Kavark watched he destruction of Ghairahn's fighter with a curious lack of emotion, showing neither anger nor blood lust, nor even pride in the warrior's sacrifice. The second Darket's loss was the same; just another statistic in the long fight against the ape-spawn humans.
Sometimes it seemed that the conflict would go on forever. Once it seemed a great thing, a glorious thing, to venture forth in battle for the glory of Empire and Emperor and Clan. But the fighting continued endlessly, and though the Kilrathi had the advantage of numbers and sheer combat firepower, somehow the apes always managed to move from the brink of defeat to rally and overcome the Emperor's forces. The Terran spirit embodied a refusal to give in despite overwhelming odds. And their warriors, though outnumbered and outgunned, were superb fighters.
'We must attack, Leader,' urged his surviving pilot, Kurthag. He never doubted. He saw everything in black and white, honor against dishonor, victory against death.
'No, Kurthag,' Kavark said. 'One of us must report to the Fleet. They must know where the Terrans are operating.'
'I will fight, Leader, while you withdraw . . .'
'Sharvath!' Kavark snarled. 'Would you have me abandon honor? I command here. Mine is the honor of battle!'
There was a long pause. 'Yes . . . Leader,' Kurthag said at last. 'I obey . . . despite the dishonor.'
'The warrior who obeys can never be dishonored,' Kavark told him, quoting from the famous words of the Emperor Joor'ath. 'Now, go. And . . . tell my mate my last battle song will be of her.'
He cut the channel and changed course to place his fighter between the Terrans and Kurthag's craft.
Sometimes the only way to deal with doubts was to face them . . . no matter what the price.
'They're splitting up,' Blair said, studying his sensor screen. 'One of them is making a run for it. Why is this other idiot sticking around? Doesn't he know he's no match for two heavy fighters?'
'Who knows what a cats thinking?' Flint said sounding distracted. 'Let's get him before he changes his mind! ''
'On my wing, Lieutenant. We'll take down this baby by the book . . .' Blair continued to study the screen as he spoke. If that Kilrathi fighter was heading for home, maybe he'd be able to lead the Terrans to the missing Imperial fleet. Assuming they could track him somehow . . .
'I can get the one who's running, Colonel,' Flint announced suddenly. 'Going to afterburners. I'll be back before you finish toasting the dumb one.'
She suited actions to words before he could respond, her fighter streaking away at maximum thrust. Blair wanted to call her back, but at that moment the remaining Darket opened fire and accelerated toward him. There was no time to remonstrate with his headstrong wingman now.
He looped into a reciprocal course, trying to keep his sights framed on the Kilrathi, but this pilot was no hotheaded amateur. His maneuvers were unpredictable, and he knew just how to get the most out of his fighter..
The combination was dangerous, even in an uneven matchup like this one. Before Blair could line up a shot, the Darket pulled a tight turn and passed directly under his port wing, blasters firing. None of the hits pierced the shield, but they weakened it. Then the Darket turned away to avoid the arc of the Thunderbolt's rear turret.
Blair turned again at maximum thrust, the G-force pressing him firmly into his seat. The enemy ship appeared on his HUD again, and he tried to center the targeting reticule on the fighter despite the Kilrathi pilot's evasive action. But the other pilot seemed to anticipate his every move, weaving in under him a second time, unloading a full volley of beams and missiles against the same weakened spot.
A red light flashed on his console. 'Burn-through, port shield. Armor damage. Structural fatigue at ten percent.' The computer's flat, unemotional report was incongruous, and Blair didn't know if he wanted to scream or laugh.
The Kilrathi fighter spun in a tight turn and started another run. 'Not this time, my friend,' Blair muttered under his breath.
The weakness on the port side of the Thunderbolt would be a real danger now; another good hit in the same area could seriously damage the fighter. Ironically, it gave Blair an opportunity. There was little doubt as to what the Kilrathi pilot would do this time. He would be drawn to repeat that same attack a third time . . .
Blair initiated a turn before the attack developed, letting his nose swing down and left. The enemy pilot opened fire, but the shots caught the forward shields, not the port side. Simultaneously, Blair triggered his own weapons, and the Kilrathi ship flew right into the firing arc. A pair of missile launches exhausted Blair's stocks, but they were sufficient.
The pilot had time for one last transmission before the end. 'There must be . . . something more . . . than Death without end . . .'
And then the fighter was gone.
Blair scrambled from the cockpit as soon as the environmental systems in the hangar were restored, brushing past the technicians and ignoring Rachel's grinning 'Looks like you took a real pounding out there' comment. Seething, he crossed to Flint's fighter and waited for the woman to come down.
By the time he'd dealt with the Darket, Flint had already engaged the fleeing ship. She had dealt with it quickly and competently, taking none of the damage Blair had suffered in his engagement. Her target had turned into expanding gases in a matter of seconds.
Before Blair could read her the riot act, though, the shuttle had returned, and the sensors registered the approach of the four Hellcats on the return leg of their patrol. He refused to dress down another pilot over an open channel. But all the way back. his anger had been building. Flint had blown their best chance to track the enemy.
She let go of the ladder halfway down and dropped to the deck beside him, pulling off her flight helmet to reveal a grin. 'Score's twenty now, Colonel,' she said. 'Davie'll have his escort soon enough.'
'Only if you're flying, Lieutenant,' he said, his voice low but harsh. 'And I'm not sure how long that's going to be, after what I saw out there today.'
'But —'
'You talk when I say you can talk, Lieutenant,' he cut her off. 'First you listen. I gave you a direct order to stay on my wing when I engaged that second Darket. Instead, you went charging after the other one. I expect that kind of attitude from Maniac or even a rookie like Flash but not from the pilot I pick as my wingman.'
'But, Colonel, you didn't need me to deal with a Darket,' she protested, looking stricken, 'and I was able to make it a clean sweep.'
'A clean sweep,' he repeated. 'That's what it was, all right. Of course, if there had been one survivor running for cover we might have been able to lie back at extreme sensor range and track him back to his mother ship. Maybe we'd find the whole damned Kilrathi fleet. But a clean sweep . . . that's certainly worth passing up a result like that for, isn't it?'
She took a step back. 'Oh, God . . . Colonel, I never thought . . .'
'No, you didn't,' he said. 'You never thought. Well, Lieutenant, think about this. Intelligence thinks the cats
