* * *
Flight Wing Officer's Quarters, TCS Victory.
Locanda System
Angel was with him, looking just as she had the day she left Concordia with her kit bag slung over one arm and the open ramp to the shuttle yawning behind her like a black, toothless maw."Farewell, mon ami," she said. "Look after the others for me, all our comrades. I will come back when Paladin does not need me . . ."
"Don't go, Angel," Blair heard himself saying the words as if from some great distance. "Stay here. If you go everything will fall apart . . . everything . . ."
The words were wrong. He knew it, even as a shrill screech rang in his ear and brought him out of the dream. The words were all wrong . . .
He had let her go that day without a protest. He told Angel that he understood, told her that he would wait for her. But she hadn't come back to the Concordia. And he wasn't sure she'd ever come back to him. Angel . . .
The noise didn't go away even after he had sat up, his eyes wide open, staring at the bare walls of his quarters. It took Blair quite a while to realize the noise was the shrilling sound of the General Quarters alarm. He started to rise when a computer voice joined the cacophony. "Now, General Quarters, General Quarters. All hands to Combat Stations. This is not a drill. General Quarters, General Quarters . . ."
A moment later the computer voice was replaced by Rollins, sounding excited. "Colonel Blair, to the Captain's Ready Room, please. Colonel Blair to Captain's Ready Room!"
As he finished tugging on his uniform, Blair glanced at the watch implanted in his wrist. It read 0135 hours, ship time. With a muttered curse, he grabbed his boots and started wrestling them onto his feet.
He wasn't sure which was worse the dream of his loss or the reality of the war
Dressed and almost awake, Blair forced himself to move through the corridors at a brisk yet measured pace. Never let your people see you run, laddie, Paladin had told him once back in the days they served on Tiger's Claw together. Even when the whole bloody universe is falling around your ears, walk like you haven't a care in the world, and the other lads'll take heart and fight the better for it.
It took all his willpower to remember the old warrior's lesson this time. The incessant alarm and the crewmen hastening to their combat stations set every nerve on edge. He knew long before he reached the ready room that this mission was the one which they had been awaiting — and dreading — for so long.
"Blair!" Eisen's voice boomed out as he entered the compartment. "Thought I was going to have to send somebody to roust you out of bed, man! We've spotted the bad guys, and we haven't got a second to lose."
He joined the captain, Rollins, and Hobbes at the big table, watched as Eisen manipulated a terminal, activating a holographic chart in the air above the smooth surface.
"Leyland and Svensson spotted two carriers and five destroyers here eighteen minutes ago," Eisen said, indicating a set of coordinates approximately ten million kilometers ahead of the carrier's present position. "They made a positive ID on both of the carriers. One is the Sar'hrai our friend from Tamayo. The other is definitely the Hvar'kann."
"So Thrakhath is here, just like the reports indicated. Blair fought himself to suppress a betraying tremor in his voice. "I wonder how much of the rest of it's true?"
"Most of it, Colonel," Eisen said levelly, meeting his eyes with a bland stare. "Intell sent us an update last night. The Kilrathi are carrying missiles armed with biological warheads, and they are going to attempt to use them against Locanda IV. The missiles are a new type, designated Skipper. They're too big to carry aboard fighters, so they'll be launched from capital ships."
"They had to wait until now to confirm it?" Blair asked bitterly. "They couldn't give us time to get ready?"
"The confirmation only came in from outsystem yesterday. One of General Taggart's resources finally gave us the full specs on the weapon . . . for what it's worth."
"You haven't heard the really bad news, either," Rollins put in. "These Skipper missiles carry cloaking devices, so they'll be damned hard to track. And as for the warheads . . . well, we might as well not have the specs at all. There's no counter for those bugs. Nothing."
Eisen gave Rollins a quick, angry look. "Once the pandemic is introduced into a Terrestroid ecosystem it'll spread very quickly," he said. "And Mr. Rollins is correct. Even the Kilrathi don't have a cure for it."
Blair's nod was sober. "So we can't let them get any missiles through to the planet," he said. He looked from Eisen to Rollins. "But how do we stop cloaked missiles? Hell, I didn't think the targeting system on a missile could handle cloaked flight. Everything I ever saw said you need a pilot to handle a bird when it's under cloak."
"According to the specs, the Skipper doesn't stay under cloak all the time," Eisen said. "It drops out of cloak every few seconds to update its flight profile. So they can be tracked . . . but only intermittently."
"Lovely. Any more good news?"
"Leyland was able to get an accurate scan of the Kilrathi. From the looks of things, both carriers had an absolute minimum of fighters deployed." Eisen's eyes studied him through the hologram. "They have the escorts doing most of their recon and CAP work. You know what that means as well as I do."
"Yeah." Blair nodded again. "They're prepping the fighters for a magnum launch. Right, Hobbes?"
