Wing Commander #07 False Color

by William R. Forstchen

  "God's speed, Vance," he whispered.

  He frowned at the tactical display. Ragark had left them with no real options at all. They could run, and be pursued, and sooner or later the Mjollnir would be cornered and destroyed. Or they could try to get through Ragark's lines to jump out, but the punishment they would take would be far too much for Mjollnir to handle. Or they could just go down fighting, and take as many of Ragark's ships with them as they could.

  Tolwyn straightened in his chair. There was really only one choice he could make.

  Combat Information Center, FRLS Mjollnir

  Deep Space, Baka Kar System

  1527 hours (CST)

  The door to CIC slid open soundlessly, and Bondarevsky stepped into the dim-lit command center, every step weighed down by fatigue. It had been a long day . . . and it wasn't over yet.

  Tolwyn looked up as he came in. "Good job out there, Jason. A damned good job. Your people did us proud today."

  "Thank you, sir. I wish we could have done . . . more." He knew there was no way the flight wing could have helped Richards and the Xenophon, but that didn't make it any easier to accept the old spymaster's death.

  Now there was nothing more the flight wing could do, at all. Tolwyn had announced his intention of taking on Ragark's fleet head-on, and Bondarevsky had been ready to lead his fighters out yet again to the attack. But as Tolwyn pointed out there was still an outside chance they might reach the jump point, and if so they couldn't very well stop and take on planes before they made good their escape. The only fighters on board capable of jump were the four surviving Vaktoths, hardly enough to challenge the flight wings of four escort carriers.

  So Bondarevsky's pilots would have to ride out the last action aboard Mjollnir, passengers for a change. It was probably just as well, at that. The port side flight deck had been put out of action when a returning bomber had lost control at the last minute on final approach. The damage there wasn't quite as bad as what they'd found when they'd first surveyed her, but Mjollnir's launch and retrieval cycle would be severely hampered until they could get a chance to make fresh repairs.

  Bondarevsky almost laughed out loud. It was a fine time to be thinking about future repair jobs. If there was anything left to salvage, the Cats would get it.

  "Any word on the others, sir?" he asked quietly.

  "Durendal went down fighting," Tolwyn told him. "Collins slipped away, but she's got a pair of destroyers chasing her. How long she can hold out . . . that's anybody's guess."

  "Then—"

  His next comment was cut off by a call from the sensor station. "More disturbances in the jump point, sir. Multiple targets again . . . My God, sir, they're ours! Landreich ships!"

  Kittani was reading off the information from incoming transponder beacons. "That's Independence . . . Magna Carta . . . Arbroath. The whole carrier fleet! Themistocles ."

  "They're right in the middle of the Cat fleet," Clancy said in hushed tones. "I hope to God they can get clear."

  "Look at the vectors, Mr. Clancy," Tolwyn said. "They came through the jump point under power. By the time the Cats react they'll be at the edge of weapon's range . . ."

  Bondarevsky met his eyes. "My God, it's Kruger. It's got to be Kruger."

  Bridge, FRLS Independence

  Jump Point Three, Baka Kar System

  1530 hours (CST)

  Max Kruger had the command chair, and it felt good. He'd been forced to relieve Galbraith of duty after the politician's son had tried to resist the order to get under way for Vordran, and it seemed safest to take command himself rather than entrust it to any of Galbraith's officers. Actually, most of them seemed happy to follow his lead, especially Commander Roth.

  They had reached the Vordran belt in time to discover two of Mjollnir's planes, a Zartoth and a Kofar. Cynthia Hall, the Zartoth pilot, had reported another electronic warfare plane had been destroyed by a Kilrathi patrol, and the Cats had gone through the jump point. Ragark had taken a lead of over an hour, but thanks to the delaying tactics the two pilots had executed so successfully it hadn't been closer to six hours.

