Heart Of The Tiger wc-4

by William R. Forstchen

  "The Terran success will not last," Thrakhath told him. "They are too badly outnumbered to deal with all our ships. Particularly once the fighters are fully deployed. ''

  "The attacks on the flagship may be no more than a diversion, Lord Prince. The Terrans feint and threaten, but do not press home their thrusts. Nor are they eager to engage our fighters. We have destroyed two medium interceptors and a bomber, and others are damaged. But one of their squadrons is pursuing the missile flight. If they can intercept the missiles, the whole plan will be lost. We should consider diverting additional fighters to cover the missile strike."

  "No, Melek," he said at last. "No, the Red Fangs will be sufficient for that task. The other fighters will remain here, to support the fleet. And to threaten the Terran carrier, once they break off their attacks here."

  "As you command, Lord Prince," Melek acknowledged. But Thrakhath thought he could detect an undercurrent of dispute in his retainer's tone. That would have to be dealt with, at some point, lest it grow into open rebellion.

  A pity, really, if Thrakhath ultimately was forced to do away with him. Melek was too useful a subordinate to dispose of casually.

  * * *

  Thunderbolt 300.

  Locanda System

  "Stay on them," Blair said through tight-clenched teeth. "Stay on them . . ."

  A cluster of Kilrathi missiles glowed bright on his short-range scanner, almost within weapons range now as the Terrans continued their pursuit. Then they were gone again, cloaked, equally invisible to electronic scanning and the naked eye. It made the chase a frustrating one, never knowing just when the targets might be visible or where their essentially random course changes might put them next. But patience and a little bit of luck would still be enough to stop the Kilrathi warheads . . . provided the Terrans kept on top of the Skippers. If any of them got past the Confederation fighters, picking up their trail again later would be well-nigh impossible.

  "Hobbes, you and Flash get to play tag with these boys," Blair announced on the tactical channel. "Stick with it until you clean them up. and try to let us know if any of them get past you. Save your missiles if you can . . . there might be some tougher opponents for you to go after later on." He paused. "The rest of you stay with me. We'll track down that next batch while Hobbes has his fun here. Fire at any target of opportunity, beams only . . . and don't deviate from your flight paths. Let's do it!"

  * * *

  Red Fang Leader.

  Locanda System

  Flight Captain Graldak nar Sutaghi accelerated his Strakha fighter to full power and studied the tell-tales flickering on his sensor screen. The Terrans were among the missiles now, beginning to fire as the Vrag'chath popped in and out of view to allow their computers to make course corrections in flight. It was time for Graldak's warriors to make their presence known.

  He outnumbered the Terrans, with two eights of fighters in his command against eight-and-two of the Terran Thunderbolts. But it wasn't much of a margin of superiority. If only Prince Thrakhath had provided additional fighter support for the missiles! But instead he had chosen to hold back the bulk of the Imperial fighters to defend his flagship, even though a half-blind churnah could see that the Terran attack had been a mere feint to hold Imperial assets in place around the fleet while they tried to stop the missiles.

  It would be fitting if Thrakhath's flagship was blown away, Graldak thought. The Prince and his half-senile grandfather had done nothing right since the war with the Terrans had first begun. There was a stirring throughout the Empire these days, the first scent of change on the wind. If only the Imperial familys iron talons could be pried loose for a time, the Clans would rise and sweep them aside. Then the Empire could end this fruitless war with the humans, come to terms with them as predators rather than continuing to view them, as Thrakhath did, as prey.

  But meantime the War went on, and Graldak had duty and honor to maintain.

  "Red Fang Leader to Gleaming Talon Squadron," Graldak said aloud. "Drop out of cloak and engage the Terrans. The honor of battle is yours."

  Gleaming Talon's fighters were a good match for the Terran Thunderbolts, especially with the element of surprise on their side. They would tie the Terrans up for a few critical minutes, at least, and that would give the other flights of missiles time to get further away. Once they were more than a few thousand octomaks from the Terran fighters, they would be even harder to detect.

  And, meanwhile, Red Fang squadron would remain clear of the fighting, until Graldak could decide how best to intervene. After all, it wasn't just missiles that could hide behind a cloak.

