End Run

by William R. Forstchen

  He turned, climbed back out of the wreckage, and started back up the corridor. A damage control team came racing down the corridor and he pressed up against the wall to let them pass. At the end of the corridor, back out into the hangar deck, an energy airlock field had been established and he stepped through and then unsnapped his helmet. A crowd of deck personnel was gathered around, looking back down the corridor.

  "Damn it, get back to your stations!"

  The group looked at Jason.

  "The captain and all the bridge officers are dead," Jason announced and they looked at him in shock.

  He hesitated.

  "Flight deck officer."

  "Here, sir."

  "We're going to establish a new bridge and combat information center in your command center. Hook into the ship's computer log and…"

  He found it almost impossible to say the words. He took a deep breath.

  "State that as of this moment I, Jason Bondarevsky, as senior officer of Tarawa hereby take command of this ship."

  The officer looked at him.

  "And my first order is that we are turning this ship around and getting the hell back into the fight!"

  "This is Admiral Tolwyn. Pilots, man your planes, pilots, man your planes."

  Admiral Tolwyn switched his main screen back to the forward relay broadcasting now from Big Duke One's headquarters down on Vukar Tag.

  The entire plateau was a mad confusion of explosions, swirling dust, and wreckage. The camera operator aimed straight back up again and jumped the image through one thousand magnifications with full computerized enhancement. As the image expanded out, Geoffrey Tolwyn held his breath.

  The entire Kilrathi home fleet hovered in space above the planet. Hundreds of tiny dots were detaching from the transports, winging down to the assault, escorted by hundreds of heavy Kilrathi fighter bombers.

  "I tell you all hell's breaking loose down here," Big Duke shouted, trying to be heard above the staccato roar of explosions and the slashing thunder of ground-to-air missiles lifting off.

  "Hang on, we've got more incoming!"

  The camera mounted on the surface above the bunker swung about, dropping its magnification back down and pointed close to the surface.

  A wall of ground suppression missiles came in, kicking on their ground penetration booster engines which could plow the warhead through twenty feet of plasta concrete before detonation. For an instant Tolwyn saw the swarm of landing craft behind the missile barrage and then the image winked out.

  "Jesus, that hit hard," and Big Duke was back on the air, this time only with audio signal.

  "Count six, a possible seven carriers now supporting the ground assault. Wait a minute, another volley coming straight in; they've got lock on our transmission signal. At least three hundred landing craft behind this one. Damn, this looks like…"

  The signal winked off.

  Tolwyn waited for several seconds.

  "Get me Banbridge."

  The comm officer snapped a laser communications line on to Wolfhound's antenna.

  "Big Duke's getting hit hard," Tolwyn said.

  "A couple of more minutes, just a couple of more to let them land their first wave and get their heads in the noose and then we jump through. Your pilots ready for launch?"

  "In their cockpits."

  Banbridge turned and looked back at his own comm screen and then turned back to Tolwyn.

  "We've just got a report Big Duke's headquarters took a direct hit. Not confirmed though."

  Tolwyn nodded and said nothing. He had been friends with Duke ever since their Academy days. The name Big Duke was hung on the marine because of his diminutive five-foot height, which was offset by a pugnacious attitude, always looking for a fight.

  "Geof, initiate your jump; we'll be right behind you."

  Tolwyn smiled grimly.

  "See you on the other side."

  He turned and looked over at his helm officer.

  "Start us into the jump point, sound battle stations, we're going in!"

  CHAPTER IX

  "Damn it all, get that screen back up," Jason shouted, bracing himself against a bulkhead wall as Tarawa banked into a sharp turn. The hit to the bridge had damaged the inertial dampening system, which insured that the artificial gravity field inside the ship reacted simultaneously with the hull of the vessel as it maneuvered and turned. Though the delay was marginal, less than one thousandth of a second, it made all maneuvers noticeable, slamming the crew back and forth as the ship went through evasive action. It was inevitable for fighters, given their size, but a carrier wasn't built to take it.

  The screen before him snapped back to life, showing a wavery image of Grierson.

  "What kind of track are you getting?" Jason asked.

  "The enemy carrier is closing in at flank speed, with a spread of two cruisers and four destroyers forward and two corvettes to the flanks. Will arrive in twenty-seven minutes. We have a second wave of inbound fighters as well, fifty plus."

  Jason groaned and looked over at his ready board.

  He had seven Rapiers, six Sabres, and eight Ferrets left that were still flyable, not counting his own Rapier. Two thirds of them were dry on missiles and would have to be recalled and turned back around in time to meet the next attack.

  "How's damage control?" Grierson asked.

  "Still without any long-range scan so you'll be our eyes, Intrepid. We've established a ring of airlocks around the hull rupture. Shield generation is still down, engine room is still cut off, but we've managed to patch a radio link in to them, our inertial dampening is out of phase and we're not sure on the jump engine. The jump control officer is dead, the non com chief says it'll be hours before he can be sure we're up and running in that department. The entire bridge is out, along with the infirmary, and forward crew bays." He hesitated for a moment. "We've lost a fifth of our crew, over a hundred dead, forty wounded."

