"All right, damn you, you've got me over a barrel. You were doing it to me twenty-five years ago in the Academy when I was your instructor, and you're still doing it now."
"And I'll continue to do it, Wayne; it keeps both of us on our toes."
Banbridge nodded.
"If you had failed though."
"I'd be dead, but I still think it would have been worth it. Damn you, Wayne," and his voice went cold, "you've forgotten what this war is being fought with. It's not ships, it's men and women, most of them not much more than kids, hanging their hides out on the line and getting precious little thanks. I was not going to leave those lads out there to die alone. They deserved better than that. We've got a hell of a long war yet to be fought; we can still lose it. When those lads sign on the dotted line to join the fleet, they've got to know we'll stand behind them no matter what. I tell you this, I'm never going to allow our people to become throwaway cannon fodder. I'd rather lose and go down fighting than to allow that. A country, a civilization worth fighting for, will risk everything to bring its warriors back."
"All right then. Is he still out there?"
"Waiting to see you."
"Show them in."
Tolwyn went to the door and pulled it open.
"Come on in, you two."
Jason, with Merritt by his side, came into the room.
They started to come to attention but Banbridge motioned for them to stand at ease and then to their surprise it was Banbridge who came to attention and saluted them before coming forward to shake their hands, a friendly grin lighting his features.
"Damn it all, it's good to see you alive."
"Thank you, sir," Jason said quietly, "it's good to be back alive."
"Both of you are bloody heroes. I'm personally signing your medal of honor reports. The entire confederation's talking about you two. The holo news stations are killing each other to try to get the first interviews. Your faces are on every screen in the Confederation."
Jason could not respond and stood silent.
"Brigadier General Merritt, I just got word from your boss that you're being promoted to command First Marine Regiment."
"What about Gonzales, sir? That was her job."
"I'm sorry, you didn't know?"
Merritt lowered his head.
"She bought it on Vukar during the Kilrathi bombardment."
"She was a damned good officer," Merritt said softly.
"We lost a lot of good people, but at least we got you back."
"How's Big Duke?" Merritt asked.
"Lost an arm, but they'll regen him another, and he'll be back in the fight in no time."
"Good news on that," Merritt replied with a smile. "They can't keep him down."
Banbridge looked over at Jason.
"And you, son. Interested in a new command? I was talking with commfleet and there's a new light carrier coming on line next month. Either that or I need some damned good people on my staff."
"I'd rather stay with Tarawa, sir."
"She's heading to the bone yard son. She's finished."
"Like hell," Tolwyn snapped. "When word of that decision gets out, the public will go mad. Tarawa's going to be refitted and rejoin the fleet."
"All right, all right," Banbridge replied. "That will cost more than rebuilding from scratch but you can keep your ship, Captain Bondarevsky."
Jason nodded his thanks.
"We've got a lot of debriefing to go through. My intelligence people are looking over your computer records and holo data right now. You're the first damned warship to get into Kilrah and back out alive. I'll see you again after some of those debriefings to go over details. By the way, commfleet intelligence just informed me that you were facing Prince Thrakhath out there."
"So he wasn't at Vukar then?" Jason asked.
"Don't rub it in," Banbridge said quietly.
"If I'd have known that, I might have pressed the attack and killed that carrier. I'm surprised he held back and retreated when we came in. It's not like him," Tolwyn said.
"Element of surprise, his own fighters were depleted, and I guess he wanted to cap his losses," Banbridge replied.
"You pulled Thrakhath's beard son; be proud of that," Banbridge said and he went back to his desk, signaling that the interview was over.
Jason and Merritt saluted. Jason hesitated, then couldn't resist.
"Thanks for giving that order to pull us out, sir."
Banbridge looked up at Jason, smiled coldly, and said nothing.
Smiling, Jason walked out of the office, Tolwyn by his side.
"You must be exhausted, Jason," Tolwyn said.
