Heart Of The Tiger (22 page)

Vespus . . . he was back on Vespus again, and Angel was with him. They walked hand in hand along the top of a bluff overlooking the glittering sea, with a light breeze blowing off the water to stir her auburn hair.

Blair knew it was a dream, but the knowledge didn't change the intensity of the illusion. He was really with her, on Vespus, the week they'd taken leave together. It was a time when neither of them had imagined ever being apart again.

The view from the clifftop was beautiful: the setting sun, one of the three great moons hanging low above the horizon, sea and sky red with the gathering twilight. But Blair turned away from the spectacular vista to look into Angel's eyes, to drink in her beauty. They kissed, and in the dream that kiss seemed to last for an eternity.

Now they were sitting side by side, lost in each other, oblivious to their surroundings. Another kiss, and a long, lingering embrace. Their hands explored each other's bodies eagerly as passion stirred.

"Is this forever, mon ami?" Angel asked, looking deep into his eyes, almost into his soul.

"Forever's not long enough," he told her. They came together . . .

The dream changed. Vespus again, where sea and shore came together, but stark, bleak, with storm clouds gathering on the horizon. Blair stood with General Taggart, this time, looking down at the broken spine of the hulk that been Concordia. He stirred, but he couldn't awaken, couldn't recapture the other dream . . .

Now he stood on the flight deck, near the podium, as a line of coffins rolled past. The general was with him again, reading out the names of the dead in deep, sonorous tones. "Colonel Jeannette Devereaux . . ."

Blair snapped awake, stifling a cry. His hands groped on his bedside table until they wrapped around the holocube she had sent him. For a moment he fumbled with it, and then her image appeared, lips moving soundlessly with the volume turned down.

He stared at the ghostly figure and tried to control his breathing. Blair was never a superstitious man, but the nightmare was like an omen, a vision. Angel was gone, and he was afraid that he would never get her back.

Another evening, another day of seemingly endless work. Blair was looking forward to a tall glass and a chance to unwind, and although he wasn't eager for company, the rec room was preferable to his quarters. He spent too many nights lately staring at those four walls, awakened from sleep by the recurring nightmare. At least Angel couldn't haunt him here.

There was a cluster of officers at the bar, Lieutenant Rollins right in the middle. They were grouped around a newspad, watching the latest Terran News Channel update just beamed in from Blackmane. Barbara Miles, perfect as ever, looked out of the screen with an expression of mingled concern and reassurance as she spoke.

"Despite denials from official Confederation channels, TNC now has independent confirmation that the Locanda star system has been placed under absolute quarantine in the wake of an outbreak of a virulent plague said to be the result of a Kilrathi biological weapons attack. There are unconfirmed rumors that this is not the first time such weapons have been used against human colonies. It is now generally believed that the colony on Locanda Four has already suffered heavy losses, and may be all but wiped out as the disease runs its course."

She paused significantly. "In other news from the front, TNC has learned that a strategic withdrawal of Confed forces is underway in several outlying sectors. While government and military spokesmen officially deny any such actions, unofficially several sources have suggested that these withdrawals have been ordered as a means of consolidating the front lines by surrendering unimportant territory in the hope that the Kilrathi will spread themselves too thin and thus be exposed to a significant counterstroke. But independent military analysts retained by TNC have labeled this suggestion as spurious, and believe the 'consolidation' is merely an improvised response to the advances of the enemy.

"This is Barbara Miles reporting, with another TNC Infoburst . . ."

"Shut it off, Radio," a lieutenant Blair recognized as one of the carrier's shuttle pilots growled. "Always the same old line from those cat symps."

Rollins blanked the screen. "Hey, Trent, where've you been? We were at Locanda . . . and they're breaking down Blackmane Base right now. I hear tell there's been talk of sending a peace envoy to Kilrah . . . that we're as good as ready to surrender. So how can you keep buying the fantasy that we're actually winning this war?"

"What I want to know, Rollins," Blair said, placing a hand on the lieutenant's shoulder, "is why you're so all-fired eager to tell us how bad everything's going?"

