NOW IT'S YOUR TURN
on Juneau, Commander Douglas Scott Graham stared at the image on his monitor screen in horror and disbelief, hardly able to watch but equally unable to tear his eyes away.
He was watching a ship die, a sight all too common for a Terran Confederation Navy officer in this thirty-fifth year of continuous warfare with the Kilrathi Empire, but that didn't make it any easier to watch Dover coming apart under the incredible bombardment generated by the Kilrathi carrier the two Terran ships faced.
Kruger wanted revenge, he thought bitterly. I hope it's worth the price we're paying.
When the Kilrathi carrier battle group had launched a raid on planet Landreich, every ship in the region had been summoned to intercept them before they could return to Imperial space. The running pursuit had knocked out three of the five . but the carrier and her escort were still formidable foes when the two Terran cruisers had moved in to engage.
The proof of that was on his monitor. The Cat carrier was pumping everything she could fire into the unfortunate Dover.
"Christ, look at her," someone said behind Graham. "She's a goner for sure. . ."
"Back to your post, spacer," Graham snapped.
The monitor flashed as explosions ran along the spine of the crippled Dover. For an instant the flare of light was blinding before the computer cut in the compensators. One moment the ship was whole. The next she was shards of wreckage whirling away in all directions, ship and crew alike consumed by the fearsome energies unleashed by the concentrated Kilrathi attack.
Graham swallowed. Now it was Juneau's turn . .
THE
WING COMMANDER
SERIES
Freedom Flight
by Mercedes Lackey & Ellen Guon
End Run
by Christopher Stasheff
William R. Forstchen
Fleet Action
by William R. Forstchen
Heart of the Tiger
by William R. Forstchen & Andrew Keith
The Price of Freedom
by William R. Forstchen & Ben Ohlander
Action Stations
by William R. Forstchen
False Colors
by William R. Forstchen & Andrew Keith
False Colors
William R. Forstchen
FALSE COLORS
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 1999 by ORIGIN Systems, Inc.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.
A Baen Books Original
Baen Publishing Enterprises P.O. Box 1403
Riverdale, NY 10471
ISBN: O671-57784-O Cover art by Gary Ruddell First printing, January 1999
Distributed by Simon & Schuster 1230 Avenue of the Americas New York, NY 10020
Printed in the United States of America
PROLOGUE
"Better Death with claws extended than Life without honor."
from the Fourth Codex
18:35:3
Flag Bridge, KIS Karga
Near Vaku VII, Vaku System
1335 hours (CST), 2669.315
Admiral Largka Cakg dai Nokhtak gripped the arms of his command chair as the ship shuddered under the impact of multiple torpedo hits and the red lights flickered in protest. "Damage report," he ordered tautly, studying the Kilrathi Hyilghar in front of him with a stern eye. Young, proud, with a stiffly erect bearing and green eyes gleaming against his tawny fur, the staff officer was the very picture of a young Kilrathi warrior. He wore his beard and mane short in the most recent court fashion, and his fangs gleamed in the dim orange light of the flag bridge.
"Lord Admiral, neither the command bridge nor the secondary control center respond." The young officer's voice quavered a little, but he kept himself under rigid control. Largka allowed himself a moment's pride. It was his sister's son's first deepspace assignment, his first brush with the God of the Running Death, and Hyilghar Murragh Cakg dai Nokhtak was bearing up with courage and honor. "The launch bays have ceased operation to repair damage to the flight control computer, and the port side hangar deck is blocked by debris. With the previous damage to the starboard hangar deck, we cannot retrieve the fighters we have already deployed. Structural integrity in the stern section between bulkheads fifty and seventy-two is down by better than seventy percent. We have lost long-range sensors, interstellar drive, and the main tactical computer. Backup systems are functional but overloaded. Defensive weaponry is operable, but without the tactical computer must be directed manually. Offensive weapons are still functional, but with intermittent power failures . ."
Largka waved his nephew to silence. "That is sufficient," he said quietly. "Neither the Captain nor the Exec is available?"
Murragh extended a clawed hand palm-up, the empty hand of negation. "Neither bridge is in contact with the rest of the ship," he said. "I fear both took direct hits. Nhagrah ko Lannis is the senior officer, but he is Chief Engineer, not fit for a combat command . ."
The Admiral made the grasping gesture of understanding. "What of the apes?" The ship shuddered again as if to emphasize his question.
"Both cruisers are concentrating on us now that the Frawqirg is out of the action, Lord Admiral," Murragh said. "At last report one of them was showing definite power drops and was trailing atmosphere at a rate that indicated imminent structural failure. That was before the sensors went off-line. The other cruiser is also damaged, but to a lesser extent."
"And your assessment of our options, young Hyilghar? he asked quietly, maintaining a rigid calm to counter the grim situation. "An exercise for a young officer."
Murragh didn't answer right away. Finally he spoke "We cannot run. Our chances of defeating both ape ships are small, given the extent of the damage. The fighters we have deployed already are running low or fuel and ammunition, and they cannot resupply while the hangar bays are down." His eyes met his uncle's "What other option is there save to die with honor?"