The Kilrathi renegade sounded grave. "I fear that is the only likely explanation, my friend," he agreed.
"They're still pretty far out for a strike," Blair said. "Range is extreme for a run against Four."
"I agree," Eisen said. "But if I was about to make an all-out strike on a well-defended target, I'd prep early and keep my people ready. That way I could launch the moment I knew the enemy had discovered my ships. They may not be planning the strike right away, but they'll be good to go at any time."
"Where does that leave us?" Blair asked. "No criticism intended for the Victory and her crew, sir, but I'm not wild about the idea of us tackling the whole Kilrathi force alone. We might get in some hits, but some of the bastards will escape . . . and then where would we be?"
"Agreed," Eisen said. He looked at Blair. "Even I'm not so proud of the old girl that I think she'd survive a stand-up fight with seven cap ships. And our battle group isn't strong enough to even up the odds, either."
That prompted nods around the table. Three destroyers, Coventry, Sheffield, and Ajax, had joined the carrier at Tamayo as escorts, but two of them were as old and outdated as Victory herself. Only Coventry carried her own half-wing of fighters. All in all, they weren't much when set against the Kilrathi force.
"Do you have any recommendations, Colonel?" Eisen went on.
Blair studied the chart. "Yeah," he said slowly. He allowed himself a wolfish grin. "Hit them now. . . and hit them hard."
Eisen looked doubtful. "It'll be a mismatch," he said. "Can you do anything against those odds?"
"Yes, sir, I can," Blair said, although a part of him didn't share the confidence he tried to project. "We won't be going in to take on the whole Kilrathi fleet. My notion is to threaten them with an attack and make them launch their missiles early. That's what I'd do, if I wasn't sure what was hitting me. So we stir them up, make them commit. And then we go after those missiles with everything we've got. Victory won't be in any danger, because I don't see how they could mount a counterstrike in the middle of their attack op. The risk falls entirely to the Wing."
"I was hoping you'd come up with something better Colonel," Eisen said, sounding weary, "because that was the only plan I was able to rough out, too. And I'm afraid your pilots are going to be in for one hell of a fight."
"Yeah," Blair said. "I know. But I don't see anything else we can do without throwing away the one advantage we have right now."
"Advantage? We have an advantage?" Rollins looked and sounded incredulous.
"Surprise, Mr. Rollins," Blair told him with a slow smile. "Fact is, nobody would be crazy enough to do what we're talking about doing."
CHAPTER XII
Flight Control, TCS Victory.
Locanda System
"Battle Alert! Battle Alert!" the computer announced. "Now, scramble! Scramble! Scramble! All Flight Wing personnel to magnum launch stations. Scramble!"A monitor showed the view as the ready rooms erupted in a sudden outburst of activity. For a few seconds it was a scene of utter chaos, with pilots running for the Hangar Deck. Some were still zipping up flight suits or dogging down helmets as they moved, but there was an underlying sense of order beneath all the confusion. These people were professionals who knew their jobs.
Blair glanced around Flight Control Center, nodding in satisfaction. The room was fully crewed, with captain Ted "Marker" Markham, Victory's Flight Boss, presiding over the technicians with his usual autocratic flair. Ignoring the others, Blair focused his attention on Maniac Marshall, who was with Rachel Coriolis near the door. The major seemed to be debating his fighter's combat loadout with the technician, waving his hands in the air and talking with an excited intensity.
He waited until the discussion was over before crossing to Maniac. "We don't have any room for grandstanding today, Major," he said quietly. "This mission has to be flown perfectly. Otherwise . . . scratch a whole colony world and everyone on it. You read me, mister?"
Marshall met his eyes defiantly. "I know my duty, damn it. And I've never let my end down."
"Just remember what's at stake. You don't have to like me, major, any more than I have to like you. But today you'll follow my orders, or I'll have your head."
"I'll do my job," Maniac told him. "You just do yours."
* * *
Thunderbolt 300.
Locanda System
Blair and Flint launched last, joining the other fighters already on station around the carrier. All four squadrons were up, thirty-three fighters in all. Leyland and Svensson had two of Blue Squadron's interceptors in position closer to the enemy flight, and the techs had down-checked five fighters — two Arrows, two Hellcats, and a Longbow — as unable to fly the mission.He was glad Gold Squadron hadn't suffered any down-checks. At least all ten Thunderbolts would be going in today.
"All squadrons, this is Wing Commander,'' he announced as he settled his fighter into formation between Flint and Hobbes. "We've gone over the drill often enough, so I expect you all know your jobs by now. Warlock, I wish you were with us on this one, but in-flight refueling would complicate things too much. Keep your guard up, and make sure the old rust-bucket's still here for us when we get home."
"Godspeed, Colonel," Whittaker replied.
