"Warsaw, now five million clicks astern sir," the helm officer
announced.
"Make course back towards Sirius, order destroyer squadron three." He
paused. "No, make that squadron two, to form rear guard using maneuver delta
for delaying action."
He settled into his command chair, watching the tactical. The enemy
carriers, masked by more than a hundred escorts, continued their relentless
move forward, while one of the older carriers, escorted by a cruiser
squadron, broke away, turning towards Warsaw.
"Get me Mike Polowski on laser link," Geoff said quietly.
Seconds later the commander of squadron three appeared on the holo
screen. Geoff felt as if the commodore were in the room with him. His
features were pale, jaw quivering.
"I've got bad news for you, Mike."
"I can see it, Geoff."
"I'm sorry. They demanded the surrender of the fleet. If we didn't they
said they'd hit your home world."
Mike lowered his head
"You did what you had to do, Geoff. God help me, I would have done the
same. Anything else, sir?"
"It's going to be bad, Mike. They're going to radiation-bombard it as
well, killing the planet and everything on it.
Mike's jaw started to tremble and he turned away from the screen for a
moment and then finally looked back, his eyes filled with anguish.
"Why? It's not even a military target."
"To make an example of what's to come."
Mike stood silently, unable to speak.
"I'm sorry, Mike."
Polowski nodded silently and then his image winked off.
"Give me full optical power on Warsaw, patch in to their planetary
defense."
The orbital base commander appeared on the side screen, while optical
locked on the planet. It still looked peaceful, an illusion since with
visual scan it now took more than two minutes for the image to reach him.
"White Wolf, this is Warsaw defense. We are under attack. As per your
orders, primary station has been abandoned. Civilian population are in
shelters. All ground to space missiles have been expended.
"White Wolf, this is Warsaw defense. We have high speed incoming! We
have . . ."
The image snapped off.
Geoff watched the optical scan in silence, and then the first blossom
of light snapped across the northern continent's surface. Seconds later
hundreds of snaps of light erupted, blanketing the continent. the snake-like
chain of islands in the southern hemisphere erupting as well.
"We are picking up thermonuclear air bursts in the five hundred megaton
range. The nukes are emitting strontium ninety," the tactical officer
announced, her voice hard-edged with rage.
"The bastards," Geoff whispered, "the damn bastards."
It had gone even beyond genocide. The planet was seeded with enough
strontium 90 to wipe out the entire biosphere. The Kilrathi were destroying
an entire planet simply as a demonstration of what was to come.
"I know why you're here, Captain, excuse me, I think I made you a
Commodore. Anyhow, Commodore, you're wasting your time."
Without even waiting for an invitation Jason went over to the refridge
in Kruger's wardroom, pulled out a container of beer and popped it open.
"Help yourself," Kruger said quietly and then paused, "you deserve it."
"You did well out there," Jason replied.
"Not good enough," and Kruger motioned to a flat screen projecting an
image from a drone probe that was circling above the main airfield and town
on the Hell Hole, at least what was left of it.
"Four antimatter warheads and one thermonuclear airburst loaded with
strontium ninety. The world's a write-off."
"The bastards," Jason hissed, looking at the radiation read-outs. There
had been an unwritten and unspoken agreement between the two sides since the
start of the war, that no matter how grim the conflict was, the deliberate
destruction of life-bearing capability of a planet was beyond the limits. It
had been in part a self-serving rule for both sides, for both sides hoped
for ultimate victory and with it the worlds inhabited by their foes.
"We just got this burst signal from the Confeds," and he switched the
screen.
It was an official government news service report on the opening action
in the Warsaw system and Jason watched, seething with rage as an optical
scan showed the annihilation of Warsaw. The report finished with a demand
from Baron Jukaga, delivered in the most sincere of voices, as if he were on
the human side of the conflict, calling for an end to hostilities through
the surrender of the Third Fleet. The closing comment came from President
Quinson, a wonderfully crude response, delivered before a packed Senate
meeting, and as he said the words the Senate came to its feet, roaring their
support.
"I actually rather like Quinson," Kruger said, turning the screen off.
"Too bad he's going to get his ass kicked."
"At least he'll go down fighting."
"A gallant gesture but useless in the end, С Kruger said quietly.
Jason spared a look over at the holo tactical display.
"The Cats have pulled back?"
"Into the next system already. I've got a squadron of destroyers in
pursuit. They're circled around the crippled carrier like a wolf pack
defending its pups. Just what I wanted, they're shaken and are afraid of
losing a second carrier.
"Now what?"
"Ah, what you came to hear."
Jason nodded.
"Stay here. The bastards will be back. We know where seven of their old
carriers are now, rather six, thanks to the kill your pilots helped put in.
That still leaves at least ten unaccounted for. They might hit us from
another direction at any moment."
Kruger paused and looked up at Jason.
"Go on, I'm expecting to hear it. Even old Richards on that frigate I
gave him is mumbling about it."
"Head for Sirius or Earth. Look, I'll admit when I first got here I
didn't think much of your Landreich fleet and pilots. But by God I'll admit
it now, they're the best I've ever seen. Brave to the point of suicidal."
"Sometimes I even have to ask that," Kruger replied quietly. "A
trade-off of a couple of lives for many."
"They might help tip the scale."
"First of all, action will be joined there by then."
Jason nodded.
"But it still might be going on and we could help."
"And while I go running off what about my own people out here? You're
proposing that I leave the planets and orbital colonies of my system
defenseless and go riding off to help the Confederation? Your Confederation
was willing to write us off thirty years back, and they did it again this
time. Why the hell should I care?"
"Because the Confederation needs you, needs your leadership and your
pilots."
Kruger snorted with disdain.
"Oh, solidarity of race against the Cats, is that your next pitch?"
"I knew that wouldn't work," Jason replied. "But you know damn well
that when Earth and the inner worlds fall it's finished. What happened to
Warsaw will happen to them. The Kilrathi are on a killing frenzy and they
won't stop. They've levered the war up another notch. When they're done in
there, they'll come out here and follow you and your people no matter where
you flee."
Kruger said nothing, as if having heard the argument too many times
before.
"So you won't go?"
"You guessed it."
"Will you release me and my people, give us at least Tarawa to head
back?"
"No."
Jason had already calculated the chance of doing a Kruger on Kruger, of
hijacking his carrier out of the fleet and knew it was impossible and
useless. Nearly all the pilots and over half his crew were Landreich. Kruger
had shrewdly made sure that none of the carriers had a majority of
Confederation crews on board.
"You just can t forgive, can you?" Jason asked coldly. "Thirty years
ago the Confederation made a mistake and I'd admit you made the right move
in response. You know enough about me to know I did the same thing. I led a
mutiny against an officer who ordered us to murder Kilrathi civilians and it
would have destroyed my career if it hadn't been for Admiral Tolwyn.
"I went through hell because of that, but I never blamed the
Confederation. I blamed the bastard who forced me to mutiny. For thirty
years you ve been carrying a grudge and because of your damned stupid blind
pride you'll condemn humanity to death.
"I'm not going to mutiny against you, Kruger, but when the Kilrathi
finish with you, if I'm still alive, I'll spit on whatever is left of you."
Without waiting for a reply Jason Bondarevsky stormed out of President
Kruger's office.
The two inhabited worlds of Sirius glimmered in the aft screen, showing
themselves as two pale green points of light in the middle of the holo
display of the system. Geoff jacked up the magnification level of the holo
and the further of the two planets disappeared. On the far side of the holo
display a nearly solid swarm of red blips were arrayed in five large
clusters. Hundreds of smaller red lights, Kilrathi strike fighters and
interceptors, were moving ahead, coming straight in at his own thin blue
line, behind which were positioned four large blue dots. In the middle
region of space between the two groups, two V wedges of small blue dots were
aiming straight in at the heart of the enemy fleet.
"Strike forces crossing into Kilrathi controlled space," a voice
whispered.
The Combat Information Center, buried in the heart of Concordia was
almost like a tomb, encased in a double layering of durasteel, illuminated
by soft diffused light and the shimmer of holo displays and flat screens.
Outside a battle was raging, in here, where the decisions were being made,
the cool professionalism of his staff made it seem almost like an exercise.
Yet, as he spared a glance from the holo and looked around the room he could
see the grim determination. After retreating through three star systems, and
impotently witnessing the annihilation of the worlds he had been forced to
abandon, Geoff Tolwyn had finally turned his fleet about. The Battle of
Sirius had begun.
"Blue Squadron, this is Lone Wolf. Close it up. Remember, we want the
big ones, nothing else, so cover your Broadswords."
"Lone Wolf, this is Round Top, read me?"
Kevin Tolwyn smiled; it was his old comrade from the Tarawa days.
"Where are you, Chamberlain?"
"Right above you in Broadsword Two off Moskva, so be sure to cover my
butt, son, while I win the glory.
"With you all the way, Round Top."
Kevin tightened the grip on his joystick, his Rapier G jiggling
slightly from his nervous hold on the stick. It was certainly the biggest
strike group he had ever flown with, more than two hundred and fifty
fighters and attack bombers launched from four carriers. The extra fifty
heavy strike craft from Saratoga were missed, the carrier still half a
system away with a main engine fuel pump acting up. Two hundred and eighty
fighters were being held in reserve as protection for the fleet carriers and
as a second strike wave.
Kevin looked down at his tactical display. Straight ahead the
individual blips of enemy fighters, corvettes, frigates and destroyers had
merged into a solid wall of red.
