On the cosmic scale measured in light-minutes, finding such a nimble, deliberately concealed small fleet was like searching for a needle in a haystack.
Making the search efforts even more difficult was the fact that while attacking supply lines, those Federation Fleets seemed to have also consciously destroyed or paralyzed several small monitoring stations and unmanned outposts they encountered along the way.
These "eyes," which could have provided regional intelligence for the search, were blinded, creating more blind spots in the Empire's search network.
Bridge of the Blade, flagship of the Blood Claw Fleet.
The commander stared at the nearly fruitless sensor screen, his expression grim.
Over the communication channel, routine reports from other search fleet commanders, equally tinged with disappointment and frustration, came through intermittently.
No sightings, no contacts, not even a trace of suspicious energy wakes to track.
After 20 hours of high-intensity, low-yield searching, fatigue and discouragement began to spread through the fleet.
Fuel and supplies needed replenishing, and maintaining prolonged combat-ready search status was draining on the crew's morale.
Continuing such aimless searching would only yield diminishing returns.
Finally, orders arrived from the joint fleet command of the core defense zones, Marbas and Abaddon.
Cease the search, return immediately, and reassume Stargate defense duties.
The orders were reasonable, yet carried an awkward sense of returning empty-handed.
The four fleets began adjusting their courses, heading back from their respective search areas toward the brilliant point of light within the Bushman Star System where the Stargate lay.
Even the roar of the engines seemed to carry a deflated tone.
Venom Fang, flagship of the Demon Claw Fleet.
Fleet Commander Brigadier General Derek Hamilton leaned back in his command chair, his expression darker than the void outside. He held a cup of long-cold synthetic coffee but hadn't taken a sip, his eyes gloomily fixed on the approaching return route ahead.
"Hmph, guarding the gate... patrolling... searching..." he muttered under his breath, each word squeezed out between his teeth, filled with resentment and discontent.
"I, Derek Hamilton, top graduate of my Imperial Naval Academy class. Commander of a mother-class fleet! Was I meant to do security and police work in a rear star system?"
His thoughts drifted to the distant front lines, to his half-brother, Major General Eisenberg Hamilton.
"Eisenberg..." Brigadier General Hamilton uttered the name with a complex tone, mixing familial rivalry with deep-seated resentment.
"Born a few decades earlier than me, relying on seniority and old family connections, he's only made it to major general. Leading that outdated Siren Fleet, dragging his feet against the Federation on the Savis Frontline."
The more he thought about it, the more stifled he felt, his voice unconsciously rising as if addressing an unseen audience in the void.
"I clearly have more capability, more drive! If I were sent to the front, to command a real offensive, against those Federation pretty boys who rely on equipment... I'd have beaten them until they cried for their mothers and searched for their teeth on the floor!"
"Then I wouldn't be stuck like this, played for fools by some Federation squad that came out of nowhere. Scrambling around like headless flies in our own backyard, only to return empty-handed and go back to guarding the damn gate!"
He slammed his coffee cup onto the control console with a dull thud.
"A proper campaign! Just give me one tough battle! With my command and the Demon Claw Fleet's strength, I might earn enough military merit in one go for promotion to lieutenant general! Then, commanding a real Duke-class Fleet wouldn't be impossible!"
The adjutant and other bridge officers kept their eyes down, not daring to respond. They were accustomed to Brigadier General Hamilton's complaints and ambitions; this young commander's talent and arrogance were equally prominent. He was just trapped in the rear, lacking opportunities to prove himself.
"Accelerate the return," Hamilton finally waved his hand irritably, no longer looking at the humiliating, empty search star chart.
"Return to resupply, then continue guarding our damned gate. I've had enough of this boring life."
The Demon Claw Fleet assumed a relatively loose formation for the return journey, engines steadily outputting power, heading toward the Stargate defense zone they considered safe and calm, yet which Hamilton found suffocating.
The fatigue from continuous searching, coupled with the frustration of finding nothing and a dismissive attitude toward the mission, led many ships to unconsciously lower their alert levels.
Just as Brigadier General Hamilton was lost in fantasies of frontline glory and dissatisfaction with his current task, and the fleet was cruising back in a relatively loose formation...
"Woooo—!!!"
A piercing, highest-level contact alarm suddenly tore through the slightly stifling air on the Venom Fang's bridge!
Crimson warning lights flashed frantically, casting a bloody glow on every face that instantly tensed.
"Report! Dead ahead! Massive ship signatures detected ahead!" the sensor officer's voice held incredulous horror. "Numbers... rapidly increasing! Over two hundred... no, over three hundred vessels! Energy signatures confirmed—Federal Starships! Capital ship class!"
"Three hundred?" Hamilton shot up from his chair as if spring-loaded, his pupils contracting sharply. This number far exceeded the scale of the small harassment fleets that had attacked the supply lines earlier; this was clearly the core combat strength of a full mother-class fleet!
Their target... was him!
Hamilton's initial shock was quickly replaced by a flame mixing excitement and anger. He had been yearning for proper military merit, for a chance to prove himself!
"Good! Very good!" Hamilton's lips twisted into a near-snarl, a warlike gleam igniting in his eyes. "The rats hiding their heads finally show their fangs? Perfect! I was just worried I couldn't find your main force, and you deliver yourselves right to me!"
He instantly cast aside his earlier gloom; a long-absent surge of battlefield commander's fervor filled his chest. In his view, this was a heaven-sent opportunity!
In the relatively safe rear, facing a Federation mother-class fleet alone—if he could crush or even annihilate it head-on, the merit would be enough to make him stand out at Theater Command, perhaps even overshadow his dawdling brother on the front!
"Entire fleet! Cancel return status! Battle Configuration One!Hamilton's voice boomed, filled with killing intent. "Formation change, Arrowhead Assault Formation! Target: Federation Fleet dead ahead!"
"All ships, main cannons charge! Missiles enter launch sequence! Escort ships advance!"
"Let them witness the might of the Empire's Demon Claw!"
"Close in and crush them head-on!"
Orders issued, the Demon Claw Fleet swiftly shifted from a loose return posture to an offensive stance.