back at tactical.
     Kruger  was  moving  straight away from  the  engagement,  heading back
towards the Hell Hole.
     "Get me Kruger," Jason snapped.
     The old man's image reappeared, looking annoyed.
     "Let's finish em, sir, he's crippled."
     "We  killed one,  we crippled another  and  lost  one  escort,"  Kruger
snapped. "Go back  and we'll  lose the rest of our escorts just to finish  a
kill. We  want him  crippled. They'll have to protect him.  Bondarevsky, I'm
breaking  the  engagement. We got what we wanted, they'll run for  home now.
Hell Hole is still under bombardment and that's our main priority now.'
     "Aye, sir."
     The image winked off.
     Jason took  a deep breath, realizing that the  excitement of the charge
and the lust of battle had clouded his judgment
     "Belay helm over, lock on Blitzkreig and follow."
     He  could see that some of his crew were disappointed while others took
a sigh of relief
     "Damn  good, I'm  proud of all of you," he  announced  and then settled
back into his command chair.
     He looked up at the chronometer.
     It was less than six minutes since they had jumped through, undoubtedly
one of the shortest fleet actions in history. Kruger had  lived up to  form,
shattering  an  invasion, killing  a  carrier, and crippling another. He had
certainly taken them in harm's way.
     The question now was, what would Kruger do next?

     "Signal all fighters, return to your ships for recovery."
     Admiral Tolwyn stood silently, watching the display screen.
     It had been a standoff for more than a day. They had met the four enemy
carriers just  inside  the Warsaw  system, his fleet and theirs  arriving at
opposite jump points almost simultaneously.
     He had raced to cover Warsaw but  the  Kilrathi carriers had held back,
staying close to the jump point.
     The question had been whether to close and engage, or wait. It could be
that they were holding at the edge of the jump point, waiting to lure him in
and then the main Kilrathi fleet would jump through. A listening post inside
the next system had managed  to get  out a brief burst signal, reporting the
transit of more than thirty  escort  ships and then  had  gone  off line. It
could  only mean that  the  main  fleet  was  coming up fast. Yet if  he did
advance and close for action there was a chance to meet the  enemy  three on
four, with the possible edge that the pilots aboard the enemy ships were not
their first line Guard fighters.
     He had opted for  action,  but with the stipulation  that  his carriers
would not close within ten million clicks and engage at long range only with
fighters.
     The action had  been inconclusive throughout  the day, with the loss of
thirty-eight fighters  in  exchange for two hits on a carrier with  moderate
damage, and three  enemy frigates destroyed  in return for one hit on Moskva
and a destroyer lost.
     But  now  there was no  longer a  question  as  to  Prince  Thrakhath's
strategy. He was indeed coming straight on.
     For the last hour, the jump point covered by the carriers had disgorged
destroyers, frigates, fuel tankers,  and  supply ships. And now at last  the
first of the new carriers had emerged.
     His intelligence officer passed up a  continual stream of  reports, the
hazy  images  from Paladin's recon scan, replaced now  by clear optical  and
radar  images passed up by light Ferret recon fighters moving back  from the
edge of the fleet.
     Tolwyn continued to pull back, his fighters coming in to land, a screen
of escort  ships  guarding  the sterns of the carriers from  enemy fighters,
while dropping out a spray of porcupine mines to slow the relentless advance
of the enemy fleet.
     A fourth carrier appeared and then  a fifth,  each  of  them identical,
each of them terrifying.
     "Sir, we are receiving a hailing from the Kilrathi fleet.
     "What?"
     The communications officer looked back  at his console for a moment and
then turned again to Tolwyn.
     "Confirmed,  sir. It's  an in  the  clear translight  signal from their
fleet."
     "I'll take it in my office."
     He left  the bridge and stepped  into his wardroom. He  spared a  quick
glance at a mirror. The circles under his eyes would tell of  his exhaustion
but there was no helping it.
     He settled into his chair and punched the holo screen to life.
     "Go ahead, comm, patch it in."
     The image of Baron Jukaga appeared.
     "Ah,  Admiral Tolwyn,  our intelligence reports  said that  you were in
command of Third Fleet. My congratulations on your promotion. We have always
admired  you  as  perhaps   the  best  of   the  fighting  admirals  of  the
Confederation."
     "What do you want, Baron?" Geoff replied coldly.
     "Your surrender."
