Heart Of The Tiger wc-4 Page 27

  They weren't taking any chances this time. Coventry would go through first, ready to engage anything waiting near the other end of the jump point. The destroyer that followed her would jump at the first sign of trouble, to warn off the rest of the Terran force.

  That would be tough on Coventry. Eisen wondered how Jason Bondarevsky felt about flying point on this mission. He was supposed to be one of Admiral Tolwyn's shining young proteges, but apparently the admiral's patronage didn't extend to protecting a favorite from a dangerous mission.

  Eisen glanced uneasily at the admiral. He was dressed to perfection, uniform starched and crisp, every hair in place. But Tolwyn did look nervous, pacing restlessly back and forth behind the Sensor Officer's station. For all the man's air of confidence, it was clear that he had his share of worries.

  "Sheffield has powered up her jump coils," the Sensor Officer reported. "Jump field forming . . . there she goes!"

  Tolwyn glanced at the watch implanted in his wrist. "Start the final countdown, Captain," he ordered.

  For an instant, Eisen wanted to bristle. Ever since the admiral came on board he'd interfered in routine ship's operations: barking orders, taking over briefings, dressing down crew members who didn't live up to his image of the ideal Terran warrior. Tolwyn seemed to need to control everything and everyone around him, as if his personal intervention was the only thing that could guarantee the success of the mission.

  But perhaps Tolwyn had good reason to be concerned. Eisen leaned forward in his chair and repeated the Admiral's order. Commander Gessler slapped the switch that started the automated jump sequence.

  "NOW, JUMP STATIONS, JUMP STATIONS," the computer announced. "FIVE MINUTES TO JUMP SEQUENCE START."

  The seconds ticked away, with no sign of Sheffield turning back to warn them away from the jump. Eisen began to relax a little. Maybe this operation would go by the numbers after all. . . .

  "Remember, Captain, Behemoth will be five minutes behind us all the way," Tolwyn said. "I expect response times to be tight. We can't afford a screw-up. Not now."

  "Yes, Admiral," Eisen said. They'd been over it all a dozen times before. He decided Tolwyn was talking just to distract himself from thinking about the ticking clock. In a few more minutes, they'd be committed.

  And nothing would ever be the same again.

  * * *

  Flight Deck, TCS Victory.

  Loki System

  "And five . . . and four . . . three . . . two . . . one . . ."

  Jumpshock!

  Blair's guts twisted and churned as the carrier went through transition. No matter how often he experienced it, he could never get used to the sensation. The physical nausea passed quickly enough, but there was always the disorientation, the essential feeling of wrongness that left him confused, numb.

  He blinked and shook his head, trying to get his bearings. Everyone in the wing had gone through this transit strapped into their cockpits, a standard precaution when jumping into hostile space. They had the flight deck to themselves. Force fields and gravity generators sometimes faltered during jump, and technicians stayed clear of the flight deck for fear of a catastrophic failure. So the pilots were alone, lined up at their launch tubes, as ready for action as anyone could be in the aftermath of jumpshock.

  Blair's eyes came back into focus, and he checked his readouts and control settings automatically.

  A voice crackled in his headphones. "Jump complete," Eisen said. "Welcome to Loki System."

  There was a pause before Rollins took over. "According to sensors, the area is clear," the communications officer announced, still sounding a little groggy. "And Coventry says the same. Sorry to disappoint you, ladies and gents, but it looks like an all clear."

  Blair let out a long sigh, not sure if he was disappointed or relieved. They had cleared the first hurdle, but they weren't finished yet, not by a long shot.

  The admiral's voice came over the channel, clipped and precise. "Colonel Blair, you will relieve yourself from launch stations immediately. All flight wing personnel remain on alert status until further notice."

  He still disagreed with the admiral's decision to suspend all flight ops from the carrier until they had to deploy to protect the Behemoth. Coventry's four fighters and the destroyers flying escort would give adequate cover, but Blair didn't like keeping all of his people on standby alert for hours on end without relief. Better to let them fly patrols, get some down-time, and take the risk that the wing might be a few hands short when things hit the fan. But Tolwyn had overruled him.

