Wing Commander #07 False Color

by William R. Forstchen

  "Yeah . . ." Bondarevsky trailed off as an idea struck him. "Admiral, there's one way we might get in close enough to take them by surprise."

  "Not your Strakhas," Richards said, holding up a hand. "I know Blair managed to get in close enough to launch the T-Bomb in a cloaked Excalibur fighter, but he lost pretty near his whole damned squadron getting there. And we don't have a bomb big enough to do more that scratch the hull of a dreadnought."

  "No, sir," Bondarevsky agreed with a nod of his head. "No, we can't hit them with one squadron of fighters. But we could get Mjollnir close enough to do the trick . . ."

  Admiral Tolwyn slapped the table with one hand. "By God, Jason, you're right! We're the one ship in human space that could pull it off!"

  Richards looked from one to the other. "You want to impersonate a Kilrathi ship . . . ?"

  "Exactly," the other admiral replied. "Look, we're in a Cat carrier with heavy damage. They're used to Cats

  coming in and joining up . . . Vorghath's not the only new recruit to sign on with Ragark's fleet, after all. So we sail past their pickets and ask ever so nicely for a berth at the spacedock to get some much-needed repairs."

  "Lord knows that's believable enough," Bondarevsky

  commented wryly. He was thinking of his conversation with Harper back in the shuttle. Their very weakness could sell their story to the Kilrathi.

  "We could even use the rest of the battle group for verisimilitude," Tolwyn went on, an excited light dawning in his eyes. "They play the part of human ships in hot pursuit. So there's a fight near the jump point, all right, that draws other Cat patrols away from Baka Kar. That lets us get in nice and close without being engaged. Then . . . we strike. We may not have as many weapons as they do, but I dare say Mr. Deniken could cause some damage with his guns. And we sortie the whole flight wing, for cover, and to add to the attack."

  "Our Kilrathi fighters will work to our advantage there, too," Bondarevsky added. "Especially the Strakhas. The Black Cats will tie their defenses in knots."

  Richards raised a hand. "The enthusiasm is commendable, gentlemen," he said. "But there's plenty you haven't covered. Such as how we pass ourselves off as Cats . . ."

  "Computer simulacrums," Tolwyn interjected. "With a claim of comm damage, they'll be convincing enough."

  "And there's the matter of codes and ciphers," Richards went on as if his fellow admiral hadn't spoken. "They're no doubt buried in the material we extracted from the computer during the refit, but we'd have to do a lot of digging . . . and they still might not be enough." He paused. "And the big one, people. Good as your plan sounds, it's almost certainly a one-way mission. Mjollnir might get off a few good hits, might even damage the dreadnought and the spacedock thoroughly enough to remove the threat, but with the whole system stirred up against us I seriously doubt our ability to get out of there again."

  Admiral Tolwyn fixed him with a fiery eye. "Vance . . . this is the big one. What we put this ship back into operation for in the first place. Look—thanks to the conspirators back home Ragark's had a free hand to move against the Landreich. No doubt they figured he'd win a handy victory, but then when ConFleet mobilized at last they could contain him. Go in with T-Bombs or whatever it took and neutralize his little empire. But they screwed up, Vance. None of them could have been expecting a dreadnought. Ragark will roll right over the Landreich and just keep on going, as far as he wants. Remember the Battle of Earth? All those cities going up in flames? If the Vorghath orbits and turns her guns on Earth, there won't be anything left. Ragark will do what Thrakhath always wanted . . . blast Mankind back into the Stone Age on every planet we've settled, and keep a few survivors around for sport or slaves." He leaned forward in his chair. "Jason's scheme is the one chance we have of getting in there and neutralizing that monster before it gets loose and brings down everything_ If it means we don't come back . . . well, all of us have been there before."

  Richards looked at Bondarevsky. "I imagine you agree with him, Jason," he said quietly.

  "Yes, sir," Bondarevsky replied. "I don't see how we can ignore the threat. And I don't see any other way to deal with it."

