Wing Commander #07 False Color

by William R. Forstchen

  And now he was in command of the old Tarawa. What a comedown for a grand old lady . . . handed over to the man because Kruger needed the Galbraith family's continued goodwill to keep the Landreich on its feet.

  "My senior officers," Galbraith went on with a casual wave at the cluster of faces behind him. "My XO, Commander Roth. My Chief Engineer, Commander Watanabe." He paused, looking at Admiral Tolwyn. "And you, at least, Admiral, should know my Wing Commander."

  Bondarevsky suppressed a surprised exclamation as the last-indicated figure stepped forward.

  "Kevin, my boy, it's good to see you," Admiral Tolwyn greeted his nephew in a tone that was pleased, but by no means surprised. So he had expected to meet Kevin Tolwyn out here in the Landreich. He might, Bondarevsky reflected ruefully, have mentioned something about it.

  "Likewise, sir," the younger man replied. He looked much as Bondarevsky remembered him, short and stocky like his uncle, but with a baby face that belied his years of service as an officer in the Confederation Navy. He'd been one of the heroes of the Battle of Earth, but after he'd been declared Missing in Action in the final clash with Thrakhath's fleet and only recovered by the sheerest of chances the admiral had persuaded him to give up his flight status and become part of his Behemoth project staff.

  Now he was here in the Landreich, wearing the insignia of a full commander and serving as the head of the flight wing assigned to the Independence, FW-105, the Liberators. Yet another old friend, Bondarevsky reflected, mustered for this new clash with the Kilrathi out here on mankind's most distant frontier.

  Kevin Tolwyn caught Bondarevsky's eye and gave his familiar grin. "Glad to see you, too, Bear," he said. "And on the old Tarawa, too. Old home week, no less."

  "Yeah, I'll say. I brought Sparks along, too."

  "Hey, really? Doomsday's one of my squadron commanders. And there's a couple of others from the old days on board."

  Bondarevsky didn't let his reaction show on his face. It seemed Richards and Tolwyn had been doing quite a bit of recruiting over the past few months. The situation was starting to remind him of that first Landreich campaign. Just what were they letting themselves in for this time around?

  He didn't have a chance to reply, though. Galbraith, looking impatient, spoke up before Kevin Tolwyn had even finished speaking. 'We're almost ready to break orbit," he said. "And the Presidential shuttle is due any minute, so that he can see us off properly. I hope you gentlemen won't mind if we cut the greetings back a little so that we can get the flight deck ready for the President's arrival. We have a great deal to finish."

  "Of course, Captain," Richards responded casually. "If you'll just detail someone to show us to our quarters, we'll get out of the way until it's time to listen to Old Max and his words of wisdom."

  "With your permission, Captain, I'd be glad to see our guests to their quarters," Kevin offered.

  Galbraith frowned. "Job's a bit below your station, isn't it, Commander?" He assayed a brief smile. "Well, I suppose it won't hurt morale any." The captain waved a negligent hand. "You gentlemen let me know if I can be of any assistance."

  Before any of them could reply, he had turned away to address his Exec, leaving the three new arrivals to Kevin Tolwyn.

  "One of my men will see to the rest of the passengers," Kevin said. "I'll show you to the quarters we've set aside for you. I'm afraid they're not exactly up to standard flag rank issue."

  "Give me a bunk and a computer terminal and I'll be happy as a Cat in a sandbox," Richards said. The elder Tolwyn grunted agreement.

  The quarters were part of a refurbished section of the carrier. In Bondarevsky's day they had housed storerooms for munitions spares, but those stores were evidently in a new section two decks below the flight deck, allowing this expansion of available berths. "Old Max ordered the changes himself," the younger Tolwyn explained as he showed the first cabin to his uncle and the others. 'Word is he expected to use the boat as his own personal flagship, and wanted the bunk space for his staff. But that all fell through, leaving us with extra VIP quarters no one expected to use until we got this new assignment."

  Once the two admirals had been shown their berths, Kevin led Bondarevsky to another cabin close by. "All yours, Bear," he said with a smile, entering the keycode to open the door. "I know it's not the captain's suite, where you belong, but hopefully it'll do for the time being."

