Wing Commander: Fleet Action
by William R Forstchen
Copyright 1994 William R.Forstchen. Wing Commander Fleet Action
PROLOGUE
"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 the commanding officer of the American vessel was mortally wounded, and the junior officer took him down below deck to the surgeon. In the short interval that followed all the other officers were hit and, without his even being aware of it, the junior officer was now in command. By the time he returned to the deck his ship had already been battered into submission and forced to surrender after barely putting up a fight. The junior officer was held responsible, court-martialed, and found guilty of dereliction of duty, a duty he was not even aware had suddenly come to rest upon his shoulders. The lesson was part of the tradition and backbone of the fleet þ there is no excuse for defeat Geoff looked at Jason and realized as well that he had made a crucial mistake in not assuming that Jason might very well be listening in. "And what do you think?" he finally said quietly. "I lost two crews in that attack, two pilots and a gunner. I'm wondering how their families would feel if they knew their kids got killed after a war was officially over." Tolwyn nodded and said nothing. "I don't give a good damn about the furballs," Jason continued, "but five hundred or more of them died when that carrier got cooked. I don't feel too good about that either, sir." "Neither do I." "Then why did you do it, sir?" "I'd rather not say, Jason, but let me ask you a question." "Sure." "If this was just another day in the war, how would you feel about taking out that carrier." "I hate losing people, but trading a Rapier, a Sabre and two of your Broadswords for a light carrier is a damn fine piece of work in my book. I wish it had always been that easy." Tolwyn nodded. "That's how I still feel about it, Jason." "But the war's over. We were hearing the rumors even before this attack started out. Something about a peace party coming into power in the Empire, Prince Thrakhath falling into disgrace, and Foreign Minister Jamison pushing for an armistice. Damn it, sir, they're saying it's finally over and we can go home." "And do you really believe it?" Jason hesitated. "Well, do you?" "I want to believe it, sir." "Damn it, man, that's exactly it. You want to believe it. Everyone wants to believe it. But there's a hell of a long stretch between wishing for something and actually seeing it come true. Anyone who believes something simply because it sounds good and he wishes it to be true is a damned fool and that's why I did what I did." "Sir?" "This war is not over by a long shot," Tolwyn growled, "and I'll kiss the hairy backside of the first Kilrathi I meet if they can ever prove it differently to me. "It's too pat, it's too damn straight forward and simple. I remember once hearing a great line about another war, óthis is such madness only an idealist could have started it.' Well, this peace offer is the same thing, only...
widez2