"Strike King to Tiger," the lead Arrow transmitted. "Tallyho, I got visual contact."
"What do you see?" Blair asked while starting the voice recorder attached to his knee board. He would need the Arrow's initial sighting for his after-action report.
"Approximately twelve bogies," Strike King said. "It looks like a motley mix of Ferrets and Rapiers, with a couple of Sabers. There's a second group inbound. Probably about the same numbers. Stand by telemetry."
The scout fighter transmitted his tactical scan. Blair's mission called for him to extract the Dominion's fighters, likely killing pilots who were not his enemies. "I have good copy, Strike King," he said. "Loiter and wait for the ready group. We'll take 'em with one punch." He hoped, in spite of his tough words, that keeping the Arrows out of the fight would keep the lid on the fight long enough for him to get the balance of his strike on the scene for a show of force that might make the rebels withdraw.
The last few minutes were the most difficult. Colonel Fan delegated the second strike to the next lower-ranking squadron commander in order to get some ships behind him. Up ahead, red and white streaks marked the distant battle. They redoubled as the Dominion's ships, emboldened by the relief force, broke out of their hedgehog to attack. Blair felt his guts knot with worry that the Arrows had disobeyed orders. "Strike King," he said, switching channels, "what's going on?"
The Arrow pilot's face appeared in his comm-panel. "Somebody jumped 'em," Strike King said, his young features excited. "Four Hellcats came out of nowhere and just pitched in! They're tearing the hell out of the rebels!"
He saw twin red and yellow blooms, explosions marking the end of two Border Worlds fighters. The balance of the rebel flotilla started to fall back, ending their harassment of the Dominion's patrol.
Blair kicked his throttles to maximum. The roar of the powerful engines was an impressive thunder next to his beloved Arrow's higher pitched murmur. The T-bolt, for all its noise, lacked the speed of the lighter ships. It made up for its lack of maneuverability with its up-front ordnance: twin plasma and photon guns. A T-bolt's Sunday punch could kill even small capital ships.
The Lexington's relief force closed the gap quickly enough for Blair to identify the individual ships engaged. The rebels, caught between the mystery force and Blairs ships, scattered and ran for home. A Hellcat with a matte-black paint scheme appeared on his right side, performed a snap-roll and took out another rebel ship with a high deflection shot. Blair whistled in admiration.
Strike Kings face appeared on his comm-panel. "Shall we pursue, sir?"
"Negative," Blair replied. "We'll trail 'em and make certain they stay out of trouble."
A badly damaged rebel Rapier, trailing debris and unable to keep station, appeared in his sights. He fired across its bows, signalling it to surrender. It cold-dumped its missiles and slowed, indicating its willingness to give in.
A pair of black Hellcats flashed into Blair's view from his lower right. The lead ship, afterburners glowing, lined up on the crippled rebel ship and fired. The Rapier vanished, engulfed in an expanding ball of exploding gas.
A white box appeared around the Hellcat as Blair's AI registered a radio transmission. Seethers face appeared in the comm-box. "Disregard that last order. All forces break and attack." Seether paused, then smiled. "By order of Admiral Petranova herself."
Blair, already furious over the death of the surrendered fighter, stabbed his control yoke's comm-button. "Do that again, you son of a bitch," he growled, "and I'll kill you."
Seethers ship turned in space and slashed after the retreating forces. His three Hellcats and the Dominion's fighters followed. "Sir," asked a flight leader, "aren't we going to engage?"
Blair closed his eyes, pained. There it was. He'd thought he'd get off easy, by calling Tolwyn and letting the old man take care of it. Now he saw he'd have to take a stand himself. Petranova had given the order to engage. He was just about to cue his comm-button when he caught the tail end of a transmission. "… and Colonel Fan, if Blair refuses, then take command and carry out his orders."
That tears it, Blair said. He keyed his all-call. 'Tiger to Ready Group. Break and attack in echelon. Maintain section integrity." The need to keep the fighters in groups of four would slow the attack down enough to give the Border Worlders a chance to escape.
He punched his own fighter forward, keeping pace with the Hellcats that blazed on ahead. His wingmates followed suit, loosening up the section's tight diamond and dropping into a shallow, trailing "V."
