Even Jukaga could not conceal his curiosity. Though he had read the spy reports, the only images he had seen so far were grainy two dimensional shots clandestinely taken by a transport captain in his employ. The new carrier was at least twice the length of the old design, and bristled with six launch bays, three aft and three forward. As the image slowly turned inside the holo field he saw that the vulnerable engine nacelles were completely concealed and armored.
"The first of the carriers is already operational," Thrakhath announced proudly, "and undergoing final testing in the far reaches of Hari space far beyond any prying eyes of the Confederation."
He looked back at Jukaga as if saying that it was also beyond the prying eyes of anyone else.
"What is its capability?" Vak asked.
"When fully loaded it carries three eighties and six eights of strike craft and fighters, launching from six separately contained bays. Its ship defense capabilities include four eights of mass driver quad batteries, four eights of neutron and laser batteries, and six gatling launch tubes for anti-torpedo defense. It has three concentric layers of interior armor, and all six bays are self contained. Thus we can take hits on three, even four bays and keep on fighting shifting fighters from one part of the ship to the other by internal access corridors. As you can well guess, the material required to build this carrier equals over six times that of a normal fleet attack carrier. In addition we are building more than eighty escort ships of frigate, destroyer and cruiser design. That is why we suffer the transport shortage now. More than two hundred of them were committed to the hauling of all that was needed from the Empire to the far side of Hari."
He looked around the room and saw the nods of understanding.
I think, my comrades," he said smoothly, "that is why you can also understand why my clan alone took full responsibilities for the construction of these ships. We had to maintain the tightest of security. The knowledge of this leaking to our enemies would give them time to analyze our new ships and perhaps find a counter."
He stared defiantly at Jukaga.
"That is why my clan placed such security around the project and kept it hidden for so long."
Jukaga wanted to reply with a challenge, that it also insured the power of the Imperial throne with such ships solely in its hands, but realized that now was not the time, even though the subtle insult to the other clans had not gone unnoticed.
"Then commit it now and block this human offensive," Buktag'ka said, pounding the table excitedly.
Jukaga looked at Buktag'ka and wanted to laugh at the boot licker's enthusiasm.
"That is not the way to win war," Thrakhath replied, an edge of sarcasm in his voice revealing his sense that though Buktag'ka was a family leader, he was still of a lower cast. Buktag'ka quickly looked around the room, hoping for some sign of support and saw nothing but mocking stares and he swallowed his rage.
"In eighty and forty days four more carriers of the Hakaga class will be ready for their operational tests, in three eighty and forty days, we will have a full fleet of eight and four Hakaga carriers fully operational.
"That means we will have a need for over forty eighties of fighter and strike craft pilots. In spite of what the Baron might think, that is why I had fully intended to reveal this information to you today. The first ship's fighter crews were drawn from my clan, but as new ships come on line we will need to draw the best pilots from all clans out of the training academies and off existing fleet ships. All of your hrai, your clans, are to share in the glory of this new fleet."
He looked over at the Baron and suppressed a scornful laugh. Though indeed the Baron had pressured him into revealing the project too soon, it was amusing to not let him think so.
"Only then will I release them, when the entire fleet is ready, using them to cleave straight through the human defenses. Our war simulations have gone over the plan repeatedly and our projection is that at least half of these new ships will survive to reach Earth, while in the process smashing the Confederation Fleet in one final climatic battle. Within one hour after gaining orbit above their home planet either the Terran Confederation will surrender or more than one eight and a half hundred of our fighters will deliver antimatter bombs, leaving the planet a burned out cinder.
"The tides of this war have shifted back and forth for more than half my reign, the Emperor interjected, his voice commanding total silence. "Before I return to my ancestors, I wish to see my grandson destroy these low born scum and the ball of offal that they call their world."
