His own ship was blown out from under him on the last jump through by a Kilrathi ambush and Kruger, with the remaining members of his crew, survived for three years on a planet inside the Kilrathi system, driving the locals nearly insane with his commando style raiding until being picked up by a freebooter who took them back to the Landreich. In the interim, ConFleet had tried him in absentia and found him guilty of mutiny and hijacking of a Confederation warship, a capital offense in time of war. He was hailed, however, as a returning hero by the colonials and elected president of the Landreich system within the year. The election made matters somewhat complicated, presenting the Confederation with the unique problem of having a felon serving as an elected member of the planetary senate and thus being immune from arrest and trial.
Max Kruger had a hell of a reputation and was viewed either as a genius improviser of small unit irregular tactics or a barbarian. In Ian's opinion, he was both. The colonials definitely fought their wars with the Kilrathi, and at times with each other, using cast-off equipment, shoestring budgets, and a hell of a lot of guts. They also fought it with a cold ferocity that rarely asked for or expected quarter. For Kruger there was only one rule of war, ultimate victory.
"Everything back aboard Tarawa OK? '
Ian turned and smiled as Jason came up to join him.
"Another hundred crew members signed in last night off a transport that ran out from Sirius. We've got eight more pilots and four Ferrets that were strapped to the transports hull."
"Is that all, we were promised twenty."
"They had some problems getting the four, the peace commission kicked up a royal stink. We're lucky we got what we did."
"It figures," Jason sighed. "That commission really screwed us up."
"What do you mean?"
That report that we'd have ten squadrons of Rapiers and Sabres, well forget it."
"What the hell happened?"
"The shipment was blocked by the commission. Seems that the Kilrathi ambassador caught wind of the deal, screamed holy hell, and the Baron even got into it, threatening to end all peace negotiations if the ships were allowed to leave Earth system. Rodham, of course, caved in. The three transports, loaded down with fighters and spare parts were blocked from leaving moon orbit. So now we've got to scrounge up whatever we can find around here."
"We ve got five escort carriers, and a grand total of twenty-nine fighters and that's it, not counting the stuff the locals have."
More people crowded into the room behind Ian so that he, Jason, and K'Kai were gradually shoved to the back of the room.
"Andrews, everybody here yet?" the gaunt man asked, looking over at the guard at the door.
"Near about."
Well, damn it, we can't wait, let's get started then."
The gaunt man moved up to a small podium.
"For those of you Confed people who don't know it, I'm General Kruger."
Ian looked around the room and saw the outright admiration on the faces of the men and women wearing the hodgepodge of jumpsuits, assault trousers and vests, and coveralls that passed for colonial guards uniforms.
"First off, I welcome all you white and blue suits into the service of the Landreich," Kruger began. "As already agreed upon, all ships that the Landreich has purchased," and with that there was a ripple of laughter from the colonial personnel, have been incorporated into our fleet. You will, however, still have your own chain of command, answering to Admiral Tolwyn."
For the first time Ian realized that Tolwyn was in the room, his nephew by his side. Tolwyn stepped out from a back corner of the meeting hall and raised his hand in acknowledgment. It seemed strange to Ian to see the Admiral not in standard fleet uniform, but in the khaki of a Landreich officer.
Just how the hell did he get out here so fast? Ian wondered, what with Jason's ship arriving only last night into orbit above Landreich.
"Those of you in colonial forces that are assigned aboard former Confed ships will take orders from the duly appointed commander of that ship."
A low groan went up from the colonial personnel in the room.
We've got to coordinate this effort," Kruger snapped, "so no complaints."
"Any questions?"
The colonial officers looked at each other, mumbled a bit and said nothing.
Kruger nodded towards Tolwyn, who came up to the front of the room.
"Well, I'm glad to see that most of you at least made it out here.
"First off . . ." and Tolwyn was interrupted by the sharp spine tingling wail of a klaxon.
The room went quiet as Kruger raced to a monitor, leaned over it, and then turned back.
"Any pilots with strike craft please man them immediately."
Ian pushed his way out of the room, a stream of colonial pilots pushing around him, Jason, Kevin, and Doomsday falling in at his side.
They ran up the corridor and out into the blazing heat, scattering towards hangars, the high wail of sirens echoing against the surrounding hills. The ground crew, which had so lazily come out to meet Ian when he landed, were moving with a cool precision, unchocking the wheels, the crew chief inside the cockpit, the engine already up and whining, four crew members lifting two missiles up onto the Sabre's wing pylons. Ian ran to the ladder, one of the ground crew tossing him his helmet which he snapped on, the chief coming down the ladder and clearing it just as Ian leaped on to the third rung and scrambled up, the chief now behind him. Ian saw Jason and Doomsday running past, heading for the Ferrets they had flown down from Tarawa.
"Engine green, nav system loaded by combat control, all weapons green with two radar trackers loaded, emergency eject armed and ready, good luck, sir!" the chief shouted, even as he reached over and helped buckle Ian's safety harness on, cinching the shoulder straps tight.
This is Hunter in Sabre 239A ready," Ian announced to the control tower.
"Will advise, Hunter, ground chief will signal your clearance," the ground control officer snapped and then switched off.
Ian gave a thumbs-up as the chief slid down the ladder and the canopy snapped shut, the green light of airtight lock flashing on. The chief was now out in front of Ian's fighter, hands held high over his head with fists crossed, signaling that the taxi ramp was not yet cleared. The Ferret with the light corvette engine he admired earlier bolted straight out of its hangar to his right, not even bothering to go for the runway and not needing one anyhow as it pitched its nose back, and within fifty yards stood on its tail, flame slamming off the concrete taxiway as it screamed straight up into the sky, riding a column of fire.
To his left he saw the armored bunker which contained the surface to space missiles peel open, the silver tips of half a dozen Sprints pointing straight up.
"Hunter cleared for takeoff, once lifted depart angle nine zero," the control officer's voice crackled in his headset and he grinned with the order to go for a full burn vertical ascent into space.
The crew chief uncrossed his arms and leaped to the side of the Sabre, crouched, and pointed forward. Ian released his brakes, slammed in full afterburners and all aft maneuvering thrusters. The Sabre leaped forward and within seconds he was up past a hundred and ninety clicks an hour. He yanked back on his stick, pulling it into his gut, the nose lifted up and he was off.