Heart Of The Tiger (6 page)

The cockpit swung open. Blair unstrapped himself and stood slowly, stiff yet glad for the chance to move around again. After a moment, he clambered down the ladder built into the side of the Thunderbolt. "It's all yours, boys and girls," he told the technicians.

Rachel Coriolis was there, her face creased in a frown. "Looks like you were nearly cat food, skipper," she commented. "You'd take a lot better care of them if you were the one that had to fix them up!"

He shrugged, not really feeling up to a snappy comeback. "And maybe mechanics wouldn't grumble so much if they had to be on the firing line."

"What, and give up all this glamour?" Her grin faded. "Captain wants you and Hobbes in his ready room for debriefing. And I don't think he's handing out any medals today. Know what I mean?"

"If this mission was any indication of your abilities, Colonel, then I must say that I wonder how you earned such a good reputation."

Blair and Ralgha stood at rigid attention in front of the captain's desk, listening to Eisen's angry appraisal of their patrol mission. Victory's captain was plainly agitated, unable to sit still. He prowled the confines of the ready room like a caged beast, pausing from time to time to drive a point home to the two pilots. Neither of them had ventured a response to Eisen, and Blair for one agreed with most of what he had to say. The mission had been mishandled from start to finish, and as senior officer Blair bore the full blame for everything that had gone wrong.

Eisen leaned heavily on his desk. "I expected better of both of you," he said, more quietly this time. "Especially you, Colonel. But maybe I'm just expecting too damned much. Maybe the Confed has just pulled off too many miracles in the past, and the miracles are starting to run out now." He looked up. "Well? Do either of you have anything to say?"

"I screwed up, sir," Blair said softly. "Underestimated the Kilrathi and let the situation get out of hand instead of keeping a grip on . . . things." He looked at Hobbes. "I allowed myself to get separated from my wingman, and soaked up unacceptable damage in the process. That made it impossible to press the fight when we were able to hook up again, even though the enemy seemed unwilling to stand and fight."

"And you, Ralgha?" Eisen asked. "Anything to add?"

The Kilrathi renegade shook his head. "No, Captain, save that the Colonel fought with skill and honor."

"Honor doesn't matter to me nearly as much as winning," Eisen commented, straightening up slowly, "but at least you both got back in one piece." He mustered a faint smile. "The Confederation needs every pilot it can muster, even a couple of senile old screw-ups like you."

"Next time out, sir, I guarantee things will be different, Blair told him. "You can count on it."

"I'll hold you to it," the captain said. "All right, lets move on. I want a heavier patrol dispatched as soon as possible. Draw up a flight plan for my approval. I suggest a minimum of four fighters this time, and maybe a backstop of four more in case the first team runs into trouble. We'll smoke the bastards out one way or another.

"I'll get on it, sir," Blair said. "Hobbes and I will lead em . . .

Eisen shook his head. "You know the regs. Except on magnum ops, you stick to the flight rotation schedule. You're the wing commander, Colonel, and you can't start trying to jump on board every op. That will burn you out, and that's the last thing we need right now."

Reluctantly, Blair nodded in acceptance. "As you wish, Captain," he said slowly

"All right, then. You're both dismissed."

Outside the ready room, Ralgha reached out and halted Blair with one massive paw. "I am very sorry, my friend," he said gravely. "I let you down out there today. And yet you were willing to accept the blame from Captain Eisen that should have been directed at me."

Blair shook his head. "Sure as hell wasn't all your fault," he told the Kilrathi. "I should have been ready for the bastards."

"Nevertheless, I failed you. That insolent peasant and his challenge . . . I should never have allowed myself to be drawn into fighting him, leaving you to face the others alone." Ralgha paused. "Did it seem to you, my friend, that the enemy behavior was out of character?"

"How so?" Blair asked. He, too, had wondered about the way the trap unfolded, but he was especially interested in whatever observations Hobbes might share. After all, Ralgha nar Hhallas was the closest thing to a genuine expert on Kilrathi psychology aboard the Victory.