He clicked into a side band to the main fleet communications line. A
real time image of Gilead, the second inhabited planet, was being
transferred out to the fleet even while the battle was about to be joined.
He was past the point of rage. The planet flickered on his screen,
bursts of five hundred megaton thermonuclear warheads, clad with strontium,
detonating high up in the atmosphere, destroying yet another world. The
image winked off, replaced by his uncle.
"This is Tolwyn. Good luck to all of you and good hunting."
The image winked off and Kevin smile. Typical Brit understatement.
The forward edge of Rapiers, Raptors, Ferrets and Hornets, running
ahead of the attack wave, slammed into the opposing wall of opposition
defending the Kilrathi heavy carriers
From out of the red wall dozens of blinking orange dots appeared,
aiming straight in at the attack force.
"All right, Blue team, we've got incoming antimatter area strike, the
strike leader announced. "Let's bring'em up."
The strike force diverted from its straight in approach, turning up at
a ninety degree angle relative to the orbital plane of the Sirius system.
The area bombardment missiles started to turn to follow, the range closing.
The first one winked into a white hot ball, dozens more detonating, catching
half a dozen fighters at the back of the strike.
The squadrons nosed back over, following the strike commander, slicing
in through the explosions, and as they came out the opposite side, the
Kilrathi fighters were upon them.
Kevin fought down a moment of panic. The largest action he had ever
been in was at Munro, a cakewalk attack on one carrier. Even the Academy
holo simulators had never been programmed to handle the number of enemy
fighters now coming in on him.
It was impossible to sort out which target to lock on. Hundreds of IFFs
streaked across space and within seconds dozens of ships on both sides were
exploding. The Broadsword and Sabre gunners sent out sprays of shot in every
direction as wing group size attack waves by the Kilrathi came in. The four
light corvettes escorting the attack dropped out sprays of chaff, jammers,
and flares. The first wave passed and Kevin, ashamed, realized he had not
fired even a shot.
He looked up at the Broadswords he was escorting. One was gone, another
turning out of formation, spinning, its port engine blown apart, its
starboard engine apparently jammed at full throttle. Its crew ejected and
the ship spun away, exploding seconds later.
From out of the confusion a wave of Dralthi, Krants, and Gratha, flying
nearly wing tip to wing tip, came sweeping in, forward cannons firing.
"Blue three, there's our Cats. Let's break Сem up."
He edged his throttle forward, leaping ahead of the Broadswords, lining
up on the lead Dralthi and putting a dumb fire bolt straight into the
furballs' canopy, blowing the top of the enemy fighter apart. The enemy
attack broke apart, three Dralthi dead, and Kevin came around, seeing that
his number three man was gone. There wasn't even time to ask.
"Keep moving in, close in maneuvering scoops," the strike commander
called. "We want the carriers!"
Kevin swallowed hard, passing the order on to his squadron, and he
closed scoops in.
It was no longer possible to pull the tight-in maneuvers. It was going
to be a straight in high speed run.
Blasts snapped around him, missiles detonating, his number five pilot
ejecting from her fighter as it crumpled up in a ball of flame.
He pulled in close under the bellies of the Broadswords he was
escorting.
The outer row of enemy picket ships was straight ahead and their
barrage opened up, two of the escorting corvettes taking multiple hits and
disappearing. As they shot through the line of Kilrathi frigates and
destroyers, more than a hundred missiles were dropped by the furballs,
slashing into the squadrons, the two remaining corvettes blowing out more
sprays of chaff, jammers, and flares. The curtain of distractors diverted
most of the missiles, but enough found their mark and more than two dozen
Confederation fighters and bombers were gone.
Kevin pulled open his visor and wiped the stinging sweat from his eyes.
His back was soaked with sweat, the suit coolant unable to evaporate it off
fast enough. His mouth felt dry, as if he had swallowed a ball of cotton and
he suddenly understood why Ian had developed the revolting habit of chewing
on an old cigar while in a tight spot.
Straight ahead on his tactical were five large clusters of red. He no
longer needed to use the screen. Even from extreme range he could already
pick out a thin sliver of reflected light.
"Bombardment groups one and two, take center carrier," the strike
commander announced, and Kevin could see on the comm screen that the
leader's ship had been hit, smoke in the cockpit making him barely visible,
"three and four carrier to port, five and six to starboard. Range nine
hundred clicks, open maneuvering scoops, full reverse thrust for
deceleration in ten seconds."
"Got that, Lone Wolf?"
"Straight in we go, Round Top. Make it a good one, buddy," Kevin
replied.
"Nothing less will do."
"Three, two, one, decelerate!"
Kevin pulled his maneuvering scoops wide open and slammed in reverse
thrust, instantly slowing his fighter, which shuddered to a near stand still
less than fifty clicks out from their target.
A swarm of Kilrathi fighters closed in on them.
There was a flash of light forward off the carrier's bow and Kevin
realized that someone, driven by rage, had simply tried to ram the enemy
ship. Such a maneuver at full closing speed was nearly impossible to do and
the fighter had deflected off the side of the carrier's heavy shields.
"I've got initial torpedo lock," Round Top announced, "and counting at
thirty, twenty nine . . ." The other strike craft that Kevin was protecting
joined in with their own announcements of initial lock.
They slowly drifted in towards their target and Kevin felt as if his
heart were wrapped in ice. The ship was massive, more than twice the size of
any carrier he had ever seen before. He could barely spare it a glance,
however, as hundreds of enemy fighters swarmed in upon them.
Within seconds he had lost the rest of his squadron in the mad melee as
he twisted and turned his fighter, struggling to stay alive while at the
same time desperately attempting to cover the Broadswords as they hung near
motionless, waiting for their torpedoes to gain full lock.
Broadsword after Broadsword disappeared in white-hot explosions. Three
Krants lined in on Round Top, his countdown still echoing in Kevin's
headphones as he weaved into them, crippling one with a dumb-fired flechette
spray, and destroying a second with a stream of neutron bolts cutting into
the fighter's engine mounts.
The third stitched a flurry of rounds across the portside gun turret of
Round Top's ship, and Kevin caught a glimpse of the gunner's body shredding
to pieces, his canopy bursting into shards from the strike.
"Keep Сem off me," Round Top shouted. "Ten seconds and counting."
The strike squadron had drifted to within eight clicks of the carrier
and what appeared to be a solid wall of mass driver rounds snaked out from
the ship's bow, blowing three more Broadswords apart. Kevin struggled with
his stick as a shudder ran through his fighter, starboard shielding
overloading and a laser hit sheered of the last meter of his wingtip.
He turned inside the laser beam, blowing out reflective chaff which
temporarily blinded the laser's target lock, the beam skewing across his
bow, cutting a gouge into the forward durasteel armor.
"Three, two, one, it's away!"
The fifteen surviving Broadswords out of the thirty in the strike group
launched their torpedo loads. Round Top, along with half the remaining
ships, were armed with the laser lock guidance and they turned upwards
making sure that the laser emitters were pointed at the torpedoes.
The space between the attacking fighters and the carriers turned into
an insane explosion of anti-torpedo missiles, dogfighting ships, and point
defense blasts from the Kilrathi carrier.
"We've got lock, we've got holding lock," Round Top shouted.
Kevin turned his fighter to circle around Round Top and saw yet another
swarm of Kilrathi fighters cutting in, dropping a wall of missiles on the
surviving Broadswords.
"Round Top, evasive, evasive!"
"Can't! We still have lock, three seconds, two, one . . ."
Kevin screamed with rage as five missiles detonated across the top of
his friend's Broadsword. The ship simply disappeared.
From off his portside wing he saw four torpedoes impacting on the
carrier's bow. In the silence of space it seemed some how surreal, as if a
holo movie was being played out. For a brief instant the carrier disappeared
behind the exploding curtain of antimatter warheads. He waited for the
secondary explosions to begin.
"Scratch one flattop," someone screamed on the commlink. "We've got the
bastard!"
And as he waited, the carrier emerged from out of the fire. Its forward
bow, and for nearly a hundred meters back, was a twisted wreckage, but the
ship continued to purposefully move forward.
Making sure his gun cameras were still on, Kevin turned in towards the
carrier.
Wreckage was trailing off from the bow of the ship as he raced in and
he could see fires flaring inside the ruins of the forward portside launch
bay. He crossed up and over the top of the carrier and then suddenly the
anti-aircraft defenses of the carrier kicked back on.
She still had internal power Ч it was impossible after four torpedo
strikes!
Jinxing to throw off the gunners, he raced down the length of the ship,
passing one of the aft launch bays. He locked his camera into a laser
designator and swung the designator in on the bay. On his small comm screen
he caught a quick glimpse inside the ship. Another fighter was coming down
the launch ramp, afterburners flaming. Internal lighting was still on and
launch crews were purposefully working, some of them still picking
themselves up, shaking off the after effects of the torpedo hammer blows.
The image disappeared as he flashed across the stem of the ship.
He looked up and saw that more than a dozen Kilrathi fighters were
streaking in to pick him off and he went into a violent spin, cutting down
over the stern of the ship, his fighter bucking and shuddering as he got
caught in the exhaust plume of the carrier.
He punched through into the fleet comm channel.
"White Wolf, this is Blue One. No joy, repeat, no joy, carrier still
running after four torpedo hits. Catch my video transmit."
He sent the signal through and then looked at his tactical.
