Wing Commander (№3) - Fleet Action

He could only hope they had dug their shelters deep enough to survive bombardment.

"So the colonies are a write off?" Duke asked quietly, obviously wanting to make the fact absolutely clear.

"Local guard units will be given the discretion to stay, but I want everything here for the major showdown," and he pointed at Sirius, hanging in the middle of the holo. "Sirius is where the decision will be made."

"What about the Landreich and Kruger?" Polowski asked.

"I'll ask them for help and for the release of the escorts we signed over to them, but I doubt old Kruger will be amused that once again we're pulling a withdrawal due to strategic necessity."

He could well imagine the explosion that would be created when the burst signal reached Kruger on that one.

"Gentlemen, I want the fleet fully loaded and ready to move within four days."

The men looked at him incredulously.

"Geoff, it'll be eight, more like ten days before we get all our personnel back in aboard ship," Zitek replied. "Even our active carriers had half their crews on leave. Some of them are at the far end of the Confederation."

"You'll find a clause in Emergency decree 394A that allows for the drafting of emergency replacements off civilian ships, and retired personnel if need be for the duration of the emergency. Use it, shanghai your crews if necessary, but I want full ship's complements inside of ninety-six hours. Now let's get to work." The admirals and Marine officers filed out of the room. Geoff looked back down at his memo pad, ready to feed in a long series of orders. Looking up he saw that Duke had stayed behind.

"Something's wrong, isn't it?" Geoff said, sensing that there was bad news coming.

Duke nodded.

"I just got a signal in the clear from Kruger."

"Go on."

"He told us and I quote 'you created this mess, you solve it. Go to hell.'"

Geoff chuckled sadly.

"Doesn't the damn fool realize," Grecko snapped, "that if the Confederation goes down, the Cats will turn on him next?"

"If he comes to help us, he'll get hit from the rear. It's the old classic problem of frontier militia being called up to serve with the regulars — do you leave your homes open to attack by marching off somewhere else?"

Geoff paused, realizing that there was something else to the message.

"You're holding something back, Duke, what is it?"

"He also reported, in the clear, that Tarawa has failed to return and is assumed lost."

Geoff remained standing, staring straight at Duke.

"Damn this war to hell."

Eyes wide with excitement and with the thrill of the hunt, the Emperor turned to face his grandson.

"Magnificent, simply magnificent," he growled, turning back to look out the forward view port of the cruiser that now served as the Imperial ship. Less than a kilometer away, the Kilrathi Fifth Fleet of the Claw passed by in review. The light frigates, corvettes and three destroyer groups had already passed. The last of the heavy cruisers was just passing to port and now the first of the new carriers, Hagku'ka, came into view.

Every fighter had been launched and moved in formation ahead of the carrier, three and a half eighties of fighters arrayed in eight V formations. The bow of the carrier came into view, the heavy durasteel forward edge studded with quad mounted mass driver guns and anti-torpedo launch tubes. Three launch decks, one on either side and one topside opened into the vast interior of the ship, which was mostly comprised of the huge hangar bays, workshops, and armament storage areas needed for the fighters.

Internal bulkheads had been double layered, compartmentalizing the ship so that even if the forward end was shattered all the way back amidships, the aft half could continue to fight. Three belts of armor sealed off the outside of the ship from the interior so that if a torpedo did penetrate the phase shielding and outer layer of armor, its detonation would not burst into the vulnerable inner decks and fuel storage areas. Sealed internal access shafts even allowed for the transfer of fighters from one bay to another for launching if a bay opening were shut down. Just aft of amidship three more launch bays were mounted pointing aft, in the same configuration as the forward half of the ship. The six Yatug class engines were actually buried inside the ship, wrapped in heavy armor, their exhaust vents tunneling through thirty meters of ship before reaching open space. If a spread of missiles were closing from astern, the engines could be throttled off and the exhaust vents slammed shut, the missiles impacting impotently against heavy durasteel. The shields could then be retracted, or if need be blown clear and the engines unharmed, fired back up.

