"According to the final calculations projected on your holo screens, I
think it is evident that over the next eighty days we run the risk of a
serious reversal that could set our war effort back by years."
A rumble of stunned and angry growls shook the room. Baron Jukaga
settled back in his chair and waited for the storm to settle.
"This is preposterous, an insult," Talmak of the Sutaghi clan snapped,
looking around the room as if seeking to find someone to blame and thus
sacrifice. "How did we ever get to this state? Our fleets are the finest,
our warriors filled with the zeal of skabak, the will to die for the glory
of Kilrah. By the blood of Sivar, we even outnumber the low born scum in
nearly every class of ship. How did this happen!" and as he finished he
slammed his fist down on his holo projector, shattering it, as if by so
doing the grim figures would simply die.
Baron Jukaga of the Ki'ra clan silently turned in his chair and looked
to the end of the table where the Emperor, and his grandson and heir Prince
Thrakhath, sat.
"Perhaps our Emperor can enlighten us," Jukaga said silkily, lowering
his head just enough to show obeisance, but doing it slowly, thus subtly
revealing a disdain and defiance. The Emperor, of course, was not visible to
those in the room. Sitting upon his high throne he was hidden from direct
view by a silklike screen emblazoned with the three crossed red swords of
the Imperial line. Sitting at the foot of the dias was Prince Thrakhath, who
shifted slightly under Jukaga's gaze, a soft yet audible growl echoing from
his throat as a signal of his readiness to accept challenge, and also in
reaction to the insult of directly placing a question to the Emperor.
Baron Jukaga struggled to conceal a flashing of teeth, a revealing of
his true hatred for this Emperor whom he believed to be of lesser blood and
who had attempted to place the blame for the disaster at Vukar Tag on his
shoulders.
He had endured over a year in exile because of that disaster. It was
only due to the latest reversals that the other clans had finally pressed
for his release and use of his known talents as one who better than most
understood the strangeness of human behavior.
The Emperor sensed the challenge and the trap. He stirred uneasily,
framing his thoughts. If he answered the question directly, it would be a
lowering of himself before the leaders of the eight clans of Kilrah; if he
deferred the question to his grandson, the Prince, it would appear as if he
were shifting responsibility þ and ultimate blame.
"You go too far, Baron," a voice rumbled from the corner of the room,
breaking the impasse.
Baron Jukaga looked over at the speaker, Buktag'ka, first born of the
clan of Sihkag. The Sihkag were, of the eight ruling families, considered to
be of the lowest blood and as such could usually be counted on to curry
favor with the Emperor in a bid to elevate their status whenever possible.
"Your insult to the Emperor is evident," Buktag'ka snarled, coming to
his feet and leaning over the table to stare at Jukaga. "It is not the place
of the Imperial blood to answer questions. We requested your release from
exile for the skills you have in understanding humans and as master of
spies, not for the surliness of your tongue, the haughtiness of all of your
blood line, nor for the plots you are known for."
Jukaga looked around the table, gauging the response which ranged from
nodded lowering of heads in agreement, to rippling of manes in defiance. It
was time to change approach.
"I stand rebuked before the Imperial blood and intended no insult," he
said, bowing low to the shaded throne. Prince Thrakhath, who sat at the foot
of the throne, and was not hidden from view like his grandfather, nodded
curtly in reply.
"Let us not ask the hows of it," the Emperor's voice whispered from
behind the screen, "there is blame enough for all. Rather let us talk of
what now is, and what is to be done."
Knowing he could not press the point, Baron Jukaga lowered his head in
reply.
You low born old bastard, Jukaga thought coldly. Everyone here knows
that this reversal is your fault and that of your fool grandson. Yet if
victory should come it will be you who will sweep the honors around your
feet. And even as he thought a concept that was beyond the range of most
Kilrathi, rage and intense hatred towards a sworn overlord, he still assumed
the posture of obeisance and then slowly rose up to speak again.
"Buktag'ka is right," Jukaga said, "and I accept the rebuke."
He looked around the room, gauging the responses and felt it was best
to simply push on with the facts and figures that needed to be presented.
"We do outnumber the human confederation in total number of carriers,
fighters of all classes, and heavy cruisers. However, as you can see by the
charts projected, we will see no new replacement of carriers of standard
design for the next three of eighty days. In the meantime it is projected by
my intelligence staff that the humans will have four of their new fleet
carriers coming into operations, thus enabling them to form an entire new
task force and reach a rough parity with our own carrier forces for the
first time in this war.
"This is due to the loss of the construction bays and nearly completed
ships in the raids on our construction sites over the last year. First they
hit our primary bases on our moon during the Vukar Tag debacle," and he
could not resist sparing a quick look at Thrakhath, "and then the two
follow-up raids which destroyed three other construction yards."