Space was dotted solid with red, with only an occasional blue dot. The
strike force had shot its bolt and been destroyed, and the Kilrathi Fleet
continued on in.
Sick at heart, Admiral Tolwyn silently watched as the action reports
came in. He coughed again, wiping the tears from his eyes. The Combat
Information Center was still filled with smoke, the air filtration plant
still off line from the torpedo hit to Concordia.
"Message from Moskva, sir."
"Put it on man."
A young woman, blood trickling down from her forehead, appeared in the
flat wavery image.
"Where's Ching?"
"Dead, sir. Last hit took out the bridge."
He nodded silently. Damn.
Sir, we have to abandon ship, all engines are dead. We're moving on
inertia and one bank of maneuvering thrusters only. Secondary generators are
going off line, hull integrity lost in sixty-three percent, remaining
bulkhead are leaking and will rupture with one more hit."
"Get your people into the escape boats. I'll have Polowski stand by to
pick up survivors."
"I'm sorry, sir."
"You fought her well, lieutenant, you fought her well."
He looked back at the action reports that streamed in across the
monitors.
Two of the new carriers and one of the old ones had been hit in his
strike. The old style carrier was gone, but the two new ones still appeared
to be relentlessly moving forward. In return, all four of his carriers had
been hit. Verdun was lost with all hands. and now Moskva was finished Leyte
Gulf, which had only joined him this morning, had one bay down from a direct
hit. Of the more than four hundred and eighty strike craft and bombers he
had launched three hours ago, less than two hundred and twenty were still
able to fly. Worst of all was the loss of Broadswords; less than a quarter
had returned. Estimates of Kilrathi fighter loss stood at just over seven
hundred. He knew the figure would be cut once the debriefing teams had a
chance to look at all the camera footage. In short, he had lost.
He looked at the status plot boards. Only twenty-nine Broadswords and
twenty modified Sabres were armed and ready for a second strike. Already the
Kilrathi were sending up their next strike wave which was even stronger than
their first as they shifted craft over from defensive to offensive
operations. He turned back to his strategic communications officer, who was
burst signal linked back to Earth.
"Latest reported position of Saratoga?"
"Still six hours twenty-one minutes short of jump point 3A."
Geoff looked back at his main nav screen. Jump Point 3A, the connecting
link back from Sirius towards Earth was an hour behind him.
Saratoga would never come up in time to help repel the next attack, let
alone be able to aid in a second strike.
"Signal all ships by laser link. We are withdrawing from Sirius."
His bridge crew looked around at him startled.
"We'll be swarmed under in the second strike. If I thought we had a
chance of hitting them back hard enough, I'd do it. There's no sense in
dying for no reason."
"What about Sirius, sir?" a helm ensign asked angrily. "Damn it, sir,
that's my home."
"Son, it's finished whether we stay here and die, or leave. We need
time to repair damaged planes, get Leyte's port launch bay back on line and
prepare a second strike. Saratoga will nearly double our heavy strike
fighter strength if we fall back on her."
The ensign looked around, realizing he had spoken way out of turn to a
full admiral. He started to open his mouth again and was restrained by his
section lieutenant who took him by the shoulder and turned him away.
Gilead, the smaller of the two worlds, was already flaming ruins.
Sirius Prime, thirty nine million clicks to port, was now wide open and
already a section of Kilrathi cruisers was turning towards it. He didn't
even want to think about how many people were down there.
"Helm, turn us about. Let's get the hell out of here," he snarled.
"Recall those cruisers now!"
Prince Thrakhath turned to gaze coldly at Baron Jukaga.
"Growing soft, my good Baron?"
"Your senseless barbarism will only arouse them further. You've made
your point, now spare the second planet. Show mercy and it still might
weaken their will."
"Terror breeds terror, Baron."
"Terror can also breed fanaticism and hatred. Your demonstration at
Warsaw did not intimidate the humans, instead it caused them to stop their
internal bickering and unite. You know nothing of humans. Senseless
bombardments of their civilian populations have always tended to unite them.
The deliberate destruction of entire worlds with radiation will cause them
to fight us tooth and nail to the death rather than surrender."
"And that s what you wanted, wasn't it, surrender?"
The Baron attempted to control his loathing and rage.
"You are a barbarian," he snapped. "We could have undermined them, let
their natural weaknesses play into our hands. You have gone on a rampage and
destroyed eleven of their worlds so far, and their fleet is still intact.
"We just crippled it, or weren't you watching?"
"They still have fight left in them. Remember, Prince Thrakhath, the
new fleet is to serve two purposes: one to win this war, and second to
prepare us for the Mantu if they should ever return. You are now gambling
that fleet in your drive for vengeance on the humans."
"Not vengeance, extinction."
Sickened, the Baron turned away. He knew now that the accusations were
right. Study one's enemy for too long and in the end you might come to
admire them. He did not admire the humans, the very essence of his nature
prevented that, but he could acknowledge them as something more than mere
prey to be slaughtered. His plan, if it had been allowed to be played out,
might very well have resulted in a near bloodless victory, a Confederation
completely divided, lulled by peace, and then psychologically overwhelmed
when the dozen new carriers appeared. It all suddenly became very clear.
"You allowed that recon ship of the humans to slip into Hari space and
then allowed it to escape. You wanted the peace ended, didn't you?"
"In spite of your claims of intellect, Baron, you are often rather slow
at figuring things out."
"You wanted this war to end in a blood bath. You were the one who
triggered the bomb in the human headquarters.
Prince Thrakhath smiled.
"You were never a prisoner of the humans. I was. You have not lost
comrades to them, I have. I shall rise to the Imperial Throne, hailed as the
conqueror of the humans and winner of this war, while as for you . . ." and
he leaned over, touching a button on his console.
The doors to his wardroom were flung open and four Imperial Marine
guards stepped in.
"Escort the Baron to his quarters and make sure he is very
comfortable."
"Are you arresting me?"
Prince Thrakhath shook his head.
"Let us say that there are certain questions to be asked of you later,
once the battles are completed and I am secure in my victory."
Baron Jukaga smiled coldly.
"Don't underestimate Tolwyn and his people. They are not finished yet."
"They soon will be, Baron," and he laughed coldly as Jukaga was lead
from the room.
"How are you, Geoff?"
Geoff looked up in surprise as "Big" Duke Grecko walked into his
private quarters.
Geoff started to get up from his cot and Duke motioned for him to relax
while he pulled a chair around and sat down across from Tolwyn.
"What the hell are you doing out here, Duke?"
"Can't keep the Marines in port when the action starts. I'm not
interfering out here, Geoff, but I thought I should come out and have a
look."
"You got the after action report then?"
Duke nodded glumly.
"It was relayed up to my frigate a couple of hours ago."
"I screwed up, Duke. I should have fallen back from Sirius and then
held here with Saratoga joined in for the strike."
СYou couldn't abandon Sirius without a fight. Civilian morale would
have gone off the deep end."
"So we lose two carriers and still lose Sirius."
"At least you bloodied them."
"One old carrier destroyed, one damaged and one of their new carriers
reported heavily damaged, but no kills on the new fleet. Which is what I
wanted.
"We're reporting that big carrier as dead for now," Duke said quietly.
"I never liked doing that."
"Sometimes we have to, and for all practical purposes it is dead at the
moment."
"So what do you want, Duke?" Geoff asked, cutting straight to the
point.
"I'm ordering you to fall back on Earth."
"What? Hell, Duke, if they break our line there they'll fry Earth in a
matter of minutes.
"I know, but we've been busy. By the time you pull back, Lexington and
Ark Royal will be on line."
"How? The jump engines on Lex and Ark Royal were fully out for
realignment, and core reactors had been dumped."
"If we're fighting inside the home system we won't need jump engines
and both ships have one reactor back up and running."
"They'll be sitting ducks."
"They'd be sitting ducks in the dockyard anyhow. At least they can
still launch fighters."
Though neither one said it, they both knew as well that the two
additional carriers would serve as targets, forcing the Kilrathi to spread
out their attack.
"Mars is the closest planet in towards the jump line," Duke continued.
"We've packed every landing field there full of every damn fighter, trainer,
and even civilian light craft."
"You've got to be kidding. I stripped out every good plane and pilot
before I left. Put what's left into space and they'll die like flies."
Duke nodded.
"And the Kilrathi will burn up ammunition while some of our people
still get in for another strike."
He knew it was better than a desperate stand out here with no hope of
winning. If he stood now, it'd only delay the inevitable by maybe a day or
two at most.
"Our psych analysis people tell me that even if you abandon this key
jump point, Thrakhath will not spread out into the inner worlds until he
completes his kill of you and Earth. The bastard hates your guts, according
to psych, for too many humiliations. He wants your hide almost as much as he
wants Earth. He'll follow you straight in."
"You know, Duke," Geoff said quietly, "even with the additional
material and manpower, they still have us. You saw what happened to my last
strike, and those boys were the finest pilots in the fleet."
"I know, Geoff, I know. But there's one more idea I sort of cooked up
on my own, that might help things out."
"What?"
And as Duke told him, Admiral Tolwyn came to his feet.
"You're mad, Duke, that's senseless murder. You're bloody mad to even
think of it."
"And that's why it might work," Duke said with a cold smile.
"My lord Thrakhath."
He turned to look at a holo display of his bridge captain.
"The latest report, sire."
"Go on."
"The human fleet is turning about, retreating back towards Earth."
"Are you certain?"
"Yes, my lord."
