more than fifty patrol craft and three cruisers currently in the sector. The
heavy cruiser was already launching its squadron of fighters which would
close with him within the hour.
The game was up and Bannockburn was about to get fried. As soon as he
had jumped, the pickets waiting on the far side plastered him with high
energy radar bursts and then threw on laserlocks he simply couldn't shake.
Just before they hit him he'd try one more burst signal, feeding every
erg of power he had into it, but the chance of it reaching Confed space at
this range was remote and made even more implausible by the fact that it was
dicey at best if someone had a listening array focused on this region. If
only he knew where Tarawa was he could transfer the info off and the they'd
have the power to punch a signal through, plus they would also know where to
aim it for an intercept.
"Damn it all to hell, if I get out of this I quit," Paladin snarled.
"I'm heading back to Scotland and I'll be damned if I ever let my two feet
get off the ground again.
"Ian, you'd better launch now. I'm glad that the Admiral managed to get
a jump capable Ferret tucked into this ship's cargo bay. I thought he was a
wee bit crazy trying that out. I'm ordering you to break off and try and
make it through the jump point. I'm loading the information into your
fighter's computers now. You've got to get that information back to Confed
territory. Tarawa's either gone or bought it."
Ian looked over at Paladin. He knew Paladin was right. The swarm of
enemy fighters was closing.
He wanted to say something but couldn't find the words.
Paladin looked up and forced a smile.
"Lift one for me at the Vacuum Breathers Club, laddie. Now get the hell
out of here."
Ian turned and headed for the door.
"Good luck, Paladin."
Paladin shook his head and laughed.
Ambassador Vak'ga paused for a moment and looked back at the holo image
on his desk. Again he felt the tug of pain and silently cursed himself for
still feeling it. After all, the mourning should have ended on the first
Sivar after the death of his sons. That was, after all, six years back. But
no, the pain had never stopped. His seed was gone and when he died, his hrai
would die with him.
He thought yet again of the agreement he had made with Prince Thrakhath
on the eve before leaving for Earth. When Thrakhath had first suggested it
to him his blood had burned with the thought of at last gaining vengeance.
But now, it was so cold, there was no rage, no pain, just a detachment, a
coldness, as if the goddess had already reached into his heart to still its
beating.
The coded message to commit the act had arrived this morning, and soon
the pain would stop. At least I will see my sons again, my sons taken from
me by the humans. At least we will again embrace and go forth on the hunt
with our ancestors.
He thought of the detonator and antimatter explosive buried in his
chest cavity. Strange, there will be nothing more of me, nothing to be found
to be buried. Fitting perhaps, since there will be no one to mourn me.
The Ambassador walked out of his office, not even bothering to close
the door.
* * * * *
"How are you doing, Geoff? It's damn good to see you again."
Admiral Banbridge came around from behind his desk, hand extended.
Former Rear Admiral Geoffrey Tolwyn grasped it, and to his surprise
Banbridge grabbed hold of him in a friendly bear hug. Turning he looked at
Kevin, who stood at attention, and smiled.
"I heard you're one of the fleet's best," Banbridge said approvingly.
Geoff smiled broadly at the compliment to his nephew. The long transit
back to Landreich, and from there hidden aboard a high speed smuggler craft
to Earth, had given him the opportunity, for the first time, to really find
out just who his nephew truly was. In the back of his mind, in spite of
Kevin's actions aboard Tarawa, he still perceived him as a child. That was
now dispensed with, their relationship changing to the close bond that can
form between an uncle or father, and his son who is now a man.
"Kevin, I hate to ask this, but would you mind waiting for us? My
steward will show you a damn nice shower and cook up some food for you."
Kevin saluted and followed the steward into the rear of the small
apartment Banbridge had down in the basement of Fleet headquarters.
"He reminds me of you at that age, Geoff," Banbridge said with a smile,
as he led his old student into his office and closed the door.
"Glad you're back safe. Have a seat and fill me in."
Geoff settled down into the proffered chair, his old boss sitting down
across from him.
"First of all, what the hell was this signal you had me send?"
As Geoff explained Banbridge's features lit up.
"Same trick we Americans once used against the Japanese at Midway with
the fake report of a water distillery breaking down. The Japanese picked it
up and reported to their fleet that Сtarget X was short of water, and by
that little trick we knew their next target was Midway. Vance always did
know his history."
"Have we had any word yet from out there? Since I left Landreich I've
been out of touch."
Admiral Banbridge shook his head and Geoff silently cursed.
"What's been happening back here on Earth?"
Banbridge blew out noisily and reached around to his desk, pulling out
two glasses and a small decanter of port wine, pouring out a drink for
himself and Tolwyn.
"The damn fools are eating up the crap that Vak'ga and Jukaga keep
feeding them. Hell, Rodham has even agreed to a cultural exchange, with a
bunch of Kilrathi singer's and dancers coming to Earth next month. The damn
brie and wine crowd at the capital are eating it up, begging for tickets to
the performance. The Chief of Staff raised holy hell about it, pointing out
that we'd have over a hundred Kilrathi running around the capital and damn
near everyone of them an intelligence operative. He was hooted down by
Jamison and told to, Сrelax, the war is over.'
"It's nuts, I tell you. Anyone who talks about preparedness, about
keeping the fleet appropriations up, is denounced as a war monger."
"And just how is the fleet?" Tolwyn asked.
"Four fleet carriers are still on line.
"Just four?"
"It's worse. Two of them are drydocked at the moment but it's claimed
they can be brought back up to operational status within thirty days.
"What about the others?"
"In drydock, reactors pulled, crews on extended leave."
"What the hell for?"
Banbridge sighed.
"Jamison convinced the President, and he convinced the Senate, that if
the Kilrathi were going to make a move we'd have plenty of warning and she
pointed out that all but six of the Kilrathi carriers had been put into
inactive reserve as well. So as a cost cutting measure the carriers were
pulled in for major refitting and overhaul. Getting them on line could take
up to three months."
"God help us," Tolwyn whispered, draining his glass and then accepting
a refill.
"Forty-eight percent of the rest of the ships of the fleet are still on
line, the rest are skeleton crewed in reserve. Operationally we're losing
our edge. Flight training time for the fighters has been cut by nearly half,
even our main battle fleet ships still in active service, our heavy
cruisers, are tied off with crews on leave. It'd take weeks, maybe a month
to two months to even get one full Task Force Group organized and back on
line.
"What's worse is the freeze on construction. We should have had a new
fleet carrier and four more cruisers operational by now and a number of
other ships started. We tried to get through a government decree requiring
all shipyard works to stay on their jobs; that caused a hell of an uproar
and some of our best technicians are quitting to look for work else where.
Key war industries, which during hostilities were forbidden to strike, are
now having walkouts with people wanting higher wages, made worse by what
looks like an economic depression due to a freeze on new defense contracts.
"Morale is down in the gutter. The career people are sore as hell. They
wanted this thing seen through to the finish. Most of our old line people
know that this war won't really be over till we storm through the rubble of
the imperial palace and raise the Confederation flag. Anything else is a
prelude to defeat. The reservists and draftees on the other hand are all
clamoring to get discharged. Hell, senators are getting flooded with letters
from parents, wives, and even our own troops demanding demobilization, the
old Сbring the boys and girls back home.' "
"I guess it's kind of hard to blame them when you think of it. To them
it really does look like it's over."
Banbridge nodded.
"I tell you, Geoff, I think a democratic republic is the only way to
run the show; you English are the ones who really invented it and then we
Americans picked it up. But there's always been one flaw in it and that is
the sustaining of a long-term war. It's hard at times for civilians to truly
understand the military; we have a thousand year tradition of always being
at odds with the civilians we're sworn to defend. The military at times gets
turned into the Greek messenger who gets blamed for simply telling people
the truth of how the universe works. People get too caught up in the wish
for peace and forget that the law of the jungle is still the law in most
parts of this universe, and they don't like it when we try to tell them
differently.
"Got any suggestions on how to change it?"
Banbridge smiled and shook his head.
"It's what I've spent forty-three years in the service fighting to
defend. No, it's got its problems but I'd keep it.
"That's if it survives one year longer. Don't people realize what the
Cats are up to?"
"Oh, a hell of a lot of ordinary people do, especially in the outer
planets and the frontier. They've lived on the real edge of the war,
sometimes in the middle of it. They know what even a momentary slip of
vigilance can do. But the inner system of planets, and especially Earth,
have been bearing the financial burden of a war that's been fought several
hundred light years and a dozen or more jump points away, I think they're
willing to grab at anything if it'll mean peace. We've got an entire
generation that's been born and come to adulthood knowing nothing but war
played out nightly on the holo screen, and the ruinous taxes to support it;
to them peace is a dream as powerful as any narcotic."
"And it just might kill them."
Banbridge sighed
"The damn media is part of the problem. The Kilrathi have done a
masterful job of feeding them selected footage of furball planets bombarded
in the war, tearful interviews with widows who ask for peace, the usual
propaganda crap. But try and send our own crews in to film freely and the
curtain gets slammed down. It seems to be really popular of late, especially
on the college campuses, to buy Jukaga's line that the war was a conspiracy
of their military and ours to make themselves powerful and big industry
rich. The majority of people see through it, but there's enough out there
buying what ever they see on the holo to make things a bit hot.
