Heart Of The Tiger wc-4

by William R. Forstchen

  Blair wished he still had some of the Longbows available, but Gold Squadron was the only fighter force that had not landed on the flight deck and started securing for jump. It was up to the six Thunderbolts to do what they could to protect the carrier.

  "Gold Squadron, this is Leader," Blair said. "Tally-ho!" It was the age-old pilot's cry that the enemy was in sight, dating back to the days before spaceflight. "Follow me in, people!"

  He kicked in his afterburners and steered the fighter toward the Kilrathi targets, the rest of the squadron trailing him. Blair checked his weapons status and armed blasters and heat-seeking missiles. He and Cobra had engaged in the least amount of fighting at the first jump point, their ships with the least damage and the most reloads available. That made them the best candidates for taking on the destroyer. But it was essential that they get some reliable protection from the enemy fighters.

  "Hobbes, Vagabond, you two keep those Vaktoth off our backs," he ordered. "The rest of us are hunting the big cat this time. Understood?"

  "We are complying," Hobbes said calmly.

  "Just let me at them," Maniac said. He sounded a little less nervous now, as if the prospect of a stand-up fight helped steady him after the shock of having the jump point vanish. Blair hoped he would keep his head.

  "Lead the way, Colonel," Cobra added a moment later. She sounded professional, but a little grim.

  He reduced his speed and allowed Hobbes and Vagabond to accelerate past the rest of the squadron, diving in toward the enemy formation. Hobbes screamed a Kilrathi challenge as the two fighters closed with their opposite numbers, and that seemed to unnerve the Vaktoth pilots. Both enemy fighters circled away, evading rather than offering battle — unusual for the Kilrathi. Perhaps these were inexperienced flyers, Blair told himself. But was it significant that they were running from Hobbes again . . . ?

  He forced the thought from his mind and concentrated instead on the destroyer. It loomed ahead, all menacing points and angles, an asymmetrical, four-pronged dagger aimed at Victory.

  "Let's rock!" Maniac called, accelerating suddenly to full speed and diving toward the destroyer, all guns firing wildly. Flash was right behind him. The destroyer's main batteries opened up, driving bolt after bolt of raw energy at the fast-moving Terran ships. Somehow neither Terran fighter was hit, but their blasters battered the destroyer's shields. There was a ripple of explosions as Flash dumped three missiles in quick succession. None penetrated the shields, but Blair's scanners showed the enemy defenses weakening.

  Blair killed his momentum, bringing the fighter practically to a dead stop. It was a risky move so close to a capital ship, but with Maniac and Flash doing such a good job of drawing the enemy's attention it was too good a chance to miss. Now the destroyer was lumbering toward him, a nice, steady target. If he could just get in enough good shots at the weakened section of the shielding . . .

  He opened fire with his blasters, squeezing off shot after shot until his power reserves were exhausted and the guns shut down until their generators could recycle and bring them back up to full power. The Kilrathi shields still held. It was only then that he realized that Cobra had emulated his move. Her ship was a bare thirty meters off his wing, and now her blasters focused on the same narrow target area as Blair.

  The enemy ship's shields failed, and Blair gave a wolfish grin. His blasters came back on-line, and he started firing again. This time the shots were taking off armor, chipping away ever closer to the vulnerable hull of the destroyer. The enemy captain must have recognized his danger by this time, but Maniac and Flash were still closer, still weaving in and out and raking the big ship with sustained if less concentrated fire. Automatic shipboard defense systems would naturally try to track and destroy the nearer threats first, and crewed guns took time to realign on new targets . . .

  Blair's blasters ran down a second time, and he switched to a salvo of missiles. Cobra launched at almost the same moment. "Let's get moving, Lieutenant," Blair said, starting up his engines again. He was just beginning to accelerate to full speed when a blast from one of the destroyers main guns caught his port-side shield, knocking it down and ripping into the wing armor in one blow. Then he was clear of the danger and turned quickly to place some distance between his Thunderbolt and the Kilrathi ship.

  The missiles began to detonate, tearing through the last of the armor and deep into the bowels of the capital ship. It almost seemed to shudder before it finally tore itself apart.