That caught him slightly off guard. He had thought that Tolwyn would
make his final stand here. One system past Sirius, eight jump lines diverged
outward into the inner worlds of the Confederation and also back outwards
towards the frontier. Control of the next system would be a major victory in
and of itself. Yet he was abandoning it now without a fight. Damn him.
"Latest intelligence report?"
"Three carriers still confirmed with their Third Fleet. Intelligence is
still working on their latest code but we have picked up a civilian channel
reporting that a carrier left its Earth base six hours ago, and that a
second carrier is moving up to join the fleet. The signal was from one of
their news stations and its coding simple to break."
"The stupid fools."
"Our latest damage report?"
"Tarvakh is still contending with internal fires, all three forward
launch bays are closed. Yu'ba'tuk's main shield generator is still off line
and one launch bay closed."
"Secondary shielding?"
"At ninety-one percent, expected to upgrade to ninety- three within the
hour."
"Fighter losses?"
"Heavy, sire. Seven eight-of-eights and two eights today. Eight
eight-of-eights and five eights total."
Not good at all . The Empire could invest all it wanted on new carriers
that were next to indestructible, but at the core, it still came down to
having fighters that were equal to or better than the latest Confederation
designs, and pilots who were trained to fly them. It had always been the
weak edge. Except for the handful of Stealth fighters possessed by the
Empire, fighter design and pilot training had never fully kept up with that
of the humans. The emergencies of the last two years had forced them to
repeatedly reach into the academies and throw half-trained cadets into
action Ч where most of them died within a matter of days. The survivors were
tough, but there were always too few.
He looked at what he had left and made his decisions.
"Order Tarvakh to transfer her remaining fighters to my flagship. That
will make good on our losses. Detail off," and he paused to look at the
status of the three surviving older carriers. "Detail off Notakgak and
Darthuka and their support ships to escort Tarvakh back to the Empire. Both
the retreating carriers to transfer their heavy strike squadrons to this
ship as well. Order the flanking cruiser squadrons to join us in the next
sector forward. Their fighters will equal those we lose from Notakgak and
Darthuka. Order the fleet to move up to flank speed in pursuit. When we
reach the next jump point send the first wave of light corvettes and
minesweeps through first, followed by cruisers in case they are waiting in
ambush."
The officer bowed in reply.
"The cruiser squadron detailed to the main planet of this system has
suppressed the planetary defenses, my lord. They are awaiting orders."
Prince Thrakhath smiled.
"Annihilate the planet, and then we go for Tolwyn and Earth."
Transjump completed, Prince Thrakhath stood up, expectant. A tremor of
excitement coursed through him. Involuntarily his talons extended and he
felt saliva filling his mouth. He waited, heart racing as the jump point
confirmation flashed across the main screen of the battle bridge. Optical
scanners swept space and then finally locked on to what the Prince was
seeking. Magnification and computer enhancements kicked in and the image
zoomed in, expanding.
Earth floated in the middle of the screen. A growl of triumphal shouts
echoed on the battle bridge, a total breakdown of discipline that he was
willing, at least this once, to ignore and forgive, as his own howl of
triumph mingled in with that of his crew.
"Signal the fleet on an open channel, Thrakhath roared and his
communications officer opened the line.
"Today we shall watch Earth burn. Long live the Emperor and the Empire.
Standard battle formation, advance full speed ahead!"
"They're starting to advance," Duke Grecko said quietly.
Geoff Tolwyn said nothing, intently studying the long range tactical
display, as the information was relayed in by a line of picket ships pulling
back ahead of the Imperial Fleet.
The advance came straight on with a defiant certainty. There was no
elaborate maneuvering, no attempts at tactical ploys. The Kilrathi main
battle fleet came on in a solid mass, arrogant in its overwhelming power.
"I'd better get to my ship," Duke said.
"Your tactical plan is suicidal, Duke. Ship-to-ship fighting isn't a
Marine job. Leave it to the fleet. And by God, Duke, boarding is something
straight out of Nelson and Trafalgar."
"I'll be damned if we're sitting this fight out, so don't argue with me
about it."
Geoff looked over at him, smiled, and took his old friend's hand.
"All right, it just might work. But you know, Duke, the proper place
for the Head of Joint Chiefs is back at headquarters on Earth."
Duke sniffed angrily.
"Look, Geoff. Up until they decided to make me a hero after Vukar I was
a line officer. Being in command of the whole show was never my plan. I'll
be damned if I hide in a bunker while my grunts are fighting for survival.
Anyhow, I've always wanted to lead a battle like this."
"Leading men in a desperate battle, against impossible odds?" Tolwyn
said with a smile. "What are you, the reincarnation of Patton?"
"Don't let anyone in on the secret, Geoff"
"Take care, Duke."
"God speed and good hunting, Geoff. I'll see you at sundown."
Geoff laughed softly and walked his commander off the bridge and down
the corridor to the starboard launch bay. Fighters were lined up down the
length of the deck, crews going over last minute checks, armament teams
finishing up loading, and repair crews off to one side, struggling to
salvage and bring back into the fight craft damaged in the Battle of Sirius.
A Marine landing craft was on the launch line, pilots standing by the
open door, talking with the launch officer. At the sight of Grecko
approaching they stiffened, came to attention and saluted.
"At ease, boys. Fire the engine up and let's get to work."
Geoff saluted Duke, who looked back at him and smiled.
"Give Сem hell, Geoff," and then he was gone, the entry hatch closing
behind him and snicking shut.
Geoff stood back from the launch line as the deck launch officer
stepped up forward and beside the Marine landing craft. She held her hand to
her ear protectors, waiting to hear from the senior launch officer that
Marine 1 was cleared. She saluted the pilot when word of clearance was
passed, crouched down and pointed forward. The landing craft started
forward, clearing the airlock, then kicked on full afterburners and, turning
to starboard, disappeared.
Thirty million clicks beyond the airlock Mars hovered in the darkness,
a bright point of red light. Thin lines of reflected silver light moved past
the airlock, hundreds of light civilian ships heading outward, with several
hundred Marine landing craft moving in the middle of the formation.
Geoff felt sick at heart watching them and turned heading back up the
corridor. He was already late for the final briefing and he moved
purposefully down the main corridor into the pilot quarters and ready room.
"Attention!"
Geoff came into the ready room, his features set, and reached the
lectern. He looked out at his pilots.
Nearly half the faces were new, many of them cadets pulled straight out
of the Academy to replace the losses from Sirius.
God, we're sending children out now.
"At ease. Be seated."
"I'll keep this short, we don't have much time. You'll be pleased to
know that Lexington has just cleared dry dock, carrying fifty-seven
fighters. That'll give us five fleet carriers for this action."
Actually he knew it was almost meaningless. Lexington was coming up
with just a little more than half her complement and running on secondary
reactor power only. It was nothing more than bait, moving ahead of
Concordia, Saratoga, Ark Royal and Leyte Gulf. With three hundred additional
fighters sortied up from Mars and Earth orbital bases, there'd be just over
six hundred fighters, half of them with green crews who'd never seen action
beyond a flight simulator.
"You know your missions. Blue Three, you're flying Combat Air Patrol
over the carriers. Blue Two, you're escorting in the Broadswords."
He could see Blue Three was less than amused, getting stuck in a purely
defensive role. Blue Two knew what was going to happen to her but didn't
display a flicker of emotion. The Kilrathi would turn their full fury on the
Broadswords and Sabres, and with less than eighty making up the strike and
eighty escorts, the chances of any of them coming back was nil.
He hesitated for a second.
"Blue One, you have the second strike escort slot. It's going to be
grim. You have to remember what the final objective is, and remember that
they're all volunteers out there."
His nephew looked up at him and forced a smile. Geoff paused and looked
over at the tactical display flickering in the briefing room's holo.
The Kilrathi Fleet was still staying together, coming straight in at a
range of twenty million clicks and closing. Thanks to simple orbital
mechanics, Mars was the closest planet to the jump point, with Earth seventy
million clicks behind it
The huge colonies on the moons of Saturn and Jupiter were on the far
side of the system. The only settlement areas now being over run were in the
asteroid belt and had already been abandoned.
"Pilots, man your planes," Geoff said quietly and he saluted first as
they came back to their feet.
The pilots and crews stormed out of the room. The usual banter and
bravado was gone today. They were silent, some obviously frightened, all of
them filled with a grim determination. He felt he could have made a bit more
of an emotional appeal, but knew that was nothing but crap. Everyone of them
knew that this was no ordinary battle. If this one was lost the Kilrathi
would be above Earth within hours.
Kevin came past him, helmet tucked under his arm. His nephew slowed,
looking at him out of the comer of his eye.
The hell with protocol, Geoff thought as he stepped forward and put his
hands on Kevin's shoulders.
"I've never been prouder of you, Kev. Now take care of yourself."
Kevin looked at him, his eyes bright.
"It's an honor to be with you today, sir," he said, trying to control
the tremor in his voice. Geoff let go of him and the boy followed the stream
of pilots out the door.
"Launch all fighters. Let us finish this hunt."
Prince Thrakhath turned away from the screen, a tingle of excitement
coursing through him as the fighter launch klaxon sounded through the ship.
Before him stood the Baron.
"You do not look thrilled about our impending victory, Baron."
Baron Jukaga merely snarled, looking at the Prince defiantly.
"I have one final little assignment for you, Baron."
"Go on then, what is it?"
And as Thrakhath told him the Baron's eyes went wide with shock and
rage.