     "I'm a  military  man, not a  diplomat, Baron.  Direct your inquiry  to
President  Quinson.  I'm  sure he  will  tell  you  to  go perform a certain
impossible anatomical act."
     The Baron chuckled.
     "You humans and your sexual  obsession. So strange, we must discuss the
differences some time. But I am asking a military question, Admiral. I'm not
demanding the surrender of your Confederation, merely your fleet."
     Geoff replied with what he assumed the President would have said.
     "Such crudity, Admiral  it's not becoming of one  of your  breeding and
education. You and I are alike in our  study of human warfare. It  creates a
bond between the two of us, a bond I should add that I feel is even stronger
towards you than to many of my  own species. It would  be distressing to see
you defeated and dead."
     "You assume too much,  Baron. Do  not worry about my death until it  is
accomplished, but instead worry about your own.
     "Touché. But come, can't we reason this disagreement out?"
     Geoff laughed coldly.
     "My government was  stupid enough to believe you once. It'll be a  very
cold day in  hell before we believe you again. This  time the fight's to the
death, no quarter asked or expected."
     "A shame you put it that way."
     "No, I want it that way, Geoff  snarled, angry with himself that he was
losing his temper.  "You  murdered my  closest friends  in your bomb plot. I
heard as well  about your attempt on the Emperor.  I'm surprised they didn't
rip your guts out for that, you utak."
     He deliberately  chose the  Kilrathi word used  to describe the  lowest
caste  member of Kilrah society, the cleaners of privy  pits for fertilizer,
one considered  so untouchable that it was  a defilement if  his shadow even
touched the shadow of anyone of a higher class.
     He could see that the word caused Jukaga to bristle.
     "I'm surprised the Emperor  even  allowed one such as you to live. I've
heard  that assassination is all  but unknown in your  society. It seems you
learned it from  us. You know nothing of us. You learned but  the  worst and
learned none of  the best. You  are beneath the contempt of both my race and
yours.
     He noticed a change in Jukaga's demeanor and his image disappeared.
     "Communications, what's going on?"
     "Signal shifted, sir, coming back in, on a fleet scramble line."
     Jukaga's image reappeared on the screen
     "I  feel more comfortable  now, Admiral, talking without anyone able to
listen in on my side for the next several minutes. May I have your agreement
that this conversation will be kept strictly between us?"
     "I can't promise that," Geoff replied.
     "Then at least do not let it be shared with my own people. I've managed
to have the signal scrambled from here but soon it might be compromised."
     "I agree then, it will not get back to your side."
     "We don't have  much  time  to  talk,  Admiral. I want  to give  you  a
warning. I was supposed to do this anyhow  but I want you to understand that
my concern in this is genuine."
     "Go on then."
     "If you do not surrender your fleet, Prince Thrakhath has declared that
this  shall  be a  war  of  gatagak'vu.  How  do  you  say, a war  of  total
eradication."
     Geoff felt a cold chill.
     "Has it not always been thus?" he finally ventured.
     "No.  This  is  different. He will not  only slaughter everyone  — man,
woman and  child,  but  he will also  slaughter the very worlds  you live on
through the use of high radiation doses. Nothing will be left, nothing. Your
home, your Earth, with all its long  history,  will  be dead, uninhabitable,
lifeless."
     His words trailed  off and Geoff  was startled to realize that Jukaga's
voice was filled with remorse.
     "You wanted us destroyed, enslaved, why your concern now?" Geoff asked.
     Jukaga smiled and shook his head.
     "That is not your concern,  Admiral  Tolwyn,  only my  own. I therefore
implore  you. Surrender. If you do, I will ensure that you and your warriors
are treated with honor, that your Earth will continue to live."
     "Better to die as free men then live as slaves," Geoff replied coldly.
     Jukaga nodded, a smile lighting his features.
     "As any true warrior would reply, he said quietly, "as I knew you would
reply."
     "Then there's nothing more to be said."
     "I  have been  told to  advise you  that  you have twenty  four of your
standard minutes to reply. If  not, the planet you call Warsaw will cease to
live.
     "Go ahead and  do it now,"  Geoff replied coldly, "but  by  God, Baron,
tell Thrakhath that if he does, there'll come a day when we'll come back. If
it  takes a  hundred years, we'll come  back and we'll watch Kilrah  as it's
burned to ashes."
     "Good-bye, Admiral," Jukaga said quietly and  he started to reach  over
to switch off his screen. He paused and looked back up.
     "I'm sorry," and then his image disappeared.