"The rest of us have a fleet to catch," Blair continued. "Amazon, take the lead. Green Squadron to follow, Gold in the rear. Let's punch it, boys and girls!" He rammed his throttles forward as if to punctuate the order, felt the engines surging to full power and the G-force pressing him down. "Engage autopilots," he said. "Anybody who thinks he can sleep, this is your last chance for a catnap before things start getting hot!"
He doubted if anyone actually slept, though with the autopilots set it would have been possible — assuming adrenaline and anticipation left any room for any of them to relax. It was a forty-five minute flight at maximum thrust, and Blair spent the time reviewing his plans and trying to spot ways to improve their chances of success. He saw precious little hope of shortening the daunting odds against them. Everything depended on luck, now.
Blair was surprised when the computer alarm sounded the warning. They were close to their navigation checkpoint now, and the autopilots were disengaging automatically. He checked his scanners, saw the blips representing the two watchdog interceptors trailing the Kilrathi fleet ahead. The enemy showed up on long-range sensors, which showed the presence of large vessels, but so far his monitor showed nothing in range of the more accurate but less powerful short-range scan.
That was exactly as it should be. So far, so good . . .
"Shepherd to flock," he said, breaking radio silence. "Commence your run . . . NOW!"
* * *
Flag Bridge, KIS Hvar'kann.
Locanda System
"Lord Prince!"Thrakhath looked up from his computer display. The Tactical Officer sounded frightened, but whether it was due to something on his scanners or the danger of bothering Thrakhath was difficult to tell. "Lord Prince, I have multiple targets on close-range sensors. Small . . . a cluster of fighter-class targets. At least four eights of them!"
"Position?" Thrakhath rasped.
"Bearing to port and low, range five thousand octomak and closing." The officer paused. "They are Terran by their signatures, Lord Prince . . ."
"Of course they are Terran, fool!" Thrakhath raged. "Who else would send fighters against us? But how . . . ?"
"The Terran carrier," Melek said. "Victory."
"Victory," Thrakhath repeated, his claws twitching in and out of their sheaths with the violence of his emotion. "The Terrans must not be allowed to stop Unseen Death. Order all Vrag'chath missiles fired immediately, and launch fighters. Do it now!
"We could deploy the Red Fang squadron to engage them, Lord Prince —"
"No! Red Fang has its own role to play. They will adhere to the battle plan!"
"As you wish, Lord Prince. But I am afraid that the Terrans might have more surprises planned for us." Melek's words were grim as he turned to carry out Thrakhath's orders.
The Prince summoned up a holographic tactical chart in the air in front of his command seat. He glared into it as if the very anger in his eyes was a weapon to destroy the Terran with. "It is they who will be surprised, I think," he said quietly.
Melek glanced up from his console. The renegade will be among these pilots, Lord Prince," he pointed out. "Do the orders regarding him stand?"
Thrakhath didn't answer right away. If only Sar'hrai had carried out the job of crippling the Terran carrier at Tamayo, none of these complications would he around to plague him now. Carrier and renegade would be safely ensconced in some Confederation shipyard, waiting for the moment when they would join in the intricate dance of Thrakhath's grand design. He hoped Sar'hrai's late captain was suffering on the unending barren plains of the Kilrathi netherworld for his failure. "If detected, the renegade must be avoided," the Prince said at last. "It is not yet time for Ralgha to realize his destiny . . ."
* * *
Thunderbolt 300.
Locanda System
"The big boys are launching missiles, skipper." The voice in Blair's headphones had been scrambled, decoded, and computer-reconstructed, but he recognized Vagabond's smooth, laid-back tones. "Big suckers . . . must be those Skippers you warned us about.""Time to give them something else to think about, Blair said. "Green Squadron, execute Plan Hammer. Amazon, give them cover . . ."
"Acknowledged," Major Berterelli said, his tone bland and professional.
"On it, Colonel," Mbuto chimed in a moment later. "Come on, Blue Squadron, let's give the cats something they can really chew on!"
The Longbows and Arrows peeled away, headed toward Thrakhath's command carrier. Blair had been forced to improvise an attack plan quickly once the Kilrathi fleet had been spotted, and Plan Hammer was a modification of a standing tactical operation he hoped would do the job.
The main vulnerability of the Kilrathi was their reliance on a highly organized leader cult at all levels of their society. From the Emperor down to the most ordinary noncom, leaders were looked to for virtually all decisions, even minor tactical choices a human would automatically make on his own initiative. The chain of command in the Empire allowed for a certain amount of flexibility, but an Imperial force without a leader grew rapidly unstable.
And Kilrathi leaders were well aware of this. They fought honorably in battle, like any of their race, but they were also all too conscious of the need for protection.
