Now they were paying for his complacency…but there was no need for Dhollas to point out the fact so blatantly. He made a slashing motion, calling the Exec to silence. “Excuses and blame will not serve here,” he said harshly. “Only results. All crew to combat stations, and bring the generators on-line. Reroute shields to cover the gap. Weapons turrets to acquire target and open fire. And cast us off from the station. I will not have Vorghath caught like a traggil in a trap!”
“As you command,” Dhollas said stiffly. He turned, shouting orders.
The mighty dreadnought lurched as the carrier fired again and damaged one of the mooring tractors. Jhorrad’s claws flexed instinctively.
He would swat this impudent ape who had dared to attack his ship…
Combat Information Center, FRLS Mjollnir
Near Orbital Station Asharazhal, Baka Kar System
1223 hours (CST)
“He’s powering up his engines. Looks like he’s getting ready to cast off.”
Tolwyn nodded. He’d seen the sensor data flowing across his monitor even before the sensor operator reported Vorghath’s changed status. He had known they wouldn’t have much time before the dreadnought moved into action. The key now was to maximize their own firepower while denying their giant foe the chance to trade them shot for shot.
“Mr. Clancy. Assume position alongside the station. Commander Deniken, shift point-defense to standard operation. The station will be launching missiles once they realize we’re vulnerable.”
The carrier changed course slightly as Clancy altered her vector. Mjollnir was sliding smoothly behind the protective bulk of the station, allowing it to come between her and the dreadnought. It masked the carrier’s fire, too, but that wouldn’t be the case for long.
The section of the station they were hiding behind was the part the Strakhas had attacked. The shields had failed there, and the orbital dock was only lightly armored.
Tolwyn was assuming that the Cats would be reluctant to fire on their own station, at least for the moment. But he had no such qualms.
Strakha 800, VF-401 “Shadow Cats”
Near Orbital Station Asharazhal, Baka Kar System
1224 hours (CST)
Bondarevsky dropped his cloak once again and opened fire. The battle had developed a strange sort of rhythm, decloak, attack, cloak, move, decloak…a seemingly endless cycle of hit and run moves. The entire Strakha squadron was now concentrating their attentions on the dreadnought, leaving the station for other members of the Wing. Working in two teams of four according to a carefully prepared plan, the stealth fighters had switched from hitting the dreadnought’s shield projectors to attacks on turrets with a bow firing arc. Each of those massive turrets was easily five times the size of a Strakha and mounted a whole battery of energy weapons far more powerful than anything the fighter mounted, but they couldn’t hit what they couldn’t lock on to, and the almost random movements of the fighters back and forth across the ship’s hull, hidden by the cloaking devices, meant they couldn’t even begin to track their attackers. Like tiny stinging insects, the Strakhas could only mount pinprick attacks, but each time they hit an unshielded turret they caused a little more damage. The turrets had weaker armor than the main hull, so the damage mounted up fast.
He was beginning the re-cloaking sequence once again when Harper let out a whoop. “That’s done for the bastards!” the Taran shouted.
The turret below him erupted in flame as one of Harper’s missiles struck and penetrated. Further down the curve of the hull a second turret went up, too.
Even insect stings could kill.
CHAPTER 20
“ The gods expect that every kil shall perform his duty.”
Raptor 401, VF-88 “Crazy Eights”
Near Orbital Station Asharazhal, Baka Kar System
1227 hours (CST)
“Thor One, this is Odin One,” Doomsday said. “We’re starting our run. Follow us in.”
“Roger that,” Lieutenant Commander Stefan Razin replied tersely. Razin commanded VA-702, the Black Pumas, Mjollnir’s single squadron of Paktahn-class bombers. Their codename for the day’s battle was appropriate to their role. Like Thor, the thunder god, ‘would hammer the orbital station into submission.
Montclair lined up his fighter and started his run. “Make your run count,” he ordered his squadron. They spread out in a loose line, diving straight toward the orbital station’s main launch bay.
Fighters rose from the depths of the station, Dralthis, Darkets, even an eight-ship squadron of old-style Jalthi heavy fighters that were the same vintage as Doomsday’s Raptor. Montclair grinned and opened fire, pouring on the energy weapons fast enough to deplete his reserves in a matter of seconds. The station launch bay was bigger than a carrier’s flight deck, and more fighters could launch simultaneously from it, but they were still constricted as they passed through the airlock force field…and the change from atmosphere to vacuum, artificial gravity to zero-g, caused even experienced pilots a moment’s loss of control as they made the transition. The Raptors were taking good advantage of that, knocking down enemy fighters almost as fast as they could clear the gaping maw.
A few made it out, though, and streaked up to meet the Raptors with guns blazing. “Break! Break! Break!” Montclair chanted, peeling off to go after a Jalthi. The rest of the Raptors broke formation to pursue individual targets as well, their initial job of covering the approach of the bomber squadron done.
Montclair slid under the Jalthi and did a fast reverse, coming up on his opponent’s six and opening fire at close range with a pair of heat seekers and his gatling mass driver. The Jalthi’s stern came apart, and then the Kilrathi fighter erupted in a fireball. Doomsday plunged straight through the inferno, already starting to alter course in search of fresh prey. Below, he spotted the Paktahns streaming past in a line, each bomber pulling up at the last possible second and dumping a full load of ordnance straight into the opening of the launch bay. They probably couldn’t hope to do a thorough job of destroying such a large target, but the Kilrathi fighters still trying to launch there would be sitting ducks, and the damage those missiles did would be enough to keep the station’s contingents of fighters from being a problem for the duration of the day’s battle.
A Dralthi maneuvered toward him, trying to work around to the rear of the Raptor. “No way, kitty,” Montclair said, pulling his control stick hard over. His fighter rolled and spun, seeking the new target.
Hornet 101, VF-12 “Flying Eyes”
Low Planetary Orbit, Baka Kar, Baka Kar System
1230 hours (CST)
“Here they come!” Babe Babcock called. “Drifter, you cover my tail!”
“With pleasure,” Lieutenant Commander David “Drifter” Conway responded.
Babcock’s Flying Eyes had drawn the assignment of covering the embattled Mjollnir from any attacks that might originate planetside. Sweeping low, they had spotted a tight knot of targets climbing fast from a base on the northern coast of the largest equatorial continent. Evidently they were the only Cats on the ball today. They were the first on the scene, and Babcock intended to punish them for their efficiency.
“Stay close,” she said. The Hornets swept forward in a tight formation, swooping down into the upper fringes of the atmosphere at a speed high enough to cause the shields to flare red from the energy they were absorbing. The targets were rising fast…