“Return fire!” the Captain ordered.  “Random pattern, be sure not to hit the Stealthlon.” “Aye,” responded Ingle.  “Firing.” The sound of a laser impact hit the ears of those on the bridge. “A hit!” exclaimed Lieutenant Hardy.  “A lucky shot!” “No,” said Mansel, “the Stealthlon.  They know where the Star is.  Lock onto those coordinates and open fire.” No sooner had the words left his mouth before Ingle was firing. “Word from the squadron, sir,” announced Lieutenant Hardy.  “They’re coming home.” “Successful, I hope,” said Vaughn. “Yes sir, they were.” Then Anarcha showed herself. Cain crept along the 17th floor of the UN building, which seemed deserted.  Not that he was complaining, though.  He’d gotten off the lift at the 17th floor before sending it down to the 16th.  He thought it’d be funny. “Put the gun down, officer,” came a voice behind him.  “And don’t try anything foolish either.  I have you in my sights.” Cain tossed his carbine and turned around to stare Maradine in the face. “Return fire!” yelled Blackbird.  “Disabling phasers!  Target his weapons!” “Complying, sir,” responded Ordese.  The slugfest between the UNSF’s premier ship and the Storm-A continued. The mock squadron ended their translight journey back to Earth, and right in the middle of a war zone. “Cover the shuttles!” Mansel, Vaughn, and Brungess all yelled. Broadaway’s replacement, Lieutenant Horne, moved the ship to envelop the shuttles and fighters.  "We’re going to have to drop shields to let them in, sir,” she reminded. On the Crimson Star, Anarcha saw their predicament and smiled.  “Prepare  main gun,” she ordered.  “Target their translight engines.  Be ready to fire on my command.” “If you were Anarcha, what would you do?” Ensign Simpson asked his friend, Lieutenant Quan’Tan.  The Lieutenant quickly answered.  “I’d wait until Mansel dropped the shields--” he stopped, realizing Simpson’s plan.  “That’s suicide.  If I remember correctly, your God doesn’t like that.” “True.” “Can this armored shuttle withstand that?” “We’ll see.”  Simpson threw all available power to the shields and started on his course. “Captain, one of the shuttles is breaking off course,” Lieutenant Horne commented before being showered in a flood of sparks.  Her Navigations console was dying.  It’s heading for our port side, sir.” “Contact it,” ordered General Brungess.  “Ask it was it’s doing.” “Attempting to contact sir,” Lieutenant Hardy called.  “They’re not answering hails, sir.” “Ingle,” said Mansel.  “Be ready to drop shields.” “Ready on shields.” “What’s the distance from the other shuttles to the Explorer” Ensign Simpson asked Quan’Tan. “Approximately...two hundred kilometers.  They’ll be dropping shields soon.” “One hundred kilometers,” announced Lieutenant Horne. “Ready...” Mansel could see Grant DaNastie and the other fighter pilots with the exception of Serena and Broadaway had branched off as well and were doing strafing runs on the Crimson Star.