Jason nodded woodenly. After Concordia had opened the line of retreat they had flown straight out, and throughout the flight back into Confederation space, it had been a struggle to keep the ship alive. Fires were still flaring up, hull ruptures leaking air to the point that by the last jump the crew was wearing pressure suits, a most unpleasant experience when you were in one for thirty-six hours straight. As they cleared into Confederation territory a team of damage control experts rendezvoused with the crippled ship, a supply tanker anchoring alongside, pumping in air, fuel, and supplies, and offloading the wounded. One of Banbridge's staff officers had loaned Jason a uniform for the interview, along with a quick shower which had helped a bit, but the shock of it all was still burned deep within him.
He could not escape the mental images, the last call from Svetlana, Grierson turning to buy those few precious minutes, and the hangar full of the dead, wounded, and dying. There were only fourteen pilots left out of the forty-four that he had called pups only weeks before.
"Would you care to come over to Concordia with me, get some sleep?" Tolwyn asked, putting his hand on Jason's shoulder. "My steward can cook up a hell of a steak along with a good stiff double whiskey, and there's even a small tub there to soak in."
"No, sir. I'd better get back to my ship."
It felt strange to call it that. My ship. He remembered his first Ferret, calling her that, "My ship," beaming with pride when his crew chief had painted "Bear" under the cockpit, complete to a small cartoon character beneath it. And now he was a carrier commander, and he would be ready to kill anyone who dared to say a word against the Tarawa, or any escort carrier for that matter. They were, after all, the best damned fighting ships in the fleet.
They walked out onto the flight deck of Concordia. It looked so big now. It was clean, immaculate, not like the tight quarters which were home.
Jason looked over at Merritt.
"Take care, marine."
"You too, pilot."
They shook hands warmly.
"She was one of the best. I'll never forget her," Merritt said quietly and Jason nodded, unable to reply.
He looked over at Admiral Tolwyn.
"And, sir, we've kind of got a hunch about the truth in all of this. Thank you."
"It's the other way around," Tolwyn said quietly. "Thank you, and it was an honor to be out there with you."
He hesitated for a moment.
"And Jason, thanks for my nephew as well. I saw your preliminary report, and Doomsday filled me in as well. He can't say enough about him—it's the most I've ever heard that man talk. You took Kevin out a spoiled little rich boy and brought him back a man that I'm proud of."
"I kind of felt, sir, that if given the chance Kevin would finally prove himself."
The two shook hands and Jason went over to his Ferret and climbed in. It felt wonderful to be back at the controls of a fighter again. The inside of the cockpit smelled of scorched wiring, the tactical display screen still cracked from a hit. He had a flash memory of Janice at the controls of her Ferret, turning in towards the torpedo. He pushed the thought away.
He taxied over to the launch line, took the clear signal and powered up, clearing the airlock and kicking on a touch of afterburner, pulling a quick roll for the pleasure of it. The flight was only a five-minute hop and as he slowed down and took the clearanc
e for landing he first circled around his ship. The repair transport was still strapped alongside, a snakelike cluster of umbilical cords going from one to the other, pumping in air, energy, and fuel. A group of welders, in EVA garb, were swarming over the torn-off forward bow, spot welding durasteel plates on. The ship was a battered wreck from stem to stern, armor plating torn up, paint blistered off, the communications and surveillance instrument arrays tangled wreckage.
And yet there was a touch that made him swell with pride. On the port side of the ship, near where the bridge used to be located, a work crew had repainted the name of the ship "CVE-8 TARAWA." Underneath was stenciled the traditional symbols representing her kills, and emblazoned in golden letters the proud statement FIRST TO KILRAH.
He swung around and lined up on the airlock door, coming through easily and touching down to a stop.
As he opened his canopy Sparks was there to greet him, her forehead still wrapped with a bandage.
"How's the wound, Sparks?"
"Still a bit sore, sir. Thanks for asking."
"I was worried about you, getting knocked out like that."
"You were worried about me?"
"Sure I was."
And she flashed him a radiant smile.
"Sparks, how does it feel to be a lieutenant now and head of all ground crews?"
"An officer, I never thought I'd see the day, sir. Thanks."
"You deserved it for the work you did. We got through that fight thanks to your turning those fighters around."
"I'm proud to be part of the team, sir, especially since you're leading it."
She smiled again and then stepped off the ladder.
He alighted onto the deck and saluted the far bulkhead wall, which had been riddled to shreds by the Kilrathi mass driver shots. A section of durasteel taken from a wrecked fighter had been pasted over the holes and a new flag painted on to it.
