Wing Commander (№3) - Fleet Action

In under two seconds Doomsday was clear of Tarawa, full afterburners roaring, even as Tarawa turned to avoid colliding with Kruger's flag ship. Doomsday banked hard over, skimming past the destroyer with less than a dozen meters to spare, and took a deep breath as he shot clear.

His heavily modified Sabre, with side-by-side pilot and co-pilot seats crammed in, and a single heavy Mark IV torpedo slung underneath shook with the 110% power surge. Grinning, he looked over at Paladin who was flying the right hand seat as weapons officer.

"Here we go again, laddie," Paladin said calmly, though Doomsday could tell that the old pilot was miffed that there weren't enough fighters in the fleet for him to get one of his own.

"Weapons check?"

"Torpedo armed and ready, now give me a target."

Doomsday spared a quick look down at his tactical screen. The forward string of frigates were less than a minute away, the first of them already slowing, turning to move in across the carriers. Less than thirty seconds behind them the three carriers were starting to come about

"All hells about to break loose," Paladin chuckled. "These two fleets are about to go straight through each other.

"There's the rest of the strike," Doomsday announced, pointing nearly straight up, and he edged his stick back, climbing a thousand meters to tuck himself in under a Broadsword's belly, giving himself a little more protection from the heavy strike craft's gunners.

"We're going for the middle carrier," Doomsday said quietly.

"We'll go for his port launch deck, you take the starboard one, lad," the Landreich pilot of the Broadsword above them replied and Doomsday clicked his mike twice as an affirmative.

"Hang on, crossing through the frigates!"

A crisscrossing of neutron bursts, laserflashes, and mass driver rounds snaked out from the Kilrathi picket line. Doomsday held steady on his course, working for an early fix and lock on the center carrier, which was now full broadside and starting to come around astern.

"Launch bay hits are out," Paladin announced. "Go for main engines."

A Landreich fighter, moving ahead of the two, winked into a fireball and disappeared. They shot through the wreckage, Doomsday wincing when a bloody smear of what had once been the pilot smashed into his forward canopy and spun away into the darkness. The blood seemed to be a dark omen and he started to breathe hard, fighting down the sense of premonition and Paladin looked over at him.

"He was already dead, laddie, already dead."

Doomsday gulped hard and shook his head. He pulled open his helmet visor. wiped the sweat from his face. He reached into a breast pocket and pulled out a short cigar and clamped down hard on it, chewing the end.

Ian had given the cigar to him long ago. He had never smoked it, but somehow, for this mission he felt it was a talisman and he brought it along.

They shot under the belly of a frigate, the two attack craft shuddering as they skimmed through the high energy field of the ship's fuel and maneuvering scoops.

"I have target lock," Paladin announced calmly, "and counting at thirty seconds, twenty nine."

Doomsday hated torpedo launches more than anything else. It required the fighter to stay on a straight and steady course for thirty seconds until the torpedoes' guidance and arming systems cut through the high energy shielding of the target, decoded the shield phasing, and then countered the phasing so that it could penetrate for the kill.

The carriers were now clearly visible in space, three silvery masses less than fifty clicks ahead, the ships completing their turns, engines winking white hot. Three Landreich fighters darted past Doomsday, their afterburners flaring, diving straight in, loosing a string of infrared guided missiles. The shots would not penetrate but their explosions on the carriers aft shields would momentarily blind the point defense systems.

"First fighters coming out," Doomsday announced, able to clearly see the pinpoints of light leaping out from the Kilrathi carriers.

"The furballs are a bit late today. Caught them with their pants down this time, that is if the buggers are wearing pants."

The pin points of light disappeared, and Doomsday knew that meant they had turned and were coming straight back towards him.

He caught the first hum of an IFF locking on. and then three more. Taking over defensive systems control from Paladin, he launched one of the new noise makers, hoping it would distract the missiles. The Kilrathi carrier seemed to fill all of space in front of him and he felt that if he closed any further, he'd run straight into it. The sweat was soaking his back and he found himself silently praying.