  CHAPTER XIII

  Thunderbolt 300.

  Locanda System

  "We got us some company, Colonel. I count eight on an intercept course, bearing zero-one-six by three-five-eight."

  The target reticule flashed on his HUD, and Blair glanced down at the targeting data display to his right even as Flint's words were registering. Targets . . . ? Where had they come from?

  The answer made a cold lump in his stomach as the computer displayed a diagram of the nearest target, asymmetrical, with projecting horns that gave it a menacing, alien shape. Even before he saw the name Blair recognized the design and cursed under his breath. He should have realized what he was up against immediately.

  Strakha fighters.

  They were comparatively rare in the Kilrathi arsenal as yet, an advanced-technology space fighter on the cutting edge of Kilrathi science. Intelligence had nicknamed them "Stealth Cats" before they'd ever actually been encountered in combat, and they lived up to the name. They were designed for sneaking, pure and simple, with sensor-distorting materials incorporated into the hull and a shape that tended to confuse most scanning systems. Worst of all, though, they mounted a cloaking device that could actually obscure the craft from any detection whatsoever, at least for short periods of time. But unlike the Skipper missiles, they could stay hidden, without having to drop the cloak to make navigation checks.

  The new Excaliburs Rachel Coriolis had been drooling over a few weeks back had been designed to incorporate a Terran knock-off of a captured Kilrathi cloak, but the Excaliburs weren't in production yet Strakha were. And they were here, in the Locanda system, right now.

  "I see them, Flint," Blair acknowledged his wingman's call. "Escorts, to take our minds off the missiles."

  "Hard to ignore them," Flint said. When they want to meet us so bad and all . . ."

  He didn't answer her. "Maniac, Cobra, engage the escort fighters. Wingmen, stay with your leaders. The rest of you, stay on course and only engage if you have to.

  "Ready to rock'n roll!" Marshall responded. "C'mon Sandy, let's teach these kitties a few new flying tricks!"

  "We're on it," Cobra added a moment later.

  Four Thunderbolts broke formation, Maniac and Sandman rolling left, Cobra and Beast to the right as they spread out to meet the oncoming Kilrathi craft. He hoped his people could deal with two-to-one odds.

  That left four Terran fighters to pursue the Imperial missiles. And if even one of them got through . . .

  Blair forced the thought from his mind. He couldn't afford doubts now.

  "Here, kitty, kitty," Maniac was taunting. "Get ready to become cat chow!"

  The Thunderbolts maintained formation as they drove through the enemy squadron. Blair's target computer selected the closest fighter and locked on, and as the crosshairs glowed on his HUD Blair triggered his blasters. Energy beams raked the Kilrathi ship, not quite enough to penetrate the shields. But a moment later Flint was firing. The target ship tried to dodge out of range, but too late. Flint's blaster tore through shields, armor, and hull, and the Strakha blew.

  "Twenty-one!" Flint called. She sounded excited, eager. "Thanks for laying him open for me, Colonel!"

  "Any time, Lieutenant," Blair told her. "Just remember to keep your wits about you. Keep it frosty."

  Another explosion flared to port, where Vagabond had scored a hit. Hobbes and Flas
h, meantime, had broken formation to pursue the flight of missiles. The four remaining Thunderbolts in Blair's dwindling force raced on, past another Skipper that Vaquero and Blair each managed to tag. It didn't blow, but Blair's targeting computer reported extensive damage to the guidance systems and steering jets. That made it virtually certain to miss its target.

  They didn't have to destroy their targets, just disable them. Another advantage, however slight . . .

  They still needed every advantage they could muster.

  * * *

  Thunderbolt 308.

  Locanda System

  "Look out, Beast, you've got one on your tail!" Lieutenant Laurel Buckley bit off a curse as she brought her fighter around to support Jaeger. Almost from the moment they'd come into weapons range the Kilrathi had been pressing their attack hard, their fighters swarming like angry hornets around the outnumbered Terrans. Strakha were dangerous foes when the odds were even. When they had numbers on their side as well they were deadly.