"It is useless, senseless. The Emperor ordered you to preserve the
announced.
"Make course back towards Sirius, order destroyer squadron three." He
paused. "No, make that squadron two, to form rear guard using maneuver delta
for delaying action."
He settled into his command chair, watching the tactical. The enemy
carriers, masked by more than a hundred escorts, continued their relentless
move forward, while one of the older carriers, escorted by a cruiser
squadron, broke away, turning towards Warsaw.
"Get me Mike Polowski on laser link," Geoff said quietly.
Seconds later the commander of squadron three appeared on the holo
screen. Geoff felt as if the commodore were in the room with him. His
features were pale, jaw quivering.
"I've got bad news for you, Mike."
"I can see it, Geoff."
"I'm sorry. They demanded the surrender of the fleet. If we didn't they
said they'd hit your home world."
Mike lowered his head
"You did what you had to do, Geoff. God help me, I would have done the
same. Anything else, sir?"
"It's going to be bad, Mike. They're going to radiation-bombard it as
well, killing the planet and everything on it.
Mike's jaw started to tremble and he turned away from the screen for a
moment and then finally looked back, his eyes filled with anguish.
"Why? It's not even a military target."
"To make an example of what's to come."
Mike stood silently, unable to speak.
"I'm sorry, Mike."
Polowski nodded silently and then his image winked off.
"Give me full optical power on Warsaw, patch in to their planetary
defense."
The orbital base commander appeared on the side screen, while optical
locked on the planet. It still looked peaceful, an illusion since with
visual scan it now took more than two minutes for the image to reach him.
"White Wolf, this is Warsaw defense. We are under attack. As per your
orders, primary station has been abandoned. Civilian population are in
shelters. All ground to space missiles have been expended.
"White Wolf, this is Warsaw defense. We have high speed incoming! We
have . . ."
The image snapped off.
Geoff watched the optical scan in silence, and then the first blossom
of light snapped across the northern continent's surface. Seconds later
hundreds of snaps of light erupted, blanketing the continent. the snake-like
chain of islands in the southern hemisphere erupting as well.
"We are picking up thermonuclear air bursts in the five hundred megaton
range. The nukes are emitting strontium ninety," the tactical officer
announced, her voice hard-edged with rage.
"The bastards," Geoff whispered, "the damn bastards."
It had gone even beyond genocide. The planet was seeded with enough
strontium 90 to wipe out the entire biosphere. The Kilrathi were destroying
an entire planet simply as a demonstration of what was to come.
"I know why you're here, Captain, excuse me, I think I made you a
Commodore. Anyhow, Commodore, you're wasting your time."
Without even waiting for an invitation Jason went over to the refridge
in Kruger's wardroom, pulled out a container of beer and popped it open.
"Help yourself," Kruger said quietly and then paused, "you deserve it."
"You did well out there," Jason replied.
"Not good enough," and Kruger motioned to a flat screen projecting an
image from a drone probe that was circling above the main airfield and town
on the Hell Hole, at least what was left of it.
"Four antimatter warheads and one thermonuclear airburst loaded with
strontium ninety. The world's a write-off."
"The bastards," Jason hissed, looking at the radiation read-outs. There
had been an unwritten and unspoken agreement between the two sides since the
start of the war, that no matter how grim the conflict was, the deliberate
destruction of life-bearing capability of a planet was beyond the limits. It
had been in part a self-serving rule for both sides, for both sides hoped
for ultimate victory and with it the worlds inhabited by their foes.
"We just got this burst signal from the Confeds," and he switched the
screen.
It was an official government news service report on the opening action
in the Warsaw system and Jason watched, seething with rage as an optical
scan showed the annihilation of Warsaw. The report finished with a demand
from Baron Jukaga, delivered in the most sincere of voices, as if he were on
the human side of the conflict, calling for an end to hostilities through
the surrender of the Third Fleet. The closing comment came from President
Quinson, a wonderfully crude response, delivered before a packed Senate
meeting, and as he said the words the Senate came to its feet, roaring their
support.
"I actually rather like Quinson," Kruger said, turning the screen off.
"Too bad he's going to get his ass kicked."
"At least he'll go down fighting."
"A gallant gesture but useless in the end, С Kruger said quietly.
Jason spared a look over at the holo tactical display.
"The Cats have pulled back?"
"Into the next system already. I've got a squadron of destroyers in
pursuit. They're circled around the crippled carrier like a wolf pack
defending its pups. Just what I wanted, they're shaken and are afraid of
losing a second carrier.
"Now what?"
"Ah, what you came to hear."
Jason nodded.
"Stay here. The bastards will be back. We know where seven of their old
carriers are now, rather six, thanks to the kill your pilots helped put in.
That still leaves at least ten unaccounted for. They might hit us from
another direction at any moment."
Kruger paused and looked up at Jason.
"Go on, I'm expecting to hear it. Even old Richards on that frigate I
gave him is mumbling about it."
"Head for Sirius or Earth. Look, I'll admit when I first got here I
didn't think much of your Landreich fleet and pilots. But by God I'll admit
it now, they're the best I've ever seen. Brave to the point of suicidal."
"Sometimes I even have to ask that," Kruger replied quietly. "A
trade-off of a couple of lives for many."
"They might help tip the scale."
"First of all, action will be joined there by then."
Jason nodded.
"But it still might be going on and we could help."
"And while I go running off what about my own people out here? You're
proposing that I leave the planets and orbital colonies of my system
defenseless and go riding off to help the Confederation? Your Confederation
was willing to write us off thirty years back, and they did it again this
time. Why the hell should I care?"
"Because the Confederation needs you, needs your leadership and your
pilots."
Kruger snorted with disdain.
"Oh, solidarity of race against the Cats, is that your next pitch?"
"I knew that wouldn't work," Jason replied. "But you know damn well
that when Earth and the inner worlds fall it's finished. What happened to
Warsaw will happen to them. The Kilrathi are on a killing frenzy and they
won't stop. They've levered the war up another notch. When they're done in
there, they'll come out here and follow you and your people no matter where
you flee."
Kruger said nothing, as if having heard the argument too many times
before.
"So you won't go?"
"You guessed it."
"Will you release me and my people, give us at least Tarawa to head
back?"
"No."
Jason had already calculated the chance of doing a Kruger on Kruger, of
hijacking his carrier out of the fleet and knew it was impossible and
useless. Nearly all the pilots and over half his crew were Landreich. Kruger
had shrewdly made sure that none of the carriers had a majority of
Confederation crews on board.
"You just can t forgive, can you?" Jason asked coldly. "Thirty years
ago the Confederation made a mistake and I'd admit you made the right move
in response. You know enough about me to know I did the same thing. I led a
mutiny against an officer who ordered us to murder Kilrathi civilians and it
would have destroyed my career if it hadn't been for Admiral Tolwyn.
"I went through hell because of that, but I never blamed the
Confederation. I blamed the bastard who forced me to mutiny. For thirty
years you ve been carrying a grudge and because of your damned stupid blind
pride you'll condemn humanity to death.
"I'm not going to mutiny against you, Kruger, but when the Kilrathi
finish with you, if I'm still alive, I'll spit on whatever is left of you."
Without waiting for a reply Jason Bondarevsky stormed out of President
Kruger's office.
The two inhabited worlds of Sirius glimmered in the aft screen, showing
themselves as two pale green points of light in the middle of the holo
display of the system. Geoff jacked up the magnification level of the holo
and the further of the two planets disappeared. On the far side of the holo
display a nearly solid swarm of red blips were arrayed in five large
clusters. Hundreds of smaller red lights, Kilrathi strike fighters and
interceptors, were moving ahead, coming straight in at his own thin blue
line, behind which were positioned four large blue dots. In the middle
region of space between the two groups, two V wedges of small blue dots were
aiming straight in at the heart of the enemy fleet.
"Strike forces crossing into Kilrathi controlled space," a voice
whispered.
The Combat Information Center, buried in the heart of Concordia was
almost like a tomb, encased in a double layering of durasteel, illuminated
by soft diffused light and the shimmer of holo displays and flat screens.
Outside a battle was raging, in here, where the decisions were being made,
the cool professionalism of his staff made it seem almost like an exercise.
Yet, as he spared a glance from the holo and looked around the room he could
see the grim determination. After retreating through three star systems, and
impotently witnessing the annihilation of the worlds he had been forced to
abandon, Geoff Tolwyn had finally turned his fleet about. The Battle of
Sirius had begun.
"Blue Squadron, this is Lone Wolf. Close it up. Remember, we want the
big ones, nothing else, so cover your Broadswords."
"Lone Wolf, this is Round Top, read me?"
Kevin Tolwyn smiled; it was his old comrade from the Tarawa days.
"Where are you, Chamberlain?"
"Right above you in Broadsword Two off Moskva, so be sure to cover my
butt, son, while I win the glory.
"With you all the way, Round Top."
Kevin tightened the grip on his joystick, his Rapier G jiggling
slightly from his nervous hold on the stick. It was certainly the biggest
strike group he had ever flown with, more than two hundred and fifty
fighters and attack bombers launched from four carriers. The extra fifty
heavy strike craft from Saratoga were missed, the carrier still half a
system away with a main engine fuel pump acting up. Two hundred and eighty
fighters were being held in reserve as protection for the fleet carriers and
as a second strike wave.
Kevin looked down at his tactical display. Straight ahead the
individual blips of enemy fighters, corvettes, frigates and destroyers had
merged into a solid wall of red.
