fleet of ships unlike anything ever before seen in this sector of the universe. When the war with the humans was done, such ships could even stand against the Mantu, if they should dare to return. "Grandson, with this fleet victory is ours." "Remember, my Emperor, the fleet is but half the size we planned," Thrakhath said cautiously. "Victory should not be counted until the blood of the prey is in one's mouth." The Emperor nodded, realizing that his enthusiasm had taken hold too deeply. He was still shaken by the murder attempt. It had been his dream to see at least one ceremony of Sivar in the burned ruins of Earth, for he knew that it would not be much longer before his ancestors finally called. "Bring me victory," the Emperor finally said, "that is all I ask. You should take Earth in time for Sivar, we'll celebrate it there. Be sure that it is ready for my arrival." "Yes, my Emperor." "And as for Jukaga, have you found anything more?" "Three have died under the question, none have spoken. His path seems to be secured. If we put him directly to the question, the other clan leaders would again object. That path is closed as well." "Then take him with you on this expedition," the Emperor said quietly. "Grandfather?" "You heard me. I've summoned him to this ship, he is in the next chamber. He is to go with you. "He is head of spies, it is not his role to be a fleet warrior." "He is a clan leader, a post of honor with the fleet he can not refuse. I think you will know what to do with him once battle is joined." "It might be dangerous having him with us," the Prince replied. "You will find a way," and the Emperor turned, motioning for a guard to open the door into a side chamber. * * * * * Baron Jukaga entered, looking around cautiously. When summoned to the cruiser he had not known what to expect, and now the moment had come "Arise, my Baron. Was not the sight of our fleet wondrous?" Jukaga stood up again. "Wondrous." "And what of the Confederation government?" "Their senate still debates. It was reported however that two carriers sortied from their main base above their moon with a third to soon follow, and that the shipyards are working full time to prepare those in drydock for launching as well. Even though their government debates, their new president is acting quickly, with declaration of war or without. There have been forays by the Landreich into our territory, but no deep penetrations." "I cannot even begin to comprehend how they function, the Emperor replied. Jukaga nodded as if in agreement. And that is why you never won, you old fool, he thought coldly. "I have a new assignment for you, Baron." He waited, tense and expectant. "You go with the fleet to speak to their leaders one more time before we strike." The Baron nodded. Would they simply arrange "an accident?" That now seemed to be the path. "I am master of spies, my Emperor. Would not one of your warrior leaders be more appropriate?" "You know this species of prey the best. It is your voice that they know, let them hear it one more time before we strike. You seemed disturbed by our ultimate plans, let us see if you can convince them to submit and thus save this species you seem to like so much." He looked around the room, which was filled with the leaders of the new fleet. He was trapped and could not refuse. "As you command it, my Emperor." The Emperor turned away back to his grandson. "Your plan is set, then?" "Yes, my Emperor. The fleet will head towards the frontier at flank speed. Refueling tankers will accompany them so that we may move swiftly without need of deploying fuel scoops. The Second Fleet of the Claw, with four of our older carriers, will join us before we reach the frontier and make the first penetration, thus shielding our main fleet as long as possible. The Fourth Fleet of the Claw, with three carriers, will sortie towards the Landreich to pin down any forces they might have there, preventing them from shifting against our flank. The First Fleet of the Claw, with three carriers, will make up the reserve. The other carriers have been stripped of their crews and pilots for the Fifth Fleet and will be held in reserve." "That is ten carriers," the Emperor said quietly. "You know the shortage of trained pilots has become serious. Either our best pilots went with our new carriers or else the new fleet would be manned by pilots with no combat experience. It will be a year before we have enough fully trained pilots and fighters to bring the older reserve carriers back to operational strength. The Emperor nodded grimly. "So let it be," he said, turning away. "Now bring me victory." CHAPTER ELEVEN Weary with exhaustion, Captain Jason Bondarevsky strode across the landing field towards the command post with Admiral Richards behind him. Stepping onto the veranda he coldly eyed the two Landreich guards at the door. "I'm here to see Kruger." "We have no orders to let you pass, sir." "To hell with your orders, I want to see that son of a bitch now," and he moved to shoulder his way past the guards. Caught by surprise they backed up slightly and then physically moved to block the doorway, one of them grabbing him by the shoulder. "Listen, sir, don't make me get rough about this," the guard snapped. "Get the hell out of my way right now, mister." "Hold it, Jason," and he looked back at Richards. "They're just following orders." The guards looked to Richards with some relief. They obviously knew that Kruger would skin them alive if anyone got past. They knew as well who it was they were trying to stop, and even if he was Confederation, he was also a first class hero. "Sir, if you stay put, I'd go in and get my captain," a sergeant growled, coming out of the doorway to the aid of the two guards. "Well, damn it, go get him," Jason snapped, and the sergeant turned and went into the building. Jason paced up and down the length of the veranda angry at everything, his mood made worse by the searing heat of the Hell Hole. He could feel the moisture draining out of his body, barely cooling his skin before evaporating. He looked back at one of the guards. "You know something, corporal, this planet of yours truly sucks." The corporal showed the faintest of smiles. "I fully agree," he whispered. No longer able to get mad at the man, Jason turned away. "Admiral Richards, Captain Bondarevsky?" Jason turned back to see a very young captain, wearing commando fatigues and barely out of his teens, in the doorway. Though the man was shorter than him by a good half a foot, and skinny as a rail, Jason could tell from his eyes that he was deadly. "President Kruger is expecting you, sir, come on in." Jason nodded, grateful to be stepping out of the blazing heat of the twin suns and into the dark cool corridor. He followed the captain down into the below ground bunker, the captain leading him through the blast doors into Kruger's small and austere office. The captain withdrew, closing the door behind him. Kruger looked up from his desk "Care for a cold one?" and he motioned to a refrigerator. "Don't mind if I do," Richards said, and he went over to the refrige and pulled out a beer. Jason looked at the Admiral angrily and then back at Kruger who sat behind his desk, smiling. "Well, young captain, out with it." "We monitored that signal reporting the confirmed loss of Tarawa, Bannockburn, and Normandy," he continued. "Just who the hell do you think you are to do that?" "Last time I checked I was president of the Landreich son. Just who the hell are you?" "An officer in the . . ." he paused. He was, in fact, not an officer in Confederation at all but rather on leave, serving the Landreich forces. "You are under my orders, young captain, and need you or not, I'll put your ass in the clink till this planet turns into an ice ball if you ever talk like that to me again." Jason stood silently, still seething with anger. "How about that beer, Jason?" and Richards came back to his side, holding an open container. Jason stared at Richards, expecting support, but Richards merely smiled. "But the emergency decree. Three-ninety-fourA is mobilizing all fleet personnel, and that includes me and my ship," Jason finally replied. "Jason, we are officially listed as missing in action, presumed dead," Richards replied, "and I think our host intends to keep it that way." Jason looked back at Kruger. "I have your carrier and the others," Kruger replied. "We can make this happen one of two ways, young sir. Either you continue to command your ship under Landreich colors or one of my people will. I'd rather have you do it. You know the ship better than anyone else, and besides that, you're damn good. You managed to bring her out in one piece. "No thanks to you." Kruger smiled. "You're here, aren't you? Therefore, any effort expended on my part to pull you out would have been a waste." Jason felt ready to explode again. He had made a fifteen day run out, pursued all the way to the frontier Bannockburn, the only Stealth light recon ship in the fleet was finally turned around and sent back on auto pilot with Paladin cramming into a light shuttle sent over from Tarawa. The momentary delay created by the supposed counter attack had gotten them through the final jump with a very angry Paladin cursing the entire universe over the loss of his ship, He had not been able to snatch more than two hours' sleep at a stretch throughout the entire retreat and all he really wanted now was for someone at whom to vent his rage for being left out in the cold after doing his mission. A barroom brawl might even serve the bill, and then a good drink followed by a long sleep. And beyond that, there was still the pain of losing Hunter. Richards, without waiting for the offer from Kruger, settled down on a sagging and thread bare sofa, which obviously doubled as Kruger's bed, and took a long pull on his beer. "You know something, Kruger," Richards said, "I got holy hell over the fact that you hijacked that destroyer from my squadron and went gallivanting off." óVance, that was thirty years ago." "Well, I got a reprimand in my file thanks to you, and wound up a desk jockey in intelligence. "Consider that beer as payment then. You most likely would have had your butt blown off by now if I hadn't worked your transfer for you like that. There are very few old destroyer skippers floating around. Besides, last I heard you loved intelligence work." Richards chuckled and held up the container in salute and then looked back at Jason. "Settle down, son, the old man did the right thing. He didn't have the assets to pull us out, it was that simple. You did a damn masterful job getting out on your own. So damn good I think Kruger here owes you a decoration." "I hereby award you the Order of Nova with diamonds and promote you to commodore," Kruger said sarcastically. "My adjutant will send you the award and paperwork when he gets the time. It's a nice looking piece of tin, you'll like it. Does that settle it?" Jason could see that he wasn't going to win but still didn't know what to do. "I want to rejoin the Confederation fleet with my ship." "Impossible," Kruger snapped. "I need you here, and here you're staying." "Look, son," Richards said, suddenly serious. "It's a ten day transit back to Earth at full speed. You'll arrive back to the inner worlds with just twenty fighters on board." "None," Kruger growled. "Most of them are mine anyhow, and I'm requisitioning the rest." "All right then, none, and no munitions, because even if Kruger did let you go I doubt he'd spare one IFF missile out of his stores to refit you." Kruger nodded and said nothing. "The battle shaping up back there, wherever it is they're going to fight it, might already be over. Meanwhile, we can expect a major sortie by the Cats straight in here to pin us down. You could very well run from one action to the other and miss both. It's that simple." Jason had already heard the argument once before from Richards just before loading