Wing Commander #07 False Color

by William R. Forstchen

  "Aye aye, sir," Collins said. "As you order."

  "Once the battle group has assembled and the fighter sweep is completed the initial survey can begin. Colonel Bhaktadil will have command over this phase of the operation." He looked across at Richards, Tolwyn, and Bondarevsky. "In all deference to your ranks and reputations, until we're sure there's no threat on board that supercarrier I require the operation to be conducted strictly within the chain of command."

  Richards gave him an easy smile. "Don't worry, Captain," he said. "I for one am happy to stay as supercargo for the time being. Just be glad Old Max didn't come along for the ride, though. I doubt you'd have much luck keeping him from taking charge. Or from stealing a lifeboat and crossing over to the derelict all by himself if he thought you weren't moving fast enough to suit him."

  "Er, yes. Well . . as long as the position is understood," Galbraith said. Bondarevsky hid a smile. Evidently Galbraith wasn't as free and easy as a lot of the Landreich colonials when it came to free expression about the Commander-in-Chief. "Colonel?"

  The Gurkha Marine officer gave a curt nod. "Ten shuttles will board simultaneously at various key points on the supercarrier," he said crisply. "Each will carry two squads in full space armor and standard infantry weapons loads. I will be using both my own men and the marines assigned to Karga, off of the City of Cashel. These will be used to immediately secure the two bridges and the flag bridge, engineering, weapons control, and the flight deck. Investigation of other sections of the ship can be conducted later, but the key areas must be secured early on to avoid problems later if there should be any Kilrathi aboard."

  "The odds are entirely against that," Diaz spoke up for the first time. "Judging from the power readings obtained by Vision Quest, there's no way they're sustaining any shielding. The crew would have fried."

  "It's a precautionary measure, Mr. Diaz," Admiral Tolwyn said. "In case the supercarrier's bait for a trap, for example. If the Kilrathi just wanted to draw us into an ambush, the derelict might have troops deployed aboard as soon as they saw us coming."

  "And we don't necessarily know how accurate Vision Quest's readings were," Galbraith put in. "No offense, Captain Springweather," he added hastily. "But you did conduct your investigation at long range, and there's no knowing if you might have missed something. Improvised shielding within the hulk, for instance, to maintain survivors . . . or an ambush force. Or other ships operating close alongside the supercarrier, using its bulk to shield their emissions."

  Diaz looked uncertain. "I . . . see. Are you gentlemen seriously expecting Kilrathi in the Vaku system?"

  It was Bondarevsky who answered. "Mr. Diaz, a good space officer always expects the worst. That way he's prepared if there's trouble."

  Galbraith smiled reassuringly. "But in all probability, Mr. Diaz, this will just be a particularly large and elaborate exercise for the battle group," he said. "Don't worry about the Cats. The object of all this is to keep them from interfering . . . assuming they're anywhere within ten parsecs of here."

  Richards spoke up. "Look, Captain, I do have one problem with everything you've put together here. I've been reading through your mission orders, and I see that you don't plan to let Goliath personnel go aboard until after you've secured the entire ship. That could take a day or two, given the ground you've got to cover."

  "That's about right," Galbraith nodded.

  "It seems to me that we could send elements of the specialty teams aboard right away. The initial points the marines are assigned to grab—control, engineering, weaponry, and flight—these are also the places where we have to conduct our initial observation of conditions aboard the ship. If we can't fix these, there's no point in going on. And no point risking our boys in securing the rest of the ship if we're not going to put her back in service."

  "A squad of marines will have its hands full setting up a perimeter and looking for Cats," Galbraith said. "They shouldn't have to babysit a survey team at the same time."

  "I'm sure the survey teams will have enough sense to sit tight inside the shuttle until somebody gives an `all clear' and it's safe to go to work," Richards replied. "I'm not talking about carrying out a full-scale survey in the middle of a firefight, for God's sake. But if we can get started looking at conditions aboard right away, we can make a judgment about the next stage of the project a lot more quickly, and maybe save a lot of wasted time, effort, maybe even lives."

