Thunderbolt 300.
Ariel System
"Victory, Victory, this is Backstop Leader," Blair said, hoping he didn't sound as tired and discouraged as he felt. "Requesting landing clearance. Over."
"Roger that, Leader," Rollins replied. "Clearance is granted. Good job out there, Colonel You really showed those cats a thing or two."
Blair went through the approach checklist by rote, his mind ranging back to the mission they just completed in support of Flash and Vaquero. By the time he and Hobbes launched, Marshall and Chang had already joined up with the two beleaguered pilots and extricated them from the fight with the Dralthi. But Major Dillon not only insisted that he didn't really need support, he had actually been eager to seek out the larger contact at the edge of their scanning range to try to score a real kill, a cap ship kill. Blair barely arrived in time to keep Maniac from agreeing with the idea. Thereafter, they were dogged by Kilrathi fighters but not pressed particularly hard. The most difficult mission problems were the ones associated with reining in the two majors.
Vaquero's fighter incurred damage during the fighting and the pilot himself sounded shaky. He was waved off Victory's flight deck three times before finally catching the tractors and making a successful touchdown. This worried Blair even more than Dillon or Marshall. Lieutenant Lopez always struck him as steady and reliable, but plainly he took more than just a physical pounding on the line this time.
Blair shook off his doubts and worries, forcing himself to concentrate on the final approach. He was the last man inside, and by the time he clambered down the ladder from the cockpit, the others, except for Hobbes, were heading for the ready room to give their after-action reports.
The Kilrathi pilot looked at him with a very human expression of concern on his alien visage. "Are you well, my friend? You seemed . . . distracted, near the end. By more than just the need to control our more spirited comrades."
"Just tired, Hobbes," Blair told him. "Tired of bucking overeager jocks who still think this is all some kind of big game. And tired of . . . everything."
He wasn't sure Ralgha could understand his mood. They had accounted, among the six of them, for four more Dralthi out there, but in the long run it was just another number to be totaled for the kill board. It wouldn't matter a bit the next time they went into battle. There were always more Kilrathi to replace the ones who died, and Blair was getting sick of having to kill and kill with never a sign that some day the killing might stop.
"It was good, though, to fly a combat mission again," Ralgha said, clearly misunderstanding the attitude behind Blair's bitter words and tone. "To take the battle to the enemy once more. I have missed the chance to test my skills, since we started this mission."
"Yeah," Blair said. Though he didn't share in the sentiment, he understood how the Kilrathi felt. Ralgha might fly with the Terrans, but his emotions and reactions were still those of his predator species. "Yeah, I suppose all this skulking and hiding's been pretty rough on you. Maybe a little dogfighting is good for your soul, at that."
Hobbes caught something of his real feelings that time, and cocked his head to one side as he regarded Blair. "It is strange," he said. "We are very different, you and I, though I would say you are closest to me of all the humans I know. Your kind does not relish conflict, though you have proven very able warriors. But the Kilrathi spirit . . . despite the skill and courage demanded in flying is never entirely satisfied by combat in space."
"You like it up close and personal," Blair said, mustering a faint smile.
The Kilrathi renegade raised a paw, allowed his sheathed claws to extend for a moment. "We are taught to use these even before we can speak or walk. To your species this seems . . . what is the word? Savage? Primitive? But it is fundamental to who and what we are."
Blair's eyes narrowed. "Then how can Thrakhath order the death of millions with bioweapons? That's about as impersonal a weapon as you can use."
"Thrakhath.... That one defines honor in his own way, I fear," Ralgha said slowly. "When he looks at humans, he sees only animals, fit for labor or food or prey in a hunt. It is not an attitude that is held by all my kind, but it is a convenient way to excuse acts that would otherwise defile Kilrathi honor. Does not your kind hide behind any number of similar . . . conveniences? To justify acts you would otherwise condemn?"
Blair shrugged, then nodded reluctantly. "I guess we do. But . . . killing is killing. Hot-blooded or cold. You do it when you have to because you have to . . . to defend yourself, your people, your civilization. Whether it's hand-to-hand fighting, or dogfighting, or bombing a whole damned planet out of existence; it's still killing, though. And I guess we each have to decide whether what we're protecting is worth the death we're being asked to deal out."
"This is not normally a question a Kilrathi needs to ask himself, my friend," Hobbes said slowly. He fixed Blair with a long, penetrating look. "And in all honesty, there are times I wish your kind had not taught me to ask them. There is no comfort in doubting the wisdom of generations."
* * *
Captain's Ready Room, TCS Victory.
Ariel System
Blair and Hobbes were both summoned to the captain's ready room before even exchanging their flight suits for more comfortable clothing. Eisen looked worried as he sat opposite them. He energized the holographic chart display on his desk top.
