Pushing the afterburners up, Jason headed back to the Tarawa.
"Let's go for it," Merritt said, grinning with delight, slamming his fist on the hard copy photos spread out on the table.
"How long will it take?" O'Brian asked quietly.
"Those are hardened sites; capital ship bombardment won't do it. Oh, it'll loosen things up, but we want the machinery, the docks, the stuff that makes the ships, and yes, the trained construction personnel as well. Each one of them is far more important in this war than any Imperial Guard soldier and has to be treated that way."
He looked over at Jason.
"They're in this war as well, even if they aren't carrying guns."
"I know that," Jason said quietly, hating to agree but realizing that Merritt was right.
"That means going in, placing matter/antimatter mines, blowing it apart piece by piece from the inside. We're just looking at the surface stuff in these photos. I'm willing to bet there's a hell of a lot more buried underneath."
"That moon's got a thin atmosphere, but not enough to support life for long. Smash the barracks and living facilities while we're at it and really mess them up."
He scanned the computer-generated map which was covered with tactical symbols that to Jason were something of a mystery, but to ground assault troops defined every detail of what they were going in to hit.
"Thirty hours standard should do it all. I've got ten landing ships, five hundred people. There's at least a hundred or more juicy targets down there."
"I thought just six, the carriers," O'Brian replied.
"Those ships go through a series of assembly and fitting-out points. We're going for the lot, including the cruiser construction and fighter assembly. Thirty hours."
"Damn it. We made it here," O'Brian snapped. "I say we sweep past, bombard, and get the hell out. Swing by Kilrah and launch a missile spread, then we can claim to be the first to have ever hit their home planet. We'll be heroes. We could do that within an hour and be on our way. Their carriers could be popping through at any time and when they do I plan to have us out of here."
"I'm in charge of ground operations," Merritt replied softly, "and I'm launching to nail the fleet base. Gods, there isn't a marine alive who wouldn't beg for this chance to kick those furballs right between the legs, and here it is. I was itching to get at their capital and smash it up a bit too, but this is more important, this is the stuff that will affect what happens out in the real war rather than some stupid headline-grabbing for propaganda. Think of it, man, a couple of marines with a mine killing a carrier, something it'd take an entire fleet to do in a stand-up fight if those ships ever get operational. We could even the war up and do a job that would—if we got lucky—cost tens of thousands of lives if those carriers ever get a chance to fly."
"I'm ordering you not to."
"Go to hell," Merritt said with a grin. "Either you bring this ship into launch and support range or by God I'll shoot you right here and do it myself."
Jason swallowed hard, looking over to O'Brian to see how he'd react. O'Brian started to sputter, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.
"When we get back I'll see you shot for this," O'Brian finally hissed. "I will stay alive if only to bring you back in order to see that."
"Getting back," Merritt laughed. "You've got to be kidding. Now pass that order and I'm not threatening you, Captain. I'm dead serious about this."
Jason noticed that Merritt had casually unsnapped the flap of his pistol holster, the weapon fully exposed.
O'Brian finally turned in his chair and punched the commlink channel to the bridge.
"Move us up to a one-hundred-thousand-kilometer strike range against the moon," he barked, and then slammed the channel off.
"Now clear the launch area or my people will do it for you."
Jason looked over at Merritt and grinned.
"See you down there, sir."
"Jump transit in ten minutes, sire."
Prince Thrakhath, trying to suppress a growing rage, nodded at his new astronavigator. The navigator was obviously nervous.
"Just do it right," the Prince said coldly.
He turned and stalked away.
It happened, there was nothing he could do to change that. Every once in a while a transit jump point shifted unexpectedly or simply closed down. Now, of all times, why now? The last jump, which should have taken them into the home world, putting them there hours ahead of the Tarawa, had gone awry, and they had instead jumped to the next system beyond Kilrah, forcing them to turn around and try it again. The last navigator was dead in atonement for what might have been simple bad luck. But in war some individuals were lucky, others not, and he had no room on his staff for the latter.
* * *
Jason circled back out around the Tarawa, watching as the last of the marine landing craft lumbered out of the docking bay.