"I am moved to joy by this plan of Thrakhath," Jukaga interrupted, "however, it is at least eighty days, more likely two of eighty days till five of the new ships are ready, and three eighty and a half days until the other seven he believes are required for victory are operational. Yet you can all see that even if it is not a fatal blow, the humans will succeed in penetrating our defenses and sowing a wave of destruction within the next five of eight days. In this penetration, they will cripple our logistical support, which will still be needed to keep Prince Thrakhath's new ships supplied in their drive towards victory. If that is crippled the final offensive to Earth is crippled."
He paused for a moment to look at Thrakhath who was forced to nod in agreement.
"We have heard Talmak suggest that the frontier be temporarily abandoned and all defenses pulled into the center," Jukaga said reviewing the earlier suggestions, "but we cannot allow such a stain on our honor, nor can the Caxki clan, which owns many of the frontier worlds, allow it. Our Prince has explained how a counter offensive into Enigma or through Munro towards Earth is difficult if not impossible due to the question of supply, and that the humans might ignore the threat anyhow and still ravage our worlds."
He took a deep breath and looked around the room.
Now it was to the true heart of the meeting. Thrakhath had revealed what his clan had been planning, but no real suggestions as to how to overcome the crisis of the moment.
"You have brought me out of exile saying that with my understanding of humans I might suggest a third way and I have such away which will bring us victory."
"And that is?" Buktag'ka asked, glad that it was obvious that soon this talk would be over and the mid-day feasting could begin.
"Sue for an armistice and promise peace."
A roar of disbelief thundered from all the clan leaders.
Jukaga waited for several minutes for the anger to die down and thought for a moment that more than one clan leader would call for a blood duel to avenge what they saw as an obscene slight of honor.
"You have been driven mad by your reading of human books of filth and weakness," Buktag'ka roared, coming up to Jukaga's side as if to strike him.
There was a moment of silence as all waited for the ritual first blow to be struck across Jukaga's face and then all turned to look at the screen behind which the Emperor sat.
The Emperor was laughing.
"Tell us your plan Baron, I think I see its merit even though I know the gods will not be pleased."
"But even the gods are not immune to bribery," Jukaga said, a smile of cunning lighting his features. "When my plan works, and is finished, Sivar will be more than pleased with the final offerings."
And in the doing of it, I will be pleased as well, when Prince Thrakhath's victory becomes mine instead, the Baron thought with a smile.
CHAPTER ONE
Captain Ian "Hunter" St. John crossed through the final nav check point and turned in on attack approach. The lone habitable planet of the Munro system was now straight ahead. A flurry of matter-antimatter bombs snapped across the world, winking brightly even from thirty thousand clicks out, the bombardment suppressing the Kilrathi ground defense systems. He clicked into the Marine channel and listened for a moment as the second and third divisions started their descent into their landing points. Ian switched back to his main channel.
"Red squadron, arm all torpedoes, Blue and Green squadrons, keep close in for support. Let's get the carrier!"
Off his port quarter he saw the Yellow, Orange, and Black squadrons comprising the rest of the attack group fanning out into the standard delta formation, while the red squadron Broadsword bombers lined up for a classic anvil attack, swinging out to hit the Kilrathi carrier on its X, Y, and Z axis.
They were going to lose people in the next couple of minutes, but the light carrier straight ahead was going to be dead as well.
He did a quick scan on to the main tactical commlink net to check in on how the rest of the fight was going, ready to divert part of his attack force, which was damn near overwhelming, if something was going wrong somewhere else.
The Marines were going into their drop right on schedule, no serious opposition, the landing area already saturated by the heavy bombardment from four destroyers and a cruiser which had turned a thousand square kilometers of the primary landing point into scorched rubble. What was left of the Kilrathi bases on the planet continued to glow from the antimatter strikes.
