Doomsday’s image flashed on the commscreen, his cabin filled with smoke.
“All right Wolf, help me get home.”
“With you all the way, Doomsday, with you all the way. Let’s just hope we’ve got a ship to go home to.”
Jason stood transfixed, watching the screen, listening to the battle reports coming in. Damn, to be stuck here on the bridge when I should be out there.
“Tarawa, this is Grierson.”
“Go ahead.”
“Alpha Strike’s wiped out, two survivors breaking off. Head over the top of the asteroid field; there’s a bit of a hole there in the Kilrathi defenses, you might have an open run. Get your pups back in; there won’t be any carrier on your table for lunch today.”
Jason nodded dejectedly.
“All right Intrepid, follow me up.”
“I’ll be along shortly.”
“Grierson, what the hell are you doing?”
“What the hell do you think? Covering my carrier; now get a move on, son.”
“Helm, bring us over to clear the asteroid belt.”
“We’ve got ten more Gratha fighter bombers coming up out of the asteroid field,” combat information shouted.
Jason turned to look at the tactical display as the blips emerged out of the clutter of the asteroid debris field.
“Seven torpedoes are out and running, coming straight down our throats!”
“Where’s our combat cover?”
“Still astern and engaged sir!”
Jason turned to look out from the bridge. Beyond the forward airlock he could see the enemy fighter bombers breaking to turn away.
Point defense keyed up, the forward laser guns setting out a rapid fire staccato of bursts. A torpedo detonated ten thousand meters forward. The mass driver guns cannibalized from the Kilrathi base kicked in, the recoil shuddering through the ship and the second torpedo exploded. Four more exploded in rapid succession.
“Five seconds to impact. One torpedo’s got a definite lock.”
Jason wanted to cover his ears, to drown out the high-pitched shriek of the torpedo guidance system coming in through the combat information audio link.
“Three seconds.”
“Brace yourselves.”
The blow slammed him to the deck and then back up. The bridge went dark, and he felt himself floating as the artificial gravity generator shorted out. Jason waited, instinctively holding his breath, expecting the hull to split, spilling him into the vacuum of space.
Emergency battle lamps snapped on and then he slammed back down on the deck as the gravity generator kicked back in. A deep hollow booming echoed through the ship, sounding as if the Tarawa were being pounded by a giant’s hammer.
“Damage control. This is forward turret,” cried the voice edged with hysteria. “We’ve taken a direct hit to the forward bow. We’re sheering off!”
Jason staggered back up to his feet and looked out the forward airlock.
“Merciful God,” he gasped.
The forward twenty meters of the armored bow was peeling back. A fiberoptic communication line to the bow was still intact and the screams of the crew trapped forward echoed on the bridge. The bow continued to tear back and a howling shriek echoed through the ship as the durasteel frame buckled and finally snapped. The bow tumbled off. For a brief instant Jason saw a body tumbling end over end, floating out of the bow into the vacuum of space. The bow disappeared astern. What was left of the forward part of the ship was flame-scorched and blackened. The minigun crews outside of the airlock were gone, the position torn apart by the spray of shrapnel.
Jason scrambled back up to the bridge and looked over at damage control.
“Chief, are we holding?”
“We shouldn’t be, but the third bulkhead back from the bow seems intact. One airlock is compromised; we’re leaking a hell of a lot of air though. I’ve got crews heading there now to shore it up.”
“For heaven’s sake how?” Jason asked.
The chief looked back at him.
“The armor bow was an add on for the forward turret; remember this was designed as a transport, and additional positions were simply welded on,” he hesitated for a moment. “Plus we added those reinforcements in late yesterday. Lucky for us.”
“How many crew in that turret?”
“Thirty-five, sir. At least it was quick.”
Another series of shudders ran through the ship as combat information called in the latest strike information, half a dozen fighters strafing, hoping to break down what was left of the phase shielding, which was down to eight percent. A bolt slammed against the forward airlock and for a fraction of a second the lock failed. A mass driver round slashed down the length of the deck, impacting on the far wall of the hangar, sending out an explosive shower of shrapnel, cycling down ground crews that were working feverishly to turn the last few fighters around. The fuel tank of a Ferret cooked off with an explosive roar, sweeping the deck in a fireball. Fire alarms wailed and the fire control system kicked on, spraying down the deck with a blizzard of white foam. The pilot, still inside the Ferret, was struggling to get out of the exploding ship when the ejector seat detonated, slamming him into the ceiling of the hangar.
Jason stood on the bridge, barely aware that the plastiglass shield that separated him from the flight deck was hit by the shrapnel. Cracks raced across the shield. It disintegrated, cascading back into the bridge in a shower of broken fragments. The bridge crew struggled to sweep the broken fragments off their instruments, several cutting their hands in the process.
Another mass driver bolt penetrated the forward airlock, the Kilrathi fighter appearing to hover directly in front of the Tarawa. The round impacted close to where the last had hit, and punched through the wall, slashing into the interior of the ship. The Kilrathi fighter opened up with a full salvo, a stream of rounds pouring in, the forward airlock shimmering, phasing in and out, air rushing out with a hurricane force as the airlock pulsed on and off, the rounds smashing through the aft wall of the hangar deck, shrapnel shrieking. The deck was a nightmare of explosions. A blast of flame blew through the bridge and Jason ducked down, covering his face with his hands, feeling the hair on his head and eyebrows curling and burning from the heat. The wave of fire pulsed down. Instrument panels exploded, electrical fires snapping out of control panels.
The bridge went dark for a moment and then the emergency lighting came back up, the room filled with dark acrid smoke.
Coughing, Jason turned to shout an order to the combat control officer to order a fighter in for protection. But the woman was gone, her headless corpse lying on the floor of the bridge. Everything was disintegrating into smoke, fire, and confusion.
There was a stunning flareup of light from forward of the airlock and the Kilrathi fighter disappeared.
Through the fireball Jason saw a Rapier arcing up and away, attempting to shake off two Drakhri on his tail.
“Something’s not right here, sir.”
Jason looked over to a marine sergeant who had stepped in to take the dead officer’s place.
“We’re getting readings of a fourth carrier, closing in from the other side of the asteroid field. IFF shows it to be Kilrathi, but it’s not in our computer register.”
Jason went over to look, the wavery image suddenly snapping off, the holo image disappearing. The marine sergeant looked up.
“We’re blind, sir, all surveillance systems shot.”