"Thought you'd bought it, Geoff. Are you all right?"
"Think so."
"Listen, ensign, next time, stay on my wing."
Geoff looked straight into Vance's eyes and then saw the faintest of smiles.
"Thanks for saving my ass. You did good for a rookie," Vance finally said, patting Geoff's shoulder. "Damn, the good Lord most certainly protects fools. Andrews and Foch each had nearly a thousand hours and bought it, yet here you are."
The medic stood back up and motioned for one of the ship's doctors to come over. The doctor stopped for a moment, listened while the medic whispered something, nodded, then walked away.
Geoff looked up anxiously as the medic knelt back down by his side, reached into his kit, pulled out a high pressure injector and dialed in a mixture.
"Say, what the hell are you doing?" Geoff asked. "I'm okay."
"No you're not, ensign. You're not just burned. Hell, you've got some durasteel frags in you. You're heading up to surgery."
Before Geoff could say another word the medic slapped the injector against Geoffs thigh and hit the button. Within seconds the world around Tolwyn started to go soft and fuzzy.
"You son of a bitch," Geoff moaned, "I can still fly."
"Not today, Geoff," Vance said reassuringly.
Geoff looked up and saw a deck officer standing to one side and motioning to Vance.
"Sir, we're forming up a covering unit. You're needed."
Vance nodded.
"Take care, kid. I'll come up and see you later."
Geoff laid his head back on the hard durasteel deck. Strange, he could hear the vibrations, the distant thump of an internal explosion rumbling through the ship, and then it seemed to dissolve into a soft memory of England and home.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Confederation Fleet Headquarters
Mumbling a stream of obscenities that even his staff was amazed to hear, Skip Banbridge watched the vid display.
"This is no longer the time for partisan politics," Senator More announced. "Some might say that we see now the harvest sown by the current administration for its years of neglect of the fleet. Our fleet was caught by surprise and those responsible will be held accountable, but now is not the time for that. But I can assure you that the appropriations bill which I have labored so long, and so hard for, will be placed upon the floor of the Senate this very afternoon."
The senator struck a pained expression. He pushed back his mop of wavy gray hair from his eyes and looked straight at the camera, as if struggling for control.
"I pray for all our brave men and women who are sacrificing themselves at this very moment. In spirit, I stand there with them. In spirit, I will make any sacrifice necessary to turn back this dastardly aggression. Though it is obvious our fleet was caught totally by surprise, I can assure you that new blood and new muscle will be infused and we shall go on, together, for victory."
He dramatically lowered his head.
"Let us pray together…"
Disgusted, Skip switched the vid off.
"He'll be coming after you tomorrow," one of the staff said.
"Let the bastard try. I want one of you to find the vid from last summer, the one where that Tolwyn boy laid into him. Get it over to the president. Find a vid newscaster we know still believes in the truth."
He shook his head. "That'll be a challenge but find one, have it shown."
"New burst signal updates coming in, sir, from comm central."
Banbridge activated the large holo field in the middle of the planning room.
A three dimensional map of the Confederation appeared, showing the frontier and demilitarized zone. Three large red arrows showed where identified attack groups had penetrated, the primary axis of the attack striking at McAuliffe. A task force, with a battleship and a cruiser squadron, was striking into the Yarin system, opposite where the old Varni Republic used to be. A third arrow was directed out on the flank, indicating an attack into the Landreich. A dozen other arrows showed where smaller raiding forces were, or where unconfirmed reports indicated incursions. One of the arrows was already two jump points in, with a data indicator that three frigates and a cruiser had devastated a forward base world with nuclear weapons and then pushed on. The one area that was quiet was the Facin Sector. The phony war had been just that.
The Kilrathi didn't even care about where the war had started, and were not even bothering to counterattack. Orders had already been issued for the task force to pull back out to cover the Yarin sector.
It looked as though the entire frontier was collapsing. More than thirty billion citizens of the Confederation were, at this moment, facing annihilation or captivity… and there was nothing he could do about it.
Along the entire jump line from McAuliffe back to Earth, there was only one squadron of destroyers besides Dayan's task force. If the fleet at McAuliffe was totally destroyed, nothing could stop the Kilrathi from storming straight on, into the inner worlds. If there was anything left out there, he could only pray that whoever was in charge knew how to save the ships and get out.
It had been nearly twenty-four hours since the action had opened. Burst signal back to McAuliffe was down again, and all he could do was wait and pray.
Mcauliffe System
Coughing and spitting, Valeri Olson crossed through the damage control doors and stepped back into the Combat Information Center. A damage control ensign handed her a bottle of oxygen and she gratefully took a couple of breaths. Wiping the soot from her face, she looked around the deck. The ventilation system filters had already overloaded, so the room had a surreal sense to it; smoke-filled, red lights from battle displays illuminating the center in a Dantesque light. Turner was standing in the middle of the room, waiting for her.
"How is it?" he asked, not even bothering to look at her, his gaze fixed on the holo field.
"There's at least a hundred dead or missing. Fire is still raging on deck twelve, sectors B through K. It's a hell of a mess back there, but we can still fight."
