The fleet flagship was out forward of the charge, a Kilrathi cruiser angling in, opening with a spread of missiles. Flare, chaff, and noise makers streamed out of the destroyer and the two ships traded fire. Behind the flagship the four escorts, moving in two lines of two, stormed through the maelstrom, while frigates, corvettes, destroyers, and fighters swirled about them.
Another shudder ran through Tarawa, damage control shouting out a report, red lights blinking on his screen. Jason could barely hear the officer as the explosions echoed through his ship, the concussion nearly bringing him to his knees. The Kilrathi cruiser shot past, unable to turn in tight enough to run parallel.
On the port side the still expanding wreckage of the blown carrier continued to swirl out and then was astern. Kruger arced his destroyer directly across the stern of the carrier they were pursuing, lashing out with a volley of torpedoes and missiles at near point blank range. Landreich corvettes raced past the escort carriers, closing in on the prey, two of them fireballing from the strikes of Kilrathi fighters, the survivors launching torpedoes, most of which were shaken off by the carrier but three impacting nevertheless. Four more of the corvettes disappeared.
"Her shieldings down!" tactical shouted.
Jason felt as if he were about to explode with excitement. The battle had lost all semblance of tactical maneuvering, the old standard of fleets launching fighters at long range, and capital ships rarely if ever coming within ten thousand clicks of each other, was gone in the mad confusion. He thought of Nelson at Trafalgar, charging into a broadside exchange with the French and Spanish, and felt that if Tolwyn were here the old man would be proud.
The Kilrathi carrier was less than fifteen hundred meters ahead.
"Fire on her, fire!
Simultaneously the four escort carriers opened fire, hundreds of mass driver rounds and neutron bolts, from the anti-aircraft batteries, now slamming into the stern of the enemy carrier. Explosions rippled, jagged fragments of metal hurtling off into space. Tarawa raced down the length of the carrier, stitching the side of the ship with everything she had, while Gallipoli turned to cross the T of the Kilrathi carrier astern. The Kilrathi, however, were firing with everything in return, and explosions rocked Tarawa. Jason felt as if the frenzy of battle had torn into the heart of his soul. He stood rigid, wanting to roar with both rage and delight. More than one of the bridge crew had broken discipline, pounding the sides of their monitors, screaming curses, oaths, encouragement, and whooping with joy at the destruction.
"Gallipoli's going!"
Jason looked up at the aft visual and saw his sister ship splitting open as if she had run straight into a buzz saw that was tearing the ship apart from stem to stern. The fuel cells astern ignited and the ship fireballed, her flame washing over the topside stern of the stricken enemy carrier.
They darted past the ship, turning to starboard while the Kilrathi carrier edged over to port and started to dive.
"Tactical report!"
"Enemy carrier suffered multiple hits, computer counting two hundred plus hullings, secondary explosions igniting, three of five engine pods destroyed.
"Damage control?"
"Sections one, three through five portside hulled, midships port mass driver gun mounts destroyed, main generator still off line, shielding down to forty-two percent, holding steady."
Jason looked back at the tactical.
The enemy carrier was turning hard over to port, now moving away at a right angle, debris trailing out behind her as she struggled to accelerate. The other carrier was coming around to flank the stricken ship. The enemy picket line was now racing full back, coming abreast of their two surviving carriers and moving to pursuit.
"Helm, prepare to come about for a second strike," Jason announced, and his crew looked up at him, startled.
He knew it was madness, but they had not finished the carrier off and he'd be damned if it was going to get away.
"All ships follow me,"
Jason looked up at Kruger's image and then back at tactical.
Kruger was moving straight away from the engagement, heading back towards the Hell Hole.
"Get me Kruger," Jason snapped.
The old man's image reappeared, looking annoyed.
"Let's finish em, sir, he's crippled."
"We killed one, we crippled another and lost one escort," Kruger snapped. "Go back and we'll lose the rest of our escorts just to finish a kill. We want him crippled. They'll have to protect him. Bondarevsky, I'm breaking the engagement. We got what we wanted, they'll run for home now. Hell Hole is still under bombardment and that's our main priority now. '
"Aye, sir."
The image winked off.
Jason took a deep breath, realizing that the excitement of the charge and the lust of battle had clouded his judgment
"Belay helm over, lock on Blitzkreig and follow."
He could see that some of his crew were disappointed while others took a sigh of relief
"Damn good, I'm proud of all of you," he announced and then settled back into his command chair.
He looked up at the chronometer.
It was less than six minutes since they had jumped through, undoubtedly one of the shortest fleet actions in history. Kruger had lived up to form, shattering an invasion, killing a carrier, and crippling another. He had certainly taken them in harm's way.
The question now was, what would Kruger do next?
"Signal all fighters, return to your ships for recovery."
Admiral Tolwyn stood silently, watching the display screen.
It had been a standoff for more than a day. They had met the four enemy carriers just inside the Warsaw system, his fleet and theirs arriving at opposite jump points almost simultaneously.
He had raced to cover Warsaw but the Kilrathi carriers had held back, staying close to the jump point.
The question had been whether to close and engage, or wait. It could be that they were holding at the edge of the jump point, waiting to lure him in and then the main Kilrathi fleet would jump through. A listening post inside the next system had managed to get out a brief burst signal, reporting the transit of more than thirty escort ships and then had gone off line. It could only mean that the main fleet was coming up fast. Yet if he did advance and close for action there was a chance to meet the enemy three on four, with the possible edge that the pilots aboard the enemy ships were not their first line Guard fighters.
He had opted for action, but with the stipulation that his carriers would not close within ten million clicks and engage at long range only with fighters.
The action had been inconclusive throughout the day, with the loss of thirty-eight fighters in exchange for two hits on a carrier with moderate damage, and three enemy frigates destroyed in return for one hit on Moskva and a destroyer lost.
But now there was no longer a question as to Prince Thrakhath's strategy. He was indeed coming straight on.
For the last hour, the jump point covered by the carriers had disgorged destroyers, frigates, fuel tankers, and supply ships. And now at last the first of the new carriers had emerged.
His intelligence officer passed up a continual stream of reports, the hazy images from Paladin's recon scan, replaced now by clear optical and radar images passed up by light Ferret recon fighters moving back from the edge of the fleet.
Tolwyn continued to pull back, his fighters coming in to land, a screen of escort ships guarding the sterns of the carriers from enemy fighters, while dropping out a spray of porcupine mines to slow the relentless advance of the enemy fleet.
A fourth carrier appeared and then a fifth, each of them identical, each of them terrifying.
"Sir, we are receiving a hailing from the Kilrathi fleet.
"What?"
The communications officer looked back at his console for a moment and then turned again to Tolwyn.