A modified Ferret, stitched onto what looked like old twin Sabre A engines, slammed past, diving straight into the emerging fighters. Several flashes of light appeared, fighters being killed, though Doomsday could not tell who had bought it

"Ten seconds, nine. eight. Signal lock on, phase counter lock on, warhead armed, three, two, one . . . it's away!"

Doomsday felt his ship lurch as the ten meter long torpedo dropped from the underbelly pylon, its engine flaring to life. He looked up and saw a Landreich craft above him dropping his spread of three Mark III Torpedoes as well. Breaking his ship hard to starboard Doomsday nosed straight down and then spun over, keeping his belly turned towards the carrier so that the new laser torpedo guide could maintain lock. Paladin stayed hunched over the weapons screen, ready to take over manual guidance of the torpedo if Kilrathi jamming should throw it off course.

Doomsday spared a quick glance at his tactical as half a dozen red blips closed in.

"She's closing, closing," Paladin chanted softly, punching in a guidance command as the torpedo lost lock for a second, his guidance laser firmly tracking on the torpedoes tail. The fact that Kruger had half a dozen of the new ship-to-torpedo laser guiding systems in his munitions inventory had surprised Doomsday, who figured it was best simply not to ask how they got into Landreich hands.

"Closing, closing . . . impact, laddie, we got them!"

Doomsday punched in an aft visual and saw an expanding fireball of light erupting from the carrier's main engine bank. A second ball of light snapped as one of Doomsday's torpedoes slammed into the explosion. Four of the Landreich's old obsolete scimitars darted in towards the carrier's tail, disappearing into the inferno, two of them reemerging from the fireball seconds later and as they pulled out, a solid ripple of explosions shuddered across the carrier's stern from the missile spread they had launched, now that the aft shielding was overloaded and down. The entire aft end of the carrier suddenly disappeared in a white hot light.

Doomsday watched the Scimitars, amazed yet again at the suicidal tactics of the Landreich pilots, flying fighters that should have been on the scrap heap years ago.

"Fuel igniting, she's going!"

The explosion burst out, the blast wave washing over Doomsday's Sabre, shuddering it as if from a direct hit. He lost sight of the two surviving Scimitars, who were simply consumed in the ball of light, the enemy fighters pursuing them disappearing as well.

"Look out ahead!" Paladin shouted, and Doomsday looked up to see a frigate turning directly in front, her gun mounts shifting, tracking straight down on him, preparing to fire a full broadside at near point blank range.

"All weapons fire independently and at will," Jason announced calmly, standing now and pacing behind his row of bridge personnel, who remained hunched over their tactical, communications, damage control, and fire system holo displays.

He looked up at the main holo battle screen, watching the converging line of blue and red dots. A blue dot, representing a light frigate winked out, followed an instant later by two red dots to either side, one of them a cruiser, the other a destroyer.

"Landreich frigate just detonated her reactor pile, crew has ejected," the tactical officer announced calmly.

"These people are insane," Jason whispered, realizing that even if the crew had ejected, a bridge team would have had to stay on board to time the detonation.

The explosion cut an opening straight through the middle of the Kilrathi defense line deploying aft of the three carriers. All of the strike fighters from the four escorts had already launched and were inside the picket line, engaging the carriers. A dozen fighters disappeared within seconds caught by the crossfire between the picket line and carriers, hundreds of blinking yellow dots marking the crisscrossing paths of missiles. Bright green snaps of light flared inside the holo display, detaching from half a dozen fighters.

"Torpedoes are launched and running," tactical reported.

"All ships close and advance on carriers, follow me."

Kruger's image appeared on the command screen only long enough to pass the order then disappeared. Helm, lock on Kruger's ship, follow her maneuver.

Kruger turned in, racing through the opening created by the Landreich frigate's sacrifice, and within seconds every battery on Tarawa was engaged, trading shots with Kilrathi frigates, and destroyers to either side.

Jason suddenly imagined that he could almost hear a bugler blowing charge, the way the Marines still did when their landing craft went in on an assault. as they raced straight towards the three carriers. It was madness; they were about to close and trade broadsides with capital ships at point blank range. The center carrier in the holo flared, exploding outward.

"Scratch one flattop!" tactical shouted, and Jason looked up at the visual, watching the explosion, then back down at the holo as two fighters, his own, emerged out of the fireball. A Kilrathi frigate turning towards Tarawa moved in front of the fighters, its guns turning to fire.