     Shaken, Geoff sat back in his  chair.  He had just  condemned more than
twenty million to death
     "God help me," he  whispered  and  he  lowered  his head for  a moment,
offering a silent prayer for forgiveness and strength.
     He stood back up finally and went back out on the bridge.
     "Warsaw,  now  five  million  clicks  astern  sir,"  the  helm  officer
announced.
     "Make course back towards Sirius,  order destroyer squadron three."  He
paused. "No, make that squadron two, to form rear guard using maneuver delta
for delaying action."
     He settled into  his  command  chair, watching the tactical.  The enemy
carriers,  masked by more than a hundred escorts, continued their relentless
move  forward,  while  one  of the  older carriers,  escorted by  a  cruiser
squadron, broke away, turning towards Warsaw.
     "Get me Mike Polowski on laser link," Geoff said quietly.
     Seconds  later the  commander  of squadron three appeared  on the  holo
screen.  Geoff  felt as if  the commodore  were  in  the room with him.  His
features were pale, jaw quivering.
     "I've got bad news for you, Mike."
     "I can see it, Geoff."
     "I'm sorry. They demanded the surrender of the fleet. If we didn't they
said they'd hit your home world."
     Mike lowered his head
     "You did  what you had to do, Geoff. God help me, I would have done the
same. Anything else, sir?"
     "It's going to be bad,  Mike. They're going to radiation-bombard  it as
well, killing the planet and everything on it.
     Mike's jaw started to tremble  and he turned away from the screen for a
moment and then finally looked back, his eyes filled with anguish.
     "Why? It's not even a military target."
     "To make an example of what's to come."
     Mike stood silently, unable to speak.
     "I'm sorry, Mike."
     Polowski nodded silently and then his image winked off.
     "Give  me  full optical power  on Warsaw,  patch in  to their planetary
defense."
     The orbital base commander appeared  on the  side screen, while optical
locked on the  planet. It  still looked  peaceful, an  illusion  since  with
visual scan it now took more than two minutes for the image to reach him.
     "White Wolf, this  is Warsaw defense. We are under attack. As  per your
orders,  primary station  has  been  abandoned.  Civilian  population are in
shelters. All ground to space missiles have been expended.
     "White Wolf, this is  Warsaw defense.  We have  high speed incoming! We
have . . ."
     The image snapped off.
     Geoff  watched the optical scan in silence, and then  the first blossom
of light  snapped  across the  northern  continent's surface.  Seconds later
hundreds of snaps of light erupted, blanketing the continent. the snake-like
chain of islands in the southern hemisphere erupting as well.
     "We are picking up thermonuclear air bursts in the five hundred megaton
range.  The  nukes  are  emitting  strontium  ninety," the tactical  officer
announced, her voice hard-edged with rage.
     "The bastards," Geoff whispered, "the damn bastards."
     It  had  gone even  beyond genocide.  The planet was seeded with enough
strontium 90  to wipe out the entire biosphere. The Kilrathi were destroying
an entire planet simply as a demonstration of what was to come.

     "I  know  why you're here,  Captain, excuse me,  I think I  made  you a
Commodore. Anyhow, Commodore, you're wasting your time."
     Without even waiting for an invitation Jason went over  to the refridge
in Kruger's wardroom, pulled out a container of beer and popped it open.
     "Help yourself," Kruger said quietly and then paused, "you deserve it."
     "You did well out there," Jason replied.
     "Not  good enough," and Kruger motioned  to a flat screen projecting an
image from a drone probe that was circling above  the main airfield and town
on the Hell Hole, at least what was left of it.
     "Four  antimatter warheads and one  thermonuclear  airburst loaded with
strontium ninety. The world's a write-off."
     "The bastards," Jason hissed, looking at the radiation read-outs. There
had been an unwritten and unspoken agreement between the two sides since the
start of the  war, that no matter how  grim the conflict was, the deliberate
destruction of life-bearing capability of a planet was beyond the limits. It
had  been in part a self-serving  rule for both sides,  for both sides hoped
for ultimate victory and with it the worlds inhabited by their foes.
     "We  just got  this burst signal from the Confeds," and he switched the
screen.
     It was an official government news service report on the opening action
in the Warsaw system  and Jason watched, seething with  rage as  an  optical
scan showed the  annihilation  of Warsaw. The report finished with a  demand
from Baron Jukaga, delivered in the most sincere of voices, as if he were on
the human side of the  conflict,  calling for an end  to hostilities through
the surrender of the Third Fleet.  The  closing  comment came from President
Quinson,  a  wonderfully  crude  response, delivered before a  packed Senate
meeting, and as he said the words the Senate came to its feet, roaring their
support.