  "You're still lucky to be afloat, Captain. We picked up two marine crews on the surface before lifting back off. We lost one trying to lift off, and another is damaged on the ground, its crew shifting to another landing craft. Two marine landing craft will externally dock with us within the next ten minutes and we're dumping the landing craft; Merritt's ordering the surviving three landing craft up now."

  "Kagimasha?"

  "Here Commander," and the ship's captain was in the viewscreen, a bandage covering one eye.

  "How are you?"

  "We got a bit scorched, shielding's down to thirty-two percent, but engines are fully back on line."

  "We'll swing in for a rendezvous; you two cover us."

  Grierson grinned.

  "That's my job," and the screen blanked.

  Jason looked over at his new combat information officer, who was sitting in front of a portable holo screen, which was now tapped into the ship's main computer. The launch control office overlooking the flight deck was now standing double duty, with helm, combat information, communications, weapons control, and damage control wedged into the room, their portable gear plugged into the main system through a maze of fiberoptic wiring. All combat ships were outfitted with a reserve bridge in case of a hit like the one Tarawa had just taken, but as a converted transport, that fallback system had never been built in. Without the supply of portable holo screens, which usually were on board a ship for briefings, and entertainment, they would be totally blind now.

  Jason looked around the room, promising himself that if they ever got back he would certainly raise one hell of a stink concerning this oversight, and even as he though about it, he had to laugh at the irony of even worrying about such things at a time like this.

  "Signal Doomsday and Starlight to bring the birds in for rearming. They've got ten minutes, so make it smart."

  "Aye, sir."

  Jason walked over to the plastishield which provided a view of the launch deck.

  The first Sabre, Doomsday's, came in fast, touching down at the end of the launch ramp. The ground c
rew raced over to the ship, running alongside of it as the tractor pulled it off the ramp. Crews, pushing missiles on small null gravity trailers ran up to the ship, locking them into the external pylons, while hoses were snaked into the ship's fuel tank and cables latched in to top off the energy supply. Doomsday climbed out of the cockpit, waving for his co to stay, and ran up to the control center.

  He came through the door and looked at Jason appraisingly.

  "So you've got the helm now?"

  Jason nodded.

  "How's she holding up?"

  "Patching it together, though one more blow like that and she'll split apart."

  "We'll keep 'em off your back but for heaven's sake, man, we've got to turn and get the hell out now or they'll block the jump point."

  "Merritt wants five more minutes. They've got mines strapped into five carriers in their construction bays rigged to go, along with a cruiser assembly building. He's rigging the last carrier and construction bays right now."

  "Damn it Jason, we're going to go up with them if we hang around."

  "Five minutes."

  "We've replaced a coward with a gung-ho maniac, just great." Then he slowly started to grin.

  More ships came in, and Jason watched the landings, nodding an agreement when the deck officer marked two of the fighters off as unfit to fly and had them pulled to the far corner of the hangar where repair crews swarmed over them. A Ferret, with a wing completely sheered off came in, trailing a tangle of wires which hooked into the side of the airlock, spinning the craft around. Jason groaned as the ship broke apart, parts spraying down the deck.

  The deck officer leaped from the command room, racing across the deck, screaming for crew members to manhandle the wreckage out of the way and within a minute the next fighter came in, slipping within inches of the Ferret's shattered cockpit where an emergency rescue crew was hosing the ruins down with fire retardant, and pulling the unconscious pilot out.

  The last ship landed and Doomsday returned to his craft, ready for launch.

  Jason punched up the ship's intercom.

  "All hands," and he hesitated for a moment, "this is the captain speaking."

  "Intrepid reports inbound fighters, fifty plus, less than fifteen minutes away and closing. Nine capital ships are five minutes behind them, two Fralthra cruisers, four Ralatha destroyers, two corvettes, and one heavy carrier. We should run for it right now, but there are still four platoons of marines down on the moon, getting set to blow half a dozen damned carriers and lord knows what other equipment from here to hell where it belongs. We're giving those people five more minutes because this ship does not leave its people behind. Engine room, get ready to pour on the fire when I give the word. Keep up the good work, people, and the Empire will learn to cover its butt and crawl away when they hear the name Tarawa."

  He clicked off the intercom and suddenly felt foolish for having delivered what he felt was a hackneyed speech. From the corner of his eye he saw that his make due bridge staff were grinning and nodding their heads with approval. Embarrassed, he turned away to watch the forward monitor screen which was filled with the image of the moon.

  "Merritt, you with me?"

  "Copy that Tarawa. We are lifting off now."

  "Starlight, you on them for air support?"

  "Four ferrets and one fighter lined up above them."

  "A and B craft will be up first, C landing craft under Major Svetlana Ivanova will follow us out. We've had some unexpected resistance down here trying to get out."

  "Major?" Jason asked.

  "Hell, we're all getting battlefield promotions out here today," Merritt said. "I figured I'd toss a couple around as well. Company C's top hand is down, knocked out, and she's got the job now."