The first carrier passed, followed by four more and the Emperor watched, speechless. So this was the culmination of years of secret planning and the stripping of the best resources of the Empire. All for this, a fleet of ships unlike anything ever before seen in this sector of the universe. When the war with the humans was done, such ships could even stand against the Mantu, if they should dare to return.

"Grandson, with this fleet victory is ours."

"Remember, my Emperor, the fleet is but half the size we planned," Thrakhath said cautiously. "Victory should not be counted until the blood of the prey is in one's mouth."

The Emperor nodded, realizing that his enthusiasm had taken hold too deeply. He was still shaken by the murder attempt. It had been his dream to see at least one ceremony of Sivar in the burned ruins of Earth, for he knew that it would not be much longer before his ancestors finally called.

"Bring me victory," the Emperor finally said, "that is all I ask. You should take Earth in time for Sivar, we'll celebrate it there. Be sure that it is ready for my arrival."

"Yes, my Emperor."

"And as for Jukaga, have you found anything more?"

"Three have died under the question, none have spoken. His path seems to be secured. If we put him directly to the question, the other clan leaders would again object. That path is closed as well."

"Then take him with you on this expedition," the Emperor said quietly.

"Grandfather?"

"You heard me. I've summoned him to this ship, he is in the next chamber. He is to go with you.

"He is head of spies, it is not his role to be a fleet warrior."

"He is a clan leader, a post of honor with the fleet he can not refuse. I think you will know what to do with him once battle is joined."

"It might be dangerous having him with us," the Prince replied.

"You will find a way," and the Emperor turned, motioning for a guard to open the door into a side chamber.

* * *

Baron Jukaga entered, looking around cautiously. When summoned to the cruiser he had not known what to expect, and now the moment had come

"Arise, my Baron. Was not the sight of our fleet wondrous?"

Jukaga stood up again.

"Wondrous."

"And what of the Confederation government?"

"Their senate still debates. It was reported however that two carriers sortied from their main base above their moon with a third to soon follow, and that the shipyards are working full time to prepare those in drydock for launching as well. Even though their government debates, their new president is acting quickly, with declaration of war or without. There have been forays by the Landreich into our territory, but no deep penetrations."

"I cannot even begin to comprehend how they function, the Emperor replied.

Jukaga nodded as if in agreement.

And that is why you never won, you old fool, he thought coldly.

"I have a new assignment for you, Baron."

He waited, tense and expectant.

"You go with the fleet to speak to their leaders one more time before we strike."

The Baron nodded. Would they simply arrange "an accident?" That now seemed to be the path.

"I am master of spies, my Emperor. Would not one of your warrior leaders be more appropriate?"

"You know this species of prey the best. It is your voice that they know, let them hear it one more time before we strike. You seemed disturbed by our ultimate plans, let us see if you can convince them to submit and thus save this species you seem to like so much."

He looked around the room, which was filled with the leaders of the new fleet. He was trapped and could not refuse.

"As you command it, my Emperor."

The Emperor turned away back to his grandson.

"Your plan is set, then?"

"Yes, my Emperor. The fleet will head towards the frontier at flank speed. Refueling tankers will accompany them so that we may move swiftly without need of deploying fuel scoops. The Second Fleet of the Claw, with four of our older carriers, will join us before we reach the frontier and make the first penetration, thus shielding our main fleet as long as possible. The Fourth Fleet of the Claw, with three carriers, will sortie towards the Landreich to pin down any forces they might have there, preventing them from shifting against our flank. The First Fleet of the Claw, with three carriers, will make up the reserve. The other carriers have been stripped of their crews and pilots for the Fifth Fleet and will be held in reserve."

"That is ten carriers," the Emperor said quietly.

"You know the shortage of trained pilots has become serious. Either our best pilots went with our new carriers or else the new fleet would be manned by pilots with no combat experience. It will be a year before we have enough fully trained pilots and fighters to bring the older reserve carriers back to operational strength.

The Emperor nodded grimly.

"So let it be," he said, turning away. "Now bring me victory."

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Weary with exhaustion, Captain Jason Bondarevsky strode across the landing field towards the command post with Admiral Richards behind him. Stepping onto the veranda he coldly eyed the two Landreich guards at the door.