"But enough on that, fill me in on what's happened with you over the
last two months."
As Geoff described his arrangement of ship transfers to the Landreich
and the mission into Kilrathi space with the D-5 team Banbridge remained
silent, sipping on his port and refilling Geoff's glass when it went dry.
"When I got back to Landreich, that's when things started to get dicey
with Kruger."
"How so?"
"He's absolutely furious with the Confed and the blockage of the
fighter shipment. At least they were getting a trickle during the war, but
the peace commission has shut off any further shipments of war-related
supplies.
"I tell you, Wayne, those colonials are absolute masters at cobbling a
fleet together and keeping it flying. What they're having an impossible time
getting through legitimate channels are the latest high tech fighters,
electronics, and ship to ship missiles."
"Legitimate channels?"
Geoff laughed.
"They're still getting some interesting equipment, but don't ask me
how."
Banbridge nodded and smiled.
"Spare parts they get from cannibalizing, patching, and making do.
They've even produced their own heavy fighters, by taking obsolete three-man
patrol ships and jacking on the most god awful bizarre engines you've ever
seen. Anyone who flies them deserves a medal of honor just for turning the
engines on.
"Now for frontier raiding, dealing with Kilrathi colonial guard forces
or even light raiding fleets they could teach us a thing or two . But if the
main battle fleet ever hits through there, every planet in the Landreich
will be glowing and Kruger knows it. By heavens, Wayne, the way he swore at
you, the Chief of Staff and Rodham were a thing to behold."
"Will he stick with us though when the time comes?"
"Only as far as Landreich interests are concerned. Frankly, I think
he'd be happy if the Confederation and the Empire blew each other the hell
apart and the colonials were the only ones left."
"I just bet that old bastard does," Banbridge said with a smile. "He's
the most amazing pain in the butt I've ever known, and also one of the
best."
"When do you want me to go back out?" Tolwyn asked. "I think it's
crucial that if things go bad that I'm out there with him. I know he sees
through this little court martial game I went through. He knows I'm
operating covertly for the Chief of Staff and intelligence, and I guess he
sort of likes me as a result."
"That's part of the reason you got picked for the assignment, I had a
gut feeling he'd see you as a bit of a renegade, and your fighting record
was sure to impress him."
Geoff nodded and was silent. There was nothing really to be said. He
had been asked to volunteer for the assignment, to deliberately provoke a
court martial offense, to seek a dishonorable discharge in order to go into
covert operations. It had destroyed his reputation, making him a pariah in
his own service, except for the half dozen or so people who were in on the
secret. If his old mentor and friend had asked him to kill himself for the
good of the service he would not hesitate.
"I do have one question that's troubling me though," Geoff finally said
and he hesitated for a moment.
"What about Project Omega?"
Banbridge looked over at Tolwyn in surprise.
"Son, you were never cleared to know that. Damn, if I had known you
were on the in on Project Omega I'd never have let you go running off with
Tarawa the way you did. You aren't supposed to know anything about it."
Tolwyn smiled.
"But I do, and don't ask me how."
Banbridge nodded.
"Still being supported through black funds. This project Rodham does
know about, but no one else in the cabinet has been cleared. He agreed to
keep it going, I guess in part as a lever to force the Chief into signing
the armistice. Rodham thinks Omega is our ace in the hole."
"And how close is it to completion?"
Banbridge shook his head.
"A hell of a lot of snags, six months before we could even fire up the
engines on the first ship, a year more likely, though the conservatives are
saying eighteen months is a safe bet."
Tolwyn shook his head at the news. There was something ironic about the
war that he felt an outside observer would find amusing. The Kilrathi had
gone through incredible expense and effort to start the secret building of a
new class of carriers, if indeed what flimsy information intel had been able
to dig up so far was true. The Confederation was doing the same thing. It
was not so much a super carrier along the lines of suspected Kilrathi
design, but more a Stealth, heavily armored battlewagon with upgraded
shielding that was proof against medium-yield antimatter warheads. There
were rumors as well of a super weapon to be carried on the new ship, but
that was an even darker secret. They were still a dream, however, and would
have no impact on this war, hidden like the Kilrathi construction yard, as
far as possible from the battle front.
"Any word yet from Tarawa?"
Banbridge shook his head.
"Silent, though forward listening posts have picked up orders pulling
several cruisers off from patrol on the frontier to head back in towards the
sector Tarawa and Normandy are operating in. It might be a coincidence."
"I don't believe in coincidence, the Cats must be on to something."
"That's what I thought as well."
"Wish I was back out there with them," Tolwyn whispered.
"Bondarevsky's a good man. If he's in a scrape he'll figure away out."
Geoff nodded in agreement. Jason had become like the son he had lost.
If Reggie had not been killed twenty years ago he'd even be Jason's age.
"When do you want me to go back out to Landreich?"
"The Chief of Staff wants to hear a full briefing from you tomorrow
morning," Banbridge paused to look over at his computer screen.
"Speaking of the old man, there's a staff meeting in ten minutes. Why
don't you stay here, I'll have my aide get a meal into you, and for heavens
sake, Geoff, let's see if we can get you some better clothes."
Tolwyn nodded in agreement. He felt absolutely ridiculous wearing the
coveralls of a civilian maintenance worker, and the beard he had grown on
the way back from Tarawa was itchy as all hell. It was a convenient enough
cover for him to slip through the underground parking lot of fleet
headquarters. Once he was inside, a Marine security team had ushered him
down a private corridor the rest of the way to Banbridge's private quarters.
He rubbed his chin.
"Wish I could shave this off."
"You do look kind of ridiculous, Geoff."
Banbridge stood up and grabbed his attachщ case.
"What's the meeting about?"
"Always curious, aren't you?"
Tolwyn smiled. "Working with Vance kind of rubs off on you."
"That damn Kilrathi ambassador asked for a meeting with the Chiefs of
Staff and some of our fleet admirals. He's screaming over a list of
grievances about border violations by military patrols, and incidents from
the Landreich are top on the list. So just lay low here, there's bound to be
some press trying to sneak around, and if they ever saw you, there'd be hell
to pay."
Geoff shook hands with his old academy instructor and smiled as
Banbridge headed out the door.
Banbridge paused and looked back at Geoff.
"You've done damn good, son; I'm proud of you," and then he was gone.
The aide came in a minute later and offered to lay out some fresh
clothes while Geoff took a shower, an offer he eagerly agreed to after weeks
in space, surviving the usual water rationing of one minute showers. As he
walked past the small bedroom he saw Kevin stretched out on top of the
sheets, fast asleep.
"Didn't even bother to eat, sir," the steward whispered. "He stretched
out and was asleep like a baby inside of a minute."
"It's been a tough time. Geoff said quietly.
Closing the door of the bathroom he peeled off the grungy coveralls and
stepped into the hot stream of water.
He didn't so much hear it as feel it, a vibration slamming through the
building. He turned the shower off and from a far-off distance heard a
klaxon. Not bothering to towel off he pulled his coveralls on and opened the
door. Banbridge's aide was standing alert by the entry into the admiral's
quarters and to Geoff's surprise had a laser pistol up and at the ready.
Kevin came out of the bedroom, already up and alert and Geoff could see that
the klaxon had triggered him into thinking that there was a scramble alert.
"Stay where you are, sirs," the steward snapped, holding his free hand
back for them to remain still. "Something's going on."
Geoff felt defenseless, dressed in nothing more than oil stained
coveralls. He knew the aide, besides being Banbridge's personal steward, was
also a highly trained Marine commando. He'd have to leave things up to him.
The aide quietly spoke into a small lapel mike, receiving orders and
information back through a tiny earphone.
What seemed to be an eternity passed and then he saw the man visibly
pale, right hand clenching tight around the pistol grip.
The aide looked back at Geoff.
"Sir. Admiral Banbridge, the Chief of Staff, and we don't know how many
other officers are dead. The entire top floor of the building has been blown
apart."
"Merciful God," Geoff whispered, bowing his head.
"I'm going to keep you secure right here, sir. We have had an incident
and we don't know what the hell is going on yet."
An incident, Geoff thought. Most of the fleet's top command were most
likely dead and it's called an incident.
"Hunter, break off, break off!"
Ian switched off his visual and audio back to Bannockburn. The order to
abandon Paladin was simply too hard to stomach. The wave of Kilrathi
fighters was now less than five thousand clicks off and closing in fast,
their maneuvering scoops popped wide open to break after the high speed run
in from the cruiser that had launched them. There was a slim chance that he
might be able to pop off the two fighters on the forward left edge of their
sweep, thereby punching a hole through for Paladin to follow.
He could imagine that Paladin was swearing a blue streak at the moment,
but to hell with him if he didn't want to be saved.
Ian turned in towards the approaching fighters, toggled up his IFF
missiles and dumped them off in a long range spread to stir things up. The
missiles leaped forward and several of the approaching Kilrathi fighters
pulled into sharp turns. As soon as the tail of the nearest one was exposed
Hunter fired off an infrared tracker which instantly locked on to the
fighter's engines which were glowing white hot from the high speed approach.
The missile slammed up the exhaust nozzle of the fighter and detonated.
First kill of the new war, he thought grimly.