  "Ye-es!" That was Maniac, exultant. "Scratch one great big kitty!"

  "Good shooting, Colonel," Cobra added.

  "Good shooting, all," Blair corrected. "That one was a team effort. Now let's see if Hobbes and Vagabond need any help cleaning up their little mess.

  One of the Vaktoth was running, the other was heavily engaged with Vagabond's Thunderbolt. By the time the rest of Gold Squadron was in range, Hobbes had already come to the aid of his wingman and sent the heavy fighter off to join the shattered destroyer.

  "What's your status, people?" Blair asked, calling up his own combat data. He couldn't afford to take another hit on his port side, and he was down to only a single missile. Another serious fight would probably be too much for his battered Thunderbolt to handle.

  "Damage is minimal, Colonel," Cobra reported. "But I'm out of missiles, and my fuel reserves aren't looking good."

  "I, too, am out of missiles," Hobbes said. "And my forward armor is badly damaged."

  The others made similar reports, with damage ranging from Cobra's very minor hits up to Flash, who had suffered serious damage in the fight with the destroyer and was now running with damaged engines and an intermittent fault in his sensors. Blair frowned as he considered the situation. The squadron couldn't do a whole lot more at this point. But they had no idea what else the Kilrathi might throw at them.

  "Jump point is on our screens," Rollins reported suddenly. "Looks like we got lucky this time!"

  "What about enemy activity?" Blair asked, still frowning. "Anything on your sensors?"

  "Looks like another cat destroyer out there, Colonel but at extreme sensor range, Rollins reported after a moments pause. "From his current vector, it doesn't look like he'll be in any position to interfere with us. Captain says to bring your birds back to the nest, sir You're clear to land . . . and . . . you guys sure did a good job holding off those sons-of-bitches."

  "Thank God for small favors," Blair muttered. "All right Gold Squadron. Let's pack it in. And pray we don't get any new surprises before we hit the jump point."

  * * *

  Flight Deck, TCS Victory.

  Ariel System

  Blair climbed slowly from his cockpit, tired and stiff after the long strain of flying. He hadn't realized his personal toll from the operation until now. With the mission over, all he wanted to do was take a long shower, then catch a few hundred hours of sack time.

  Unfortunately, that wasn't how it worked. Before seeing his bunk again, Blair knew there was a load of work to finish first.

  ALL HANDS, ALL HANDS, JUMP STATIONS. REPEAT, JUMP STATIONS. INTERSTELLAR TRANSIT IN THREE MINUTES. The computer announcement blared over the ship's tannoy, and all around Blair techs hastened to get ready for the jump, like so many ants stirred up by a threat to their hill.

  "You sure did bang the old girl up this time, skipper," Rachel Coriolis said from behind him. He turned to see her pointing at the twisted armor and scorched hull plating where the destroyer's gun had pierced his shields. "Better get clear, sir, before the jump."

  He nodded, then turned toward the far end of the hangar. Safety precautions called for the hangar deck to be cleared prior to any jump, and already the huge chamber was nearly empty of crewmen. Blair strode rapidly across the deck with Rachel, a few stragglers close behind

  The doors snapped open to reveal a tense scene in the corridor beside the elevator. A number of pilots and technicians were present, but the main focus was on Cobra and Hobbes, standing face to face in the middle of th
e passageway. Lieutenant Buckley had an angry expression on her face, and her hands were flexing as if she, like the Kilrathi, had claws that could tear at her enemies' throats. In contrast, Ralgha nar Hhallas was calm, impassive, a stoic figure facing Cobra's venom.

  "Why didn't you warn us that your kind could close jump points?" she demanded, her voice low and menacing.

  "I was not aware that they could," Ralgha told her. "This is obviously a recently developed advancement to Kilrathi technology. And a very serious threat. The ability to close down a jump point will give the Empire a great advantage, I fear."

  "Come off it, you fur-faced son-of-a-bitch," Cobra snarled. "You mean to tell us you didn't know anything about this? I don't believe you!"

  "I have been in Confederation service for over a decade, Lieutenant," the Kilrathi told her, drawing himself up with an air of quiet dignity. "Much has changed during that time, on both sides of the border. Perhaps this represents a breakthrough in jump theory."