him into the Sabre for the trip from orbit down to the Hell Hole. He'd been too damn angry over the abandonment and then from the signal reporting him dead to think. He realized now he could no longer argue the point. "Damn you," he said quietly, looking back at Kruger. "All right, you won. You've got me." "I'm so honored that you would volunteer to join me," Kruger replied with false sincerity. He took an old style printout report and held it up. "This is our latest intelligence report. Three Kilrathi carriers are moving to the frontier and are expected to cross it momentarily, with an estimated eighteen escort ships. They're moving straight at Landreich and will make planetfall here in this system within eighteen hours." And your response." "Meet them and beat them, it's that simple." "Four escort carriers going head to head against three Kilrathi fleet carriers?" Jason asked. "At best we've got a hundred fighters on board our ships." "Eighty seven." "They'll have over three hundred. We'll be frozen meat an hour after the action starts." "Do you have any better ideas?" Jason looked at the President. Though he was still simmering with rage he could not help but wish that it had been Kruger who had been running the Confederation instead of Rodham. They wouldn't be in this mess now if it were. "No, sir." "Then get back to your ship . We leave here in six hours." "What about the Confederation, sir, what's happening there?" "The usual screw-up. The only positive sign is that Geoff is heading Third Fleet. They moved out five days ago, and have kept radio silence since." "Admiral Tolwyn commanding the Third? What about Banbridge?" Kruger told him of the bomb plot, the pardon, and the political confusion that still gripped the Confederation, along with the growing panic. Jason took it all in, wishing more than ever he could be back under his old commander for the showdown. "If Geoff stops the invasion, it'll be a miracle," Kruger said. "And if he doesn't, what about you then?" Kruger smiled, the first time Jason had ever seen him do it. "We'll survive. It's what we've been doing for thirty years, with precious little help from your Confederation, I might add." "It's official, gentlemen, a state of war now exists between the Kilrathi Empire and the Confederation. Four old style carriers crossed the frontier four hours ago, and the Senate passed the declaration." He looked around at his bridge crew on Concordia flagship of Third Fleet. "All signal traffic from Station Hanover and the Hanovian System was lost forty-five minutes ago, the last report stating they were under heavy attack." "Good God, there's two million people on that world," a staff ensign whispered. "There were two million people there," Geoff said. Geoff saw a young communications technician lean over his desk, covering his face, and he inwardly cursed, realizing that Hanover was most likely the boys home. He wanted to say something, to apologize for his lack of tact, but knew he couldn't. The cold reality of what they were facing had to be driven home. The bridge was silent, more than one turning to look at the boy as he muffled a sob and then sat back up, his features pale. "We're going to lose a lot of worlds in the days to come," Tolwyn said, "a lot of worlds." "Communications, put laser locks on the other ships in the fleet, pass the information, and order all ships to continue silent running." He turned and retreated back to his wardroom. Sighing, he settled down into his chair and looked at the holo map. They were now positioned three jump points ahead of Sirius in towards the frontier. The Kilrathi had yet to show their main fleet. The carriers could be a diversion, or the vanguard of the main assault Damn, to be able to use full size carriers as a vanguard, while he had to husband the five ships that would be under his command, that is if Saratoga and Leyte Gulf could get up in time to join his other two ships. He ran a quick question into his nav system and the answer coldly blinked back at him. If the Kilrathi came on at flank speed, they'd get to Sirius a day and a half before the other two carriers could join up. He looked at the three dimensional map, pausing for a moment as a new signal burst in, updating the situation. Three more red blips appeared, the three tentatively identified as cruiser squadrons, crossing the frontier. Far off to one side, over by Landreich, a thin red line was already traced deep into Kruger's territory, two definite and one probable carrier moving fast towards the core worlds of Landreich. Which was the main assault? The carriers at Hanover could be a feint to draw him in, the main fleet following behind one of the three cruiser squadrons. If he had the strength, that would be his approach, hoping to draw the enemy forward, then flanking by a side jump line, cutting him off from the rear. He sat back, hands clasped, pondering, wishing he could somehow penetrate the fog of war. The Kilrathi had shut down nearly all military channels and kept silence ever since the burst signal from Tarawa got through, except for the nonstop bombardment of propaganda. The mere fact that signal traffic was nonexistent showed just how well planned the operation was. In the ordinary sphere of war, it was impossible to maintain operations for long without a steady flow of information. Masterful. I've got to buy a little time till they show their hand, but at the same time I need to wiggle a little bait, bringing the main assault on myself. It was almost a foregone conclusion that Thrakhath was in charge of the main fleet. He was always bullheaded, and when he believed himself to have the upper edge, arrogant. Thrakhath never really gave a damn about taking territory; he wanted battle, to close with his enemy and destroy him. He'll come straight in and dare me to stop him. He was behind the carriers. I need to show confidence, aggression, he thought, not let them think we're already whipped. Geoff punched in to his bridge officer. "Pass the word to the fleet. We jump forward to the Warsaw system and will move at full speed to meet the carriers head on. Get Admirals Ching and Bjornsson on laser." He turned the channel off and within seconds felt the vibration run through the ship as the helm officer called for full engine thrust. Ching's image materialized on a flat screen, the bridge of his carrier, Moskva, in the background, followed seconds later by Bjornsson, commander of Verdun. "We're going up to bloody nose them a bit and get their attention," Geoff said. "It'll be three on four, and with luck we'll buy enough time for our other two ships to get into position." "Tough move, Geoff," Ching said. "They could be flanking in behind the cruisers." "They're diversions. Thrakhath will come straight on in, looking for a fight." "I hope you're right, Tolwyn. If not, they won't be too happy back on Earth if those super carriers get there and we're out chasing shadows. Tolwyn laughed grimly. "If they do, we won't hear the complaining for long." "It's a risky move, Geoff," Bjornsson said, her features grim. "If we lose a carrier that'll leave just four to face off against the big ones." "If we don't slow them, there'll only be four anyhow in front of Sirius when they arrive. It's a risk I'm willing to take though. "Glad you're running this one, Geoff. This isn't just a battle, its the whole shooting match." "Yeah, thanks. If there's ever another time, remind me to retire first." The two admirals laughed softly and signed off. Again the thought crept in. The old rhetoric of the battlefield, how the fate of civilization depended on what happened next. It had been used by his ancestors when they had stood at Agincourt, Waterloo, the Somme and against Hitler and Zhing. In most cases it was just rhetoric; this time it was for real. He realized that if he allowed himself to dwell on the outcomes it'd cripple him, and he pushed the fear aside. There would be time enough for that later. Another update flashed on the holo, a blinking purple light, showing that action had started in the Landreich. It had taken hours for the signal to travel, even at burst speed. Three carriers of the Kilrathi fleet now confirmed against what a colonial militia could put up. Their chances were next to nothing, he thought, just about the same as ours. * * * * * "Ten seconds to jump and counting at nine, eight . . ." Jason punched in to the deck flight officer. "All fighters prepare for launch!" "Two, one, jump initiated." The phase shift of the jump field kicked in, space in the forward and aft screens disappearing in a wavy haze. Jason swallowed hard, the momentary nausea of jump taking hold, as Tarawa and everything inside of it winked out of existence at jump point 324C and then rematerialized seconds later half a dozen light years away, back into position in the Hell Hole system. The screen shifted, star fields returning to view. "All ahead full, move it!" Jason shouted and Tarawa surged forward. Not five seconds later Gallipoli appeared behind him in nearly the exact same space he had just been occupying, followed seconds later by two more escort carriers. The maneuver was insane. Standard fleet procedure was to have at least one minute intervals between jumps. The actual point of rematerialization was problematic, never occurring at precisely the same spot, and if a ship in transit should come out of jump in the same space occupied by another vessel no one in the two ships involved would ever even realize that their existence had suddenly winked out in a white hot explosion. "Launch all fighters, launch all fighters!" A hazy shimmer appeared in the forward screen. "Helm hard to port, up ninety degrees!" Tarawa shifted, turning, as a destroyer of the Landreich fleet materialized out of jump less than four hundred meters ahead. Jason was nearly knocked from his command chair and at the same instant a bank of red lights started to flash at the damage control desk. "Ship hulled starboard side, sections twenty-two through twenty-four Decompression hull breach!" Internal bulkheads had already been sealed for action stations. Jason looked over at the damage display board. Three sectors of the outer hull were gone, crew quarters. He could only hope no one was still in there. He waited, watching to see if the breach would rip down the length of the hull or burst into the heart of the ship. It held. "What ship was that?" "Destroyer Blitzkreig, Kruger's flagship, sir." "Damage?" "Part of her port rear stabilizer gone. Hull integrity holding." "Then the hell with her, get the rest of those fighters out!" He turned back to tactical display and drew in his breath. Kruger was either a genius or a madman, the next five minutes would tell þ so far the plan had worked. Directly ahead, at less than a thousand kilometers, were the three Kilrathi carriers, moving in line abreast formation. Kruger had met them ten hours earlier as they jumped into the Hell Hole system, fought a brief skirmish, trading a corvette and two fighters for two destroyers and nearly twenty fighters of the Cats and then fled, the enemy in hot pursuit. They had jumped out of the Hell Hole System, come to a dead stop, and then turned, jumping straight back into the system they had just fled. The Kilrathi, assuming they were chasing a beaten and far weaker foe, had recovered nearly all their fighters in preparation for jump in pursuit. Forward of the carriers by three hundred clicks was the outer screen of frigates, which would, according to standard doctrine, jump through first to secure the next point in preparation for the carriers to follow. Range to the forward ships would close in under a minute. Doomsday gave the thumbs up to the deck launch officer. She saluted, crouched down low, pointing forward, and the senior deck officer in the launch control room hit the catapult button. In under two seconds Doomsday was clear of Tarawa, full afterburners roaring, even as Tarawa turned