Heart Of The Tiger (17 page)

"They had to wait until now to confirm it?" Blair asked bitterly. "They couldn't give us time to get ready?"

"The confirmation only came in from outsystem yesterday. One of General Taggart's resources finally gave us the full specs on the weapon . . . for what it's worth."

"You haven't heard the really bad news, either," Rollins put in. "These Skipper missiles carry cloaking devices, so they'll be damned hard to track. And as for the warheads . . . well, we might as well not have the specs at all. There's no counter for those bugs. Nothing."

Eisen gave Rollins a quick, angry look. "Once the pandemic is introduced into a Terrestroid ecosystem it'll spread very quickly," he said. "And Mr. Rollins is correct. Even the Kilrathi don't have a cure for it."

Blair's nod was sober. "So we can't let them get any missiles through to the planet," he said. He looked from Eisen to Rollins. "But how do we stop cloaked missiles? Hell, I didn't think the targeting system on a missile could handle cloaked flight. Everything I ever saw said you need a pilot to handle a bird when it's under cloak."

"According to the specs, the Skipper doesn't stay under cloak all the time," Eisen said. "It drops out of cloak every few seconds to update its flight profile. So they can be tracked . . . but only intermittently."

"Lovely. Any more good news?"

"Leyland was able to get an accurate scan of the Kilrathi. From the looks of things, both carriers had an absolute minimum of fighters deployed." Eisen's eyes studied him through the hologram. "They have the escorts doing most of their recon and CAP work. You know what that means as well as I do."

"Yeah." Blair nodded again. "They're prepping the fighters for a magnum launch. Right, Hobbes?"

The Kilrathi renegade sounded grave. "I fear that is the only likely explanation, my friend," he agreed.

"They're still pretty far out for a strike," Blair said. "Range is extreme for a run against Four."

"I agree," Eisen said. "But if I was about to make an all-out strike on a well-defended target, I'd prep early and keep my people ready. That way I could launch the moment I knew the enemy had discovered my ships. They may not be planning the strike right away, but they'll be good to go at any time."

"Where does that leave us?" Blair asked. "No criticism intended for the Victory and her crew, sir, but I'm not wild about the idea of us tackling the whole Kilrathi force alone. We might get in some hits, but some of the bastards will escape . . . and then where would we be?"

"Agreed," Eisen said. He looked at Blair. "Even I'm not so proud of the old girl that I think she'd survive a stand-up fight with seven cap ships. And our battle group isn't strong enough to even up the odds, either."

That prompted nods around the table. Three destroyers, Coventry, Sheffield, and Ajax, had joined the carrier at Tamayo as escorts, but two of them were as old and outdated as Victory herself. Only Coventry carried her own half-wing of fighters. All in all, they weren't much when set against the Kilrathi force.

"Do you have any recommendations, Colonel?" Eisen went on.

Blair studied the chart. "Yeah," he said slowly. He allowed himself a wolfish grin. "Hit them now. . . and hit them hard."

Eisen looked doubtful. "It'll be a mismatch," he said. "Can you do anything against those odds?"

"Yes, sir, I can," Blair said, although a part of him didn't share the confidence he tried to project. "We won't be going in to take on the whole Kilrathi fleet. My notion is to threaten them with an attack and make them launch their missiles early. That's what I'd do, if I wasn't sure what was hitting me. So we stir them up, make them commit. And then we go after those missiles with everything we've got. Victory won't be in any danger, because I don't see how they could mount a counterstrike in the middle of their attack op. The risk falls entirely to the Wing."

"I was hoping you'd come up with something better Colonel," Eisen said, sounding weary, "because that was the only plan I was able to rough out, too. And I'm afraid your pilots are going to be in for one hell of a fight."

"Yeah," Blair said. "I know. But I don't see anything else we can do without throwing away the one advantage we have right now."

"Advantage? We have an advantage?" Rollins looked and sounded incredulous.

"Surprise, Mr. Rollins," Blair told him with a slow smile. "Fact is, nobody would be crazy enough to do what we're talking about doing."

