End Run

by William R. Forstchen

She pointed at the thin scar across her temple and back to her ear. He realized it was a surgical cut and didn't want to know what they had to go in for and dig out of her brain.

  "In a typical landing we lose too much. And I've done it sixteen times. The last one you saw was a piece of cake. We lost ten percent and thought it was a joke. I've retaken four human worlds that the Kilrathi occupied. If you'd seen what I saw, you'd take ears too. You know what they did to the civilian population on Khosan? Jason, I was on the team that retook that place. You want a couple of details about what Kilrathi do to women and children?"

  He shook his head, unable to reply for a moment. The holo images of the torture and massacre, filmed by a Kilrathi propaganda team, had been captured after the fight. It was sickening. And there was the other part about Khosan that hurt as well.

  She looked at him and a pained look came over her features.

  "I'm sorry, I forgot your brother was part of the defense team that got caught."

  "It's all right," Jason said quietly, "the letter said it was quick and clean."

  "Of course," and her words were a bit too hurried, though sincere.

  There were certain things in life that you clung to, even when you suspected they were lies. The letter to his mother from Joshua's sergeant, which described a heroic death, cut down painlessly by a neutron blast, was one of them. He didn't want to think of the alternative, the fact that his brother might have been taken alive.

  "What has this war done to us?" Jason said sadly.

  "It's made us killers. As good as the Kilrathi. Maybe someday, those who come after us, maybe they'll live a soft life of peace, grow up, stay in school, love music and art, fall in love, and never know fear. Maybe they can live by the standards you talk about. And the funny thing is, someday they'll even forget about us, never knowing just how thin the line was between freedom and slavery."

  Her voice was filled with an infinite sadness.

  "But for us?" she smiled. "You and I know what it's done."

  "I wish it'd been different," Jason said. "I mean, that we could have stayed together."

  She shook her head.

  "I wanted to see action as much as you; the marines were a guarantee."

  She laughed softly.

  "A real guarantee."

  Svetlana looked down into her drink for a moment and then back at Jason.

  "Tell me honestly. If it was a choice now. If Tolwyn came along and said, 'All right, Jason, you can take the girl and go home, but you'll miss all the action,' what would you do?"

  "I'm not sure."

  "Liar." She smiled again. "Once you've been in it, you can't let go. I'm so scared about this next mission I can't sleep. Hell, that's why I'm drinking. But I wouldn't miss a crack at their home world for anything."

  He nodded his head. He knew that he was as good as dead already, but just for once, it would be good to be able to give it to the Kilrathi, to hit them right in their own backyard, rather than this endless war on the frontiers. It was worth everything, and he knew he'd go nuts if he ever passed it up.

  "So we're in agreement then," Svetlana said with a sigh, and she poured another drink, and then downed it.

  "Maybe when the war is over," Jason said quietly. "Maybe then we can make another try at it."

  "Old lover, when this war's over, you and I will be dust."

  Her voice was hard and cold.

  "You sound like a damned marine."

  "I am a damned marine and don't forget it," and there was a slight slurring to her voice. "You lousy blue suits look down on us like we're animals or something, but you don't know what it's really like. Honey, if you ever saw war the way I have, you'd puke your guts out."

  "All right, all right. You choose to be a macho grunt; you don't have to prove it to me."

  "Prove something to you? Flyboy, I don't need to prove anything to you. Go ahead and fly your lousy fighters, but it'll be the marines that take the planets and win this war."

  "Without top cover, you're nothing but target practice. I'm not the instructor who washed you out of flight school, so don't keep trying to prove something to me now."

  Her eyes went cold and hard and she stood up.

  "Go to hell," and she stormed out of the room.

  "Hey, you forgot your bottle…"

  The door slid shut and he sat back in his chair.

  "Nice going, Jason," he sighed and was tempted to pick the bottle up and pour another drink.

  The door slid back open and she stormed back into the room, came up to where he was sitting and pointed a finger in his face.

  "And another thing, you egotistical bastard—"

  Suddenly the whole thing seemed totally absurd and he started to laugh.

