Shattered Sun (The Sentinel Trilogy Book 3) by Michael Wallace

still, there was a harvester like the massive ship that had spewed walkers down to the surface of Samborondón.
    Tolvern was about to remark on that harvester. Maybe Dreadnought could match its firepower, but McGowan was fooling himself if he thought Peerless could stand toe-to-toe and slug it out. Even Peerless and Blackbeard together were no match, and that assumed the rest of McGowan’s forces could hold off the lances and spears. It seemed to Tolvern that the Albion forces presently in the system could either fight the harvester or its support ships, but not both.
    And then she spotted a third force of ships. Twenty-two Hroom sloops of war, stationed about eleven million miles from their current position. It was far enough to keep their distance from McGowan, but close enough to the human warships that the two sides could come together if Apex made a move to fight either one of them.
    “Mose Dryz,” she said.
    “Yes, the Hroom general is here,” McGowan said with a sniff. “I had expected a larger force. He promised the admiral thirty ships.”
    “Twenty-two would look plenty big if we were facing them ourselves. No wonder you’re so relaxed. You know the buzzards won’t attack with twenty-two sloops backing you up.”
    McGowan raised an eyebrow. “You may be confident in the general, but I am not. I’ve never seen him fight next to humans, and in any event, I could handle these birds on my own.”
    Tolvern was remembering why she didn’t like the man. He may or may not be skilled in battle—McGowan certainly had a good reputation, albeit untested recently, and Drake respected him—but he was an arrogant blowhard. Probably for the best that his forces and the Hroom’s maintained their distance. Mose Dryz was prickly in his own way; the pair of them would have restarted the human-Hroom war.
    “The general refuses to speak with me,” McGowan said. “Claims he is waiting for the admiral, and he won’t lift a single purple finger until the man arrives. Lazy, worthless Hroom.”
    “Let me talk to him.”
    “Why would he listen to you?”
    “He might not, but it’s worth a try.”
    “And if he doesn’t?”
    “Then we leave him behind. We’re going to the Kettle regardless. If we get in close enough, Sentinel 3 can shield us and vice versa. It’s safer for us there than out here by the jump point.”
    “No.”
    “Excuse me?”
    “You heard me, Tolvern. No. Drake told us to rendezvous at the battle station, but he didn’t tell us to throw away ships defending it.”
    “He didn’t tell us to leave the Singaporeans hanging, either.”
    “Nevertheless, it’s my call to make. The general can do what he wants, but you and I—”
    “Hold on, McGowan. What are you talking about, your call to make? Are you telling me that Admiral Drake gave you specific orders to take command of HMS Blackbeard ? If that’s your claim, I’ll need to see the orders with my own eyes.”
    McGowan didn’t answer, only stared back insolently.
    “I didn’t think so,” she said.
    “And your orders? Do they include taking command of my task force?”
    “I never made that claim. But that doesn’t mean you can order me about, either. And the way I understand it, Drake has commanded us to fly to the sentinel.”
    McGowan waved a hand. “Very well. Go ahead. Persuade the general if you can. The two of you can break your bones on the enemy forces. My fleet will remain here until the admiral arrives.”
    Tolvern was fuming. So he had a fleet now, did he? Not merely a task force, but a bloody fleet?
    Capp sauntered onto the bridge. She was casually buttoning her jumpsuit, humming a silly drinking song to herself, when she spotted Tolvern, then took in the other grumpy faces on the bridge as the captain ended the call.
    “What is it, what did I miss?”
    Capp glanced up at the viewscreen just as McGowan’s smug face blinked out. She whistled.
    “Retract shields and prepare to be boarded by the enemy,” Capp