exhausted. Perhaps the president was right, he had never really recovered from his wounds taken at Vukar. He should have stayed at his desk rather than running off to play commando. Since someone did have to stay behind, just in case the Cats got through and knew how to disarm the weapon, it might as well be him.
'You all right, sir?'
He looked up. It was the young woman who had been on point.
'Marine, get the hell out of here.'
'Like hell, sir,' she said quietly. 'I'll hold point.' He smiled sadly.
'I thought you might want some company,' and her voice was almost childlike.
'What's your name, Marine?'
'Jenny McCrae, sir.'
'That's my girl's name too,' he said, a fatherly tone evident in his voice. 'She's with the Fourth Marine.'
He didn't want to think about that now. She was somewhere in the assault.
'I know, sir, we went through boot together. She was awfully proud of you.'
'Really? I wondered. I haven't seen her in years. Her mother and I . . .'
'I know, sir. It's all right though.'
They heard the door down the corridor burst open a thundering roar filling the corridor. He looked down at the chronometer ticking off on the bomb. A minute forty-five to go. The squad just might have made it back by now and gotten off.
I'll give them a few more seconds.
The first Cat turned the corridor and Jenny dropped him. And then a swarm of them came on. He started to slam his fist down on the firing button when a solid blow knocked him off his feet, slamming him against the bulkhead. He tried to get back up, barely seeing the Kilrathi Imperial Guard trooper closing in on him from behind.
The Cat fired again, stitching a burst across his chest and the world started to go warm and hazy.
He looked up and saw Jenny standing over him. She looked like his daughter, or was it his wife, or mother — filled with gentleness.
She looked at him, a smile lighting her innocent face, and then her fist slammed down on the ignitor.
Kevin Tolwyn flung his hand over his visor as a sun ignited before him.
They got it!
He knew he was getting dosed but he didn't care. Not now. The entire top forward half of the carrier was engulfed in the fireball, the lower and aft parts of the ship tumbling down from the shock of the explosion. The rest of the ship appeared to hold together for a brief instant and then fractured open, the engine cells igniting, the fireball racing outward. Another flash detonated to his right followed by half a dozen more. He guessed that two of them were cruisers, the others, he wasn't sure of.
But two more of them were heavy carriers! The glare of the explosions filled space across hundreds of cubic kilometers. His dose meter clicked off, beeping an alarm. He didn't care. He just didn't care anymore. They had finished the bastards.
He closed his eyes, feeling at peace.
Stunned, Prince Thrakhath turned his fighter around, looking back at his flagship as it blew apart, a dozen clicks behind him.
He knew that those on the deck had thought him a coward for leaving the ship, seeing through his excuse that he was going to personally lead the next wave into battle.
Well, they were dead now and he was still alive.
His heart filled with mad rage as more detonations let go, two more of his prized ships disappearing, and he howled with insane fury.
The explosions died away. He scanned through his tactical.
He still had one old carrier and Craxtha intact.
He punched into Craxtha's main channel and called in the commander of the ship obviously startled.
'We feared you were dead, my lord.'
'I was off ship, preparing to lead the next strike.'
'Sivar be praised. She guided you thus, my lord.'
'The status of your ship?'
'She is fully operational, my lord. We repelled all boarders — my fighters stopped them long before they closed.'
He could detect the pride in the commander, as if he were saying that the other ships were lost through negligence.
'Yes, of course, praise to Sivar. Order all heavy strike fighters from all ships to land on your carrier and rearm immediately for a killing strike on the enemy fleet. We will still win this action.'
The commander hesitated.
'We have reports of an incoming strike of enemy destroyers, my lord. And besides, you are talking about turning around over five hundred strike craft on this one ship
'Your ship is designed to handle that. Now pass the order. Let the remaining fighters and our escorts block the destroyers.'
'As you command, my lord.'
Thrakhath turned his fighter in towards Craxtha, which within minutes was surrounded by swarms of fighters who were lining up for recovery on the six launch bays.
Thrakhath cut into the front of the landing pattern and came in, touching down in the forward portside landing bay.
Inside the hangar deck was mass confusion, the bay crammed from one end to the other with fighters. Fuel lines were snaked across the deck, armaments lockers were open and torpedoes were being hoisted out. Crews struggled with long energy cables, hooking them into ships, recharging neutron guns, batteries, and shielding systems.
There was no semblance of order: pilots and ship crews from the other three heavy carriers milled about, most of them in obvious shock at the sudden reversal.
Thrakhath stepped out of his fighter and instantly the deck went silent.
'Keep working,' he snarled. 'We will still finish the scum before this day is done.'
He felt the ship start to heel over, the starfield outside the entry lock shifting. He could imagine the confusion this sudden maneuver was causing with the hundred or more fighters and strike craft still lined up for recovery. Angrily, he strode across the deck into the launch officer's operations office.
'Put the bridge on,' he thundered.
'What are you doing up there?' he shouted. 'We need to get these fighters in as soon as possible and turned around.'
'Five destroyers have broken through the inner screen and are coming straight in on us.'
'Enemy carrier turning away, sir.
'Keep on closing,' Mike said calmly.
He looked over at his helm officer and smiled.
'Just like the Battle of Leyte Gulf,' Mike said.
'I was thinking that,' the helm replied 'One of my illustrious ancestors commanded a cruiser there. We should have won that day.'
Mike nodded.
'Torpedo room.'
'Torpedo room, sir.'
'Have lock yet?'
'Twenty-two seconds and counting, sir.'
Mike looked back up at his tactical. Of the twelve destroyers in his squadron only four were left. There was a flash of light on his main visual and he realized he was down to three.
'Hell of a day to be a destroyer skipper,' and then he focused back on the enemy carrier, a dozen clicks ahead as it turned hard over, now presenting a full amidships shot and then started to present its stern.