  "It's fine, Kevin," Bondarevsky said. He tossed his bag on the bunk and did a double-take as something moved against the space-black blanket. 'Well, hello, who's this?"

  Tolwyn reached down and picked up a bundle of black fur. "The official Independence reception committee. Jason, meet Thrakhath. He's one of our ship's cats."

  The black cat opened a pair of startling green eyes and studied Bondarevsky suspiciously. After a moment the cat started to purr loudly, obviously glad of the attention Tolwyn was giving his neck and ears.

  Bondarevsky chuckled. "Thrakhath, huh? Does he know he's royalty?"

  "Absolutely," Tolwyn replied, returning the cat to the bed. "He finds his way into just about every corner of the ship, usually through the ventilation system . . .

  though some of us think he can walk through walls when he wants to. But he's staked out this deck as his personal territory. If you don't want him slipping in here and bothering you, we'll install a screen he can't get through."

  "Nonsense," Bondarevsky replied. "I can use the company." He paused, then looked Tolwyn in the eye. "It was a bit of a surprise finding you out here, you know. Your uncle didn't mention anything about it."

  "He didn't?" Kevin frowned, then shrugged. 'Well, you know how he's been lately. Won't let his right hand know what the left one's doing for fear it'll break under interrogation. Fact is, I've been here since just after the end of the war—stayed just long enough to see the court-martial verdict, then shipped out to sign on with Old Max and his gang of cutthroats."

  "At the admiral's suggestion?"

  "Yeah." Tolwyn frowned again. "I don't know what it is that's had him so worried, but he seemed to think it was a good idea for me to get out of Earthspace for a while. And Wing Commander on a Landreich carrier sure as hell beats being a major on the staff back home."

  "How much do you know about the mission?"

  "We're supposed to salvage a Kilrathi derelict that could be protected by hostiles," Tolwyn responded.

  "Should be an easy enough job." He paused, his innocent, open features reddening. "Look, Bear, you rank me six ways from Sunday even in the Landreich's Navy. I could step down as Wing Commander if you wanted to do something more than twiddle your thumbs on the flight out . . ."

  "Forget it, Lone Wolf. You've earned the spot."

  "It's just a damned shame they couldn't give you Tarawa. Independence. Whatever. Or at least her fighter wing. It's just . . . wrong for you to be a passenger aboard the old girl."

  "Don't you worry about it," Bondarevsky told him. "Just seeing her again is enough for me. And if we end up trying to put that Kilrathi monstrosity back in business, I'll be glad enough of the vacation time." He hesitated. "But . . . look, Kevin, thanks for making the offer. It means a lot."

  "I owe you big-time, Bear," Tolwyn told him. "When I signed on with you before the Kilrah raid I was a spoiled brat who didn't have any idea what to do with his life. You made me into a proper officer, and a pilot, and a man I don't mind seeing in the mirror every morning when I shave, and I won't forget that."

  "Presidential Shuttle on final approach." The blare of the public address system kept Bondarevsky from having to respond to the younger officer's words. "Welcoming party, lay down to the flight deck."

  "I suppose that includes VIPs," Bondarevsky commented.

  "Well, it certainly includes Wing Commanders," Kevin said. "Question is, will our beloved Captain Gall-Bladder claim you and our two admirals as 'his' VIPs? He's very acquisitive, is our CO. A veritable interstellar pack-rat."

  "You don't sound too happy with him," Bondarevsky commented a
s they started down the corridor together.

  "Still a marvel of deduction, eh, Bear?" Tolwyn cracked a smile. "Let's just say that I'd like it if the skipper of this boat measured up to the standards of an earlier captain I might name. And I'm damned tired of being `his' Wing Commander. In theory we're supposed to be equals under the Battle Group CO, but he makes me feel like I'm one of his daddy's lackeys."

  "Since he's here and not in the Flag Officer's suite, I take it Admiral Richards isn't commanding the Battle Group."