to avoid colliding with Kruger's flag ship. Doomsday banked hard over, skimming past the destroyer with less than a dozen meters to spare, and took a deep breath as he shot clear. His heavily modified Sabre, with side-by-side pilot and co-pilot seats crammed in, and a single heavy Mark IV torpedo slung underneath shook with the 110% power surge. Grinning, he looked over at Paladin who was flying the right hand seat as weapons officer. "Here we go again, laddie," Paladin said calmly, though Doomsday could tell that the old pilot was miffed that there weren't enough fighters in the fleet for him to get one of his own. "Weapons check?" "Torpedo armed and ready, now give me a target." Doomsday spared a quick look down at his tactical screen. The forward string of frigates were less than a minute away, the first of them already slowing, turning to move in across the carriers. Less than thirty seconds behind them the three carriers were starting to come about "All hells about to break loose," Paladin chuckled. "These two fleets are about to go straight through each other. "There's the rest of the strike," Doomsday announced, pointing nearly straight up, and he edged his stick back, climbing a thousand meters to tuck himself in under a Broadsword's belly, giving himself a little more protection from the heavy strike craft's gunners. "We're going for the middle carrier," Doomsday said quietly. "We'll go for his port launch deck, you take the starboard one, lad," the Landreich pilot of the Broadsword above them replied and Doomsday clicked his mike twice as an affirmative. "Hang on, crossing through the frigates!" A crisscrossing of neutron bursts, laserflashes, and mass driver rounds snaked out from the Kilrathi picket line. Doomsday held steady on his course, working for an early fix and lock on the center carrier, which was now full broadside and starting to come around astern. "Launch bay hits are out," Paladin announced. "Go for main engines." A Landreich fighter, moving ahead of the two, winked into a fireball and disappeared. They shot through the wreckage, Doomsday wincing when a bloody smear of what had once been the pilot smashed into his forward canopy and spun away into the darkness. The blood seemed to be a dark omen and he started to breathe hard, fighting down the sense of premonition and Paladin looked over at him. "He was already dead, laddie, already dead." Doomsday gulped hard and shook his head. He pulled open his helmet visor. wiped the sweat from his face. He reached into a breast pocket and pulled out a short cigar and clamped down hard on it, chewing the end. Ian had given the cigar to him long ago. He had never smoked it, but somehow, for this mission he felt it was a talisman and he brought it along. They shot under the belly of a frigate, the two attack craft shuddering as they skimmed through the high energy field of the ship's fuel and maneuvering scoops. "I have target lock," Paladin announced calmly, "and counting at thirty seconds, twenty nine." Doomsday hated torpedo launches more than anything else. It required the fighter to stay on a straight and steady course for thirty seconds until the torpedoes' guidance and arming systems cut through the high energy shielding of the target, decoded the shield phasing, and then countered the phasing so that it could penetrate for the kill. The carriers were now clearly visible in space, three silvery masses less than fifty clicks ahead, the ships completing their turns, engines winking white hot. Three Landreich fighters darted past Doomsday, their afterburners flaring, diving straight in, loosing a string of infrared guided missiles. The shots would not penetrate but their explosions on the carriers aft shields would momentarily blind the point defense systems. "First fighters coming out," Doomsday announced, able to clearly see the pinpoints of light leaping out from the Kilrathi carriers. "The furballs are a bit late today. Caught them with their pants down this time, that is if the buggers are wearing pants." The pin points of light disappeared, and Doomsday knew that meant they had turned and were coming straight back towards him. He caught the first hum of an IFF locking on. and then three more. Taking over defensive systems control from Paladin, he launched one of the new noise makers, hoping it would distract the missiles. The Kilrathi carrier seemed to fill all of space in front of him and he felt that if he closed any further, he'd run straight into it. The sweat was soaking his back and he found himself silently praying. A modified Ferret, stitched onto what looked like old twin Sabre A engines, slammed past, diving straight into the emerging fighters. Several flashes of light appeared, fighters being killed, though Doomsday could not tell who had bought it "Ten seconds, nine. eight. Signal lock on, phase counter lock on, warhead armed, three, two, one . . . it's away!" Doomsday felt his ship lurch as the ten meter long torpedo dropped from the underbelly pylon, its engine flaring to life. He looked up and saw a Landreich craft above him dropping his spread of three Mark III Torpedoes as well. Breaking his ship hard to starboard Doomsday nosed straight down and then spun over, keeping his belly turned towards the carrier so that the new laser torpedo guide could maintain lock. Paladin stayed hunched over the weapons screen, ready to take over manual guidance of the torpedo if Kilrathi jamming should throw it off course. Doomsday spared a quick glance at his tactical as half a dozen red blips closed in. "She's closing, closing," Paladin chanted softly, punching in a guidance command as the torpedo lost lock for a second, his guidance laser firmly tracking on the torpedoes tail. The fact that Kruger had half a dozen of the new ship-to-torpedo laser guiding systems in his munitions inventory had surprised Doomsday, who figured it was best simply not to ask how they got into Landreich hands. "Closing, closing . . . impact, laddie, we got óem!" Doomsday punched in an aft visual and saw an expanding fireball of light erupting from the carrier's main engine bank. A second ball of light snapped as one of Doomsday's torpedoes slammed into the explosion. Four of the Landreich's old obsolete scimitars darted in towards the carrier's tail, disappearing into the inferno, two of them reemerging from the fireball seconds later and as they pulled out, a solid ripple of explosions shuddered across the carrier's stern from the missile spread they had launched, now that the aft shielding was overloaded and down. The entire aft end of the carrier suddenly disappeared in a white hot light. Doomsday watched the Scimitars, amazed yet again at the suicidal tactics of the Landreich pilots, flying fighters that should have been on the scrap heap years ago. "Fuel igniting, she's going!" The explosion burst out, the blast wave washing over Doomsday's Sabre, shuddering it as if from a direct hit. He lost sight of the two surviving Scimitars, who were simply consumed in the ball of light, the enemy fighters pursuing them disappearing as well. "Look out ahead!" Paladin shouted, and Doomsday looked up to see a frigate turning directly in front, her gun mounts shifting, tracking straight down on him, preparing to fire a full broadside at near point blank range. "All weapons fire independently and at will," Jason announced calmly, standing now and pacing behind his row of bridge personnel, who remained hunched over their tactical, communications, damage control, and fire system holo displays. He looked up at the main holo battle screen, watching the converging line of blue and red dots. A blue dot, representing a light frigate winked out, followed an instant later by two red dots to either side, one of them a cruiser, the other a destroyer. "Landreich frigate just detonated her reactor pile, crew has ejected," the tactical officer announced calmly. "These people are insane," Jason whispered, realizing that even if the crew had ejected, a bridge team would have had to stay on board to time the detonation. The explosion cut an opening straight through the middle of the Kilrathi defense line deploying aft of the three carriers. All of the strike fighters from the four escorts had already launched and were inside the picket line, engaging the carriers. A dozen fighters disappeared within seconds caught by the crossfire between the picket line and carriers, hundreds of blinking yellow dots marking the crisscrossing paths of missiles. Bright green snaps of light flared inside the holo display, detaching from half a dozen fighters. "Torpedoes are launched and running," tactical reported. "All ships close and advance on carriers, follow me." Kruger's image appeared on the command screen only long enough to pass the order then disappeared. Helm, lock on Kruger's ship, follow her maneuver. Kruger turned in, racing through the opening created by the Landreich frigate's sacrifice, and within seconds every battery on Tarawa was engaged, trading shots with Kilrathi frigates, and destroyers to either side. Jason suddenly imagined that he could almost hear a bugler blowing charge, the way the Marines still did when their landing craft went in on an assault. as they raced straight towards the three carriers. It was madness; they were about to close and trade broadsides with capital ships at point blank range. The center carrier in the holo flared, exploding outward. "Scratch one flattop!" tactical shouted, and Jason looked up at the visual, watching the explosion, then back down at the holo as two fighters, his own, emerged out of the fireball. A Kilrathi frigate turning towards Tarawa moved in front of the fighters, its guns turning to fire. "All weapons, train on frigate, port side!" Jason shouted. Turrets swung about, fire rippling out from Tarawa, the frigate swinging her guns back on Tarawa, ignoring the two fighters as they raced between the two ships. A shuddering explosion ran through Tarawa, battle lights winking out for a second, a gust of acrid smoke filling the bridge, red lights coming back on again in the now shadowy gloom "Main generator off line, emergency back up, shielding down to seventy one percent" "Tarawa, close it up, hit the carrier to starboard." Kruger's image appeared for only a second and was gone again The fleet flagship was out forward of the charge, a Kilrathi cruiser angling in, opening with a spread of missiles. Flare, chaff, and noise makers streamed out of the destroyer and the two ships traded fire. Behind the flagship the four escorts, moving in two lines of two, stormed through the maelstrom, while frigates, corvettes, destroyers, and fighters swirled about them. Another shudder ran through Tarawa, damage control shouting out a report, red lights blinking on his screen. Jason could barely hear the officer as the explosions echoed through his ship, the concussion nearly bringing him to his knees. The Kilrathi cruiser shot past, unable to turn in tight enough to run parallel. On the port side the still expanding wreckage of the blown carrier continued to swirl out and then was astern. Kruger arced his destroyer directly across the stern of the carrier they were pursuing, lashing out with a volley of torpedoes and missiles at near point blank range. Landreich corvettes raced past the escort carriers, closing in on the prey, two of them fireballing from the strikes of Kilrathi fighters, the survivors launching torpedoes, most of which were shaken off by the carrier but three impacting nevertheless. Four more of the corvettes disappeared. "Her shieldings down!" tactical shouted. Jason felt as if he were about to explode with excitement. The battle had lost all semblance of tactical maneuvering, the old standard of fleets launching fighters at long range, and capital ships rarely if ever coming within ten thousand clicks of each other, was gone in the mad confusion. He thought of Nelson at Trafalgar, charging into a