"I know you just got back from a tough one, but I doubt you'll have much chance to rest up," the captain told them without preamble. "We're on course for the jump point to the Caliban System. It has the closest Confed military facility, although it's a small one, just an outpost. The main advantage as I see it is that it's like this system, inside the nebula, which means we can hope to elude a Kilrathi pursuit quickly even if they should chase us through the jump point. That could be important, if they have any kind of fleet following us at all."
"You anticipate opposition, then," Hobbes said slowly.
"As soon as your pilots engaged out there you can bet the word went out that there were Terrans in the neighborhood," Eisen said grimly. "If I was the cat CO in these parts, I'd do my best to block as many jump points as possible. We'll have to fight our way out." He looked from Hobbes to Blair. "That's another reason to go for Caliban, though. They might not be expecting a withdrawal to such a minor system. Maybe that jump point will have fewer defenders . . . maybe none at all, if their fleet isn't very strong in these parts."
"Don't count on it, sir," Blair said. "I've been going over the incoming survey reports. While we haven't seen much in open space, there were indications of tremendous shuttle traffic over the base on One, and a fair number of ships in orbital docks and so on. You don't think they would leave all that unprotected, do you?"
Eisen pursed his lips. "No, I guess they wouldn't. A big fleet here. . . that sounds bad. For the Admiral's project." He glanced at Ralgha and changed the subject. "All the more reason, though, to hope we can get the hell out of here without running into too much opposition. And if we do . . . we try to shake them as best we can and still make jump."
"Risky," Blair commented. "But, as you say, it's all we can try. Do you have any special orders for us, sir?"
"I'll want you to deploy a reconnaissance in force ahead of us when we approach the jump point, Colonel," Eisen said. "With scanning so limited, I want an idea of what's waiting for us before we blunder into the middle of it. The timing will be tricky. You'll have to stay out long enough to give us our sneak peek at the situation, and maybe to discourage the bad guys from interfering with our approach. But then you'll have to get your fighters aboard fast, before we jump . . . and possibly under fire. Anybody who misses the boat is stuck." His eyes narrowed. "We can't afford another incident like Locanda, for instance. I don't think we'll be in any position to loiter around waiting for stragglers. Can your people do this?"
Blair nodded slowly, but inside his mind was racing to consider all the problems against them. "It'll be tricky, Captain, but I'll see what we can put together to eliminate the problems as much as possible."
"Good. Navigation tells me it'll be eighteen hours before we hit the jump point. So your people will have a little sack time, at least, before they have to launch." Eisen gave him a look. "Try to get some yourself, too, Colonel. We need you out there fresh and at your best."
"Yes, sir," Blair said, but he knew the planning and preparation time would make things tight. Sleep was a luxury he had to postpone until he knew the wing was ready. He stood up slowly, and Ralgha did the same. "I'll keep you posted on our plans, Captain. Come on, Hobbes. Looks like we burn the midnight electrons again."
* * *
Thunderbolt 300.
Ariel System
"All right, people, you know the drill," Blair said over the general comm channel. "Do this thing by the numbers, and we'll be past the cats before they know we're even in the neighborhood. But don't get distracted. You stop to look at the scenery and you'll be stuck seeing it for the rest of your life . . . which won't be long if Thrakhath's little playmates have their way. so . . . let's do it!"
It was another magnum launch, with a full contingent of fighters deployed in space around the Victory as she cruised slowly through the colorful, swirling gases of the nebula toward the jump point to Caliban. As before the point defense squadron would be held back to defend the ship against Kilrathi fighters while the rest of the wing mounted Eisen's recon in force ahead of the carrier.
Blair hoped he'd covered all the likely contingencies in formulating his plans for the mission. If he'd left something out, it was too late now to deal with it. They were committed, for good or ill.
"Major Mbuto, you're up," he said. "Good luck. . . but I hope you won't be mad if I don't wish you good hunting!"
Amazon Mbuto chuckled. "This is one time when we'd all be glad for an empty scanner screen, Colonel," she said.
Mbuto's interceptors were on point, as usual, scouting ahead of the others in hopes of locating any enemy ships around the jump point before they realized the Terrans were on their way. She had six Arrows in all, with orders to locate the Kilrathi but, if possible, to avoid engaging. Victory would keep a secure laser channel open with her fighter throughout the op so that Rollins could pick up her sensor feed and analyze the tactical situation ahead of time, despite the sensor interference from the nebula.
If she did spot enemy ships blocking Victory's chosen escape route, the other squadrons would be called: Berterelli's Longbows to launch bombing strikes on capital ships and Gold Squadron to provide cover for them or to engage Kilrathi fighters. Meanwhile, once the initial scouting was finished, Mbuto would withdraw and land on Victory, followed by the bombers as soon as they dumped their loads and, hopefully, disrupted any enemy capital ships in the neighborhood. The Thunderbolts would be the last to return to the carrier, thus reducing the amount of traffic Flight Control would deal with in the critical minutes before the ship attempted to jump.
