Jason had given him the chance to change it all, even after his mistake. The mistake… again he looked down at Doomsday’s Sabre and then straight ahead. Jim Conklin had been an amiable sort from some back hill farming town in America, not the type he would have ever invited to the club if they had met only half a year ago. And now Jim was dead. Jason was right; he should have stayed close, and forgotten about the kill. He had even heard Jason’s orders to turn back, just before the radio winked out, never knowing until afterwards that Jim and the tail gunner were about to die.
Never again, never again, Kevin thought to himself.
“Tarawa control.” It was Doomsday.
Kevin looked down at his commlink visual.
“Tarawa control here.”
“We’re going for the carrier,” Doomsday said.
Kevin felt his gut tighten up. A cruiser, two destroyers, and a host of fighters were between them and that target. (Never again, indeed. Never anything.)
And yet if that were the case he would die with him and not regret it in the slightest.
This was where he wanted to be.
“Strike Force Alpha, good luck,” and it was Jason on the line.
“Always figured I’d wind up in a fix like this, Tarawa, now get the hell out of here.”
Doomsday chuckled softly.
“All right Alpha, suck it up and stick to me like glue.”
Kevin nudged his throttle up a notch, edging forward of the strike force, arming his IFF missiles. Kilrathi fighters, spread out in a screen in front of their task force, started to turn on an intersect line with the attack, while more than fifty of them continued straight on in, passing twenty clicks to Kevin’s port side, afterburners flashing, moving to attack Tarawa and Intrepid.
The radio started to crackle as Round Top passed out orders to the screen of six Ferrets, two Rapiers, and two Sabres which were marshaling to form a defensive screen.
“Strike Alpha switch to commlink 2282.”
Kevin turned the dial to the proper channel which eliminated the chatter from the defensive squadron.
The first Drakhri dived in, executing a brilliant roll and loop, followed by a section of three more fighters. Kevin banked around hard, turning up for a side approach and then pulling over, following the last Drakhri in. The enemy fighter broke off from its attack, banking out and away. He ignored him, closing in on the third fighter in line which broke as well when a salvo of neutron bolts slammed into its stern. The first two fighters continued on in against the Sabres.
“Sabres break left,” Doomsday called, and the four ships banked hard, the Drakhri slashing down through empty space. Cleared of the Sabres, Kevin unleashed an IFF and pulled back up on his stick, breaking off the pursuit to cut back upwards for top cover on the fighter-bombers.
“Good work, Lone Wolf,” Doomsday clicked, and then he was off the screen again.
“With you, Doomsday,” Kevin replied.
The Drakhri fighters, more than a score of them, set up a regular attack pattern, sections of four breaking in on the group, one striking from above, another from either flank or astern, while others maneuvered for position.
“Line on the lead destroyer, activate torpedo lock then break it off at ten kilometers and roll in on a heading for the carrier!” Doomsday called.
The group turned, following their leader, except for one Rapier that disintegrated in a burst of light.
The enemy fighters continued to harry the flanks, pulling tight circles at the edge of the group, leaving the front open as the Destroyer’s long-range lasers opened up, and with the range closing were joined by the ship’s neutron and mass driver guns.
A direct hit nailed the second Sabre in the formation, a curtain of debris flaring out. In the momentary confusion a Drakhri dived into the group, and Kevin followed him in, unloading an IFF at point-blank range, the missile slamming into the enemy ship’s engine. He thundered through the debris, watching his shields wink down.
He circled back out, meeting two more fighters head-on and within seconds scored his second kill of the day with a quickly toggled dumb fire bolt that impacted on the enemy fighter’s cockpit.
“Break, break!” Doomsday shouted, and the attack swerved off from the enemy destroyer and banked hard around, dropping to a direct line up on the enemy carrier a thousand kilometers away.
“Forty seconds,” Doomsday cried, “get early lock, and run ’em in, too many fighters to slow down for standard launch.”
The turn away from the destroyer momentarily threw off the Kilrathi defense, but even though the outer wave was now astern, the enemy still had fifteen fighters positioned directly in front of their carrier, which now sortied up to meet the threat.
Seconds later another Sabre disintegrated, caught by a volley of missiles which intersected the formation from both sides, the doomed pilot banking away from one shot and thus turning straight in on the other.
Two Sabres were now left and Kevin was shocked to hear Doomsday singing what he could only surmise was a mournful death chant.
“Twenty seconds, initiate lock!”
Kevin heard the high-pitched whine of the torpedo guidance systems kicking on even as he broke to starboard to throw an enemy fighter off his tail. A Drakhri was directly in front of him, racing away from the Sabres. He fought down the temptation to gain an easy kill, flipped over, and dived back towards the Sabres, winging a Sartha which broke off from a line up on Doomsday’s tail and fled.
“Ten seconds to torpedo launch; hold it steady.”
The two Sabres flew a straight line in, not deviating in the slightest from their course, the enemy carrier now clearly visible. The first proximity mine was passed, the weapon gaining a lock and moving to strike the attacking Sabres, Kevin bursting the weapon with a well-aimed particle cannon shot.
A spread of missiles started to track in, launched by a light destroyer which was providing point coverage for the enemy ship.
“Hold it steady, hold it steady!” Doomsday shouted.
Doomsday’s wingman disappeared in flames, an instant later his own ship was flipped over by a near burst, his torpedoes firing off on a wild trajectory.
“Doomsday!”
“Damn! Torpedoes auto fired, damn it!” Doomsday shouted, even as his ship continued to spiral down and away.
Kevin winged over, following him, turning to threaten a Drakhri which sensed an easy kill, but backed off in an evasive turn as Kevin fired off his last remaining IFF.
“Lost my copilot, we’re in trouble here!”
“Head back for Tarawa, I’m with you!” Kevin shouted, “just fly the damn thing, don’t worry about anything else.”
“Damn it, go for the carrier!”
“With what, my fists? Not till I get you back home; now fly damn it!”
Kevin looked back over his shoulder, wanting to slide down lower in his seat as the incoming missile alarm blinked on his screen. He popped off his chaff while maneuvering at the same time to avoid a mine. The missile turned and streaked away. “Blue two, you with me?”
There was no response and Doomsday was the only friendly blip on his screen. He saw Doomsday start to turn as if attempting to regain an attack position on the carrier.
“Damn it, Doomsday. If you want to die, make it worth something. Your ship won’t get within a hundred clicks of that carrier before they rip you apart. Now head back to Tarawa and trade your junker in on something that can still fly and fight!”