He paused for a moment, looking around the room, the other clan leaders
stirring uneasily. The successful human raids deep within the Empire had
been a source of extreme embarrassment for Thrakhath and for the clan
leaders. Jukaga smiled inwardly. If anything the exile after Vukar had
enabled him to wash his own talons of any responsibility. In a dispassionate
sort of way, he found he could even admire the human who had conceived of
the strategy of using light carriers for the strikes. Spy reports both from
their plant high inside the ruling circle of the Administration, and from
prisoner interrogation, indicated that it was Admiral Tolwyn who instituted
the plan.
"Our shortages," the Baron continued, "are made worse by the fact that
within the next eighty days nearly one quarter of our carriers are due for
overhauls, resupply, and refitting, with one needing an entire reactor
replacement."
"Can't such things wait?" Buktag'ka asked.
"It has already been delayed too long," Thrakhath announced coldly.
"The Ha'Tukaig's reactor is leaking so dangerously that engine room crews
have to be suited up and after three duty shifts retired. We might see a
total reactor failure if we push her any further. As for the other ships, a
variety of minor things threaten to soon become major problems if not
addressed. Remember the standard rule is that for every day of flight a
carrier needs one day of docking for a variety of reasons. We are stretching
that out to almost two to one, pushing our equipment too hard."
He fell silent and Jukaga made a show of nodding his thanks.
"I know the argument is that we cannot afford to move carriers out of
action at this time," Jukaga said, "but I believe Prince Thrakhath will tell
you we can not afford not to. Unfortunately the humans, at least for the
moment, have found a weak point and are exploiting it, using their new
escort carriers to raid deep into our Empire, seeking not to engage in ship
to ship combat, but rather to shatter our ships in their construction bays
before they are completed and launched. What is even worse is their use of
these strike forces to hit our transports and supply ships. Our losses there
have been disastrous."
"At least they have paid in turn," Thrakhath replied sharply.
"That is true, my lord, but let us look at those figures. In the last
standard year we can be certain that we have destroyed seven of their escort
carriers, two fleet carriers and seven eights of other ships. In turn they
have smashed eight carriers under construction, destroyed valuable equipment
and inflicted thousands of casualties on trained personnel. And perhaps most
seriously of all, just under seven eight-of-eights of transport and supply
vessels."
He paused and looked around the room and could see the frustration of
the clan leaders as they looked to Thrakhath, who was forced to show
agreement with Jukaga.
"What sort of animals are these humans?" Buktag'ka asked rhetorically.
"What honor, what glory is there to be possibly gained by smashing a carrier
when it cannot even fly? Their gods must vomit in disgust at such craven
cowardice."
"I don't think their god sees it quite the same way ours do," Jukaga
said dryly, realizing the irony of what he was saying was completely lost on
those present
That was the weak point. In his studies of humans he at least had
gained some small understanding of just how alien was their logic, their
beliefs, and their concept of the nature of war. To try to translate that
understanding to those gathered around him, no matter how intelligent they
were, was nearly impossible; the gap was simply too broad to leap.
It was, as well, the weak link in their military. All their previous
enemies had been totally destroyed in wars that lasted, at the longest, a
little more than four years, and that was simply due to the sheer size of
the Hari empire which had to be occupied and destroyed. In such a case,
where victory was usually assured from within hours of the first assaults,
the need to truly understand ones enemy was moot. The human war was now four
eights of years old and still most of those who led the Empire into battle
did not truly understand the thinking of their foes.
"With honor, or without, a carrier destroyed is still dead," Jukaga
said quietly, "a fact which can not be debated."
He looked over at Thrakhath, and to his surprise actually saw a nod of
agreement
"The real crisis, however, is in our logistical support, our transport
ships supplying the fleet."
There were several snorts of disdain from the clan leaders. Such ships
and those who served in them were considered to be beneath contempt. Any of
fighting age who accepted assignment to one was disgraced within his clan,
deemed not worthy to sire heirs for himself, but rather only to sit at the
edge of the feasting tables, heads lowered, when boasts of war were shared
and arm veins opened to pour out libations on the altars of Sivar. The
quality of personnel could be readily inferred from this.
"It is a simple fact that, without fuel, food, replacement parts,
weapons, and even such basics as air to breathe and water to drink a fleet
is useless. The humans have hit upon the strategy of avoiding direct
confrontation and striking instead to our rear, cutting our supplies,
destroying our transports, forcing us to detail off precious frigates and
destroyers to escort them. Their escort carriers attack and against them
even destroyers are outclassed, so that now heavy cruisers must escort
convoys. As a result there are not enough heavy cruisers to escort our
carriers and our own construction of these new light carriers has yet to
come fully on line."
He paused for a moment and looked at the charts projected on the holo
screens.
"We have lost over seven eight-of-eights of transports in the last
year, along with four yards for their construction. That is our weak point.
