drew his finger back from Alaron, tracing deep into enemy territory until it rested over a tag that read ‘Xeras Prime’.

“There’s a resupply station at Xeras prime, and a manufacturing center.”

The shipmaster looked up at Justinius’ face. “But Sir, we don’t have any orbit capable weaponry, and that’s assuming we can handle the ships in orbit.”

“I trust you can handle the ships Halastar, and you’re wrong about the ground game too.” He slapped his hand against his chest, “We’ve got a hundred of the best orbit-surface weapons in the galaxy.”

Halastar smiled, “So a little bit of brigandry in the backlines then sir?”

Justinius simply lifted his hand to activate his communicator.

“Marcus?”

The voice crackled back, “Yes, Sir.”

“Ready the men, we’ve got a proper job lined up.”