  "More likely in cloaking technology," Rachel said, stepping between them. "I don't think the Kilrathi can actually shut down a jump point at all."

  "Hey, I wasn't hallucinating out there," Cobra said, turning her angry glare on the technician. "We all saw the first jump point drop right off our screens."

  "Look, I've been studying cloaks," Rachel said. "The new Excaliburs are supposed to mount them. In theory a big enough generator could project a cloak that could mask out something as large as a jump point. But it would only work in a nebula, and it would be damned hard to maintain even then. That's what we were facing. I'd bet hard credits on it.

  "Well, whether they can kill it or just hide it, the cats can mess up our jump points," Cobra said, a little less wild but still clearly angry. She stepped past Rachel and jabbed a finger at Hobbes. "And you claim you had no clue they could pull that?"

  "No more than you, Lieutenant," Ralgha told her.

  "You're a liar."

  Blair stepped forward, thrusting himself between the two pilots. "That will be enough, Lieutenant," he said harshly. "Colonel Ralgha's loyalty is not to be questioned in this way again. Is that understood?"

  "But. . ."

  "I will not have a junior officer making wild accusations about one of her seniors. If you gather concrete evidence to back up your claims, then you see me, in private, through proper channels. Otherwise, you keep your mouth shut!"

  "Yes, sir, she said at last.

  "JUMP SEQUENCE ENGAGED. ONE MINUTE TO JUMP," the loudspeaker announced.

  The elevator doors opened, and Cobra pushed through the semi-circle of onlookers into the car. Neither Blair nor Hobbes chose to follow her.

  * * *

  Bridge, TCS Victory.

  Ariel System

  "And ten seconds . . . nine . . . eight . . ."

  Eisen was determined not to betray his mounting tension as the computer ticked off the final seconds of the countdown to jump. What if the Kilrathi really could shut down a jump point? If they cut this one now, Victory would be trapped and totally vulnerable to the destroyers that were beginning to close in.

  Or . . . what would happen to a ship initiating a jump sequence if the jump point failed? Would it remain in place . . . or end up trapped in hyperspace, unable to complete the transition to its destination?

  "Three . . . two . . . and one . . . initiating transit. . . now."

  He felt the familiar gut-twisting sensation of transit, and despite the nausea, muscle spasms, and the wrenching disorientation of the jump, Eisen was relieved. At least Victory had escaped the cats, whatever happened next . . .

  The jump was over in an instant. Eisen had to blink and shake his head a time or two to clear the fog in his brain, but it didn't take long to regain control over his body, though every nerve was still protesting over the unnatural act of being flung across an unimaginable distance through a realm no human was ever supposed to enter.

  "Report," he croaked.

  Lieutenant Commander Lisa Morgan, Victory's Navigator, managed to sound alert. "Aye, aye, sir," she said, her fingers moving over her controls to call up a computer program that would analyze their surroundings and confirm that they had emerged on target. After a moment she went on. "Stellar type and data match within 99. 4 percent. No planets registering. Asteroid belts . . . it checks, Captain. Delius System . . . or its twin."

  Eisen nodded slowly. "Very good. Commander Morgan, set course to Delius Station. Mr. Rollins, raise the local defense forces and let them know we're here. Secure from Jump Stations and resume in-system operations." He paused. "I want the ship combat-ready as soon as possible. After that, I want a full after-action analysis by all combat departments. We have to determine what the hell went on back there, before the cats pull it on us again."

  His officers responded promptly, and Eisen felt a glow of pride. They'd been close to the breaking point, but somehow they'd kept on going.

  In the end, that was the only thing that counted.

  CHAPTER XX

  Command Hall, KIS Hvar'kann.

  Ariel System

  "The Terrans have withdrawn, then, Melek?" Thrakhath was lounging on his throne, feeling satisfied. A pair of destroyers had been lost along with a few fighters, and he intended to see to it that whoever was responsible for the losses paid the supreme penalty. But overall, everything went exactly as planned. The apes had been given a warning they would not soon forget. It would make them cautious for a time, and even if they realized that the Empire's ability to mask jump points was limited to nebulas they would surely shun this system, so the base where the Imperial Fleet would gather for Thrakhath's grand stroke would remain secure.