We have reached the stage where, for the moment, our carriers must leave the
front and return all the way to Kilrah to resupply since there are not
enough transports to bring supplies to them. As a result, in actual numbers
of ships at the front, our strength has been cut in half, and so, in most
sectors, Confederation ships outnumber us."
He paused again for effect and saw the cold looks of disbelief, that
something as mundane, as undignified as this issue, could actually affect
their fighting of the war.
"What I hear is impossible," Yikta of the Caxki clan snarled. "Are you
truly saying we have lost the war because of such a thing?"
"The humans have a saying that for want of a nail a horse-shoe was
lost, for want of a horseshoe a . . ."
"What is a horse?" Yikta asked.
"It is a beast of war which humans once rode upon, and then he
explained the rest of the statement and saw that it had its effect
"No, the war is by no means lost," Prince Thrakhath finally said,
stirring at last "The Baron tends, I think, to overplay his thinking and
chartmaking to scare us."
"But you will not deny that we are in trouble," the Baron retorted.
"Temporarily," Prince Thrakhath said, "perhaps."
"Prince Thrakhath," the Baron said smoothly, "more than six years ago
it was you who detailed off all new transport construction to your own
Project Hari. Just how many transports and other material has your own clan
tied up in that project, while the main battle suffers for want of
supplies?"
He paused, seeing the stirring of interest in the room.
"We are not here to talk of Hari," Thrakhath snapped, "we are here
instead to hear your own report and ideas first."
The clan leaders looked from Thrakhath to Jukaga and the Baron could
sense that more than one finally wanted the truth of this secret project
revealed. But first he would drive another point home.
Baron Jukaga nodded to an aide standing in the far side of the room who
controlled the holo screen.
The image shifted to a three dimensional map of the Empire and a
weaving of orange and red lines.
"Intelligence has found out that the humans are aware of the
opportunity that exists for them for at least the next two eight-of-eights
days, and are contemplating an offensive to exploit our short term weakness.
They will commit their carriers to an opening operation in what the humans
call the Munro System. They know we must hold Munro for it is a direct
doorway into a number of the shortest jump points into the heart of the
Empire.
"Meanwhile, on eight different fronts," and as he spoke orange arrows
started to flash, "eight of their light escort carriers, along with raider
transports will jump into the Empire, aiming to cripple us from behind and
to smash our remaining transport, cruiser construction yards and light
carrier conversion centers, while ravaging planetary bases and crippling our
few supply convoys still in operation.
"That, in short, is the plan."
The room was silent as the clan leaders studied the screens.
"It is a hideous plan," Thrakhath said coldly, "a stabbing in the back
against defenseless positions. It lacks all honor, all meeting of steel
blade against steel blade, ship against ship."
"But it will cripple us even in its cowardice," Jukaga retorted and
Thrakhath could only lower his head.
The room was silent for a moment
"And yet," Vak of the Ragitagha clan whispered, unable to speak louder
due to the fact that the surgeons had experienced some difficulty in putting
his mouth back together after a challenge duel, "if all goes as rumors state
regarding this project in the Hari sector, within a year we will see such a
growth in our strength as to overwhelm the humans and end this war."
He looked straight at Thrakhath waiting for a response.
"Even here, Project Hari should not be spoken of," Thrakhath said
hurriedly.
The clan leaders stirred. The project was nothing more than rumors, its
development under the complete control of the Kiranka clan of the Emperor
and the Prince.
"These are our brothers," the Emperor announced from behind the screen.
"Let it be spoken of."
Thrakhath looked back at the screen behind him as if to protest.
"Speak of it."
Jukaga could see the hesitation. It was known that there were a number
of security breaches coming out of the Imperial Palace and the less said
about certain things the better. He could see as well that the Emperor was
playing a maneuver of showing confidence in the other clan leaders, thus
winning favor for acting as if those in his presence were trusted comrades.
He could see the effect on Buktag'ka who puffed up visibly and leaned
forward to hear.
"Even before these human raids had started," Thrakhath said, "the
Emperor in his wisdom had foreseen certain dangers along these lines and
thus ordered a tremendous investment of wealth and material into the
building of a secret construction yard. It is located in the conquered realm
of the Hari on the far side of our Empire in relationship to the Terran
Confederation."
He took a holo cube out of his breast pocket and loaded it. Jukaga
found this alone to be interesting, that Thrakhath had come to the this
meeting fully prepared to reveal the extent of Project Hari. His own people
had found out most of its well-kept secrets to be sure and it seemed that
Thrakhath had expected Jukaga to force its full revelation at this meeting.
On the main holo screen a map of the Empire appeared, the frontier with
the Confederation at the top, Kilrah and the Empire in the middle, and far
down at the bottom the conquered space of the now dead Hari, a collection of
a thousand stars around which orbited more than a thousand blasted lifeless
worlds.