  She looked down at him, her eyes filled with rage. And then it all started to melt away.

  "You were about to say," Jason whispered, looking up and smiling.

  She hesitated and then her words came out as a whisper.

  "Can I spend the night with you?"

  "All right Blue Squadron, pair off with your wingmen; let's get a couple of thousand kilometers between each pair and practice some head-to-head dogfighting."

  "That's more like it, sir!"

  "Cut the chatter, Mongol," Jason said, a grin crossing his features, unable to blame Mongol for his enthusiasm.

  He was amazed at how they were doing. The simulation of the convoy defense had gone flawlessly, with four of Doomsday's Sabres marked off as "kills" before they had even closed within five thousand clicks of target, and not a single simulator torpedo getting through. Jason could tell that Doomsday was still seething about getting waxed by Lone Wolf, who had nailed him as he closed and was waiting for computer lock on the Tarawa. The accountants back at fleet headquarters would most likely go nuts if they ever found out that the new planes assigned to Tarawa had clocked over two hundred hours of flying time in the last thirty days. Planes aboard frontline carriers were expected to last a minimum of fourteen months before their thousand-hour strip-down and rebuilding check, a process which grounded the craft for a month and cost a cool million just in parts. But the thought of it made him want to laugh, as if any of these planes would even last that long.

  "Lone Wolf, you're with me."

  There was a moment's pause.

  "Aye, sir."

  "Stick to me like glue," Jason said and he winged over, kicking on afterburners. He looked back over his right shoulder and saw Kevin closing in to follow. Jason banked right, watching, and Kevin nudged in a touch of extra throttle, following Jason through the turn. Jason opened his throttle full out and Kevin stayed close, reacting as Jason nudged his throttle up and down, Kevin following suit almost simultaneously.

  "All right Lone Wolf, break left now!"

  The Rapier turned over on its side and banked away.

  "Switch on your combat simulation system, as you complete your circle; the game's on!"

  Jason broke hard right, toggling up his own combat simulator which would fire his lasers and neutron guns at a one percent setting, with shields now programmed to simulate all hits as if they were full impacts.

  As he turned he watched his screen, Kevin's ship now highlighted by a red blip. Kevin pulled out of his turn, snap rolling to throw off Jason as to his intended direction of banking. Jason pulled a high yo-yo, coming up over in a climbing bank, attempting to line up on a deflection shot. Kevin broke out of his climb, coming in straight at Jason, firing off a salvo. Jason, caught momentarily off guard by the gutsy move, pushed his stick forward, thus missing the incoming, and then pulled straight back up again, firing a volley which caught the underside of Kevin's ship.

  "Damn!" and Jason grinned at Kevin's discomfort as he pulled up hard, snap rolling again and then breaking hard left. Kevin followed, punching in afterburners. But Kevin was on afterburners as well and yanked his ship into a skidding turn. As he rotated through, he lined up on Jason and fired several rounds, two of the three hitting squarely, shields forward snapping
off, the computer reading that a quarter of the ship's armor was gone.

  "Nice shot, Lone Wolf!" and he zoomed through his turn, catching Kevin with another deflection shot.

  "Ouch!" and Jason smiled, sensing that Kevin was actually enjoying the encounter and a chance to nail the old man.

  The swirling fight continued for nearly a quarter hour and Jason found himself grinning with delight at the challenge. But there was a predictable pattern to Kevin's actions, a problem with new pilots who found a couple of maneuvers that worked and then stuck to them. If a fight was over quickly, it didn't matter, but in a long drawn out duel, predictability could be deadly.

  Twice he was able to nail Kevin as he snap rolled and then broke out to port and the third time he went into the maneuver Jason positioned himself to nail the young pilot with a full deflection, but this time Kevin broke to starboard, skidding through his turn with afterburners blazing. Jason started to turn as well and then looking up in his rear projection mirror he saw Kevin roll out not a hundred meters behind him. Jason pulled up hard and Tolwyn stayed glued to his tail, a volley just skimming overhead. The second volley impacted full on the rear shields, and the computer simulated a full shield shutdown.