"Battle Alert! Battle Alert!" the computer announced. "Now, scramble! Scramble! Scramble! All Flight Wing personnel to magnum launch stations. Scramble!"

A monitor showed the view as the ready rooms erupted in a sudden outburst of activity. For a few seconds it was a scene of utter chaos, with pilots running for the Hangar Deck. Some were still zipping up flight suits or dogging down helmets as they moved, but there was an underlying sense of order beneath all the confusion. These people were professionals who knew their jobs.

Blair glanced around Flight Control Center, nodding in satisfaction. The room was fully crewed, with captain Ted "Marker" Markham, Victory's Flight Boss, presiding over the technicians with his usual autocratic flair. Ignoring the others, Blair focused his attention on Maniac Marshall, who was with Rachel Coriolis near the door. The major seemed to be debating his fighter's combat loadout with the technician, waving his hands in the air and talking with an excited intensity.

He waited until the discussion was over before crossing to Maniac. "We don't have any room for grandstanding today, Major," he said quietly. "This mission has to be flown perfectly. Otherwise . . . scratch a whole colony world and everyone on it. You read me, mister?"

Marshall met his eyes defiantly. "I know my duty, damn it. And I've never let my end down."

"Just remember what's at stake. You don't have to like me, major, any more than I have to like you. But today you'll follow my orders, or I'll have your head."

"I'll do my job," Maniac told him. "You just do yours."

Blair and Flint launched last, joining the other fighters already on station around the carrier. All four squadrons were up, thirty-three fighters in all. Leyland and Svensson had two of Blue Squadron's interceptors in position closer to the enemy flight, and the techs had down-checked five fighters — two Arrows, two Hellcats, and a Longbow — as unable to fly the mission.

He was glad Gold Squadron hadn't suffered any down-checks. At least all ten Thunderbolts would be going in today.

"All squadrons, this is Wing Commander,'' he announced as he settled his fighter into formation between Flint and Hobbes. "We've gone over the drill often enough, so I expect you all know your jobs by now. Warlock, I wish you were with us on this one, but in-flight refueling would complicate things too much. Keep your guard up, and make sure the old rust-bucket's still here for us when we get home."

"Godspeed, Colonel," Whittaker replied.

"The rest of us have a fleet to catch," Blair continued. "Amazon, take the lead. Green Squadron to follow, Gold in the rear. Let's punch it, boys and girls!" He rammed his throttles forward as if to punctuate the order, felt the engines surging to full power and the G-force pressing him down. "Engage autopilots," he said. "Anybody who thinks he can sleep, this is your last chance for a catnap before things start getting hot!"

He doubted if anyone actually slept, though with the autopilots set it would have been possible — assuming adrenaline and anticipation left any room for any of them to relax. It was a forty-five minute flight at maximum thrust, and Blair spent the time reviewing his plans and trying to spot ways to improve their chances of success. He saw precious little hope of shortening the daunting odds against them. Everything depended on luck, now.

Blair was surprised when the computer alarm sounded the warning. They were close to their navigation checkpoint now, and the autopilots were disengaging automatically. He checked his scanners, saw the blips representing the two watchdog interceptors trailing the Kilrathi fleet ahead. The enemy showed up on long-range sensors, which showed the presence of large vessels, but so far his monitor showed nothing in range of the more accurate but less powerful short-range scan.

That was exactly as it should be. So far, so good . . .

"Shepherd to flock," he said, breaking radio silence. "Commence your run . . . NOW!"

"Lord Prince!"

Thrakhath looked up from his computer display. The Tactical Officer sounded frightened, but whether it was due to something on his scanners or the danger of bothering Thrakhath was difficult to tell. "Lord Prince, I have multiple targets on close-range sensors. Small . . . a cluster of fighter-class targets. At least four eights of them!"

"Position?" Thrakhath rasped.

"Bearing to port and low, range five thousand octomak and closing." The officer paused. "They are Terran by their signatures, Lord Prince . . ."

"Of course they are Terran, fool!" Thrakhath raged. "Who else would send fighters against us? But how . . . ?"

"The Terran carrier," Melek said. "Victory."