This was a raid on one Kilrathi base which was going like clockwork and that alone was troubling. Across the last thirty years Munro, ever since its seizure by the Kilrathi during the open stages of the war, had been a long standing goal for recapture. Beyond the simple fact that it was once human territory it also stood as the primary approach into the heart of the Empire. Conversely, from this base the Kilrathi stood astride a main jump point terminus into the middle regions of the Confederation and from there the main jump line straight back to Sirius and then on to Earth. It was the front door to both the Empire and the Confederation. A lot of good ships and a hell of a lot of personnel had died in six attempts to retake the planet. Now it was falling like a ripe apple into their laps.
He wondered how the rest of the assault plan was going. This attack on Munro, though crucial, was actually not the primary goal of Operation Red Three. They were to act as a focal point for the Kilrathi to counter-strike on and thus be drawn away from the main thrust of the offensive. Across fifteen hundred light years of frontline that divided the Empire from the Confederation, eight Task Groups, each comprised of an escort carrier, a light cruiser, and four destroyers were poised to leap deep into the Heart of the Empire. Their mission was to strike far into the rear to destroy convoys, shatter bases, and smash construction yards. It was a tactical innovation evolving out of Vukar Tag which appeared to be bearing fruit, a constant harassing of the enemy that some claimed was actually beginning to wear the cats down. He could only hope that the politicians were not about to blow it as latest rumors indicated they would.
"Hunter, we got traffic, vectoring in on 032 degrees your heading true, plus 060 degrees."
Hunter looked at his short range tactical scan and saw the swarm of red blips snap on.
"Blue squadron, you on them?"
"Lone Wolf here, sir, vectoring in, you're covered."
"Get that double ace strip, boy, good hunting."
"Don't worry, you'll get your bottle of scotch off me when I do," Lone Wolf replied. "Wish it was a carrier in my sights instead."
Hunter chuckled to himself. Admiral Tolwyn's nephew was eager for this fight and he could understand why.
"The kid's been going nuts trying to get that strip."
Hunter spared a quick glance to Griffin, his co-pilot, and nodded. Kevin Tolwyn's escort carrier, Tarawa, had joined up with the strike group after the mission had already set out. In the skirmishes leading into Munro young Tolwyn had drawn a blank hand in half a dozen fights and was eager for a kill to round up his number to ten. Such eagerness could get a pilot wasted but Hunter could understand it.
Hunter looked back down at his computer information screen, which showed the other two Broadsword strike groups lining into position. All three groups hit their jump-off marks precisely and started in on the final attack.
"Range one thousand clicks, speed down to 110 kps," and Griffin started the chant, marking off range and speed. The computer could do the job as well, but a machine could always glitch off at a key moment and besides, he preferred Griffin's soft feminine voice.
Hunter watched straight ahead, the planet filling space before him. He could make out a sliver of reflected light, standing out against the blue-green ocean below. The light shifted into a thin pencil-like form.
"Target is turning, following standard evasive maneuver alpha," Griffin announced, "coming about to a heading 002 positive 80 degrees."
"Right on to a broadside target for us," Hunter chortled. That was the beauty of a well timed attack on the three axis points, no matter which way the enemy turned, someone would have a full broadside strike.
A low piercing hum echoed in his headset, the initial locking tone for his torpedo.
"Range fifteen kilometers, closing speed eight hundred fifty meters a second and holding."
He was damn near hanging still in space, sparing a quick glance to his tactical display, filled now with a swarm of blue and red dots. A Kilrathi Gratha heavy fighter flashed by, followed by a Rapier. He heard Jonesy in the turret behind him, stammering out a curse as she snapped off a quick volley. His Broadsword shuddered, damage information blipping red for his rear starboard stabilizer. A spray of mass driver rounds arched up from the carrier as it twisted away, and he nudged up the throttle to follow the ship as it continued to turn.
The tone in his headset started to slide up the scale, signaling that his torpedo guidance system was breaking through the Kilrathi carriers phased shielding distortion defense, the weapon gaining a secured lock.
The Broadsword to his right disappeared in a flash. He tried not to think about the friends inside. A split second later Jonesy let out a whoop from the rear turret.