Within seconds the fight was on. several Dralthi fighters peeling off
to swing in on Hunter, while the forward edge of the strike, six Grikath
fighters, pushed straight on towards Bannockburn. Paladin let loose with his
remaining salvo of flechettes and then toggled off a battery of IFFs from
his gatling mount missile launcher. Space was a mad confusion of explosions
and Ian pulled a tight turn to try and shake off an incoming infra tracker,
firing off a flare, which the missile went for, detonating silently a
kilometer behind him.
A Grikath shot directly across his starboard bow and with a perfectly
timed deflection Ian nailed him solidly amidships and turned inside of the
Cat, firing three more rapid mass driver rounds into the Grikath which blew
apart.
He spared a quick glance at his tactical display and saw that the
Kilrathi cruisers were spread out into an open sweep, coming up behind the
wave of fighters in case there was anything still to be finished off. Behind
them more than a dozen patrol craft and a light frigate were coming in as a
second wave, while from the other direction half a dozen patrol corvettes
were closing, pushing Bannockburn into the trap. A wave of fast moving
fighters was moving ahead, above, and below to close the trap.
With a sickening finality he realized the futility of the gesture he
had just offered. The game was up. He switched back on to Paladin's channel.
"Not looking good, buddy."
"Hunter, break free, make the run, I'll provide support."
"Like hell, they're on me, now run for it and get that damn information
out, otherwise this whole thing is useless."
"Hunter, damn it, get the hell . . ."
"I think its the other way around, buddy, I'll cover you, now run for
it. When you get to the Vacuum Breathers buddy, lift the first round for
me."
"Hunter!"
He punched ahead of Bannockburn, moving to break up the forward screen
so Paladin could slip through
A spread of half a dozen missiles leaped forward from the next Kilrathi
attack group, the new IFF and radar trackers. Ian swallowed hard and keyed
up his own transponder to draw the missiles in.
The warbling tone in Ian's head set clicked to a steady hum, increasing
in pitch. The incoming were all locked on to his ship. He pulled up hard,
leading the missiles away from Bannockburn.
"Pop out, Ian!" Paladin shouted, and then there was another voice on
the radio.
"Green two, Green two, this is Green one, strike on the way."
Ian started to reach down to pull the ejector D ring when he saw a
fighter lining up to hit Bannockburn from above.
He dropped the ring, lined up on the target and toggled off the one
missile strapped beneath his fighter. Even as it streaked away he knew the
game had finally caught up with him at last. He bit down hard on his cigar
and closed his eyes.
Six Kilrathi IFF's impacted across the stern of Ian Hunter St. John's
Ferret.
Jason leaned over the tactical display on the screen, watching as
Normandy launched her fighters. Already one of the cruisers was turning back
around as he cleared the north pole of the planet at an altitude of three
hundred clicks, just barely skimming above the edge of the atmosphere,
accelerating fast.
If only I had a full bay of fighters, he cursed silently, we'd swamp
them under. Normandy had already launched her full load of fighters, twenty,
and Doomsday along with two other pilots had taken out the remaining three
fighters in his own bay. He could already sense that this was going to he a
ship-to-ship action and he didn't relish the idea of facing a cruiser head
on with a light escort carrier.
"Knew you wouldn't leave me in the lurch, laddie."
Paladin's wavery image appeared on the screen.
"You certainly brought along enough company, Paladin."
"Aye, that I did. Get ready for a coded burst, unscramble it and you'll
see why."
Seconds later the signal came through and Jason turned to watch his
communications officer decode it. He started to see the holo read out and
turned to one of his watch officers.
"Get down that corridor fast and tell those gorillas guarding the door
to send Vance up here on the double!"
"Fighters are breaking off from attack on Paladin, returning to cover
cruiser," the combat information officer announced, looking back at Jason.
They must have detected the burst signal and realized we're carrying
the football now, Jason thought.
"I already got it on our system," Vance said, coming on to the bridge
and Jason realized that with the gear down in the fighter bay Vance would
already know.
"Look at the size of those damn ships," Jason whispered, and he looked
back at Vance who was intently studying the screen.
"Should we send the signal?" Vance asked.
Jason looked back at the holo. Their cover was fully blown now. He knew
that was the end result the moment he made the decision to come up and save
Paladin. He knew as well that if Paladin had come back empty-handed he would
be in very hot water for having blown the mission cover just to save a
friend. But then again it was extremely difficult to argue with success, and
his decision would now be viewed as the right move and the personal reasons
for Paladin and Ian forgotten.
The Kilrathi already had a visual lock on his ship. Within seconds
they'd known the type and model and would quickly figure out it was Tarawa
with Normandy right alongside. The antenna array atop his carrier would
definitely tip them off as well as to the mission of his ship. If not for
the information they had, it would be a diplomatic explosion. There was no
sense in giving the Kilrathi the first jump on that front. If the
information was released after the Kilrathi started screaming about the
border violation the information might be dismissed as an attempt to cover
up.
"Send it out now," Jason said.
"Good decision, son," Vance said with a grin and he turned back towards
the flight deck. A minute later Jason noticed the momentary flicker in the
ship's- battle lighting as the translight burst signal went out, repeated a
minute later by a second burst for good measure.
All three cruisers had now come about and were closing in, the ranging
indicator marking down the rapid drop in range. The forward spread of
Normandy's fighters closed with the Kilrathi fighters launched from the
cruiser and the fight was on. The edge on skill was clearly on the side of
the colonial and ex-fleet pilots, deployed out to take on the heavy cruiser
and its lighter escort.
One of the cruisers, however, pushed on through and Jason felt the cold
sweat start to streak down his back as he sat on the bridge, waiting for the
Kilrathi cruiser batteries to open up. He had never fought a carrier in a
head to head engagement and he longed for a joystick and throttle, rather
than the cumbersome relaying of orders.
The first volley of missiles spread out from the lead cruiser, even
while the second one in line exploded from the direct hit of a torpedo
spread from a Broadsword.
We've got four incoming warheads," the combat information center
officer announced, "blowing chaff, flares, and radar noise makers."
"All weapons fire," Jason announced, struggling to keep his voice calm.
Mass driver cannon mounted forward went into action, a volley of
torpedoes leaping out from the forward launch tubes. The range was below a
hundred kilometers and closing.
"Helm ten degrees to port, fifty degrees down." He started a curving
turn downwards and then countered the order, bringing his carrier straight
back up towards the underside of the rear cruiser.
"Torpedo attack diverting," combat information announced, "regaining
lock on Normandy."
Several Kilrathi fighters raced across his bow, dropping missiles, the
weapons impacting on the forward shield.
"Normandy's in trouble!"
Jason turned to look back at his communications officer and then
toggled over to a damage display of his sister ship.
A torpedo from the first spread impacted on his sister ship's bow.
Forward shielding was gone. Two colonial fighters on close in escort
maneuvered and rammed two of the next spread of torpedoes coming out from
the Kilrathi cruiser while Normandy fired a spread in return.
The torpedoes crossed each other's paths and seconds later Normandy and
the enemy cruiser fireballed, the two ships so close that the explosion
merged into one vast expanding cloud of white hot flame.
A colonial fighter came through the wreckage, spinning wildly. The
pilot, however, was still able to maintain some control and he aimed his
craft straight in at the cruiser in front of Jason. Punching on afterburners
the modified Ferret slammed straight into the Kilrathi bridge.
"Damn," Jason whispered. Within seconds he had seen three colonial
pilots go kamikaze.
The enemy cruiser started to rupture along its bow, internal explosions
detonating off from the blow. Half a dozen fighters swung in front of the
cruiser, matching speed so as to hover, and ignoring the defensive fire they
poured mass driver rounds into the ruptured hull. The cruiser started to
disintegrate, mass driver rounds punching clean through the hull and the
ship detonated, taking another colonial fighter with it.
The explosion from Normandy was still spreading out and Jason realized
he had just under twenty strike craft out there, some of them still engaged
in eliminating the rest of the fighters, others moving forward to provide
cover for Bannockburn, or pursuing the light corvettes and patrol craft.
Jason left the bridge and headed down the corridor to the fighter bay,
stopping before the ever present guards and waiting impatiently until they
brought Vance out.
"I want your gear torn up and moved out of the way for fighter
recovery," Jason said.
"What?"
"You heard me, Admiral. I've got twenty fighters out there, some of
them undoubtably hurt and I plan to recover them."
"Jason, it'll take days to disassemble the D-5. Most of it is hard
wired into the floor."
"I'm sorry, sir, I don't have days, for some of those ships I might
only have minutes. D-5 has to be moved."
Vance started to bristle.
"Son, there's billions of dollars' worth of equipment in there. Enough
money to buy a couple of hundred fighters. Tell your pilots to eject and
we'll pick them up."
"I'm sorry, sir, that's not the way it's going to be. Those are
colonial fighters and I'm not going to go back and tell Kruger that we
ditched them to save a surveillance computer which has already done its job.
Beyond that, if we don't have those fighters for the run back home, I don't
think we'll make it. We've put a real burr in the ear of the Cats and
they'll want our hides as vengeance. This is going to be a running fight all
the way home."
"Listen, son, I hate to pull rank, but I think you should know I'm a
full admiral in the fleet."
"I know that, sir, but I am captain of this ship."
Vance looked at him appraisingly and after a brief span of seconds,
which to Jason seemed like an eternity, a thin smile creased Admiral Vance
Richards' face.