broadside exchange with the French and Spanish, and felt that if Tolwyn were here the old man would be proud. The Kilrathi carrier was less than fifteen hundred meters ahead. "Fire on her, fire! Simultaneously the four escort carriers opened fire, hundreds of mass driver rounds and neutron bolts, from the anti-aircraft batteries, now slamming into the stern of the enemy carrier. Explosions rippled, jagged fragments of metal hurtling off into space. Tarawa raced down the length of the carrier, stitching the side of the ship with everything she had, while Gallipoli turned to cross the T of the Kilrathi carrier astern. The Kilrathi, however, were firing with everything in return, and explosions rocked Tarawa. Jason felt as if the frenzy of battle had torn into the heart of his soul. He stood rigid, wanting to roar with both rage and delight. More than one of the bridge crew had broken discipline, pounding the sides of their monitors, screaming curses, oaths, encouragement, and whooping with joy at the destruction. "Gallipoli's going!" Jason looked up at the aft visual and saw his sister ship splitting open as if she had run straight into a buzz saw that was tearing the ship apart from stem to stern. The fuel cells astern ignited and the ship fireballed, her flame washing over the topside stern of the stricken enemy carrier. They darted past the ship, turning to starboard while the Kilrathi carrier edged over to port and started to dive. "Tactical report!" "Enemy carrier suffered multiple hits, computer counting two hundred plus hullings, secondary explosions igniting, three of five engine pods destroyed. "Damage control?" "Sections one, three through five portside hulled, midships port mass driver gun mounts destroyed, main generator still off line, shielding down to forty-two percent, holding steady." Jason looked back at the tactical. The enemy carrier was turning hard over to port, now moving away at a right angle, debris trailing out behind her as she struggled to accelerate. The other carrier was coming around to flank the stricken ship. The enemy picket line was now racing full back, coming abreast of their two surviving carriers and moving to pursuit. "Helm, prepare to come about for a second strike," Jason announced, and his crew looked up at him, startled. He knew it was madness, but they had not finished the carrier off and he'd be damned if it was going to get away. "All ships follow me," Jason looked up at Kruger's image and then back at tactical. Kruger was moving straight away from the engagement, heading back towards the Hell Hole. "Get me Kruger," Jason snapped. The old man's image reappeared, looking annoyed. "Let's finish em, sir, he's crippled." "We killed one, we crippled another and lost one escort," Kruger snapped. "Go back and we'll lose the rest of our escorts just to finish a kill. We want him crippled. They'll have to protect him. Bondarevsky, I'm breaking the engagement. We got what we wanted, they'll run for home now. Hell Hole is still under bombardment and that's our main priority now.' "Aye, sir." The image winked off. Jason took a deep breath, realizing that the excitement of the charge and the lust of battle had clouded his judgment "Belay helm over, lock on Blitzkreig and follow." He could see that some of his crew were disappointed while others took a sigh of relief "Damn good, I'm proud of all of you," he announced and then settled back into his command chair. He looked up at the chronometer. It was less than six minutes since they had jumped through, undoubtedly one of the shortest fleet actions in history. Kruger had lived up to form, shattering an invasion, killing a carrier, and crippling another. He had certainly taken them in harm's way. The question now was, what would Kruger do next? "Signal all fighters, return to your ships for recovery." Admiral Tolwyn stood silently, watching the display screen. It had been a standoff for more than a day. They had met the four enemy carriers just inside the Warsaw system, his fleet and theirs arriving at opposite jump points almost simultaneously. He had raced to cover Warsaw but the Kilrathi carriers had held back, staying close to the jump point. The question had been whether to close and engage, or wait. It could be that they were holding at the edge of the jump point, waiting to lure him in and then the main Kilrathi fleet would jump through. A listening post inside the next system had managed to get out a brief burst signal, reporting the transit of more than thirty escort ships and then had gone off line. It could only mean that the main fleet was coming up fast. Yet if he did advance and close for action there was a chance to meet the enemy three on four, with the possible edge that the pilots aboard the enemy ships were not their first line Guard fighters. He had opted for action, but with the stipulation that his carriers would not close within ten million clicks and engage at long range only with fighters. The action had been inconclusive throughout the day, with the loss of thirty-eight fighters in exchange for two hits on a carrier with moderate damage, and three enemy frigates destroyed in return for one hit on Moskva and a destroyer lost. But now there was no longer a question as to Prince Thrakhath's strategy. He was indeed coming straight on. For the last hour, the jump point covered by the carriers had disgorged destroyers, frigates, fuel tankers, and supply ships. And now at last the first of the new carriers had emerged. His intelligence officer passed up a continual stream of reports, the hazy images from Paladin's recon scan, replaced now by clear optical and radar images passed up by light Ferret recon fighters moving back from the edge of the fleet. Tolwyn continued to pull back, his fighters coming in to land, a screen of escort ships guarding the sterns of the carriers from enemy fighters, while dropping out a spray of porcupine mines to slow the relentless advance of the enemy fleet. A fourth carrier appeared and then a fifth, each of them identical, each of them terrifying. "Sir, we are receiving a hailing from the Kilrathi fleet. "What?" The communications officer looked back at his console for a moment and then turned again to Tolwyn. "Confirmed, sir. It's an in the clear translight signal from their fleet." "I'll take it in my office." He left the bridge and stepped into his wardroom. He spared a quick glance at a mirror. The circles under his eyes would tell of his exhaustion but there was no helping it. He settled into his chair and punched the holo screen to life. "Go ahead, comm, patch it in." The image of Baron Jukaga appeared. "Ah, Admiral Tolwyn, our intelligence reports said that you were in command of Third Fleet. My congratulations on your promotion. We have always admired you as perhaps the best of the fighting admirals of the Confederation." "What do you want, Baron?" Geoff replied coldly. "Your surrender." "I'm a military man, not a diplomat, Baron. Direct your inquiry to President Quinson. I'm sure he will tell you to go perform a certain impossible anatomical act." The Baron chuckled. "You humans and your sexual obsession. So strange, we must discuss the differences some time. But I am asking a military question, Admiral. I'm not demanding the surrender of your Confederation, merely your fleet." Geoff replied with what he assumed the President would have said. "Such crudity, Admiral it's not becoming of one of your breeding and education. You and I are alike in our study of human warfare. It creates a bond between the two of us, a bond I should add that I feel is even stronger towards you than to many of my own species. It would be distressing to see you defeated and dead." "You assume too much, Baron. Do not worry about my death until it is accomplished, but instead worry about your own. "TouchÝ. But come, can't we reason this disagreement out?" Geoff laughed coldly. "My government was stupid enough to believe you once. It'll be a very cold day in hell before we believe you again. This time the fight's to the death, no quarter asked or expected." "A shame you put it that way." "No, I want it that way, Geoff snarled, angry with himself that he was losing his temper. "You murdered my closest friends in your bomb plot. I heard as well about your attempt on the Emperor. I'm surprised they didn't rip your guts out for that, you utak." He deliberately chose the Kilrathi word used to describe the lowest caste member of Kilrah society, the cleaners of privy pits for fertilizer, one considered so untouchable that it was a defilement if his shadow even touched the shadow of anyone of a higher class. He could see that the word caused Jukaga to bristle. "I'm surprised the Emperor even allowed one such as you to live. I've heard that assassination is all but unknown in your society. It seems you learned it from us. You know nothing of us. You learned but the worst and learned none of the best. You are beneath the contempt of both my race and yours. He noticed a change in Jukaga's demeanor and his image disappeared. "Communications, what's going on?" "Signal shifted, sir, coming back in, on a fleet scramble line." Jukaga's image reappeared on the screen "I feel more comfortable now, Admiral, talking without anyone able to listen in on my side for the next several minutes. May I have your agreement that this conversation will be kept strictly between us?" "I can't promise that," Geoff replied. "Then at least do not let it be shared with my own people. I've managed to have the signal scrambled from here but soon it might be compromised." "I agree then, it will not get back to your side." "We don't have much time to talk, Admiral. I want to give you a warning. I was supposed to do this anyhow but I want you to understand that my concern in this is genuine." "Go on then." "If you do not surrender your fleet, Prince Thrakhath has declared that this shall be a war of gatagak'vu. How do you say, a war of total eradication." Geoff felt a cold chill. "Has it not always been thus?" he finally ventured. "No. This is different. He will not only slaughter everyone þ man, woman and child, but he will also slaughter the very worlds you live on through the use of high radiation doses. Nothing will be left, nothing. Your home, your Earth, with all its long history, will be dead, uninhabitable, lifeless." His words trailed off and Geoff was startled to realize that Jukaga's voice was filled with remorse. "You wanted us destroyed, enslaved, why your concern now?" Geoff asked. Jukaga smiled and shook his head. "That is not your concern, Admiral Tolwyn, only my own. I therefore implore you. Surrender. If you do, I will ensure that you and your warriors are treated with honor, that your Earth will continue to live." "Better to die as free men then live as slaves," Geoff replied coldly. Jukaga nodded, a smile lighting his features. "As any true warrior would reply, he said quietly, "as I knew you would reply." "Then there's nothing more to be said." "I have been told to advise you that you have twenty four of your standard minutes to reply. If not, the planet you call Warsaw will cease to live. "Go ahead and do it now," Geoff replied coldly, "but by God, Baron, tell Thrakhath that if he does, there'll come a day when we'll come back. If it takes a hundred years, we'll come back and we'll watch Kilrah as it's burned to ashes." "Good-bye, Admiral," Jukaga said quietly and he started to reach over to switch off his screen. He paused and looked back up. "I'm sorry," and then his image disappeared. Shaken, Geoff sat back in his chair. He had just condemned more than twenty million to death "God help me," he whispered and he lowered his head for a moment, offering a silent prayer for forgiveness and strength. He stood back up finally and went back out on the bridge. "Warsaw, now five million clicks astern sir," the helm officer announced. "Make course back towards Sirius, order destroyer squadron