"All weapons, train on frigate, port side!" Jason shouted.

Turrets swung about, fire rippling out from Tarawa, the frigate swinging her guns back on Tarawa, ignoring the two fighters as they raced between the two ships.

A shuddering explosion ran through Tarawa, battle lights winking out for a second, a gust of acrid smoke filling the bridge, red lights coming back on again in the now shadowy gloom

"Main generator off line, emergency back up, shielding down to seventy one percent"

"Tarawa, close it up, hit the carrier to starboard."

Kruger's image appeared for only a second and was gone again

The fleet flagship was out forward of the charge, a Kilrathi cruiser angling in, opening with a spread of missiles. Flare, chaff, and noise makers streamed out of the destroyer and the two ships traded fire. Behind the flagship the four escorts, moving in two lines of two, stormed through the maelstrom, while frigates, corvettes, destroyers, and fighters swirled about them.

Another shudder ran through Tarawa, damage control shouting out a report, red lights blinking on his screen. Jason could barely hear the officer as the explosions echoed through his ship, the concussion nearly bringing him to his knees. The Kilrathi cruiser shot past, unable to turn in tight enough to run parallel.

On the port side the still expanding wreckage of the blown carrier continued to swirl out and then was astern. Kruger arced his destroyer directly across the stern of the carrier they were pursuing, lashing out with a volley of torpedoes and missiles at near point blank range. Landreich corvettes raced past the escort carriers, closing in on the prey, two of them fireballing from the strikes of Kilrathi fighters, the survivors launching torpedoes, most of which were shaken off by the carrier but three impacting nevertheless. Four more of the corvettes disappeared.

"Her shieldings down!" tactical shouted.

Jason felt as if he were about to explode with excitement. The battle had lost all semblance of tactical maneuvering, the old standard of fleets launching fighters at long range, and capital ships rarely if ever coming within ten thousand clicks of each other, was gone in the mad confusion. He thought of Nelson at Trafalgar, charging into a broadside exchange with the French and Spanish, and felt that if Tolwyn were here the old man would be proud.

The Kilrathi carrier was less than fifteen hundred meters ahead.

"Fire on her, fire!

Simultaneously the four escort carriers opened fire, hundreds of mass driver rounds and neutron bolts, from the anti-aircraft batteries, now slamming into the stern of the enemy carrier. Explosions rippled, jagged fragments of metal hurtling off into space. Tarawa raced down the length of the carrier, stitching the side of the ship with everything she had, while Gallipoli turned to cross the T of the Kilrathi carrier astern. The Kilrathi, however, were firing with everything in return, and explosions rocked Tarawa. Jason felt as if the frenzy of battle had torn into the heart of his soul. He stood rigid, wanting to roar with both rage and delight. More than one of the bridge crew had broken discipline, pounding the sides of their monitors, screaming curses, oaths, encouragement, and whooping with joy at the destruction.

"Gallipoli's going!"

Jason looked up at the aft visual and saw his sister ship splitting open as if she had run straight into a buzz saw that was tearing the ship apart from stem to stern. The fuel cells astern ignited and the ship fireballed, her flame washing over the topside stern of the stricken enemy carrier.

They darted past the ship, turning to starboard while the Kilrathi carrier edged over to port and started to dive.

"Tactical report!"

"Enemy carrier suffered multiple hits, computer counting two hundred plus hullings, secondary explosions igniting, three of five engine pods destroyed.

"Damage control?"

"Sections one, three through five portside hulled, midships port mass driver gun mounts destroyed, main generator still off line, shielding down to forty-two percent, holding steady."

Jason looked back at the tactical.

The enemy carrier was turning hard over to port, now moving away at a right angle, debris trailing out behind her as she struggled to accelerate. The other carrier was coming around to flank the stricken ship. The enemy picket line was now racing full back, coming abreast of their two surviving carriers and moving to pursuit.

"Helm, prepare to come about for a second strike," Jason announced, and his crew looked up at him, startled.

He knew it was madness, but they had not finished the carrier off and he'd be damned if it was going to get away.