He clicked into a side band to the main fleet communications line. A
real time image of Gilead, the second inhabited planet, was being
transferred out to the fleet even while the battle was about to be joined.
He was past the point of rage. The planet flickered on his screen,
bursts of five hundred megaton thermonuclear warheads, clad with strontium,
detonating high up in the atmosphere, destroying yet another world. The
image winked off, replaced by his uncle.
"This is Tolwyn. Good luck to all of you and good hunting."
The image winked off and Kevin smile. Typical Brit understatement.
The forward edge of Rapiers, Raptors, Ferrets and Hornets, running
ahead of the attack wave, slammed into the opposing wall of opposition
defending the Kilrathi heavy carriers
From out of the red wall dozens of blinking orange dots appeared,
aiming straight in at the attack force.
"All right, Blue team, we've got incoming antimatter area strike, the
strike leader announced. "Let's bring'em up."
The strike force diverted from its straight in approach, turning up at
a ninety degree angle relative to the orbital plane of the Sirius system.
The area bombardment missiles started to turn to follow, the range closing.
The first one winked into a white hot ball, dozens more detonating, catching
half a dozen fighters at the back of the strike.
The squadrons nosed back over, following the strike commander, slicing
in through the explosions, and as they came out the opposite side, the
Kilrathi fighters were upon them.
Kevin fought down a moment of panic. The largest action he had ever
been in was at Munro, a cakewalk attack on one carrier. Even the Academy
holo simulators had never been programmed to handle the number of enemy
fighters now coming in on him.
It was impossible to sort out which target to lock on. Hundreds of IFFs
streaked across space and within seconds dozens of ships on both sides were
exploding. The Broadsword and Sabre gunners sent out sprays of shot in every
direction as wing group size attack waves by the Kilrathi came in. The four
light corvettes escorting the attack dropped out sprays of chaff, jammers,
and flares. The first wave passed and Kevin, ashamed, realized he had not
fired even a shot.
He looked up at the Broadswords he was escorting. One was gone, another
turning out of formation, spinning, its port engine blown apart, its
starboard engine apparently jammed at full throttle. Its crew ejected and
the ship spun away, exploding seconds later.
From out of the confusion a wave of Dralthi, Krants, and Gratha, flying
nearly wing tip to wing tip, came sweeping in, forward cannons firing.
"Blue three, there's our Cats. Let's break Сem up."
He edged his throttle forward, leaping ahead of the Broadswords, lining
up on the lead Dralthi and putting a dumb fire bolt straight into the
furballs' canopy, blowing the top of the enemy fighter apart. The enemy
attack broke apart, three Dralthi dead, and Kevin came around, seeing that
his number three man was gone. There wasn't even time to ask.
"Keep moving in, close in maneuvering scoops," the strike commander
called. "We want the carriers!"
Kevin swallowed hard, passing the order on to his squadron, and he
closed scoops in.
It was no longer possible to pull the tight-in maneuvers. It was going
to be a straight in high speed run.
Blasts snapped around him, missiles detonating, his number five pilot
ejecting from her fighter as it crumpled up in a ball of flame.
He pulled in close under the bellies of the Broadswords he was
escorting.
The outer row of enemy picket ships was straight ahead and their
barrage opened up, two of the escorting corvettes taking multiple hits and
disappearing. As they shot through the line of Kilrathi frigates and
destroyers, more than a hundred missiles were dropped by the furballs,
slashing into the squadrons, the two remaining corvettes blowing out more
sprays of chaff, jammers, and flares. The curtain of distractors diverted
most of the missiles, but enough found their mark and more than two dozen
Confederation fighters and bombers were gone.
Kevin pulled open his visor and wiped the stinging sweat from his eyes.
His back was soaked with sweat, the suit coolant unable to evaporate it off
fast enough. His mouth felt dry, as if he had swallowed a ball of cotton and
he suddenly understood why Ian had developed the revolting habit of chewing
on an old cigar while in a tight spot.
Straight ahead on his tactical were five large clusters of red. He no
longer needed to use the screen. Even from extreme range he could already
pick out a thin sliver of reflected light.
"Bombardment groups one and two, take center carrier," the strike
commander announced, and Kevin could see on the comm screen that the
leader's ship had been hit, smoke in the cockpit making him barely visible,
"three and four carrier to port, five and six to starboard. Range nine
hundred clicks, open maneuvering scoops, full reverse thrust for
deceleration in ten seconds."
"Got that, Lone Wolf?"
"Straight in we go, Round Top. Make it a good one, buddy," Kevin
replied.
"Nothing less will do."
"Three, two, one, decelerate!"
Kevin pulled his maneuvering scoops wide open and slammed in reverse
thrust, instantly slowing his fighter, which shuddered to a near stand still
less than fifty clicks out from their target.
A swarm of Kilrathi fighters closed in on them.
There was a flash of light forward off the carrier's bow and Kevin
realized that someone, driven by rage, had simply tried to ram the enemy
ship. Such a maneuver at full closing speed was nearly impossible to do and
the fighter had deflected off the side of the carrier's heavy shields.
"I've got initial torpedo lock," Round Top announced, "and counting at
thirty, twenty nine . . ." The other strike craft that Kevin was protecting
joined in with their own announcements of initial lock.
They slowly drifted in towards their target and Kevin felt as if his
heart were wrapped in ice. The ship was massive, more than twice the size of
any carrier he had ever seen before. He could barely spare it a glance,
however, as hundreds of enemy fighters swarmed in upon them.
Within seconds he had lost the rest of his squadron in the mad melee as
he twisted and turned his fighter, struggling to stay alive while at the
same time desperately attempting to cover the Broadswords as they hung near
motionless, waiting for their torpedoes to gain full lock.
Broadsword after Broadsword disappeared in white-hot explosions. Three
Krants lined in on Round Top, his countdown still echoing in Kevin's
headphones as he weaved into them, crippling one with a dumb-fired flechette
spray, and destroying a second with a stream of neutron bolts cutting into
the fighter's engine mounts.
The third stitched a flurry of rounds across the portside gun turret of
Round Top's ship, and Kevin caught a glimpse of the gunner's body shredding
to pieces, his canopy bursting into shards from the strike.
"Keep Сem off me," Round Top shouted. "Ten seconds and counting."
The strike squadron had drifted to within eight clicks of the carrier
and what appeared to be a solid wall of mass driver rounds snaked out from
the ship's bow, blowing three more Broadswords apart. Kevin struggled with
his stick as a shudder ran through his fighter, starboard shielding
overloading and a laser hit sheered of the last meter of his wingtip.
He turned inside the laser beam, blowing out reflective chaff which
temporarily blinded the laser's target lock, the beam skewing across his
bow, cutting a gouge into the forward durasteel armor.
"Three, two, one, it's away!"
The fifteen surviving Broadswords out of the thirty in the strike group
launched their torpedo loads. Round Top, along with half the remaining
ships, were armed with the laser lock guidance and they turned upwards
making sure that the laser emitters were pointed at the torpedoes.
The space between the attacking fighters and the carriers turned into
an insane explosion of anti-torpedo missiles, dogfighting ships, and point
defense blasts from the Kilrathi carrier.
"We've got lock, we've got holding lock," Round Top shouted.
Kevin turned his fighter to circle around Round Top and saw yet another
swarm of Kilrathi fighters cutting in, dropping a wall of missiles on the
surviving Broadswords.
"Round Top, evasive, evasive!"
"Can't! We still have lock, three seconds, two, one . . ."
Kevin screamed with rage as five missiles detonated across the top of
his friend's Broadsword. The ship simply disappeared.
From off his portside wing he saw four torpedoes impacting on the
carrier's bow. In the silence of space it seemed some how surreal, as if a
holo movie was being played out. For a brief instant the carrier disappeared
behind the exploding curtain of antimatter warheads. He waited for the
secondary explosions to begin.
"Scratch one flattop," someone screamed on the commlink. "We've got the
bastard!"
And as he waited, the carrier emerged from out of the fire. Its forward
bow, and for nearly a hundred meters back, was a twisted wreckage, but the
ship continued to purposefully move forward.
Making sure his gun cameras were still on, Kevin turned in towards the
carrier.
Wreckage was trailing off from the bow of the ship as he raced in and
he could see fires flaring inside the ruins of the forward portside launch
bay. He crossed up and over the top of the carrier and then suddenly the
anti-aircraft defenses of the carrier kicked back on.
She still had internal power Ч it was impossible after four torpedo
strikes!
Jinxing to throw off the gunners, he raced down the length of the ship,
passing one of the aft launch bays. He locked his camera into a laser
designator and swung the designator in on the bay. On his small comm screen
he caught a quick glimpse inside the ship. Another fighter was coming down
the launch ramp, afterburners flaming. Internal lighting was still on and
launch crews were purposefully working, some of them still picking
themselves up, shaking off the after effects of the torpedo hammer blows.
The image disappeared as he flashed across the stem of the ship.
He looked up and saw that more than a dozen Kilrathi fighters were
streaking in to pick him off and he went into a violent spin, cutting down
over the stern of the ship, his fighter bucking and shuddering as he got
caught in the exhaust plume of the carrier.
He punched through into the fleet comm channel.
"White Wolf, this is Blue One. No joy, repeat, no joy, carrier still
running after four torpedo hits. Catch my video transmit."
He sent the signal through and then looked at his tactical.
Space was dotted solid with red, with only an occasional blue dot. The
strike force had shot its bolt and been destroyed, and the Kilrathi Fleet
continued on in.
