Fleet Action (38 page)

The first fighter, piloted by Doomsday, cleared the bay.

The blue-green home of his race filled the forward screen.

The run in from jump point 12Y, the line leading back towards the Landreich, had been with scoops fully closed. Kruger had even committed the ultimate madness of doing the final jump at full speed. A third of the fleet had missed the Jump point completely, forcing them to decelerate, turn around and come back in. They were now several hours behind. They were the lucky ones. Two frigates had only achieved partial jump, hitting the point as fast as they did. Part of the two frigates had come through, the other part had simply continued on back in the last system. The crews never knew what hit them, their molecules spread between Alpha Centuri and Earth.

The maneuver, however, had gained them precious time, and moving at a good fraction of the speed of light they had closed from the jump point to Earth in under three hours.

They were too late for the main battle, but the threat closing in on Earth was all too obvious and Kruger had ordered them in to head it off.

He could only hope that they would be there in time.

Baron Jukaga watched as the three escort carriers came up over the northern pole of the planet, a spread of fighters leaping ahead of them.

He had but one cruiser left with him, seven falling to the inner defense line. The other two cruisers had turned to bombard the naval yards of the Earth's satellite, the bright flashes of explosions tearing through the military bases and construction yards spread out on its barren airless surface and in orbit above it, smashing dozens of ships of the fleet including the carriers still caught in drydock. Both were destroyed by point defenses but they had successfully smashed a military target — an action which, at least for the moment, had filled him with pride.

That, at least, he approved of. It was a target worthy of being hit, a fitting vengeance for the raid on the moon of Kilrah.

He stood silently behind the cruiser's captain, ignoring the Imperial Marines standing to either side as his guards.

"We'll only have time for one pass," the commander said quietly, looking up at the tactical display in rage. They had detected the small fleet of escort carriers and destroyers only minutes before, the enemy ships coming from the direction of another jump point at full speed with scoops closed.

"We have first target solutions and locks," the captain announced. "After our first hit and destruction of their defensive centers, we drop the thermonuclears."

"First wave, antimatter warheads ready for firing."

The commander grinned, looking over at his weapons control officer.

"For the glory of Kilrah, the Emperor, and the Empire. Fire!"

Baron Jukaga watched as the first weapons leaped forward, tracking downward, racing in towards the North American continent and Northern Europe.

"Incoming fighters!"

"No!"

Doomsday screamed with impotent rage as he saw the heavy antimatter rockets streak away.

A light screen of enemy fighters, launched from the cruisers, moved to intercept, and with a wild frenzy Doomsday slashed into them, killing them with a mad insane glee, while behind him, four modified Sabres lined up for the first torpedo launch.

The torpedoes leaped out, tracking in on the first cruiser, and seconds later detonated. Kruger's fighters swarmed in, slamming the cruiser, which appeared for a second to collapse in on itself before bursting asunder. The comm link was filled with mad screams of hatred and rage as the strike team turned towards the other cruiser.

Down in the Earth's atmosphere Doomsday could see pinpoint winks of light as point defense systems fought to knock down the incoming wave of more than a hundred missiles. And then there was a flash of light over the center of the North American continent. It looked like Chicago going up, followed seconds later by a dozen more: Pittsburgh, Boston, Miami, Quebec, then across in Northern Europe: Amsterdam, Berlin, Stockholm, Constantinople and Paris. Other flashes detonated over the primary control center; for Earth's American and European space defenses at Omaha, Rio, Tripoli, and Kiev.

He started to close towards the next cruiser, knowing in his heart that it would be too late.

"We have incoming, still closing."

The commander looked up at his tactical screen and could see that within less than a minute he would be under attack.

"First strike report?"

"Primary strategic defense centers over target areas destroyed, ground to space anti-missile defensive system seriously damaged except for point defenses."

"Second weapons load," the commander announced with a cold glee. "Prepare thermonuclear strontium clad weapons for air bursts."

He looked back at the Baron.

"We might not have the pleasure of first pounding their cities to rubble, but we'll poison them all anyhow. In a month their world will be a charnel house."

"And you call this victory," the Baron hissed. "May Sivar spit on you."

"No, I call it revenge," the commander said coldly and he turned away.

Behind him he heard the cold laughter of his guards who stepped forward to look at the screen.

"Weapons ready for launch."

The commander held up his hand, talons extended.

Baron Jukaga lunged forward, grabbing at the commander's holster and pulled out his pistol. The commander turned, wide-eyed, even as Jukaga brought the gun up, jamming it up under the commander's jaw and squeezed the trigger. The laser burst streaked through his head, the top of his skull erupting a boiling mass pouring out.

The Marine guard to his left started to turn, startled, and Jukaga dropped him in turn. He then swung about, killing the weapons officer, the blast knocking him backwards and away from the firing switch.

A stunning blow knocked Jukaga to the deck, and he realized with an almost detached emotion that he could no longer feel his legs. The shot must have severed my spinal cord, he thought, even as he brought his gun up, toppling the other guard over.

Jukaga lay back, wide-eyed, looking at the rest of the bridge crew. One of them tried to lunge for the firing panel and he dropped him and then two more. The two surviving bridge crew members stood still.

"You filthy traitor, Sivar will roast you in hell forever," one of them hissed.

Jukaga laughed softly. It was all such a wonderful joke, he realized. Just what was a traitor to a traitor, and who exactly had he betrayed? It was an interesting logic question to be certain.

He looked up at the main visual screen.

Earth actually did look beautiful; in a sense far more beautiful than Kilrah.

And then the explosion of the impacting torpedoes washed over him.

Stunned, Prince Thrakhath sat alone in the wardroom of the Craxtha's now dead commander.