"Aye aye, sir. I'll have a landing area cleared."
Jason inwardly breathed a sigh of relief.
"Thank you, sir," and he headed back to the bridge.
"Message for you, sir."
Jason nodded and went over to the communications officer and saw that
Paladin had established a laser link.
"Thanks, laddie."
Jason sensed that something wasn't right.
"Are you all right?"
Paladin nodded and then lowered his head for a second.
"Jason. Ian's gone."
Jason felt as if he had been punched in the stomach. He stood silent
"I told the lad to run for it, he stayed to get me out instead. They
burned him with a missile spread meant for me."
"Damn it all to hell," Jason whispered.
"Aye, lad, damn all of it," Paladin sighed.
There was a moment of silence and then Paladin finally stirred.
"By the way, did you get the message out?"
"On its way."
"I think the old proverbial manure is about to hit the fan when that
arrives."
"It's only just started," Jason replied coldly, remembering the holo
display of the new Kilrathi carriers. He realized that chances were they
might already be heading to Earth. The armistice was a fraud as he always
knew it was, and by falling for it, the Confederation might very well have
lost the war. But for the moment it was hard to think of that. He had just
lost one of his closest friends and that was all that he could grasp.
"Sire, there has been an accident."
Jukaga looked up from his desk at the aide who was bowed low,
trembling.
"Go on."
"Sire, we've just received a burst signal that the Emperor's personal
cruiser suffered a reactor detonation, and that all aboard are lost."
"Oh, really, how tragic."
The aide looked up at him, confused by his tone.
"You are dismissed," and he turned away, barely able to hide a flashing
of teeth in satisfaction. So it had worked as planned. Getting a reactor
fuel tube aboard, with the tiniest of pinholes drilled into it, had been a
chore. The fuel rod had been a trick thought up years ago, the idea being to
have smuggler craft carry it into the frontier region and sell them off,
with the hope that the rods would eventually wind up on Confederation ships.
The rod would then rupture in the white hot heat of the pulse engine reactor
and cause a chain reaction detonation. The idea never worked, but he always
remembered where they were stockpiled while everyone else forgot. It had
taken a little maneuvering of computer shipping files to get it into the
right place, knowing that the Emperor's ship never left Kilrah without an
entirely new load of rods on board.
He smiled. Yes, that had been masterful, and it helped when one of your
own deep agents worked on ship maintenance. Fortunately, the poor fool never
even really knew what he was doing, which made the plan leak-proof.
A moment later there was a flurry of angry roars in the corridor
outside. As he stood up the door slammed open.
Prince Thrakhath strode into the room.
Baron Jukaga knew that in spite of all his effort at self-control his
mane was bristling with fear. He struggled to bring it under control.
"Surprised to see me?" Thrakhath growled.
Jukaga stood, speechless and then finally recovered.
"I just heard of the tragedy, the Emperor?"
Better than you had hoped for," Thrakhath snarled.
"Whatever do you mean, my Prince?" Jukaga replied, angry with himself
that there was the slightest of tremors in his voice.
"That is for you to figure out," Thrakhath stated coldly.
"I don t understand what you are moving towards.
Thrakhath stood silent, eyeing him coldly. He could see the Baron
regain his self control. What was enraging was the simple fact that the
Emperor, through intuition or information had suspected that his ship would
be destroyed, but as to how it would be done they had never figured out, and
still did not know and most likely never would. His only real hope had been
to so startle the Baron as to make him say something foolish and
incriminating and that, Thrakhath could already see, had failed. It was
obvious now that the Baron will claim that he was being blamed unjustly. If
directly accused, the other clans might very well rally to his side as they
had once before after Vukar.
Thrakhath snarled angrily, seeing that his bluff had failed.
Thrakhath, still glaring at Jukaga, waited for him to speak.
"What are these two reports I just received," Jukaga finally said,
motioning to his comm screen. "regarding a bombing on Earth and that the spy
ship was located too late before it sent a burst signal out?"
"It means that we have to move for war now."
"That is madness," Jukaga snapped, regaining his full composure. "The
plan called for another four and a half eight-of-eights of days."
"Impossible now," Thrakhath replied. "Many of the humans are already
blaming us for the bombing, and with the information regarding our fleet it
means a renewal of war."
Thrakhath smiled.
"And an end to your weak scheming."
"What is the truth about this bombing?" Jukaga asked coldly.
"Oh, undoubtedly one of their own did it and then will blame it on us.
Perhaps the attempt on the Emperor can be linked to it."
Jukaga hesitated.
"They would never do that, kill their own military leaders like that.
There's more to it than that."
"Are you accusing me?" Thrakhath snapped.
Jukaga looked at him coldly but knew it was best to back off.
"And how did this signal get out? We suspected the carrier was in that
system and we knew that their scout ship was running back towards it. How
could this have happened? There should have been a carrier and a full
cruiser squadron there."
"And are you accusing me of a fault in that as well?" Thrakhath asked
quietly.
"You don't understand at all, do you?" Jukaga finally replied. "If we
had but waited the year, they would have fallen into our hands, weak and
divided. Now, they will feel nothing but rage at a betrayal of their trust,
they will fight with a fanaticism you have never seen.
"Remember I warned your father and uncle of this back when the war
started and they so foolishly decided to open with a surprise attack."
"Then it is your job to disarm them of this fanaticism, and if you fail
and they do not submit . . ."
"Then what?" Jukaga snarled
"I will annihilate their worlds and no one will be left alive, no one,
and you will be responsible."
"Show that transmission from Tarawa on the main holo."
"Big Duke" Grecko, the Marine general of the Joint Chiefs and the only
survivor of the explosion, settled back painfully in his chair. Geoff Tolwyn
looked over at him anxiously. The bleeding from the lacerations to his back
and neck had soaked through the bandages and his shirt, staining the khaki a
dark red. Geoff wanted to say something but knew it was useless. Grecko was
a Marine, and would bite the head off of anyone who tried to show sympathy.
The wonder of it was that Grecko had survived at all. He had walked out
of the meeting with the ambassador in disgust, threatening to resign his
commission, and was down the far end of the corridor when the bomb went off.
The explosion had ripped Grecko's left arm off. Fortunately it was an
artificial arm which had replaced the one lost at Vukar and the plasti limb
absorbed the blow from a shattered support pillar which would have killed
anyone else.
Grecko started to move his shoulder, as if the lost limb was still in
place, swore vehemently and then clumsily used his right hand to scratch his
neck.
"I'd leave that alone, sir, there's still some shrapnel in you," an
attentive medic standing behind Grecko said.
"I didn't ask for your advice, son, and besides I don't think your
security clearance allows you to be in here, so get the hell out."
"I've got my orders to stay with you, sir, until you report to the
hospital."
Grecko looked to the Marine guard standing at the door.
"Sergeant, either escort this pest out of here or shoot him, I don't
care which."
Geoff smiled sympathetically at the medic, who looked flustered as he
left the room, mumbling that all Marines were nuts.
"Nothing a good shot of whiskey and a couple of minutes with the
tweezers can't cure," Grecko snapped, still scratching his neck.
The holo screen in the middle of the room activated and Grecko studied
it intently for a long silent minute.
He picked up a secured phone and punched in a number.
"Mr. President, this is Grecko, are you still in the building, sir?
Good, I think you need to come to my office at once," and hung up.
He looked back at Geoff.
"We re really in the barrel this time, Geoff. Are you sure that this
stuff Vance just sent is the real goods?"
"I wasn't there when he got the data," Tolwyn replied, "but you know
Vance even better than I do, sir. He wouldn't have sent it if it wasn't
genuine." Grecko nodded grimly.
"We've got five admirals and seven generals dead in the morgue
downstairs, a hundred and thirty one other key personnel gone as well, a
military half dismantled and now this," and he viciously pointed at the holo
as if it were something he could vent his rage on.
Grecko shook his head wearily and Tolwyn could see that the man was
struggling to control the pain, both physical and emotional. Geoff felt it
as well. He had just lost his old mentor and one of his closest friends and
many other comrades whom he had served with through the years.
"How does this all fit together?" Grecko asked.
"The armistice, I think we had that figured from the beginning," Tolwyn
replied. "Now we know it was to buy time so they could reorganize and
concentrate on finishing their super carriers. They know that we now know
and I guess that's where this bomb plot figured in, to decapitate our high
command, sow confusion and then strike hard straight at Earth."
"How long before that fleet could get here?"
"If they were fully ready to move, flank speed could put them across
the Empire in twelve, fourteen days. From the frontier to Earth, another ten
days. Even if we had full resistance up, I think those carriers could cut
through inside of two and a half weeks from the time they cross the
demilitarized zone. Remember, just before the armistice we wargamed that one
out, the assumption of a surprise attack with our own defenses down. With
these new carriers, it doesn't look good at all, sir."
Grecko exhaled noisily.
"According to what Banbridge briefed me on just this morning, it'd be
at least four months to bring the fleet back up to full pre-armistice
strength.
"Damn all to hell," he snapped.
The door to the small conference room opened and President Rodham
stepped in, followed by Foreign Secretary Jamison.
Grecko stood up as did Tolwyn. Geoff still found the nickname "Big
Duke" amusing since Grecko barely stood over five two. His pugnaciousness,
however, more than made up for his shortness and more than one Marine or
fleeter had found himself on his back after making a comment.
heavy cruiser was already launching its squadron of fighters which would
close with him within the hour.