three." He paused. "No, make that squadron two, to form rear guard using maneuver delta for delaying action." He settled into his command chair, watching the tactical. The enemy carriers, masked by more than a hundred escorts, continued their relentless move forward, while one of the older carriers, escorted by a cruiser squadron, broke away, turning towards Warsaw. "Get me Mike Polowski on laser link," Geoff said quietly. Seconds later the commander of squadron three appeared on the holo screen. Geoff felt as if the commodore were in the room with him. His features were pale, jaw quivering. "I've got bad news for you, Mike." "I can see it, Geoff." "I'm sorry. They demanded the surrender of the fleet. If we didn't they said they'd hit your home world." Mike lowered his head "You did what you had to do, Geoff. God help me, I would have done the same. Anything else, sir?" "It's going to be bad, Mike. They're going to radiation-bombard it as well, killing the planet and everything on it. Mike's jaw started to tremble and he turned away from the screen for a moment and then finally looked back, his eyes filled with anguish. "Why? It's not even a military target." "To make an example of what's to come." Mike stood silently, unable to speak. "I'm sorry, Mike." Polowski nodded silently and then his image winked off. "Give me full optical power on Warsaw, patch in to their planetary defense." The orbital base commander appeared on the side screen, while optical locked on the planet. It still looked peaceful, an illusion since with visual scan it now took more than two minutes for the image to reach him. "White Wolf, this is Warsaw defense. We are under attack. As per your orders, primary station has been abandoned. Civilian population are in shelters. All ground to space missiles have been expended. "White Wolf, this is Warsaw defense. We have high speed incoming! We have . . ." The image snapped off. Geoff watched the optical scan in silence, and then the first blossom of light snapped across the northern continent's surface. Seconds later hundreds of snaps of light erupted, blanketing the continent. the snake-like chain of islands in the southern hemisphere erupting as well. "We are picking up thermonuclear air bursts in the five hundred megaton range. The nukes are emitting strontium ninety," the tactical officer announced, her voice hard-edged with rage. "The bastards," Geoff whispered, "the damn bastards." It had gone even beyond genocide. The planet was seeded with enough strontium 90 to wipe out the entire biosphere. The Kilrathi were destroying an entire planet simply as a demonstration of what was to come. "I know why you're here, Captain, excuse me, I think I made you a Commodore. Anyhow, Commodore, you're wasting your time." Without even waiting for an invitation Jason went over to the refridge in Kruger's wardroom, pulled out a container of beer and popped it open. "Help yourself," Kruger said quietly and then paused, "you deserve it." "You did well out there," Jason replied. "Not good enough," and Kruger motioned to a flat screen projecting an image from a drone probe that was circling above the main airfield and town on the Hell Hole, at least what was left of it. "Four antimatter warheads and one thermonuclear airburst loaded with strontium ninety. The world's a write-off." "The bastards," Jason hissed, looking at the radiation read-outs. There had been an unwritten and unspoken agreement between the two sides since the start of the war, that no matter how grim the conflict was, the deliberate destruction of life-bearing capability of a planet was beyond the limits. It had been in part a self-serving rule for both sides, for both sides hoped for ultimate victory and with it the worlds inhabited by their foes. "We just got this burst signal from the Confeds," and he switched the screen. It was an official government news service report on the opening action in the Warsaw system and Jason watched, seething with rage as an optical scan showed the annihilation of Warsaw. The report finished with a demand from Baron Jukaga, delivered in the most sincere of voices, as if he were on the human side of the conflict, calling for an end to hostilities through the surrender of the Third Fleet. The closing comment came from President Quinson, a wonderfully crude response, delivered before a packed Senate meeting, and as he said the words the Senate came to its feet, roaring their support. "I actually rather like Quinson," Kruger said, turning the screen off. "Too bad he's going to get his ass kicked." "At least he'll go down fighting." "A gallant gesture but useless in the end, ó Kruger said quietly. Jason spared a look over at the holo tactical display. "The Cats have pulled back?" "Into the next system already. I've got a squadron of destroyers in pursuit. They're circled around the crippled carrier like a wolf pack defending its pups. Just what I wanted, they're shaken and are afraid of losing a second carrier. "Now what?" "Ah, what you came to hear." Jason nodded. "Stay here. The bastards will be back. We know where seven of their old carriers are now, rather six, thanks to the kill your pilots helped put in. That still leaves at least ten unaccounted for. They might hit us from another direction at any moment." Kruger paused and looked up at Jason. "Go on, I'm expecting to hear it. Even old Richards on that frigate I gave him is mumbling about it." "Head for Sirius or Earth. Look, I'll admit when I first got here I didn't think much of your Landreich fleet and pilots. But by God I'll admit it now, they're the best I've ever seen. Brave to the point of suicidal." "Sometimes I even have to ask that," Kruger replied quietly. "A trade-off of a couple of lives for many." "They might help tip the scale." "First of all, action will be joined there by then." Jason nodded. "But it still might be going on and we could help." "And while I go running off what about my own people out here? You're proposing that I leave the planets and orbital colonies of my system defenseless and go riding off to help the Confederation? Your Confederation was willing to write us off thirty years back, and they did it again this time. Why the hell should I care?" "Because the Confederation needs you, needs your leadership and your pilots." Kruger snorted with disdain. "Oh, solidarity of race against the Cats, is that your next pitch?" "I knew that wouldn't work," Jason replied. "But you know damn well that when Earth and the inner worlds fall it's finished. What happened to Warsaw will happen to them. The Kilrathi are on a killing frenzy and they won't stop. They've levered the war up another notch. When they're done in there, they'll come out here and follow you and your people no matter where you flee." Kruger said nothing, as if having heard the argument too many times before. "So you won't go?" "You guessed it." "Will you release me and my people, give us at least Tarawa to head back?" "No." Jason had already calculated the chance of doing a Kruger on Kruger, of hijacking his carrier out of the fleet and knew it was impossible and useless. Nearly all the pilots and over half his crew were Landreich. Kruger had shrewdly made sure that none of the carriers had a majority of Confederation crews on board. "You just can t forgive, can you?" Jason asked coldly. "Thirty years ago the Confederation made a mistake and I'd admit you made the right move in response. You know enough about me to know I did the same thing. I led a mutiny against an officer who ordered us to murder Kilrathi civilians and it would have destroyed my career if it hadn't been for Admiral Tolwyn. "I went through hell because of that, but I never blamed the Confederation. I blamed the bastard who forced me to mutiny. For thirty years you ve been carrying a grudge and because of your damned stupid blind pride you'll condemn humanity to death. "I'm not going to mutiny against you, Kruger, but when the Kilrathi finish with you, if I'm still alive, I'll spit on whatever is left of you." Without waiting for a reply Jason Bondarevsky stormed out of President Kruger's office. CHAPTER TWELVE The two inhabited worlds of Sirius glimmered in the aft screen, showing themselves as two pale green points of light in the middle of the holo display of the system. Geoff jacked up the magnification level of the holo and the further of the two planets disappeared. On the far side of the holo display a nearly solid swarm of red blips were arrayed in five large clusters. Hundreds of smaller red lights, Kilrathi strike fighters and interceptors, were moving ahead, coming straight in at his own thin blue line, behind which were positioned four large blue dots. In the middle region of space between the two groups, two V wedges of small blue dots were aiming straight in at the heart of the enemy fleet. "Strike forces crossing into Kilrathi controlled space," a voice whispered. The Combat Information Center, buried in the heart of Concordia was almost like a tomb, encased in a double layering of durasteel, illuminated by soft diffused light and the shimmer of holo displays and flat screens. Outside a battle was raging, in here, where the decisions were being made, the cool professionalism of his staff made it seem almost like an exercise. Yet, as he spared a glance from the holo and looked around the room he could see the grim determination. After retreating through three star systems, and impotently witnessing the annihilation of the worlds he had been forced to abandon, Geoff Tolwyn had finally turned his fleet about. The Battle of Sirius had begun. "Blue Squadron, this is Lone Wolf. Close it up. Remember, we want the big ones, nothing else, so cover your Broadswords." "Lone Wolf, this is Round Top, read me?" Kevin Tolwyn smiled; it was his old comrade from the Tarawa days. "Where are you, Chamberlain?" "Right above you in Broadsword Two off Moskva, so be sure to cover my butt, son, while I win the glory. "With you all the way, Round Top." Kevin tightened the grip on his joystick, his Rapier G jiggling slightly from his nervous hold on the stick. It was certainly the biggest strike group he had ever flown with, more than two hundred and fifty fighters and attack bombers launched from four carriers. The extra fifty heavy strike craft from Saratoga were missed, the carrier still half a system away with a main engine fuel pump acting up. Two hundred and eighty fighters were being held in reserve as protection for the fleet carriers and as a second strike wave. Kevin looked down at his tactical display. Straight ahead the individual blips of enemy fighters, corvettes, frigates and destroyers had merged into a solid wall of red. He clicked into a side band to the main fleet communications line. A real time image of Gilead, the second inhabited planet, was being transferred out to the fleet even while the battle was about to be joined. He was past the point of rage. The planet flickered on his screen, bursts of five hundred megaton thermonuclear warheads, clad with strontium, detonating high up in the atmosphere, destroying yet another world. The image winked off, replaced by his uncle. "This is Tolwyn. Good luck to all of you and good hunting." The image winked off and Kevin smile. Typical Brit understatement. The forward edge of Rapiers, Raptors, Ferrets and Hornets, running ahead of the attack wave, slammed into the opposing wall of opposition defending the Kilrathi heavy carriers From out of the red wall dozens of blinking orange dots appeared, aiming straight in at the attack force. "All right, Blue team, we've got incoming antimatter area strike, the strike leader announced. "Let's bring'em up." The strike force diverted from its straight in approach, turning up at a ninety degree angle relative to the orbital plane of the Sirius system. The area bombardment missiles started to turn to follow, the range closing. The first one winked into a white hot ball, dozens more