  Galbraith rubbed his eyebrow with one elegantly-manicured hand. After a moment he nodded reluctantly. "Very well, Admiral. What exactly did you have in mind?"

  "As long as you're bringing marines across anyway, have the pick of Mr. Diaz's men transfer to Independence before we jump," Richards said. "A small team will go on each shuttle. I'll go in with the group that secures the flag bridge, Admiral Tolwyn can take the main bridge or CIC, as he desires. Captain Bondarevsky will go in on one of the shuttles that takes the flight deck. I imagine Mr. Diaz would be best suited to handling engineering. We each get a crack at seeing what we'll be up against to get this big bugger back on-line. Agreed?"

  No one argued, though Diaz, perhaps still worried about a Kilrathi presence on board, failed to look particularly excited by the prospect of going in with the marines.

  Bondarevsky spoke up. "I'll want Sparks as part of my team, Admiral. She knows more about flight deck ops than full technical crews I've seen on some carriers."

  "Pick your team as you wish, Jason," Richards said. "But be guided by Mr. Diaz as far as the salvage team personnel he thinks are best suited to your part of the operation." He looked around. "Anything else?"

  When there was no response Galbraith took over once more. "Very good. Colonel, make whatever changes you need to in your assault plan to include the survey teams. I emphasize again that battle group personnel have full authority at all times. Our people have the final say in how things are done. Commander Tolwyn, you'll have to see to any changes the extra personnel will cause in the shuttle load specs, of course."

  "Yes, sir," the younger Tolwyn responded, a don't-tell-me-my-job gleam briefly flashing in his eyes. "It'll be taken care of."

  Bhaktadil spoke again. "Keep in mind that if the shielding is out aboard the derelict we will have a radiation problem to deal with. Space armor can protect personnel for a short time, and the portable shield generators we're loading aboard the shuttles will handle the problem for a while longer—but only over limited areas. Make sure the people you choose for your survey teams are used to suit work. Zero-g experience would be useful, too, if the gray systems have gone off-line . . ."

  "I dare say we've more experience of this kind of work than you have, Colonel," Diaz told him. "Though I admit we've never operated outside of a dry dock facility before."

  "That's where we come in," Dickerson—or was it Lake?—put in. "The quicker your gang gets things secured and calls us in, the sooner you'll have all the comforts of home, courtesy of the good ship Sindri."

  The briefing session moved on to more detailed discussions of individual phases of the operation, and Bondarevsky leaned back in his chair and let the comments flow past him while he considered the mission. It seemed strange not to be in Kevin Tolwyn's position, planning for the flight wing's operation as the mission profile unfolded. Bondarevsky was eager to be something more than a VIP to be shielded by marines and kept out of the chain of command.

  He was ready for action again.

  Flight Wing Officer's Lounge, FRLS Independence

  Deep Space, Oecumene System

  1924 hours (CST)

  The Officers' Lounge set aside for use by the Flight Wing had always been one of Bondarevsky's favorite places aboard the old Tarawa. Even after he'd gone on to become the captain of the ship he'd still managed to wangle frequent invitations to join the off-duty pilots in the large recreation area, even though there were those who claimed it was bad for a CO to socialize too freely with his crew. Bondarevsky had always maintained that it was good for morale for him to relax
with his men instead of retreating into the isolation of the captain's cabin, and there was certainly an element of truth in the statement. It had done his morale no end of good, whatever impact it might have had on the rest of the ship. By nature a sociable man, Bondarevsky had never fully come to grips with the isolation imposed on a commanding officer.

  Tonight Kevin Tolwyn had extended the invitation, part of a long-time ritual of theirs—toasting an upcoming mission with a few drinks the night before it was scheduled to start. The lounge was much as Bondarevsky remembered it. Evidently Armando Diaz and his men hadn't seen any need for extensive renovations in this part of the ship when they'd brought it back into commission. There was a shabby, run-down atmosphere about the room now, mildly depressing to Bondarevsky. He had the feeling that he could walk over to the dart board on the bulkhead beside the door and turn it over to reveal the same dog-eared picture of Max Kruger that had been a favorite point of aim for dartsmen back in the Free Corps cruise.