  Kruger studied the tactical board and nodded his satisfaction. Their initial velocity hadn't been all that high. They had only gone about ten percent over the margins specified in most of the safety handbooks. But it had been enough to allow them to pass through the Kilrathi ships stationed around the jump point, despite the disorientation of jumpshock, before the Cats could react and open fire. Kruger hadn't known what to expect on this side of the hyperrealm, but he'd tried to be prepared for every contingency. It had paid off.

  His intercom lit up to reveal Kevin Tolwyn's face, still bleary-eyed from jumpshock. "Place is lousy with Cats, Mr. President. You want us to launch and see what we can do with 'em?"

  Kruger shook his head. "Not at the moment, Captain," he said. "I think Ragark won't be sticking around long enough for a battle."

  Flag Bridge, KIS Dubav

  Deep Space, Baka Kar System

  1534 hours (CST)

  "Vraxar! Ragark cursed. The apes had outmaneuvered him. His revenge would have to be postponed.

  The position had been perfect for interdicting the escape of the two surviving Landreich ships, and after hearing reports from Dawx Jhorrad and the commander of the orbital station Ragark had been more determined than ever to obtain vengeance from the hairless freaks who had attacked his stronghold. Vorghath was crippled, unable to maintain shields, his whole front end twisted and gaping wide like the toothless mouth of a worthless old kil. And the station . . . the launch bays would be out of service for many eight-days, and half the repair facilities were destroyed or badly damaged. In one raid the humans had set back his program by a year or more.

  But now he wouldn't even have the satisfaction of vengeance. Not with the human fleet between him and Baka Kar. If he remained here to maintain the trap, they could attack the capital with impunity, and if one shipload had done as much damage as that captured supercarrier had managed, what could an entire task force do? Dividing his forces to try to maintain the blockade of the jump point while also attempting to save Baka Kar would only expose his fleet to the possibility of defeat in detail.

  Or he could pursue the new arrivals, giving up the blockade entirely. And the humans would escape. Once the Kilrathi were committed to the pursuit, it would be easy enough for the apes to win back and jump to Vordran once more.

  Anger burned in his stomach, pure, raw hatred. It redoubled as the Communications Officer announced, "The human leader wishes to discuss the tactical situation, Lord Admiral."

  The ape knew the dilemma Ragark faced. There was no point in pursuing the charade any longer.

  But Ukar dai Ragark would not forget this day

  EPILOGUE

  "Rejoice in the victory of today, but prepare for the conflict of tomorrow, for life is an eternal struggle."

  from the Third Codex

  03:18:10

  Starboard Flight Deck, KIS Mjollnir

  Orbiting Landreich, Landreich System

  1725 hours (TST), 2671 056

  The Presidential shuttle San Jacinto lay on the flight deck, side door open and ramp deployed, ready to leave the ship. Bondarevsky watched Kruger standing at the top, and recalled a similar scene the day he had come to Independence to see them off at the very start of the Goliath Project. But there were many differences, too. Mjollnir's flight deck betrayed its alien origins in the shapes, the structures, the shadows formed by a design and construction no human hand had been involved with, and all the refitting and adaptation in the galaxy would never change that basic nonhuman flavor. The strange shapes of two Strakhas and a Paktahn bomber loomed behind the shuttle, more reminders of Mjollnir's unique origin

  And there was the battle damage. Mjollnir had limped home from Baka Kar almost as battered as she had been when they first found her at Vaku. Shield failures had been regular all the way home, and Donald Graham had pronounced the jump drives dead on arrival after the final tran
sition through the hyperrealm from Hellhole to Landreich. The port side flight deck was shut down after the explosion of one of the Vaktoths during recovery operations. Four decks of the superstructure were open to space thanks to laser hits during the battle with the Vorghath, and as many as five hundred crewmen had died.

  Baka Kar had been a victory, but a costly one, and they had all the refit work to do over again before Mjollnir could space again. There were some battle scars here in the starboard flight deck, too, to remind Kruger and the assembled officers and crew of what the carrier had given, and what she might be called upon to give again.

