“What about that other carrier?”
“Last I saw she was coming out of her mine field in pursuit.”
“Helm, how are we?”
“Losing speed, sir.”
“Close in the scoops.”
“Sir, we won’t have enough fuel.”
Jason looked over at the helmsman’s screen. Fuel was at less than five percent. With scoops closed they’d run dry within minutes.
Another shudder ran through the ship.
“Engine room reports impact of two missiles on the stern, one exhaust nozzle blown off.”
The damage control board was lighting up, showing red from one end of the ship to the other. Even as he watched, the neutron turret on the bottom winked out, its power cables shorting off.
“Sir, rear turret reports Grierson’s turned around and is heading back in on the enemy fleet.”
Jason picked up the communications officer’s headset.
“Grierson, stay with us!”
“Grierson!”
“Damn it, somebody get me a laser beam comm lock on Grierson!” The image of Grierson winked in and out. His friend’s image was wavery, his mouth moving, but no audio was coming through. And then he disappeared as another shudder ran through Tarawa, throwing the laser lock off.
The enemy fighters which had been circling Tarawa like a host of angry hornets turned back towards Intrepid.
“Helmsman, can you bring us around?”
“Steering is marginal, sir.”
Frustrated, Jason stood on the bridge, powerless to intervene.
“Grierson!”
“Outside radio links are dead, sir,” the comm officer said, his voice slurred with shock.
The marine sergeant now in charge of combat information was under the control panel, swatting down an electrical fire. A grainy, two-dimensional image came back up on line. The Intrepid was moving in on the cruiser covering the enemy carrier. Jason watched the screen as the drama was played out. A spread of torpedoes leaped out from both ships nearly simultaneously and at point-blank range.
The two ships disappeared, and Jason lowered his head.
“Sir, they didn’t get the carrier but they sure as hell smashed the cruiser,” the marine whispered.
Jason nodded.
“Carrier still coming on.”
Through the airlock a Sabre came in, sparks raining out from its port wing which was nearly torn loose from the fighter bomber’s hull. The Sabre skidded through the fire retardant foam, slamming into the safety nets. Seconds later, without waiting for clearance in all the confusion, a lone Rapier came in as well, skidding down the deck through the foam, jockeying to one side of the Sabre, narrowly avoiding a collision.
Jason looked up and watched as Doomsday scrambled down from the cockpit and raced to the bridge, Tolwyn behind him.
Another explosion rocked Tarawa, knocking Jason to his knees as a second wave of fire swept through the hangar deck. He wasn’t even sure where it had come from.
He stood back up and looked at the situation board. Combat information was blind again, the nav station a shambles, the officer curled up by the console holding a badly fractured arm; tactical display was gone, all outside links down. The room had a surreal look, smoke filled, illuminated by fire and the red battle lamps, acrid smoke swirling about him. He felt a trickle of blood running down his face, but no pain, not even sure if the blood was his or somebody else’s.
The damage control chief turned in his chair and looked at Jason.
“She put up a hell of a fight sir, a hell of fight.”
The chief hesitated, unable to say the words. Jason nodded sadly.
“Prepare to abandon ship,” Jason said quietly. “All crew to the escape pods. Helmsman, before you leave, try and bring her around for a run straight back on that carrier, but I want everyone off this ship when I take her back in.”
“Jason!”
He looked up as Doomsday scrambled up the ladder onto the bridge.
“Well, buddy, if you want to play out your death wish just stick around with me, otherwise get into one of the escape pods.”
“Damn it, Jason, the other carrier’s closing in.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t. Didn’t you get the tail end of Grierson’s message?”
Jason looked at Doomsday, not understanding.
“Grierson knew you were finished, communications and defense shot, another hit and you’d be lost. That’s why that crazy bastard turned back, to pull the fighters off and buy some time.”
“Well, we’re going to join him,” Jason snapped, “so either shut up or get the hell off this bridge. You keep talking about getting yourself killed; well today’s the day.”
“Damn it, sir!” Kevin shouted, shouldering in past Doomsday.
“That other carrier, it’s the Concordia!”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“It’s Concordia! They masked it with a Kilrathi IFF transponder. Her fighters will be here any minute. She was broadcasting a message in the clear for us to hang on. Just hang on, damn it!”
Stunned, Jason could not even respond.
“Helmsman, can you steer us towards that other carrier?”
“We’ve lost all outside data.”
“Well, damn it, steer to where you think she is and for God’s sake don’t put us in the asteroid field!”
“Aye, sir.”
Jason stepped off the bridge and out on to the flight deck. Fires continued to sweep the bay, fire retardant swirling in a blizzard of foam. Directly beneath the bridge an emergency aid station was set up and dozens of casualties were laid out, med teams struggling to save the wounded, the ship’s chaplain with them, kneeling over a dying marine and praying with him. As Jason watched, the chaplain made the sign of the cross and then pulled a flight jacket up over the marine’s face and then went to kneel by the next casualty.
Jason walked past the aid station to stand directly in front of the airlock door.
He finally saw them, tiny pinpoints of light that within seconds took form. A squadron of Broadswords flashed by, torpedoes glinting evilly under their wings, escorted by Sabres and Rapiers. Four Rapiers broke off, circling around to take up escort positions; and on their wings were the markings of their ship—Concordia.
“That old bastard Tolwyn wouldn’t leave us out here to die,” Jason said quietly.
“I guess not, sir,” Kevin said, and Jason looked over at the pilot and grinned.
“I knew we’d make it,” Doomsday said, slapping Jason on the shoulder and hugging him with exuberance, and for the first time in all the years that he knew him, Jason heard Doomsday laugh.
“Yeah, sure,” Jason whispered. “Me, too. I knew it all along.”
CHAPTER XII
“So I am to take the blame for your failings and that of your decrepit grandfather.”
Prince Thrakhath looked up angrily, wishing more than ever that he had been allowed to simply kill the Baron. There was too much pressure from the family now against a blood feud, for though all were seeking blame for the fiasco, all of the royal blood also feared that the minor families might turn against them, especially now that the home fleet was crippled. Five carriers lost at Vukar, two so seriously damaged that it’d be a standard year or more before they would be active again, and then the loss of six more in the construction yard. Unthinkable, just unthinkable.
“You at least are alive, not like Rusmak and Gar.”
“They were both fools and deserved to die. Vukar was a disaster. Gar was far too confident and eager to close. If he had held off and waited on the landing effort, as I advised him to do, he would have not been caught with his landing fleet out in the open when their fighters jumped us, unable to return in time to his transports. He died and deserved it, the tragedy is that forty thousand of our best died as well and we still have not retaken Vukar.”