"Got the furball bastard. Burn, damn you, burn."
Damn, she was bloodthirsty. But then, who could blame a nineteen year old girl whose brothers were all dead in the war?
The tone in his headset started to warble and then set off three high pitched beeps, the last beep going into a steady tone, indicating that the heavy Mark IV torpedo was locked and armed. He felt his ship shudder as the torpedo broke free from its pylon and streaked off towards the target. Nearly a score of silver blips appeared on his tactical screen, showing the inbound strike. The timing was damn near perfect.
Now was the time to test out the new weapons system
He slammed up throttle, yanked the stick into his gut and punched straight up, exposing the laser guidance system strapped on to the belly of his Broadsword.
"Have laser lock on torpedo," Griffin announced quietly, hunching over her read-out screen. The new laser system was designed to provide in-bound guidance for the torpedo, the designator locking on to the torpedo's tail. If target lock should be lost, the weapons officer could now guide it in, while also providing evasive for any anti-torpedo missiles and shield jamming by the target's defensive systems. The only problem was that it meant that the Broadsword had to loiter in the target area, belly exposed, until impact.
It might work, Ian thought, but I'd like to take the idiot who designed it and have him fly the wait out with me to see what it's like.
The Kilrathi carrier's point defenses slammed on miniguns sending out sprays of marble size mass driver bolts. Several torpedoes detonated. Anti-torpedo missiles streaked out from launch bays mounted fore and aft on the ship.
"Still tracking, still tracking," Griffin chanted, grimacing slightly and swinging a small joy stick over to put the torpedo into an evasive as two anti-missiles closed. The evasive threw them off and they continued on.
Still tracking, impact in five, four . . ."
And suddenly it didn't seem quite right. They were using their old single bolt anti-torpedo missiles. Hell, for nearly six months now Kilrathi carriers had been carrying their damn new sub-munitions anti-torpedo missiles which could break into half a dozen shots. The damn things had been a nasty surprise. Ships armed with them were almost invulnerable to torpedo strikes if they could get enough of them out there.
Fleet ordnance had bee
n working like mad to come up with a counter, but so far no one had been able to snag a round for evaluation since they were armed with a timed detonator if they failed to strike a target, thus blowing up anyhow and confounding the munitions experts.
The drama played out in seconds. Four more torpedoes, all of them the older unguided models, went down to the counter-missile strike; it looked like several more were hit by miniguns and then the silver blips converged in on a single point two, one, got it!"
Space erupted with a brilliant flash as bright as the sun and the carrier was gone, internal munitions stores and fuel detonating in a firecracker string of secondary explosions that ripped the ship apart.
"Scratch one flattop," Ian shouted, comm channel discipline breaking down as nearly everyone came on yelling and cheering. He rolled his ship over, coming in on a banking turn, careful to avoid the edge of the expanding cloud of debris, making sure his gun cameras were running at high gain. A lot could be learned when the holo tapes were played back and inspected — did the torpedo guidance systems function correctly, exactly where were the impact points, were any structural weaknesses revealed as the enemy ship ruptured . . . even ship contents were important.
Several years back one of his old buddies, Paladin, had jumped a light transport and wasted it while raiding inside enemy lines. An evaluation of the explosion had shown a brief single frame image of several space suits blowing out of the erupting hull. It was still a wonder how the holo evaluation crowd had enhanced, magnified and fiddled with the shot and finally figured that the suits were specifically designed for a high radiation high gravity planet. The Hot Pit, a forward base in the Zarnobian System fit the bill as the only military target in the sector that matched up with the suits. A Marine raider battalion was rushed in, set up an ambush, and nailed a landing raid bagging a regiment of elite Kilrathi Imperial shock troops.
Hunter swept past the edge of the fireball, and then turned back towards Munro, ready to offer backup support for the Marine landing operation. The red blips of the few remaining Kilrathi fighters covering the carrier were winking off the screen as the Rapier squadrons finished them off.
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