  "No. Old Max decided to make the derelict the hub for a separate squadron if and when she goes operational, and Admiral Richards'll be in charge of that. Admiral Campanelli's in charge of the Independence battle group, but he doesn't show himself much. The man's the senior flag officer on the fleet list, over seventy but still refusing retirement. And because he's the biggest war hero next to Old Max that the Landreich's got, nobody even thinks about easing him aside to let a younger man take over. He's a pretty good man even yet, but he's been sick off and on ever since I signed aboard, and lets Galbraith do most of the work running the battle group." Tolwyn grinned. "Might almost be better if Old Max did take to space again."

  "Don't bet on it," Bondarevsky told him. "Your admiral might be old and sick, but Kruger's just plain crazy. I still remember the stunt he pulled to get us into the Battle of Earth on time. Hit the last jump point at full speed. Half the fleet overshot the target jump point, and a couple of ships ended up with their bows twenty light-years from their sterns."

  "It got you to Earth on time," Tolwyn pointed out.

  "Yeah . . . but the man's still crazy. Doesn't care about the odds, or the possibilities. Just charges in with guns blazing, and be damned to anybody who gets in his way."

  "Sounds to me like you approve of him, underneath it all," Tolwyn told him as they reached the lift that would take them up to the flight deck.

  Emerging back onto the open area, they joined the two admirals at the fringe of the captain's welcoming party and watched the Presidential shuttle slipping gently through the force field to settle on the deck close by. Bondarevsky noted that the shuttle bore the name San Jacinto, after Kruger's old ship that he'd used to launch his mutiny and his subsequent career. He wondered what Richards thought of it. Vance Richards had been the young commander of Kruger's squadron when Old Max had committed his act of defiance. He sometimes claimed it was Kruger's act that had blotted his service record and earned him a transfer to Intelligence.

  The shuttle door opened, and once again the bosun's whistle greeted the arrival of the VIP visitor. This time it was accompanied by a recorded band playing something stately and elegant, presumably some Baroque fanfare that was part of the normal greeting for Landreich's President.

  Knowing how Kruger felt about ceremony of all kinds, Bondarevsky couldn't help but wonder what the Presidential reaction would be. Galbraith certainly knew that Old Max wasn't the kind to waste a lot of time on all the formal aspects of his office. Did he put on this display because he was helplessly wedded to the rigmarole? Or was he trying to remind Kruger that there were elements in the Landreich who regarded the presidency as something more than just a job?

  Kruger stepped out of the shuttle hatch, looking around with a pugnacious but somehow wistful gleam in his eye. Young Tolwyn's comments about his intention of using the escort carrier as his own personal flagship struck a chord with other pieces of scuttlebutt Bondarevsky had heard over the last few days. Old Max wanted to lead this mission himself in the worst possible way, and he was bitter at having been thwarted in his plans.

  Back in the crisis preceding the Battle of Earth Kruger had taken direct command of the Landreich fleet from the bridge of the destroyer Blitzkrieg. He'd also maintained a command post on Hellhole before the Kilrathi had bombed the settlement there. His flamboyant leadership style was best suited to leading from the front—preferably the forward element of the most advanced scout units of the fleet vanguard—and Kruger had played his role to the hilt.

  But since that time, from what Bondarevsky had heard, Old Max was finding it harder to carry out his duties from the deck of a fighting ship. The worlds of the Landreich were a cantankerous bunch, peopled by stubborn, independent-minded folk who took a lot of governing. Having an absentee president tended to unsettle things in the capitol. That hadn't made much difference back when Kilrathi forces were running roughshod through Landreich space, but now that things were more settled Kruger's political advisors had turned up the pressure to keep him chained to his desk at the palace.

  And this mission, as important as it was likely to be, was also sure to be a long and largely boring one. Surveying and salvaging a derelict ship was not the kind of life-or-death mission Kruger could point to as needing his personal touch, not when there were political problems to deal with at home.

  Even so, it had taken Richards reminding Kruger that he was the only one who could keep Clark Williams and the rest of the Confederation embassy under control while the crisis continued to unfold to convince Old Max of the need to stay at his post like a good soldier instead of running around in deep space where he longed to be. So that wistful look was genuine. Bondarevsky felt sorry for the man, whatever his personal eccentricities.