The game was up and Bannockburn was about to get fried. As soon as he
had jumped, the pickets waiting on the far side plastered him with high
energy radar bursts and then threw on laserlocks he simply couldn't shake.
Just before they hit him he'd try one more burst signal, feeding every
erg of power he had into it, but the chance of it reaching Confed space at
this range was remote and made even more implausible by the fact that it was
dicey at best if someone had a listening array focused on this region. If
only he knew where Tarawa was he could transfer the info off and the they'd
have the power to punch a signal through, plus they would also know where to
aim it for an intercept.
"Damn it all to hell, if I get out of this I quit," Paladin snarled.
"I'm heading back to Scotland and I'll be damned if I ever let my two feet
get off the ground again.
"Ian, you'd better launch now. I'm glad that the Admiral managed to get
a jump capable Ferret tucked into this ship's cargo bay. I thought he was a
wee bit crazy trying that out. I'm ordering you to break off and try and
make it through the jump point. I'm loading the information into your
fighter's computers now. You've got to get that information back to Confed
territory. Tarawa's either gone or bought it."
Ian looked over at Paladin. He knew Paladin was right. The swarm of
enemy fighters was closing.
He wanted to say something but couldn't find the words.
Paladin looked up and forced a smile.
"Lift one for me at the Vacuum Breathers Club, laddie. Now get the hell
out of here."
Ian turned and headed for the door.
"Good luck, Paladin."
Paladin shook his head and laughed.
Ambassador Vak'ga paused for a moment and looked back at the holo image
on his desk. Again he felt the tug of pain and silently cursed himself for
still feeling it. After all, the mourning should have ended on the first
Sivar after the death of his sons. That was, after all, six years back. But
no, the pain had never stopped. His seed was gone and when he died, his hrai
would die with him.
He thought yet again of the agreement he had made with Prince Thrakhath
on the eve before leaving for Earth. When Thrakhath had first suggested it
to him his blood had burned with the thought of at last gaining vengeance.
But now, it was so cold, there was no rage, no pain, just a detachment, a
coldness, as if the goddess had already reached into his heart to still its
beating.
The coded message to commit the act had arrived this morning, and soon
the pain would stop. At least I will see my sons again, my sons taken from
me by the humans. At least we will again embrace and go forth on the hunt
with our ancestors.
He thought of the detonator and antimatter explosive buried in his
chest cavity. Strange, there will be nothing more of me, nothing to be found
to be buried. Fitting perhaps, since there will be no one to mourn me.
The Ambassador walked out of his office, not even bothering to close
the door.
* * * * *
"How are you doing, Geoff? It's damn good to see you again."
Admiral Banbridge came around from behind his desk, hand extended.
Former Rear Admiral Geoffrey Tolwyn grasped it, and to his surprise
Banbridge grabbed hold of him in a friendly bear hug. Turning he looked at
Kevin, who stood at attention, and smiled.
"I heard you're one of the fleet's best," Banbridge said approvingly.
Geoff smiled broadly at the compliment to his nephew. The long transit
back to Landreich, and from there hidden aboard a high speed smuggler craft
to Earth, had given him the opportunity, for the first time, to really find
out just who his nephew truly was. In the back of his mind, in spite of
Kevin's actions aboard Tarawa, he still perceived him as a child. That was
now dispensed with, their relationship changing to the close bond that can
form between an uncle or father, and his son who is now a man.
"Kevin, I hate to ask this, but would you mind waiting for us? My
steward will show you a damn nice shower and cook up some food for you."
Kevin saluted and followed the steward into the rear of the small
apartment Banbridge had down in the basement of Fleet headquarters.
"He reminds me of you at that age, Geoff," Banbridge said with a smile,
as he led his old student into his office and closed the door.
"Glad you're back safe. Have a seat and fill me in."
Geoff settled down into the proffered chair, his old boss sitting down
across from him.
"First of all, what the hell was this signal you had me send?"
As Geoff explained Banbridge's features lit up.
"Same trick we Americans once used against the Japanese at Midway with
the fake report of a water distillery breaking down. The Japanese picked it
up and reported to their fleet that Сtarget X was short of water, and by
that little trick we knew their next target was Midway. Vance always did
know his history."
"Have we had any word yet from out there? Since I left Landreich I've
been out of touch."
Admiral Banbridge shook his head and Geoff silently cursed.
"What's been happening back here on Earth?"
Banbridge blew out noisily and reached around to his desk, pulling out
two glasses and a small decanter of port wine, pouring out a drink for
himself and Tolwyn.
"The damn fools are eating up the crap that Vak'ga and Jukaga keep
feeding them. Hell, Rodham has even agreed to a cultural exchange, with a
bunch of Kilrathi singer's and dancers coming to Earth next month. The damn
brie and wine crowd at the capital are eating it up, begging for tickets to
the performance. The Chief of Staff raised holy hell about it, pointing out
that we'd have over a hundred Kilrathi running around the capital and damn
near everyone of them an intelligence operative. He was hooted down by
Jamison and told to, Сrelax, the war is over.'
"It's nuts, I tell you. Anyone who talks about preparedness, about
keeping the fleet appropriations up, is denounced as a war monger."
"And just how is the fleet?" Tolwyn asked.
"Four fleet carriers are still on line.
"Just four?"
"It's worse. Two of them are drydocked at the moment but it's claimed
they can be brought back up to operational status within thirty days.
"What about the others?"
"In drydock, reactors pulled, crews on extended leave."
"What the hell for?"
Banbridge sighed.
"Jamison convinced the President, and he convinced the Senate, that if
the Kilrathi were going to make a move we'd have plenty of warning and she
pointed out that all but six of the Kilrathi carriers had been put into
inactive reserve as well. So as a cost cutting measure the carriers were
pulled in for major refitting and overhaul. Getting them on line could take
up to three months."
"God help us," Tolwyn whispered, draining his glass and then accepting
a refill.
"Forty-eight percent of the rest of the ships of the fleet are still on
line, the rest are skeleton crewed in reserve. Operationally we're losing
our edge. Flight training time for the fighters has been cut by nearly half,
even our main battle fleet ships still in active service, our heavy
cruisers, are tied off with crews on leave. It'd take weeks, maybe a month
to two months to even get one full Task Force Group organized and back on
line.
"What's worse is the freeze on construction. We should have had a new
fleet carrier and four more cruisers operational by now and a number of
other ships started. We tried to get through a government decree requiring
all shipyard works to stay on their jobs; that caused a hell of an uproar
and some of our best technicians are quitting to look for work else where.
Key war industries, which during hostilities were forbidden to strike, are
now having walkouts with people wanting higher wages, made worse by what
looks like an economic depression due to a freeze on new defense contracts.
"Morale is down in the gutter. The career people are sore as hell. They
wanted this thing seen through to the finish. Most of our old line people
know that this war won't really be over till we storm through the rubble of
the imperial palace and raise the Confederation flag. Anything else is a
prelude to defeat. The reservists and draftees on the other hand are all
clamoring to get discharged. Hell, senators are getting flooded with letters
from parents, wives, and even our own troops demanding demobilization, the
old Сbring the boys and girls back home.' "
"I guess it's kind of hard to blame them when you think of it. To them
it really does look like it's over."
Banbridge nodded.
"I tell you, Geoff, I think a democratic republic is the only way to
run the show; you English are the ones who really invented it and then we
Americans picked it up. But there's always been one flaw in it and that is
the sustaining of a long-term war. It's hard at times for civilians to truly
understand the military; we have a thousand year tradition of always being
at odds with the civilians we're sworn to defend. The military at times gets
turned into the Greek messenger who gets blamed for simply telling people
the truth of how the universe works. People get too caught up in the wish
for peace and forget that the law of the jungle is still the law in most
parts of this universe, and they don't like it when we try to tell them
differently.
"Got any suggestions on how to change it?"
Banbridge smiled and shook his head.
"It's what I've spent forty-three years in the service fighting to
defend. No, it's got its problems but I'd keep it.
"That's if it survives one year longer. Don't people realize what the
Cats are up to?"
"Oh, a hell of a lot of ordinary people do, especially in the outer
planets and the frontier. They've lived on the real edge of the war,
sometimes in the middle of it. They know what even a momentary slip of
vigilance can do. But the inner system of planets, and especially Earth,
have been bearing the financial burden of a war that's been fought several
hundred light years and a dozen or more jump points away, I think they're
willing to grab at anything if it'll mean peace. We've got an entire
generation that's been born and come to adulthood knowing nothing but war
played out nightly on the holo screen, and the ruinous taxes to support it;
to them peace is a dream as powerful as any narcotic."
"And it just might kill them."
Banbridge sighed
"The damn media is part of the problem. The Kilrathi have done a
masterful job of feeding them selected footage of furball planets bombarded
in the war, tearful interviews with widows who ask for peace, the usual
propaganda crap. But try and send our own crews in to film freely and the
curtain gets slammed down. It seems to be really popular of late, especially
on the college campuses, to buy Jukaga's line that the war was a conspiracy
of their military and ours to make themselves powerful and big industry
rich. The majority of people see through it, but there's enough out there
buying what ever they see on the holo to make things a bit hot.
"But enough on that, fill me in on what's happened with you over the
last two months."