A threat to Thrakhath's flagship, then, might just get the full attention of the Kilrathi prince, at least for a time. He would almost certainly concentrate his capital ships to meet the danger, and that might just give Blair and Gold Squadron the time they needed to do something about the Kilrathi missiles that were already accelerating away from the enemy fleet. If the Kilrathi concentrated on defending themselves, their missiles might just be vulnerable.
"Gold Squadron, stay with me," he went on. "Let's give the heavy stuff a wide berth if we can."
"I'm for that!" Vaquero said. "The wider, the better."
Still at full thrust, the Thunderbolts raced in pursuit of the Kilrathi fighters, but despite Blair's preference their course led them directly past one of the enemy destroyers. For a moment he debated steering clear of the ship, but that would give the Kilrathi strike force too much lead time. Blair decided their only choice was to risk the capitol ship's defensive fire. . . .
"Check your shields, people," he ordered. "And hold your fire. Our targets are the fighters."
"Goddamn," Maniac said, almost too soft to hear. "We could nail this bastard if we wanted to. . . ."
"Stick to the program, Maniac," Blair warned.
"I know, I know," Marshall said. "But you can't blame a guy for dreaming can you?"
The destroyer opened fire, massive energy discharges crackling from each of her turret batteries. One shot grazed Blair's starboard shields, and his status board lit up red as the computer assessed the power loss. It wouldn't take too many such hits to overwhelm the shielding and start sloughing off armor.
The biggest problem, though, was just gripping the steering yoke and trying to stay on course. Every nerve and muscle within him wanted to take action, any kind of action, but Blair forced himself to maintain his course and press on. He hoped the others would follow his lead.
"I'm hit! I'm hit!" That was Beast Jaeger. "Direct hit on bow shielding. The generator's overloaded —"
"Hold on, partner," Cobra said. She was flying as his wingman again today. "Ease off a bit. I'll slide in ahead of you." Blair glanced at his tactical display and saw that the lieutenant was suiting actions to words, bringing her Thunderbolt in directly ahead of Jaeger's. She could soak up at least some of the energy that came his way now . . . but it was a dangerous move, keeping such a tight formation.
"What's your status, Beast?" he asked.
"Bow shield generator's off-line, Colonel," Jaeger reported, calmer now. "But I'm re-routing the system now. It'll be makeshift, but I'll get the shields back up."
"You could abort . . ."
"No way, Colonel. I'm in it for the long haul."
"Bastard's still firing," Maniac commented. "Damn near singed my wings. I still wish I could take him down."
"Maniac, if we take out those missiles, I personally guarantee you we'll come back and toast this cat's whiskers," Blair told him. "Any other damage?"
There was none. They had cleared the destroyer's primary kill zone now, though a few stray shots might still find them even here. But the worst was over. . . .
Except, of course, for stopping those missiles.
* * *
Flag Bridge, KIS Hvar'kann.
Locanda System
"The stalker is loose among the meat-herd, Lord Prince. Their bombers have damaged the forward shields and knocked out our primary missile launcher.""The Terrans are prey, not predators," Thrakhath snarled. He didn't like the way Melek was beginning to regard the enemy. Respect or admiration was an accolade to be accorded only to predators, and the Terrans certainly didn't qualify for that status no matter how hard they fought to stay clear of the Imperial claws and fangs.
"Perhaps not," Melek said, almost mildly. "But at the moment that prey is dangerous. The threat to the flagship cannot be ignored, Lord Prince. And it is not the only problem —"
"The Terran success will not last," Thrakhath told him. "They are too badly outnumbered to deal with all our ships. Particularly once the fighters are fully deployed. ''
"The attacks on the flagship may be no more than a diversion, Lord Prince. The Terrans feint and threaten, but do not press home their thrusts. Nor are they eager to engage our fighters. We have destroyed two medium interceptors and a bomber, and others are damaged. But one of their squadrons is pursuing the missile flight. If they can intercept the missiles, the whole plan will be lost. We should consider diverting additional fighters to cover the missile strike."
"No, Melek," he said at last. "No, the Red Fangs will be sufficient for that task. The other fighters will remain here, to support the fleet. And to threaten the Terran carrier, once they break off their attacks here."
"As you command, Lord Prince," Melek acknowledged. But Thrakhath thought he could detect an undercurrent of dispute in his retainer's tone. That would have to be dealt with, at some point, lest it grow into open rebellion.
A pity, really, if Thrakhath ultimately was forced to do away with him. Melek was too useful a subordinate to dispose of casually.
* * *
Thunderbolt 300.
Locanda System
"Stay on them," Blair said through tight-clenched teeth. "Stay on them . . ."A cluster of Kilrathi missiles glowed bright on his short-range scanner, almost within weapons range now as the Terrans continued their pursuit. Then they were gone again, cloaked, equally invisible to electronic scanning and the naked eye. It made the chase a frustrating one, never knowing just when the targets might be visible or where their essentially random course changes might put them next. But patience and a little bit of luck would still be enough to stop the Kilrathi warheads . . . provided the Terrans kept on top of the Skippers. If any of them got past the Confederation fighters, picking up their trail again later would be well-nigh impossible.