The Border Worlds forces began to turn and reengage. They hit the Dominions fighters using massed fire to flare two. The black Hellcats tore into the rebels a moment later, avenging one of the cruisers destroyed ships. Blair watched, heartsick, as his own Arrows attacked, killing a Ferret and firing missiles at a Rapier. The Rapier fired back, hitting one Arrow amidships before the first of several missiles struck it. The rebel ship turned into a fireball and an expanding cloud of junk.
Blairs Hellcats tore in, followed by his own Thunderbolts. The fast approach of three rebel Rapiers and a Saber pushed his worries aside. He slammed his throttles forward, bracing for the usual punch as the afterburners kicked in. He heard the roar as the Thunderbolt's engines spooled up, but the response was sluggish compared to a Hellcats. The first Rapier homed in and fired while the other two broke and turned, one heading for each of his flanks. Blair kicked out a pair of signal decoys in anticipation of a missile strike, then put the T-bolt into a lazy right-hand turn. The lead Rapier's hits registered on the heavy fighters screens, flaring the phase shields but accomplishing little else. The Saber bored in after it. He checked his tail-gunner, and was pleased to see that Gundersons computer control was engaging the trailing Rapiers as they came around astern. The tailstinger wouldn't accomplish much, but it would keep the rebels honest.
The Saber cut to its right, then left, trying to avoid Blair's front arc. He waited until the rebel committed itself, keyed an infrared missile, and fired. The missile launched after its target. The Saber jinked hard, kicking out a string of decoys. The evasion attempt slowed its own maneuver enough for Blair to bring it into his gun line. He fired two short bursts with his plasma guns, then poured on the coal with all weapons as he saw its phase shields flare. The salvo of doubled plasma and photon guns plowed into its spine, ripping it in two. There was no secondary explosion, giving the pilot a good chance of escaping.
The lead Rapier came into his line of sight almost at once, firing its afterburners in its attempt to cut him off while the two other ships swung around and angled for his flanks. Blair, having seen this maneuver a dozen times in the Kilrathi War, turned head-on to the lead Rapier, and cued an IFF missile.
The rebel ship grew in his sights, then foreshortened as it tried to maneuver out of his front arc. The Rapier was smaller, had weaker shields and lighter weapons, and could take less damage. There was no shame in running, not under those circumstances.
The IFF's crosshairs crossed his targeting reticule, the red box flashing as the missile's seekerhead locked on target. He fired the warhead, pulling sharply away as the second Rapier opened fire. His shields absorbed several hits before he evaded. They'd been knocked down about three-quarters, but the armor belt remained intact.
Blair looked straight up through his cockpit canopy as he came over the top of his loop and saw the lead Rapier directly overhead. The IFF missile hit the Rapier. Its intake bloomed fire. The ship survived the hit and swerved away, trailing debris from a small secondary explosion.
Blair tightened his loop, coming in over the top of the Rapier as the pilot struggled to control the ship. He toggled his weapon selector switch to his plasma cannon, then kicked a line of bolts along the damaged fighter's foresection. The ship staggered under the abuse, then flew apart—disintegrating from front to back as the cannon shots lost coherency and dissipated their energy charges into the Rapier's frame.
Blair's heart thumped in his chest as he watched the fighter die.
The fighter's frame broke up before the pilot could eject. He felt dirty and sickened by what he had done, even though he'd had no choice. Blair had rarely fired on Confed-built ships, and the memories of each time he had done so plagued his dreams.
A barrage of laser bolts from his back right drew his eye upward. The last Rapier flashed overhead, scoring a line of hits that weakened Blairs phase shields but still didn't penetrate.
He pulled hard right, allowing his badly depleted capacitors to recharge while he maneuvered against the last Rapier. A Lexington Hellcat appeared in the Rapiers hind quarter, fired a volley from its ion cannon and released a missile. The Rapier, caught between Blair's turret and the Hellcat, tried to turn away. The missile took it amidships, destroying it. A gout of flame shot through the cockpit, finishing the pilot.