The long range opticals showed the end of the drama. Their moon bases were totally shattered, but that was not the ultimate prize. Less than three eights antimatter warheads had hit Earth. The final wave of thermonuclears had never been launched.

He looked at the status reports of his losses. But one more carrier here and we could still press through to victory. But one more carrier.

All the if's started to play out in his mind. If only he had waited but five eights more days, he would have had his sixth ship, but Jukaga had to be contended with.

He looked back at the visual, glad at least that Jukaga was dead.

Another explosion shuddered through the ship and he held his breath, waiting. The explosion rumbled away.

A piping call sounded and he connected into the bridge. It was his chief navigation officer.

"Go on."

"Sir, your orders. With the engine speed we now have, we'll only be able to make it to the next jump point with less than four eights of minutes to spare ahead of those new ships coming up from Earth orbit."

Thrakhath nodded silently. They had at least crippled the human fleet: three of their five carriers gone, the third exploding only minutes ago, at least three more smashed at the moon base along with the construction yards and several eights of other ships. Nearly two eights of their major cities were now smoldering ruins. He could still pull back, his one remaining older carrier covering him, repair the damage sustained on his two surviving heavy carriers. His precious pilots would be brought back as well to fly once more off the new carriers still coming on line. If he stayed now, chances were good that they would finish this carrier off, and everything would be lost, including himself.

He looked back at the screen.

"Order the fleet to retreat," he hesitated. "The battle is over.

Geoff Tolwyn, in spite of his exhaustion, forced a smile as the shuttle craft door swung open. He walked forward, extending his hand as President Kruger, followed by Jason, Paladin, Doomsday and Richards, stepped down.

Kruger hesitated ever so briefly and then took Geoff's hand.

"Damn it all, Kruger, thank you."

"I'm rather surprised myself that I did it," Kruger said. "It was your young commodore there who just kept badgering me until finally, to shut him up, I said all right."

Geoff looked at the group and though he was afraid to ask he had to.

"Ian?"

Jason shook his head.

Geoff sighed and then came up to shake Jason's hand.

"How are you doing, sir?" Jason asked.

"A terrible day, Jason."

Jason hesitated and then finally asked.

"Kevin?"

"Missing in action," Geoff said quietly.

"He might still turn up, sir."

Geoff nodded, unable to reply.

Jason looked around at the smoke-filled flight deck.

"Looks like it was kind of rough here."

Geoff couldn't even reply. He had lost three carriers, Lexington finally succumbing to internal explosions, and over seventy percent of his pilots. First reports indicated that the Marines had suffered over ninety percent casualties. Duke Grecko was confirmed as dead, his landing craft crew telling what happened. As for the civilian pilots, their casualties were almost at one hundred percent. The primary bases on the moon were all gone, as were the drydock yards and three carriers hangared there. The casualties on Earth, he didn't even want to think about that. The only bright spot was that for some reason the Cats had not launched a wave of strontium clad thermonukes. England had been spared as well, though it seemed at the moment to be an almost selfish thing to think about.

Geoff led his guests down to his wardroom and without even asking, pulled out a bottle of single malt Scotch, six tumblers and poured out six very stiff drinks, draining the bottle dry.

"To our comrades," he said quietly, and they silently drank the toast.

Geoff settled back in his chair and looked around.

"If this is victory," Geoff finally said, "I sure as hell would hate to see defeat."

"You stopped the bloody Cats at least, sir," Jason replied. "Hell, three of their super carriers blown apart, more than half their best pilots gone, forty other ships crippled. I heard the report coming in that they're dumping fighters off their carrier as they retreat, not even enough room to haul them all out."

Geoff nodded, fighting an exhaustion that had all but robbed him of any ability to do anything beyond sitting in silence and staring.

"I heard about Polowski, sir," Doomsday said.

Geoff looked over at him. When he had ordered Mike in, he knew in his heart that Polowski would get his revenge and die doing it. If the Cats had miscalculated anything, it was that. They had pushed the intimidation a notch too far, and rather than terrorize it had aroused every pilot, spacer, and Marine in the fleet to a willingness to die rather than submit. He suspected that Jukaga had realized that but it was obvious that Thrakhath never would.

The war had changed, changed far from anything that either side had ever anticipated. The manipulation of the human desire for peace had backfired, their collective rage turning the enemy back, though at best it was a Pyrrhic victory.

The Cats still had seven more heavy carriers close to completion. If they came on again, he dreaded to think what would happen. They had shot their bolt in turning back the attack. Perhaps the new dreadnought-class battleship under construction on the far side of the Confederation might reverse that, but in his heart he doubted if it would be ready in time to repulse the next attack.

All he could be certain of now was the fact that those who had survived this attack would stand united to the end. He could even see that in the eyes of Kruger, who, upon seeing him, lifted his glass in a salute.

"To the Confederation Fleet," Kruger said.

"And to comrades gone," Paladin replied softly.

"Admiral Tolwyn."

Geoff looked over at the comm screen, dreading that it was yet another battle report stating that the Kilrathi had turned about and were coming back.

"The Kilrathi?" he blurted out.

"Their carriers have already jumped through in retreat, sir, still trailing abandoned fighters. Cruisers are now jumping out as well. Picket squadrons are reporting no further action."

He let out an audible sigh of relief. The battle was really over.

"Admiral, sir, you're wanted on the port flight deck."

"Why?"

"Don't know, sir. Launch officer requested your presence, that's all."

"On my way."

Geoff stood up, his knees suddenly weak and Jason rose from his chair coming up to his side.

"I'll go down with you, sir."

Geoff smiled a thanks and looked back at his guests.

"There's another bottle in the cabinet. Finish it off," he said quietly.

"Best advice I've had in weeks, "Doomsday replied even as he reached into his pocket and pulled out the chewed on remains of the cigar Ian had given him.