     "I actually rather like Quinson," Kruger said, turning the  screen off.
"Too bad he's going to get his ass kicked."
     "At least he'll go down fighting."
     "A gallant gesture but useless in the end, ‘ Kruger said quietly.
     Jason spared a look over at the holo tactical display.
     "The Cats have pulled back?"
     "Into  the next  system already. I've got  a squadron of  destroyers in
pursuit.  They're  circled  around the  crippled  carrier like a  wolf  pack
defending its  pups.  Just what I wanted,  they're shaken and are  afraid of
losing a second carrier.
     "Now what?"
     "Ah, what you came to hear."
     Jason nodded.
     "Stay here. The bastards will be back. We know where seven of their old
carriers are now, rather six, thanks to the kill  your pilots helped put in.
That  still leaves at least ten unaccounted for.  They  might  hit  us  from
another direction at any moment."
     Kruger paused and looked up at Jason.
     "Go on, I'm expecting to hear it.  Even old Richards  on that frigate I
gave him is mumbling about it."
     "Head for  Sirius or Earth.  Look, I'll  admit when  I first got here I
didn't think  much of your Landreich fleet and pilots. But by God I'll admit
it now, they're the best I've ever seen. Brave to the point of suicidal."
     "Sometimes I  even  have  to ask  that,"  Kruger  replied  quietly.  "A
trade-off of a couple of lives for many."
     "They might help tip the scale."
     "First of all, action will be joined there by then."
     Jason nodded.
     "But it still might be going on and we could help."
     "And while I go  running off what  about my own people out here? You're
proposing  that  I leave  the  planets  and orbital colonies  of  my  system
defenseless and go riding off  to help the Confederation? Your Confederation
was  willing  to write us off thirty years back, and they did it again  this
time. Why the hell should I care?"
     "Because the Confederation needs  you, needs  your leadership and  your
pilots."
     Kruger snorted with disdain.
     "Oh, solidarity of race against the Cats, is that your next pitch?"
     "I knew that  wouldn't  work," Jason  replied. "But you know  damn well
that when Earth and the inner worlds  fall it's  finished. What happened  to
Warsaw  will happen to them. The Kilrathi are on a  killing frenzy and  they
won't stop. They've levered  the war up another notch. When  they're done in
there, they'll come out here and  follow you and your people no matter where
you flee."
     Kruger  said nothing, as if having heard the  argument  too  many times
before.
     "So you won't go?"
     "You guessed it."
     "Will you release me and  my  people, give  us at least  Tarawa to head
back?"
     "No."
     Jason had already calculated the chance of doing a Kruger on Kruger, of
hijacking  his carrier out  of  the  fleet and knew  it  was impossible  and
useless. Nearly all the pilots and over half his crew were Landreich. Kruger
had  shrewdly  made  sure  that  none  of  the carriers  had  a majority  of
Confederation crews on board.
     "You  just  can t forgive, can you?"  Jason asked coldly. "Thirty years
ago the Confederation made a mistake and I'd  admit you made the right  move
in response. You know enough about me to know I did the same thing.  I led a
mutiny against an officer who ordered us to murder Kilrathi civilians and it
would have destroyed my career if it hadn't been for Admiral Tolwyn.
     "I  went  through  hell  because  of  that,  but  I  never  blamed  the
Confederation.  I blamed  the  bastard who forced me  to mutiny. For  thirty
years you ve  been carrying a grudge and because of your damned stupid blind
pride you'll condemn humanity to death.
     "I'm not  going  to mutiny against you, Kruger, but  when the  Kilrathi
finish with you, if I'm still alive, I'll spit on whatever is left of you."
     Without waiting for a reply Jason Bondarevsky  stormed out of President
Kruger's office.


        CHAPTER TWELVE


     The two inhabited worlds of Sirius glimmered in the aft screen, showing
themselves  as two  pale green  points  of  light in the  middle of the holo
display of the system. Geoff jacked up the magnification  level of  the holo
and the further of  the two planets disappeared. On the far side of the holo
display  a  nearly solid swarm of red  blips  were  arrayed  in  five  large
clusters. Hundreds  of  smaller  red lights,  Kilrathi  strike fighters  and
interceptors,  were moving ahead, coming  straight  in  at his own thin blue
line,  behind  which were positioned  four  large  blue  dots. In the middle
region of space between the two groups, two V wedges of small blue dots were
aiming straight in at the heart of the enemy fleet.