As Geoff described his arrangement of ship transfers to the Landreich
and the mission into Kilrathi space with the D-5 team Banbridge remained
silent, sipping on his port and refilling Geoff's glass when it went dry.
"When I got back to Landreich, that's when things started to get dicey
with Kruger."
"How so?"
"He's absolutely furious with the Confed and the blockage of the
fighter shipment. At least they were getting a trickle during the war, but
the peace commission has shut off any further shipments of war-related
supplies.
"I tell you, Wayne, those colonials are absolute masters at cobbling a
fleet together and keeping it flying. What they're having an impossible time
getting through legitimate channels are the latest high tech fighters,
electronics, and ship to ship missiles."
"Legitimate channels?"
Geoff laughed.
"They're still getting some interesting equipment, but don't ask me
how."
Banbridge nodded and smiled.
"Spare parts they get from cannibalizing, patching, and making do.
They've even produced their own heavy fighters, by taking obsolete three-man
patrol ships and jacking on the most god awful bizarre engines you've ever
seen. Anyone who flies them deserves a medal of honor just for turning the
engines on.
"Now for frontier raiding, dealing with Kilrathi colonial guard forces
or even light raiding fleets they could teach us a thing or two . But if the
main battle fleet ever hits through there, every planet in the Landreich
will be glowing and Kruger knows it. By heavens, Wayne, the way he swore at
you, the Chief of Staff and Rodham were a thing to behold."
"Will he stick with us though when the time comes?"
"Only as far as Landreich interests are concerned. Frankly, I think
he'd be happy if the Confederation and the Empire blew each other the hell
apart and the colonials were the only ones left."
"I just bet that old bastard does," Banbridge said with a smile. "He's
the most amazing pain in the butt I've ever known, and also one of the
best."
"When do you want me to go back out?" Tolwyn asked. "I think it's
crucial that if things go bad that I'm out there with him. I know he sees
through this little court martial game I went through. He knows I'm
operating covertly for the Chief of Staff and intelligence, and I guess he
sort of likes me as a result."
"That's part of the reason you got picked for the assignment, I had a
gut feeling he'd see you as a bit of a renegade, and your fighting record
was sure to impress him."
Geoff nodded and was silent. There was nothing really to be said. He
had been asked to volunteer for the assignment, to deliberately provoke a
court martial offense, to seek a dishonorable discharge in order to go into
covert operations. It had destroyed his reputation, making him a pariah in
his own service, except for the half dozen or so people who were in on the
secret. If his old mentor and friend had asked him to kill himself for the
good of the service he would not hesitate.
"I do have one question that's troubling me though," Geoff finally said
and he hesitated for a moment.
"What about Project Omega?"
Banbridge looked over at Tolwyn in surprise.
"Son, you were never cleared to know that. Damn, if I had known you
were on the in on Project Omega I'd never have let you go running off with
Tarawa the way you did. You aren't supposed to know anything about it."
Tolwyn smiled.
"But I do, and don't ask me how."
Banbridge nodded.
"Still being supported through black funds. This project Rodham does
know about, but no one else in the cabinet has been cleared. He agreed to
keep it going, I guess in part as a lever to force the Chief into signing
the armistice. Rodham thinks Omega is our ace in the hole."
"And how close is it to completion?"
Banbridge shook his head.
"A hell of a lot of snags, six months before we could even fire up the
engines on the first ship, a year more likely, though the conservatives are
saying eighteen months is a safe bet."
Tolwyn shook his head at the news. There was something ironic about the
war that he felt an outside observer would find amusing. The Kilrathi had
gone through incredible expense and effort to start the secret building of a
new class of carriers, if indeed what flimsy information intel had been able
to dig up so far was true. The Confederation was doing the same thing. It
was not so much a super carrier along the lines of suspected Kilrathi
design, but more a Stealth, heavily armored battlewagon with upgraded
shielding that was proof against medium-yield antimatter warheads. There
were rumors as well of a super weapon to be carried on the new ship, but
that was an even darker secret. They were still a dream, however, and would
have no impact on this war, hidden like the Kilrathi construction yard, as
far as possible from the battle front.
"Any word yet from Tarawa?"
Banbridge shook his head.
"Silent, though forward listening posts have picked up orders pulling
several cruisers off from patrol on the frontier to head back in towards the
sector Tarawa and Normandy are operating in. It might be a coincidence."
"I don't believe in coincidence, the Cats must be on to something."
"That's what I thought as well."
"Wish I was back out there with them," Tolwyn whispered.
"Bondarevsky's a good man. If he's in a scrape he'll figure away out."
Geoff nodded in agreement. Jason had become like the son he had lost.
If Reggie had not been killed twenty years ago he'd even be Jason's age.
"When do you want me to go back out to Landreich?"
"The Chief of Staff wants to hear a full briefing from you tomorrow
morning," Banbridge paused to look over at his computer screen.
"Speaking of the old man, there's a staff meeting in ten minutes. Why
don't you stay here, I'll have my aide get a meal into you, and for heavens
sake, Geoff, let's see if we can get you some better clothes."
Tolwyn nodded in agreement. He felt absolutely ridiculous wearing the
coveralls of a civilian maintenance worker, and the beard he had grown on
the way back from Tarawa was itchy as all hell. It was a convenient enough
cover for him to slip through the underground parking lot of fleet
headquarters. Once he was inside, a Marine security team had ushered him
down a private corridor the rest of the way to Banbridge's private quarters.
He rubbed his chin.
"Wish I could shave this off."
"You do look kind of ridiculous, Geoff."
Banbridge stood up and grabbed his attachщ case.
"What's the meeting about?"
"Always curious, aren't you?"
Tolwyn smiled. "Working with Vance kind of rubs off on you."
"That damn Kilrathi ambassador asked for a meeting with the Chiefs of
Staff and some of our fleet admirals. He's screaming over a list of
grievances about border violations by military patrols, and incidents from
the Landreich are top on the list. So just lay low here, there's bound to be
some press trying to sneak around, and if they ever saw you, there'd be hell
to pay."
Geoff shook hands with his old academy instructor and smiled as
Banbridge headed out the door.
Banbridge paused and looked back at Geoff.
"You've done damn good, son; I'm proud of you," and then he was gone.
The aide came in a minute later and offered to lay out some fresh
clothes while Geoff took a shower, an offer he eagerly agreed to after weeks
in space, surviving the usual water rationing of one minute showers. As he
walked past the small bedroom he saw Kevin stretched out on top of the
sheets, fast asleep.
"Didn't even bother to eat, sir," the steward whispered. "He stretched
out and was asleep like a baby inside of a minute."
"It's been a tough time. Geoff said quietly.
Closing the door of the bathroom he peeled off the grungy coveralls and
stepped into the hot stream of water.
He didn't so much hear it as feel it, a vibration slamming through the
building. He turned the shower off and from a far-off distance heard a
klaxon. Not bothering to towel off he pulled his coveralls on and opened the
door. Banbridge's aide was standing alert by the entry into the admiral's
quarters and to Geoff's surprise had a laser pistol up and at the ready.
Kevin came out of the bedroom, already up and alert and Geoff could see that
the klaxon had triggered him into thinking that there was a scramble alert.
"Stay where you are, sirs," the steward snapped, holding his free hand
back for them to remain still. "Something's going on."
Geoff felt defenseless, dressed in nothing more than oil stained
coveralls. He knew the aide, besides being Banbridge's personal steward, was
also a highly trained Marine commando. He'd have to leave things up to him.
The aide quietly spoke into a small lapel mike, receiving orders and
information back through a tiny earphone.
What seemed to be an eternity passed and then he saw the man visibly
pale, right hand clenching tight around the pistol grip.
The aide looked back at Geoff.
"Sir. Admiral Banbridge, the Chief of Staff, and we don't know how many
other officers are dead. The entire top floor of the building has been blown
apart."
"Merciful God," Geoff whispered, bowing his head.
"I'm going to keep you secure right here, sir. We have had an incident
and we don't know what the hell is going on yet."
An incident, Geoff thought. Most of the fleet's top command were most
likely dead and it's called an incident.
"Hunter, break off, break off!"
Ian switched off his visual and audio back to Bannockburn. The order to
abandon Paladin was simply too hard to stomach. The wave of Kilrathi
fighters was now less than five thousand clicks off and closing in fast,
their maneuvering scoops popped wide open to break after the high speed run
in from the cruiser that had launched them. There was a slim chance that he
might be able to pop off the two fighters on the forward left edge of their
sweep, thereby punching a hole through for Paladin to follow.
He could imagine that Paladin was swearing a blue streak at the moment,
but to hell with him if he didn't want to be saved.
Ian turned in towards the approaching fighters, toggled up his IFF
missiles and dumped them off in a long range spread to stir things up. The
missiles leaped forward and several of the approaching Kilrathi fighters
pulled into sharp turns. As soon as the tail of the nearest one was exposed
Hunter fired off an infrared tracker which instantly locked on to the
fighter's engines which were glowing white hot from the high speed approach.
The missile slammed up the exhaust nozzle of the fighter and detonated.
First kill of the new war, he thought grimly.