"Victory," Thrakhath repeated, his claws twitching in and out of their sheaths with the violence of his emotion. "The Terrans must not be allowed to stop Unseen Death. Order all Vrag'chath missiles fired immediately, and launch fighters. Do it now!

"We could deploy the Red Fang squadron to engage them, Lord Prince —"

"No! Red Fang has its own role to play. They will adhere to the battle plan!"

"As you wish, Lord Prince. But I am afraid that the Terrans might have more surprises planned for us." Melek's words were grim as he turned to carry out Thrakhath's orders.

The Prince summoned up a holographic tactical chart in the air in front of his command seat. He glared into it as if the very anger in his eyes was a weapon to destroy the Terran with. "It is they who will be surprised, I think," he said quietly.

Melek glanced up from his console. The renegade will be among these pilots, Lord Prince," he pointed out. "Do the orders regarding him stand?"

Thrakhath didn't answer right away. If only Sar'hrai had carried out the job of crippling the Terran carrier at Tamayo, none of these complications would he around to plague him now. Carrier and renegade would be safely ensconced in some Confederation shipyard, waiting for the moment when they would join in the intricate dance of Thrakhath's grand design. He hoped Sar'hrai's late captain was suffering on the unending barren plains of the Kilrathi netherworld for his failure. "If detected, the renegade must be avoided," the Prince said at last. "It is not yet time for Ralgha to realize his destiny . . ."

"The big boys are launching missiles, skipper." The voice in Blair's headphones had been scrambled, decoded, and computer-reconstructed, but he recognized Vagabond's smooth, laid-back tones. "Big suckers . . . must be those Skippers you warned us about."

"Time to give them something else to think about, Blair said. "Green Squadron, execute Plan Hammer. Amazon, give them cover . . ."

"Acknowledged," Major Berterelli said, his tone bland and professional.

"On it, Colonel," Mbuto chimed in a moment later. "Come on, Blue Squadron, let's give the cats something they can really chew on!"

The Longbows and Arrows peeled away, headed toward Thrakhath's command carrier. Blair had been forced to improvise an attack plan quickly once the Kilrathi fleet had been spotted, and Plan Hammer was a modification of a standing tactical operation he hoped would do the job.

The main vulnerability of the Kilrathi was their reliance on a highly organized leader cult at all levels of their society. From the Emperor down to the most ordinary noncom, leaders were looked to for virtually all decisions, even minor tactical choices a human would automatically make on his own initiative. The chain of command in the Empire allowed for a certain amount of flexibility, but an Imperial force without a leader grew rapidly unstable.

And Kilrathi leaders were well aware of this. They fought honorably in battle, like any of their race, but they were also all too conscious of the need for protection.

A threat to Thrakhath's flagship, then, might just get the full attention of the Kilrathi prince, at least for a time. He would almost certainly concentrate his capital ships to meet the danger, and that might just give Blair and Gold Squadron the time they needed to do something about the Kilrathi missiles that were already accelerating away from the enemy fleet. If the Kilrathi concentrated on defending themselves, their missiles might just be vulnerable.

"Gold Squadron, stay with me," he went on. "Let's give the heavy stuff a wide berth if we can."

"I'm for that!" Vaquero said. "The wider, the better."

Still at full thrust, the Thunderbolts raced in pursuit of the Kilrathi fighters, but despite Blair's preference their course led them directly past one of the enemy destroyers. For a moment he debated steering clear of the ship, but that would give the Kilrathi strike force too much lead time. Blair decided their only choice was to risk the capitol ship's defensive fire. . . .

"Check your shields, people," he ordered. "And hold your fire. Our targets are the fighters."

"Goddamn," Maniac said, almost too soft to hear. "We could nail this bastard if we wanted to. . . ."

"Stick to the program, Maniac," Blair warned.

"I know, I know," Marshall said. "But you can't blame a guy for dreaming can you?"

The destroyer opened fire, massive energy discharges crackling from each of her turret batteries. One shot grazed Blair's starboard shields, and his status board lit up red as the computer assessed the power loss. It wouldn't take too many such hits to overwhelm the shielding and start sloughing off armor.