Much could happen in an hour.
Julgar flicked his claws in and out nervously, studying the tactical board and trying to get over the lingering effects of jumpshock. The Terran ship was like nothing in the Kilrathi warbook program. The computer was calling it a transport, but energy readings were equivalent to a destroyer or a small cruiser…and the long-range imaging scan made it look like some kind of pocket carrier. The fighters around it were old human designs, but time and again even older human fighters had dealt severe blows to Kilrathi fighter squadrons in actions during the decades-long war.
His thoughts finally began to come together, and Julgar turned his seat to face his communications officer. “Establish a blanket jamming field,” he said. “I want no contact between the apes here and those on the edge of our sensor range. Lord Ragark does not want the ship we are chasing to communicate with anyone else.”
“Yes, Lord Admiral,” the officer responded crisply. “We will not be able to damp out tight-beam communications, my Lord. At close range they will still be able to maintain contact. It is possible there will be intermittent contact over the longer range as well, at least between the larger ships.”
“Understood. Do your best.” He turned to his own console. “Captain, this is Admiral nar Ta’hal. Launch all fighters, fastest possible rotation. Crush the enemy ships nearest us as quickly as possible. Especially the scout, if you can locate it. I would suggest it will probably be attempting to rendezvous with the capital ship ahead of us.”
“Yes, Lord Admiral,” the Klarran’s captain responded.
“Do not get underway from this position, Captain,” he went on. “I do not wish to be drawn into closer action until we have some support from the rest of the task force. Keep the vector low until then. Pass the word to the rest of the task force as well.”
“Yes, my Lord,” the captain responded.
“And once the fighters have launched, put out a pair of Zartoths. We will be jamming enemy communications, but I want to be able to extend our area of interdiction in case the apes attempt to break off.“
Julgar cut the intercom link before the captain could reply. He bared his fangs once again, this time in anticipation. A single overwhelming attack would eliminate the fugitive and anyone he communicated with here. Then the task force could disengage if they needed to…or, if the odds looked favorable, they could close with the other apes and defeat them as well, whatever Ragarks orders specified.
It was a glorious day for combat.
Flag Officer’s Quarters, FRLS Independence
Deep Space, Hellhole System
0759 hours (CST)
Admiral Vincent Camparelli struggled to sit upright in his bed despite the pressure in his chest and the uneven wheeze of his breath. Although ill and confined to his bed, he had been monitoring the tactical board from his bedside computer hookup and the holographic projector that occupied a table by the door. He had watched in satisfaction as the battle group had surprised and scattered the pirates, although he’d been tempted to call back the capital ships Galbraith had scattered in pursuit of the fleeing enemy. In the end, though, he’d decided against that. Galbraith knew what he was doing, and didn’t need an old, sick man telling him what to do from his bed.
He had promised himself that this would be the last cruise. No matter how much Max Kruger wanted him to stay in harness, Camparelli knew it was time for the old war-horse to go to pasture.
The admiral had almost dozed off, until a warning alarm had signaled the appearance of new ships on the board. Awake once more, he had studied the newcomers, his chest tightening as he’d realized who they were.
Cats…a small task force built around a pair of carriers. They had erupted almost on top of the fighters and their quarry, the makeshift pirate carrier.
Camparelli reached for the intercom controls at his bedside. Independence was heading straight into that mess at maximum acceleration, and without any supporting destroyers or cruisers. The carrier operating alone wouldn’t stand a chance against those Cats.
He fumbled with the controls, and swore an ancient oath in the Italian dialect of Romanova, his boyhood home. His fingers weren’t obeying the orders from his brain-a fine admiral he made, unable even to command his body any longer, much less his battle group-and a sharp pain was shooting up his left arm and side.
Camparelli persevered and activated the intercom circuit, now gasping for breath. He had to get Galbraith to act…or Independence, maybe the entire battle group, would be lost.
Combat Information Center, FRLS Independence
Deep Space, Hellhole System
0801 hours (CST)
Galbraith stared at the tactical monitor, hardly able to comprehend the new data flowing across the screen-or the Wing Commander’s words echoing in his ears. Of all the times the Cats could mount a raid…
“Sir? Admiral Camparelli on the line.” Roth didn’t wait for Galbraith to respond. She switched the intercom on.
Hie admiral’s face looked pale and drawn. “Captain…Captain, you have to get the battle group together quickly. The other ships are too badly dispersed…too badly dispersed…” The battle group commander was gasping. “Get them together…have to withdraw… Cat force too large for a stand-up fight…” He trailed off, still fighting for breath. “Can’t…can’t think straight, Captain. Turning overfull command…to you.” The screen went as dead as Galbraith’s hopes.
He forced himself to act. “Helm, kill our vector. We won’t sail into the middle of that without some support from the rest of the battle group.” He paused. “Exec, have a medical team lay down to the flag bridge and see to the Admiral. And order all ships to break off operations immediately and form on Independence ASAP.”
“Aye aye, sir,” Roth replied. “Sir…what about Tolwyn’s flight wing? He was calling for orders. Then everything went dead. Looks like jamming by the Cats. We can’t recall him, and we can’t even let him know our plans.” Something in her tone suggested she wanted to know them herself. “The Cats have started launching fighters, and I don’t know if Tolwyn’s got enough planes to handle fighters from two Cat escort carriers.”
“I know,” Galbraith said grimly. “But he’s going to have to try. The Flight Wing has to buy us some time, keep those Cats off our backs until we reassemble the battle group and can pull back to the jump point to Landreich.” He paused, swallowing. “He’s a good man, Tolwyn. He’ll know what he has to do.”
Raptor 500, VF-84 “liberators”
Near Jump Point Six, Vaku System
0804 hours (CST)
“It’s no good, skipper,” Peterson said. “The jamming’s too damned thick around here. I can’t raise Camelot.”
Kevin Tolwyn cursed under his breath. If a Hornet fitted out with an elaborate suite of electronics and communications gear couldn’t break through the static, none of them could. That left the Liberators on their own, and Kilrathi birds were already beginning to form up around their lead carrier as if organizing for an attack.
Meanwhile he didn’t know what to do. If he withdrew to the carrier he risked getting jumped halfway by the Cats…or, worse yet, drawing them back to Independence, where they could inflict a lot of damage before the Kilrathi capital ships came up and finished her off. But if he stayed out here his fighters, already short on missiles and fuel from the long running battle with the pirates, were likely to be overwhelmed.
Everything depended on what the Kilrathi did.
He turned his attention to his sensor readouts, and gave a low whistle as he took in the changing situation out there. He had forgotten about the pirates.