  He started to unstrap himself from the Thunderbolt's cockpit. If all went well, Blair thought hopefully, this interlude would soon end. And then . . . ?

  It was difficult to picture what peace would be like, after a lifetime dedicated to the war.

  CHAPTER XXV

  Bridge. TCS Victory.

  Loki System

  "God, that sucker sure is thirsty," Rollins commented. "Good thing you don't have to pay for a fill-up when you're skimming hydrogen."

  "Eyes on your board, Lieutenant," Eisen growled. "And put the mouth in neutral."

  "Yes, sir," Rollins replied quickly. The edge in Eisen's voice made it clear that the captain was dead serious.

  The Terran squadron had proceeded from the jump point to their first destination, the gas giant Loki VIII, without encountering any sign of Imperial resistance. Victory remained close by while the Behemoth moved into a tight, hyperbolic orbit around the huge ball of gas. The cruiser and her consorts stood further off to give warning of any enemy interference, but there was nothing. The weapons platform dipped into the atmosphere long enough to top off the depleted tanks of liquid hydrogen needed as reaction mass to move her ponderous bulk toward the target world.

  "Sensors are still reading clear, sir," the Sensor Officer reported. "Looks like we're home free."

  A red light flashed on the Communications board and Rollins called up a computer analysis of the stray signal locking onto his computer. "Captain . . ." he began, hesitating a moment. "Sir, I've got some kind of lowband transmission here. Seems to be coming from one of the gas giant's moons."

  "What do you make of it, Mister Rollins?" Admiral Tolwyn cut in before Eisen could respond.

  "I'm not sure, sir . . . uh, Admiral. I don't think its a ship. More like an automated feed . . . from an unmanned relay station or sensor buoy. But powerful. A very strong signal . . ."

  "Any idea what it's saying?" Tolwyn asked.

  "No, Admiral. It's scrambled. Could be almost anything." Rollins looked up at him, apologetic, but Tolwyn had already turned away.

  "Colonel Ralgha? What do you think?"

  Hobbes had been scratched from the fighter roster with a down-gripe on his Thunderbolt, so Tolwyn decided he should join other members of the admiral's staff at supernumerary positions on the bridge. The Kilrathi renegade shook his head, a curiously human gesture.

  "I am sorry, Admiral. I do not know."

  "Well, I do," Tolwyn said. "It means we've been noticed. And the cats will be organizing a welcoming committee for us."

  "Any orders, Admiral?" Eisen asked. Rollins had never heard him sound quite so stiff and formal.

  "The squadron will continue as before," Tolwyn ordered. "Have Behemoth secured from fueling stations and fall into formation. Coventry to take station ahead." He paused, almost seeming to strike a heroic pose. "Maintain your vigilance, gentlemen. And be ready for anything."

  * * *

  Audience Hall, KIS Hvar'kann.

  Loki System

  "Lord Prince," Melek said, approaching the dais and bowing deeply. "We have a report from one of the sentinel stations near the eighth planet. Terran ships have been detected. Their movements conform to a wilderness refueling operation, and one of the vessels appears to be their Behemoth weapon."

  Thrakhath leaned forward on his throne, his eyes gleaming in the harsh red light. "Ah . . . so it begins." He showed his fangs. "You see, Melek, how well our agent has performed?
Not only the design specifications of the weapons platform, but also the intended Terran movements. Refuel at planet eight, then a crossing to six. Exactly as specified in the report from Sar'hrai."

  "Yes, Lord Prince," Melek agreed. Behind his mask, he allowed himself a moment's impatience. As the plan unfolded, the Prince was becoming increasingly filled with a sense of his own self-importance. The arrogance of the Imperial Family was one of the major sources of disaffection among the great nobles of the realm, and Melek was finding it difficult to maintain his pose of sycophancy as Thrakhath's posturing grew more blatant. "It seems we will indeed have a battle here, and soon."

  Thrakhath's gesture called for silence. "The strength of the Terran force?" he asked.

  "Five capital ships, Lord Prince," Melek replied. "Plus the weapons platform itself. Only one carrier . . . Victory. The others-a cruiser, and three destroyers. Nothing to challenge our force significantly."

