Turner lowered his head.
"Prudence dictates that we just get the hell outta here and save the carriers. But that means leaving a lot of damn good marines to die. If we can smash the transports and landing craft, it just might make them stop dead in their tracks. We've got a few surprises in store on this one, but the main thing I need to count on, lieutenant, is you pilots. There's no sense in handing you a bunch of crap. Some of you, maybe most of you, won't make it back. Hell, there might not even be a carrier to come back to. But it will send one hell of a clear message to the other side that we are not going to take their shit, then turn tail and run. What we do here might very well stop them cold and give everyone back home the time needed to marshal our forces and prepare for the struggle to come."
There was a harsh bitterness to his voice. The lieutenant stood silent for a moment, many of the other pilots looking at him, as if expecting a decision. He finally nodded.
"Fine, let's go kill the bastards."
"Sir, what the hell good will fighters be against what's out there?" a pilot asked from the back of the crowd.
"We've got to hit back. We've got to show that there's still some fight in us, to make them think twice before pushing further in." He hesitated. "The bridge crews on the frigates Masada and Hermes have volunteered to ram their targets."
Geoff stood silent, letting the thought sink in. He had made a similar decision in the desperate seconds when it looked as though the torpedo attack would destroy Concordia. But that was a moment of rage, this was different. Undoubtedly Dayan had asked them to do it, and that alone was a command he wondered if he could ever give. He realized that, if he wished to command, he might very well someday have to order men and women to certain death in order to save the Confederation. He made a silent prayer that it would never have to be the way Dayan just had.
What of the bridge crews, though? It was not a snap decision and then it was over. There were the long final minutes, the realization of all that would be forever lost.
"Oh, God," Valeri whispered, interrupting Geoff's thoughts, "Dayan's son is the exec on Masada."
The group gathered around Turner looked over at Valeri, stunned by the news.
"Escort the frigates and bombers in, but break for McAuliffe the moment the signal is given. The timing on this has to be precise," Turner continued, his voice hard. "The battleships Yorkshire and North Carolina and the cruiser squadrons will be providing support as well. The three other frigates from Dayan's group will follow Ark Royal's fighters in on the loop around as well, but it will be you people who hit first. Make sure those Cats never forget the name Concordia".
Turner surveyed the pilots one last time.
"Good luck, and may God protect all of you. Pilots, man your planes."
"All fighters to be armed with ship-to-ship missiles, as many as they can carry," Gilkarg announced. "If we had had a half dozen more out there, Concordia would have been destroyed."
He looked back at the data board. The last of the fighters were down and he felt a vague uneasiness. With the sixth carrier gone, and the casualties taken in the strikes on the ground, he had no reserves as originally planned. There should be a forward screen out even now. With the sixth carrier, he could have had a second wave held back in reserve to blunt their attack, then leap forward to finish Concordia and Ark Royal. He paced the deck, waiting as his fighters launched and moved forward to intercept the incoming attack.
"My Lord! I think you should look at this."
He looked up at the screen.
"Here come the Ark Royals!"
Geoff saw the spread of blue blips deployed off to his left, clustered around the frigates. North Carolina and Yorkshire were a hundred clicks above the formation. In spite of the pain in his legs, he felt a momentary surge of elation. Kicking in afterburners he moved up on Vance's right. This time they'd have to fight as a two-plane formation, and in the first couple of minutes Vance slowly weaved back and forth, Geoff sensing that his friend was trying to at least give him a couple of minutes' worth of practice.
"All units, all units," It was Ark Royal's CIC, which was coordinating the attack. "The Kilrathi carriers are launching fighters now."
A real-time scan, transmitted from Ark Royal, appeared on Geoff's screen. The five carriers were moving forward, away from McAuliffe. The shattered base was now lost to view on the far side of the planet.
The seconds dragged out, and finally, on his own screen, he picked up the forward edge of the Kilrathi defenses, scrambling into position.
"We must vector our bombers onto the frigates and battleships now!"
The Crown Prince was about to shout a defiant no back at his launch officer, but held his temper in check. Recovery of all the strike craft from McAuliffe had taken longer than expected. It was one thing to do it in practice drills, something far different when damaged craft were coming in, wounded pilots missing approach, and, worst yet, fighters crashing and blocking launch ramps on two carriers. His sortie to meet the suicidal attack was only now moving, an hour later than he had desired.
He struggled with the decision.
"They have eighty or more fighters accompanying two frigates in the first wave, my lord. Three frigates and the battleships are maneuvering behind them. Our own simulators and planning suggested that they might have torpedoes, but too big to carry on bombers. This could be their counterstrike. Repulse it, my lord, and we still might be able to recover and counterstrike yet again before they escape."
He closed his eyes, weighing the possibilities and then finally reached a decision.
"Is the launch deck on Tukgah cleared yet?"
"Just in the last five minutes, my lord. They're still recovering craft."
"Order the bombers and fighters on carrier Tukgah to hold. That should give their crews time to arm fully, our pilots a few moments of rest. Once the enemy attack is cleared we will immediately launch a counterattack from Tukgah and catch them while they are recovering their planes. All planes on the other four carriers are to launch."
"My lord, it takes time to load and calibrate the torpedoes. If we launch all bombers, some might go without proper loads."
"Get them out anyhow. They can at least draw fire to protect those which are ready to attack."
The launch officer seemed ready to raise another point. Then, bowing low, he withdrew.
The comm screen to Nargth winked to life, the admiral looking at him anxiously.
"What is happening out there?" Nargth asked, in his anxiety forgetting to address Gilkarg by the proper honorific.
"We are moving later than expected. If you had not insisted on one final strike I would have been in far better position."
"My assault landing craft are just starting to disembark. Should I wait till your action is completed?"
Gilkarg shook his head. The final pounding of the planet had battered down what was left of their ground-to-space resistance. If Nargth delayed it might allow them to bring some new surprises back on-line.
"Go in now!"
"I would prefer stronger fighter escort."
"You have fighters from your cruisers. That should be sufficient for what's left."
"That is your decision, then," Nargth replied coldly.
"I have four battleships here," the Crown Prince retorted coldly. "I would prefer your releasing the rest in your command."
"Against their two?" Nargth asked. "I thought you said your carriers could handle them. I need my battleships for close-in bombardment support. Our supply of space-to-surface missiles is nearly exhausted, I need their particle and laser batteries."