Largka showed his teeth. "What option, indeed?' Inwardly his heart was filled with pride, knowing Murragh could meet the final race with the Running Death with the true Kilrathi spirit. But pride was balanced by rage. They had come so close to victory but it had eluded their grasping hands by less than claw's-length. "Return to your post, Hyilghar," he mix quietly. "And reflect on this . . you have done well young Murragh. Your entire clan would be proud today . . as I am."
He turned back to the bank of readouts and monitors most of them blank, that were supposed to allow him to direct a multi-ship deep-space battle. Irony tasted bitter in Largka's mouth. He had argued for month: that he should be given a battle command instead of being confined to a staff job on Kilrah, and always hi: cousin Thrakhath had said there was no available command large enough to sustain the honor of the Imperial Family. Largka had appealed directly to Thrakhath's grandfather, the Emperor himself, protesting that he would take any squadron, however small or unimportant.
And the Emperor had granted his request. A tiny raiding squadron operating on the fringes of the war zone between humans and Kilrathi, one of the new supercarriers and a scratch supporting battle group oft only four escorts. And those had fallen one by one during: the disastrous raid on the world the humans called "Landreich." First the two cruisers, then the destroyer Takh'lath, and finally the escort Frawqirg, caught by the two Terran cruisers and badly damaged before Karga could secure from jump and assist him. The crippled escort had last been seen shaping an orbit for the inner moon of the oversized gas giant Vaku, a marginally habitable wor
ld where they might manage a landing and await a rescue . . . if the Kilrathi won the engagement in space.
But it was clear that wasn't the likely outcome of today's battle. Without escorts, even a supercarrier was vulnerable to a sustained attack by conventional warships. Carriers weren't supposed to fight in the thick of the fray. Karga had been forced to do just that, though, and it would take a miracle for him to pull through.
But before he died, the carrier would give a good account of himself against the apes. Largka vowed to make the Terrans remember Vaku, one way or another.
"Concentrate fire on the lead Terran cruiser," he ordered. It was strange to be making tactical decisions again, fighting a ship instead of directing a whole squadron. But with both the carrier's control rooms out of operation, his flag bridge was the closest thing to a tactical control center left on Karga. "Ignore the other one . . but kill that ape cruiser!"
"As you order, Lord Admiral," one of his aides acknowledged.
Largka studied his monitor screen with the chill calm of a warrior determined to fight to the bitter end.
Engineering Control Center, TCS Juneau
Near Vaku VII, Vaku System
1342 hours (CST)
Commander Douglas Scott Graham stared at the image on his monitor screen in horror and disbelief, hardly able to watch but equally unable to tear his eyes away.
He was watching a ship die, a sight all too common for a Terran Confederation Navy officer in this thirty-fifth year of continuous warfare with the Kilrathi Empire. Plenty of ships had been lost over that decades-long span, but that didn't make it any easier to watch TCS Juneau's consort, Dover, coming apart under the incredible bombardment generated by the Kilrathi carrier the two Terran ships faced today.
Kruger wanted revenge, he thought bitterly. I hope it's worth the price we're paying.
The two cruisers were part of a Terran Confederation task force operating among the frontier worlds in loose cooperation with colonial military units and semiautonomous planetary governments. The most prominent of these was Landreich, neither wholly independent nor fully cooperative under the leadership of its maverick president, Max Kruger. Kruger had reluctantly played the role of cavalry-to-the-rescue during the Kilrathi assault against the Sol system three years back, and now when Kruger sneezed there was a scramble among Confederation leaders to see who could hand him a handkerchief the fastest. So when the small but deadly Kilrathi carrier battle group had launched a raid on Landreich itself, every ship in the region had been summoned to intercept them before they could return to Imperial space.
The running pursuit had knocked out three of the five Kilrathi ships . . . but the carrier and her escort were still formidable foes when the two Terran cruisers had spotted them jumping into the Vaku system and moved to engage.
The proof of that was on his monitor. Ignoring Juneau entirely, the Cat carrier was pumping everything she could fire into the unfortunate Dover. Under that intensive bombardment, the cruiser wouldn't last long. Graham could see the rippling of shields burned through by energy beams, and the Confederation cruiser seemed to stagger under wave after wave of missiles from the carrier and the swarm of Kilrathi fighters that clustered around her.
"Christ, look at her," someone said behind Graham. "She's a goner for sure. . ."
"Back to your post, spacer," Graham snapped. "Chief, get these slackers back to work now, or they'll have a lot worse than the Cats to answer to."
"Aye aye, sir." Chief Ellen Quinlan responded smartly. "All right, you sons-of-Cats, you heard the man! Eyes on your consoles and heads in the game! And if any of you aren't afraid of what an officer might do to you, just keep in mind what I'll do! Do I make myself clear?"
Graham hid a chuckle as the engineering control center grew suddenly quiet and thoroughly businesslike under the Chief's stern glare. A stern, hatchet-faced CPO of the old school, Quinlan could generate more sheer terror than a whole squadron of incoming Cat fighters. She was also one hell of a good engineer.