detonating, catching half a dozen fighters at the back of the strike. The squadrons nosed back over, following the strike commander, slicing in through the explosions, and as they came out the opposite side, the Kilrathi fighters were upon them. Kevin fought down a moment of panic. The largest action he had ever been in was at Munro, a cakewalk attack on one carrier. Even the Academy holo simulators had never been programmed to handle the number of enemy fighters now coming in on him. It was impossible to sort out which target to lock on. Hundreds of IFFs streaked across space and within seconds dozens of ships on both sides were exploding. The Broadsword and Sabre gunners sent out sprays of shot in every direction as wing group size attack waves by the Kilrathi came in. The four light corvettes escorting the attack dropped out sprays of chaff, jammers, and flares. The first wave passed and Kevin, ashamed, realized he had not fired even a shot. He looked up at the Broadswords he was escorting. One was gone, another turning out of formation, spinning, its port engine blown apart, its starboard engine apparently jammed at full throttle. Its crew ejected and the ship spun away, exploding seconds later. From out of the confusion a wave of Dralthi, Krants, and Gratha, flying nearly wing tip to wing tip, came sweeping in, forward cannons firing. "Blue three, there's our Cats. Let's break óem up." He edged his throttle forward, leaping ahead of the Broadswords, lining up on the lead Dralthi and putting a dumb fire bolt straight into the furballs' canopy, blowing the top of the enemy fighter apart. The enemy attack broke apart, three Dralthi dead, and Kevin came around, seeing that his number three man was gone. There wasn't even time to ask. "Keep moving in, close in maneuvering scoops," the strike commander called. "We want the carriers!" Kevin swallowed hard, passing the order on to his squadron, and he closed scoops in. It was no longer possible to pull the tight-in maneuvers. It was going to be a straight in high speed run. Blasts snapped around him, missiles detonating, his number five pilot ejecting from her fighter as it crumpled up in a ball of flame. He pulled in close under the bellies of the Broadswords he was escorting. The outer row of enemy picket ships was straight ahead and their barrage opened up, two of the escorting corvettes taking multiple hits and disappearing. As they shot through the line of Kilrathi frigates and destroyers, more than a hundred missiles were dropped by the furballs, slashing into the squadrons, the two remaining corvettes blowing out more sprays of chaff, jammers, and flares. The curtain of distractors diverted most of the missiles, but enough found their mark and more than two dozen Confederation fighters and bombers were gone. Kevin pulled open his visor and wiped the stinging sweat from his eyes. His back was soaked with sweat, the suit coolant unable to evaporate it off fast enough. His mouth felt dry, as if he had swallowed a ball of cotton and he suddenly understood why Ian had developed the revolting habit of chewing on an old cigar while in a tight spot. Straight ahead on his tactical were five large clusters of red. He no longer needed to use the screen. Even from extreme range he could already pick out a thin sliver of reflected light. "Bombardment groups one and two, take center carrier," the strike commander announced, and Kevin could see on the comm screen that the leader's ship had been hit, smoke in the cockpit making him barely visible, "three and four carrier to port, five and six to starboard. Range nine hundred clicks, open maneuvering scoops, full reverse thrust for deceleration in ten seconds." "Got that, Lone Wolf?" "Straight in we go, Round Top. Make it a good one, buddy," Kevin replied. "Nothing less will do." "Three, two, one, decelerate!" Kevin pulled his maneuvering scoops wide open and slammed in reverse thrust, instantly slowing his fighter, which shuddered to a near stand still less than fifty clicks out from their target. A swarm of Kilrathi fighters closed in on them. There was a flash of light forward off the carrier's bow and Kevin realized that someone, driven by rage, had simply tried to ram the enemy ship. Such a maneuver at full closing speed was nearly impossible to do and the fighter had deflected off the side of the carrier's heavy shields. "I've got initial torpedo lock," Round Top announced, "and counting at thirty, twenty nine . . ." The other strike craft that Kevin was protecting joined in with their own announcements of initial lock. They slowly drifted in towards their target and Kevin felt as if his heart were wrapped in ice. The ship was massive, more than twice the size of any carrier he had ever seen before. He could barely spare it a glance, however, as hundreds of enemy fighters swarmed in upon them. Within seconds he had lost the rest of his squadron in the mad melee as he twisted and turned his fighter, struggling to stay alive while at the same time desperately attempting to cover the Broadswords as they hung near motionless, waiting for their torpedoes to gain full lock. Broadsword after Broadsword disappeared in white-hot explosions. Three Krants lined in on Round Top, his countdown still echoing in Kevin's headphones as he weaved into them, crippling one with a dumb-fired flechette spray, and destroying a second with a stream of neutron bolts cutting into the fighter's engine mounts. The third stitched a flurry of rounds across the portside gun turret of Round Top's ship, and Kevin caught a glimpse of the gunner's body shredding to pieces, his canopy bursting into shards from the strike. "Keep óem off me," Round Top shouted. "Ten seconds and counting." The strike squadron had drifted to within eight clicks of the carrier and what appeared to be a solid wall of mass driver rounds snaked out from the ship's bow, blowing three more Broadswords apart. Kevin struggled with his stick as a shudder ran through his fighter, starboard shielding overloading and a laser hit sheered of the last meter of his wingtip. He turned inside the laser beam, blowing out reflective chaff which temporarily blinded the laser's target lock, the beam skewing across his bow, cutting a gouge into the forward durasteel armor. "Three, two, one, it's away!" The fifteen surviving Broadswords out of the thirty in the strike group launched their torpedo loads. Round Top, along with half the remaining ships, were armed with the laser lock guidance and they turned upwards making sure that the laser emitters were pointed at the torpedoes. The space between the attacking fighters and the carriers turned into an insane explosion of anti-torpedo missiles, dogfighting ships, and point defense blasts from the Kilrathi carrier. "We've got lock, we've got holding lock," Round Top shouted. Kevin turned his fighter to circle around Round Top and saw yet another swarm of Kilrathi fighters cutting in, dropping a wall of missiles on the surviving Broadswords. "Round Top, evasive, evasive!" "Can't! We still have lock, three seconds, two, one . . ." Kevin screamed with rage as five missiles detonated across the top of his friend's Broadsword. The ship simply disappeared. From off his portside wing he saw four torpedoes impacting on the carrier's bow. In the silence of space it seemed some how surreal, as if a holo movie was being played out. For a brief instant the carrier disappeared behind the exploding curtain of antimatter warheads. He waited for the secondary explosions to begin. "Scratch one flattop," someone screamed on the commlink. "We've got the bastard!" And as he waited, the carrier emerged from out of the fire. Its forward bow, and for nearly a hundred meters back, was a twisted wreckage, but the ship continued to purposefully move forward. Making sure his gun cameras were still on, Kevin turned in towards the carrier. Wreckage was trailing off from the bow of the ship as he raced in and he could see fires flaring inside the ruins of the forward portside launch bay. He crossed up and over the top of the carrier and then suddenly the anti-aircraft defenses of the carrier kicked back on. She still had internal power þ it was impossible after four torpedo strikes! Jinxing to throw off the gunners, he raced down the length of the ship, passing one of the aft launch bays. He locked his camera into a laser designator and swung the designator in on the bay. On his small comm screen he caught a quick glimpse inside the ship. Another fighter was coming down the launch ramp, afterburners flaming. Internal lighting was still on and launch crews were purposefully working, some of them still picking themselves up, shaking off the after effects of the torpedo hammer blows. The image disappeared as he flashed across the stem of the ship. He looked up and saw that more than a dozen Kilrathi fighters were streaking in to pick him off and he went into a violent spin, cutting down over the stern of the ship, his fighter bucking and shuddering as he got caught in the exhaust plume of the carrier. He punched through into the fleet comm channel. "White Wolf, this is Blue One. No joy, repeat, no joy, carrier still running after four torpedo hits. Catch my video transmit." He sent the signal through and then looked at his tactical. Space was dotted solid with red, with only an occasional blue dot. The strike force had shot its bolt and been destroyed, and the Kilrathi Fleet continued on in. Sick at heart, Admiral Tolwyn silently watched as the action reports came in. He coughed again, wiping the tears from his eyes. The Combat Information Center was still filled with smoke, the air filtration plant still off line from the torpedo hit to Concordia. "Message from Moskva, sir." "Put it on man." A young woman, blood trickling down from her forehead, appeared in the flat wavery image. "Where's Ching?" "Dead, sir. Last hit took out the bridge." He nodded silently. Damn. Sir, we have to abandon ship, all engines are dead. We're moving on inertia and one bank of maneuvering thrusters only. Secondary generators are going off line, hull integrity lost in sixty-three percent, remaining bulkhead are leaking and will rupture with one more hit." "Get your people into the escape boats. I'll have Polowski stand by to pick up survivors." "I'm sorry, sir." "You fought her well, lieutenant, you fought her well." He looked back at the action reports that streamed in across the monitors. Two of the new carriers and one of the old ones had been hit in his strike. The old style carrier was gone, but the two new ones still appeared to be relentlessly moving forward. In return, all four of his carriers had been hit. Verdun was lost with all hands. and now Moskva was finished Leyte Gulf, which had only joined him this morning, had one bay down from a direct hit. Of the more than four hundred and eighty strike craft and bombers he had launched three hours ago, less than two hundred and twenty were still able to fly. Worst of all was the loss of Broadswords; less than a quarter had returned. Estimates of Kilrathi fighter loss stood at just over seven hundred. He knew the figure would be cut once the debriefing teams had a chance to look at all the camera footage. In short, he had lost. He looked at the status plot boards. Only twenty-nine Broadswords and twenty modified Sabres were armed and ready for a second strike. Already the Kilrathi were sending up their next strike wave which was even stronger than their first as they shifted craft over from defensive to offensive operations. He turned back to his strategic communications officer, who was burst signal linked back to Earth. "Latest reported position of Saratoga?" "Still six hours twenty-one minutes short of jump point 3A." Geoff looked back at his main nav screen. Jump Point 3A, the connecting link back from Sirius towards Earth was an hour behind him. Saratoga would never come up in time to help repel the next attack, let