“They never knew what hit them,” Jason whispered.
The green-blue ball of Kilrah raced up and for a second Jason was convinced that navigation had screwed it, and they would impact.
“Tractor beam on now!” the navigation officer shouted.
Jason felt the shudder run through the ship. The tractor system was never designed for this, the idea being cooked up by Jim Bane, an old navigation petty officer. If the carrier used the beam on a fighter for recovery the mass differential between the fighter and carrier would be such that for ever meter the carrier might be moved towards the fighter, the fighter would be pulled in several kilometers. Now the beam was aimed straight at Kilrah, pulling the Tarawa straight in towards the planet; however, due to the ship’s forward velocity it actually wouldn’t go straight in, but rather loop in a slingshot around Kilrah, and, if all the calculations were correct, aiming them straight at their intended jump point. If it worked this would alter maneuvering tactics and close-in tactics forever!
They skimmed over the northern pole of the planet, fifty kilometers above the outer atmosphere, the planet’s gravitational field bending their trajectory even further into a slingshot.
In less than ten seconds Kilrah was a hundred thousand kilometers astern.
“Damn,” Jason sighed, “what a ride.”
The bridge went silent as everyone turned to look at the navigation officer.
She continued to lean over her plot board, watching as the computer fed in the data, tracing out the line as Tarawa and its lone escort curved down and away out of the equatorial line of the Kilrah solar system.
She finally gave a sigh of relief and looked up with a grin.
“It worked, sir,” she said, her voice shaking. “We are on-line up to jump point F-One. Will arrive in seven hours and thirty-two minutes. Will have a fuel reserve of two point three percent after deceleration to achieve jump.”
Jason turned and looked over at combat information.
“Not a single ship has even emerged from the other side of Kilrah. Estimate a five million plus kilometer lead on them.”
“People, we just might live till tomorrow,” Jason said with a smile. “Stand down from battle stations, let’s get some rest.”
A round of self-congratulations went through the bridge and as he looked out on the flight deck he saw crew members and marines slapping each other on the back.
There was one problem though: jump point F-One took them out on a side track run and not closer to home, but it was the only one they could run to using Kilrah as a slingshot. The enemy carrier at Kilrah could elect to pursue or could take a jump into a parallel system, blocking their escape. And beyond that, there was still no word as to what else might be out there. He was in the dark and the entire Kilrathi Empire would be mobilizing to hunt them down. They had managed to run, but they were no closer to home, and there was no place to hide.
“He’s good, damned good,” Prince Thrakhath thought, unable to prevent at least a brief moment of admiration for whomever it was that commanded the human fleet. The diversion, and he now realized that that had been the intent, of the two ships loaded with atomic mines, had momentarily scattered his defense, allowing them to run straight through while losing but one escort ship. They had never intended suicide at all and he realized that he had made the fatal mistake of not viewing the tactical situation from a human perspective. An opportunity to shatter part of Earth, even at the expense of one’s own life, would win undying glory for those who sacrificed themselves. He found it almost inconceivable that they had not taken such a course and curiously found himself feeling almost insulted that the humans would not be willing to trade their lives for a chance to strike a blow at the home of the Kilrathi race.
As he studied the plot boards he realized that though the maneuver to run was brilliantly executed it was also an exercise in futility. The jump point they were taking was a single track line, going into a system with only a single jump point beyond it; the next system had but a single jump point exit as well. It was not until the system after that, that there were several jump points, one of which would lead back towards Confederation space. They had simply run into a cul de sac. The carrier Karu could be positioned to cover one of the exits. By following the more direct path he could arrive to cover the same exiting system in only three jumps to the four that the humans would need. Either their navigators were not aware of this, or they were simply trying to run the game out and cling to an extra day of life. It would have been more honorable to die here and destroy part of Kilrah. For a moment he actually felt a twinge of regret that the humans had not taken such a course. For after all was not the Emperor responsible for the fiasco, and it would not have been just the Emperor who died but thousands of the court sycophants as well. It could have produced an interesting result. The death of court hangers-on and bureaucrats would have been a pleasure to witness.
“Astronavigator, signal to the Karu that the humans have taken the Vuwarg jump. They are to block the jump line from Baragh to Rushta. Carrier Torg to move to block the jump point from Baragh to Xsar. We will close the line from Baragh to Lushkag. Signal the same to the Emperor. Have at least thirty reserve fighter craft from the palace guard on Kilrah to sortie and rendezvous with us to replenish our losses. We leave to jump from this system within two hours.”
He turned to look at his staff.
“Let’s finish this affair. The court historians can then practice their usual craft of lying and embellish it into a great victory rather than a miserable hunt.”
CHAPTER XI
Jason Bondarevsky realized that physically he was at the end of his rope. He looked into the mirror, trying to still the shaking of his hand as he finished shaving. The image that looked back at him was disturbing. His features were pale, eyes dark rimmed and bloodshot. Not since the beginning of the raid had he found a moment to hit the exercise room, a strict requirement for all pilots in order to stay in top physical shape. If he were in charge of anyone who looked like himself, he’d have sent him to sick bay, and ordered a stretch of R&R along with a couple of sessions with the psychological officer.
The nightmares just would not go away—the image of the fireball rushing in to smash the marine landing craft, Svetlana, ghostlike, turning to look at him as the flames swept in. Beside her, Janice and all the others whom he had lost.
He closed his eyes, nicking himself with the old-style razor.
The cold flash of pain from the cut startled him, and cursing, he took his towel and dabbed the wound. He took the small cup of water, which was all that was allowed for shaving due to water rationing, and tried to clean the rest of the soap off.
There was a knock at the door.
“Sir, Captain Grierson has landed. Colonel Merritt’s already in the briefing room.”
“Right there.”
He wiped the last bit of soap off his face, and put on the now thoroughly wrinkled and stained uniform. The laundry room was an empty burned-out shell and all the crew had long since given up trying to look clean.
Jason looked back in the mirror one more time, forcing himself to achieve a certain look of confidence and he stepped out into the corridor. A work crew came to attention and he motioned for them to stand at ease as he squeezed past the welders.