The landing craft turned, kicking up its afterburners.
"Going in now!"
"We're with you, Cat Killers," Jason said in reply, trying to keep the lump out of his throat as he watched Svetlana's ship turn in towards the moon.
Intrepid and Kagimasha had pounded the moon for the last hour, suppressing ground-to-space defenses enough to allow Tarawa to close within a hundred thousand clicks. A steady stream of Kilrathi fighters were coming up from the main planet, and down from a base orbiting a gas giant which was over a hundred million clicks away. But they were coming in disjointedly, in small waves of not more than eight or ten. He had lost four fighters and four recon so far in defense, but they were still holding their own. From the way the Kilrathi were flying, he suspected that they were now sending in trainee pilots scrambling up from flight school bases. It was a murderous waste of future talent, and he was glad to dispatch them now, rather than have to face them when they were fully honed for combat.
He started to realize as well that his own pups were no longer pups; they were flying and fighting like veterans.
"Now crossing into limit of ground defenses," Merritt announced.
Jason, flying point cover for the ten landing craft, focused his attention forward. The moon was twenty thousand clicks away and closing. As they crossed fifteen thousand a scattering of heavy neutron bolts came up and Intrepid moved to bombard the defenses.
"Green Leader, let's take 'em out."
"With you," Doomsday replied.
Eight Sabres and four Rapiers led by Jason kicked up their afterburners and started down, diving straight at the moon's surface. The moon seemed to race up, filling all of space until surface details were clearly visible, the huge spread of the base a series of lines cut into the dark gray surface.
Jason dove past the position of Intrepid and continued straight in. He started to randomly jink his fighter to throw off enemy aim and to his horror he saw a Sabre move straight into a heavy neutron bolt. The ship disappeared and for a second he thought it was Doomsday.
"Try and stay alive till you drop your munitions; each of these new missiles cost more than an entire ship, so let's not waste Confederation property," Doomsday's voice crackled on the comm.
They pressed in through a thousand clicks and then down to a hundred, boring in through the thin atmosphere.
"Break now!"
The remaining Sabres turned, following their nav screens in towards the preprogrammed targets which the computerized mapping analysis had indicated were potential ground-to-air defense systems.
Kilrathi jamming swept through the frequencies, attempting to mask their ground defense radars. Each of the seven Sabres dropped four air-to-ground anti-radar missiles, each one then breaking into fifty sub-munition rounds that locked onto individual radars, radio links, laser trackers, point defense guidance systems, and subspace transmitters. The missiles in turn fed back their target selections to Doomsday's ship, which was mounted with a command system for this major launch. This system automatically prevented overlapping of targets and reassigned missiles to priority hits
if the first missile tracking in should be knocked out.
Fourteen hundred matter/antimatter warheads streaked downward. A spread of Kilrathi point defense guns kicked on, sending up thousands of marble-sized mass-driven rounds. Hundreds of missiles were hit, detonated anywhere from ten clicks up, all the way back down to the surface. But hundreds more got through, some of the missiles weaving and breaking to higher priority targets to replace those that were lost. The surface of the planet erupted.
The Sabres pulled up and away, streaking back towards Tarawa to reload.
Jason pulled out, circling around, waiting. There was a moment of silence on his tracking system and then more Kilrathi systems, which had stayed off the air, but were now switching on after the strike, came on. He squeezed off his one anti-radar missile, watching as it leaped ahead, then broke apart, the fifty small missiles turning and diving off in every direction. There were more detonations, the surface five kilometers below blanketed with flashes of fire.
"Bring 'em in!" Jason shouted.
"Going in now and thanks, Blue Leader."
"Godspeed, Svetlana, I love you and take care."
He couldn't help himself and he knew that everyone was listening in but at that moment he didn't care.
