Elias didn't look at the holographic displays. He looked out the reinforced viewport at the swirling nebula, a graveyard of ships that had followed "standard procedure."
His flagship, the OSS Invictus , was a leviathan of steel and silicon, humming with the power of a captured star. But today, the hum was a frantic vibration.
"Will hold just long enough to slingshot us behind their line," he finished. "Kill the engines. We’re going silent. Let the sun do the work." admiral
The sea didn't care for titles, but Elias Thorne cared for the sea. At sixty-four, with a face like a topographic map of the Atlantic, he was the youngest man ever to be named , and the oldest to still insist on taking the helm during a gale.
The Invictus didn't just move; it screamed across the vacuum, a streak of white fire. They tore through the Kaelian line before the enemy could even rotate their turrets. Elias didn't look at the holographic displays
"Vane, do you know why they call me Admiral?" he asked, his voice a low gravel. "Your record, sir. Forty years of service."
"Admiral, the Kaelian blockade is tightening," Commander Vane reported, her voice tight. "They’re expecting us to dive. Standard tactical procedure for a ship this size." "Will hold just long enough to slingshot us
Elias looked out at the stars, a faint smirk on his lips. "I didn't. But a good Admiral knows that sometimes, you have to let the universe take the wheel."