“I know you’ve got a tough road, people hear your name and their eyes go wide. I’ll confess it confused the hell out of me the first time I saw you.”
“I know that, sir.”
“And you didn’t make it any easier on me if you remember it. If I was rough on you, it was to kick the props out from under you, so that the other pilots in this wing knew you’d be treated just like them.”
Kevin was silent.
“I know all of you are wondering where the hell we’re going and why the tight security; the only thing I can tell you so far is what you already know, that the mission is damned important and you’ll be facing the best the Kilrathi can throw at us. I can’t tell you where, or why yet, but I can tell you it’ll be one of the most important missions you’re ever going to fly, and if you get out of it in one piece, it’ll be something to tell your grandkids about. I want to make sure you fly at your best and get that chance to live. I owe you that not as Kevin Tolwyn, a nephew of a god almighty admiral, I owe you that as Kevin Tolwyn, a pilot in my wing. Do you read me clear on that, mister?”
Kevin looked at him quizzically.
“OK, sir,” he said, his voice quiet.
“I’m putting you back on the combat flight roster as of now,” Jason said quietly. “You made a mistake that cost Jim Conklin his life, but I think it was an honest mistake.”
Kevin breathed a sigh of relief.
“Thank you, sir, I didn’t want to miss the next show.”
“Just remember one thing though.”
“What’s that, sir?”
“Remember every time you go out there, that it’s not just you riding in that cockpit that you have to worry about. The life of your wingman, the crew of this ship, perhaps even an entire fleet might be in your hands. Think with your brains and with your heart, not with your guts. Do that and you’ll be a hell of a pilot some day if we survive this next fight.”
Kevin nodded, unable to reply.
“Now let’s go get a cup of coffee.”
Jason patted him on the shoulder and they started for the hangar door.
“One question, sir.”
“Go on?”
“That maneuver of yours, slamming back the throttle when I was straight on your tail. In training school we were forbidden to do that because of the risk of collision.”
“Well this is the real universe now, Kevin; it’s a favorite trick with some of the Kilrathi aces. You see, in their training school they don’t care if a hell of a lot of people get killed. They’ve learned that maneuver by heart. If they die getting rammed, at least it takes an enemy down with them. If not, chances are they’ll have you dead in their sights and you’re history.”
“Yeah, I’ll remember that now. But I could have rammed you.”
“I trusted you, Lone Wolf. I know you’ve got the makings of a damned good pilot and I trusted you wouldn’t.”
Kevin broke into the first smile Jason had ever seen.
“Thank you, sir, I appreciate the trust.”
Trying to suppress a yawn, Jason studied the holo map intently.
“If you’re bored, Boneski, we can find someone else to fly this mission,” O’Brian snapped.
Jason shook his head, making sure to avoid eye contact with Svetlana. It’d been five wonderful days since she had come back to his room. It was wonderful and yet filled with a sad poignancy, as both of them tried to forget all that had been lost, and also just how short a time they had left together.
“It’s nothing, sir,” and he looked over at the Tarawa’s intelligence officer who was giving the briefing.
“Are you sure the base is on that planet?”
“I can’t promise, sir,” the young lieutenant replied, “I’m just working off the computer data feed into our banks. The information came from Kilrathi who’ve defected. We haven’t even got a remote surveillance drone in this far.”
Jason studied the map intently. They had been running flat out for nearly five days, the supply ship, loaded down with extra fuel having just unloaded and turned around. Jason punched a control key and slowly rotated the map, studying the red line that was tracing their route through the next system. So far, intelligence had been right. They were coming up a back alley that the Kilrathi didn’t even suspect the Confederation knew about. The only traffic they had encountered was a lone transport, which Doomsday took out, hopefully before it could get a distress signal out. With the next jump, however, the mask was supposed to be pulled off and it would be his job to go up, knock on the door, and announce their presence.
“All right then,” Jason said quietly. “I’ll take a Ferret out alone. I’ll act as if I’m on standard sweep, and cross the flank of that station. The furballs will scramble and then I run and lead them straight back here.”
“I still don’t like that,” O’Brian said. “Suppose they launch a torpedo strike.”
“As I said before,” Jason said quietly, “they’ll be out in pursuit of a light recon fighter. They won’t be loaded for a heavy ship hunt. Their standard procedure is to first find out what they’re dealing with before coming in with the heavy armament. We want them to see us, and report it in. By the time they rearm and relaunch we’ll be out of the sector.”
O’Brian pursed his lips, and looked around the room. Merritt, Grierson, and the other ship commander looked back with disinterest. O’Brian cleared his throat.
“All right, but if they come at us with torpedoes I’ll note in the log that you had promised otherwise.”
Jason found himself still laughing about O’Brian’s threat as he punched through his nav point and turned in towards the Kilrathi base.
He had maneuvered through an asteroid field on his approach in, using it as a shield to block their scanning. As he cleared the field he punched it up and continued his approach, pulsing out a radar scan every minute, as if doing a general pattern search, knowing that the Kilrathi base would pick up the pulses, analyze them, and realize that a Confederation ship was in the area. It was the equivalent of hanging out a huge sign that said “kick me.” And it didn’t take long to get the response.
He rolled his ship over and started to race back, half a dozen Kilrathi light fighters on his tail at ten thousand kilometers.
“Tarawa combat control, I’ve got six Sartha behind me, coming in for a snoop.”
“We are launching now,” came the reply.
“That’s not the plan; we want them to get a visual on Tarawa, hold on that launch.”
“I have been ordered to launch a defense team,” combat control replied, her voice strained.
“Is the captain there?”
She hesitated.
“Yes, sir.”
“Then put him on the line.”
There was a moment of silence.
“Doomsday is leading out a strike,” she finally said, “and the captain states that you are to follow his orders.”
“Damn it!” and he snapped the comm link off.
O’Brian was blowing it; it was essential that the Sartha see the convoy and then escape to report. If they were engaged forward the information might never get back.
“Doomsday, do you copy?”
“Right here.”
“Switch to commlink 2331.”
“Copy.”
“All right old friend, you with me?”
“Got ya.”
“You know the plan. The old man wants you to engage and destroy at fifty thousand clicks out. I want you to run, and keep pulling back. We need those Sartha to see the ship.”