  Jason took a deep breath, then slammed his throttle off, cutting all power. Kevin raced up on him, skimming just a couple of meters over Jason's canopy, the shields of both ships snapping.

  He lifted his nose slightly and slammed a volley straight up Kevin's tailpipes and Lone Wolf's engines shut off.

  "I'm dead, sir," Kevin said quietly.

  "Good fighting, Kevin; let's head back to the hanger."

  Clearing the airlock of Tarawa behind Kevin, Jason nudged his ship in through the tight quarters and touched down. As he climbed out of his Rapier he saw Tolwyn standing to one side by himself, while the other pilots gathered in a circle, talking excitedly, waving their hands back and forth to show their maneuvers.

  Kevin walked up to Jason.

  "A good fight, sir," he said.

  "You don't like getting your tail waxed, do you?" Jason said quietly.

  "I'm not used to it, if that's what you mean."

  "Top scorer in flight school, even beat out one of your instructors if I remember your efficiency report correctly."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Look, Kevin, this wasn't some little demonstration to prove to you that I'm a hot pilot and you're not. I got past that kind of crap years ago. I want you to come out of your next fight alive. You might be facing Imperial Guard and you don't get to be an Imperial Guard pilot unless you've killed at least eight Confederation ships. I don't want some bastard over there painting your kill on the side of his plane."

  "It'd be hard to tell that one to my uncle, wouldn't it?"

  Jason put his hand on Kevin's shoulder and led him off to a quiet corner of the crowded deck.

  "I want you to cut that crap out, Kevin," Jason said, forcing himself to not blow up at the insult. "I've got a hell of a lot of respect for your uncle, but the fact that you're his blood doesn't cut it with me. Aboard this ship, and in my command, you're Kevin Tolwyn, a damned good pilot, who is also one arrogant pain in the butt, and nothing more. Get that clear, mister, once and for all. I don't care who else aboard this ship has been kissing your butt or kicking it because you've got an admiral for an uncle, but you're not going to find that with me."

  "I know you've got a tough road, people hear your name and their eyes go wide. I'll confess it confused the hell out of me the first time I saw you."

  "I know that, sir."

  "And you didn't make it any easier on me if you remember it. If I was rough on you, it was to kick the props out from under you, so that the other pilots in this wing knew you'd be treated just like them."

  Kevin was silent.

  "I know all of you are wondering where the hell we're going and why the tight security; the only thing I can tell you so far is what you already know, that the mission is damned important and you'll be facing the best the Kilrathi can throw at us. I can't tell you where, or why yet, but I can tell you it'll be one of the most important missions you're ever going to fly, and if you get out of it in one piece, it'll be something to tell your grandkids about. I want to make sure you fly at your best and get that chance to live. I owe you that not as Kevin Tolwyn, a nephew of a god almighty admiral, I owe you that as Kevin Tolwyn, a pilot in my wing. Do you read me clear on that, mister?"

  Kevin looked at him quizzically.

  "OK, sir," he said, his voice quiet.

  "I'm putting you back on the combat flight roster as of now," Jason said quietly. "You made a mistake that cost Jim Conklin his life, but I think it was an honest mistake."

  Kevin breathed a sigh of relief.

  "Thank you, sir, I didn't want to miss the next show."

  "Just remember one thing though."

  "What's that, sir?"

  "Remember every time you go out there, that it's not just you riding in that cockpit that you have to worry about. The life of your wingman, the crew of this ship, perhaps even an entire fleet might be in your hands. Think with your brains and with your heart, not with your guts. Do that and you'll be a hell of a pilot some day if we survive this next fight."

  Kevin nodded, unable to reply.

  "Now let's go get a cup of coffee."

  Jason patted him on the shoulder and they started for the hangar door.

  "One question, sir."

  "Go on?"

  "That maneuver of yours, slamming back the throttle when I was straight on your tail. In training school we were forbidden to do that because of the risk of collision."