Sick at heart, Admiral Tolwyn silently watched as the action reports
came in. He coughed again, wiping the tears from his eyes. The Combat
Information Center was still filled with smoke, the air filtration plant
still off line from the torpedo hit to Concordia.
"Message from Moskva, sir."
"Put it on man."
A young woman, blood trickling down from her forehead, appeared in the
flat wavery image.
"Where's Ching?"
"Dead, sir. Last hit took out the bridge."
He nodded silently. Damn.
Sir, we have to abandon ship, all engines are dead. We're moving on
inertia and one bank of maneuvering thrusters only. Secondary generators are
going off line, hull integrity lost in sixty-three percent, remaining
bulkhead are leaking and will rupture with one more hit."
"Get your people into the escape boats. I'll have Polowski stand by to
pick up survivors."
"I'm sorry, sir."
"You fought her well, lieutenant, you fought her well."
He looked back at the action reports that streamed in across the
monitors.
Two of the new carriers and one of the old ones had been hit in his
strike. The old style carrier was gone, but the two new ones still appeared
to be relentlessly moving forward. In return, all four of his carriers had
been hit. Verdun was lost with all hands. and now Moskva was finished Leyte
Gulf, which had only joined him this morning, had one bay down from a direct
hit. Of the more than four hundred and eighty strike craft and bombers he
had launched three hours ago, less than two hundred and twenty were still
able to fly. Worst of all was the loss of Broadswords; less than a quarter
had returned. Estimates of Kilrathi fighter loss stood at just over seven
hundred. He knew the figure would be cut once the debriefing teams had a
chance to look at all the camera footage. In short, he had lost.
He looked at the status plot boards. Only twenty-nine Broadswords and
twenty modified Sabres were armed and ready for a second strike. Already the
Kilrathi were sending up their next strike wave which was even stronger than
their first as they shifted craft over from defensive to offensive
operations. He turned back to his strategic communications officer, who was
burst signal linked back to Earth.
"Latest reported position of Saratoga?"
"Still six hours twenty-one minutes short of jump point 3A."
Geoff looked back at his main nav screen. Jump Point 3A, the connecting
link back from Sirius towards Earth was an hour behind him.
Saratoga would never come up in time to help repel the next attack, let
alone be able to aid in a second strike.
"Signal all ships by laser link. We are withdrawing from Sirius."
His bridge crew looked around at him startled.
"We'll be swarmed under in the second strike. If I thought we had a
chance of hitting them back hard enough, I'd do it. There's no sense in
dying for no reason."
"What about Sirius, sir?" a helm ensign asked angrily. "Damn it, sir,
that's my home."
"Son, it's finished whether we stay here and die, or leave. We need
time to repair damaged planes, get Leyte's port launch bay back on line and
prepare a second strike. Saratoga will nearly double our heavy strike
fighter strength if we fall back on her."
The ensign looked around, realizing he had spoken way out of turn to a
full admiral. He started to open his mouth again and was restrained by his
section lieutenant who took him by the shoulder and turned him away.
Gilead, the smaller of the two worlds, was already flaming ruins.
Sirius Prime, thirty nine million clicks to port, was now wide open and
already a section of Kilrathi cruisers was turning towards it. He didn't
even want to think about how many people were down there.
"Helm, turn us about. Let's get the hell out of here," he snarled.
"Recall those cruisers now!"
Prince Thrakhath turned to gaze coldly at Baron Jukaga.
"Growing soft, my good Baron?"
"Your senseless barbarism will only arouse them further. You've made
your point, now spare the second planet. Show mercy and it still might
weaken their will."
"Terror breeds terror, Baron."
"Terror can also breed fanaticism and hatred. Your demonstration at
Warsaw did not intimidate the humans, instead it caused them to stop their
internal bickering and unite. You know nothing of humans. Senseless
bombardments of their civilian populations have always tended to unite them.
The deliberate destruction of entire worlds with radiation will cause them
to fight us tooth and nail to the death rather than surrender."
"And that s what you wanted, wasn't it, surrender?"
The Baron attempted to control his loathing and rage.
"You are a barbarian," he snapped. "We could have undermined them, let
their natural weaknesses play into our hands. You have gone on a rampage and
destroyed eleven of their worlds so far, and their fleet is still intact.
"We just crippled it, or weren't you watching?"
"They still have fight left in them. Remember, Prince Thrakhath, the
new fleet is to serve two purposes: one to win this war, and second to
prepare us for the Mantu if they should ever return. You are now gambling
that fleet in your drive for vengeance on the humans."
"Not vengeance, extinction."
Sickened, the Baron turned away. He knew now that the accusations were
right. Study one's enemy for too long and in the end you might come to
admire them. He did not admire the humans, the very essence of his nature
prevented that, but he could acknowledge them as something more than mere
prey to be slaughtered. His plan, if it had been allowed to be played out,
might very well have resulted in a near bloodless victory, a Confederation
completely divided, lulled by peace, and then psychologically overwhelmed
when the dozen new carriers appeared. It all suddenly became very clear.
"You allowed that recon ship of the humans to slip into Hari space and
then allowed it to escape. You wanted the peace ended, didn't you?"
"In spite of your claims of intellect, Baron, you are often rather slow
at figuring things out."
"You wanted this war to end in a blood bath. You were the one who
triggered the bomb in the human headquarters.
Prince Thrakhath smiled.
"You were never a prisoner of the humans. I was. You have not lost
comrades to them, I have. I shall rise to the Imperial Throne, hailed as the
conqueror of the humans and winner of this war, while as for you . . ." and
he leaned over, touching a button on his console.
The doors to his wardroom were flung open and four Imperial Marine
guards stepped in.
"Escort the Baron to his quarters and make sure he is very
comfortable."
"Are you arresting me?"
Prince Thrakhath shook his head.
"Let us say that there are certain questions to be asked of you later,
once the battles are completed and I am secure in my victory."
Baron Jukaga smiled coldly.
"Don't underestimate Tolwyn and his people. They are not finished yet."
"They soon will be, Baron," and he laughed coldly as Jukaga was lead
from the room.
"How are you, Geoff?"
Geoff looked up in surprise as "Big" Duke Grecko walked into his
private quarters.
Geoff started to get up from his cot and Duke motioned for him to relax
while he pulled a chair around and sat down across from Tolwyn.
"What the hell are you doing out here, Duke?"
"Can't keep the Marines in port when the action starts. I'm not
interfering out here, Geoff, but I thought I should come out and have a
look."
"You got the after action report then?"
Duke nodded glumly.
"It was relayed up to my frigate a couple of hours ago."
"I screwed up, Duke. I should have fallen back from Sirius and then
held here with Saratoga joined in for the strike."
СYou couldn't abandon Sirius without a fight. Civilian morale would
have gone off the deep end."
"So we lose two carriers and still lose Sirius."
"At least you bloodied them."
"One old carrier destroyed, one damaged and one of their new carriers
reported heavily damaged, but no kills on the new fleet. Which is what I
wanted.
"We're reporting that big carrier as dead for now," Duke said quietly.
"I never liked doing that."
"Sometimes we have to, and for all practical purposes it is dead at the
moment."
"So what do you want, Duke?" Geoff asked, cutting straight to the
point.
"I'm ordering you to fall back on Earth."
"What? Hell, Duke, if they break our line there they'll fry Earth in a
matter of minutes.
"I know, but we've been busy. By the time you pull back, Lexington and
Ark Royal will be on line."
"How? The jump engines on Lex and Ark Royal were fully out for
realignment, and core reactors had been dumped."
"If we're fighting inside the home system we won't need jump engines
and both ships have one reactor back up and running."
"They'll be sitting ducks."
"They'd be sitting ducks in the dockyard anyhow. At least they can
still launch fighters."
Though neither one said it, they both knew as well that the two
additional carriers would serve as targets, forcing the Kilrathi to spread
out their attack.
"Mars is the closest planet in towards the jump line," Duke continued.
"We've packed every landing field there full of every damn fighter, trainer,
and even civilian light craft."
"You've got to be kidding. I stripped out every good plane and pilot
before I left. Put what's left into space and they'll die like flies."
Duke nodded.
"And the Kilrathi will burn up ammunition while some of our people
still get in for another strike."
He knew it was better than a desperate stand out here with no hope of
winning. If he stood now, it'd only delay the inevitable by maybe a day or
two at most.
"Our psych analysis people tell me that even if you abandon this key
jump point, Thrakhath will not spread out into the inner worlds until he
completes his kill of you and Earth. The bastard hates your guts, according
to psych, for too many humiliations. He wants your hide almost as much as he
wants Earth. He'll follow you straight in."
"You know, Duke," Geoff said quietly, "even with the additional
material and manpower, they still have us. You saw what happened to my last
strike, and those boys were the finest pilots in the fleet."
"I know, Geoff, I know. But there's one more idea I sort of cooked up
on my own, that might help things out."
"What?"
And as Duke told him, Admiral Tolwyn came to his feet.
"You're mad, Duke, that's senseless murder. You're bloody mad to even
think of it."
"And that's why it might work," Duke said with a cold smile.
"My lord Thrakhath."
He turned to look at a holo display of his bridge captain.
"The latest report, sire."
"Go on."
"The human fleet is turning about, retreating back towards Earth."
"Are you certain?"
"Yes, my lord."
