Fleet Action (24 page)

"Any word yet from Tarawa?"

Banbridge shook his head.

"Silent, though forward listening posts have picked up orders pulling several cruisers off from patrol on the frontier to head back in towards the sector Tarawa and Normandy are operating in. It might be a coincidence."

"I don't believe in coincidence, the Cats must be on to something."

"That's what I thought as well."

"Wish I was back out there with them," Tolwyn whispered.

"Bondarevsky's a good man. If he's in a scrape he'll figure away out."

Geoff nodded in agreement. Jason had become like the son he had lost. If Reggie had not been killed twenty years ago he'd even be Jason's age.

"When do you want me to go back out to Landreich?"

"The Chief of Staff wants to hear a full briefing from you tomorrow morning," Banbridge paused to look over at his computer screen.

"Speaking of the old man, there's a staff meeting in ten minutes. Why don't you stay here, I'll have my aide get a meal into you, and for heavens sake, Geoff, let's see if we can get you some better clothes."

Tolwyn nodded in agreement. He felt absolutely ridiculous wearing the coveralls of a civilian maintenance worker, and the beard he had grown on the way back from Tarawa was itchy as all hell. It was a convenient enough cover for him to slip through the underground parking lot of fleet headquarters. Once he was inside, a Marine security team had ushered him down a private corridor the rest of the way to Banbridge's private quarters. He rubbed his chin.

"Wish I could shave this off."

"You do look kind of ridiculous, Geoff."

Banbridge stood up and grabbed his attached case.

"What's the meeting about?"

"Always curious, aren't you?"

Tolwyn smiled. "Working with Vance kind of rubs off on you."

"That damn Kilrathi ambassador asked for a meeting with the Chiefs of Staff and some of our fleet admirals. He's screaming over a list of grievances about border violations by military patrols, and incidents from the Landreich are top on the list. So just lay low here, there's bound to be some press trying to sneak around, and if they ever saw you, there'd be hell to pay."

Geoff shook hands with his old academy instructor and smiled as Banbridge headed out the door.

Banbridge paused and looked back at Geoff.

"You've done damn good, son; I'm proud of you," and then he was gone.

The aide came in a minute later and offered to lay out some fresh clothes while Geoff took a shower, an offer he eagerly agreed to after weeks in space, surviving the usual water rationing of one minute showers. As he walked past the small bedroom he saw Kevin stretched out on top of the sheets, fast asleep.

"Didn't even bother to eat, sir," the steward whispered. "He stretched out and was asleep like a baby inside of a minute."

"It's been a tough time. Geoff said quietly.

Closing the door of the bathroom he peeled off the grungy coveralls and stepped into the hot stream of water.

He didn't so much hear it as feel it, a vibration slamming through the building. He turned the shower off and from a far-off distance heard a klaxon. Not bothering to towel off he pulled his coveralls on and opened the door. Banbridge's aide was standing alert by the entry into the admiral's quarters and to Geoff's surprise had a laser pistol up and at the ready. Kevin came out of the bedroom, already up and alert and Geoff could see that the klaxon had triggered him into thinking that there was a scramble alert.

"Stay where you are, sirs," the steward snapped, holding his free hand back for them to remain still. "Something's going on."

Geoff felt defenseless, dressed in nothing more than oil stained coveralls. He knew the aide, besides being Banbridge's personal steward, was also a highly trained Marine commando. He'd have to leave things up to him. The aide quietly spoke into a small lapel mike, receiving orders and information back through a tiny earphone.

What seemed to be an eternity passed and then he saw the man visibly pale, right hand clenching tight around the pistol grip.

The aide looked back at Geoff.

"Sir. Admiral Banbridge, the Chief of Staff, and we don't know how many other officers are dead. The entire top floor of the building has been blown apart."

"Merciful God," Geoff whispered, bowing his head.

"I'm going to keep you secure right here, sir. We have had an incident and we don't know what the hell is going on yet."