  Kevin Tolwyn spoke up again. "Whatever you do, you'll have to do it fast," he said. "That's the rest of the bad news. Somehow the Council's gotten hold of details of the refit here. Some of the political types are demanding the whole Goliath Project be called off right away. They'll strip away the battle group, order the carrier scrapped, and relieve or reassign the whole crew. And probably stage a vote of no confidence that'll kick Kruger right out of office."

  "With a dreadnought staring down their throats?" Richards demanded.

  "The President hasn't shared that particular bit of intelligence, sir," Captain Tolwyn replied. "He says it would only cause needless panic, under the circumstances."

  "That's Old Max, all right," Richards said grimly. "Willing to scuttle everything he's done just to stand on a principle. How long?"

  "The vote will be in a few days. It depends on whether the President can manage to stall them with parliamentary tactics."

  "I doubt that Max Kruger would know a parliamentary tactic if it pulled a laser pistol on him," Richards said. "So we have to get moving before somebody notices what we're up to, is that it?"

  "Yes, sir," the younger Tolwyn said.

  "I hope all of you know just how little I like this," the battle group commander told them. "Okay. We're out of options and out of maneuvering room_ I'll draft the orders to get underway as soon as we can take care of all the noncombatant ships and personnel."

  "We could escort them as far as Oecumene," Admiral Tolwyn suggested. "There's a small fleet detachment there that could look after the Carnegie and the City of Cashel. That way we wouldn't have to detach any of our combat ships for escort duty."

  "Good thought, Geoff," Richards said. "God . . . there's a thousand things to do, and no time to do them." He looked at the younger Tolwyn. "I imagine you'll want to get back to Landreich before Independence spaces."

  "Yes, sir." Kevin paused. "I'd rather go with you, but I have my own Flight Wing to consider. They're drafting every spare plane that can fly to rebuild from the losses we suffered at Hellhole. And we're competing with Arbroath, too, for birds and pilots. I have to be there."

  "You always did know where your duty was, Kevin," Bondarevsky said, rising as the younger man did and taking his hand. "We've had to say good-bye a good many times not knowing if one or both of us was going to buy the farm out there. This time . . . well, who knows. Take care of yourself."

  "You, too, Jason," he replied. He turned and gave Richards a salute. "Sir, I don't think luck's of much use where you're headed, but good luck to you anyway."

  Richards shook his hand. "And to you. Watch that ass Galbraith."

  Kevin's uncle stepped up to him last of all. "I brought you out here because I was afraid for your safety back on Earth," he said. "Now both of us are back in the front lines again. I'm sorry, Kevin."

  "Don't be, sir," the younger man said. "This is the job I chose. And you know I'm pretty damned hard to get rid of. Just make sure you're as hard to kill off, when you hit Baka Kar."

  The admiral looked old as he faced his nephew. "You've done the family proud, Kevin. Always remember that." Then, after the briefest of embraces, he stepped back. "Now get back on that courier and go tell Max Kruger we'll make his suicide run for him. But if I get back from Baka Kar alive I expect to see every can of beer on Landreich waiting for me!"

  Kevin saluted again and left. As the door slid shut behind him, Richards spoke again. "All right, gentlemen, it looks as if we have some planning to do. Let's break it down into a few main headings. There's the jump drive . . ."

  Flight Deck, FRLS Mjollnir

  Near Jump Point One, Oecumene System

  1315 hours (CST), 2371.036

  "What do you mean, I don't have a spot? For God's sake, woman, I'm a civilian! And I'm not riding this tub into a war zone!"

  Bondarevsky
strode purposefully across the open flight deck toward the source of the shouts and abusive language. As he'd expected, he discovered Armando Diaz at the center of it all, engaged in a heated argument with Sparks. The woman looked uncomfortable, standing by the ramp up to the shuttle with a computer clipboard in her hand and a harried expression on her face. Sparks was used to dealing with small craft repairs and resupply, where her charges didn't talk back or make demands. But Bondarevsky had press-ganged her into this detail because every department on the ship was so shorthanded.

  'What's the problem here, Lieutenant?" he said loudly as he strode up behind Diaz.