  Kruger was very much a man of action, finding it hard to come to grips with the idea that not all leadership involved the direct approach he favored. But facts were facts. As Bondarevsky had commented to Richards after one of Kruger's angry tirades on the subject, "He says the president of a frontier republic doesn't have to worry about protocol or formalities or little things like running the country. But if that's the case you'd be reading history books about Thomas Jefferson taking personal command of the Intrepid the day Decatur went into Tripoli harbor to burn the Philadelphia. The man still has the mind of a destroyer skipper trapped in the body of a head of state."

  Kruger was still at the top of the ramp. He touched something at the side of his neck, the control, Bondarevsky realized, for a headset microphone and amplifier system. The President's words boomed out in the hollow space of the flight deck.

  "Citizen-spacers of the Free Republic Navy! I've come up from planetside to see you off in person because Independence and the squadron traveling with her have a task of potentially vital importance to carry out. On you, the brave men and women of the Landreich armed forces, on you, I say, rests the future of our small league of planets out here on the frontier. For years we've been under the threat of attack by the Cats, but our situation today, when a peace treaty supposedly protects mankind, is even more grim than it was in the bad old days before Secession. You may think that a salvage mission cannot be as important as a combat operation, but if you recover the vessel you are setting out to salvage and put it back into operation, it could very well turn the tide in our favor now and for years to come."

  Kruger paused, then went on in a lower tone. "I know a lot of you think I exaggerate a mite from time to time, but this time out I'm telling it to you straight. The actions you take during this mission could determine the very future of the Landreich, maybe of all human worlds. And I know of no better body of people to entrust that responsibility to than the spacers and marines of the Free Republic Navy.

  "Good luck to you all, and Godspeed."

  Terran Confederation Embassy Compound, Newburg

  Landreich, Landreich System

  1934 hours (CST)

  "I wish to God I knew what that maniac Kruger was up to," Clark Williams said, taking a sip from his coffee cup and pausing for a moment to savor the Jamaica Blue Mountain blend he imported every month from far-off Terra. "You can bet it's something big, I'll tell you that much. With Geoff Tolwyn involved . . ."

  "That isn't really such a surprise, now, is it, Commissioner?" Lorenzo Mancini leaned forward in his seat, looking intense. "After all, he's had contacts out here since he and Richards pulled that stunt back before the Battle of Earth, and it wasn't as if he had much of a future back home. Not after that Behemoth fiasco."r />
  "No, this is something more than just Max Kruger lending a helping hand to some poor slob he thinks deserves a break," Williams said. He put the cup down with exaggerated care, every movement precise. "Kruger doesn't figure he owes anything to anybody. Just the opposite. He'd still like to have the Confederation government jump through hoops to thank him for 'rescuing' us at Terra."

  His chair creaked a little as Williams leaned back, and he frowned. Commissioner Clark Williams was a man who loved order, efficiency, and smooth sailing. His office, the best in the Terran Embassy Compound, was furnished with the finest things he'd been able to bring in from Earth, and everything was neat and orderly. Nothing like Kruger's den in the Presidential Palace, he thought.

  Mancini shrugged. "The man has a point, Commissioner," he said. "The Cats had broken through our last defensive line when Bondarevsky and the rest of Kruger's people showed up and forced them to break off."

  "He's a criminal, an outlaw, and the most dangerous man in the sector."

  "Precisely why the Landreich makes such a perfect staging ground for our little project," Mancini countered. He was a small man, easily overlooked, but he held the rank of Colonel in the Confederation Security Bureau, Terra's elite espionage and intelligence service."

  He had other connections, too, that rendered him even more powerful, and Williams was inclined to avoid arguing with him.

  "I suppose you're right," he admitted. "But with Tolwyn and Bondarevsky involved with Kruger again, I'm afraid our operation could run into trouble. Don't count Tolwyn out just because of what went on last year. The man's a tactical genius, and he very definitely does not agree with our position. The combination could spell trouble."

  "You're certain Kruger has something special in mind?" Mancini was frowning. He was new to the Landreich station, and hadn't had much of a chance to get his information network working yet. Williams had heard that he was almost obsessive about not relying on any sources he didn't know personally.