That was the plan, at least. But Blair couldn't help remembering an ancient military maxim . . . No battle plan survives contact with the enemy. Any number of things could go wrong, and there was precious little room for error.
At least a mistake today wouldn't end in the devastation of an entire colony world. But that was cold comfort as far as Blair was concerned. Victory's fate was on the line, and despite his early reaction to the battered little escort carrier, Blair had learned to think of the ship as home and her crew as comrades, even friends. Losing her wouldn't be like losing the Concordia, but . . .
He shook himself out of his reverie. If Victory didn't make it, neither would Colonel Christopher Blair. This time he wasn't likely to outlive his carrier by more than a matter of minutes, hours at most.
The time passed slowly as they waited for a report from the scouts. Comm line chatter was subdued and sporadic, and Blair had plenty of time for second and even third thoughts. Periodically he cursed the prolonged inactivity, knowing it would be demoralizing the others as much as himself, but there was nothing to be done. Until the interceptors reported, the other pilots could do nothing more than keep formation, watch their screens, and wait.
Victory to Recon Leader," Rollins said at last. "We're getting sensor imagery from Amazon. Captain was right, Colonel. There's a welcoming committee out there. Stand by for coordinate feed."
In seconds, his scanner began displaying targets around the Caliban jump point, and Blair studied them intently. There were half a dozen large targets there, probably destroyers escorting a cruiser or a small Kilrathi carrier. A handful of smaller contacts were fighters, probably Darket on escort duty. The enemy force wasn't overwhelming, but it would present a significant challenge nonetheless.
"Okay," he said at length, using a low-power general broadcast channel that would keep his transmission localized and, hopefully, secret from any Kilrathi who might be trying to monitor Terran comm frequencies. As he spoke, his computer relayed additional data as he entered it, projecting courses, targets, and other information. "We ve got them spotted now. Major Berterelli, you're going to circle the jump point outside their likely sensor range and attack the targets designated Four and Five on the sensor feed. Gold Squadron will cover for you. When you withdraw, go to ecliptic heading one-eight-one by zero-six-four."
"That's away from Victory," Berterelli pointed out.
"Got it in one, Major," Blair told him. "I want to hit the cats fast, rile them up, and then draw them away from the jump point. If they think Victory's coming from the far side of the point, they'll deploy in that direction and throw out a wide cordon to try and spot her."
"Leaving the route in wide open," Maniac said. "You know, Maverick, sometimes you're almost as smart as everybody says you think you are!"
"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Blair said. "Once you break contact with the bad guys, Green Squadron should circle around to rendezvous with the carrier. Gold Squadron will continue to withdraw on the original heading until I give the word. Then I want you to separate into wing teams and head for home. Don't leave your wingman unless absolutely necessary, and remember the timetable. Victory will be at the jump point in . . . seventy minutes from now. If you're not back on board by then, you've lost your ride out of here. Any questions?"
There were none. "Good," Blair continued. "Now . . . Hobbes, you and Vagabond are on point. Then the Longbows. The rest of us bring up the rear. You have your orders. Make sure you all come back in one piece. You know how I hate filling out casualty reports."
Hobbes and Vagabond were already accelerating, steering the course Blair indicated. As he waited for the Green Squadron bombers to move out, Blair switched to the tactical channel for his wingman. "This is it, Cobra. Hope there's enough cats out here for you."
"It'll do," she said. "But I'm still kind of wondering how I ended up on your wing, Colonel."
"Not a whole lot of options, Lieutenant," he told her. "With Flint off the roster and Vaquero banged up from that fight yesterday, I'm juggling. Sorry if the arrangements don't suit you."
"I guess I figured you'd team with Hobbes, is all."
"Not this time," Blair told her. "I figured it was about time I let you show me some of those moves of yours."
Actually, it had been a difficult decision to make, pairing up the pilots in Gold Squadron for this mission. He had wanted Hobbes on point, no question; the Kilrathi's instincts and discipline made him the ideal choice to lead them in. But much as he would have relished flying with Ralgha, Blair's place wasn't on the very front line. As wing commander he had to stay out of the action until he was sure of the tactical situation.
But there were sharp limits in how he could deploy the rest of the squadron. He still couldn't trust Buckley to cooperate with Ralgha, and neither Flash nor Maniac was his idea of a good point man to team with the Kilrathi. So Vagabond was with Hobbes. With great reluctance Blair teamed the two majors together, even though he knew he was asking for trouble. Neither one was very reliable anyway, so it seemed better to have them let each other down instead of breaking up two different teams if and when they let themselves run wild.