Within seconds the fight was on. several Dralthi fighters peeling off
to swing in on Hunter, while the forward edge of the strike, six Grikath
fighters, pushed straight on towards Bannockburn. Paladin let loose with his
remaining salvo of flechettes and then toggled off a battery of IFFs from
his gatling mount missile launcher. Space was a mad confusion of explosions
and Ian pulled a tight turn to try and shake off an incoming infra tracker,
firing off a flare, which the missile went for, detonating silently a
kilometer behind him.
A Grikath shot directly across his starboard bow and with a perfectly
timed deflection Ian nailed him solidly amidships and turned inside of the
Cat, firing three more rapid mass driver rounds into the Grikath which blew
apart.
He spared a quick glance at his tactical display and saw that the
Kilrathi cruisers were spread out into an open sweep, coming up behind the
wave of fighters in case there was anything still to be finished off. Behind
them more than a dozen patrol craft and a light frigate were coming in as a
second wave, while from the other direction half a dozen patrol corvettes
were closing, pushing Bannockburn into the trap. A wave of fast moving
fighters was moving ahead, above, and below to close the trap.
With a sickening finality he realized the futility of the gesture he
had just offered. The game was up. He switched back on to Paladin's channel.
"Not looking good, buddy."
"Hunter, break free, make the run, I'll provide support."
"Like hell, they're on me, now run for it and get that damn information
out, otherwise this whole thing is useless."
"Hunter, damn it, get the hell . . ."
"I think its the other way around, buddy, I'll cover you, now run for
it. When you get to the Vacuum Breathers buddy, lift the first round for
me."
"Hunter!"
He punched ahead of Bannockburn, moving to break up the forward screen
so Paladin could slip through
A spread of half a dozen missiles leaped forward from the next Kilrathi
attack group, the new IFF and radar trackers. Ian swallowed hard and keyed
up his own transponder to draw the missiles in.
The warbling tone in Ian's head set clicked to a steady hum, increasing
in pitch. The incoming were all locked on to his ship. He pulled up hard,
leading the missiles away from Bannockburn.
"Pop out, Ian!" Paladin shouted, and then there was another voice on
the radio.
"Green two, Green two, this is Green one, strike on the way."
Ian started to reach down to pull the ejector D ring when he saw a
fighter lining up to hit Bannockburn from above.
He dropped the ring, lined up on the target and toggled off the one
missile strapped beneath his fighter. Even as it streaked away he knew the
game had finally caught up with him at last. He bit down hard on his cigar
and closed his eyes.
Six Kilrathi IFF's impacted across the stern of Ian Hunter St. John's
Ferret.
Jason leaned over the tactical display on the screen, watching as
Normandy launched her fighters. Already one of the cruisers was turning back
around as he cleared the north pole of the planet at an altitude of three
hundred clicks, just barely skimming above the edge of the atmosphere,
accelerating fast.
If only I had a full bay of fighters, he cursed silently, we'd swamp
them under. Normandy had already launched her full load of fighters, twenty,
and Doomsday along with two other pilots had taken out the remaining three
fighters in his own bay. He could already sense that this was going to he a
ship-to-ship action and he didn't relish the idea of facing a cruiser head
on with a light escort carrier.
"Knew you wouldn't leave me in the lurch, laddie."
Paladin's wavery image appeared on the screen.
"You certainly brought along enough company, Paladin."
"Aye, that I did. Get ready for a coded burst, unscramble it and you'll
see why."
Seconds later the signal came through and Jason turned to watch his
communications officer decode it. He started to see the holo read out and
turned to one of his watch officers.
"Get down that corridor fast and tell those gorillas guarding the door
to send Vance up here on the double!"
"Fighters are breaking off from attack on Paladin, returning to cover
cruiser," the combat information officer announced, looking back at Jason.
They must have detected the burst signal and realized we're carrying
the football now, Jason thought.
"I already got it on our system," Vance said, coming on to the bridge
and Jason realized that with the gear down in the fighter bay Vance would
already know.
"Look at the size of those damn ships," Jason whispered, and he looked
back at Vance who was intently studying the screen.
"Should we send the signal?" Vance asked.
Jason looked back at the holo. Their cover was fully blown now. He knew
that was the end result the moment he made the decision to come up and save
Paladin. He knew as well that if Paladin had come back empty-handed he would
be in very hot water for having blown the mission cover just to save a
friend. But then again it was extremely difficult to argue with success, and
his decision would now be viewed as the right move and the personal reasons
for Paladin and Ian forgotten.
The Kilrathi already had a visual lock on his ship. Within seconds
they'd known the type and model and would quickly figure out it was Tarawa
with Normandy right alongside. The antenna array atop his carrier would
definitely tip them off as well as to the mission of his ship. If not for
the information they had, it would be a diplomatic explosion. There was no
sense in giving the Kilrathi the first jump on that front. If the
information was released after the Kilrathi started screaming about the
border violation the information might be dismissed as an attempt to cover
up.
"Send it out now," Jason said.
"Good decision, son," Vance said with a grin and he turned back towards
the flight deck. A minute later Jason noticed the momentary flicker in the
ship's- battle lighting as the translight burst signal went out, repeated a
minute later by a second burst for good measure.
All three cruisers had now come about and were closing in, the ranging
indicator marking down the rapid drop in range. The forward spread of
Normandy's fighters closed with the Kilrathi fighters launched from the
cruiser and the fight was on. The edge on skill was clearly on the side of
the colonial and ex-fleet pilots, deployed out to take on the heavy cruiser
and its lighter escort.
One of the cruisers, however, pushed on through and Jason felt the cold
sweat start to streak down his back as he sat on the bridge, waiting for the
Kilrathi cruiser batteries to open up. He had never fought a carrier in a
head to head engagement and he longed for a joystick and throttle, rather
than the cumbersome relaying of orders.
The first volley of missiles spread out from the lead cruiser, even
while the second one in line exploded from the direct hit of a torpedo
spread from a Broadsword.
We've got four incoming warheads," the combat information center
officer announced, "blowing chaff, flares, and radar noise makers."
"All weapons fire," Jason announced, struggling to keep his voice calm.
Mass driver cannon mounted forward went into action, a volley of
torpedoes leaping out from the forward launch tubes. The range was below a
hundred kilometers and closing.
"Helm ten degrees to port, fifty degrees down." He started a curving
turn downwards and then countered the order, bringing his carrier straight
back up towards the underside of the rear cruiser.
"Torpedo attack diverting," combat information announced, "regaining
lock on Normandy."
Several Kilrathi fighters raced across his bow, dropping missiles, the
weapons impacting on the forward shield.
"Normandy's in trouble!"
Jason turned to look back at his communications officer and then
toggled over to a damage display of his sister ship.
A torpedo from the first spread impacted on his sister ship's bow.
Forward shielding was gone. Two colonial fighters on close in escort
maneuvered and rammed two of the next spread of torpedoes coming out from
the Kilrathi cruiser while Normandy fired a spread in return.
The torpedoes crossed each other's paths and seconds later Normandy and
the enemy cruiser fireballed, the two ships so close that the explosion
merged into one vast expanding cloud of white hot flame.
A colonial fighter came through the wreckage, spinning wildly. The
pilot, however, was still able to maintain some control and he aimed his
craft straight in at the cruiser in front of Jason. Punching on afterburners
the modified Ferret slammed straight into the Kilrathi bridge.
"Damn," Jason whispered. Within seconds he had seen three colonial
pilots go kamikaze.
The enemy cruiser started to rupture along its bow, internal explosions
detonating off from the blow. Half a dozen fighters swung in front of the
cruiser, matching speed so as to hover, and ignoring the defensive fire they
poured mass driver rounds into the ruptured hull. The cruiser started to
disintegrate, mass driver rounds punching clean through the hull and the
ship detonated, taking another colonial fighter with it.
The explosion from Normandy was still spreading out and Jason realized
he had just under twenty strike craft out there, some of them still engaged
in eliminating the rest of the fighters, others moving forward to provide
cover for Bannockburn, or pursuing the light corvettes and patrol craft.
Jason left the bridge and headed down the corridor to the fighter bay,
stopping before the ever present guards and waiting impatiently until they
brought Vance out.
"I want your gear torn up and moved out of the way for fighter
recovery," Jason said.
"What?"
"You heard me, Admiral. I've got twenty fighters out there, some of
them undoubtably hurt and I plan to recover them."
"Jason, it'll take days to disassemble the D-5. Most of it is hard
wired into the floor."
"I'm sorry, sir, I don't have days, for some of those ships I might
only have minutes. D-5 has to be moved."
Vance started to bristle.
"Son, there's billions of dollars' worth of equipment in there. Enough
money to buy a couple of hundred fighters. Tell your pilots to eject and
we'll pick them up."
"I'm sorry, sir, that's not the way it's going to be. Those are
colonial fighters and I'm not going to go back and tell Kruger that we
ditched them to save a surveillance computer which has already done its job.
Beyond that, if we don't have those fighters for the run back home, I don't
think we'll make it. We've put a real burr in the ear of the Cats and
they'll want our hides as vengeance. This is going to be a running fight all
the way home."
"Listen, son, I hate to pull rank, but I think you should know I'm a
full admiral in the fleet."
"I know that, sir, but I am captain of this ship."
Vance looked at him appraisingly and after a brief span of seconds,
which to Jason seemed like an eternity, a thin smile creased Admiral Vance
Richards' face.
"Aye aye, sir. I'll have a landing area cleared."