"All ships follow me,"

Jason looked up at Kruger's image and then back at tactical.

Kruger was moving straight away from the engagement, heading back towards the Hell Hole.

"Get me Kruger," Jason snapped.

The old man's image reappeared, looking annoyed.

"Let's finish em, sir, he's crippled."

"We killed one, we crippled another and lost one escort," Kruger snapped. "Go back and we'll lose the rest of our escorts just to finish a kill. We want him crippled. They'll have to protect him. Bondarevsky, I'm breaking the engagement. We got what we wanted, they'll run for home now. Hell Hole is still under bombardment and that's our main priority now. '

"Aye, sir."

The image winked off.

Jason took a deep breath, realizing that the excitement of the charge and the lust of battle had clouded his judgment

"Belay helm over, lock on Blitzkreig and follow."

He could see that some of his crew were disappointed while others took a sigh of relief

"Damn good, I'm proud of all of you," he announced and then settled back into his command chair.

He looked up at the chronometer.

It was less than six minutes since they had jumped through, undoubtedly one of the shortest fleet actions in history. Kruger had lived up to form, shattering an invasion, killing a carrier, and crippling another. He had certainly taken them in harm's way.

The question now was, what would Kruger do next?

"Signal all fighters, return to your ships for recovery."

Admiral Tolwyn stood silently, watching the display screen.

It had been a standoff for more than a day. They had met the four enemy carriers just inside the Warsaw system, his fleet and theirs arriving at opposite jump points almost simultaneously.

He had raced to cover Warsaw but the Kilrathi carriers had held back, staying close to the jump point.

The question had been whether to close and engage, or wait. It could be that they were holding at the edge of the jump point, waiting to lure him in and then the main Kilrathi fleet would jump through. A listening post inside the next system had managed to get out a brief burst signal, reporting the transit of more than thirty escort ships and then had gone off line. It could only mean that the main fleet was coming up fast. Yet if he did advance and close for action there was a chance to meet the enemy three on four, with the possible edge that the pilots aboard the enemy ships were not their first line Guard fighters.

He had opted for action, but with the stipulation that his carriers would not close within ten million clicks and engage at long range only with fighters.

The action had been inconclusive throughout the day, with the loss of thirty-eight fighters in exchange for two hits on a carrier with moderate damage, and three enemy frigates destroyed in return for one hit on Moskva and a destroyer lost.

But now there was no longer a question as to Prince Thrakhath's strategy. He was indeed coming straight on.

For the last hour, the jump point covered by the carriers had disgorged destroyers, frigates, fuel tankers, and supply ships. And now at last the first of the new carriers had emerged.

His intelligence officer passed up a continual stream of reports, the hazy images from Paladin's recon scan, replaced now by clear optical and radar images passed up by light Ferret recon fighters moving back from the edge of the fleet.

Tolwyn continued to pull back, his fighters coming in to land, a screen of escort ships guarding the sterns of the carriers from enemy fighters, while dropping out a spray of porcupine mines to slow the relentless advance of the enemy fleet.

A fourth carrier appeared and then a fifth, each of them identical, each of them terrifying.

"Sir, we are receiving a hailing from the Kilrathi fleet.

"What?"

The communications officer looked back at his console for a moment and then turned again to Tolwyn.

"Confirmed, sir. It's an in the clear translight signal from their fleet."

"I'll take it in my office."

He left the bridge and stepped into his wardroom. He spared a quick glance at a mirror. The circles under his eyes would tell of his exhaustion but there was no helping it.

He settled into his chair and punched the holo screen to life.

"Go ahead, comm, patch it in."

The image of Baron Jukaga appeared.

"Ah, Admiral Tolwyn, our intelligence reports said that you were in command of Third Fleet. My congratulations on your promotion. We have always admired you as perhaps the best of the fighting admirals of the Confederation."

"What do you want, Baron?" Geoff replied coldly.

"Your surrender."

"I'm a military man, not a diplomat, Baron. Direct your inquiry to President Quinson. I'm sure he will tell you to go perform a certain impossible anatomical act."

The Baron chuckled.

"You humans and your sexual obsession. So strange, we must discuss the differences some time. But I am asking a military question, Admiral. I'm not demanding the surrender of your Confederation, merely your fleet."