An incident, Geoff thought. Most of the fleet's top command were most likely dead and it's called an incident.

"Hunter, break off, break off!"

Ian switched off his visual and audio back to Bannockburn. The order to abandon Paladin was simply too hard to stomach. The wave of Kilrathi fighters was now less than five thousand clicks off and closing in fast, their maneuvering scoops popped wide open to break after the high speed run in from the cruiser that had launched them. There was a slim chance that he might be able to pop off the two fighters on the forward left edge of their sweep, thereby punching a hole through for Paladin to follow.

He could imagine that Paladin was swearing a blue streak at the moment, but to hell with him if he didn't want to be saved.

Ian turned in towards the approaching fighters, toggled up his IFF missiles and dumped them off in a long range spread to stir things up. The missiles leaped forward and several of the approaching Kilrathi fighters pulled into sharp turns. As soon as the tail of the nearest one was exposed Hunter fired off an infrared tracker which instantly locked on to the fighter's engines which were glowing white hot from the high speed approach. The missile slammed up the exhaust nozzle of the fighter and detonated.

First kill of the new war, he thought grimly.

Within seconds the fight was on. several Dralthi fighters peeling off to swing in on Hunter, while the forward edge of the strike, six Grikath fighters, pushed straight on towards Bannockburn. Paladin let loose with his remaining salvo of flechettes and then toggled off a battery of IFFs from his gatling mount missile launcher. Space was a mad confusion of explosions and Ian pulled a tight turn to try and shake off an incoming infra tracker, firing off a flare, which the missile went for, detonating silently a kilometer behind him.

A Grikath shot directly across his starboard bow and with a perfectly timed deflection Ian nailed him solidly amidships and turned inside of the Cat, firing three more rapid mass driver rounds into the Grikath which blew apart.

He spared a quick glance at his tactical display and saw that the Kilrathi cruisers were spread out into an open sweep, coming up behind the wave of fighters in case there was anything still to be finished off. Behind them more than a dozen patrol craft and a light frigate were coming in as a second wave, while from the other direction half a dozen patrol corvettes were closing, pushing Bannockburn into the trap. A wave of fast moving fighters was moving ahead, above, and below to close the trap.

With a sickening finality he realized the futility of the gesture he had just offered. The game was up. He switched back on to Paladin's channel.

"Not looking good, buddy."

"Hunter, break free, make the run, I'll provide support."

"Like hell, they're on me, now run for it and get that damn information out, otherwise this whole thing is useless."

"Hunter, damn it, get the hell . . ."

"I think its the other way around, buddy, I'll cover you, now run for it. When you get to the Vacuum Breathers buddy, lift the first round for me."

"Hunter!"

He punched ahead of Bannockburn, moving to break up the forward screen so Paladin could slip through

A spread of half a dozen missiles leaped forward from the next Kilrathi attack group, the new IFF and radar trackers. Ian swallowed hard and keyed up his own transponder to draw the missiles in.

The warbling tone in Ian's head set clicked to a steady hum, increasing in pitch. The incoming were all locked on to his ship. He pulled up hard, leading the missiles away from Bannockburn.

"Pop out, Ian!" Paladin shouted, and then there was another voice on the radio.

"Green two, Green two, this is Green one, strike on the way."

Ian started to reach down to pull the ejector D ring when he saw a fighter lining up to hit Bannockburn from above.

He dropped the ring, lined up on the target and toggled off the one missile strapped beneath his fighter. Even as it streaked away he knew the game had finally caught up with him at last. He bit down hard on his cigar and closed his eyes.

Six Kilrathi IFF's impacted across the stern of Ian Hunter St. John's Ferret.

Jason leaned over the tactical display on the screen, watching as Normandy launched her fighters. Already one of the cruisers was turning back around as he cleared the north pole of the planet at an altitude of three hundred clicks, just barely skimming above the edge of the atmosphere, accelerating fast.