"I'm here to see Kruger."

"We have no orders to let you pass, sir."

"To hell with your orders, I want to see that son of a bitch now," and he moved to shoulder his way past the guards.

Caught by surprise they backed up slightly and then physically moved to block the doorway, one of them grabbing him by the shoulder.

"Listen, sir, don't make me get rough about this," the guard snapped.

"Get the hell out of my way right now, mister."

"Hold it, Jason," and he looked back at Richards. "They're just following orders."

The guards looked to Richards with some relief. They obviously knew that Kruger would skin them alive if anyone got past. They knew as well who it was they were trying to stop, and even if he was Confederation, he was also a first class hero.

"Sir, if you stay put, I'd go in and get my captain," a sergeant growled, coming out of the doorway to the aid of the two guards.

"Well, damn it, go get him," Jason snapped, and the sergeant turned and went into the building.

Jason paced up and down the length of the veranda angry at everything, his mood made worse by the searing heat of the Hell Hole. He could feel the moisture draining out of his body, barely cooling his skin before evaporating.

He looked back at one of the guards.

"You know something, corporal, this planet of yours truly sucks."

The corporal showed the faintest of smiles.

"I fully agree," he whispered.

No longer able to get mad at the man, Jason turned away.

"Admiral Richards, Captain Bondarevsky?"

Jason turned back to see a very young captain, wearing commando fatigues and barely out of his teens, in the doorway. Though the man was shorter than him by a good half a foot, and skinny as a rail, Jason could tell from his eyes that he was deadly.

"President Kruger is expecting you, sir, come on in."

Jason nodded, grateful to be stepping out of the blazing heat of the twin suns and into the dark cool corridor. He followed the captain down into the below ground bunker, the captain leading him through the blast doors into Kruger's small and austere office. The captain withdrew, closing the door behind him.

Kruger looked up from his desk

"Care for a cold one?" and he motioned to a refrigerator.

"Don't mind if I do," Richards said, and he went over to the refrige and pulled out a beer.

Jason looked at the Admiral angrily and then back at Kruger who sat behind his desk, smiling.

"Well, young captain, out with it."

"We monitored that signal reporting the confirmed loss of Tarawa, Bannockburn, and Normandy," he continued. "Just who the hell do you think you are to do that?"

"Last time I checked I was president of the Landreich son. Just who the hell are you?"

"An officer in the . . ." he paused. He was, in fact, not an officer in Confederation at all but rather on leave, serving the Landreich forces.

"You are under my orders, young captain, and need you or not, I'll put your ass in the clink till this planet turns into an ice ball if you ever talk like that to me again."

Jason stood silently, still seething with anger.

"How about that beer, Jason?" and Richards came back to his side, holding an open container.

Jason stared at Richards, expecting support, but Richards merely smiled.

"But the emergency decree. Three-ninety-fourA is mobilizing all fleet personnel, and that includes me and my ship," Jason finally replied.

"Jason, we are officially listed as missing in action, presumed dead," Richards replied, "and I think our host intends to keep it that way."

Jason looked back at Kruger.

"I have your carrier and the others," Kruger replied. "We can make this happen one of two ways, young sir. Either you continue to command your ship under Landreich colors or one of my people will. I'd rather have you do it. You know the ship better than anyone else, and besides that, you're damn good. You managed to bring her out in one piece.

"No thanks to you."

Kruger smiled.

"You're here, aren't you? Therefore, any effort expended on my part to pull you out would have been a waste."

Jason felt ready to explode again. He had made a fifteen day run out, pursued all the way to the frontier Bannockburn, the only Stealth light recon ship in the fleet was finally turned around and sent back on auto pilot with Paladin cramming into a light shuttle sent over from Tarawa. The momentary delay created by the supposed counter attack had gotten them through the final jump with a very angry Paladin cursing the entire universe over the loss of his ship,

He had not been able to snatch more than two hours' sleep at a stretch throughout the entire retreat and all he really wanted now was for someone at whom to vent his rage for being left out in the cold after doing his mission. A barroom brawl might even serve the bill, and then a good drink followed by a long sleep. And beyond that, there was still the pain of losing Hunter.

