“They’ll strike with everything they have. The marine regiments will be down there, and well dug in. We will be sending in a number of supply ships with heavy ground armor, and a construction battalion to help with the fortifications and to create the impression that we plan to stay and convert the planet into a main base. We want the Kilrathi to think that we are there to stay and that a counterstrike must hit as quickly as possible. The mission for the marines now is simply to hold out against a concentrated and deadly assault from the finest ships and troops the Empire can throw at them.”
“Let the bastards come, Wayne,” the marine commandant snapped. “Hell, even without your fleet we’ll kick their butts. In fifteen days we’ll be dug in so deep it’d take ten legions of Imperial Guards to even make a dent.”
“Believe me, they’ll come, Duke,” Banbridge said, “but this fight’s going to be shared out to us blue suits. We want their fleet in the bag as well. Just as the Kilrathi start to launch their own ground assault, with what we expect to be a fair portion of their Imperial legions, this entire task force will jump into the sector, move at flank speed, and engage the enemy at close range in a battle of annihilation. It will be an attack dependent on total surprise. If all goes right we’ll catch them with their fighters and bombers committed and configured for ground assault, their attention focused in on the planet.
“Gentlemen, I expect to tear the guts out of the Kilrathi Home Fleet, smash their carriers, and shatter their ground assault legions in their transports or while trapped in their landing assault craft.”
He stopped and looked around the room.
Jason settled back, stunned by the audacity of the plan. The Confederation was just barely holding on, losses had been horrific over the last year and now Banbridge was talking about wagering most of the remaining fleet in an all or nothing throw of the dice.
“How many carriers will we be facing?” a rear admiral, the commander of the Trafalgar, asked.
“Intelligence estimates eight, possibly as many as ten.”
“Damn,” a voice whispered from the back of the room.
Jason settled back, his stomach in a knot. The Tarawa in such a fight would be dead meat. He listened quietly, sensing that though the assembled officers were game for the mission, they had their doubts that any of them would survive. It was a desperate long shot, but the way the war was going, a desperate long shot was what they needed.
At the end of the hour briefing, Banbridge called for any final questions. The room was silent.
“All right then, gentlemen. We’ll break for section briefings by ship’s class. This assault must go like clockwork; one slipup and we’re all cooked. This fleet will be positioned for action in exactly six days and eight hours standard time. We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us. Good luck, and good hunting.”
He strode down from the podium and everyone came to attention. Jason looked around, not quite sure of where to go next. Ship’s captains were heading off to their separate briefing rooms but there were no other wing officers present. Suddenly he found himself wondering just why in hell he had been invited to attend in the first place.
“Lieutenant Commander Bondarevsky?”
Jason turned around to face an attractive young staff officer.
“Yes.”
“I’m with Admiral Banbridge’s staff. You are requested to follow me.”
“What’s it all about, Ensign?”
“Sir,” and now her voice was all seriousness, “just follow me please.”
Jason did as he was told and followed the young ensign, trying not to notice the rather provocative sway to her walk. He suddenly felt as if he was being watched in turn, and looked back over his shoulder to see Svetlana following him.
Damn, she must have known I was checking the ensign out and he felt his features flush with embarrassment.
They weaved their way through the ship and entered a section guarded by a detachment of marines. The ensign stopped at a door blocked by a lean muscular marine, armed with a laser rifle and wearing full body armor. She showed her identification.
“Your ID card, sir,” the marine asked, his voice firm and direct. Jason handed him the card. The marine checked a printout list, then held the card up, looked at it closely, then looked at Jason, studying his features for several seconds.
“Your mother’s maiden name, sir.”
“Houston.”
The marine looked back at the list and then stepped away from the door.
“Pass sir.”
Jason took his card back. The door slapped open and then slammed shut behind him with a metallic clang. He took a deep breath. Banbridge and Tolwyn were in the room, which was nothing more than a bare unpainted cubical. He noticed a voice distorter attached to a wall, which would pick up every word spoken in this room, and send out a vibration that exactly countered the sound. If anyone was attempting to listen in from an adjacent room with a laser vibration detector they would get an absolute flat line. This had to be major to go through such extreme precautions.
The door slammed open again, and Svetlana entered. Next came two ship commanders, one of whom Jason smiled at, remembering him as a destroyer commander who had picked him up several years back after he was forced to eject. The commander, recognizing Jason, smiled in return.
“Congratulations on your promotion, Bear.”
“Thanks, sir, I wouldn’t have been here to get it if you hadn’t risked your neck to reel me in.”
“Know this lad, Grierson?” Tolwyn asked.
“Let’s just say we shared a little fun with a tractor beam while a couple of Kilrathi destroyers were on our tail.”
The commando battalion commander and finally O’Brian entered the room, O’Brian looking around nervously.
“Gentlemen,” Banbridge said, his voice flat, “from the security procedure instituted here, I don’t think it is necessary to tell you that this little meeting of ours has an A-level security assigned to it. Any violation of this security is deemed to be a capital offense in time of war. Do we understand each other?”
Jason saw O’Brian’s features, already pale, go even whiter.
“You all heard the briefing and before we continue I want to know what you think of the plan.”
The room was silent. Jason looked around and though realizing that caution on the part of junior officers was a basic tenet of survival he decided to speak up anyhow.
“A gutsy move, Admiral.”
Banbridge smiled.
“Thank you, Commander.”
“But frankly, sir, I think you’re going to get your butt kicked.”
Banbridge looked at Jason and there was a flicker of emotion. Tolwyn smiled and turned slightly so Banbridge couldn’t see his reaction.
“You’re out of line, mister,” O’Brian growled. “Admiral, I want to apologize—”
“Go on,” Banbridge said, cutting O’Brian off, “Bondarevsky, isn’t it?”
“Sir, you said eight, possibly ten, carriers will be in the Kilrathi home fleet that comes out to take Vukar. These won’t be second-rate fliers, the home guard variety who are rusty and wear gold-plated armor. These will be their elite forces. Home fleet assignment in the Kilrathi Empire goes only to veterans and is considered an honor, since they are under the direct eye of the Emperor himself. It’s also a Kilrathi tradition to keep the best in reserve to protect the Imperial throne, not only from external enemies but also internal. It’s part and parcel of their political system. If you don’t keep the best fliers in your vest pocket, one of your potential rivals might have them in his.”