  Even the vast expanse of the flight deck couldn't hold all of the carrier's crew, but every department was represented by blocks of officers and enlisted men, drawn up neatly in ranks to greet the Presidential shuttle. They were cheering wildly, greeting the man who had saved them when everything had seemed the darkest. And Kruger accepted their accolades, standing, smiling, basking in the glory his last great charge into battle had earned him.

  Bondarevsky stood in front of a group of pilots, sadly thinned out after the day of battle at Baka Kar. But Doomsday was there, and Aengus Harper. Alexandra Travis, too, back on duty after being discharged from Sick Bay with her wounds mostly healed.

  Others were there in spirit, though no longer in body—Darlene Babcock, Charles Robertson, Drifter Conway, even Viking Jensson, along with far too many others. Bondarevsky had ordered plaques with the names of each squadron's dead posted in their respective ready rooms, to keep alive the memories of the heroes who had served Mjollnir well.

  He glanced around the flight deck, taking note of the others who were waiting to hear Kruger speak. Donald Scott Graham, with Prince Murragh beside him, living proof that man and kil could work together for the common good. Bhaktadil with his marines, his turban and his oversized kukri knife strange against the blue and gray of his full-dress uniform. Deniken, promoted to full Commander for his expertise in handling the carrier's gunnery in the fight with the dreadnought, stood between the irrepressible Lieutenant Clancy and the darkly handsome Communications Officer, Vivaldi, with Kittani close by looking more like an assassin than an Executive Officer. And so many others, who had started out as strangers but become shipmates united by shared danger and the brotherhood of a successful fight against seemingly hopeless odds.

  And before them all, Admiral Geoff Tolwyn. The man looked ten years younger than he had when they had met at Moonbase Tycho. Somewhere in the midst of that desperate fight at Baka Kar the tough old admiral had found himself again. Two nights earlier, he and Bondarevsky had gone out drinking together in a Newburg nightclub, and Tolwyn had revealed that he was resigning his commission with the Landreich to return to Earth to accept a posting as commander of the Strategic Readiness Agency.

  "You see, my coming out here wasn't just a whim," he announced, "there was something else afoot. Call this a bit of a fact finding mission, an upfront look. With the SRA I now have the data I need to block what others are planning to do."

  So Landreich would be losing Tolwyn's services. He had tried to talk Bondarevsky into joining him on his crusade, but Mjollnir's Wing Commander had declined the offer. Bondarevsky had found a home here, a group of people he could work with, a cause worth fighting for, a ship he was starting to think of as his new home. He gave Alexandra Travis a sidelong glance. Perhaps even a woman he could love . . .

  He wondered what Vance Richards would say, if he had lived to see Bondarevsky become a convert to the Landreich. Perhaps in some Valhalla the old admiral was looking down at Mjollnir today, proud of what he'd helped to set in motion. Proud of what he'd died supporting.

  Kruger raised both hands, signaling for silence, and the cheering died away gradually. A throat mike and amplifier projected his words so every man, woman, and kil on the flight deck could hear him plainly. No doubt most of the rest of the crew was watching him on video monitors throughout the ship.

  "When I decided to try to find and refit this heap of spare parts, people said I was crazy," Kruger began. "And maybe I was, at that. But you people set out to work miracles, and miracles happened! The first miracle was when you got this old girl up and running again. The second miracle was when you took on the Vorghath." He paused. "The press on Landreich is calling Mjollnir 'the ship that refused to die,' and I for one think that's as fine a title as any fighting ship can bear. Maybe it's true what spacers say, that each ship has a life of its own. Something kept the self-destruct system from blowing this proud warrior up after the battle of Vaku over a year ago. Something preserved her from harm until you arrived to put her in order once again. And something helped you hold together despite everything the enemy could throw at you!"

  Kruger still had the touch, Bondarevsky thought. Rough-hewn, gruff, impatient, he could still hold a crowd of spacers in his hand, and lead them on a jump to hell and back at his slightest word. Murragh, the Kilrathi prince, had the same natural, easy authority, but Max Kruger was still the best there was.

