They discussed the plan for three hours, then they departed.

When they dropped out of FTL into the target system, it was clear that the mission wouldn’t be easy.

Two orbital platforms hung majestically over Iunthor. Each station was formidable, bristling with gun batteries, missile pods and other offensive energy weapons. In orbit around Iunthor, twenty-eight enemy vessels prowled, with a furhter two-dozen docked, drives cold, at the planets space stations.

They had come out of FTL in the outer reaches of the system, between the fourth and fifth planets. Immediately, the seven Terran frigates lit their drives and powered forward, closing down on Iunthor. Behind them,two of the Terran cruisers followed, in an arcing spread. Lastly, The Gauntlet and The Fury trailed them in.

The enemy vectored to meet them, and for several torturous hours, there was nothing to do but watch as the two fleets vectored for intercept. On the bridge of the Fury Justinius stood unmoving, impatiently waiting for the moment for battle to be joined. Samir stood on the bridge at his side, fidgeting uncomfortably with his new arm. The metal prosthetic joined his flesh at mid bicep, and the man alternated between flexing the robotic joints and fussing at the attachment point.

It’s not going to fall off, Justinius thought, Just leave it be.

Samir’s surgery had been rushed, but he had an essential part to play in this plan. They had initially hoped to vat-grow him an organic replacement for his lost appendage, but that would have taken months. Instead he’d gotten a synthetic replacement, made of matte-black armoured metal. It was more powerful than his organic metal, and had all the refined motor skill one would expect of a home-grown arm.

They had given him back his armour and sidearm, and back in his navy-blue combat armour, his resolve in their plan had strengthened.

The bridge communicator chirped, and an image of The Gauntlets shipmaster appeared on the central display.

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“Looks like it's time.” The figure declared, “Give the word Admiral and we’ll get this party started.”

The man’s name was Janus. He was an older breed of shipmaster, grizzled and grey. Unlike many of his age, Janus had retained the sparkle of rogue in his old age and was clearly enjoying the opportunity for a proper fight.

Justinius consulted the battle-map. There was still considerable distance between the two fleets.

“Are you sure shipmaster? That’s still quite a distance.”

“They always say that the first time.” Janus grinned, “Don’t worry Sir, I’ve got a pretty good eye for this sort of thing. I held my thumb up to gauge the distance and everything.”

Justinius chuckled, “Very well Captain, the honour is yours.”

The image blinked away and Justinius waited several tense moments, feeling his heart beating hard in his chest.

Halastar turned to his sensor officer, “Do we have projectile tracking?”

The sensor ensign shook his head, “Negative tracking.”

A voice from the comms station picked up, “We’re receiving telemetry data from the Gauntlet. Up on battle-map.”

Justinius peered at the hololithic map. The Gauntlet had linked their advanced tracking sensors to the Fury so they could track the railgun shot. Had they not sent the data, it would have been impossible to detect. The small slug of metal, fired in a vacuum, had no heat signature, no rocket flare, and was traveling at such tremendous speed that it was all but undetectable to their sensors.

The whole bridge silently regarding the path of the round, a red blip, crawling along a red line in the air above the bridge. For twenty minutes, the round seemed to crawl towards the enemy ships, as it raced through the void at a considerable percentage of light speed.

Just before it impacted the enemy formation, Justinius pulled up the long-range tracking cameras. The enemy formation held tight in a wedge as they burned hard towards them. The lead ship was a large class three battleship. It was an impressive vessel, large and imposing. To its left and right it was winged by two destroyers, evidently the vanguard of the enemy defense.

The shot impacted the battleship dead-center in its prow.

Thinking itself well outside of engagement range, the vessel had not yet even lit its shields. The slug, traveling at near relativistic speeds, turned the ship into a fireball of white-hot plasma. A white glare oversaturated the camera feed, and for several seconds, they sat anxiously, awaiting further images. When the feed returned, there was nothing left of the battleship, nor its destroyer escort, except for black-soot charring clinging to the hulls of nearby vessels. The surviving vessels broke formation, scattering their approach, fearful of the mysterious destruction of their vanguard.

Justinius activated the fleet-wide comm.

“Alright, all fleet units, move to phase two.”