alone be able to aid in a second strike. "Signal all ships by laser link. We are withdrawing from Sirius." His bridge crew looked around at him startled. "We'll be swarmed under in the second strike. If I thought we had a chance of hitting them back hard enough, I'd do it. There's no sense in dying for no reason." "What about Sirius, sir?" a helm ensign asked angrily. "Damn it, sir, that's my home." "Son, it's finished whether we stay here and die, or leave. We need time to repair damaged planes, get Leyte's port launch bay back on line and prepare a second strike. Saratoga will nearly double our heavy strike fighter strength if we fall back on her." The ensign looked around, realizing he had spoken way out of turn to a full admiral. He started to open his mouth again and was restrained by his section lieutenant who took him by the shoulder and turned him away. Gilead, the smaller of the two worlds, was already flaming ruins. Sirius Prime, thirty nine million clicks to port, was now wide open and already a section of Kilrathi cruisers was turning towards it. He didn't even want to think about how many people were down there. "Helm, turn us about. Let's get the hell out of here," he snarled. "Recall those cruisers now!" Prince Thrakhath turned to gaze coldly at Baron Jukaga. "Growing soft, my good Baron?" "Your senseless barbarism will only arouse them further. You've made your point, now spare the second planet. Show mercy and it still might weaken their will." "Terror breeds terror, Baron." "Terror can also breed fanaticism and hatred. Your demonstration at Warsaw did not intimidate the humans, instead it caused them to stop their internal bickering and unite. You know nothing of humans. Senseless bombardments of their civilian populations have always tended to unite them. The deliberate destruction of entire worlds with radiation will cause them to fight us tooth and nail to the death rather than surrender." "And that s what you wanted, wasn't it, surrender?" The Baron attempted to control his loathing and rage. "You are a barbarian," he snapped. "We could have undermined them, let their natural weaknesses play into our hands. You have gone on a rampage and destroyed eleven of their worlds so far, and their fleet is still intact. "We just crippled it, or weren't you watching?" "They still have fight left in them. Remember, Prince Thrakhath, the new fleet is to serve two purposes: one to win this war, and second to prepare us for the Mantu if they should ever return. You are now gambling that fleet in your drive for vengeance on the humans." "Not vengeance, extinction." Sickened, the Baron turned away. He knew now that the accusations were right. Study one's enemy for too long and in the end you might come to admire them. He did not admire the humans, the very essence of his nature prevented that, but he could acknowledge them as something more than mere prey to be slaughtered. His plan, if it had been allowed to be played out, might very well have resulted in a near bloodless victory, a Confederation completely divided, lulled by peace, and then psychologically overwhelmed when the dozen new carriers appeared. It all suddenly became very clear. "You allowed that recon ship of the humans to slip into Hari space and then allowed it to escape. You wanted the peace ended, didn't you?" "In spite of your claims of intellect, Baron, you are often rather slow at figuring things out." "You wanted this war to end in a blood bath. You were the one who triggered the bomb in the human headquarters. Prince Thrakhath smiled. "You were never a prisoner of the humans. I was. You have not lost comrades to them, I have. I shall rise to the Imperial Throne, hailed as the conqueror of the humans and winner of this war, while as for you . . ." and he leaned over, touching a button on his console. The doors to his wardroom were flung open and four Imperial Marine guards stepped in. "Escort the Baron to his quarters and make sure he is very comfortable." "Are you arresting me?" Prince Thrakhath shook his head. "Let us say that there are certain questions to be asked of you later, once the battles are completed and I am secure in my victory." Baron Jukaga smiled coldly. "Don't underestimate Tolwyn and his people. They are not finished yet." "They soon will be, Baron," and he laughed coldly as Jukaga was lead from the room. "How are you, Geoff?" Geoff looked up in surprise as "Big" Duke Grecko walked into his private quarters. Geoff started to get up from his cot and Duke motioned for him to relax while he pulled a chair around and sat down across from Tolwyn. "What the hell are you doing out here, Duke?" "Can't keep the Marines in port when the action starts. I'm not interfering out here, Geoff, but I thought I should come out and have a look." "You got the after action report then?" Duke nodded glumly. "It was relayed up to my frigate a couple of hours ago." "I screwed up, Duke. I should have fallen back from Sirius and then held here with Saratoga joined in for the strike." óYou couldn't abandon Sirius without a fight. Civilian morale would have gone off the deep end." "So we lose two carriers and still lose Sirius." "At least you bloodied them." "One old carrier destroyed, one damaged and one of their new carriers reported heavily damaged, but no kills on the new fleet. Which is what I wanted. "We're reporting that big carrier as dead for now," Duke said quietly. "I never liked doing that." "Sometimes we have to, and for all practical purposes it is dead at the moment." "So what do you want, Duke?" Geoff asked, cutting straight to the point. "I'm ordering you to fall back on Earth." "What? Hell, Duke, if they break our line there they'll fry Earth in a matter of minutes. "I know, but we've been busy. By the time you pull back, Lexington and Ark Royal will be on line." "How? The jump engines on Lex and Ark Royal were fully out for realignment, and core reactors had been dumped." "If we're fighting inside the home system we won't need jump engines and both ships have one reactor back up and running." "They'll be sitting ducks." "They'd be sitting ducks in the dockyard anyhow. At least they can still launch fighters." Though neither one said it, they both knew as well that the two additional carriers would serve as targets, forcing the Kilrathi to spread out their attack. "Mars is the closest planet in towards the jump line," Duke continued. "We've packed every landing field there full of every damn fighter, trainer, and even civilian light craft." "You've got to be kidding. I stripped out every good plane and pilot before I left. Put what's left into space and they'll die like flies." Duke nodded. "And the Kilrathi will burn up ammunition while some of our people still get in for another strike." He knew it was better than a desperate stand out here with no hope of winning. If he stood now, it'd only delay the inevitable by maybe a day or two at most. "Our psych analysis people tell me that even if you abandon this key jump point, Thrakhath will not spread out into the inner worlds until he completes his kill of you and Earth. The bastard hates your guts, according to psych, for too many humiliations. He wants your hide almost as much as he wants Earth. He'll follow you straight in." "You know, Duke," Geoff said quietly, "even with the additional material and manpower, they still have us. You saw what happened to my last strike, and those boys were the finest pilots in the fleet." "I know, Geoff, I know. But there's one more idea I sort of cooked up on my own, that might help things out." "What?" And as Duke told him, Admiral Tolwyn came to his feet. "You're mad, Duke, that's senseless murder. You're bloody mad to even think of it." "And that's why it might work," Duke said with a cold smile. "My lord Thrakhath." He turned to look at a holo display of his bridge captain. "The latest report, sire." "Go on." "The human fleet is turning about, retreating back towards Earth." "Are you certain?" "Yes, my lord." That caught him slightly off guard. He had thought that Tolwyn would make his final stand here. One system past Sirius, eight jump lines diverged outward into the inner worlds of the Confederation and also back outwards towards the frontier. Control of the next system would be a major victory in and of itself. Yet he was abandoning it now without a fight. Damn him. "Latest intelligence report?" "Three carriers still confirmed with their Third Fleet. Intelligence is still working on their latest code but we have picked up a civilian channel reporting that a carrier left its Earth base six hours ago, and that a second carrier is moving up to join the fleet. The signal was from one of their news stations and its coding simple to break." "The stupid fools." "Our latest damage report?" "Tarvakh is still contending with internal fires, all three forward launch bays are closed. Yu'ba'tuk's main shield generator is still off line and one launch bay closed." "Secondary shielding?" "At ninety-one percent, expected to upgrade to ninety- three within the hour." "Fighter losses?" "Heavy, sire. Seven eight-of-eights and two eights today. Eight eight-of-eights and five eights total." Not good at all . The Empire could invest all it wanted on new carriers that were next to indestructible, but at the core, it still came down to having fighters that were equal to or better than the latest Confederation designs, and pilots who were trained to fly them. It had always been the weak edge. Except for the handful of Stealth fighters possessed by the Empire, fighter design and pilot training had never fully kept up with that of the humans. The emergencies of the last two years had forced them to repeatedly reach into the academies and throw half-trained cadets into action þ where most of them died within a matter of days. The survivors were tough, but there were always too few. He looked at what he had left and made his decisions. "Order Tarvakh to transfer her remaining fighters to my flagship. That will make good on our losses. Detail off," and he paused to look at the status of the three surviving older carriers. "Detail off Notakgak and Darthuka and their support ships to escort Tarvakh back to the Empire. Both the retreating carriers to transfer their heavy strike squadrons to this ship as well. Order the flanking cruiser squadrons to join us in the next sector forward. Their fighters will equal those we lose from Notakgak and Darthuka. Order the fleet to move up to flank speed in pursuit. When we reach the next jump point send the first wave of light corvettes and minesweeps through first, followed by cruisers in case they are waiting in ambush." The officer bowed in reply. "The cruiser squadron detailed to the main planet of this system has suppressed the planetary defenses, my lord. They are awaiting orders." Prince Thrakhath smiled. "Annihilate the planet, and then we go for Tolwyn and Earth." CHAPTER THIRTEEN Transjump completed, Prince Thrakhath stood up, expectant. A tremor of excitement coursed through him. Involuntarily his talons extended and he felt saliva filling his mouth. He waited, heart racing as the jump point confirmation flashed across the main screen of the battle bridge. Optical scanners swept space and then finally locked on to what the Prince was seeking. Magnification and computer enhancements kicked in and the image zoomed in, expanding. Earth floated in the middle of the screen. A growl of triumphal shouts echoed on the battle bridge, a total breakdown of discipline that he was willing, at least this once, to ignore and forgive, as his own howl of triumph mingled in with that of his crew. "Signal the fleet on an open channel, Thrakhath roared and his communications officer opened the line. "Today we shall watch Earth burn. Long live the Emperor and the Empire. Standard battle formation, advance full speed ahead!" "They're starting to advance," Duke Grecko said quietly. Geoff Tolwyn said