Geoff replied with what he assumed the President would have said.

"Such crudity, Admiral it's not becoming of one of your breeding and education. You and I are alike in our study of human warfare. It creates a bond between the two of us, a bond I should add that I feel is even stronger towards you than to many of my own species. It would be distressing to see you defeated and dead."

"You assume too much, Baron. Do not worry about my death until it is accomplished, but instead worry about your own.

"Touched. But come, can't we reason this disagreement out?"

Geoff laughed coldly.

"My government was stupid enough to believe you once. It'll be a very cold day in hell before we believe you again. This time the fight's to the death, no quarter asked or expected."

"A shame you put it that way."

"No, I want it that way, Geoff snarled, angry with himself that he was losing his temper. "You murdered my closest friends in your bomb plot. I heard as well about your attempt on the Emperor. I'm surprised they didn't rip your guts out for that, you utak."

He deliberately chose the Kilrathi word used to describe the lowest caste member of Kilrah society, the cleaners of privy pits for fertilizer, one considered so untouchable that it was a defilement if his shadow even touched the shadow of anyone of a higher class.

He could see that the word caused Jukaga to bristle.

"I'm surprised the Emperor even allowed one such as you to live. I've heard that assassination is all but unknown in your society. It seems you learned it from us. You know nothing of us. You learned but the worst and learned none of the best. You are beneath the contempt of both my race and yours.

He noticed a change in Jukaga's demeanor and his image disappeared.

"Communications, what's going on?"

"Signal shifted, sir, coming back in, on a fleet scramble line."

Jukaga's image reappeared on the screen

"I feel more comfortable now, Admiral, talking without anyone able to listen in on my side for the next several minutes. May I have your agreement that this conversation will be kept strictly between us?"

"I can't promise that," Geoff replied.

"Then at least do not let it be shared with my own people. I've managed to have the signal scrambled from here but soon it might be compromised."

"I agree then, it will not get back to your side."

"We don't have much time to talk, Admiral. I want to give you a warning. I was supposed to do this anyhow but I want you to understand that my concern in this is genuine."

"Go on then."

"If you do not surrender your fleet, Prince Thrakhath has declared that this shall be a war of gatagak'vu. How do you say, a war of total eradication."

Geoff felt a cold chill.

"Has it not always been thus?" he finally ventured.

"No. This is different. He will not only slaughter everyone — man, woman and child, but he will also slaughter the very worlds you live on through the use of high radiation doses. Nothing will be left, nothing. Your home, your Earth, with all its long history, will be dead, uninhabitable, lifeless."

His words trailed off and Geoff was startled to realize that Jukaga's voice was filled with remorse.

"You wanted us destroyed, enslaved, why your concern now?" Geoff asked.

Jukaga smiled and shook his head.

"That is not your concern, Admiral Tolwyn, only my own. I therefore implore you. Surrender. If you do, I will ensure that you and your warriors are treated with honor, that your Earth will continue to live."

"Better to die as free men then live as slaves," Geoff replied coldly.

Jukaga nodded, a smile lighting his features.

"As any true warrior would reply, he said quietly, "as I knew you would reply."

"Then there's nothing more to be said."

"I have been told to advise you that you have twenty four of your standard minutes to reply. If not, the planet you call Warsaw will cease to live.

"Go ahead and do it now," Geoff replied coldly, "but by God, Baron, tell Thrakhath that if he does, there'll come a day when we'll come back. If it takes a hundred years, we'll come back and we'll watch Kilrah as it's burned to ashes."

"Good-bye, Admiral," Jukaga said quietly and he started to reach over to switch off his screen. He paused and looked back up.

"I'm sorry," and then his image disappeared.

Shaken, Geoff sat back in his chair. He had just condemned more than twenty million to death

"God help me," he whispered and he lowered his head for a moment, offering a silent prayer for forgiveness and strength.

He stood back up finally and went back out on the bridge.

"Warsaw, now five million clicks astern sir," the helm officer announced.

"Make course back towards Sirius, order destroyer squadron three." He paused. "No, make that squadron two, to form rear guard using maneuver delta for delaying action."