  "Well this is the real universe now, Kevin; it's a favorite trick with some of the Kilrathi aces. You see, in their training school they don't care if a hell of a lot of people get killed. They've learned that maneuver by heart. If they die getting rammed, at least it takes an enemy down with them. If not, chances are they'll have you dead in their sights and you're history."

  "Yeah, I'll remember that now. But I could have rammed you."

  "I trusted you, Lone Wolf. I know you've got the makings of a damned good pilot and I trusted you wouldn't."

  Kevin broke into the first smile Jason had ever seen.

  "Thank you, sir, I appreciate the trust."

  Trying to suppress a yawn, Jason studied the holo map intently.

  "If you're bored, Boneski, we can find someone else to fly this mission," O'Brian snapped.

  Jason shook his head, making sure to avoid eye contact with Svetlana. It'd been five wonderful days since she had come back to his room. It was wonderful and yet filled with a sad poignancy, as both of them tried to forget all that had been lost, and also just how short a time they had left together.

  "It's nothing, sir," and he looked over at the Tarawa's intelligence officer who was giving the briefing.

  "Are you sure the base is on that planet?"

  "I can't promise, sir," the young lieutenant replied, "I'm just working off the computer data feed into our banks. The information came from Kilrathi who've defected. We haven't even got a remote surveillance drone in this far."

  Jason studied the map intently. They had been running flat out for nearly five days, the supply ship, loaded down with extra fuel having just unloaded and turned around. Jason punched a control key and slowly rotated the map, studying the red line that was tracing their route through the next system. So far, intelligence had been right. They were coming up a back alley that the Kilrathi didn't even suspect the Confederation knew about. The only traffic they had encountered was a lone transport, which Doomsday took out, hopefully before it could get a distress signal out. With the next jump, however, the mask was supposed to be pulled off and it would be his job to go up, knock on the door, and announce their presence.

  "All right then," Jason said quietly. "I'll take a Ferret out alone. I'll act as if I'm on standard sweep, and cross the flank of that station. The furballs will scramble and then I run and lead them straight back here."
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  "I still don't like that," O'Brian said. "Suppose they launch a torpedo strike."

  "As I said before," Jason said quietly, "they'll be out in pursuit of a light recon fighter. They won't be loaded for a heavy ship hunt. Their standard procedure is to first find out what they're dealing with before coming in with the heavy armament. We want them to see us, and report it in. By the time they rearm and relaunch we'll be out of the sector."

  O'Brian pursed his lips, and looked around the room. Merritt, Grierson, and the other ship commander looked back with disinterest. O'Brian cleared his throat.

  "All right, but if they come at us with torpedoes I'll note in the log that you had promised otherwise."

  Jason found himself still laughing about O'Brian's threat as he punched through his nav point and turned in towards the Kilrathi base.

  He had maneuvered through an asteroid field on his approach in, using it as a shield to block their scanning. As he cleared the field he punched it up and continued his approach, pulsing out a radar scan ever minute, as if doing a general pattern search, knowing that the Kilrathi base would pick up the pulses, analyze them, and realize that a Confederation ship was in the area. It was the equivalent of hanging out a huge sign that said "kick me." And it didn't take long to get the response.

  He rolled his ship over and started to race back, half a dozen Kilrathi light fighters on his tail at ten thousand kilometers.

  "Tarawa combat control, I've got six Sartha behind me, coming in for a snoop."

  "We are launching now," came the reply.

  "That's not the plan; we want them to get a visual on Tarawa, hold on that launch."

  "I have been ordered to launch a defense team," combat control replied, her voice strained.

  "Is the captain there?"

  She hesitated.

  "Yes, sir."

  "Then put him on the line."

  There was a moment of silence.

  "Doomsday is leading out a strike," she finally said, "and the captain states that you are to follow his orders."

  "Damn it!" and he snapped the comm link off.

  O'Brian was blowing it; it was essential that the Sartha see the convoy and then escape to report. If they were engaged forward the information might never get back.