Thrakhath highlighted a single star on the screen deep within the
former territory of the Hari.
"Here, for the last five years, a new class of carriers has been tested
and developed, overcoming the difficulties of translight jumping of ships
above a certain size and mass. These new carriers, what we call the Hakaga
class, are capable of carrying and servicing our newest Vatari-class
fighters to be launched next year. With their increased size the carriers
have shield generation systems capable of repulsing nearly any weapon the
Confederation now has, including their Mark IV & V antimatter torpedoes."
The image in the holo screen shifted and a carrier appeared. The clan
leaders looked at it excitedly and then Thrakhath pushed a button on his
monitor. Beside the carrier appeared a second image, that of a current fleet
carrier. The room echoed with shouts of surprise.
Even Jukaga could not conceal his curiosity. Though he had read the spy
reports, the only images he had seen so far were grainy two dimensional
shots clandestinely taken by a transport captain in his employ. The new
carrier was at least twice the length of the old design, and bristled with
six launch bays, three aft and three forward. As the image slowly turned
inside the holo field he saw that the vulnerable engine nacelles were
completely concealed and armored.
"The first of the carriers is already operational," Thrakhath announced
proudly, "and undergoing final testing in the far reaches of Hari space far
beyond any prying eyes of the Confederation."
He looked back at Jukaga as if saying that it was also beyond the
prying eyes of anyone else.
"What is its capability?" Vak asked.
"When fully loaded it carries three eighties and six eights of strike
craft and fighters, launching from six separately contained bays. Its ship
defense capabilities include four eights of mass driver quad batteries, four
eights of neutron and laser batteries, and six gatling launch tubes for
anti-torpedo defense. It has three concentric layers of interior armor, and
all six bays are self contained. Thus we can take hits on three, even four
bays and keep on fighting shifting fighters from one part of the ship to the
other by internal access corridors. As you can well guess, the material
required to build this carrier equals over six times that of a normal fleet
attack carrier. In addition we are building more than eighty escort ships of
frigate, destroyer and cruiser design. That is why we suffer the transport
shortage now. More than two hundred of them were committed to the hauling of
all that was needed from the Empire to the far side of Hari."
He looked around the room and saw the nods of understanding.
I think, my comrades," he said smoothly, "that is why you can also
understand why my clan alone took full responsibilities for the construction
of these ships. We had to maintain the tightest of security. The knowledge
of this leaking to our enemies would give them time to analyze our new ships
and perhaps find a counter."
He stared defiantly at Jukaga.
"That is why my clan placed such security around the project and kept
it hidden for so long."
Jukaga wanted to reply with a challenge, that it also insured the power
of the Imperial throne with such ships solely in its hands, but realized
that now was not the time, even though the subtle insult to the other clans
had not gone unnoticed.
"Then commit it now and block this human offensive," Buktag'ka said,
pounding the table excitedly.
Jukaga looked at Buktag'ka and wanted to laugh at the boot licker's
enthusiasm.
"That is not the way to win war," Thrakhath replied, an edge of sarcasm
in his voice revealing his sense that though Buktag'ka was a family leader,
he was still of a lower cast. Buktag'ka quickly looked around the room,
hoping for some sign of support and saw nothing but mocking stares and he
swallowed his rage.
"In eighty and forty days four more carriers of the Hakaga class will
be ready for their operational tests, in three eighty and forty days, we
will have a full fleet of eight and four Hakaga carriers fully operational.
"That means we will have a need for over forty eighties of fighter and
strike craft pilots. In spite of what the Baron might think, that is why I
had fully intended to reveal this information to you today. The first ship's
fighter crews were drawn from my clan, but as new ships come on line we will
need to draw the best pilots from all clans out of the training academies
and off existing fleet ships. All of your hrai, your clans, are to share in
the glory of this new fleet."
He looked over at the Baron and suppressed a scornful laugh. Though
indeed the Baron had pressured him into revealing the project too soon, it
was amusing to not let him think so.
"Only then will I release them, when the entire fleet is ready, using
them to cleave straight through the human defenses. Our war simulations have
gone over the plan repeatedly and our projection is that at least half of
these new ships will survive to reach Earth, while in the process smashing
the Confederation Fleet in one final climatic battle. Within one hour after
gaining orbit above their home planet either the Terran Confederation will
surrender or more than one eight and a half hundred of our fighters will
deliver antimatter bombs, leaving the planet a burned out cinder.
"The tides of this war have shifted back and forth for more than half
my reign, the Emperor interjected, his voice commanding total silence.
"Before I return to my ancestors, I wish to see my grandson destroy these
low born scum and the ball of offal that they call their world."