"The warhead?"
She smiled. "The armorer said she's a dud. He said it was the damnedest thing, a key link in the firing mechanism was installed backwards. A test scan would show it in place, but an actual firing, and nothing."
Surprised, Turner looked at her.
"All I can think is that we heard reports about how the Kilrathi use slave labor. Maybe somebody decided to do a little sabotage."
The irony of it all caught Turner's attention. Whoever installed the card backwards had saved his carrier, yet he would never know who it was, nor would the saboteur know just how much they had accomplished.
"And here?"
Turner nodded towards the holo display. He had been on his feet for over twenty-four hours as they made the long retreat out of the system, maneuvering around the primary star to finally rendezvous with Dayan, coming down from jump point Delta.
"Their carriers are starting to move away from McAuliffe, heading towards us. Two battleships are bombarding the surface, wiping out any pockets of resistance. It looks like ten assault transports are moving in to disembark a landing force."
He held up a pointer and started to trace out particular points of the battle.
"Did anyone else get out?"
Turner shook his head. "Three frigates, a couple of destroyers, one light cruiser, all the rest are gone."
"My God," she whispered, "that's it?"
"That's it. We've lost over eighty ships, the base-" he paused, " — and at least two hundred thousand personnel."
"Where's Dayan now?"
He pointed back to the holo field and a blue flash appeared.
"She is coming in to rendezvous with us now."
"And you're still going to do this?"
Turner nodded.
"Val, we've got to do something. The Third Marine Division down on McAuliffe is putting up a hell of a fight. We can't write them off. Tactically, the Cats should have taken off in hot pursuit of us before we coul
d link up with Dayan. But, for God knows what reason, they stayed in orbit around McAuliffe, providing space-to-ground support. The Marines and surface-to-space interdiction systems tore things up, and they lost a lot of birds."
He fell silent, remembering the pullback with Commando Six, two of his men left behind. I should have died with them, I should have stayed. I'll be damned if I let them down now. Ulandi's down there.
He looked over at Val.
"If you think I'm out of line, Val, tell me. We're talking about going back in."
She shook her head. "That's a good division down there, Turner, thirty thousand men and women. We're not going to abandon them."
"More like ten or fifteen by now," Turner replied sadly. "The damn Cats just nuked the hell out of the place. The only thing relatively intact is the airstrips. But Val, if we go back it might very well mean this ship."
"If the situation was reversed, what would they do?" she said with a smile.
"Come back and try to get our asses out, or die doing it," he replied softly. "But we've got to think of this carrier and Dayan's task force. We're the only assets left between here and the inner worlds. Even if we do fight our way in, there's no way in hell we'll be able to stay. All we can hope to do is cut them up enough so that the old Third has a fighting chance, then get the hell out."
"Sir, if we turn about and run, everyone will know we've abandoned our comrades. We're going to have to come about anyhow, and face off against the bastards, and we might as well do it here. Maybe, if we twist their tails enough, it'll stop them from pushing on, even if we do go down in the process."
Turner nodded wearily. It was the same argument he had used for himself. It had to be more than sentiment, more than guilt for a dead team lost twenty years ago. Yes, it was those things, but he could not allow himself the luxury of letting the personal side interfere with a decision that could very well affect the outcome of the war. Dayan was in favor of the suggestion as well. There was part of him that wished the comm link with Banbridge was back up, so he could push the decision to Skip, but he knew that was dodging the shot. And besides, he knew what Skip would do.
"Hell of a day," Valeri said, looking over at Turner.
"Thanks again for not putting up an argument when I came on board."
"Hell, sir, if I had you might have flunked me if I ever came back to the Academy for some graduate work."
The Academy… a long way from that now. He thought of his office, the photo of Marine Six, the other of Midway and the suicidal gesture of the Torpedo Squadrons.
"Well, Val," he said quietly, "maybe they won't cut the budget after all."
"Commander Turner?"
The comm screen lit up to show Rear Admiral Naomi Dayan, her pale blue eyes blazing with an intense emotion. "I've reviewed your suggested tactical plan and am in agreement."
Turner nodded grimly.
"I'm ordering the fleet to come about now and close at top speed."
Gilkarg paced back and forth angrily, looking at the plot board. Everything was confusion. The first assault wave, which was supposed to drop six hours after the initial attack and secure the landing sites, had failed abysmally. An entire legion had been annihilated before they had even touched down, slaughtered by hidden surface-to-air batteries which had held their fire until the transports were in the atmosphere. Nargth had ordered the direct attack, rather than transferring the troops over to landing craft, claiming that all resistance had been neutralized and that it would be a waste of time to go through the transfer.
As a result the other transports had been pulled back out of orbit and the Imperial shock troops were just now completing the transfer to assault landing craft, while his bombers and fighters continued to pound the planet's surface.
This was not what he wanted his carriers to engage in. The old doctrines were gone, it was the surviving enemy carrier and the new one that had come into the system which should be his targets. Damn Nargth for sending the dispatch to the Emperor about the opening stage of the attack. The orders had come for his own group to stay near McAuliffe until the base had been seized, and only then for the fleet to push on in pursuit.