  "Excellent. They assumed the outpost here was not worth a larger squadron." Thrakhath paused. "How are our preparations proceeding?"

  "Nearly completed, Lord Prince. The Terrans will find their planned firing position difficult to reach. Our own forces will be deployed by the time they realize the threat." Melek paused. "There is still time, Lord Prince, to order more capital ships into the battle zone, to ensure the Terrans are destroyed."

  The Prince gestured denial. "No, Melek. Fighters will have the best chance to penetrate the defenses of the weapons platform. We do not want to scare the enemy away with too great a . . . detectable show of strength. Even if some of their ships escape, we will have the Behemoth. And with it . . . the war."

  "As you wish, Lord Prince." Melek bowed and retreated, but a part of him wished he could see Thrakhath lose some of that arrogant assurance. Perhaps then the prince would finally come to understand the true nature of the dangerous game he played with the future of the Empire.

  * * *

  Gold Squadron Ready Room, TCS Victory.

  Loki System

  It took hours to cross interplanetary distances, and the flight wing settled into a grim routine of waiting, with two squadrons on watch in their ready rooms and the other two snatching downtime while they could. There were only six of them in the Gold Squadron ready room, with Hobbes on the admiral's personal staff, but it seemed unpleasantly cramped after nearly four hours of boredom waiting for an alarm that never came. No one wanted to take up Vagabond's challenge at cards any more, and talk lagged. Most of them sat quietly, enveloped in their own thoughts.

  Blair wasn't sure how much longer his staff could wait.

  "Man, I'd almost rather the cats would try to stop us," Maniac Marshall said suddenly. "Anything would beat sitting here on our asses with nothing to do."

  "Hey, get used to it, Vaquero told him. "If that Behemoth thing works, and we get peace, then we're history. No more magnum launches, no more long patrols . . ."

  "I'll believe it when I see it," Cobra said. "I figure we'll still have to keep the fleet ready, peace treaty or no. You can't trust the cats to keep to any treaty. Just look at what they did the last time we signed an armistice with them!"

  At that moment an alarm siren cut off all talk. "LAUNCH STATIONS, LAUNCH STATIONS, the computer announced. ALL FIGHTERS UP. MAGNUM LAUNCH."

  The Gold Squadron pilots scrambled to their feet, snatching up helmets and gauntlets and heading for the door.

  "Thanks a lot, Maniac," Blair said as the two nearly collided at the door. "Looks like you're getting your wish."

  Marshall grinned, a wolfish, uncanny smile similar to Paladin's. "What's the matter, Colonel, sir? You'd rather sit here and collect dust than get out on the firing line again?"

  He ignored the comment and followed the others down the corridor to the entrance to the hangar area. Just inside he stopped at an intercom station and punched for the bridge. "This is Blair," he said as Rollins appeared on the screen. "What's the scoop, Radio?"

  Rollins looked flustered. "Wait one minute, Colonel," he said.

  A moment later Admiral Tolwyn's face filled the monitor. "Coventry's hit a mine," the admiral said. "She's falling behind, with heavy damage to her shield generators. Looks like a Kilrathi mine field right across our planned course, and I don't like it one little bit. So I'm putting your boys and girls out there until we see what else the cats might have waiting for us."

  "So we don't have anything definite yet . . . except the mines?" Blair wasn't sure if he was relieved or concerned. If this was just a false alarm, it would sap the wing's morale even more. But the Hermes survey hadn't reported any mine fields on the approaches to Loki VI. Blair didn't like any coincidence this suspicious. Not here, not now.

  "Finding a bunch of mines this close to the planned firing point . . . I don't like it, not one bit." Tolwyn's words echoed Blair's uneasiness. "Your job is simple, Colonel. Cover the Behemoth until it's ready to open fire."

  "Sounds simple enough, Admiral," Blair replied. "But sometimes the simple jobs are the real killers."

  Tolwyn broke the circuit. Blair retrieved his flight gear and turned back to the bustle in the hangar deck. Four of the Thunderbolts were already rolling into place in front of their launch tubes, while four Arrows from Denise Mbuto's squadron were in place on the opposite side. By the time the two ready squadrons launched, preparations were well in hand for the other two: the point-defense fighters. By then their pilots, roused from much-needed rest, would be ready to fly.