  But the four Thunderbolts could keep them busy for a while, and that might give Blair the time he needed. Cobra found herself wondering, briefly, if the colonel's decision to order her and Maniac to deal with the escorts was Blair's way of getting rid of the pilots he trusted least. Everyone in the Wing knew how he felt about Marshall . and she suspected he had the same opinion of her, after their clashes over Ralgha and Flint.

  And Jaeger had the only fighter damaged by the destroyer's fire. Was he being left as a diversion because he, too, was considered expendable?

  On the other hand, he'd kept Dillon paired with his precious Kilrathi friend, and nobody figured Flash as anything but deadwood.

  No, Blair didn't strike her as the kind to let personal feelings dictate his tactical choices. He probably figured that she and Maniac would be better at this kind of free-for-all dogfighting than they were likely to be pursuing and attacking the strike craft. Four Thunderbolts against eight Strakha — no, six, now, after Flint and Maniac had each managed to take one out — called for aggressive flying, and that was one thing Cobra Buckley was good at.

  "Hold her steady, Beast," she said, lining up on the fighter behind Jaeger. "Steady . . . turn port! Port!" She squeezed the trigger on her blasters as she shouted.

  Jaeger cut sharply to the left, then broke right again as he applied braking thrust. The Strakha, pounded by Cobra's beams, shot past Beast's Thunderbolt, and Jaeger opened fire on the exposed tail where the shields were still shimmering from the fury of Buckley's attack.

  For a moment nothing happened. Then the shields collapsed and Jaeger's blasters tore through armor. A shot penetrated to the power plant, and the Strakha exploded.

  "Nice shooting, partner!" Cobra called, grinning.

  You set it up," Jaeger said. "Only five more to go!"

  "Four!" Maniac cut in. "I've already nailed two of the bastards. Come on, you two, join the party! Plenty of little kitty asses for everybody!"

  "Two more coming in, Cobra," Jaeger reported. "Up ahead . . . shit! My shield generator's fritzing on me again!"

  "Back off, Beast, let me handle — The two Strakha dived straight in, concentrating their fire on Jaeger's Thunderbolt. Shot after shot raked the fighter. He was trying to turn away, but Buckley could see he was too late. The bow shield was failing . . .

  Then it was over. The fireball consumed Jaeger's fighter so bright her computer cut in the polarizers for an instant to protect her eyes. When she could see again, nothing remained of Helmut Jaeger's craft but a rapidly-expanding cloud of twisted, scorched metal fragments.

  She could hardly believe it had happened so suddenly. One instant Jaeger had been out there . . . now, nothing. It took her back to the horrors of the Kilrathi labor camp to guards who would strike down a slave without warning and to people she knew who vanished in the night. The cats were always the same, always killing without warning and without mercy, taking joy from death and fear and pain . . .

  "Bastards!" she screamed, hitting her afterburners to dive toward the nearest Strakha as she opened fire with all her energy weapons at once. "Damn cat bastards! I'll see you all in hell!"

  * * *

  Strike Leader.

  Locanda System

  Graldak nar Sutaghi bared his fangs as four Terran fighters accelerated away from the developing battle. So, the Terran strike leader knows how to hunt, he thought grimly. Prince Thrakhath had bestowed a name upon their Flight Wing commander: The Heart of the Tiger. Today the human was living up to the honor of that name, clinging to his mission despite all the barriers the Empire raised in his path.

  Did Thrakhath realize what kind of warrior this ape was? The Prince wasn't known for esteeming his Terran foes, even those who received a Kilrathi vendetta-name.

  No matter, now. The only thing that counted at the moment was victory, and that was very nearly under Graldak's claws. The Terrans had managed to destroy two of the four flights of missiles, and they had almost reached the third. But they would get no further.

  "Red Fang squadron," he said aloud, feeling the battle-lust surging through his veins. "Decloak and engage at will!"

  * * *

  Thunderbolt 300.

  Locanda System

  "Keep them off me! Keep them off me!" Vaquero's voice was urgent in Blair's headphones. "Where the hell are you, Vagabond?"

  "Just hang in there a little longer," the Chinese pilot responded. "The cavalry's coming."