The ten landing craft streaked past, spreading out to hit their first targets. From under each ship the air-to-ground suppression missiles were streaking out, the barrages blasting into the surface, shattering point defense systems. Yet still there was some fight in the Kilrathi and Jason watched as a landing craft suddenly split open, nailed by a rain of mass-driven shot. He kicked on afterburner, diving down, trying not to look at the shattered, flaming craft as he streaked down past, lining up on the mass driver battery, dodging the hoselike river of rounds coming up. Another battery opened on his flank, but he ignored it, putting the first battery into his crosshairs and squeezing off a dumb fire missile which streaked straight in. A jarring blow rocked his ship, his starboard shielding clicking off, and he heard the howling shriek of shot tearing into his durasteel armor. He turned inward, the gunner following him. Jinking down, he pulled out just above the surface of the moon and streaked in ten meters off the ground, pouring in fire on the battery, blowing it apart. Behind the battery he saw a geysering mushroom of fire as the landing craft dived into the ground and exploded.
Jason passed over the ship, throttling back. It was obvious there were no survivors.
He clicked back onto the marine channel and drew a sigh of relief when he heard Merritt's voice on the air, directing the assault. Merritt's landing craft hit the surface next to the hardened silo for a carrier. Jason circled above them, watching as the front and rear doors of the ship sprung open, the top turret of the craft pouring out suppressive fire as marines, clad in light atmosphere pressurized suits, scrambled out the rear, armored assault vehicles pushing out the front. A firefight instantly flared up at the entryway to the hangar and Jason, coming to a near hover, pointed his nose down and fired off an extended volley until his charger went down to zero. He caught a glimpse of the ship inside and he felt a mad, insane glee. It was a Kilrathi carrier, near completion, and totally defenseless. Unable to contain his joy he raised his nose slightly and pumped a shot straight into the ship's bow, laughing with delight as durasteel armor peeled back in a vaporized flash.
"Save your juice, Blue Leader." It was Svetlana.
"First time I ever got this close without feeling like I was going to die of fright."
He pulled back up as marines stormed into the hanger, fighting every step of the way with ground defense units. Circling back up, he held station ten clicks above the battle. Another flight of Dralthi sortied from the home planet, moving towards Tarawa and Jason listened in as Starlight, who was positioned as forward defense, handled the battle, losing one more of her Ferrets and a Rapier in the engagement, but stopping the assault a good fifty thousand clicks short of Tarawa.
Jason kept a mental note of his losses. Five Ferrets, a Sabre, and five Rapiers down so far, twenty five percent losses. Even though they had dropped fifty Kilrathi fighters and bombers, along with four corvettes, he knew the battle was shifting against them.
He circled above the battle for another hour, vectoring in on several ground targets and watching with a sense of envy as Doomsday, returning with a fresh load of munitions, led his Sabres in on a suppression of secondary targets, unmasked as the marines started to shut down some of the phase shield generating systems. The attack ripped apart barracks and construction areas, the heavy single-missile matter/antimatter warheads tossing up debris twenty kilometers above the moon's surface.
"Blue Leader this is Tarawa Combat Information."
"Blue Leader here."
"We are under attack from Kilrathi Stealth Fighters. Repeat we are under direct attack."
"On my way."
The screen scrambled and distorted for several seconds and then the combat information officer came back on, her voice high and strained.
"Blue Leader. We have detected one heavy carrier, repeat one heavy carrier and eight escort ships inbound at flank speed," and the screen distorted again.
Jason spared a quick look back down at the moon's surface.
"How long before carrier arrival Tarawa?" There was no answer for several seconds.
The image finally came back on, and he could see that the combat information room was on fire.
"We've taken a hit, Blue Leader. Repeat question."
Jason kicked on afterburners and started straight back up. "How long on that inbound report?"
The screen went dark again.
"Jason?" It was Grierson on the Intrepid.
"Grierson, you copy on that?"
"I've got them on long range scan. I bet they came through a jump point screened by an asteroid belt and launched their stealth fighters. I'm reading their carrier as being here in three and one-half hours."
"Copy on that."
He switched back to Svetlana.
"You copy that last report?"
"What the hell's going on up there?"
"Tell Merritt he's got three hours tops and then we're getting the hell out of here. One carrier confirmed, they're hitting us with Stealths now."
