Brank
The railgun rounds finally burst through the thick hull of the destroyer, right through the area still sizzling from the Gamilas' attack. Turrets in the area buckled for a moment, shortly before the ammo cookoff began and their burning husks shot out hurtling into the void. The armour itself blasted outwards in other places, plumes of incendiary gas forcing their way through. Despite the no doubt critical damage, the rest of the ship almost entirely ignored the proceedings, continuing its relentless barrage of railcannon fire. The only real acknowledgement was the ship turning its now damaged face away from its adversaries, still able keep two thirds of its guns within firing solutions.
Taking advantage of the split attention, the corvettes moved closer to the Dancer, unloading their own railcannons at max RPM into the shields. The Tarokas use the opportunity, flying behind the defensive areas the corvettes projected, CIWS sniping the interceptors out in no time.
ZendikaroftheWest
Whatever the craft was, it speedily zipped between the positron beams shot at it. Turns so sudden and drastic were taken that, were there a human pilot on board, they'd be little more than mush. Strangely, the radar signature seemed to start expanding, apparently ballooning out to the size of a small warship, before it abruptly disappeared altogether. All the sensor officers could do was stare at a blank screen in the deafening silence of the dozen empty seconds that followed...
It eventually re-appeared just as quickly as it had vanished, but instead of relief this only brough panic. The craft was streaking towards one of the ID escort frigates at speeds in excess of 6km/s, and was a mere 21km away. Before the CIWS and other defensive measures could even bear on target, the signal split into a dozen more, the resultant confusion lasting just a moment long enough to close the gap. Entirely unknown and anomalous projectiles cruised through the Frigate's shields in less than a heartbeat, continuing on to carve through the armour like a hot knife through butter, piercing all the way through and out the other side of the hull.
The largest of the signatures identified slammed into the hull itself, and weapons systems began blinking offline at several by the second. A brief glimpse of whatever it was got caught on an external camera, before it too went offline. Another Taroka, the design radically different to its contemporaries, and ripping off one of the primary railguns by the barrel with its claws.
F13Y1 smiled to herself from within the cockpit. The entire attack had lasted barely 8 seconds.
"Disband. Target neutralised. Proceeding."
Her custom-built Taroka leapt from the hull of the irreparably crippled frigate, and rapidly began accelerating towards the second. The anomalous projectiles curved around, apparently unphased by the impact, and followed behind.
Blissfully unaware of the chaos outside, Bravo gets eyes on target without a hitch. A large metallic box about the size of a studio apartment sits in the center of the room, accented in industrial red and fastened down to the floor. A squat but wide mechanical door is set into one side, electromagnet locking mechanisms apparent. A holographic interface is located next to the door, currently displaying what one can assume is a camera view of the box's contents; a lone Vaiaelon female sitting in the center of an otherwise white room. Bravo gets an odd impression from the video feed, as though he was seeing several clips randomly stitched together, given how the girl seems to teleport around the room and into different positions.
A pair of thoroughly disinterested guards sit just in front of the door, some sort of board game sat between them.
"Dolta wa pronehiis?"
"Te vfase, dolta wa waaroi tur biiva."
"Hmph! Te reitak."
They haven't noticed Bravo just yet.