"Hobbes, you and Flash get to play tag with these boys," Blair announced on the tactical channel. "Stick with it until you clean them up. and try to let us know if any of them get past you. Save your missiles if you can . . . there might be some tougher opponents for you to go after later on." He paused. "The rest of you stay with me. We'll track down that next batch while Hobbes has his fun here. Fire at any target of opportunity, beams only . . . and don't deviate from your flight paths. Let's do it!"
* * *
Red Fang Leader.
Locanda System
Flight Captain Graldak nar Sutaghi accelerated his Strakha fighter to full power and studied the tell-tales flickering on his sensor screen. The Terrans were among the missiles now, beginning to fire as the Vrag'chath popped in and out of view to allow their computers to make course corrections in flight. It was time for Graldak's warriors to make their presence known.He outnumbered the Terrans, with two eights of fighters in his command against eight-and-two of the Terran Thunderbolts. But it wasn't much of a margin of superiority. If only Prince Thrakhath had provided additional fighter support for the missiles! But instead he had chosen to hold back the bulk of the Imperial fighters to defend his flagship, even though a half-blind churnah could see that the Terran attack had been a mere feint to hold Imperial assets in place around the fleet while they tried to stop the missiles.
It would be fitting if Thrakhath's flagship was blown away, Graldak thought. The Prince and his half-senile grandfather had done nothing right since the war with the Terrans had first begun. There was a stirring throughout the Empire these days, the first scent of change on the wind. If only the Imperial familys iron talons could be pried loose for a time, the Clans would rise and sweep them aside. Then the Empire could end this fruitless war with the humans, come to terms with them as predators rather than continuing to view them, as Thrakhath did, as prey.
But meantime the War went on, and Graldak had duty and honor to maintain.
"Red Fang Leader to Gleaming Talon Squadron," Graldak said aloud. "Drop out of cloak and engage the Terrans. The honor of battle is yours."
Gleaming Talon's fighters were a good match for the Terran Thunderbolts, especially with the element of surprise on their side. They would tie the Terrans up for a few critical minutes, at least, and that would give the other flights of missiles time to get further away. Once they were more than a few thousand octomaks from the Terran fighters, they would be even harder to detect.
And, meanwhile, Red Fang squadron would remain clear of the fighting, until Graldak could decide how best to intervene. After all, it wasn't just missiles that could hide behind a cloak.
CHAPTER XIII
Thunderbolt 300.
Locanda System
"We got us some company, Colonel. I count eight on an intercept course, bearing zero-one-six by three-five-eight."The target reticule flashed on his HUD, and Blair glanced down at the targeting data display to his right even as Flint's words were registering. Targets . . . ? Where had they come from?
The answer made a cold lump in his stomach as the computer displayed a diagram of the nearest target, asymmetrical, with projecting horns that gave it a menacing, alien shape. Even before he saw the name Blair recognized the design and cursed under his breath. He should have realized what he was up against immediately.
Strakha fighters.
They were comparatively rare in the Kilrathi arsenal as yet, an advanced-technology space fighter on the cutting edge of Kilrathi science. Intelligence had nicknamed them "Stealth Cats" before they'd ever actually been encountered in combat, and they lived up to the name. They were designed for sneaking, pure and simple, with sensor-distorting materials incorporated into the hull and a shape that tended to confuse most scanning systems. Worst of all, though, they mounted a cloaking device that could actually obscure the craft from any detection whatsoever, at least for short periods of time. But unlike the Skipper missiles, they could stay hidden, without having to drop the cloak to make navigation checks.
The new Excaliburs Rachel Coriolis had been drooling over a few weeks back had been designed to incorporate a Terran knock-off of a captured Kilrathi cloak, but the Excaliburs weren't in production yet Strakha were. And they were here, in the Locanda system, right now.
"I see them, Flint," Blair acknowledged his wingman's call. "Escorts, to take our minds off the missiles."
"Hard to ignore them," Flint said. When they want to meet us so bad and all . . ."
He didn't answer her. "Maniac, Cobra, engage the escort fighters. Wingmen, stay with your leaders. The rest of you, stay on course and only engage if you have to.
"Ready to rock'n roll!" Marshall responded. "C'mon Sandy, let's teach these kitties a few new flying tricks!"
"We're on it," Cobra added a moment later.
Four Thunderbolts broke formation, Maniac and Sandman rolling left, Cobra and Beast to the right as they spread out to meet the oncoming Kilrathi craft. He hoped his people could deal with two-to-one odds.
