Vazquez ordered Crowley as he yawed his own fighter to the right, snapping off an accurate burst of fire which tore an enemy fighter apart before he jinked back on course to follow his wingman through the sea of enemy craft. Black Flight darted up and through the massed enemy formation, their chain guns firing off short bursts of fire as they swept directly up and away from the alien craft as they scattered in every direction. "Blacks, break by pairs!" Vazquez ordered, "Duncan, get back down and amongst them! I've got your back!" The hum of his engines almost serene compared to their angry roar when in atmospheric flight, his unsteady breathing into his mask echoing in his ears, Vazquez followed Crowley around in a tight turn and dived back down into the fray, surprised at the new pilot's speed and aggression. He noticed on his Visual Display Unit that they had accounted for six enemy craft on the first pass -- not bad, but that still left a further sixteen against their seven. Even with the Oracle blinding their scanner signature to the enemy, they could not hope to survive a protracted dogfight. They needed to score hits and get out. Their little part of space swarming with cream white enemies, Vazquez followed Crowley as he latched onto an enemy fighter who had been forced into straight and level flight by two wingmen who moved in towards each other in a blind panic. Crowley sent a long stream