  Now it was time to think of the next stage in the plan.

  "Yes, Lord Prince," Melek said. "They have withdrawn into the Delius System. Of course, there is no way of telling how long they will remain . . ."

  "Then we must act quickly, before they move on," Thrakhath told him, pounding the arm of his throne to emphasize the point. "Is it certain that the one called Blair is still assigned to the carrier?"

  "Yes, Lord Prince," Melek acknowledged. "We monitored his voice on the comm channels during the fight, a perfect match to our files. He is the wing commander. According to recent intelligence, the renegade serves as his deputy."

  "Excellent," Thrakhath said, showing his fangs for an instant. "Perhaps it is best that the human escaped our earlier attacks. We have the perfect weapon to use against him, and the results will leave these apes demoralized just when our blow is about to fall."

  "You think, then, that the challenge will work, on a human? Their sense of honor is not the same as ours Lord Prince." Melek bowed low, to show that he did not mean to doubt his Lord's judgment.

  "Oh, this challenge will work, I think," Thrakhath said quietly. "They do not have honor, Melek, but they do have pride . . . and anger. We will goad this ape into a foolish gesture, and at the same time . . ."

  "The Trigger," Melek said.

  "The Trigger. And we will have our claws at their throats once and for all." Thrakhath straightened. Pass the orders, Melek. Assemble the designated task force and be ready to jump within a cycle."

  "Yes, Lord Prince." Melek withdrew, bowing again.

  Crown Prince Thrakhath contemplated the stars that blazed through the dome above his dais. The stars that would soon belong entirely to the Empire.

  * * *

  Wing Commander's Office, TCS Victory.

  Delius System

  "Reporting as ordered, sir."

  "Come in, Lieutenant," Blair said, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk. "Sit down."

  Flint settled into the seat, her eyes holding a look somewhere between hope and wariness. "Thank you, sir," she said. "Ah . . . those were some good moves you guys put on yesterday, Colonel. Although I couldn't really tell everything that was going on . . . from Flight Control."

  He smiled. "You don't need to drop hints, Lieutenant. I know it's been difficult for you, sitting on the sidelines."r />
  "It's just . . . Look, sir, it just isn't the same, flying a console aboard ship. I belong in the cockpit. That's all there is to it. If you can't put me there, then transfer me to a unit where I can get a fresh start."

  "You're pretty blunt, Lieutenant," he said. "Let me be the same. If I don't put you back on the flight roster here, it'll be because I have a problem with you flying. So you can be damned sure my report in your file would reflect my doubts. Don't think a transfer is going to get you back in the cockpit just because I'm not your CO any longer."

  Her look was bleak, bitter. "I lost it, back at Locanda. I admit it. But I don t think that mistake should hang over me forever, Colonel. Watching those bastards slip past us, knowing they were going to spread their plague on my home that was more than I could handle. But it isn't likely to come up again." She managed a crooked smile.

  "The stakes are less . . . personal, now. Is that it?" He kept his own tone serious.

  "I guess so, sir," she said. "I hate to admit it. I mean, when I took my oath it was to the Confederation, not to any one planet. But Locanda was so much more real to me, when it went down. I could see it, in my mind: the places, the people. It made a difference."

  "If it didn't, you wouldn't be human," he said. Blair studied her for a moment. She seemed too small, too fragile to be a combat pilot. "The problem is, you made me a promise once before, and you didn't keep it. Do you want to get back in that cockpit bad enough to follow through this time?"

  "I can't prove that unless you give me the chance, Colonel," she said. "When I'm out there with that bird strapped around me and a cat in my sights . . . that's the only time I really feel alive."

  Blair nodded sadly. He remembered Angel saying something like that once, back on the Tiger's Claw. I knew . . . I know someone who felt the same way. She lived to fight 'the good fight,' as she called it."

  "For me, it's the flying," Flint told him. "I love the purity . . . nothing holding me back. Knowing I'm in complete control, for better or worse."