That left four Terran fighters to pursue the Imperial missiles. And if even one of them got through . . .
Blair forced the thought from his mind. He couldn't afford doubts now.
"Here, kitty, kitty," Maniac was taunting. "Get ready to become cat chow!"
The Thunderbolts maintained formation as they drove through the enemy squadron. Blair's target computer selected the closest fighter and locked on, and as the crosshairs glowed on his HUD Blair triggered his blasters. Energy beams raked the Kilrathi ship, not quite enough to penetrate the shields. But a moment later Flint was firing. The target ship tried to dodge out of range, but too late. Flint's blaster tore through shields, armor, and hull, and the Strakha blew.
"Twenty-one!" Flint called. She sounded excited, eager. "Thanks for laying him open for me, Colonel!"
"Any time, Lieutenant," Blair told her. "Just remember to keep your wits about you. Keep it frosty."
Another explosion flared to port, where Vagabond had scored a hit. Hobbes and Flash, meantime, had broken formation to pursue the flight of missiles. The four remaining Thunderbolts in Blair's dwindling force raced on, past another Skipper that Vaquero and Blair each managed to tag. It didn't blow, but Blair's targeting computer reported extensive damage to the guidance systems and steering jets. That made it virtually certain to miss its target.
They didn't have to destroy their targets, just disable them. Another advantage, however slight . . .
They still needed every advantage they could muster.
* * *
Thunderbolt 308.
Locanda System
"Look out, Beast, you've got one on your tail!" Lieutenant Laurel Buckley bit off a curse as she brought her fighter around to support Jaeger. Almost from the moment they'd come into weapons range the Kilrathi had been pressing their attack hard, their fighters swarming like angry hornets around the outnumbered Terrans. Strakha were dangerous foes when the odds were even. When they had numbers on their side as well they were deadly.But the four Thunderbolts could keep them busy for a while, and that might give Blair the time he needed. Cobra found herself wondering, briefly, if the colonel's decision to order her and Maniac to deal with the escorts was Blair's way of getting rid of the pilots he trusted least. Everyone in the Wing knew how he felt about Marshall . and she suspected he had the same opinion of her, after their clashes over Ralgha and Flint.
And Jaeger had the only fighter damaged by the destroyer's fire. Was he being left as a diversion because he, too, was considered expendable?
On the other hand, he'd kept Dillon paired with his precious Kilrathi friend, and nobody figured Flash as anything but deadwood.
No, Blair didn't strike her as the kind to let personal feelings dictate his tactical choices. He probably figured that she and Maniac would be better at this kind of free-for-all dogfighting than they were likely to be pursuing and attacking the strike craft. Four Thunderbolts against eight Strakha — no, six, now, after Flint and Maniac had each managed to take one out — called for aggressive flying, and that was one thing Cobra Buckley was good at.
"Hold her steady, Beast," she said, lining up on the fighter behind Jaeger. "Steady . . . turn port! Port!" She squeezed the trigger on her blasters as she shouted.
Jaeger cut sharply to the left, then broke right again as he applied braking thrust. The Strakha, pounded by Cobra's beams, shot past Beast's Thunderbolt, and Jaeger opened fire on the exposed tail where the shields were still shimmering from the fury of Buckley's attack.
For a moment nothing happened. Then the shields collapsed and Jaeger's blasters tore through armor. A shot penetrated to the power plant, and the Strakha exploded.
"Nice shooting, partner!" Cobra called, grinning.
You set it up," Jaeger said. "Only five more to go!"
"Four!" Maniac cut in. "I've already nailed two of the bastards. Come on, you two, join the party! Plenty of little kitty asses for everybody!"
"Two more coming in, Cobra," Jaeger reported. "Up ahead . . . shit! My shield generator's fritzing on me again!"
"Back off, Beast, let me handle — The two Strakha dived straight in, concentrating their fire on Jaeger's Thunderbolt. Shot after shot raked the fighter. He was trying to turn away, but Buckley could see he was too late. The bow shield was failing . . .
Then it was over. The fireball consumed Jaeger's fighter so bright her computer cut in the polarizers for an instant to protect her eyes. When she could see again, nothing remained of Helmut Jaeger's craft but a rapidly-expanding cloud of twisted, scorched metal fragments.
She could hardly believe it had happened so suddenly. One instant Jaeger had been out there . . . now, nothing. It took her back to the horrors of the Kilrathi labor camp to guards who would strike down a slave without warning and to people she knew who vanished in the night. The cats were always the same, always killing without warning and without mercy, taking joy from death and fear and pain . . .
"Bastards!" she screamed, hitting her afterburners to dive toward the nearest Strakha as she opened fire with all her energy weapons at once. "Damn cat bastards! I'll see you all in hell!"
* * *
Strike Leader.