"Damn, we won't get all the targets."
"Tell Merritt get the damned carriers on the ground, and whatever else he can, but this bus is definitely gonna leave in three."
"Copy that, Blue Leader."
"Blue Leader?"
It was the Combat Information officer again and he breathed a sigh of relief.
"Blue Leader here. How we holding out?"
"Under heavy attack." The woman looked away from the screen for a moment, nodded reluctantly and then stepped away to be replaced by O'Brian.
"Blue Leader, where the hell are you?"
"Coming back in. Will arrive in five minutes."
"I am initiating emergency withdraw for our exit jump point immediately."
Jason looked at the screen, stunned by what he had just heard.
"The marines, sir. They'll never catch up."
"They are expendable," O'Brian snapped, "Tell your people to come back in and catch up. When we hit jump point we will not stop for stragglers."
"You bastard!" Jason roared. "You're leaving the marines behind. We've got time to recover them, just hang on!"
"We are leaving, mister. You are relieved of command and are under arrest for insubordination."
"You filthy coward, I'll kill you if I ever get aboard that ship," Jason snarled and he snapped the channel off.
He slammed the afterburner throttle forward so hard that for a second he thought he had broken it clear off. A Kilrathi stealth started to materialize off to one flank and he ignored it, heading straight in.
The Tarawa finally was visible, tail already turned to the moon, engines up to full throttle.
"Bear, what the hell is he doing?"
"Grierson, he's running out!" Jason shouted.
"Damn him, I'm moving up to st
op him."
"Cover the marines; try to land and pick them up if I can't stop that damned coward."
Grierson hesitated.
"Copy that."
Jason continued the chase, gradually catching up to Doomsday's squadron which were returning back from their second attack and were now spread out in a sweep to engage the Stealths.
Jason weaved his way through the battle swirling astern of Tarawa, barely noticing the explosions, streaking missiles and laser burst. Moving up parallel to Tarawa, he clicked his radio back on.
"Blue Leader coming in to land."
"Acknowledge, Blue Leader."
He swept up over the ship, seeing where several dozen heavy mass driver hits had scorched the ship's hull. He banked hard around, diving for the landing bay, Round Top coming in to drive a Stealth fighter off his tail. Jason slammed through the airlock, ramming into the safety net.
He popped his canopy, stood up, and without even waiting for Sparks jumped down, hitting the deck hard and stood back up.
The deck launch officer came running up to him.
"Are we bugging out?"
Jason nodded savagely and pushed past her.
He hit the main corridor and started down it at the run.
The ship's intercom was alive with shouts and commands and then, as if from far away, he heard a high-pitched voice on the channel.
"He's closing in, he's closing. Top guns get him, get the bastard! Get…"
The deck beneath Jason's feet seemed to drop away and then slam back up, knocking the wind out of him, driving him to his hands and knees. A high-pitched squawking echoed through the corridor, the hull breach/depressurization alarm. He felt a whoosh of air mixed with fire race down the corridor and he covered his head. The blast of heat raced overhead and then, as if playing out in reverse, slashed back up the corridor in a hurricane gale, dragging Jason along with it. He slammed his helmet visor back down and his pressure suit kicked on.
He continued to slide down the corridor, drawn along by the reverse blast of decompression. Hitting the shattered airlock door, which led into the bridge, he grabbed hold of the side and looked in.
The bridge was gone.
He looked straight up and saw the blackness of empty space, a Sabre streaking past, pursuing and nailing a Stealth just as it started to wink out. He looked straight in at the wreckage and fought down the desire to vomit. The entire bridge crew was dead, what was left of them splattered against the durasteel bulkheads. The floor of the bridge was blown out, the next deck down, torn open as well and blasted with wreckage. Electrical cables sparked in the pure vacuum. Fragments of a shattered Kilrathi fighter were embedded in the deck below. A kamikaze hit, Jason realized. He stepped into the wreckage and looked around and then he saw him, or what little was left of O'Brian, the lower half of his body gone. If he had not had a helmet on, he realized that he would most likely have spit on the corpse.
End Run Page 20