  The salvage expert turned. "The problem, Bondarevsky, is that I haven't been given a seat of any of the outgoing shuttles. This is the final evacuation flight to the City of Cashel, is it not?"

  He nodded. "It is, Major," he said, slightly emphasizing the courtesy rank to remind Diaz of his status. "I'm afraid there must have been a mistake made somewhere—"

  "There certainly has been!" Diaz interjected.

  "A breakdown in communications," Bondarevsky went on. "Apparently you weren't informed that the Admiral had requested you to stay on with the other computer experts from your team."

  "What? I'll do no such thing! I'm—"

  "You're a major in the Landreich Armed Forces, sir, and thus under military discipline. And your services as a computer expert are very much in need right now. We have a great deal of information to extract from the Kilrathi computer records, and only a limited number of people to take care of the problem."

  "Now see here, Bondarevsky—"

  "That's Captain Bondarevsky, Major," he said quietly. "Look, I'm not happy about the situation either. But you answer to Admiral Richards. You have a complaint, you take it to him. In the meantime, get off my flight deck and stop holding up people who have a legitimate reason for leaving the ship. Or shall I ask Colonel Bhaktadil to have some of his marines escort you to your quarters? Or to see the admiral?"

  Diaz opened his mouth, then caught the look in Bondarevsky's eyes and closed it again. He turned and stalked away without another word.

  "Thanks, skipper," Sparks said. "I'm afraid I didn't handle him very well."

  "Don't worry about it," he told her. "Lieutenant Cartwright was supposed to handle it, but he got sidetracked by half-a-dozen other jobs. Not that Richards is likely to forgive him any time soon."

  "I've seen a lot of confusion in my day, skipper, but I think this takes the prize."

  "Yeah. How's it going otherwise?"

  "This is the last batch," she told him. "The only other problem . . . well, I'm not even sure it is a problem, sir. But most of the Cats didn't show up for their shuttle. What should I do about it?"

  He smiled faintly. "This time I'm the one to blame for not keeping you informed, Sparks," he admitted. "I just got out of a meeting with Murragh and the Admiral. Most of the Cats want to stay with us."

  "That's crazy," she said flatly.

  "That's what I said. But Murragh convinced the Admiral it's the best hope we have of getting past Ragark's pickets. And I'm afraid he might be right."

  He didn't tell her about the fierce argument that had raged in the Admiral's ready room for the better part of two hours. Murragh had been given instructions to transfer with all of his people across to the City of Cashel along with the rest of the noncombatants on board—excepting the handful who, like Diaz, were needed to help them prepare for the raid on Baka Kar. But the Kilrathi prince had managed to learn the reason for the transfer order, and he had appealed directly to Richards for permission to stay on board.

  "My cadre still know the systems better than most of your men, Admiral," he had said. "And it might be a very good idea to have a few genuine kili on board in case your simulacrums are not effective." His shrug had been thoroughly human, as eloquent as a Frenchman's might have been. "You cannot tell, can you? What you might encounter? I would say it was a bad time to throw away your assets."

  "It isn't your fight, Murragh," Richards had told him coldly. "And anyway, we're talking about a suicide mission. This is no place to risk the rightful prince of the Empire. Not when it is likely we'll be destroyed out there."

  "Unless you think you can persuade your people not to fight?" That had been Tolwyn, who had been summoned to the meeting in haste once Richards and Bondarevsky had learned what the Kilrathi prince wanted.

  "That, I fear, is unlikely," Murragh said. "I am the legitimate heir to the throne, closest survivor to the old Emperor's bloodline. But that is all I am. Hraijhak . . the closest equivalent I have seen in any of your books was in something Graham lent me, a book on Celtic history. I am . . tanist, the most likely heir. But until I have been seated upon the Imperial Throne and received the fealty of the major clan leaders, I have no authority. And if it really is Dawx Jhorrad who commands Vorghath, you can be sure that he, at least, will not renounce whatever oath he has sworn to Ragark simply because I may have the better claim. Especially as Ragark is quite evidently a powerful warlord now while I I. . . have but a small following."