"Captain coming aboard."
Two sweat-soaked non-commissioned officers came up to Jason and saluted.
"Permission to come aboard," Jason asked.
"A pleasure to grant it, sir," and the two returned Jason's salute.
The ceremony over, Jason turned to walk over to the makeshift bridge.
Doomsday was standing by the ladder leading up to the bridge, watching as a new sheet of plastiglass was being lifted up to replace the one blown out in the final attack.
"How'd it go with the old man?"
"I think he's all right with Banbridge. Hell, they can't shoot a hero can they? Anyhow, while I was over there I got word on you."
"Oh, now what?" Doomsday sighed.
"Your promotion's been confirmed as wing commander for this ship, along with that medal of honor recommendation."
"Yeah, thanks. Thirty new pups to train, all of them trying to get me killed."
"Undoubtably."
"Hope they don't try and kill me the way you did."
Jason laughed and walked away.
As he crossed the flight deck he saw the two pilots that he wanted.
"Round Top, Lone Wolf."
The two, hunched over inside the weapons bay of a Rapier, looked up, their faces streaked with grease, and came over to Jason, shaking his hand.
"How'd it go over there, sir?" Round Top asked.
"I'm staying with Tarawa and word is that those decommission stories are bunk. She'll go back for repairs, refitting, and back out for more action."
"Great, sir, it's what we wanted to hear about this old lady."
"Chamberlain, I want you to take over as squadron commander for the Ferrets."
Chamberlain grinned.
"Thanks, sir."
"Kevin, let's talk for a minute."
Kevin fell in alongside Jason and they walked across the deck.
"I got an offer from one of Banbridge's staff people while I was waiting to see the old man. I wanted to pass it along."
"What is it, sir?"
"Banbridge wants you as an adjutant on his staff. It's a top position, Kevin. Serve with Banbridge, do your job right, and you'll move on to commfleet. You'll be hot property there—a red combat tab on your dossier, a confirmed ace with a silver star with gold wings which I'm recommending you for; headquarters staffers love that type of record for their people. You'll climb quickly, Kevin. Hell, you could be my boss in five years time."
"Thank you, sir."
Jason looked at him, noticing the frown.
"Aren't you excited?"
"Honestly, sir?"
"Sure, go ahead."
"Tell them to stuff it. I can't stomach those types of officers. I'd rather be out here flying with you and the rest of the crew."
Jason grinned.
"How about a job aboard an escort carrier as a squadron commander?"
"Here, sir?"
"Sure, right here. I'd like to make your assignment permanent and have you run the Rapiers."
"Sir, I'd love it."
Smiling, Jason slapped Kevin on the shoulder.
"We'll talk more about it later."
Grinning with delight, Kevin raced back to Chamberlain, the two laughing and slapping each other on the back.
Jason turned and walked away.
As he reached the doorway into the main corridor leading aft he stopped for a moment to look at the roll of honor.
Two hundred and eighty-three names were on the list. So many of them he didn't even know, so many were just barely remembered faces and names, learned in the heat of combat. He could not even recall now the names of his young and so attractive combat information officer, the lowly cook who had dragged the wounded out of a shattered corridor, finally pushing a jammed airlock door shut, with himself on the vacuum side, or the deckhand who had waded into a wall of fire to shut down a ruptured hydrogen fuel line and died saving the ship. So many names, so many letters to write in the days to come.
He walked down the corridor which was blackened from fire, squeezing past a work crew, realizing that he still had on a borrowed uniform which was now stained and filthy.
He reached his cabin in the flight crew quarters and looked around. Fourteen people left. The other rooms now empty, quiet, personal effects stowed and waiting to be shipped home.
He went into his room and closed the door.
The bed seemed to float up and he collapsed upon it, not even bothering to undress. There was still a faint scent of perfume to the pillow case and the memory of it all brought the tears close to the surface.
"Damn this war," he whispered.
He only sighed her name once, and then, blessedly, Captain Jason "Bear" Bondarevsky drifted off into a dreamless sleep of peace, from which he would awaken the following day—ready to return to the war against the Kilrathi.
END
End Run Page 27