     "Strike  forces  crossing into  Kilrathi  controlled  space,"  a  voice
whispered.
     The Combat  Information  Center,  buried in  the heart of Concordia was
almost like a tomb, encased in  a double layering of  durasteel, illuminated
by soft diffused light and the  shimmer of holo  displays and  flat screens.
Outside a battle was raging, in  here, where the  decisions were being made,
the  cool professionalism of his staff made it seem almost like an exercise.
Yet, as he spared a glance from the holo and looked around the room he could
see the grim determination. After retreating through three star systems, and
impotently  witnessing the annihilation of the worlds he had been  forced to
abandon, Geoff Tolwyn  had finally  turned his  fleet  about.  The Battle of
Sirius had begun.

     "Blue Squadron, this is Lone Wolf. Close it  up. Remember,  we want the
big ones, nothing else, so cover your Broadswords."
     "Lone Wolf, this is Round Top, read me?"
     Kevin Tolwyn smiled; it was his old comrade from the Tarawa days.
     "Where are you, Chamberlain?"
     "Right above you in Broadsword Two off Moskva, so be  sure to cover  my
butt, son, while I win the glory.
     "With you all the way, Round Top."
     Kevin tightened the  grip  on  his  joystick,  his  Rapier  G  jiggling
slightly  from  his nervous hold on the stick. It was certainly  the biggest
strike group  he  had  ever flown  with,  more  than two hundred  and  fifty
fighters  and attack bombers  launched from four  carriers. The  extra fifty
heavy strike  craft from Saratoga were  missed,  the  carrier  still  half a
system away  with a main  engine fuel pump acting up. Two hundred and eighty
fighters were being held in reserve as protection for the fleet carriers and
as a second strike wave.
     Kevin  looked  down  at  his  tactical  display.  Straight   ahead  the
individual blips of  enemy fighters, corvettes, frigates  and destroyers had
merged into a solid wall of red.
     He clicked into  a side band to the main  fleet  communications line. A
real  time  image  of  Gilead,  the  second  inhabited  planet,   was  being
transferred out to the fleet even while the battle was about to be joined.
     He  was  past  the  point of rage. The planet  flickered on his screen,
bursts of five hundred megaton  thermonuclear warheads, clad with strontium,
detonating high  up in the atmosphere,  destroying  yet  another world.  The
image winked off, replaced by his uncle.
     "This is Tolwyn. Good luck to all of you and good hunting."
     The image winked off and Kevin smile. Typical Brit understatement.
     The  forward  edge of Rapiers,  Raptors,  Ferrets  and Hornets, running
ahead  of the  attack  wave, slammed into the  opposing wall  of  opposition
defending the Kilrathi heavy carriers
     From out of  the  red wall  dozens  of  blinking orange dots  appeared,
aiming straight in at the attack force.
     "All right,  Blue team,  we've got incoming antimatter area strike, the
strike leader announced. "Let's bring'em up."
     The strike force diverted from its straight in approach, turning  up at
a  ninety degree angle relative to the orbital  plane of the  Sirius system.
The  area bombardment missiles started to turn to follow, the range closing.
The first one winked into a white hot ball, dozens more detonating, catching
half a dozen fighters at the back of the strike.
     The squadrons nosed back over, following the  strike commander, slicing
in through  the explosions, and  as  they  came  out the opposite side,  the
Kilrathi fighters were upon them.
     Kevin  fought down  a moment of panic.  The  largest action he had ever
been in  was  at Munro,  a cakewalk attack on one carrier. Even  the Academy
holo simulators had never  been  programmed to  handle  the number  of enemy
fighters now coming in on him.
     It was impossible to sort out which target to lock on. Hundreds of IFFs
streaked across space and within seconds dozens of ships on  both sides were
exploding. The Broadsword and Sabre gunners sent out sprays of shot in every
direction as wing group size attack waves by  the Kilrathi came in. The four
light  corvettes escorting the attack dropped  out sprays of chaff, jammers,
and flares.  The  first wave passed and Kevin, ashamed, realized  he had not
fired even a shot.