Locanda System
Graldak nar Sutaghi bared his fangs as four Terran fighters accelerated away from the developing battle. So, the Terran strike leader knows how to hunt, he thought grimly. Prince Thrakhath had bestowed a name upon their Flight Wing commander: The Heart of the Tiger. Today the human was living up to the honor of that name, clinging to his mission despite all the barriers the Empire raised in his path.Did Thrakhath realize what kind of warrior this ape was? The Prince wasn't known for esteeming his Terran foes, even those who received a Kilrathi vendetta-name.
No matter, now. The only thing that counted at the moment was victory, and that was very nearly under Graldak's claws. The Terrans had managed to destroy two of the four flights of missiles, and they had almost reached the third. But they would get no further.
"Red Fang squadron," he said aloud, feeling the battle-lust surging through his veins. "Decloak and engage at will!"
* * *
Thunderbolt 300.
Locanda System
"Keep them off me! Keep them off me!" Vaquero's voice was urgent in Blair's headphones. "Where the hell are you, Vagabond?""Just hang in there a little longer," the Chinese pilot responded. "The cavalry's coming."
Blair wrenched his attention back to his HUD as a Strakha dived toward him, guns blazing. This last batch of enemy fighters had come at them out of nowhere eight against his four, and the Terrans were fighting for their lives. Even as he flipped the Thunderbolt into a tight, high-G evasive turn a part of his mind was on another part of the battle entirely . . . and on the clock. Each second ticking away took the final flight of Kilrathi missiles further from the Terran fighters, letting them spread out. Soon it would be all but impossible to detect them even when they weren't cloaked.
He tracked the Strakha in, holding his fire and waiting for an opening. Then Flint swept past, her blasters searing, battering at the other ship's shields. Blair joined the barrage, and the Strakha came apart.
"Twenty-two, Lieutenant" he remarked dryly.
"No, sir, that one was yours. I just softened him up." Flint sounded as tired as he felt.
"We'll debate it when we get back to Old Vic," he said, trying to sound encouraging. Flint had done yeoman duty on his wing today, keeping formation, supporting him constantly, never forgetting herself or yielding to temptation. Since that first hit she hadn't scored a clean kill, but she didn't seem to be concerned at missing her chance to rack up more points in her quest for revenge. After this, he wouldn't doubt her again, he told himself as he turned his attention back to his sensor readouts. "Scanning for new targets."
There were four more Strakha ahead.
"Everybody up to another dogfight?" he asked. "Targets at eleven o'clock, low. Let's nail them!"
The four Thunderbolts closed up into tight formation and drove for the newest targets. The Strakha broke formation promptly, not waiting for the usual round of individual sorties that usually marked a fight with the Kilrathi. Their CO must he one hell of a leader, Blair thought.
"Vaquero, Vagabond, you guys dance with these four, Blair called. "I want to try for the rest of the missiles. You with me, Flint?"
"On your wing, Colonel," she told him.
He broke to port and increased thrust, with Flint's fighter sticking close by. The other two Thunderbolts drove straight toward the Strakha, but these Kilrathi pilots didn't rise to the bait of close combat. Blair saw the images on his scanner flicker and go out as the Strakha engaged their cloaks again. He muttered a curse under his breath.
"Keep a sharp eye out, people," he said over the comm channel. "They'll be back. Bet on it."
And suddenly they were back, two of them, at least. The pair of Kilrathi fighters materialized right on his tail, releasing missiles and then fading out of sight once again. Blair dumped a decoy missile and banked sharply, feeling the familiar rush of adrenaline in his blood. One of the enemy missiles picked up the decoy and homed in on it, but the second wasn't fooled by the electronic signature and continued to hurtle after the Thunderbolt. Blair altered course sharply again, veering back toward the decoy's flight path. The timing would have to be damned tight. . . .
His fighter flashed past the two missiles just seconds before the Kilrathi warhead detonated. The blast that erupted behind him was like a false dawn. His shield indicators registered a noticeable power loss, but nothing close to what he would have suffered if the full force of the blast had been absorbed by the shields themselves. After a moment he checked his screens, and let out a sigh. The explosion had caught the second enemy missile.
Then another Strakha was in sight, firing on him with beams and missiles from dead ahead. Blair returned fire, and seconds later Flint joined the fray with all her guns blazing. Just as Blair's forward shield was registering zero, the Strakha went up in a magnificent fireball. Blair heard Flint cheering. A moment later Vaquero and Vagabond were joining in, proclaiming another kill.
"The other two boys are running!" Vaquero shouted all trace of the peaceful musician submerged now. "Looks like we've taught em a real lesson this time!"
"Permission to pursue, sir?" Flint added a moment later.
"Negative," he snapped. "Negative! We've still got missiles to track down! Get on your scanners, people. Now!"