"I am moved to joy by this plan of Thrakhath," Jukaga interrupted,
"however, it is at least eighty days, more likely two of eighty days till
five of the new ships are ready, and three eighty and a half days until the
other seven he believes are required for victory are operational. Yet you
can all see that even if it is not a fatal blow, the humans will succeed in
penetrating our defenses and sowing a wave of destruction within the next
five of eight days. In this penetration, they will cripple our logistical
support, which will still be needed to keep Prince Thrakhath's new ships
supplied in their drive towards victory. If that is crippled the final
offensive to Earth is crippled."
He paused for a moment to look at Thrakhath who was forced to nod in
agreement.
"We have heard Talmak suggest that the frontier be temporarily
abandoned and all defenses pulled into the center," Jukaga said reviewing
the earlier suggestions, "but we cannot allow such a stain on our honor, nor
can the Caxki clan, which owns many of the frontier worlds, allow it. Our
Prince has explained how a counter offensive into Enigma or through Munro
towards Earth is difficult if not impossible due to the question of supply,
and that the humans might ignore the threat anyhow and still ravage our
worlds."
He took a deep breath and looked around the room.
Now it was to the true heart of the meeting. Thrakhath had revealed
what his clan had been planning, but no real suggestions as to how to
overcome the crisis of the moment.
"You have brought me out of exile saying that with my understanding of
humans I might suggest a third way and I have such away which will bring us
victory."
"And that is?" Buktag'ka asked, glad that it was obvious that soon this
talk would be over and the mid-day feasting could begin.
"Sue for an armistice and promise peace."
A roar of disbelief thundered from all the clan leaders.
Jukaga waited for several minutes for the anger to die down and thought
for a moment that more than one clan leader would call for a blood duel to
avenge what they saw as an obscene slight of honor.
"You have been driven mad by your reading of human books of filth and
weakness," Buktag'ka roared, coming up to Jukaga's side as if to strike him.
There was a moment of silence as all waited for the ritual first blow
to be struck across Jukaga's face and then all turned to look at the screen
behind which the Emperor sat.
The Emperor was laughing.
"Tell us your plan Baron, I think I see its merit even though I know
the gods will not be pleased."
"But even the gods are not immune to bribery," Jukaga said, a smile of
cunning lighting his features. "When my plan works, and is finished, Sivar
will be more than pleased with the final offerings."
And in the doing of it, I will be pleased as well, when Prince
Thrakhath's victory becomes mine instead, the Baron thought with a smile.
CHAPTER ONE
Captain Ian "Hunter" St. John crossed through the final nav check point
and turned in on attack approach. The lone habitable planet of the Munro
system was now straight ahead. A flurry of matter-antimatter bombs snapped
across the world, winking brightly even from thirty thousand clicks out, the
bombardment suppressing the Kilrathi ground defense systems. He clicked into
the Marine channel and listened for a moment as the second and third
divisions started their descent into their landing points. Ian switched back
to his main channel.
"Red squadron, arm all torpedoes, Blue and Green squadrons, keep close
in for support. Let's get the carrier!"
Off his port quarter he saw the Yellow, Orange, and Black squadrons
comprising the rest of the attack group fanning out into the standard delta
formation, while the red squadron Broadsword bombers lined up for a classic
anvil attack, swinging out to hit the Kilrathi carrier on its X, Y, and Z
axis.
They were going to lose people in the next couple of minutes, but the
light carrier straight ahead was going to be dead as well.
He did a quick scan on to the main tactical commlink net to check in on
how the rest of the fight was going, ready to divert part of his attack
force, which was damn near overwhelming, if something was going wrong
somewhere else.
The Marines were going into their drop right on schedule, no serious
opposition, the landing area already saturated by the heavy bombardment from
four destroyers and a cruiser which had turned a thousand square kilometers
of the primary landing point into scorched rubble. What was left of the
Kilrathi bases on the planet continued to glow from the antimatter strikes.
This was a raid on one Kilrathi base which was going like clockwork and
that alone was troubling. Across the last thirty years Munro, ever since its
seizure by the Kilrathi during the open stages of the war, had been a long
standing goal for recapture. Beyond the simple fact that it was once human
territory it also stood as the primary approach into the heart of the
Empire. Conversely, from this base the Kilrathi stood astride a main jump
point terminus into the middle regions of the Confederation and from there
the main jump line straight back to Sirius and then on to Earth. It was the
front door to both the Empire and the Confederation. A lot of good ships and
a hell of a lot of personnel had died in six attempts to retake the planet.
Now it was falling like a ripe apple into their laps.
He wondered how the rest of the assault plan was going. This attack on
Munro, though crucial, was actually not the primary goal of Operation Red
Three. They were to act as a focal point for the Kilrathi to counter-strike
on and thus be drawn away from the main thrust of the offensive. Across
fifteen hundred light years of frontline that divided the Empire from the
Confederation, eight Task Groups, each comprised of an escort carrier, a
light cruiser, and four destroyers were poised to leap deep into the Heart
of the Empire. Their mission was to strike far into the rear to destroy
convoys, shatter bases, and smash construction yards. It was a tactical
innovation evolving out of Vukar Tag which appeared to be bearing fruit, a
constant harassing of the enemy that some claimed was actually beginning to
wear the cats down. He could only hope that the politicians were not about
to blow it as latest rumors indicated they would.