     He looked up at the Broadswords he was escorting. One was gone, another
turning  out  of  formation,  spinning,  its  port  engine blown  apart, its
starboard engine apparently jammed  at full  throttle. Its  crew ejected and
the ship spun away, exploding seconds later.
     From out of the confusion a wave of Dralthi, Krants, and Gratha, flying
nearly wing tip to wing tip, came sweeping in, forward cannons firing.
     "Blue three, there's our Cats. Let's break ‘em up."
     He edged his throttle forward, leaping ahead of the Broadswords, lining
up on  the  lead Dralthi  and putting a dumb  fire  bolt  straight  into the
furballs'  canopy, blowing the  top of the enemy fighter  apart.  The  enemy
attack broke apart,  three Dralthi dead, and Kevin came  around, seeing that
his number three man was gone. There wasn't even time to ask.
     "Keep  moving  in,  close in maneuvering scoops," the  strike commander
called. "We want the carriers!"
     Kevin  swallowed hard, passing  the order on  to  his squadron,  and he
closed scoops in.
     It was no longer possible to  pull the tight-in maneuvers. It was going
to be a straight in high speed run.
     Blasts snapped  around him, missiles  detonating, his number five pilot
ejecting from her fighter as it crumpled up in a ball of flame.
     He  pulled  in close  under  the  bellies  of  the  Broadswords  he was
escorting.
     The  outer  row of  enemy  picket  ships was  straight ahead and  their
barrage  opened up,  two of the escorting corvettes taking multiple hits and
disappearing.  As  they  shot  through  the line  of Kilrathi  frigates  and
destroyers,  more than  a  hundred missiles  were dropped  by  the furballs,
slashing into the  squadrons, the two  remaining corvettes blowing  out more
sprays of chaff, jammers, and  flares. The  curtain of distractors  diverted
most of the  missiles, but  enough found their  mark and more than two dozen
Confederation fighters and bombers were gone.
     Kevin pulled open his visor and wiped the stinging sweat from his eyes.
His back was soaked with sweat,  the suit coolant unable to evaporate it off
fast enough. His mouth felt dry, as if he had swallowed a ball of cotton and
he  suddenly understood why Ian had developed the revolting habit of chewing
on an old cigar while in a tight spot.
     Straight ahead on his tactical  were five  large clusters of red. He no
longer needed  to  use the screen. Even from extreme range he could  already
pick out a thin sliver of reflected light.
     "Bombardment groups  one  and two, take  center  carrier,"  the  strike
commander  announced,  and Kevin  could  see  on  the  comm  screen that the
leader's ship had been hit,  smoke in the cockpit making him barely visible,
"three  and four  carrier  to port,  five and six  to starboard. Range  nine
hundred   clicks,   open   maneuvering  scoops,   full  reverse  thrust  for
deceleration in ten seconds."
     "Got that, Lone Wolf?"
     "Straight in we  go,  Round Top.  Make  it  a good  one,  buddy," Kevin
replied.
     "Nothing less will do."
     "Three, two, one, decelerate!"
     Kevin pulled  his maneuvering  scoops wide open and slammed in  reverse
thrust, instantly slowing his fighter, which shuddered to a near stand still
less than fifty clicks out from their target.
     A swarm of Kilrathi fighters closed in on them.
     There was  a flash  of light forward  off  the carrier's bow  and Kevin
realized that  someone, driven by rage, had  simply tried to  ram  the enemy
ship. Such a maneuver at full closing speed was  nearly impossible to do and
the fighter had deflected off the side of the carrier's heavy shields.
     "I've  got initial torpedo lock," Round Top announced, "and counting at
thirty, twenty nine . . ." The other strike craft that  Kevin was protecting
joined in with their own announcements of initial lock.
     They  slowly drifted  in towards their target and Kevin felt as  if his
heart were wrapped in ice. The ship was massive, more than twice the size of
any  carrier  he had  ever seen before.  He could barely  spare it a glance,
however, as hundreds of enemy fighters swarmed in upon them.
     Within seconds he had lost the rest of his squadron in the mad melee as
he twisted and turned his  fighter, struggling to stay alive  while  at  the
same time desperately attempting to cover the Broadswords  as they hung near
motionless, waiting for their torpedoes to gain full lock.
     Broadsword after Broadsword disappeared in white-hot  explosions. Three
Krants lined  in on  Round Top,  his  countdown  still  echoing  in  Kevin's
headphones as he weaved into them, crippling one with a dumb-fired flechette
spray, and destroying a second  with a  stream of neutron bolts cutting into
the fighter's engine mounts.