"Ah, c'mon, Colonel," Rollins said. "You'd have to be blind to miss the facts. Things are bad . . . and they're getting worse. Fact: we haven't had a real shore leave in months. Fact: they keep shuttling this old bucket around from one trouble spot to another, as if one battered carrier and one fighter wing was all they could spare to cover half the sector. Fact: we've been on one defensive op after another, and we always seem to end up pulling back when it's over. Seems pretty damned clear to me, Colonel. This war's winding down, all right. But we're not on the winning side."

Blair looked from Rollins to the others grouped around him. Most of them were nodding their heads in agreement, though a few, like Lieutenant Trent, were frowning at his words. "You want facts, Lieutenant?" I'll give you a few to chew on. Fact: the grunts on the front lines, even the ones with lots of well-placed sources. never see the whole picture in a war. Fact the fastest way to lose a war is to allow morale to be sapped by half-assed young officers with big ears, bigger mouths, and no common sense at all. And fact: I know a communications officer with too much time on his hands who is letting his love for gossip jeopardize the morale of this ship."

"With all due respect, sir, I'm entitled to my opinion," Rollins said stubbornly.

"Indeed you are. But if I hear any more of this defeatist talk, you'll be reassigned to Waste Recycling, where your crap belongs. Get my drift?"

"Telling him to shut up won't make the truth go away, sir," one of the others spoke up.

"If it is the truth, wailing about it isn't going to change a damned thing," Blair said. "We'll just have to play the cards we're dealt. But like I said, the grunts at the front hardly ever know what's really happening. Hell, maybe it's worse than old Gloom and Doom here thinks. But maybe it's a lot better. Point is, if we decide everything's lost anyway, and give up, we might end up letting down some folks who need us to turn things around." He paused. "I'm not telling anyone what to think. Or even saying you can't shoot the bull over a few drinks. But spreading the worst possible rumors — that's crossing the line. I've heard my share of rumors that were a lot less nasty, and I'm sure Rollins here has heard them too. . . but those don't get much play, because they're not spicy enough."

Rollins gave him a long look, then shrugged. "Maybe you're right, sir," he said. "Maybe I do like to shoot my mouth off.

"Well, as of now, consider the safety on." Blair forced a smile. "Anyway, aren't there better things to talk about than this damned war? The girl you left behind . . . or the shore leave you'll never live down?" He turned to the bartender. "Rosty . . . a round on my account. But only to the ones who have something pleasant to talk about, okay?"

That boosted some spirits, and the others were laughing and chattering happily as Blair moved to an empty table by the viewport. He sat there staring into the darkness.

He could have been quoting from a manual on keeping up morale when he'd spoken to them. The trouble was he didn't believe a word of it himself.

Blair paused at the entrance to the captain's ready room, reluctant to touch the buzzer. Victory was astir with fresh rumors today, speculations rising from the arrival of a courier ship from Sector HQ at Torgo. No one knew what word the ship brought to Eisen, but everyone was sure it heralded a change of orders, perhaps fresh action. Blair wasn't looking forward to learning what was in store for them now. He didn't feel ready to go back into action again so soon, not with the failure at Locanda still hanging over him. It wasn't something he could admit to anyone, either, not without requesting a transfer to some rear-echelon outfit, off the firing line.

As tempting as that idea might be, Christopher Blair refused to give in to it. There was no way he could let others fight the war while he sought safety. He owed it to all his comrades who had stayed and fought.

With an effort of will, he forced himself to compose his features and hit the buzzer.

"Enter," Eisen's voice came, and the door slid open.

"Reporting as ordered, sir," Blair said.

"Ah, Colonel, good." Eisen stood up, and the officer in crisp whites opposite him did likewise. "This is Major Kevin Tolwyn, from sector HQ."

"Hey, Lone Wolf," Blair said, genuinely pleased to see the younger man. He advanced to clasp Tolwyn's hand, smiling broadly. "Its been a long time, kid."

"Another old acquaintance, Colonel?" Eisen asked.