He kicked the Thunderbolt ahead, passing through the last of the defending fighters. The sky ahead was clear, except for the drive plumes and navigation lights of a pair of small frigates. He plotted an attack course for the small warships, then dove. Defensive fire from their turrets began to flash past his canopy.
He checked his scanner, unamused to see the Border Worlds ships falling back to protect the frigates. The much faster Ferrets and Arrows were already past him, vectoring towards the frigates before turning. The Lex's Arrows raged after them in hot pursuit. One Arrow caught a frigates defensive bolt in its teeth and vanished. The rest, undaunted, fired as they passed him, their pilots clogging the radio channels as they tried to coordinate their attack. He caught a quick signal burst as Colonel Fans wave plowed into the far side of the battle, catching those Border Worlds ships that couldn't disengage in a pincer.
The Border Worlds forces, overmatched by both Confed numbers and technology, gave way. Blair, his blood up, slipped between the retreating ships and went for the frigates. The cap ships jinked and dodged, trying to avoid him as he pressed home his attack.
A Lexington Hellcat closed on his port side.
"Colonel Blair," Maniac called, matching his course to Blairs, "abort your attack!"
"I don't listen to traitors," he snarled as he fired on the frigate. The little ships phase shields flared, absorbing the punch. The trick would be to whittle its defenses down, then hit it with his Sunday punch. A second point-blank barrage cut through the forward screen, knocking it down. He aimed in again, intent on slagging the small ship.
"Colonel!" Maniac said, desperation coloring his voice, "please listen. The frigates're carrying refugees from a Confed raid. They're just tryin' to get out ofnarm's way! I swear it!"
Blair looked from his comm-panel to the frigate. The ship's guns and missiles might have been sufficient reinforcement to salvage the situation for the Border Worlds forces, if they had committed to the battle. The fact they hadn't suggested Maniac was telling the truth. "On your oath?" he demanded. "For whatever it's worth."
"Colonel, I swear it's true," Maniac said. "Both ships are loaded with non-combatants. They even removed their torpedoes to make more room for refugees."
"Tell 'em to run full IDs and shut off their turrets, and I'll call off the dogs," Blair said tiredly. "If you've lied to me, I'll hunt you down."
"I haven't lied," Maniac said dryly, "though I appreciate the vote of confidence."
Blair considered smoking him, just on general principles. He confined himself to cuing his tactical circuit. "Tiger to Wing. The primary target running ID's are non-belligerents. You will consider them non-valid targets."
He knew with grim certainty that the black ships would disobey, and wasn't the least bit surprised when one turned towards the damaged frigate. The Hellcat didn't have the ordnance to take down a shielded frigate by itself, but it had plenty of juice to deal with an unshielded one. The black ship made a tight snap turn and fired, its ion cannon picking holes in the frigate's hull. Maniac saw-bucked his fighter, kicking it around and firing first one missile, then another at the black ship. The fighter looped in a complicated roll and corkscrew maneuver, dodging the missiles as smoothly as a matador evading a bull.
Maniac swept up after it, firing as it came out of its tight spiral. The black ship nimbly dodged Maniac's beams, then slashed across his course. Maniac tried to follow it into another complicated roll-and-tuck corkscrew. The Hellcat pulled away from him as easily as a veteran leading a novice, then flipped over on its back. Maniac tried to evade without success.
Ion and laser cannon fire bloomed from its wings. The point-blank beams raked Maniac's belly, punching through the phase shields and armor to score the hull beneath. Maniac jerked his fighter to the side, trying to avoid the killing beams, but to no avail. Blair saw white hot pieces fly from Maniac's ship.
Blair watched the fighter close on Maniac, whose crippled bird spewed fuel and hydraulic fluid. The fighter slowed, lining up a killing shot on Maniacs cockpit. Maniac, his controls nearly shot away, still attempted to evade. The black fighter toyed with him, firing close along one side, then hulling the ship again.
That final piece of cruelty was the last straw for Blair. His fury rose like a red haze. He bucked the nose of his Thunderbolt around and aimed it at the black ship. The black Hellcat began to turn, readying the final shot for Maniac.