  But even so there was something right about being here with Tolwyn and Sparks, sharing a quiet drink, swapping old war stories or just pausing to stare out the wide windows that dominated one wall with a panoramic view of space.

  Bondarevsky was watching a shuttle moving a few hundred meters from the monstrous factory ship Andrew Carnegie. Nearly totally automated, the factory ship had a tiny crew to oversee operations, but frequent personal inspections inside and out were the order of the day to ensure that no trouble developed that wasn't caught and acted on early. Carnegie -- Bondarevsky had heard that her nickname, "Old Carnage," referred to a notorious accident on board ten years back that had resulted in the deaths of most of her crew after a catastrophic computer breakdown—was going to play merry hell with the rest of the battle group's operation. Ponderous and difficult to maneuver, she'd slow them down tremendously in both normal space and jumps through hyperspace, but she was too damned valuable to abandon if they were caught in a firelight. In addition, they'd have to find a ready source of raw materials to keep her fulfilling her intended function, and the brown dwarf's ring system had already been ruled out as being mostly ice chunks lacking almost all the minerals needed to turn out finished replacement components. Wrangling over exactly how to ensure the big factory ship's safety had taken up a large portion of the briefing earlier in the day, and Bondarevsky still wasn't entirely happy with the outcome. But Old Max had decreed that the carrier was to be refurbished where they found it or not at all, even though Sindri's captain had claimed he could tow the derelict home to Landreich and save a lot of headaches by getting her into a proper space dock for her refit.

  But it wasn't just concerns over how difficult it might be to get the supercarrier back to civilization that had dictated Kruger's decision to refit her in the field. The longer they kept the project under wraps, the bigger the surprise the Landreich would hand the Kilrathi if and when they threw her into action . . . and the less likely the Confederation would be to get wind of the scheme and try to stop it. That was almost as important, at this stage, with Commissioner Williams still making threatening noises about Terran intervention in the event of escalating hostilities out here on the frontier.

  "You're looking particularly out of it tonight, skipper," Sparks commented after the silence had gone on for a while. "You feeling okay?"

  "He's just beat down by all the haggling, that's all," Tolwyn told her. "By God, I swear these Landreichers have everything backwards! Their president wants to lead fleets in action, and he's damned good at it, too . . . while the fleet officers sit and argue more than any bunch of worthless politicians who ever disgraced a parliament! Do you suppose Landreich's ruling council would make good fighters, Jason?"

  He smiled without much humor. "Just look at Captain Galbraith. His family damn near controls the council back on Landreich. And he's sure waving the flag properly."

  Tolwyn snorted. "Yeah, right." He looked at Sparks. "You think there's a spot for me in your techie crew on the new ship if I finally get fed up and go after the guy?"

  She turned a sunny grin on him. "Why, surely, sir. Just as long as you remember to be careful of my planes."

  "Oh, great," he groaned. "Somebody else who wants to take over our birds! Just what we didn't need."

  "Hey, let's face it, Commander, those birds have always belonged to the techies. We just loan them out to you flyboys . . . and we don't let the spit-and-polish navy even get near them!"

  "Don't tell our illustrious Captain Galbraith," Tolwyn said. "He thinks he owns the whole shooting match."

  "When you figure it was probably his father's money backing Kruger when he started buying decommissioned ships from the Confederation, you can see where he might get the idea," Bondarevsky pointed out. "I always knew Max Kruger was playing things entirely too fast and loose back in the old days, but it's gotten a lot worse since then. He's let Galbraith and the other big money boys get a stranglehold on his government, and all because he couldn't be bothered with the petty details of playing president the way he was supposed to."

  "You think it'll be a problem down the line, Jason?" Tolwyn asked. "I mean, some of us have burned our bridges back home, and if it falls apart out here too . . ."