Richards, without waiting for the offer from Kruger, settled down on a sagging and thread bare sofa, which obviously doubled as Kruger's bed, and took a long pull on his beer.

"You know something, Kruger," Richards said, "I got holy hell over the fact that you hijacked that destroyer from my squadron and went gallivanting off."

"Vance, that was thirty years ago."

"Well, I got a reprimand in my file thanks to you, and wound up a desk jockey in intelligence.

"Consider that beer as payment then. You most likely would have had your butt blown off by now if I hadn't worked your transfer for you like that. There are very few old destroyer skippers floating around. Besides, last I heard you loved intelligence work."

Richards chuckled and held up the container in salute and then looked back at Jason.

"Settle down, son, the old man did the right thing. He didn't have the assets to pull us out, it was that simple. You did a damn masterful job getting out on your own. So damn good I think Kruger here owes you a decoration."

"I hereby award you the Order of Nova with diamonds and promote you to commodore," Kruger said sarcastically. "My adjutant will send you the award and paperwork when he gets the time. It's a nice looking piece of tin, you'll like it. Does that settle it?"

Jason could see that he wasn't going to win but still didn't know what to do.

"I want to rejoin the Confederation fleet with my ship."

"Impossible," Kruger snapped. "I need you here, and here you're staying."

"Look, son," Richards said, suddenly serious. "It's a ten day transit back to Earth at full speed. You'll arrive back to the inner worlds with just twenty fighters on board."

"None," Kruger growled. "Most of them are mine anyhow, and I'm requisitioning the rest."

"All right then, none, and no munitions, because even if Kruger did let you go I doubt he'd spare one IFF missile out of his stores to refit you."

Kruger nodded and said nothing.

"The battle shaping up back there, wherever it is they're going to fight it, might already be over. Meanwhile, we can expect a major sortie by the Cats straight in here to pin us down. You could very well run from one action to the other and miss both. It's that simple."

Jason had already heard the argument once before from Richards just before loading him into the Sabre for the trip from orbit down to the Hell Hole. He'd been too damn angry over the abandonment and then from the signal reporting him dead to think. He realized now he could no longer argue the point.

"Damn you," he said quietly, looking back at Kruger. "All right, you won. You've got me."

"I'm so honored that you would volunteer to join me," Kruger replied with false sincerity.

He took an old style printout report and held it up.

"This is our latest intelligence report. Three Kilrathi carriers are moving to the frontier and are expected to cross it momentarily, with an estimated eighteen escort ships. They're moving straight at Landreich and will make planetfall here in this system within eighteen hours."

And your response."

"Meet them and beat them, it's that simple."

"Four escort carriers going head to head against three Kilrathi fleet carriers?" Jason asked. "At best we've got a hundred fighters on board our ships."

"Eighty seven."

"They'll have over three hundred. We'll be frozen meat an hour after the action starts."

"Do you have any better ideas?"

Jason looked at the President. Though he was still simmering with rage he could not help but wish that it had been Kruger who had been running the Confederation instead of Rodham. They wouldn't be in this mess now if it were.

"No, sir."

"Then get back to your ship . We leave here in six hours."

"What about the Confederation, sir, what's happening there?"

"The usual screw-up. The only positive sign is that Geoff is heading Third Fleet. They moved out five days ago, and have kept radio silence since."

"Admiral Tolwyn commanding the Third? What about Banbridge?"

Kruger told him of the bomb plot, the pardon, and the political confusion that still gripped the Confederation, along with the growing panic.

Jason took it all in, wishing more than ever he could be back under his old commander for the showdown.

"If Geoff stops the invasion, it'll be a miracle," Kruger said.

"And if he doesn't, what about you then?"

Kruger smiled, the first time Jason had ever seen him do it.

"We'll survive. It's what we've been doing for thirty years, with precious little help from your Confederation, I might add."

