'They can't all be free-for-alls, Flint,' he told her, glad of the interruption. He didn't like the depressing turn his thoughts were following.
'You really think this latest sighting's going to pan out? I'll lay you ten to one that freighter captain was drunk when he logged that sensor echo.'
The current reconnaissance effort had started after a report from a tramp space freighter of multiple sensor readings at the edge of his scan range two days back. It wasn't much to go on, but it was the only solid lead they had just now.
'No bet, Flint,' Blair said, checking his sensor screen as he spoke. 'I know better than to believe in elves, goblins, or reliable tramp skippers.'
'You want to know what I think, sir?' Flint said. 'I think some Kilrathi cap ships might've shown themselves to that freighter just to get us away from the colony. Know what I mean?'
'Any special reason, or are you just getting good at reading Kilrathi minds? I can get you a cushy job with Intelligence if you can tell what the cats are thinking.' Blair caught a flash on his sensor screen. 'Hold on . . . 'I'm reading contacts at two o'clock, low, outer ring. Check me.'
There was a pause before Flint responded. 'Yeah, I got them. Three . . . no, four bogies, inbound. And I don't think they're our buddies from Red Squadron.'
'Shuttle, power up and get the hell out of here,' Blair ordered, 'we'll cover your withdrawal. But keep in mind our guys will need a drink when they get back here, so don t go too far unless the bad guys break through us.'
'Roger that,' the shuttle pilot replied. Blair saw the twin flares as the boxy little craft accelerated away, gathering speed. 'We'll relay word to Victory, too.'
'Okay, Flint, let's welcome our guests,' Blair said, bringing the fighter around and firing up the engines. 'Keep close formation as long as possible, but remember the top priority is to screen the shuttle. You see somebody breaking past and heading his way, you nail the bastard, and don't stop to ask for permission.'
'Don't worry, Colonel,' she replied. 'I hardly ever ask permission anyway.'
'I read three targets, two fighters, the other . . . a utility vessel of some kind. It is moving off. The other two are turning our way.'
Flight Lieutenant Kavark nodded inside his bulky helmet. The report matched what his own sensors detected. His patrol, four Darket off the Imperial carrier Ras Nakhar, was near the end of its scheduled pattern when the targets suddenly appeared at the edge of their sensor range. He promptly ordered a course change to investigate.
'This confirms my readings,' he said. 'Target computer says the combatants are Thunderbolt class: heavy fighters. We have the advantage of numbers even though they are better armored than us.'
'Then the greater glory accrues to us for fighting them!' Flight Lieutenant Droghar responded eagerly. Kavark felt a surge of pride. The pilots in his section were warriors, one and all, and it only enhanced his honor to command them today . . . even if it was a hopeless fight. 'What of the other vessel?'
'It is an unarmed shuttle, of no importance. We may safely deal with it after the escort is defeated . . . if anyone feels the need for target practice.'
There were harsh laughs from the other three pilots. Kavark showed his fangs under his flight helmet, wondering briefly if any of them ever doubted their place in this war. 'Ghairahn, you may have the honor of the first challenge, if you wish.'
'Yes, Leader,' Ghairahn replied. He was a young pilot, newly assigned to the section, but a distant member of Kavark's Clan. This would be his chance to earn his first blood in combat. 'Thank you, Leader.'
'Remember the instructions. If the renegade is detected, we break off the action. There will be no arguments, no loss of honor.' Kavark paused. He knew they faced almost certain destruction by engaging, but honor demanded they fight. He would go through the motions, do all that was expected of him . . . embrace death with talons unsheathed, if that was what Sivar, the War God, demanded. 'Now . . . for the glory of the Empire and the honor of Kilrah . . . attack!'
He forced himself to bare his fangs again in a savage smile as Ghairahn's Darket fighter broke formation and accelerated toward the enemy.
'Here they come!'
The first Darket was at maximum thrust, bare seconds away from the Thunderbolt's weapon range. A second fighter supported close behind, but the other two, true to Kilrathi practice, had not yet broken their formation to join the battle. This gave the Terran pilots a brief advantage, since a Darket was no match for a Thunderbolt in a stand-up, one-on-one fight.
They made use of this advantage quickly. To cripple or destroy the first two fighters before the other Kilrathi ships joined the fray was the plan. If the enemy started swarming around either Terran ship with superior numbers, the odds could quickly turn against Blair and Flint.
Energy weapons blazing, the lead Darket dived directly toward Blair, not even trying to use evasive tactics. The pilot was either very confident or very inexperienced, Blair thought. He held off returning fire. Instead, he kept a target lock on the Darket while allowing it to approach so he could achieve the maximum effect from his weaponry.
'For the honor of my noble race,' a computer-generated voice translated the Kilrathi pilot's radio call. 'My claws shall grasp your throat today, human.'
Blair didn't respond. He watched the Darket streak in, keeping one eye on the shield readouts. His forward screen took the full brunt of the Kilrathi attack, and the power level was dropping fast . . . maybe too fast. He rolled sideways, killing his forward speed with a hard reverse thrust that wrenched his gut. As the fighter slowed, he used his maneuvering thrusters to put the fighter into a fast spin just as the Darket, surprised by the maneuver, darted past with weapons now probing uselessly into space.
For a few brief moments, the Kilrathi's vulnerable stern was visible in Blair's sights. Smiling grimly, he powered up his engines again and opened fire with full blasters, adding a heat-seeking missile for good measure. 'Curl your claws around this, furball,' he said.
The volley cracked the Imperial fighter's rear shields and the missile flew right up the tailpipe. It exploded, and the fighter came apart in a spectacular ball of raw energy.
'You really nailed him, Colonel,' Flint said. 'Now it's my turn . . .'
She drove her Thunderbolt right into the guns of the second Darket, ignoring the withering fire her opponent was laying down. A moment later she spoke again. 'Bye bye, kitty,' she said. Missiles and beams leapt from her fighter's underbelly, and the Darket went up in a second brilliant fireball that momentarily dimmed the stars. 'Never mess with a gal on her home turf! That makes nineteen, Davie . . . and more to follow!'