"In the beginning, it seemed to me they were intending to fly a traditional attack plan. There was no good reason to launch that first attack if their aim was to draw us into an ambush. It was only after I was engaged that the others broke off and attempted to draw you into their trap. Could it be that the Empire has a particular interest in you?"

"In me? How —"

"You can be assured that the Empire has sources of information within the Confederation, agents who could have identified your new assignment to this ship. Spies are remarkably easy to plant, particularly when the Empire has many human slaves to recruit."

"You really think a human would spy for the Kilrathi?" Blair asked. "And that the Empire would rely on a human slave to work in the Imperial interest out of reach of the nerve lash?"

"There are always a few who betray willingly, my friend. Their honor is less strong than their ambition or greed. And Imperial Intelligence does have techniques for guaranteeing cooperation from even the unwilling: personality overlays, deep conditioning . . . many things. There are surely spies reporting to Kilrah. And with your record and reputation, it is possible that the Emperor or his grandson has singled you out as a human leader to be terminated. War is far more personal with my people than with yours, and it would be a great triumph to eliminate a wing commander of your stature in battle."

"So you think the ambush was planned? That would mean there is an agent aboard this ship . . ."

"Not necessarily," Ralgha said slowly. "We know the Empire can monitor some of our ship-to-ship transmissions. I used your rank several times during radio messages, and if that information was joined with knowledge of your assignment to the Victory and of Confed troop movements . . . . I merely feel you should consider the possibility. The trap may well have been prepared in hopes of your arrival, but it was not set in motion until the battle had already begun."

Blair shrugged. "Maybe you're right. But on the other hand, if I had been in command of that Kilrathi flight, I would have done my best to divide and conquer, just the way they did; no matter who blundered into the trap." He paused. "Fact is, it looked more to me like they were damned interested in you."

"In me? It was only that first kilra'hra who dared challenge me."

"That's my point," Blair said. "He charged in looking for hairless apes, and it was only when you identified yourself that all hell started breaking loose. And when you finished the first guy off and hooked back up with me, the other guys got pretty shy all of a sudden."

"Are you coming to doubt me, my friend?" Ralgha asked.

"You know better than that. I'm just curious, that's all." Blair studied his friend's alien features. "Maybe it's you they are afraid of. Your reputation has to be at least as big as mine, after all these years. Maybe bigger where the Empire's concerned. A renegade noble turned Confed fighter pilot . . . I could see a few Kilrathi getting nervous if they ran into you during a fight."

The Kilrathi gave a rumbling chuckle. "That, my friend, sounds unlikely. I am a disgrace among my people. I am nothing. It is only to a good friend like you that my poor life means anything at all." Ralgha looked away for a moment, a surprisingly human mannerism. "Although I must say, it certainly felt good to be out there again. My gratitude for your trust and support of me is endless."

"Forget it, buddy," Blair told him. "You're back where you belong now."

The victory party was in full swing when the lift deposited Blair outside the recreation hall set aside for use by the flight wing. He paused in the corridor, reluctant to go inside. After all, they were celebrating a successful op that had made good the mistakes he and Hobbes made the first time out, and Blair didn't much care to be reminded of that fact tonight. But as wing commander, he had a duty to his outfit, and part of that duty was to show his support for them in success and failure alike, even when it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

He squared his shoulders and opened the rec room door.

The noise was almost overpowering at first, with the blare of music competing for dominance with the babble of conversation, laughs, and cheers coming from a cluster of men and women around the flight simulator in one corner of the compartment. Blair stopped just inside scanning the room. Gradually some of the noise died away as pilots became aware of his presence.

"See, the conquering hero comes!" Maniac Marshall proclaimed loudly. The half-empty glass in his hand and the slur in his voice made it clear he was well under way with his own celebration of the successful afternoon's battle. The major had a female crew member with comm department shoulder tabs backed into a corner, but as he turned toward Blair, she quickly slipped away to join the spectators by the flight simulators, looking relieved.