  Even as he spoke Jason could hear that Merritt was caught up in the middle of a firefight as he loaded the last of his grunts on board.

  Jason looked over at the short range radar scan and saw the first blue blip come off the surface, followed a half minute later by the second.

  "Come on, damn it, move it, move it!" Grierson snarled. "Those fighters are kicking in afterburners; they'll be here in less than five."

  "Get three Sabres out there and then clear the deck for landing craft recovery," Jason ordered, trying to keep his voice calm and businesslike.

  Doomsday slammed down the launch ramp, and the crews pushed the second craft into line, sending it out less than thirty seconds later.

  The rear sweeping short range scan, which had survived the kamikaze hit, started to turn red on the outer limit of search; the enemy wave was closing in.

  "Merritt, move it, damn it," Jason said softly, still trying to force an outward appearance of calm.

  "We're shoveling coal into the engines as fast as we can, Tarawa."

  "C Company lifting off now!" Svetlana called and Jason breathed a sigh of relief.

  The first landing craft, coming off the surface at full throttle, came within visual range, afterburner flame rippling behind it.

  An alarm started to ping on the combat information board and for a second Jason thought that the incoming fighters were already trying to achieve missile lock, even though they were still thousands of kilometers out. And then he saw the threat display, a red box snapping to life on the moon's surface below.

  "Svetlana, take evasive!"

  "Outbound heat seekers," Starlight shouted, launching suppressive fire.

  "Svetlana, shut engines down. Blow chaff!"

  Four missiles streaked up, converging in on the landing craft which was just within visual range. Jason shouted for the petty officer running the display to jack up magnification. He felt helpless; as captain of a carrier he was reduced to simply watching a life-and-death struggle being played out on the holo screen.

  The landing craft turned, a shower of chaff and heat flares blowing out the stern. The first missile closed and detonated half a click astern, the second and third disappearing into the fireball and detonating as well. Jason breathed a sigh of relief and then the fourth missile emerged from out of the explosion. The missile closed.

  "No!" Jason screamed, grabbing hold of the side of the console as if by sheer force of will he could somehow turn the missile aside. It detonated just astern of the landing craft.

  "Tarawa, Tarawa, we're hit and going in!" Her voice was strangely detached and calm as her image appeared on the screen.

  Sickened, Jason watched as the landing craft, trailing fire, started to spiral back down to the planet's surface.

  "First landing craft clearing airlock door," and he looked up to see Merritt's craft coming in, touching down hard, the sides of the ship fire-scorched from the intense battle down on the planet's surface.

  Before the craft had even skidded to a stop a side hatch was opened and Merritt jumped out, running up to the control room, pushing his way in, dropping his helmet on the floor.

  "Svetlana, try and gain orbit!" Jason shouted.

  "No joy on that, Tarawa, we're going down, only one engine still good." Behind her, he could see the pilot struggling with the controls, the copilot of the landing craft slumped over in his seat, the back of his head a bloody mass. The ground rushed up and then the image snapped off.

  "They've impacted next to one of the carrier hangers," the combat information officer shouted.

  "Landing craft C, landing craft C, do you copy?" Jason shouted.

  A crackling hiss filled the air and then a voice drifted through on the static, the visual image barely discernable.

  "Tarawa, we're still with you; we've touched down, many casualties on board."

  "Thank God," Jason sighed and he looked over at Merritt.

  "Tarawa, it's time to leave this neighborhood," Grierson announced, coming online. "Do you copy on that? The rear screen is red with incoming!"

  Jason felt as if his heart had suddenly gone to ice.

  He looked at the situation board, the holo displays and monitors. Tarawa was seriously wounded, but she still had four hundred a
nd fifty aboard and, as the second landing craft came in, more than a hundred marines. On a side monitor the computer had zeroed in on the crashed landing craft, reading out injuries as reported by the individual marine's life-support systems. Thirty-five of them were still alive, including Svetlana.

  "The Confederation doesn't leave its people behind, not while I'm in command," a voice whispered in his memory. "I'll do what it takes to get you back," and he felt as if Tolwyn were standing beside him.

  Never leave someone behind, the pledge goes both ways.

  He looked over at Merritt who stood with a pained expression.

  "Jason, if you try and pick those people up, we all die." Jason tried to run a quick calculation to think it through. Intrepid could attempt to land, a tricky maneuver on the crater-pocked surface. She had pulled it off once to pick up two companies of marines, and had been scorched by ground fire in the process. It would mean bringing her speed down to zero, and then having to climb back out against gravity. She'd be caught coming off the planet, not only by the fighters but by the capital ships.

  Send the Sabres in; they could cram several people into the rear storage hatch. That'd save twenty maybe. Relaunch a landing craft and try to hold the fighters off.

  "Damn it to hell!" Jason snapped.

  "They knew the risk," Merritt said quietly, "they knew it when they signed on."

  "And the deal goes both ways," Jason shouted. "We're going in after them."

  "Tarawa, do you copy?"