Jason inwardly breathed a sigh of relief.
"Thank you, sir," and he headed back to the bridge.
"Message for you, sir."
Jason nodded and went over to the communications officer and saw that
Paladin had established a laser link.
"Thanks, laddie."
Jason sensed that something wasn't right.
"Are you all right?"
Paladin nodded and then lowered his head for a second.
"Jason. Ian's gone."
Jason felt as if he had been punched in the stomach. He stood silent
"I told the lad to run for it, he stayed to get me out instead. They
burned him with a missile spread meant for me."
"Damn it all to hell," Jason whispered.
"Aye, lad, damn all of it," Paladin sighed.
There was a moment of silence and then Paladin finally stirred.
"By the way, did you get the message out?"
"On its way."
"I think the old proverbial manure is about to hit the fan when that
arrives."
"It's only just started," Jason replied coldly, remembering the holo
display of the new Kilrathi carriers. He realized that chances were they
might already be heading to Earth. The armistice was a fraud as he always
knew it was, and by falling for it, the Confederation might very well have
lost the war. But for the moment it was hard to think of that. He had just
lost one of his closest friends and that was all that he could grasp.
"Sire, there has been an accident."
Jukaga looked up from his desk at the aide who was bowed low,
trembling.
"Go on."
"Sire, we've just received a burst signal that the Emperor's personal
cruiser suffered a reactor detonation, and that all aboard are lost."
"Oh, really, how tragic."
The aide looked up at him, confused by his tone.
"You are dismissed," and he turned away, barely able to hide a flashing
of teeth in satisfaction. So it had worked as planned. Getting a reactor
fuel tube aboard, with the tiniest of pinholes drilled into it, had been a
chore. The fuel rod had been a trick thought up years ago, the idea being to
have smuggler craft carry it into the frontier region and sell them off,
with the hope that the rods would eventually wind up on Confederation ships.
The rod would then rupture in the white hot heat of the pulse engine reactor
and cause a chain reaction detonation. The idea never worked, but he always
remembered where they were stockpiled while everyone else forgot. It had
taken a little maneuvering of computer shipping files to get it into the
right place, knowing that the Emperor's ship never left Kilrah without an
entirely new load of rods on board.
He smiled. Yes, that had been masterful, and it helped when one of your
own deep agents worked on ship maintenance. Fortunately, the poor fool never
even really knew what he was doing, which made the plan leak-proof.
A moment later there was a flurry of angry roars in the corridor
outside. As he stood up the door slammed open.
Prince Thrakhath strode into the room.
Baron Jukaga knew that in spite of all his effort at self-control his
mane was bristling with fear. He struggled to bring it under control.
"Surprised to see me?" Thrakhath growled.
Jukaga stood, speechless and then finally recovered.
"I just heard of the tragedy, the Emperor?"
Better than you had hoped for," Thrakhath snarled.
"Whatever do you mean, my Prince?" Jukaga replied, angry with himself
that there was the slightest of tremors in his voice.
"That is for you to figure out," Thrakhath stated coldly.
"I don t understand what you are moving towards.
Thrakhath stood silent, eyeing him coldly. He could see the Baron
regain his self control. What was enraging was the simple fact that the
Emperor, through intuition or information had suspected that his ship would
be destroyed, but as to how it would be done they had never figured out, and
still did not know and most likely never would. His only real hope had been
to so startle the Baron as to make him say something foolish and
incriminating and that, Thrakhath could already see, had failed. It was
obvious now that the Baron will claim that he was being blamed unjustly. If
directly accused, the other clans might very well rally to his side as they
had once before after Vukar.
Thrakhath snarled angrily, seeing that his bluff had failed.
Thrakhath, still glaring at Jukaga, waited for him to speak.
"What are these two reports I just received," Jukaga finally said,
motioning to his comm screen. "regarding a bombing on Earth and that the spy
ship was located too late before it sent a burst signal out?"
"It means that we have to move for war now."
"That is madness," Jukaga snapped, regaining his full composure. "The
plan called for another four and a half eight-of-eights of days."
"Impossible now," Thrakhath replied. "Many of the humans are already
blaming us for the bombing, and with the information regarding our fleet it
means a renewal of war."
Thrakhath smiled.
"And an end to your weak scheming."
"What is the truth about this bombing?" Jukaga asked coldly.
"Oh, undoubtedly one of their own did it and then will blame it on us.
Perhaps the attempt on the Emperor can be linked to it."
Jukaga hesitated.
"They would never do that, kill their own military leaders like that.
There's more to it than that."
"Are you accusing me?" Thrakhath snapped.
Jukaga looked at him coldly but knew it was best to back off.
"And how did this signal get out? We suspected the carrier was in that
system and we knew that their scout ship was running back towards it. How
could this have happened? There should have been a carrier and a full
cruiser squadron there."
"And are you accusing me of a fault in that as well?" Thrakhath asked
quietly.
"You don't understand at all, do you?" Jukaga finally replied. "If we
had but waited the year, they would have fallen into our hands, weak and
divided. Now, they will feel nothing but rage at a betrayal of their trust,
they will fight with a fanaticism you have never seen.
"Remember I warned your father and uncle of this back when the war
started and they so foolishly decided to open with a surprise attack."
"Then it is your job to disarm them of this fanaticism, and if you fail
and they do not submit . . ."
"Then what?" Jukaga snarled
"I will annihilate their worlds and no one will be left alive, no one,
and you will be responsible."
"Show that transmission from Tarawa on the main holo."
"Big Duke" Grecko, the Marine general of the Joint Chiefs and the only
survivor of the explosion, settled back painfully in his chair. Geoff Tolwyn
looked over at him anxiously. The bleeding from the lacerations to his back
and neck had soaked through the bandages and his shirt, staining the khaki a
dark red. Geoff wanted to say something but knew it was useless. Grecko was
a Marine, and would bite the head off of anyone who tried to show sympathy.
The wonder of it was that Grecko had survived at all. He had walked out
of the meeting with the ambassador in disgust, threatening to resign his
commission, and was down the far end of the corridor when the bomb went off.
The explosion had ripped Grecko's left arm off. Fortunately it was an
artificial arm which had replaced the one lost at Vukar and the plasti limb
absorbed the blow from a shattered support pillar which would have killed
anyone else.
Grecko started to move his shoulder, as if the lost limb was still in
place, swore vehemently and then clumsily used his right hand to scratch his
neck.
"I'd leave that alone, sir, there's still some shrapnel in you," an
attentive medic standing behind Grecko said.
"I didn't ask for your advice, son, and besides I don't think your
security clearance allows you to be in here, so get the hell out."
"I've got my orders to stay with you, sir, until you report to the
hospital."
Grecko looked to the Marine guard standing at the door.
"Sergeant, either escort this pest out of here or shoot him, I don't
care which."
Geoff smiled sympathetically at the medic, who looked flustered as he
left the room, mumbling that all Marines were nuts.
"Nothing a good shot of whiskey and a couple of minutes with the
tweezers can't cure," Grecko snapped, still scratching his neck.
The holo screen in the middle of the room activated and Grecko studied
it intently for a long silent minute.
He picked up a secured phone and punched in a number.
"Mr. President, this is Grecko, are you still in the building, sir?
Good, I think you need to come to my office at once," and hung up.
He looked back at Geoff.
"We re really in the barrel this time, Geoff. Are you sure that this
stuff Vance just sent is the real goods?"
"I wasn't there when he got the data," Tolwyn replied, "but you know
Vance even better than I do, sir. He wouldn't have sent it if it wasn't
genuine." Grecko nodded grimly.
"We've got five admirals and seven generals dead in the morgue
downstairs, a hundred and thirty one other key personnel gone as well, a
military half dismantled and now this," and he viciously pointed at the holo
as if it were something he could vent his rage on.
Grecko shook his head wearily and Tolwyn could see that the man was
struggling to control the pain, both physical and emotional. Geoff felt it
as well. He had just lost his old mentor and one of his closest friends and
many other comrades whom he had served with through the years.
"How does this all fit together?" Grecko asked.
"The armistice, I think we had that figured from the beginning," Tolwyn
replied. "Now we know it was to buy time so they could reorganize and
concentrate on finishing their super carriers. They know that we now know
and I guess that's where this bomb plot figured in, to decapitate our high
command, sow confusion and then strike hard straight at Earth."
"How long before that fleet could get here?"
"If they were fully ready to move, flank speed could put them across
the Empire in twelve, fourteen days. From the frontier to Earth, another ten
days. Even if we had full resistance up, I think those carriers could cut
through inside of two and a half weeks from the time they cross the
demilitarized zone. Remember, just before the armistice we wargamed that one
out, the assumption of a surprise attack with our own defenses down. With
these new carriers, it doesn't look good at all, sir."
Grecko exhaled noisily.
"According to what Banbridge briefed me on just this morning, it'd be
at least four months to bring the fleet back up to full pre-armistice
strength.
"Damn all to hell," he snapped.
The door to the small conference room opened and President Rodham
stepped in, followed by Foreign Secretary Jamison.
Grecko stood up as did Tolwyn. Geoff still found the nickname "Big
Duke" amusing since Grecko barely stood over five two. His pugnaciousness,
however, more than made up for his shortness and more than one Marine or
fleeter had found himself on his back after making a comment.