The monitor flashed as explosions ran along the spine of the crippled Dover, bringing Graham's attention back to the fight. For an instant the flare of light was blinding before the computer cut in the compensators. Even then, it was difficult to distinguish details. One moment Dover was whole. The next she was shards of wreckage whirling away in all directions, ship and crew alike consumed by the fearsome energies unleashed by the concentrated Kilrathi attack.
That left Juneau and the Cat carrier alone under the mottled light of Vaku. Cruiser against carrier . and that carrier had just done in a Terran cruiser in on furious assault.
Graham swallowed. Now it was Juneau's turn.
Flag Bridge, KIS Karga
Near Vaku VII, Vaku System
1348 hours (CST)
Admiral Cakg dai Nokhtak bared his teeth in defiance as the Terran cruiser broke apart. Victory is still possible! he told himself. If Karga could just put some time any distance between himself and the surviving Terran, the could effect repairs to the jump engines and escape back into Imperial territory, where songs of this day action would be sung for eight-eights of years to come
"Target the cruiser's engineering section," he ordered keeping his voice level and firm despite the urge to let the emotions inside him run free. "Helm Officer, talc us in closer to Vaku."
"Lord Admiral . ." The staff officer who had suddenly found himself acting as helmsman for the crippled supercarrier was almost visibly shivering a he questioned his superior's order. "Lord Admiral, the shields are already weak, and the radiation from the star . ."
"Will kill us in minutes if they fail," Largka finishes the sentence for him. "Nonetheless, you will carry out my order. I want a tight hyperbolic orbit that will take us through the plane of Vaku's ring system. If we can cripple the Terran ship's engines, the ring debris and that same radiation you are afraid of will serve to mask a course change as we move out of their range. This will give us our chance to break off this fight."
"You would run away from battle, Lord Admiral?" That was Baron Grathal nar Khirgh, whose official title of Fleet Intelligence Officer masked his real position as the Imperial Family's spy and political officer aboard the carrier. "The Prince would not like to hear that one of his noble cousins chose to run rather than fight."
The admiral half-rose from his chair, unsheathing the claws of his powerful right hand before he forced himself to ignore the insult. "Thrakhath would be more concerned still to hear that I lost a supercarrier in battle with the apes," he said through tight lips. "Once we have broken off the action and made repairs to engines and flight bays, we can come back and deal with that cruiser. Right now the important thing is to preserve the Karga."
He sank back in his seat, but his eyes remained locked on Khirgh's until the Intelligence Officer gave a reluctant grasped-claw gesture and turned away.
"Course laid in, Lord Admiral," the Helm Officer said, sounding nervous. Largka couldn't blame him. No one wanted to get involved in court politics at the best of times, and certainly not when a battle was raging around them.
Damn Thrakhath and his idiot followers! The Emperor's grandson had consistently mismanaged the war against the Terrans, and no small part of that mismanagement was the way he'd treated the nobility that should have been the mainstay of Imperial support. Thrakhath's policy of using court favorites as watchdogs over nobles he didn't trust only magnified the rifts in the Kilrathi war machine. Even if he managed to win the final victory he was always touting, Thrakhath might very well fall to the sharp claws of the factions he had created.
And perhaps a member of the Imperial Family who had distinguished himself in battle might hope to take advantage should the Emperor's favorite grandson stumble. .
"Execute course change," he ordered, pushing his bitter thoughts from his mind and focusing once again on the battle unfolding beyond the supercarrier's bulkheads.
"I have targeting solutions on the Terran cruiser," the Acting Weapons Officer announced. "Locking e
nergy batteries on the engineering section. . . ."
"Fire all batteries!" the admiral ordered.
Bridge, TCS Juneau
Near Vaku VII, Vaku System
1351 hours (CST)
Unimaginable energies battered at the cruiser as the Kilrathi supercarrier loosed its barrage. Captain Ekaterina Tereshkova tightened her grip and closed her eyes for a moment as she felt her beloved cruiser shuddering under blast after blast from the Kilrathi ship's main guns. She had seen what had happened to Captain Fowler's Dover when the Cats had turned their full power against that ship. She wasn't going to let them do the same thing to Juneau.
"All batteries, fire!" she grated. "Give me everything you've got, Guns!"
"Aye aye, skipper," her Fire Control Officer responded. On the monitor screen in front of her, lasers stabbed back at the Kilrathi carrier, probing the kilometer-long ship's weakened defenses.
How much more punishment can the Cats take, anyway? Tereshkova wouldn't have believed it possible for the Kilrathi ship to hold out this long. Even a Kilrathi carrier wasn't supposed to be able to handle a standup fight with Terran cruisers. Their primary weapons were the fighter squadrons they carried, and with a few exceptions they hadn't been able to launch fighters with their hangar decks crippled in the first exchange of fire. But whoever was skippering that carrier was as brilliant as he was stubborn.
Wing Commander #07 False Color Page 1