But it was too late. His sensors turned up nothing but debris and open space, out to their maximum limit The remaining Skipper missiles, five at least, were gone
Blair stared at the empty screens, unable to accept what they were telling him. They'd come so damned close.
* * *
Flag Bridge, KIS Hvar'kann.
Locanda System
"A report, Lord Prince.""What have you got, Melek?" Thrakhath leaned forward in his chair to study the bulky figure of the retainer.
"The Strakha have eluded the Terran Thunderbolts Lord Prince." Melek paused. "The surviving missiles are well on their way, and interception by the Terrans now is most unlikely. The colony will not survive."
Thrakhath bared his fangs. "Good. Then we have done what we came here to do. This will surely spur the Terrans into a rash attempt at retaliation." He could barely contain the pleasure that burned inside him. This was the first step to ending the long war. "The fleet will disengage and set course to the jump point to the Ariel system. Let us leave the Terrans to their . . . possession. Let them decide if they are pleased at the price they have paid to drive us away from their colony."
"Lord Prince . . . many of the fighters are damaged and low on fuel. The Strakha are at the very limit of their range. Should we not move to pick them up first?" Melek's look was almost challenging.
"The Terran reaction will be unpredictable, Melek. They could decide to launch a retaliatory strike, once they realize that all they have left is vengeance. We must not delay too long. Any fighters that can rendezvous with us may do so, but we will not wait for stragglers." Thrakhath paused. "You may order tankers to refuel them if you wish. Carry out my orders . . . now."
* * *
Thunderbolt 300.
Locanda System
"Good God, Colonel, what do we do now?" Flint's voice was ragged, with fatigue or shock or disappointment. Blair wasn't sure which. "They're . . . gone.""We do whatever we still can," he said, hard-pressed to keep the despair out of his own voice. "And we pray the in-system defenses spot those bastards before they do any damage to the colony . . ."
"I counted five of them all told, Colonel," Vaquero said. "Can t we blanket the approaches and pick them up before they reach the planet?"
"We can try," Blair said.
"So . . we head for home, skipper?" Vaquero asked.
"But . . . the colony," Flint said. "We can t just turn back now. We have to try to stop those missiles!"
"We'll do what we can, Lieutenant," Blair told her. "Spread out and keep hunting, and call for refueling from Victory. The Home Guard and whatever other ships are closer in to Four can search, too. But we can't track what we can't see. And I don't hold out much hope at this point."
CHAPTER XIV
Thunderbolt 300.
Locanda System
"The last word we received put the Kilrathi concentrating around the jump point to Ariel. Looks like they re pulling out. Not even bothering to gather in all their fighters, either. Could be we can round up a few more of the bastards before the whole thing's over."Blair wasn't particularly interested in the Kilrathi, not any more. He had other concerns. "Any word on the situation on Four, Lieutenant?"
"It doesn't look good, sir," Rollins said heavily. "The reports from the colony indicate at least five missiles got through. They were set for high airbursts, so the ground defenses never had a chance to fire at them. We won't know for a while if the pandemic is as bad as everybody claims, but . . . well, like I said, it doesn't look good."
"Acknowledged, Victory. Leader clear." Blair nodded slowly. The report was about what he expected, but that didn't make it any easier to swallow. Five Kilrathi biowarheads exploding high above the surface of the colony world . . . that would ensure a fast spread of the tailored disease they carried. It would not be long before the effects of the attack became visible.
Locanda IV was as good as dead already, and Maverick Blair, the great pilot and war hero, was the man to blame for it all. The man who failed. . . .
He forced the thought aside and concentrated on his fighter's controls. Blair's Thunderbolt came through the long fight with only light damage, but he had trouble with the port-side maneuvering thrusters, and the computer was unable to reroute the circuits through a more dependable network.
They were near the original coordinates of the Kilrathi fleet, which thankfully was moving away at full speed toward a nearby jump point. Blue and Green Squadrons, after maintaining a prolonged diversionary action against Thrakhath's flagship, had returned to Victory. Gold Squadron remained out, however, searching for a lost sheep.
Incredibly, only Beast Jaeger's fighter was confirmed as destroyed in battle, though several of the others were in terrible shape. How Hobbes still flew at all was a mystery, and Vaquero's weapons systems finally overloaded in the last fight against the Strakha. But one of the Thunderbolts remained missing, and Blair ordered Gold Squadron to spread out and search for the missing man . . . or some sign of his fate.
Lieutenant Alexander Sanders. callsign Sandman . . . Blair never really knew him. He had served as Maniac's wingman throughout the current deployment and spent most of his off-duty hours hanging with Marshall. Although he always struck Blair as a complete opposite to Maniac — steady, dependable, loyal, reliable — Sanders and Marshall were good friends as well as wingmates. Neither Blair nor the lieutenant were very comfortable with each other as a result of the on going feud dividing the colonel from the major.