"Hunter, we got traffic, vectoring in on 032 degrees your heading true,
plus 060 degrees."
Hunter looked at his short range tactical scan and saw the swarm of red
blips snap on.
"Blue squadron, you on them?"
"Lone Wolf here, sir, vectoring in, you're covered."
"Get that double ace strip, boy, good hunting."
"Don't worry, you'll get your bottle of scotch off me when I do," Lone
Wolf replied. "Wish it was a carrier in my sights instead."
Hunter chuckled to himself. Admiral Tolwyn's nephew was eager for this
fight and he could understand why.
"The kid's been going nuts trying to get that strip."
Hunter spared a quick glance to Griffin, his co-pilot, and nodded.
Kevin Tolwyn's escort carrier, Tarawa, had joined up with the strike group
after the mission had already set out. In the skirmishes leading into Munro
young Tolwyn had drawn a blank hand in half a dozen fights and was eager for
a kill to round up his number to ten. Such eagerness could get a pilot
wasted but Hunter could understand it.
Hunter looked back down at his computer information screen, which
showed the other two Broadsword strike groups lining into position. All
three groups hit their jump-off marks precisely and started in on the final
attack.
"Range one thousand clicks, speed down to 110 kps," and Griffin started
the chant, marking off range and speed. The computer could do the job as
well, but a machine could always glitch off at a key moment and besides, he
preferred Griffin's soft feminine voice.
Hunter watched straight ahead, the planet filling space before him. He
could make out a sliver of reflected light, standing out against the
blue-green ocean below. The light shifted into a thin pencil-like form.
"Target is turning, following standard evasive maneuver alpha," Griffin
announced, "coming about to a heading 002 positive 80 degrees."
"Right on to a broadside target for us," Hunter chortled. That was the
beauty of a well timed attack on the three axis points, no matter which way
the enemy turned, someone would have a full broadside strike.
A low piercing hum echoed in his headset, the initial locking tone for
his torpedo.
"Range fifteen kilometers, closing speed eight hundred fifty meters a
second and holding."
He was damn near hanging still in space, sparing a quick glance to his
tactical display, filled now with a swarm of blue and red dots. A Kilrathi
Gratha heavy fighter flashed by, followed by a Rapier. He heard Jonesy in
the turret behind him, stammering out a curse as she snapped off a quick
volley. His Broadsword shuddered, damage information blipping red for his
rear starboard stabilizer. A spray of mass driver rounds arched up from the
carrier as it twisted away, and he nudged up the throttle to follow the ship
as it continued to turn.
The tone in his headset started to slide up the scale, signaling that
his torpedo guidance system was breaking through the Kilrathi carriers
phased shielding distortion defense, the weapon gaining a secured lock.
The Broadsword to his right disappeared in a flash. He tried not to
think about the friends inside. A split second later Jonesy let out a whoop
from the rear turret.
"Got the furball bastard. Burn, damn you, burn."
Damn, she was bloodthirsty. But then, who could blame a nineteen year
old girl whose brothers were all dead in the war?
The tone in his headset started to warble and then set off three high
pitched beeps, the last beep going into a steady tone, indicating that the
heavy Mark IV torpedo was locked and armed. He felt his ship shudder as the
torpedo broke free from its pylon and streaked off towards the target.
Nearly a score of silver blips appeared on his tactical screen, showing the
inbound strike. The timing was damn near perfect.
Now was the time to test out the new weapons system
He slammed up throttle, yanked the stick into his gut and punched
straight up, exposing the laser guidance system strapped on to the belly of
his Broadsword.
"Have laser lock on torpedo," Griffin announced quietly, hunching over
her read-out screen. The new laser system was designed to provide in-bound
guidance for the torpedo, the designator locking on to the torpedo's tail.
If target lock should be lost, the weapons officer could now guide it in,
while also providing evasive for any anti-torpedo missiles and shield
jamming by the target's defensive systems. The only problem was that it
meant that the Broadsword had to loiter in the target area, belly exposed,
until impact.
It might work, Ian thought, but I'd like to take the idiot who designed
it and have him fly the wait out with me to see what it's like.
The Kilrathi carrier's point defenses slammed on miniguns sending out
sprays of marble size mass driver bolts. Several torpedoes detonated.
Anti-torpedo missiles streaked out from launch bays mounted fore and aft on
the ship.
"Still tracking, still tracking," Griffin chanted, grimacing slightly
and swinging a small joy stick over to put the torpedo into an evasive as
two anti-missiles closed. The evasive threw them off and they continued on.