"My Lord."
Gilkarg looked over at his tactical command officer.
"My Lord, the enemy carriers and their accompanying ships are reported to be moving at high speed."
Gilkarg walked over to the tactical display and examined the red blips.
"They're not fleeing, they're coming back," Gilkarg whispered.
"Yes, my Lord."
Interesting. Suicidal, two carriers against his five, two battleships against eight, and even greater odds with the smaller ships. Suicidal. Excellent, there would be no lengthy stern chase across half a dozen systems. They could not stand by and watch their base fall. And yet, disturbing in a vague way. It was a gesture he himself would make, rather than retreat and admit defeat. The humans and their allies were degenerate, why would they come back when fleeing was the only logical choice? It violated, as well, the Ninth Maxim, "always reinforce triumph, learn to back away from defeat."
"Our strike forces?"
"My lord, nearly two thirds are currently engaged down on the planet, or refitting for another strike."
"Closing time for their fleet?"
"They'll have to clear the force of destroyers shadowing them. Four hours, my lord, if they close with scoops closed."
Gilkarg looked at the plot board. Damn it all, should I send the next strike in to insure that the landing sites are neutralized, or start to refit?
"Hail from Admiral Nargth."
Gilkarg looked up at the screen.
"My Prince. I assume you've seen that they're coming back."
"Yes, Admiral. Nothing to worry about. We'll meet them far forward."
"I need my landing forces protected. The arrival of their additional forces is disturbing."
"We outnumber them in total firepower by better than six to one now."
"So why are they coming back?"
"Madness."
"I ask that you continue the bombardment with your next strike wave. There'll be time enough to refit and meet them."
Gilkarg hesitated. It would be better to start moving his carriers now, rather than delay the additional two hours or more it would take to send the next strike down and recover it.
"You said we outnumber them six to one in fire power. My attack must go in now, and the Emperor will not be pleased if yet another legion is lost to their ground fire."
Though that mistake was Nargth's, Gilkarg nodded in agreement.
"We'll launch the next attack, then move to destroy the rest of their fleet. We should be able to recover all strike craft in two hours, and have time to move out against them."
The pilots for the next strike were filing in and, spotting Tolwyn, Turner went up to the ensign.
"You don't have to do this, Geoff. You're listed as down."
"If you were in my boots, sir, what would you do? Hell, it was only a couple of frags."
"Second-degree burns, a dozen durasteel fragments and part of a rudder pedal dug out of your legs, Tolwyn. Now, get the hell back to sick bay."
"I've been out of the fight for over a day, sir. There's a hell of a lot of people out on damage control or at their battle stations in worse shape than I am, sir. I'm going."
Turner looked at him closely, trying to judge whether he should ground the boy. He'd done his part. Sheer dumb luck he was still alive. Again sentiment. My heart telling me to order the boy off-line, save his life, but we need every pilot we can get for this counterstrike.
"How's the pain?"
"Hurt's like hell, but I tossed the pills they brought me so I'm clear. Don't worry." He forced a smile. "I can handle it."
"All right, then," Turner said wearily and patted him on the shoulder.
Vance Richards, eyes rimmed with exhaustion, came in last and Turner broke away from Geoff, motioning for him to sit down.
"How is it out there?"
"Well, sir, their destroyers didn't expect us to come blowing straight through with scoops closed. We lost two more fighters, but the road's wide open to McAuliffe."
"How many missions have you flown since yesterday?"
"Six, sir."
"You should be off the board on this one, Richards."
Vance smiled and shook his bead. "This is the big one, sir. I hate to tell you this to your face, but I'll simply disobey. We've got more fighters than pilots, and you'll need every one you've got for this crazy stunt."
Turner nodded sadly.
"Just do me a favor," he said, lowering his voice. "Keep an eye on Geoff. The kid barely survived it yesterday. I should ground him, but I can't."
"I'll try, sir."
Turner walked up to the front of the room and scanned the assembled pilots. Twenty-three were left, half a dozen of them obviously wounded.
"This will be short and sweet. You start launch in seven minutes. For once we have more planes than pilots so, those of you with damaged craft, your crew chiefs will take you to your new ones. This is an all-fighter strike from Concordia, bomber pilots, you'll be in Wildcats. Ark Royal's bombers will provide the strike power. Their mission will be to strike against the closest carrier. Combat Information is currently showing all their carriers are moving away from McAuliffe to intercept."
"Now, here's the tough part. Just before hitting the carrier you will break off, head for McAuliffe, loop the planet and nail the transports and landing craft. Once the bombers strike their carrier, Ark Royal's fighters will form the second wave and loop in after you. Remember, that is the real main target in this attack. The only hope Third Marine has of holding the planet is our dumping their assault landing craft before they hit the surface. You'll only have time for one sweep. You can't slow down, you'll need all the velocity you have to loop back out and make it to the rendezvous point, so it's a straight in and then out strike. Toggle all your missiles into your computer and let it do the acquisition and firing. You just handle your guns.
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