  Rachel Coriolis hurried to him. "Better get saddled up, Colonel, or you'll miss the party," she said.

  He smiled. "They can't do that. Didn't you hear? I'm the Heart of the Tiger. Can't have a party without the Heart of the Tiger, you know."

  Her look was serious. "Take care of yourself out there," she said quietly. "I wouldn't like it if . . . someone else I cared about didn't come back."

  "I'll be back. Now that I know I have something worth coming back to, they won't get to me again." He turned away and hurried toward his fighter, drawing on his helmet and gauntlets as he strode briskly across the broad metal deck.

  * * *

  Stalker Leader.

  Loki System

  Flight captain Graldak nar Sutaghi studied his sensor screens and wished his pressure gauntlets had room for him to unsheathe his claws in anticipation. The Terrans had discovered the mine field and were beginning to deploy their fighters. It was unfolding just as Prince Thrakhath outlined. with the mines across their intended course occupying all their attention for a critical few minutes, there was a perfect opening for stealth fighters lying in wait to launch a devastating attack.

  The huge blip on his screen had to be the weapons platform, the primary target. It had come to a dead stop while the carrier edged closer to the mine field and began to launch its fighters. For the moment, at least, the Behemoth was actually closer to the waiting Kilrathi ships than the enemy carrier.

  Now was the time to strike.

  "Stalker Flight, this is Leader," he said aloud. "Stand by to disengage cloaks and attack on my mark. Three . . . two . . . one. . . mark! Attack! Attack! Attack!" As he spoke, he cut the power to the Strakha's stealth device and brought his shield and weapons power on-line. He rammed his throttles full forward and felt the fighter surge, a predator eager to seek out the prey.

  "All fighters, concentrate attack on the weapons platform," Graldak ordered. "Remember the briefings . . . attack the weak points."

  "And the enemy fighters?" someone asked.

  "Do not let them interfere with you," Graldak said. "But do not be drawn into a dogfight until the primary mission is achieved." Inside his bulky flight helmet, he was showing his fangs. Graldak was eager to get the first phase finalized so his squadron could engage the Terran fighters. In the fighting at Locanda, it had been galling to avoid combat and run under cloaks. This time they would show the apes how warriors fought.

  And today there were no limits on engagement, no fighters declared off-limits to attack Any enemy pilot who wanted to
fight, even the Heart of the Tiger or the Kilrathi renegade, was fair prey to the hunters today.

  The Kilrathi attack group, four squadrons strong drove straight toward the daunting bulk of the enemy planet killer. Graldak's blood sang within his veins.

  * * *

  Thunderbolt 300.

  Loki System

  "Targets! Targets! Targets!"

  Blair's eyes shifted instinctively to his sensor screen as Rollins chanted the warning. Suddenly the monitor was crawling with the red-orange dots representing enemy fighters, four distinct swarms of Kilrathi craft arranged in a rough half-globe. But they were close, too close . . . well inside the range of Terran sensors. And on the far side of the Behemoth from Victory.

  Cloaked Strakha, then. They had lain in wait while the Terran squadron passed by, striking only now when the mine field cut off their advance and the Behemoth was momentarily uncovered and vulnerable.

  The Kilrathi must have known the significance of the weapon and the Terran plan of attack. It was blatantly clear that all the talk about a possible spy giving away secrets to the Empire was more than just speculation.

  Blair pushed the thought aside. Time enough to worry about that later. Right now, the Kilrathi were closing fast with the Behemoth.

  "Red and White Squadrons!" he snapped. "Double back and engage the enemy as quickly as possible." That would send the point defense ships into action directly, but it wouldn't provide much cover to the weapons platform itself "Blue Squadron, Gold Squadron, follow me!"

  He banked sharply, lining up on the Behemoth's looming mass and opening up his throttles to full power. With afterburners blazing, Blair dove straight toward the huge weapon. The others trailed him, only thirteen fighters in all. A part of Blair's mind dwelt idly on the question of whether or not the number of ships was significant. An ill omen, perhaps?