Commodore Frazier wondered if their old friend Mika Otonashi had returned to lend them a hand once more, but that didn't seem to be the case. If it was her, she would have contacted them. No, it seemed like a simple matter of the survivors being split between those who were committed to staying in the fight until the bitter end and those who either had a mind to bug out or throw themselves on the Union's mercy. The only question was which side the last men standing belonged to.

It was an audio-only feed, a habit of the Empyreans that hadn't changed. In stilted Standard, a man's voice said, "We surrender. Please... show mercy."

There was always a risk that it was a trick to get them to lower their guard, but the decision wasn't in the Commodore's hands. He looked to Admiral Mfume, who simply nodded. It was all he needed.

Captain Rivkin was one of the so-called Three Wise Men, Navy linguists who decoded the Empyrean language and acted as interpreters during Operation Heaven's Door. When they saw that they were facing an Empyrean remnant, one of the first things Admiral Mfume did was try to reassemble the Three Wise Men just in case. Captain Rivkin was closest, being on Earth, but even with the signal being boosted through the Gates, there would be about a ten-minute lag.

Admiral Mfume then told the Empyrean, "Empyrean vessel, this is Admiral Mfume of the Earth Union Navy. We accept your surrender. Power down all weapons systems and go to the coordinates we transmit to you. We will be sending men to secure your vessel. Be prepared to surrender all personal weapons and obey all instructions. If you comply, I give you my word that none of you will be harmed.

"This message will be repeated in the Empyrean language shortly. If you understand what I have said, acknowledge."

Mfume then told the communications officer, "Contact Captain Rivkin's superiors and get him on a shuttle to the Martian Sphere as soon as possible. Try to get Commander Mizrahi here as well. We will need them here if we are going to process prisoners."

He then told the navigator, "Commander Rymer, transmit coordinates to the Empyrean ships out of the line of fire but still within range."

The Admiral then told Commodore Frazier, "Assemble two teams to take control of the Empyrean vessels. Helm, weapons, communications, engines. Contact Colonel Grozny and Colonel Vasquez. Their people can provide security."

There were a lot of calls to be made and all this was while the battle was still ongoing. The Empyrean side had been neutralized, which meant the Tico and her battle group could reinforce the Saratoga against the Sheolites and the mutinous ships of Command Battle Group Five.

Other than a handful of fighters and the few Mobile Armor units led by Marshal Graves himself, Battle Group Five had been largely passive throughout the battle. None of the ships actively engaged either the Ticonderoga or the Saratoga. The most they did was intercept the occasional missile. This lent further credence to the idea that the mutineers' grip remained tenuous, forcing the Empyreans and Sheolites to do most of the work. There was hope yet of saving the hostage crews with minimal losses.

The Commodore was still making arrangements for the boarding parties when Marques said, "The Iberia is hailing us, sir."

A rather gaunt and disheveled-looking Naval officer appeared on the screen.

Though he looked like he'd been through hell, Commander Wangchuk didn't leap at the chance to get clear.

Commodore Frazier could respect his resolve, but they had other priorities at the moment.

Thankfully, Commander Wangchuk didn't look like he had a mind to fight Commodore Frazier on the subject.

No sooner had the Iberia and her escorts began to disengage that one of the sensor operators exclaimed, "Sir, the Shellies have switched targets! They're now focusing all fire on the Iberia!"

If the battle group was in decent shape, they could stand up to the Shellies, but as they were, they stood to take a lot of damage. There was no time to lose.

Combat systems and communications were abuzz with all manner of orders and echoes. The Commodore hastily cycled through the views on his displays to get a better handle on the situation and how they could maximize the effectiveness of their resources.

As he was watching the radar blips move on the radar screen, one of the radar operators told him what he could already see.

While the Commodore was pulling up scan data on the escorts to measure the strength of their shields and hull integrity, he said, "They can't take that kinda fire for long. Hit 'em with everything we got!"

Of course combat systems was already doing everything they could and hopefully the rest of the battle group was doing the same. Unfortunately, though, the Saratoga's battle group was in disarray, never properly reforming after losing one of her cruisers.

As if on cue, the radar operator then said, "Battle Group Two is reforming."

A sensor operator added, "Concentrating fire on the Phlegethon."

No doubt it was the Shellies turning their attention to the Iberia that gave the Saratoga the breathing room she needed to get back into formation, but Commodore Frazier wanted to pretend Admiral Xenopoulos heard his grumbling somehow.

As much as Commodore Frazier wanted to believe that taking down the Phlegethon would cause the Shellies to buckle like the Empyreans did, it wasn't happening. He could only watch helplessly as the Iberia's escorts started reading red.

Commodore Frazier pounded the arm of his chair with his fist, shouting, "Don't let up! Make those bastards pop!"

As hard as Command Battle Group Five was being hit, the Shellies were far outnumbered by this point and it was only a matter of how much damage they could inflict before the inevitable. Agitated, the Commodore listened to the results trickle in.

The Commodore couldn't breathe easy yet. There was no guarantee the Shellies were completely out of the fight yet.

New orders cascaded down the line and only then did Commodore Frazier realize that he'd coopted the battle group ever since the Iberia started taking fire. He looked back to Admiral Mfume and said, "Sorry, sir. Didn't mean take the reins like that. Looks like I got a little carried away."

The Admiral held up his hand and replied, "No, no, it is quite all right. You did well, Commodore. A battle group command may yet be in your future."

Commodore Frazier could feel the tension leaving his body. The worst was behind them.

The Commodore chuckled to himself for thinking the exact same thing. Meanwhile Admiral Mfume told the communications officer, "Lieutenant Marques, connect me to Admiral Xenopoulos via a private channel."

Indeed there was a lot that remained to be settled and not just here. Though the Commodore was quite preoccupied overseeing rescue operations and such, in the back of his mind he was thinking of all the matters that still needed to be resolved and at the top of that list was squaring the injustice committed to a particular nine members of his crew.