That caught him slightly off guard. He had thought that Tolwyn would
make his final stand here. One system past Sirius, eight jump lines diverged
outward into the inner worlds of the Confederation and also back outwards
towards the frontier. Control of the next system would be a major victory in
and of itself. Yet he was abandoning it now without a fight. Damn him.
"Latest intelligence report?"
"Three carriers still confirmed with their Third Fleet. Intelligence is
still working on their latest code but we have picked up a civilian channel
reporting that a carrier left its Earth base six hours ago, and that a
second carrier is moving up to join the fleet. The signal was from one of
their news stations and its coding simple to break."
"The stupid fools."
"Our latest damage report?"
"Tarvakh is still contending with internal fires, all three forward
launch bays are closed. Yu'ba'tuk's main shield generator is still off line
and one launch bay closed."
"Secondary shielding?"
"At ninety-one percent, expected to upgrade to ninety- three within the
hour."
"Fighter losses?"
"Heavy, sire. Seven eight-of-eights and two eights today. Eight
eight-of-eights and five eights total."
Not good at all . The Empire could invest all it wanted on new carriers
that were next to indestructible, but at the core, it still came down to
having fighters that were equal to or better than the latest Confederation
designs, and pilots who were trained to fly them. It had always been the
weak edge. Except for the handful of Stealth fighters possessed by the
Empire, fighter design and pilot training had never fully kept up with that
of the humans. The emergencies of the last two years had forced them to
repeatedly reach into the academies and throw half-trained cadets into
action Ч where most of them died within a matter of days. The survivors were
tough, but there were always too few.
He looked at what he had left and made his decisions.
"Order Tarvakh to transfer her remaining fighters to my flagship. That
will make good on our losses. Detail off," and he paused to look at the
status of the three surviving older carriers. "Detail off Notakgak and
Darthuka and their support ships to escort Tarvakh back to the Empire. Both
the retreating carriers to transfer their heavy strike squadrons to this
ship as well. Order the flanking cruiser squadrons to join us in the next
sector forward. Their fighters will equal those we lose from Notakgak and
Darthuka. Order the fleet to move up to flank speed in pursuit. When we
reach the next jump point send the first wave of light corvettes and
minesweeps through first, followed by cruisers in case they are waiting in
ambush."
The officer bowed in reply.
"The cruiser squadron detailed to the main planet of this system has
suppressed the planetary defenses, my lord. They are awaiting orders."
Prince Thrakhath smiled.
"Annihilate the planet, and then we go for Tolwyn and Earth."
Transjump completed, Prince Thrakhath stood up, expectant. A tremor of
excitement coursed through him. Involuntarily his talons extended and he
felt saliva filling his mouth. He waited, heart racing as the jump point
confirmation flashed across the main screen of the battle bridge. Optical
scanners swept space and then finally locked on to what the Prince was
seeking. Magnification and computer enhancements kicked in and the image
zoomed in, expanding.
Earth floated in the middle of the screen. A growl of triumphal shouts
echoed on the battle bridge, a total breakdown of discipline that he was
willing, at least this once, to ignore and forgive, as his own howl of
triumph mingled in with that of his crew.
"Signal the fleet on an open channel, Thrakhath roared and his
communications officer opened the line.
"Today we shall watch Earth burn. Long live the Emperor and the Empire.
Standard battle formation, advance full speed ahead!"
"They're starting to advance," Duke Grecko said quietly.
Geoff Tolwyn said nothing, intently studying the long range tactical
display, as the information was relayed in by a line of picket ships pulling
back ahead of the Imperial Fleet.
The advance came straight on with a defiant certainty. There was no
elaborate maneuvering, no attempts at tactical ploys. The Kilrathi main
battle fleet came on in a solid mass, arrogant in its overwhelming power.
"I'd better get to my ship," Duke said.
"Your tactical plan is suicidal, Duke. Ship-to-ship fighting isn't a
Marine job. Leave it to the fleet. And by God, Duke, boarding is something
straight out of Nelson and Trafalgar."
"I'll be damned if we're sitting this fight out, so don't argue with me
about it."
Geoff looked over at him, smiled, and took his old friend's hand.
"All right, it just might work. But you know, Duke, the proper place
for the Head of Joint Chiefs is back at headquarters on Earth."
Duke sniffed angrily.
"Look, Geoff. Up until they decided to make me a hero after Vukar I was
a line officer. Being in command of the whole show was never my plan. I'll
be damned if I hide in a bunker while my grunts are fighting for survival.
Anyhow, I've always wanted to lead a battle like this."
"Leading men in a desperate battle, against impossible odds?" Tolwyn
said with a smile. "What are you, the reincarnation of Patton?"
"Don't let anyone in on the secret, Geoff"
"Take care, Duke."
"God speed and good hunting, Geoff. I'll see you at sundown."
Geoff laughed softly and walked his commander off the bridge and down
the corridor to the starboard launch bay. Fighters were lined up down the
length of the deck, crews going over last minute checks, armament teams
finishing up loading, and repair crews off to one side, struggling to
salvage and bring back into the fight craft damaged in the Battle of Sirius.
A Marine landing craft was on the launch line, pilots standing by the
open door, talking with the launch officer. At the sight of Grecko
approaching they stiffened, came to attention and saluted.
"At ease, boys. Fire the engine up and let's get to work."
Geoff saluted Duke, who looked back at him and smiled.
"Give Сem hell, Geoff," and then he was gone, the entry hatch closing
behind him and snicking shut.
Geoff stood back from the launch line as the deck launch officer
stepped up forward and beside the Marine landing craft. She held her hand to
her ear protectors, waiting to hear from the senior launch officer that
Marine 1 was cleared. She saluted the pilot when word of clearance was
passed, crouched down and pointed forward. The landing craft started
forward, clearing the airlock, then kicked on full afterburners and, turning
to starboard, disappeared.
Thirty million clicks beyond the airlock Mars hovered in the darkness,
a bright point of red light. Thin lines of reflected silver light moved past
the airlock, hundreds of light civilian ships heading outward, with several
hundred Marine landing craft moving in the middle of the formation.
Geoff felt sick at heart watching them and turned heading back up the
corridor. He was already late for the final briefing and he moved
purposefully down the main corridor into the pilot quarters and ready room.
"Attention!"
Geoff came into the ready room, his features set, and reached the
lectern. He looked out at his pilots.
Nearly half the faces were new, many of them cadets pulled straight out
of the Academy to replace the losses from Sirius.
God, we're sending children out now.
"At ease. Be seated."
"I'll keep this short, we don't have much time. You'll be pleased to
know that Lexington has just cleared dry dock, carrying fifty-seven
fighters. That'll give us five fleet carriers for this action."
Actually he knew it was almost meaningless. Lexington was coming up
with just a little more than half her complement and running on secondary
reactor power only. It was nothing more than bait, moving ahead of
Concordia, Saratoga, Ark Royal and Leyte Gulf. With three hundred additional
fighters sortied up from Mars and Earth orbital bases, there'd be just over
six hundred fighters, half of them with green crews who'd never seen action
beyond a flight simulator.
"You know your missions. Blue Three, you're flying Combat Air Patrol
over the carriers. Blue Two, you're escorting in the Broadswords."
He could see Blue Three was less than amused, getting stuck in a purely
defensive role. Blue Two knew what was going to happen to her but didn't
display a flicker of emotion. The Kilrathi would turn their full fury on the
Broadswords and Sabres, and with less than eighty making up the strike and
eighty escorts, the chances of any of them coming back was nil.
He hesitated for a second.
"Blue One, you have the second strike escort slot. It's going to be
grim. You have to remember what the final objective is, and remember that
they're all volunteers out there."
His nephew looked up at him and forced a smile. Geoff paused and looked
over at the tactical display flickering in the briefing room's holo.
The Kilrathi Fleet was still staying together, coming straight in at a
range of twenty million clicks and closing. Thanks to simple orbital
mechanics, Mars was the closest planet to the jump point, with Earth seventy
million clicks behind it
The huge colonies on the moons of Saturn and Jupiter were on the far
side of the system. The only settlement areas now being over run were in the
asteroid belt and had already been abandoned.
"Pilots, man your planes," Geoff said quietly and he saluted first as
they came back to their feet.
The pilots and crews stormed out of the room. The usual banter and
bravado was gone today. They were silent, some obviously frightened, all of
them filled with a grim determination. He felt he could have made a bit more
of an emotional appeal, but knew that was nothing but crap. Everyone of them
knew that this was no ordinary battle. If this one was lost the Kilrathi
would be above Earth within hours.
Kevin came past him, helmet tucked under his arm. His nephew slowed,
looking at him out of the comer of his eye.
The hell with protocol, Geoff thought as he stepped forward and put his
hands on Kevin's shoulders.
"I've never been prouder of you, Kev. Now take care of yourself."
Kevin looked at him, his eyes bright.
"It's an honor to be with you today, sir," he said, trying to control
the tremor in his voice. Geoff let go of him and the boy followed the stream
of pilots out the door.
"Launch all fighters. Let us finish this hunt."
Prince Thrakhath turned away from the screen, a tingle of excitement
coursing through him as the fighter launch klaxon sounded through the ship.
Before him stood the Baron.
"You do not look thrilled about our impending victory, Baron."
Baron Jukaga merely snarled, looking at the Prince defiantly.
"I have one final little assignment for you, Baron."
"Go on then, what is it?"
And as Thrakhath told him the Baron's eyes went wide with shock and
rage.
"It is useless, senseless. The Emperor ordered you to preserve the