nothing, intently studying the long range tactical display, as the information was relayed in by a line of picket ships pulling back ahead of the Imperial Fleet. The advance came straight on with a defiant certainty. There was no elaborate maneuvering, no attempts at tactical ploys. The Kilrathi main battle fleet came on in a solid mass, arrogant in its overwhelming power. "I'd better get to my ship," Duke said. "Your tactical plan is suicidal, Duke. Ship-to-ship fighting isn't a Marine job. Leave it to the fleet. And by God, Duke, boarding is something straight out of Nelson and Trafalgar." "I'll be damned if we're sitting this fight out, so don't argue with me about it." Geoff looked over at him, smiled, and took his old friend's hand. "All right, it just might work. But you know, Duke, the proper place for the Head of Joint Chiefs is back at headquarters on Earth." Duke sniffed angrily. "Look, Geoff. Up until they decided to make me a hero after Vukar I was a line officer. Being in command of the whole show was never my plan. I'll be damned if I hide in a bunker while my grunts are fighting for survival. Anyhow, I've always wanted to lead a battle like this." "Leading men in a desperate battle, against impossible odds?" Tolwyn said with a smile. "What are you, the reincarnation of Patton?" "Don't let anyone in on the secret, Geoff" "Take care, Duke." "God speed and good hunting, Geoff. I'll see you at sundown." Geoff laughed softly and walked his commander off the bridge and down the corridor to the starboard launch bay. Fighters were lined up down the length of the deck, crews going over last minute checks, armament teams finishing up loading, and repair crews off to one side, struggling to salvage and bring back into the fight craft damaged in the Battle of Sirius. A Marine landing craft was on the launch line, pilots standing by the open door, talking with the launch officer. At the sight of Grecko approaching they stiffened, came to attention and saluted. "At ease, boys. Fire the engine up and let's get to work." Geoff saluted Duke, who looked back at him and smiled. "Give óem hell, Geoff," and then he was gone, the entry hatch closing behind him and snicking shut. Geoff stood back from the launch line as the deck launch officer stepped up forward and beside the Marine landing craft. She held her hand to her ear protectors, waiting to hear from the senior launch officer that Marine 1 was cleared. She saluted the pilot when word of clearance was passed, crouched down and pointed forward. The landing craft started forward, clearing the airlock, then kicked on full afterburners and, turning to starboard, disappeared. Thirty million clicks beyond the airlock Mars hovered in the darkness, a bright point of red light. Thin lines of reflected silver light moved past the airlock, hundreds of light civilian ships heading outward, with several hundred Marine landing craft moving in the middle of the formation. Geoff felt sick at heart watching them and turned heading back up the corridor. He was already late for the final briefing and he moved purposefully down the main corridor into the pilot quarters and ready room. "Attention!" Geoff came into the ready room, his features set, and reached the lectern. He looked out at his pilots. Nearly half the faces were new, many of them cadets pulled straight out of the Academy to replace the losses from Sirius. God, we're sending children out now. "At ease. Be seated." "I'll keep this short, we don't have much time. You'll be pleased to know that Lexington has just cleared dry dock, carrying fifty-seven fighters. That'll give us five fleet carriers for this action." Actually he knew it was almost meaningless. Lexington was coming up with just a little more than half her complement and running on secondary reactor power only. It was nothing more than bait, moving ahead of Concordia, Saratoga, Ark Royal and Leyte Gulf. With three hundred additional fighters sortied up from Mars and Earth orbital bases, there'd be just over six hundred fighters, half of them with green crews who'd never seen action beyond a flight simulator. "You know your missions. Blue Three, you're flying Combat Air Patrol over the carriers. Blue Two, you're escorting in the Broadswords." He could see Blue Three was less than amused, getting stuck in a purely defensive role. Blue Two knew what was going to happen to her but didn't display a flicker of emotion. The Kilrathi would turn their full fury on the Broadswords and Sabres, and with less than eighty making up the strike and eighty escorts, the chances of any of them coming back was nil. He hesitated for a second. "Blue One, you have the second strike escort slot. It's going to be grim. You have to remember what the final objective is, and remember that they're all volunteers out there." His nephew looked up at him and forced a smile. Geoff paused and looked over at the tactical display flickering in the briefing room's holo. The Kilrathi Fleet was still staying together, coming straight in at a range of twenty million clicks and closing. Thanks to simple orbital mechanics, Mars was the closest planet to the jump point, with Earth seventy million clicks behind it The huge colonies on the moons of Saturn and Jupiter were on the far side of the system. The only settlement areas now being over run were in the asteroid belt and had already been abandoned. "Pilots, man your planes," Geoff said quietly and he saluted first as they came back to their feet. The pilots and crews stormed out of the room. The usual banter and bravado was gone today. They were silent, some obviously frightened, all of them filled with a grim determination. He felt he could have made a bit more of an emotional appeal, but knew that was nothing but crap. Everyone of them knew that this was no ordinary battle. If this one was lost the Kilrathi would be above Earth within hours. Kevin came past him, helmet tucked under his arm. His nephew slowed, looking at him out of the comer of his eye. The hell with protocol, Geoff thought as he stepped forward and put his hands on Kevin's shoulders. "I've never been prouder of you, Kev. Now take care of yourself." Kevin looked at him, his eyes bright. "It's an honor to be with you today, sir," he said, trying to control the tremor in his voice. Geoff let go of him and the boy followed the stream of pilots out the door. "Launch all fighters. Let us finish this hunt." Prince Thrakhath turned away from the screen, a tingle of excitement coursing through him as the fighter launch klaxon sounded through the ship. Before him stood the Baron. "You do not look thrilled about our impending victory, Baron." Baron Jukaga merely snarled, looking at the Prince defiantly. "I have one final little assignment for you, Baron." "Go on then, what is it?" And as Thrakhath told him the Baron's eyes went wide with shock and rage. "It is useless, senseless. The Emperor ordered you to preserve the planet for the next Sivar." "There are a hundred other worlds to choose from once this is done. A squad of Imperial Marines will now escort you to your ship, Baron." Baron Jukaga looked coldly at the Prince and then spat on the floor. Prince Thrakhath merely laughed in reply as Baron Jukaga was escorted from the room. "My lord, there are significantly more ships than intelligence indicated." Thrakhath looked back at the main screen and ordered the forward picket ships to send back enhanced optical scan. He waited for the visuals to be returned, watching the display of the two fleets being deployed. More and more blips of enemy ships were appearing, moving out from behind other ships which had been masking them. He had his suspicions as to what the new ships were and did not feel overly worried. One of the advantages of having had an embassy team on Earth was the ability to conduct reconnaissance. It was made even better by the fact that their own Foreign Minister had become a traitor. Too bad she was under arrest. "They're civilian ships, my lord. Numerous light craft, personal ships, light business ships of corvette size, shuttle craft, and civilian interplanet transports." Thrakhath nodded. "They're throwing everything in as a screen to waste our weapons on. Order the outer wave of fighters to ignore them and to concentrate on the incoming Broadswords and Sabres. Once their offensive capability has been smashed we can turn our attention to this chaff they throw out and destroy them." "We're also detecting Marine assault and landing ships, my lord." Thrakhath stirred, ordering that this new sighting be highlighted on the main display. Several hundred of the blips started to blink bright yellow. What were they up to? "A diversionary effort, my lord?" He looked over at his chief tactical officer. He still had over seventeen hundred fighters at his disposal, almost all of them already launched and moving towards position. The first offensive strike wave was already committed, four hundred strike craft moving out past the outer line of picket ships with four eights of corvettes and light frigates in escort. Long range Confederation patrols were already moving to intercept, a pitiful six eights of fighters. He was holding back over a thousand craft, assuming a more defensive posture than in the last battle. One of his carriers was gone, another slightly damaged. He would absorb and totally destroy the offensive strike, eliminating the final threat. Then he would smash through with a totally annihilating second strike, smashing whatever was left of the enemy fleet. They could no longer retreat and regroup, they would have to stand and die. But the Marines? What were they for? To draw fire, obviously, while the last of the Broadswords went in. "Still concentrate on the Broadswords," he said. "Then we slaughter the rest." Kevin tried to purge the anguish, to block it out. His friends, his comrades were dying. Flickers of light filled space straight ahead and to starboard a hundred and fifty clicks away. The Broadsword strike was going in. His tactical screen traced the attack. The first wave of Broadswords, what few were left, was slowing, hovering. Going through the agonizing thirty second countdown to launch. And one after another their transponders winked off, the blue blips replaced by brief flashes of light and then disappearing. He switched to strike two's main comm channel. "Ten seconds, nine, keep óem off, keep óem off. . ." "I can't eject, I can't get out, oh God I'm burning . . ." "Six on your tail, Maria, break, break . . ." "Yellow three, torpedo lock failed, am . . ." The signals became fewer, space ahead flashing with hundreds of points of light. The second wave, going towards the carriers, was straight ahead, slashing into the storm of defense. A hundred Kilrathi fighters were now hitting into his own attack column and ships were dying, but the main blow had not hit yet. "Blue One, we've got company coming." Kevin tore his attention away from the dying attack and saw a wave of fifty fighters coming in from above and slashing into the column behind him. He held course, looking over his shoulder. Nearly a thousand craft were spread out around him. Off his port quarter he saw a civilian transplanet liner trying an evasive and disappear in an explosion after a single burst of neutron bolts from a light fighter. It was suicide and he had to harden his heart to the realization that was precisely what the pilots flying the civilian craft had signed on for. They were nothing more than sitting ducks, unshielded, totally defenseless. Having been given pressure suits and rescue transponders, the pilots were told to bail out if things got too hot. But they were serving their purpose. The first waves of Kilrathi fighters, wading into the hundreds of targets, had become drunk with the thrill of killing. He watched as a flight of Krants shot right through a line of Marine transports, not even bothering to fire, racing ahead to smash a cruiser size liner, a