"So," Marshall went on. "Come to join the victory party, is it, Colonel? Guess you have to find them wherever you can, huh? When you can't manage to earn one, that is."

That provoked a few nervous laughs. Luckily, one of the pilots approached Maniac with a pitcher of beer, offering him a refill. Marshall held out his glass unsteadily and let her fill it for him. In the comparative quiet that followed, Blair took a step forward and cleared his throat. "I just wanted to drop by and congratulate Gold Squadron for a job well done today," he said loudly. "I'm sure there's nobody as proud of you people tonight as I am."

"Damn straight," Maniac interrupted. "Not just ten Kilrathi fighters — two of them killed by yours truly — but also a cap ship. And a supply depot hidden inside that asteroid. All cleared out courtesy of Maniac Marshall and the Gold Squadron . . . with an able assist by those two brilliant scouts, Wrong-Way Blair and the King of the Kitty Litter! What would we do without them, huh?"

Blair fought down a flash of anger. Marshall was drunk and offensive, but he was entitled to a little boasting. The major had led three other fighters to probe the same region where Blair and Hobbes had run into trouble, and flushed out a nest of Kilrathi fighters and a light cruiser that had moved in after the first battle. According to all reports, Marshall had done a decent job of keeping his command together while awaiting the back-up flight's arrival. They accounted for ten Dralthi and managed to knock out the capital ship as well. Although some of the Thunderbolts were heavily damaged, none had been destroyed. All in all it had been an excellent job.

"Captain Eisen asked me to let you know that the drinks tonight are being charged to the shipboard recreation fund," Blair went on as if Marshall hadn't spoken. Usually, drinks were paid for by the individual officers and crewmen, with their cost charged against shipboard pay accounts. But this was a special occasion — the first triumph of Victory's new tour of duty. "So enjoy yourselves while you can. You'll be back on the flight line soon enough!"

That brought cheers from everyone. Most of the flight wing's personnel were in the rec room for the party, except for pilots and technicians who had duty tonight or first thing in the morning. There were also a fair number of people from other carrier departments. Blair saw Lieutenant Rollins at the bar, deep in conversation with a pretty redhead from Blue Squadron.

He looked around the room again and noticed a woman sitting alone at one of the tables, her eyes resting on him with a coldly intense expression. He recognized her from the Wing's personnel files: Lieutenant Laurel Buckley (callsign Cobra), a member of Gold Squadron. That was all he knew about her since her family and background records were sketchy. She consistently received high marks in Colonel Dulbrunin's quarterly evaluations in her file, but beyond that she was a mystery.

The door opened behind Blair. He glanced over his shoulder and smiled at Ralgha, receiving a slight bow in response before the Kilrathi moved on toward the bar.

"Hey, Hobbes," a new voice cut over the chatter that filled the room. "How about going a round with me, huh? Bet you a week's pay on one hand."

The Kilrathi shook his head gravely. "Thank you, no," he said, turning to the bartender to order a drink.

Blair studied the man who had hailed his friend. He was seated nearby, a Chinese flight lieutenant who looked about thirty standard years old until you saw the age in his eyes. The man caught Blair's look and flashed him a lazy grin, holding up a deck of cards in one hand.

"What about you, Colonel?" he asked, riffling the cards expertly. "Want to play a hand? Since you're the new boy in town, I'll let you call the game."

"I think I'll keep my money if it's all the same to you," Blair said, sitting down. The man was another pilot from Gold Squadron, and from all appearances didn't have any problem serving with Hobbes. That recommended him to Blair right away. "I learned a long, long time ago never to play cards with the shipboard shark."

"Well, it's a free Confed." The lieutenant put down the cards and stuck out a hand. "I'm Vagabond. A belated welcome aboard's in order, I guess. Or would condolences for your little scrap this morning be more appropriate?"

"Not much for protocol, are you?" Blair said, taking the proffered hand in his. "Do you always go by your callsign or do you just have something against the name Winston Chang?"