Blair switched to his full bank of frontal weapons and hit his trigger. Beams lanced out from his ship, crossing space to strike the aft portion of the Hellcat. The Hellcat pulled hard to the right, banking and slewing as it tried to evade. The maneuver presented Blair with a shallow deflection shot against the black Hellcat as he crossed its "T."
He goosed his stick back and left, crossing the smaller ship's steeper bank, then hit his firing trigger as he straightened out his course. The beams cut directly in front of the Hellcat, which tried to snap-roll away. A single beam licked through its armor. Blair saw a flare, then a small explosion.
The damaged ship pulled ahead, using a burst of afterburners to escape the heavy fighter. Blair made a minute course adjustment, then hit his own burners. The Hellcat, slowed by battle damage, walked into the curtain of fire.
Blair held his trigger down, watching his capacitors dip deep into the yellow as he poured shot after shot into the Hellcat, chewing through the shields, armor, and finally the ship itself. Pieces spalled away under the abuse and one engine flared and caught fire. Blair keyed his weapons again. Nothing happened. He looked down and swore as he saw he'd run his capacitors deep into the red.
The fighter, badly damaged, turned back towards the battle and into the shelter of two more black Hellcats. The comm-panel cleared. Blair found himself looking at an infuriated Seether. "Well, Colonel," he snarled, "I guess honors are even. Enjoy your victory. You aren't going to be around to enjoy it long."
Blair glanced quickly at his tactical. Marshall's damaged Hellcat had taken up station with the frigates, escorting them on the final leg towards the jump point. Blair watched the first refugee ship enter the jump point, a flare of brilliant blue energy exploding from the point as the ship activated its jump engines and passed through. The second frigate followed a second later, trailed by a trickle of Border Worlds fighters.
Maniac's damaged fighter hovered near the gate. "Colonel," Maniac said, his face jumping and fuzzing in the jump point's electronic interference, "you'd better come with us. You can't go back."
Blair saw that was true. No one would believe his story of protecting helpless civilians, especially after the frigates had fired on his ships. It was also undeniable that he had fired on another Confed ship. He guessed that even if he were to escape punishment for letting the frigates go, he'd exposed himself as an enemy of the conspiracy.
He had no choice, not if he wanted to live. "Where are we going?"
Marshall's face frizzed out as his camera failed. "Home," he said, "such as it is."
Blair reluctantly turned and followed Maniac through the jump point.
Chapter Seven
Blair brought his Thunderbolt through the jump point, closing his eyes and gritting his teeth against the inevitabl
e jump shock. Somehow, the shock seemed worse in a small fighter than it did in a cap ship. He breathed shallowly while the nausea passed. Only then did he examine his surroundings.
A huge red giant star hung in space like a baleful bloodshot eye. Prominences boiled off its surface, throwing planet-sized tendrils far out into space, only to fall back into the stars mass. His earpieces picked up the electronic interference as static intense enough to break the transmitters squelch. The nav plot jumped and skipped as the sensitive pickups adjusted themselves to accommodate the white noise.
A small flotilla emerged over the star's horizon. The fleeing frigates matched courses, sliding smoothly into orbit behind and below the main body. They joined an ancient light cruiser, a fistful of corvettes and a half-dozen old revenue cutters. A pair of fast transports with flared ore-shuttle decks hovered protectively over a single carrier.
The CV looked to have begun life as one of the old destroyers the Confederation had discarded and sold off. The Border Worlds had slung a single launch bay beneath its belly, reconfiguring it as a light carrier.
"What ship is that?" he asked, indicating the carrier.
"That's the Intrepid," Marshall replied, "the flagship of the Outer Worlds Fleet." He laughed. "It used to be the TCS Delphi, one of the old Durango-class heavy destroyers."
"The Durangos were obsolete ten years ago!" Blair interjected.
Maniac laughed at the disbelief in his voice. "Welcome to the Border Worlds, where everything's seen better days."
An obsolete corvette with a large parabolic antenna that looked to have been salvaged from an obsolete orbiting microwave power station separated itself from the main body. The huge dish oriented towards the jump point, looking like a massive sail on top of the small ship.
The Price of Freedom Page 17