"It's official, gentlemen, a state of war now exists between the Kilrathi Empire and the Confederation. Four old style carriers crossed the frontier four hours ago, and the Senate passed the declaration."

He looked around at his bridge crew on Concordia flagship of Third Fleet.

"All signal traffic from Station Hanover and the Hanovian System was lost forty-five minutes ago, the last report stating they were under heavy attack."

"Good God, there's two million people on that world," a staff ensign whispered.

"There were two million people there," Geoff said.

Geoff saw a young communications technician lean over his desk, covering his face, and he inwardly cursed, realizing that Hanover was most likely the boys home. He wanted to say something, to apologize for his lack of tact, but knew he couldn't. The cold reality of what they were facing had to be driven home.

The bridge was silent, more than one turning to look at the boy as he muffled a sob and then sat back up, his features pale.

"We're going to lose a lot of worlds in the days to come," Tolwyn said, "a lot of worlds."

"Communications, put laser locks on the other ships in the fleet, pass the information, and order all ships to continue silent running."

He turned and retreated back to his wardroom. Sighing, he settled down into his chair and looked at the holo map. They were now positioned three jump points ahead of Sirius in towards the frontier. The Kilrathi had yet to show their main fleet. The carriers could be a diversion, or the vanguard of the main assault

Damn, to be able to use full size carriers as a vanguard, while he had to husband the five ships that would be under his command, that is if Saratoga and Leyte Gulf could get up in time to join his other two ships. He ran a quick question into his nav system and the answer coldly blinked back at him. If the Kilrathi came on at flank speed, they'd get to Sirius a day and a half before the other two carriers could join up.

He looked at the three dimensional map, pausing for a moment as a new signal burst in, updating the situation. Three more red blips appeared, the three tentatively identified as cruiser squadrons, crossing the frontier. Far off to one side, over by Landreich, a thin red line was already traced deep into Kruger's territory, two definite and one probable carrier moving fast towards the core worlds of Landreich.

Which was the main assault? The carriers at Hanover could be a feint to draw him in, the main fleet following behind one of the three cruiser squadrons. If he had the strength, that would be his approach, hoping to draw the enemy forward, then flanking by a side jump line, cutting him off from the rear.

He sat back, hands clasped, pondering, wishing he could somehow penetrate the fog of war. The Kilrathi had shut down nearly all military channels and kept silence ever since the burst signal from Tarawa got through, except for the nonstop bombardment of propaganda. The mere fact that signal traffic was nonexistent showed just how well planned the operation was. In the ordinary sphere of war, it was impossible to maintain operations for long without a steady flow of information.

Masterful.

I've got to buy a little time till they show their hand, but at the same time I need to wiggle a little bait, bringing the main assault on myself.

It was almost a foregone conclusion that Thrakhath was in charge of the main fleet. He was always bullheaded, and when he believed himself to have the upper edge, arrogant. Thrakhath never really gave a damn about taking territory; he wanted battle, to close with his enemy and destroy him.

He'll come straight in and dare me to stop him. He was behind the carriers.

I need to show confidence, aggression, he thought, not let them think we're already whipped.

Geoff punched in to his bridge officer.

"Pass the word to the fleet. We jump forward to the Warsaw system and will move at full speed to meet the carriers head on. Get Admirals Ching and Bjornsson on laser."

He turned the channel off and within seconds felt the vibration run through the ship as the helm officer called for full engine thrust.

Ching's image materialized on a flat screen, the bridge of his carrier, Moskva, in the background, followed seconds later by Bjornsson, commander of Verdun.

"We're going up to bloody nose them a bit and get their attention," Geoff said. "It'll be three on four, and with luck we'll buy enough time for our other two ships to get into position."

"Tough move, Geoff," Ching said. "They could be flanking in behind the cruisers."

"They're diversions. Thrakhath will come straight on in, looking for a fight."

"I hope you're right, Tolwyn. If not, they won't be too happy back on Earth if those super carriers get there and we're out chasing shadows.

Tolwyn laughed grimly.

"If they do, we won't hear the complaining for long."

"It's a risky move, Geoff," Bjornsson said, her features grim. "If we lose a carrier that'll leave just four to face off against the big ones."