  The fleet had arrived to find the news of their victory had preceded them, thanks to hypercasts sent out as they waited in the Hellhole system for a week to see if Ragark was going to try to reopen the conflict. By the time they'd made orbit the Council of Delegates had met to withdraw their censure of the President and strike down the short-lived government formed by Councilman Galbraith after the no-confidence vote that had stripped Kruger of his office. Daniel Webster Galbraith had made a public apology to Kruger and personally turned over the gavel so that the President could once again formally convene the Council.

  Up on top of the shuttle's ramp, Kruger was still speaking. "Now there's a new threat to this ship that refuses to die, but I have no doubt that you'll weather it the same as you've done all the others." He produced a paper from his pocket. "I received this yesterday, faxed from the Terran Confederation Embassy Compound. It was sent by the Confederation Peace Commissioner, Williams . . . an ultimatum, if you please. The Landreich government is advised that it has 'flagrantly and deliberately violated the terms of the Treaty of Ko-Bar Yagar.' We are directed to immediately arrest and turn over to the Commissioner President Maximilian Kruger. So it looks like I'm on the wanted list again!"

  There was laughter, but Bondarevsky didn't share in it. He'd found it hard to believe Admiral Tolwyn's tales of conspiracies and the like, but here was evidence that some within the Confederation—not satisfied with forcing the Landreich into a desperate showdown they had only barely managed to win—now intended to hold innocent Kruger responsible for their own wrong policies.

  Kruger held up the paper again, waving it. "More than that, though, the confees have demanded that we retire this brave old lady for service, along with the rest of our carriers, and turn over peace-keeping duties to squadrons of ConFleet who will police our borders for us to provide a buffer between our 'irresponsible exercise of military adventurism' and the forces of the Kilrathi Empire. What do you think of that?"

  Catcalls and hoots answered, and Kruger grinned broadly. "That's about what my reaction was, friends. Out here on the frontier we learned a long time ago that the confees never have and never will follow through on any pledge to protect our borders. We've had to do it ourselves . . . you have had to do it, taking this carrier into battle and defeating our enemies with your bravery, your skill, and your ship that refused to die!" He paused again, surveying the crew. "So I say to you, as I have already said to the confees: this carrier, and all the carriers of the Free Republic Navy, shall remain on duty to guard our borders for as long as they need to be guarded. All of our borders, and against whoever might threaten them. The Landreich is a sovereign nation, and we protect our own!"

  With that he turned and entered the shuttle, and the ramp closed behind him to a wave of cheers louder and more sustained than before.

  Bondarevsky didn't cheer. He knew all too well what this open break with the Terran Confederation could mean. If the Peace Commission was determined to make an issue out of the matt
er, it could mean a new war, a war of human against human, with Ragark still waiting beyond the frontier to take advantage of any opening.

  But much as he hated the prospect, much as he hoped sanity might prevail so that such a conflict could be averted, Jason Bondarevsky was ready to serve his new people as doggedly as he had ever served the old.

  The Landreich's enemies might remain poised to strike the Republic down, but they would find Mjollnir, and the Black Cats, and Jason Bondarevsky, all waiting to defend her.

  Until the crisis was over, Cincinnatus would not return to the plow.

  Jason turned to walk away.

  "Jason?"

  He looked over his shoulder and saw Geoff approaching. "Hell of a thanks," Jason growled, shaking his head. Geoff smiled.

  "I take it you're staying here."

  "Yes sir, this is home now And you, sir?"

  "I'm going back like I said."

  "Why?"

  "That's where the fight is now."

  "Won't you get arrested?"

  "Hell, I resigned my commission and was following orders out here. They can't hold me on that."

  "I'm curious though, what exactly is this Strategic Readiness Agency?"

  Tolwyn smiled.

  "A bit of what we talked about before. Did you ever really wonder why I was out here?"

  "Yes, sir, frankly I did and still do."

  "First-hand look at the situation and also to get out of the way for awhile while certain things clicked into place. Now they're in place."