So he'd crossed his fingers and put them together and ordered Cobra to fly on his wing. He hoped neither choice would turn out to be disastrous. But Vaquero, though physically fit after the battle with the Dralthi, was a bundle of nerves and not really ready for duty so soon. And as for Flint . . .
He almost put her back on the roster, but with so much at stake, he wasn't willing to risk a repeat performance. She was on duty in Flight Control again.
Cobra stuck close by him as they trailed the rest of the Terran flight, keeping strict radio silence now. They wouldn't use their comm channels until they engaged the enemy. Blair hoped Amazon Mbuto had followed her orders and headed back for the carrier. He wouldn't know for sure until the operation was nearly over. . . .
On his sensor screen, images began to appear, seemingly out of nowhere, as he came into range of the enemy force. The blips that represented the Confed fighters and bombers seemed pitifully inadequate to take on the Kilrathi ships, but they were already starting their runs. Hobbes and Vagabond opened the fight by engaging a trio of Darket close to the nearest of the two targeted capital ships. Berterelli's bombers ignored them and plunged past, hurtling at top speed toward the Kilrathi destroyer. There were more fighters registering beyond that large ship, and they could pose trouble for the Longbows.
"Maniac! Flash!" Blair said sharply. "You see that formation on the other side of the destroyer? Get in there and have some fun with them."
"Yes, sir, Colonel, sir," Maniac said. "Come on, rookie last one firing is kitty litter!"
"What about us, sir?" Cobra asked.
"We stick with Berterelli, Lieutenant," Blair told her, "in case something crops up he can't handle."
For several minutes they maintained their position behind the bombers, spectators as Berterelli's pilots unleashed a heavy attack against the first destroyer and then broke off to climb away from the deadly warship dodging defensive fire all the way. One of the Longbows didn't make it out, but the other five did. The attack didn't destroy the Kilrathi ship, but Blair's sensors registered serious damage to shields, armor, and propulsion systems. The cats knew they'd been hit, that much was sure.
The second destroyer was a tougher nut to crack. Forewarned, it laid down a devastating pattern of fire against the incoming Longbows. A series of shots raked across Major Berterelli's bomber, and the Longbow came apart under the force of the barrage . . . but not before the Italian pilot released a full spread of ship-killer missiles. And the other bombers dropped their remaining loads simultaneously. As if avenging the squadron leader, they received the satisfaction of seeing those shots hit home. Explosions rippled down the spine of the destroyer. A few seconds later, a massive fireball consumed it. Some of the chunks were bigger than the Terran Thunderbolts, adding to the confusion that reigned on the Kilrathi perimeter.
"Retreat! Retreat! All fighters retreat!" Blair called. The Terran ships began to disengage, even Maniac and Flash. They turned away now, on their false escape heading, but Blair and Cobra hung back to cover the retreat.
So far, neither had fired a shot.
A pair of Darket gave chase, but Cobra took out one with a well-placed barrage from her tail gun, and Blair used a hard braking maneuver to change vector and let the second one shoot past him. Then he took it out with sustained blaster fire, saving his missiles in case a real threat developed. No other fighters approached them as they continued their retreat.
Just before losing sensor contact with the Kilrathi ships Blair saw that the destroyers were in motion. He allowed himself a grim smile. As he hoped, they were spreading out to throw up a detection net . . . but they were on the wrong side of the jump point to block Victory now.
* * *
Bridge, TCS Victory.
Ariel System
"Last of the Hellcats is aboard now, sir," Rollins reported from his post at Communications. "And the first Longbows just checked in, looking for clearance. Looks like it's going down smooth."
"Let's hope it stays that way," Eisen growled. "Helm? What's our status?"
"ETA is fifteen minutes. sir, the helmsman reported.
"Blair's cutting it fine," Rollins muttered. "Hope he knows what he's doing out there."
"A little less chatter, Lieutenant, if you please," the captain said. "Navigation, begin plotting for jump. Mr. Rollins, make it 'Jump Stations,' if you —"
"Sir!" The Sensor Officer broke in. "Captain, the jump point . . . it's not there!"
"What?" Rollins spoke before he could stop himself. "It ain't there? What do you mean, it ain't there?"
"Lieutenant!" Eisen snapped. "Explanations, people. I need explanations . . ."
"It's like the cats just managed to . . . to dose off the jump point, sir," the Sensor Officer said. "I don't know how. But it isn't out there any more."
"And without it, we're stuck," someone else said aloud.
Rollins looked at Eisen. The man's face was darkly impassive, but he could see the expression in the captain's eyes. However the Kilrathi had done it, there was one thing certain. Victory was trapped.