"If we don't slow them, there'll only be four anyhow in front of Sirius when they arrive. It's a risk I'm willing to take though.

"Glad you're running this one, Geoff. This isn't just a battle, its the whole shooting match."

"Yeah, thanks. If there's ever another time, remind me to retire first."

The two admirals laughed softly and signed off.

Again the thought crept in. The old rhetoric of the battlefield, how the fate of civilization depended on what happened next. It had been used by his ancestors when they had stood at Agincourt, Waterloo, the Somme and against Hitler and Zhing. In most cases it was just rhetoric; this time it was for real. He realized that if he allowed himself to dwell on the outcomes it'd cripple him, and he pushed the fear aside. There would be time enough for that later.

Another update flashed on the holo, a blinking purple light, showing that action had started in the Landreich. It had taken hours for the signal to travel, even at burst speed. Three carriers of the Kilrathi fleet now confirmed against what a colonial militia could put up. Their chances were next to nothing, he thought, just about the same as ours.

* * *

"Ten seconds to jump and counting at nine, eight . . ."

Jason punched in to the deck flight officer.

"All fighters prepare for launch!"

"Two, one, jump initiated."

The phase shift of the jump field kicked in, space in the forward and aft screens disappearing in a wavy haze. Jason swallowed hard, the momentary nausea of jump taking hold, as Tarawa and everything inside of it winked out of existence at jump point 324C and then rematerialized seconds later half a dozen light years away, back into position in the Hell Hole system.

The screen shifted, star fields returning to view.

"All ahead full, move it!" Jason shouted and Tarawa surged forward. Not five seconds later Gallipoli appeared behind him in nearly the exact same space he had just been occupying, followed seconds later by two more escort carriers.

The maneuver was insane. Standard fleet procedure was to have at least one minute intervals between jumps. The actual point of rematerialization was problematic, never occurring at precisely the same spot, and if a ship in transit should come out of jump in the same space occupied by another vessel no one in the two ships involved would ever even realize that their existence had suddenly winked out in a white hot explosion.

"Launch all fighters, launch all fighters!"

A hazy shimmer appeared in the forward screen.

"Helm hard to port, up ninety degrees!"

Tarawa shifted, turning, as a destroyer of the Landreich fleet materialized out of jump less than four hundred meters ahead.

Jason was nearly knocked from his command chair and at the same instant a bank of red lights started to flash at the damage control desk.

"Ship hulled starboard side, sections twenty-two through twenty-four Decompression hull breach!"

Internal bulkheads had already been sealed for action stations. Jason looked over at the damage display board. Three sectors of the outer hull were gone, crew quarters. He could only hope no one was still in there. He waited, watching to see if the breach would rip down the length of the hull or burst into the heart of the ship. It held.

"What ship was that?"

"Destroyer Blitzkreig, Kruger's flagship, sir."

"Damage?"

"Part of her port rear stabilizer gone. Hull integrity holding."

"Then the hell with her, get the rest of those fighters out!"

He turned back to tactical display and drew in his breath.

Kruger was either a genius or a madman, the next five minutes would tell — so far the plan had worked.

Directly ahead, at less than a thousand kilometers, were the three Kilrathi carriers, moving in line abreast formation. Kruger had met them ten hours earlier as they jumped into the Hell Hole system, fought a brief skirmish, trading a corvette and two fighters for two destroyers and nearly twenty fighters of the Cats and then fled, the enemy in hot pursuit.

They had jumped out of the Hell Hole System, come to a dead stop, and then turned, jumping straight back into the system they had just fled.

The Kilrathi, assuming they were chasing a beaten and far weaker foe, had recovered nearly all their fighters in preparation for jump in pursuit. Forward of the carriers by three hundred clicks was the outer screen of frigates, which would, according to standard doctrine, jump through first to secure the next point in preparation for the carriers to follow.

Range to the forward ships would close in under a minute.

Doomsday gave the thumbs up to the deck launch officer. She saluted, crouched down low, pointing forward, and the senior deck officer in the launch control room hit the catapult button.