He settled into his command chair, watching the tactical. The enemy carriers, masked by more than a hundred escorts, continued their relentless move forward, while one of the older carriers, escorted by a cruiser squadron, broke away, turning towards Warsaw.

"Get me Mike Polowski on laser link," Geoff said quietly.

Seconds later the commander of squadron three appeared on the holo screen. Geoff felt as if the commodore were in the room with him. His features were pale, jaw quivering.

"I've got bad news for you, Mike."

"I can see it, Geoff."

"I'm sorry. They demanded the surrender of the fleet. If we didn't they said they'd hit your home world."

Mike lowered his head

"You did what you had to do, Geoff. God help me, I would have done the same. Anything else, sir?"

"It's going to be bad, Mike. They're going to radiation-bombard it as well, killing the planet and everything on it.

Mike's jaw started to tremble and he turned away from the screen for a moment and then finally looked back, his eyes filled with anguish.

"Why? It's not even a military target."

"To make an example of what's to come."

Mike stood silently, unable to speak.

"I'm sorry, Mike."

Polowski nodded silently and then his image winked off.

"Give me full optical power on Warsaw, patch in to their planetary defense."

The orbital base commander appeared on the side screen, while optical locked on the planet. It still looked peaceful, an illusion since with visual scan it now took more than two minutes for the image to reach him.

"White Wolf, this is Warsaw defense. We are under attack. As per your orders, primary station has been abandoned. Civilian population are in shelters. All ground to space missiles have been expended.

"White Wolf, this is Warsaw defense. We have high speed incoming! We have . . ."

The image snapped off.

Geoff watched the optical scan in silence, and then the first blossom of light snapped across the northern continent's surface. Seconds later hundreds of snaps of light erupted, blanketing the continent. the snake-like chain of islands in the southern hemisphere erupting as well.

"We are picking up thermonuclear air bursts in the five hundred megaton range. The nukes are emitting strontium ninety," the tactical officer announced, her voice hard-edged with rage.

"The bastards," Geoff whispered, "the damn bastards."

It had gone even beyond genocide. The planet was seeded with enough strontium 90 to wipe out the entire biosphere. The Kilrathi were destroying an entire planet simply as a demonstration of what was to come.

"I know why you're here, Captain, excuse me, I think I made you a Commodore. Anyhow, Commodore, you're wasting your time."

Without even waiting for an invitation Jason went over to the refridge in Kruger's wardroom, pulled out a container of beer and popped it open.

"Help yourself," Kruger said quietly and then paused, "you deserve it."

"You did well out there," Jason replied.

"Not good enough," and Kruger motioned to a flat screen projecting an image from a drone probe that was circling above the main airfield and town on the Hell Hole, at least what was left of it.

"Four antimatter warheads and one thermonuclear airburst loaded with strontium ninety. The world's a write-off."

"The bastards," Jason hissed, looking at the radiation read-outs. There had been an unwritten and unspoken agreement between the two sides since the start of the war, that no matter how grim the conflict was, the deliberate destruction of life-bearing capability of a planet was beyond the limits. It had been in part a self-serving rule for both sides, for both sides hoped for ultimate victory and with it the worlds inhabited by their foes.

"We just got this burst signal from the Confeds," and he switched the screen.

It was an official government news service report on the opening action in the Warsaw system and Jason watched, seething with rage as an optical scan showed the annihilation of Warsaw. The report finished with a demand from Baron Jukaga, delivered in the most sincere of voices, as if he were on the human side of the conflict, calling for an end to hostilities through the surrender of the Third Fleet. The closing comment came from President Quinson, a wonderfully crude response, delivered before a packed Senate meeting, and as he said the words the Senate came to its feet, roaring their support.

"I actually rather like Quinson," Kruger said, turning the screen off. "Too bad he's going to get his ass kicked."

"At least he'll go down fighting."

"A gallant gesture but useless in the end," Kruger said quietly.

Jason spared a look over at the holo tactical display.

"The Cats have pulled back?"

"Into the next system already. I've got a squadron of destroyers in pursuit. They're circled around the crippled carrier like a wolf pack defending its pups. Just what I wanted, they're shaken and are afraid of losing a second carrier.