If only I had a full bay of fighters, he cursed silently, we'd swamp them under. Normandy had already launched her full load of fighters, twenty, and Doomsday along with two other pilots had taken out the remaining three fighters in his own bay. He could already sense that this was going to he a ship-to-ship action and he didn't relish the idea of facing a cruiser head on with a light escort carrier.

"Knew you wouldn't leave me in the lurch, laddie."

Paladin's wavery image appeared on the screen.

"You certainly brought along enough company, Paladin."

"Aye, that I did. Get ready for a coded burst, unscramble it and you'll see why."

Seconds later the signal came through and Jason turned to watch his communications officer decode it. He started to see the holo read out and turned to one of his watch officers.

"Get down that corridor fast and tell those gorillas guarding the door to send Vance up here on the double!"

"Fighters are breaking off from attack on Paladin, returning to cover cruiser," the combat information officer announced, looking back at Jason.

They must have detected the burst signal and realized we're carrying the football now, Jason thought.

"I already got it on our system," Vance said, coming on to the bridge and Jason realized that with the gear down in the fighter bay Vance would already know.

"Look at the size of those damn ships," Jason whispered, and he looked back at Vance who was intently studying the screen.

"Should we send the signal?" Vance asked.

Jason looked back at the holo. Their cover was fully blown now. He knew that was the end result the moment he made the decision to come up and save Paladin. He knew as well that if Paladin had come back empty-handed he would be in very hot water for having blown the mission cover just to save a friend. But then again it was extremely difficult to argue with success, and his decision would now be viewed as the right move and the personal reasons for Paladin and Ian forgotten.

The Kilrathi already had a visual lock on his ship. Within seconds they'd known the type and model and would quickly figure out it was Tarawa with Normandy right alongside. The antenna array atop his carrier would definitely tip them off as well as to the mission of his ship. If not for the information they had, it would be a diplomatic explosion. There was no sense in giving the Kilrathi the first jump on that front. If the information was released after the Kilrathi started screaming about the border violation the information might be dismissed as an attempt to cover up.

"Send it out now," Jason said.

"Good decision, son," Vance said with a grin and he turned back towards the flight deck. A minute later Jason noticed the momentary flicker in the ship's— battle lighting as the translight burst signal went out, repeated a minute later by a second burst for good measure.

All three cruisers had now come about and were closing in, the ranging indicator marking down the rapid drop in range. The forward spread of Normandy's fighters closed with the Kilrathi fighters launched from the cruiser and the fight was on. The edge on skill was clearly on the side of the colonial and ex-fleet pilots, deployed out to take on the heavy cruiser and its lighter escort.

One of the cruisers, however, pushed on through and Jason felt the cold sweat start to streak down his back as he sat on the bridge, waiting for the Kilrathi cruiser batteries to open up. He had never fought a carrier in a head to head engagement and he longed for a joystick and throttle, rather than the cumbersome relaying of orders.

The first volley of missiles spread out from the lead cruiser, even while the second one in line exploded from the direct hit of a torpedo spread from a Broadsword.

We've got four incoming warheads," the combat information center officer announced, "blowing chaff, flares, and radar noise makers."

"All weapons fire," Jason announced, struggling to keep his voice calm.

Mass driver cannon mounted forward went into action, a volley of torpedoes leaping out from the forward launch tubes. The range was below a hundred kilometers and closing.

"Helm ten degrees to port, fifty degrees down." He started a curving turn downwards and then countered the order, bringing his carrier straight back up towards the underside of the rear cruiser.

"Torpedo attack diverting," combat information announced, "regaining lock on Normandy."

Several Kilrathi fighters raced across his bow, dropping missiles, the weapons impacting on the forward shield.

"Normandy's in trouble!"

Jason turned to look back at his communications officer and then toggled over to a damage display of his sister ship.

A torpedo from the first spread impacted on his sister ship's bow. Forward shielding was gone. Two colonial fighters on close in escort maneuvered and rammed two of the next spread of torpedoes coming out from the Kilrathi cruiser while Normandy fired a spread in return.