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.
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 retarget 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, 'relax, 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 'bring 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 attached 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."
CHAPTER NINE
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 retarget 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, 'relax, 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 'bring 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 attached 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."
CHAPTER NINE
"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.
"How are you doing, Duke?" Rodham asked, looking at the Marine general's torn and empty sleeve in surprise.
"Nothing like getting shot in a plastic arm. Didn't hurt a bit."
Rodham nodded and then shifted his gaze to Tolwyn.
"What in hell are you doing here?" and his features went cold.
"He was here today as a personal guest of Admiral Banbridge when the explosion happened," Duke replied.
"You have no security clearance," Jamison shouted. "Grecko, get this man the hell out of here right now! I wouldn't be surprised if it turned out that he had something to do with this bombing."
"No, sir, he isn't moving."
Jamison turned on Grecko in surprise.
"Rear Admiral Tolwyn," and Geoff was surprised to hear Grecko use his official and former title, "was acting under the direct orders of the Chief of Staff when he violated the cease fire order, with the intent of thus having a cover to subsequently engage in a covert operation."
"If that bastard were alive right now, I'd see that he was stripped of his rank," Jamison snarled.
Grecko stiffened.
"That bastard, as you call him, ma am, was my closest friend. I'd like to suggest, ma'am, that you go down to the morgue and tell what's left of him that he's a bastard."
"General, would you explain Tolwyn's presence here?" Rodham asked, stepping between the two as Jamison leaned forward, ready to explode.
"The Chief of Staff suspected the armistice from the beginning, sir and asked Geoff to volunteer for a covert mission. If the mission were undertaken by someone already dishonorably discharged it would give us," and he looked coldly at the President, "plausible deniability if something went wrong. Geoff organized the transfer of some of our demobilized assets to the Landreich where the equipment could be kept on line and then went out on a deep reconnaissance mission inside the Kilrathi Empire. He returned from that mission and arrived here only minutes before the bomb went off.
"We've just received an official protest over that escapade," Jamison snapped "The Kilrathi are screaming their heads off claiming that five of their cruisers were hit in an unprovoked attack and destroyed."
"What about Tarawa and Normandy?" Tolwyn asked anxiously.
"They claim they got one."
"Not a bad exchange," Grecko said dryly. The Kilrathi must be damned embarrassed, but Tarawa only reported three confirmed kills for the loss of Normandy and I'll take their word over the furballs'."
"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.
"How are you doing, Duke?" Rodham asked, looking at the Marine general's torn and empty sleeve in surprise.
"Nothing like getting shot in a plastic arm. Didn't hurt a bit."
Rodham nodded and then shifted his gaze to Tolwyn.
"What in hell are you doing here?" and his features went cold.
"He was here today as a personal guest of Admiral Banbridge when the explosion happened," Duke replied.
"You have no security clearance," Jamison shouted. "Grecko, get this man the hell out of here right now! I wouldn't be surprised if it turned out that he had something to do with this bombing."
"No, sir, he isn't moving."
Jamison turned on Grecko in surprise.
"Rear Admiral Tolwyn," and Geoff was surprised to hear Grecko use his official and former title, "was acting under the direct orders of the Chief of Staff when he violated the cease fire order, with the intent of thus having a cover to subsequently engage in a covert operation."
"If that bastard were alive right now, I'd see that he was stripped of his rank," Jamison snarled.
Grecko stiffened.
"That bastard, as you call him, ma am, was my closest friend. I'd like to suggest, ma'am, that you go down to the morgue and tell what's left of him that he's a bastard."
"General, would you explain Tolwyn's presence here?" Rodham asked, stepping between the two as Jamison leaned forward, ready to explode.
"The Chief of Staff suspected the armistice from the beginning, sir and asked Geoff to volunteer for a covert mission. If the mission were undertaken by someone already dishonorably discharged it would give us," and he looked coldly at the President, "plausible deniability if something went wrong. Geoff organized the transfer of some of our demobilized assets to the Landreich where the equipment could be kept on line and then went out on a deep reconnaissance mission inside the Kilrathi Empire. He returned from that mission and arrived here only minutes before the bomb went off.
"We've just received an official protest over that escapade," Jamison snapped "The Kilrathi are screaming their heads off claiming that five of their cruisers were hit in an unprovoked attack and destroyed."
"What about Tarawa and Normandy?" Tolwyn asked anxiously.
"They claim they got one."
"Not a bad exchange," Grecko said dryly. The Kilrathi must be damned embarrassed, but Tarawa only reported three confirmed kills for the loss of Normandy and I'll take their word over the furballs'."