The Niddhog was crawling with activity as her crew floated around it, preparing it for the coming sortie. Rieger sat on the Blackguard's bridge, unusually quiet as he watched the preparation of the massive artillery piece. For once he wasn’t relying on any of the "devious" tactics that had seemed to mar the phantom ship’s name among its own allies, a gigantic cannon as unsubtle as Rieger cared to get.

"Sir, the Niddhog is reporting that they will be ready to fire presently, they say all they need now is some patsies."

Grif, his spiky red hair a sharp contrast to his olive green uniform waited for a response from his captain. Despite his own anticipation Leon didn't allow any of his excitement to trickle into his voice, replying in his usual tone of voice.

"Tell them to standby, the supply fleet is scheduled to pass within the hour."

Krieger looked over his bridge crew as he waited, realizing that he was proud of them as only a parent or a commander could be. They weren't just a crew, but in many respects they had become family, and no matter what Dozle or Gihren thought of them, the Blackguard was Zeon’s finest crew. There was little comm. chatter as they prepared for the ambush, but Leon felt it necessary to say at least one thing before the engagement began. Speaking loud enough that the entire bridge could hear him, Rieger quickly thought of something that would immediately get their blood going.

"Also tell them that they have three shots to sink two Feddie ships. If they aren't sunk by the time this is over then we are all going on half rations for the next week. Our bellies are in their hands."

The ultimatum had the desired effect as some laughter and mock threats to miss filtered over the comm. On the bridge itself some members laughed, other slightly larger members of the crew grew every so slightly more serious at the prospect of losing some of their rations. It had the exact effect Leon had desired as he settled back into his chair, waiting and wishing the butterflies in his stomach would stop even for one engagement.

Synapse was a grizzled veteran as far as soldiers went when the One Year War had only just begun; his survival thus far was only further testament of his abilities as a commander. The EFSF 1st Supply fleet was his responsibility, and despite its repeated victimization at the hands of Zeek marauders, he had the universal respect and loyalty of everyone in his crew. Five Salamis were a threat to any Zeon fleet they came across, a disproportionately large escort for the five Columbus class transports, and the three smaller ships that flew with them. For a moment Synapse found himself wishing that he was back on Earth again, but duty was his cross and he bore it like a man.

"What’s the forecast?"

"Nothing sir on radar sir, and m-levels are minimal. It looks like we're having a quiet evening tonight."

Almost as if the young crewman's words had been a jinx a massive blast flew through small cloud of ships, missing by what could only be described as a few hairs in space terms. Synapses’ instincts took over, even before he had a full feeling for what the situation was.

"Tell the fleet to scatter now! All forward at full speed."

The blast was bigger than any Synapse had ever seen come from ship or mobile suit, short of a nuclear weapon. The chatter between the ships jumped as they all moved to evade, the Magellans being the first to disperse, the transports having a hard time, barely space worthy beyond moving from Point A to Point B.

Groans and smattered profanities filled the Blackguard’s bridge as the first shot seemed to almost miraculously pass through the supply fleet. With the element of surprise lost, the supply fleet had begun to hightail it away, spreading out to make themselves harder to target individually.

"Tell the Niddhog not to worry about the battleships and just focus on the transports, you don’t punch the hardest part of your opponent, you knee the softest."

Leon's voice carried authority that sharply contrasted with his age relative to other commanders on either side of the war. The bulky transports were barely able to spread out fast enough, not particularly fast to move, even in the direction they were intended to go.

"Roger that Kommandant. ETA to next shot is seventy-eight seconds."

"Captain Synapse, we have another incoming contact, it's huge!"

There was nothing left to do but grit his teeth as Synapse watched the transport, SLS-63 rapidly attempt a barrel roll to avoid the incoming blast. The 63's helmsman seemed to dodge the second shot from the Jormungand by sheer willpower alone, the cargo vessel avoiding the massive pulse of plasma. The Atlantis II’s helmsman whistled in admiration as the Colombus regained control from its improvised spin.

"Where are those shots coming from?"

The jinxed officer spat out a series of coordinates, Synapse cursing that whatever the hell it was, was too far away for him to launch mobile suits at.

"Listen up men, we're got no chance of stopping whatever witchery Zeon has out there so we're going to stick our tails between our legs and run. If the way they’re shooting holds up we might make it out of here unscathed!"

It was that kind of plain talk that had made him so popular with his subordinates, no speech, no pomp, just honesty. All of the ships increased speed, fleeing from the area, hoping to get out of range of the weapon that seemed intent on picking them off.

Two misses, and according to Asri there would only be a chance for one last shot. The Niddhog's crew was taking as much time as they could to make the last shot count, the cannon primed for its final shot. The supply fleet dwindled into the darkness, as it made good on its retreat, however the so-called Phantom Task Force hadn’t had its last word yet. The gunnery officer lined the shot up, closing his eyes as he pulled the trigger. The explosion was always phenomenal, the Jormungand venting huge sheets of plasma in every direction. The last shot seemed to take forever reaching the enemy fleet, however the shot was good, the formerly miraculous SLS-63 was turned inside out from the blast, the plasma shot carrying through the wrecked hulk of the Colombus class, smashing into another- the SLS-35.

Leon was the first out his seat, his fist in the air as he watched the single shot obliterate two ships at once. The entire crew exploded into cheering, the most enthusiastic being a very fat bearded petty officer on a lower deck as he realized that his diet would be postponed for another week at least.

"Double rations for all ships today!"

Reiger's proclamation was met with further cheers, the captain of the Blackguard composing himself somewhat as he settled himself back in his seat. Say what they like, but the ghost fleet wasn’t leaving the ZSF anytime soon.

All things considered Synapse had made out moderately well. The fluke shot that had obliterated two Colombus classes at once was a blow, but compared to previous losses, the supply fleet had gotten away with only a mild wound.

"Contact Task Force 35 and let them know what happened today, they deserve a heads up on what happened here today."