"Yes, sir," Blair responded. "We served together on the Tarawa a few years back." He looked Tolwyn over. Short, baby-faced, the nephew of Admiral Geoff Tolwyn didn't look old enough to shave, much less to be a Confed officer. "Major, now, is it? That's a pretty good bump. You were only Lieutenant Tolwyn last time I heard . . ."

Tolwyn blushed. "Brevet rank, Colonel. I made Flight Captain after the Battle of Terra, the brevet came through after I got wounded during the mop-up after Vespus." He hesitated. "I guess one fighter too many cooked off underneath me and my uncle pulled me into a staff job for awhile, he said I'd already cashed all my lucky chips in and he wasn't going to take a chance on next time."

"Staff slot, huh. I'm sorry to hear it. You should be on the flight line, kid, where you belong."

"Don't I know it," Tolwyn said. "But . . . I didn't have any say in the matter. The admiral wouldn't take no for an answer, and here I am."

Blair nodded in understanding. He'd heard stories of Admiral Tolwyn's open displays of emotion, first when he had feared Kevin missing or dead, then later when the younger man was recovered and returned to the fleet. Maybe the staff job was a real effort to keep Kevin Tolwyn out of harm's way. He was, after all, the admiral's closest surviving kin and had done more than his share of fighting while serving on the Tarawa. The Medal of Honor on his chest was more than enough proof of that.

"If I can interrupt the reunion, Colonel, I think we'd better get down to business." Eisen gestured to the chairs by his desk. As they sat down, he continued. "Major Tolwyn brings us fresh orders from HQ. It looks like the war's heating up, at least as far as we're concerned. Major?"

"The attack on Locanda Four was a real wake-up call," Tolwyn said. "We knew the cats were working on a number of strategic weapons projects, but we didn't expect them to bring them into play as long as their fleet was still able to hold its own. It s against everything in the Kilrathi philosophy to resort to this kind of blatant genocide. They're supposed to like their fights up close and personal, and this is a complete departure from everything we thought we knew about them."

"Do we have any evidence they're going to use bioweapons elsewhere?" Blair asked. "Or was this some kind of . . . special case?

"We don't know," Tolwyn said. "And that has the High Command doing some serious nail-biting, let me tell you. All we know is that the cats have escalated the war, and if we don't match the ante we might as well just fold now."

"Match the ante . . . how?" Blair asked.

"The Confederation's been working on its share of doomsday weapons, too," Tolwyn told them. "The Battle of Terra scared the hell out of all of us. The big Kilrathi offensive caught everyone off guard. I don't think I need to tell you that we're on the ropes. One more attack like that and the game's over. Remember, they managed to drop over twenty standard warheads on Earth in the last attack. If only one of them had been a bio the homeworld would be a lifeless desert today. There's no way around it, this one's to the death and we have a couple of counter punches almost ready to go."

Blair said nothing. The idea of matching the Kilrathi atrocity at Locanda with a Terran retaliation against civilians appalled him, but he tried to keep his reaction from showing in his voice or expression.

Tolwyn fixed Blair with his gaze. "One of the projects is being pushed by General Taggart and the folks at Covert Ops, and the other's my uncle's pet project. That's why he got pulled from Concordia just before it went down."

Eisen cleared his throat. "If you don't mind, Major, I'd appreciate it if you'd stick to the briefing."

"Sorry, sir," Tolwyn said. "Both projects actually stem from the same basic research. It seems some of our survey work off Kilrah during Tarawa's little end run raid there a few years back has yielded some unexpected results. Kilrah is much less stable, in planetological terms, than Terra. Subject to seismic problems, quakes, volcanoes, the whole bit. Apparently there are some severe tidal stresses at work on Kilrah that render the planet extremely vulnerable to widescale seismic activity." He paused. "Given a big enough shaking, Kilrah would literally come apart.

"And HQ has a weapon that could do it?"

"More than one, Colonel. I've not been briefed on the Covert Ops project, except for generalities. But Project Behemoth, my uncle's preference, uses high-intensity energy beams on a massive scale to trigger seismic shocks. Aimed and fired properly, the Behemoth weapon could trigger the destruction of Kilrah."