  "Keep your priorities in order, Kevin," Bondarevsky advised. "First we've got the Kilrathi threat to deal with. Then we've got to deal with the Confederation and whatever their silly little game is. It's only if we weather both those meteor swarms that we'll have to worry about the long-term health of Max Kruger's government. I figure the odds of it ever being a problem we'll have to cope with are long enough that we don't need to bother worrying."

  "Cheery these days, isn't he, Sparks?" Tolwyn said. "You don't know the half of it, sir," she told him.

  "I call them like I see them," he said. "Tell me something, Kevin. Do you have any idea what's got your uncle acting so paranoid? He was always big on secret schemes, but since I met him on the Moon I've had the feeling he's got something really big going on, something he won't tell either me or Vance Richards."

  Tolwyn nodded. "I know something's up, but I couldn't tell you what. All I know for sure is that getting me to sign up out here with Kruger's gang wasn't intended to further my career. It went against everything he's ever tried to do for me before. I invested half a lifetime in a Confederation Navy career and threw it out in five minutes because Uncle Geoff suddenly thought it was important I take this deal instead."

  "Why?"

  Tolwyn shrugged. "Beats the hell out of me. But I had the definite feeling he was worried about my safety . . . about my physical well-being. A couple of times he let slip things that suggested he thought Terra was not a very healthy place to be a Tolwyn for the next few years."

  "Bad feeling from the court-martial, maybe?" Sparks suggested.

  "Maybe," Tolwyn said. "But that was a nine-day wonder at best. Nobody'll ever forget it, and he made a few more enemies before it was all done with, but I just don't see it being a raging topic of controversy that would leave him worrying about our security."

  "True enough," Bondarevsky said. "Well, look, Kevin, I'm not going to ask you to spy on your uncle or anything like that. But if you pick up anything you think I should know about, please pass it on. I respect the old man's judgment in most things, but ever since Behemoth . . ."

  "Yeah. Ever since Behemoth." Tolwyn shook his head. "That was a goddamned shame. Screwed up from start to finish. To think that Hobbes was the one who betrayed him, too. One of the only two Cats I ever met that I would have trusted with my life."

  "Whatever happened to the other one?" Sparks asked. "Kirha . the one I met in Britain when we were getting ready for the Free Corps mission."

  Bondarevsky looked down at his empty glass. "You know he was bound by oath to Hunter . . . took the strongest possible Kilrathi vow to be the loyal servant of 'Ian St. John Who Is Also Known As Hunter.' Well, Ian bought it when we were out here. You remember, Sparks?"

  She nodded sadly, and so did Tolwyn. Captain Ian St. John ha
d been one of the old band of brothers . . . and the best friend a man could have on his wing in a furball.

  "Kirha was shipped off to Ian's ranch Down Under for the duration. The brass was worried that he might get wind of what we were doing with the Free Corps operation, shipping ships and men out to serve with Kruger's boys while the Confederation was in the middle of those phony peace negotiations. I flew down there after the Battle of Earth to let Ian's folks know what had happened first-hand. I couldn't put that kind of thing in an internet bulletin, you know." He paused, staring down at the drink again, wrapped up in unpleasant memories.

  "And?" Sparks urged. "Did you see Kirha?"

  He shook his head. "No, I was too late. The news had got there ahead of me. And Kirha did the only thing he could do under the circumstances, given the vow he'd sworn. The big orange bastard took a knife and stabbed himself through the heart. Zu'kara . . . ritual suicide. Without his adopted clan leader, he was alone in a strange culture, and I don't think Kirha wanted to live without Hunter to lead him."

  "Cats," Tolwyn said. "I can't figure them. Barbaric, stupid buggers if you ask me."

  "You're wrong there, Kevin," Bondarevsky said sternly. "The Kilrathi have been civilized a lot longer than we have, and they're anything but stupid. Or else the war would have been over with a long time back, and without all the blood and pain we've had to invest just to fight them to a standstill. No, they just have a different outlook on things. If more of our political leaders would stop treating them as if they were humans in furry suits and start recognizing just how different their culture is, we might be able to deal with them better. Find common ground, even. It's only when you insist on holding somebody to your own narrow standards that you shut off all hope of ever reaching them. Hearts and minds and all that."