The entire Kilrathi home fleet hovered in space above the planet. Hundreds of tiny dots were detaching from the transports, winging down to the assault, escorted by hundreds of heavy Kilrathi fighter bombers.
“I tell you all hell’s breaking loose down here,” Big Duke shouted, trying to be heard above the staccato roar of explosions and the slashing thunder of ground-to-air missiles lifting off.
“Hang on, we’ve got more incoming!”
The camera mounted on the surface above the bunker swung about, dropping its magnification back down and pointed close to the surface.
A wall of ground suppression missiles came in, kicking on their ground penetration booster engines which could plow the warhead through twenty feet of plasta concrete before detonation. For an instant Tolwyn saw the swarm of landing craft behind the missile barrage and then the image winked out.
“Jesus, that hit hard,” and Big Duke was back on the air, this time only with audio signal.
“Count six, a possible seven carriers now supporting the ground assault. Wait a minute, another volley coming straight in; they’ve got lock on our transmission signal. At least three hundred landing craft behind this one. Damn, this looks like…”
The signal winked off.
Tolwyn waited for several seconds.
“Get me Banbridge.”
The comm officer snapped a laser communications line on to Wolfhound’s antenna.
“Big Duke’s getting hit hard,” Tolwyn said.
“A couple of more minutes, just a couple of more to let them land their first wave and get their heads in the noose and then we jump through. Your pilots ready for launch?”
“In their cockpits.”
Banbridge turned and looked back at his own comm screen and then turned back to Tolwyn.
“We’ve just got a report Big Duke’s headquarters took a direct hit. Not confirmed though.”
Tolwyn nodded and said nothing. He had been friends with Duke ever since their Academy days. The name Big Duke was hung on the marine because of his diminutive five-foot height, which was offset by a pugnacious attitude, always looking for a fight.
“Geof, initiate your jump; we’ll be right behind you.”
Tolwyn smiled grimly.
“See you on the other side.”
He turned and looked over at his helm officer.
“Start us into the jump point, sound battle stations, we’re going in!”
CHAPTER IX
“Damn it all, get that screen back up,” Jason shouted, bracing himself against a bulkhead wall as Tarawa banked into a sharp turn. The hit to the bridge had damaged the inertial dampening system, which insured that the artificial gravity field inside the ship reacted simultaneously with the hull of the vessel as it maneuvered and turned. Though the delay was marginal, less than one thousandth of a second, it made all maneuvers noticeable, slamming the crew back and forth as the ship went through evasive action. It was inevitable for fighters, given their size, but a carrier wasn’t built to take it.
The screen before him snapped back to life, showing a wavery image of Grierson.
“What kind of track are you getting?” Jason asked.
“The enemy carrier is closing in at flank speed, with a spread of two cruisers and four destroyers forward and two corvettes to the flanks. Will arrive in twenty-seven minutes. We have a second wave of inbound fighters as well, fifty plus.”
Jason groaned and looked over at his ready board.
He had seven Rapiers, six Sabres, and eight Ferrets left that were still flyable, not counting his own Rapier. Two thirds of them were dry on missiles and would have to be recalled and turned back around in time to meet the next attack.
“How’s damage control?” Grierson asked.
“Still without any long-range scan so you’ll be our eyes, Intrepid. We’ve established a ring of airlocks around the hull rupture. Shield generation is still down, engine room is still cut off, but we’ve managed to patch a radio link in to them, our inertial dampening is out of phase and we’re not sure on the jump engine. The jump control officer is dead, the non com chief says it’ll be hours before he can be sure we’re up and running in that department. The entire bridge is out, along with the infirmary, and forward crew bays.” He hesitated for a moment. “We’ve lost a fifth of our crew, over a hundred dead, forty wounded.”
“You’re still lucky to be afloat, Captain. We picked up two marine crews on the surface before lifting back off. We lost one trying to lift off, and another is damaged on the ground, its crew shifting to another landing craft. Two marine landing craft will externally dock with us within the next ten minutes and we’re dumping the landing craft; Merritt’s ordering the surviving three landing craft up now.”
“Kagimasha?”
“Here Commander,” and the ship’s captain was in the viewscreen, a bandage covering one eye.
“How are you?”
“We got a bit scorched, shielding’s down to thirty-two percent, but engines are fully back on line.”
“We’ll swing in for a rendezvous; you two cover us.”
Grierson grinned.
“That’s my job,” and the screen blanked.
Jason looked over at his new combat information officer, who was sitting in front of a portable holo screen, which was now tapped into the ship’s main computer. The launch control office overlooking the flight deck was now standing double duty, with helm, combat information, communications, weapons control, and damage control wedged into the room, their portable gear plugged into the main system through a maze of fiberoptic wiring. All combat ships were outfitted with a reserve bridge in case of a hit like the one Tarawa had just taken, but as a converted transport, that fallback system had never been built in. Without the supply of portable holo screens, which usually were on board a ship for briefings, and entertainment, they would be totally blind now.
Jason looked around the room, promising himself that if they ever got back he would certainly raise one hell of a stink concerning this oversight, and even as he though about it, he had to laugh at the irony of even worrying about such things at a time like this.
“Signal Doomsday and Starlight to bring the birds in for rearming. They’ve got ten minutes, so make it smart.”
“Aye, sir.”
Jason walked over to the plastishield which provided a view of the launch deck.
The first Sabre, Doomsday’s, came in fast, touching down at the end of the launch ramp. The ground crew raced over to the ship, running alongside of it as the tractor pulled it off the ramp. Crews, pushing missiles on small null gravity trailers ran up to the ship, locking them into the external pylons, while hoses were snaked into the ship’s fuel tank and cables latched in to top off the energy supply. Doomsday climbed out of the cockpit, waving for his co to stay, and ran up to the control center.
He came through the door and looked at Jason appraisingly.
“So you’ve got the helm now?”
Jason nodded.
“How’s she holding up?”
“Patching it together, though one more blow like that and she’ll split apart.”
“We’ll keep ’em off your back but for heaven’s sake, man, we’ve got to turn and get the hell out now or they’ll block the jump point.”
“Merritt wants five more minutes. They’ve got mines strapped into five carriers in their construction bays rigged to go, along with a cruiser assembly building. He’s rigging the last carrier and construction bays right now.”
“Damn it Jason, we’re going to go up with them if we hang around.”