"Sure does," Poe agrees with a shallow nod. Debris bounces off the deflector shield in small pulses of pink-iridescent light, and he guides the ship lower into the field, toward a slightly denser sector populated with larger chunks of rock. "Well. Time to show 'em we know how to play hard to get, huh?"

It's easy enough to suit action to words. Those laser strikes are still wild, but there's definitely more of them now, shearing off chunks and shards of those asteroids -- shearing off, but not obliterating. The larger ones, at least, seem sturdy enough to withstand a TIE's lasers, and Poe breathes out slowly through his nose. It's easier to manage the debris, though it ultimately means a little less opportunity to catch those unshielded starfighters with rocky shrapnel.

The Captain's words catch him by surprise, but Poe doesn't dare look now. Instead, he hums thoughtfully; the Heartline is durable, but it's a repurposed smuggling craft, built to be fast and low-profile, with no weapons to speak of beyond a defensive flare launcher array. "I suppose we could play tag for a while -- chew up those squadrons until we hit our fuel limit."

A pause. Poe's the kind of pilot that crashes in like a tidal wave and smashes the opposition. Grinding TIEs in the teeth of an asteroid belt won't be the hardest thing he's done by lightyears, but he's not certain how much time it'll buy, ultimately. "Which isn't a no," he adds, because the idea of buying any time for people to get clear suits Poe just fine, "but we're looking at ten minutes, maybe eleven before we're gonna need to jump."

Refueling hadn't been on the itinerary, planetside. In this moment, Poe's half-tempted to curse at the oversight.