  "All the more reason to keep you out of harm's way, then," Richards had said.

  "No, Admiral, it is quite otherwise. If I am ever to claim my place in the Empire, I must first prove myself against Ragark and the other would-be usurpers. As I have no following of my own, I must find my allies where I can. My people respect warriors who will go into battle against their enemies, Admiral. Let me go into this one with you. I promise that my people will be able to assist you."

  Richards had yielded at last, grumbling, just as he had when the original orders had come from Kruger. So Murragh and nearly a hundred Kilrathi would be on board as part of the crew when the Mjollnir went into action. Only those whose commitment to the Prince's cause was doubtful were being shuttled across to the transport as the battle group prepared to leave Oecumene.

  At least the jump engines had worked. That had been the last remaining worry as they broke orbit and began the voyage outward from Vaku. Once again Graham had proven his worth as Chief Engineer. Mjollnir was ready for action . . . or at least as ready as she ever would be.

  Watching the confusion on the flight deck as the last of the nonessential personnel made ready to leave, Bondarevsky could only hope they were ready enough

  Carrier Space Traffic Control Center, FRLS Independence

  Orbiting Landreich, Landreich System

  1515 hours (CST)

  The communications monitor in one corner of CSTCC had been tuned to a commercial news and information holo-vid channel broadcast from the capitol. Almost everyone in the compartment, from Kevin Tolwyn down to the junior spacer assigned to sweep up and keep coffee cups filled, spent at least as much time watching that monitor as they did doing their real jobs.

  "What do you think, Tolwyn?" the Space Officer, Howard Reed, asked around a mugful of coffee. "Will Old Max pull it off? You're his new fair-haired boy, after all."

  "I don't know, Boss," Tolwyn replied, shaking his head. "I just don't know if he can manage another miracle this time."

  On the monitor, they could see the Council of Delegates waiting in the Council Hall. There was a restive air about them, and the commentator was filling time with a lengthy explanation of the procedures for a vote of no confidence under Landreich's constitution.

  Tolwyn had barely returned from Vaku when the announcement had gone out. Galbraith's faction had moved to call a fresh session of the Council, and foremost on the agenda was a move to censure Kruger for his reckless handling of defense funds. That could only mean that Galbraith had decided to reveal the details he had somehow learned of the Goliath Project, which meant that the secret of the Mjollnir would soon come out for all to hear . . . including the Kilrathi.

  Knowing that Richards and the others had been discussing a plan involving pretending to be a Kilrathi carrier, Tolwyn was worried. So far the newsmen were still in the dark, since Galbraith clearly wanted to reveal the Goliath Project in the most dramatic fashion po
ssible. But once this session got under way, there would be no stopping the truth from coming out.

  And Mjollnir would end up sailing right into disaster, unless they heard the news and turned back. Tolwyn doubted they'd have a chance. By his calculations, based on the schedule he'd received in last contact between the carrier and his courier shuttle heading for home, they would just be getting ready to make the hyperjump from Oecumene to Hellhole, and then on to Baka Kar.

  Tolwyn doubted they'd be watching LN&IC news, and it was unlikely that anything would be going out on official channels. Not unless Kruger decided to call them off now that he knew he wouldn't escape his political enemies . . . and that didn't sound one bit like Old Max. So Mjollnir was heading straight into trouble, and the Landreich fleet had been held back by a direct Presidential order on the eve of spacing for Ilios. The entire strategy was coming apart, and all because Max Kruger's government was falling apart around them.

  No one knew why the President had held back the fleet. Some thought he might try to use it to stage a coup of sorts and retake his own government, but with Galbraith the senior captain it seemed unlikely he'd get much support for such a move. Whatever game he was playing, it involved holding his cards close. He hadn't even made it on time to the Council session. Hence the restless Delegates and the chattering news commentators.

  "Shuttle coming in from planetside, Boss," one of the technicians announced. "From the Navy Compound at Lutz Mannheim. All IFF codes approved."

  "Clear them," Boss Reed ordered, setting down his coffee. "Must be that last load of maintenance stores Watanabe was complaining about."