Still tracking, impact in five, four . . ."
And suddenly it didn't seem quite right. They were using their old
single bolt anti-torpedo missiles. Hell, for nearly six months now Kilrathi
carriers had been carrying their damn new sub-munitions anti-torpedo
missiles which could break into half a dozen shots. The damn things had been
a nasty surprise. Ships armed with them were almost invulnerable to torpedo
strikes if they could get enough of them out there.
Fleet ordnance had been working like mad to come up with a counter, but
so far no one had been able to snag a round for evaluation since they were
armed with a timed detonator if they failed to strike a target, thus blowing
up anyhow and confounding the munitions experts.
The drama played out in seconds. Four more torpedoes, all of them the
older unguided models, went down to the counter-missile strike; it looked
like several more were hit by miniguns and then the silver blips converged
in on a single point two, one, got it!"
Space erupted with a brilliant flash as bright as the sun and the
carrier was gone, internal munitions stores and fuel detonating in a
firecracker string of secondary explosions that ripped the ship apart.
"Scratch one flattop," Ian shouted, comm channel discipline breaking
down as nearly everyone came on yelling and cheering. He rolled his ship
over, coming in on a banking turn, careful to avoid the edge of the
expanding cloud of debris, making sure his gun cameras were running at high
gain. A lot could be learned when the holo tapes were played back and
inspected þ did the torpedo guidance systems function correctly, exactly
where were the impact points, were any structural weaknesses revealed as the
enemy ship ruptured . . . even ship contents were important.
Several years back one of his old buddies, Paladin, had jumped a light
transport and wasted it while raiding inside enemy lines. An evaluation of
the explosion had shown a brief single frame image of several space suits
blowing out of the erupting hull. It was still a wonder how the holo
evaluation crowd had enhanced, magnified and fiddled with the shot and
finally figured that the suits were specifically designed for a high
radiation high gravity planet. The Hot Pit, a forward base in the Zarnobian
System fit the bill as the only military target in the sector that matched
up with the suits. A Marine raider battalion was rushed in, set up an
ambush, and nailed a landing raid bagging a regiment of elite Kilrathi
Imperial shock troops.
Hunter swept past the edge of the fireball, and then turned back
towards Munro, ready to offer backup support for the Marine landing
operation. The red blips of the few remaining Kilrathi fighters covering the
carrier were winking off the screen as the Rapier squadrons finished them
off.
Hunter clicked back on to the main commlink channel, knowing that his
exuberant cry, "scratch one flattop," the fleet's traditional announcement
that a carrier had been killed, had already been received by the combat
information control officer and sent up to the other ships in the fleet.
He found the word flattop to be rather interesting, it came from old
English when carriers were ships of the seas, but in no way could it ever
describe a modem carrier with its bristling array of defenses and landing
bays covered over with heavy durasteel armor.
Tradition, how the Navy loves tradition, he thought with a smile.
"All attack squadrons, job well done."
He stiffened slightly. It was the old man himself, Rear Admiral Sir
Geoffrey Tolwyn.
"All strike craft return to base."
Return to base? Hell, there was still a major brawl going on down with
the Marines.
"Repeat, please?" Hunter clicked in.
"That means you, Hunter, just like everyone else. All attack squadrons
return to base," Tolwyn snarled.
"Yes, sir," he said. There was nothing to be gained by arguing with an
admiral. But it was certainly strange that the old man would actually allow
a voice transmission on his part. A Kilrathi listening post could pick it
up, figure out who he was, and perhaps even trace a fleet movement as a
result. Tolwyn knew better and it bothered him.
"What the hell is up, Ian?"
He looked over at Griffin and could only shrug his shoulders. This was
definitely not standard operation procedure. They had dumped the only
capital ship in the sector, now was the time to go after the few corvettes
and really smash up any ground resistance and save some grunt lives.
"Say, Hunter."
It was Kevin Tolwyn, Geoffrey's nephew.
"Yeah go ahead, Lone Wolf."
"I just heard the word on Tarawa's commlink to our two squadrons
covering the ground assault. They've been ordered to break off engagement
and withdraw out of the atmosphere."
"Yeah, that's the word. You got any inside stuff? What the hell is the
old man up to?"
"Damned if I know, sir."
"Follow orders, then," Hunter replied and then checked through his
channels to make sure that the other squadrons were following orders as
well. In the heat of a successful battle like this, it was tough at times to
break an action off. There could only be one of two reasons for this, either
some major Kilrathi reinforcements had been detected and Tolwyn was pulling
in his fighters to rearm, or the other possibility. He pushed that thought
aside as absurd.
"Griffin, get us on Concordia navlock."
"Already on, sir."
"Let's go back and find out what the hell is going on."
"Attention!"
The squadron commanders, and section officers called together for the
staff meeting leaped out of their seats and came rigidly to attention.