  Blair wrenched his attention back to his HUD as a Strakha dived toward him, guns blazing. This last batch of enemy fighters had come at them out of nowhere eight against his four, and the Terrans were fighting for their lives. Even as he flipped the Thunderbolt into a tight, high-G evasive turn a part of his mind was on another part of the battle entirely . . . and on the clock. Each second ticking away took the final flight of Kilrathi missiles further from the Terran fighters, letting them spread out. Soon it would be all but impossible to detect them even when they weren't cloaked.

  He tracked the Strakha in, holding his fire and waiting for an opening. Then Flint swept past, her blasters searing, battering at the other ship's shields. Blair joined the barrage, and the Strakha came apart.

  "Twenty-two, Lieutenant" he remarked dryly.

  "No, sir, that one was yours. I just softened him up." Flint sounded as tired as he felt.

  "We'll debate it when we get back to Old Vic," he said, trying to sound encouraging. Flint had done yeoman duty on his wing today, keeping formation, supporting him constantly, never forgetting herself or yielding to temptation. Since that first hit she hadn't scored a clean kill, but she didn't seem to be concerned at missing her chance to rack up more points in her quest for revenge. After this, he wouldn't doubt her again, he told himself as he turned his attention back to his sensor readouts. "Scanning for new targets."

  There were four more Strakha ahead.

  "Everybody up to another dogfight?" he asked. "Targets at eleven o'clock, low. Let's nail them!"

  The four Thunderbolts closed up into tight formation and drove for the newest targets. The Strakha broke formation promptly, not waiting for the usual round of individual sorties that usually marked a fight with the Kilrathi. Their CO must he one hell of a leader, Blair thought.

  "Vaquero, Vagabond, you guys dance with these four, Blair called. "I want to try for the rest of the missiles. You with me, Flint?"

  "On your wing, Colonel," she told him.

  He broke to port and increased thrust, with Flint's fighter sticking close by. The other two Thunderbolts drove straight toward the Strakha, but these Kilrathi pilots didn't rise to the bait of close combat. Blair saw the images on his scanner flicker and go out as the Strakha engaged their cloaks again. He muttered a curse under his breath.

  "Keep a sharp eye out, people," he said over the comm channel. "They'll be back. Bet on it."

  And suddenly they were back, two of them, at least. The pair of Kilrathi fighters materialized right on his tail, releasing missiles and then fading out of sigh
t once again. Blair dumped a decoy missile and banked sharply, feeling the familiar rush of adrenaline in his blood. One of the enemy missiles picked up the decoy and homed in on it, but the second wasn't fooled by the electronic signature and continued to hurtle after the Thunderbolt. Blair altered course sharply again, veering back toward the decoy's flight path. The timing would have to be damned tight. . . .

  His fighter flashed past the two missiles just seconds before the Kilrathi warhead detonated. The blast that erupted behind him was like a false dawn. His shield indicators registered a noticeable power loss, but nothing close to what he would have suffered if the full force of the blast had been absorbed by the shields themselves. After a moment he checked his screens, and let out a sigh. The explosion had caught the second enemy missile.

  Then another Strakha was in sight, firing on him with beams and missiles from dead ahead. Blair returned fire, and seconds later Flint joined the fray with all her guns blazing. Just as Blair's forward shield was registering zero, the Strakha went up in a magnificent fireball. Blair heard Flint cheering. A moment later Vaquero and Vagabond were joining in, proclaiming another kill.

  "The other two boys are running!" Vaquero shouted all trace of the peaceful musician submerged now. "Looks like we've taught em a real lesson this time!"

  "Permission to pursue, sir?" Flint added a moment later.

  "Negative," he snapped. "Negative! We've still got missiles to track down! Get on your scanners, people. Now!"

  But it was too late. His sensors turned up nothing but debris and open space, out to their maximum limit The remaining Skipper missiles, five at least, were gone

  Blair stared at the empty screens, unable to accept what they were telling him. They'd come so damned close.

  * * *

  Flag Bridge, KIS Hvar'kann.

  Locanda System

  "A report, Lord Prince."

  "What have you got, Melek?" Thrakhath leaned forward in his chair to study the bulky figure of the retainer.