Mason considered. "Worth a try."
Without saying more, he palmed his screen switch and broke contact.
Sten really hoped Mason survived this. Clot the dark alley and the blackjack-Sten was going to turkey-gobble-stomp Mason into the pavement in broad daylight-in the middle of the parade ground at Arundel Castle.
"Okay, troops. Gather around." Sten's shout echoed through the Victory's vast tacship hanger. All of his tacship pilots, and the pilots from the other two squadrons from the Bennington, had been ordered to this briefing.
"We'll make this quick. You can brief your crews independently.
"Here's what's going on. The invasion fleet is coming in, hot and heavy. We can't stop them. What we're trying to do is make life difficult enough for the bastards so us cowardly civilians and the crunchies can haul ass.
"You guys are gonna do it for me, and justify those clottin' white scarves and the flight pay that comes out of my taxes."
The pilots laughed and relaxed. All of them knew Sten's killer record as a tacship pilot/combat commander.
"Admiral Mason has what heavies we've got left offworld. He's going to do a tap dance and convince our friends he's about to attack. They'll have to at least form some kind of defensive line between the troopships and our BUCs. Then it'll be your turn."
Sten was suddenly serious. "Flight commanders... squadron leaders... attack in any formation you wish. Your targets are the transports. Only the transports. Kill them. If you hit them offworld, don't hang around for the finish. If they're in-atmosphere, make sure none of them will be able to make a forced landing. If they deploy troop capsules before you kill the mother ships, take out the capsules.
"If you're in-atmosphere, and close to the ground, and you see any enemy troops-hit them. This includes Suzdal, Bogazi, Jochians, or Torks. Draw double units of fire for the chain guns. If your ships are fitted for antipersonnel bombs, carry them and use them.
"That is a direct order.
"I want a big butcher's bill on this one. And any pilot who decides to play ace or dogfight star, I will personally ground and break.
"And remember-every soldier you let land on Jochi is a soldier who'll do his damnedest to kill an Imperial Guardsman.
"That's all. Dismissed."
Sten was getting very tired of saying "That is a direct order." But he wanted to make sure none of his pilots or captains labored under any illusions this battle was anything other than a last-ditch fight for survival.
He had seen, years, centuries, geological epochs ago, what happened when one side attempted to fight a war in civilized fashion-and he not only had seen his first command wiped out, but had personally buried too many bodies of friends to feel anything other than murderous purpose toward the bloodthirsty beings of the Altaics.
The Suzdal and Bogazi admirals analyzed the situation as their fleets closed on Jochi. There appeared to be no Imperial units in-atmosphere or immediately offworld.
In fact, the only warships in the system were those of the small Imperial fleet far off Jochi, orbiting in a ready position between two of Jochi's moons. First question: Could this fleet be ignored? Negative. If the Imperial ships attacked they could wreak havoc among the troopships. Second question: Should the landings be postponed until the Imperials were destroyed? Also negative-the threat was not that significant.
Besides, as one politically perceptive Bogazi pointed out, "Our confederation glue not sticky. Torks. Jochians. Suzdal. Sooner, later, they behave as normal and stab backs. Best sequence: Secure Jochi. Destroy Imperial soldiers. Destroy Imperial ships. With Jochi as base, any changes with allies easy for response."
The Suzdal and Bogazi main battleships moved out from Jochi toward Mason's fleet and formed in a defensive perimeter. Waiting.
The thin-skinned transports gunned toward the ground, protected by only a thin screen of destroyers.
The first wave of Imperial tacships hit them in Jochi's exosphere.
Hannelore La Ciotat was a drakh-hot pilot-her phrase. Everyone agreed, including the other pilots in her squadron. Not as drakh-hot as she thought she was, and certainly not as drakh-hot as they were-but drakh-hot.
She had slaved a secondary weapons-launch helmet from her weapons officer's station to her own post at the controls. She claimed it helped to be able to see on-screen not only what her tacship was doing, but what the enemy was about to get bashed with.
The transport bulked large in the screen. Readouts blurring on either side, indicators moving across it, read, deciphered, understood yet ignored by La Ciotat.
"Closing... closing... range... range..." her weapons officer droned.
"Standby..."
The transport grew larger.
"Downgrade launch from Kali," La Ciotat snapped, and the weapons officer changed the weapons choice from the huge, long-range ship killer to the medium-range Goblins.
"Range... range... range..."
"Stand by..."
La Ciotat felt herself drakh-hot as a pilot-but more importantly, she had a secret: she was not a drakh-hot shot. So she never launched outside point-blank range, and preferred to get closer.
"Standby... clot!"
The transport's sensors must have seen the incoming tacship and emergency-launched its troop capsules, spattering long tubes full of troops into Jochi's atmosphere.
"Transport..."
"Still acquired."
"Launch One! Cancel backup!"
She flipped the weapons helmet to the back of her head, ignored the ghost image of the missile slamming into the transport as it futilely lifted for space, fingers and boots dancing on the controls, and brought the tacship back-a lethal hawk swooping as the waterfowl scattered.
"Range... range..."
"Goblins... Multiple launch, single target distinction... set!"
"Set! Range... range..."
"On automatic... fire!"
The tacship held eight Goblin missile launchers, each loaded with three missiles. The launchers chugged... the tacship shuddered as the 10 nuke-headed missiles blazed out.
Nineteen troop capsules shattered, spewing screaming, dying soldiers into the high atmosphere, soldiers clawing at emptiness as gravity spun them down and down toward the ground far below.
Suddenly for La Ciotat these targets stopped being inanimate simulations on a battlescreen and became beings-whose deaths had come swiftly in the blast, horribly as their lungs froze in the frigid atmosphere, or mercifully as they spun into unconsciousness.
And "Bull's-eye" La Ciotat saw the deaths from very close range. Her stomach recoiled. She was violently sick, vomit splashing over the screen and controls.
She turned back for another pass, to kill the twentieth and last capsule.
Sten watched the slaughter from a battlescreen in the embassy's control room, refusing to let his mind translate those points of light appearing and vanishing into what they represented. He could have gone out of the subbasement to an upstairs window and seen the great battle raging over the mountains ringing the valley that contained Rurik. But that would have been still worse.
Around him the last embassy staffers hurriedly packed what files and equipment they would take offworld.
Outside, in a courtyard, high fires raged, as the rest of the embassy's records were destroyed.
Sten had been somewhat surprised that there had been no panic or trouble. Kilgour had explained: he had borrowed a company of Guardsmen for embassy security, told the Bhor and Gurkhas to rack their weapons and help with the evacuation. With one experienced combat veteran to every four civilians, it was hard to start a proper panic.