Rear Admiral Geoffrey Tolwyn, strode into the briefing room. He reached
the podium, lowered his head for a second and then raised it again to look
out at the men and women in the room. He felt a tug at his heart at the
sight of them.
"Never, for God sake never, let your people get inside your heart, for
your job is to use them, and if need be kill them," a voice whispered to
him. It was his old mentor Banbridge's classic piece of advice.
I guess that's what separates me from him, Geoff thought. With Clara
and the boys gone this is my family. It was something he never let show, no
matter what. He knew that behind his back he was "the old man," which was
the gentlest of epithets; usually it was far worse and ofttimes even angry.
They never really knew how he felt, especially when he looked into their
eyes just before a strike went out, knowing that he was ordering some of
them to their deaths. Well, at least that's finished for the moment.
He clicked a comm button which opened the public address channel for
the entire ship.
"All hands, all hands, this is Admiral Tolwyn," his deep baritone
voice, clipped with the refined touch of an Oxford education, echoing
through the ship.
"I have just received the following communication from C-in-C ConFleet,
it reads, óTo Tolwyn, commanding, Task Force 45. Armistice agreement and
cease fire has been reached with Kilrathi Empire, to be effective upon
reception of this signal. All offensive operations to cease immediately and
to withdraw to navigation point detailed below Repeat, all offensive
operations to cease at once. Fire only if fired upon. Signed Noragami,
commanding, Confederation Navy.' "
He hesitated as if wanting to say something and then lowered his head
"That is all," and clicked off the comm channel.
He looked back up at his officers who stood incredulous. In the
corridors outside the conference room distant cheering could be heard.
"I'm only going to say this once," Tolwyn said quietly. "I'm proud of
all of you for the job you've done. In the seven years I've been in command
of Concordia we've taken out eight carriers, a score of capital ships,
countless fighters and bombers, and fought in nine major fleet actions.
Concordia is not just steel, guns and planes, in fact it is you, it is your
flesh and blood and the spirits of all those who've served on her, living
and dead."
He hesitated for a moment.
"When it comes time for her to fight again, I hope and pray that I'll
be able to count on you all in our hour of need."
"Dismissed."
He started for the door, the room silent.
"Damn, we're going home!" somebody shouted and the room erupted in
cheers. Tolwyn stiffened his shoulders and walked out.
He passed down the corridor, ignoring the cheers and the momentary lack
of discipline, retreated to his office, closed the door, and for the first
time in months poured a good stiff drink of single malt Scotch. Settling
back in his chair he started to review the first holo tapes of the strike
mission.
The timing was masterful, the strike crews the finest professionals he
had ever served with, nearly every Broadsword gaining lock and launching
simultaneously. A successful strike like that was even more intricate than
the most finely crafted ballet, and in his eyes even more beautiful.
Damn it.
A knock on the door disturbed him and he set his drink down on the
table behind his desk.
"Come."
The door slid open and he could not help but allow a slight flicker of
a smile to light his features at the sight of Captain Jason "Bear"
Bondarevsky standing at attention in the corridor.
"Come on in, Bear. What brings you over here anyhow."
Jason came into the room and stood nervously in the middle of the room.
"We'll wave regs and at least let you have a sip," and he poured out a
thin splash of Scotch in a tumbler and passed it over.
"Thank you, sir."
"Have a seat."
Jason went over to the proffered chair by the admiral's desk and
settled in . He sniffed his glass and tasted the Scotch.
"Not bad, sir."
"The best, saved for special occasions."
"Like this one?"
"No, not really, I just felt a need for it."
Jason looked down at the floor and Tolwyn could feel the tension.
"Come on, son, out with it."
"Sir, something's troubling me, I thought I better come over and
discuss it with you privately."
"You mean this little thing called an armistice."
"In part," Jason said quietly.
"Well, what is it then?"
"Sir, that communication from ConFleet announcing the armistice came
through close to fifty minutes before our strike hit the carrier."
Tolwyn exhaled noisily and leaned back in his chair.
"How the hell do you know that, Bondarevsky?" he asked quietly, a
threatening chill in his voice. "That message was directed solely to me."
"Sir, Tarawa was the back up carrier for this operation. If something
should have happened to Concordia it would have been my job to assume
control of the air strikes. In that situation, I took it upon myself to
monitor all ConFleet channels and that included yours. Suppose you were hit,
sir? It would have then been my job to know the entire picture. I didn't
notice it immediately since it was simply decoded and stored in my personal
data system. But after the action I was going through the signals to dump
them off my system and I saw it."
What Jason was confessing was somewhat outside the regulations but it
showed careful planning and foresight on his part. If something had indeed
happened to Concordia the young officer before him might very well have to
take full responsibility for everything that transpired.
There was an ancient cautionary tale told in the service academies, the
incident dating back to a war once fought between England and America. In an
encounter between an American and British ship
