Jukaga lay back, wide-eyed, looking at the rest of the bridge crew. One of them tried to lunge for the firing panel and he dropped him and then two more. The two surviving bridge crew members stood still.
"You filthy traitor, Sivar will roast you in hell forever," one of them hissed.
Jukaga laughed softly. It was all such a wonderful joke, he realized. Just what was a traitor to a traitor, and who exactly had he betrayed? It was an interesting logic question to be certain.
He looked up at the main visual screen.
Earth actually did look beautiful; in a sense far more beautiful than Kilrah.
And then the explosion of the impacting torpedoes washed over him.
Stunned, Prince Thrakhath sat alone in the wardroom of the Craxtha's now dead commander.
The long range opticals showed the end of the drama. Their moon bases were totally shattered, but that was not the ultimate prize. Less than three eights antimatter warheads had hit Earth. The final wave of thermonuclears had never been launched.
He looked at the status reports of his losses. But one more carrier here and we could still press through to victory. But one more carrier.
All the if's started to play out in his mind. If only he had waited but five eights more days, he would have had his sixth ship, but Jukaga had to be contended with.
He looked back at the visual, glad at least that Jukaga was dead.
Another explosion shuddered through the ship and he held his breath, waiting. The explosion rumbled away.
A piping call sounded and he connected into the bridge. It was his chief navigation officer.
"Go on."
"Sir, your orders. With the engine speed we now have, we'll only be able to make it to the next jump point with less than four eights of minutes to spare ahead of those new ships coming up from Earth orbit."
Thrakhath nodded silently. They had at least crippled the human fleet: three of their five carriers gone, the third exploding only minutes ago, at least three more smashed at the moon base along with the construction yards and several eights of other ships. Nearly two eights of their major cities were now smoldering ruins. He could still pull back, his one remaining older carrier covering him, repair the damage sustained on his two surviving heavy carriers. His precious pilots would be brought back as well to fly once more off the new carriers still coming on line. If he stayed now, chances were good that they would finish this carrier off, and everything would be lost, including himself.
He looked back at the screen.
"Order the fleet to retreat," he hesitated. "The battle is over.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Geoff Tolwyn, in spite of his exhaustion, forced a smile as the shuttle craft door swung open. He walked forward, extending his hand as President Kruger, followed by Jason, Paladin, Doomsday and Richards, stepped down.
Kruger hesitated ever so briefly and then took Geoff's hand.
"Damn it all, Kruger, thank you."
"I'm rather surprised myself that I did it," Kruger said. "It was your young commodore there who just kept badgering me until finally, to shut him up, I said all right."
Geoff looked at the group and though he was afraid to ask he had to.
"Ian?"
Jason shook his head.
Geoff sighed and then came up to shake Jason's hand.
"How are you doing, sir?" Jason asked.
"A terrible day, Jason."
Jason hesitated and then finally asked.
"Kevin?"
"Missing in action," Geoff said quietly.
"He might still turn up, sir."
Geoff nodded, unable to reply.
Jason looked around at the smoke-filled flight deck.
"Looks like it was kind of rough here."
Geoff couldn't even reply. He had lost three carriers, Lexington finally succumbing to internal explosions, and over seventy percent of his pilots. First reports indicated that the Marines had suffered over ninety percent casualties. Duke Grecko was confirmed as dead, his landing craft crew telling what happened. As for the civilian pilots, their casualties were almost at one hundred percent. The primary bases on the moon were all gone, as were the drydock yards and three carriers hangared there. The casualties on Earth, he didn't even want to think about that. The only bright spot was that for some reason the Cats had not launched a wave of strontium clad thermonukes. England had been spared as well, though it seemed at the moment to be an almost selfish thing to think about.
Geoff led his guests down to his wardroom and without even asking, pulled out a bottle of single malt Scotch, six tumblers and poured out six very stiff drinks, draining the bottle dry.
"To our comrades," he said quietly, and they silently drank the toast.
Geoff settled back in his chair and looked around.
"If this is victory," Geoff finally said, "I sure as hell would hate to see defeat."
"You stopped the bloody Cats at least, sir," Jason replied. "Hell, three of their super carriers blown apart, more than half their best pilots gone, forty other ships crippled. I heard the report coming in that they're dumping fighters off their carrier as they retreat, not even enough room to haul them all out."
Geoff nodded, fighting an exhaustion that had all but robbed him of any ability to do anything beyond sitting in silence and staring.
"I heard about Polowski, sir," Doomsday said.
Geoff looked over at him. When he had ordered Mike in, he knew in his heart that Polowski would get his revenge and die doing it. If the Cats had miscalculated anything, it was that. They had pushed the intimidation a notch too far, and rather than terrorize it had aroused every pilot, spacer, and Marine in the fleet to a willingness to die rather than submit. He suspected that Jukaga had realized that but it was obvious that Thrakhath never would.
The war had changed, changed far from anything that either side had ever anticipated. The manipulation of the human desire for peace had backfired, their collective rage turning the enemy back, though at best it was a Pyrrhic victory.
The Cats still had