     The third stitched a flurry of rounds across the portside gun turret of
Round Top's ship,  and Kevin caught a glimpse of the gunner's body shredding
to pieces, his canopy bursting into shards from the strike.
     "Keep ‘em off me," Round Top shouted. "Ten seconds and counting."
     The strike squadron had drifted to within eight  clicks of  the carrier
and what appeared to  be a  solid wall of mass driver rounds snaked out from
the  ship's bow, blowing three more Broadswords  apart. Kevin struggled with
his  stick  as a  shudder  ran  through  his  fighter,  starboard  shielding
overloading and a laser hit sheered of the last meter of his wingtip.
     He turned inside the  laser  beam,  blowing  out reflective chaff which
temporarily  blinded  the laser's target lock, the  beam skewing  across his
bow, cutting a gouge into the forward durasteel armor.
     "Three, two, one, it's away!"
     The fifteen surviving Broadswords out of the thirty in the strike group
launched  their torpedo loads.  Round Top,  along  with  half the  remaining
ships,  were armed  with the laser lock  guidance  and they  turned  upwards
making sure that the laser emitters were pointed at the torpedoes.
     The space between  the attacking fighters and the  carriers turned into
an insane  explosion of anti-torpedo missiles, dogfighting  ships, and point
defense blasts from the Kilrathi carrier.
     "We've got lock, we've got holding lock," Round Top shouted.
     Kevin turned his fighter to circle around Round Top and saw yet another
swarm  of Kilrathi fighters  cutting in, dropping a wall  of missiles on the
surviving Broadswords.
     "Round Top, evasive, evasive!"
     "Can't! We still have lock, three seconds, two, one . . ."
     Kevin screamed with  rage as five  missiles detonated across the top of
his friend's Broadsword. The ship simply disappeared.
     From  off his portside wing he  saw  four  torpedoes  impacting on  the
carrier's bow. In the silence of space it seemed some  how  surreal, as if a
holo movie was being played out. For a brief instant the carrier disappeared
behind the  exploding  curtain  of  antimatter warheads. He waited  for  the
secondary explosions to begin.
     "Scratch one flattop," someone screamed on the commlink. "We've got the
bastard!"
     And as he waited, the carrier emerged from out of the fire. Its forward
bow,  and for nearly a hundred meters back, was  a twisted wreckage, but the
ship continued to purposefully move forward.
     Making sure his gun cameras were still on,  Kevin turned in towards the
carrier.
     Wreckage was trailing off  from the bow  of the ship as he raced in and
he could  see fires flaring inside the ruins  of the forward portside launch
bay.  He crossed up and  over the top of the carrier and  then  suddenly the
anti-aircraft defenses of the carrier kicked back on.
     She still had  internal  power —  it was  impossible after four torpedo
strikes!
     Jinxing to throw off the gunners, he raced down the length of the ship,
passing one of  the  aft launch  bays. He locked his  camera  into  a  laser
designator and swung the designator in on  the bay. On his small comm screen
he caught a quick  glimpse  inside the ship. Another fighter was coming down
the  launch ramp, afterburners flaming. Internal  lighting  was still on and
launch  crews  were  purposefully  working,   some  of  them  still  picking
themselves up, shaking  off  the after effects  of the torpedo hammer blows.
The image disappeared as he flashed across the stem of the ship.
     He looked up  and saw  that more  than  a  dozen Kilrathi fighters were
streaking in to pick him off and  he  went into a violent spin, cutting down
over the stern of the ship,  his  fighter bucking and shuddering  as he  got
caught in the exhaust plume of the carrier.
     He punched through into the fleet comm channel.
     "White Wolf, this is  Blue One. No  joy, repeat,  no joy, carrier still
running after four torpedo hits. Catch my video transmit."
     He sent the signal through and then looked at his tactical.
     Space  was dotted solid with red, with only an occasional blue dot. The
strike force had shot its bolt and been  destroyed,  and  the Kilrathi Fleet
continued on in.

     Sick at heart,  Admiral Tolwyn  silently watched as  the action reports
came  in.  He coughed  again, wiping  the  tears from  his eyes. The  Combat
Information Center  was still filled with  smoke,  the air filtration  plant
still off line from the torpedo hit to Concordia.
     "Message from Moskva, sir."
     "Put it on man."
     A young woman, blood trickling down  from her forehead, appeared in the
flat wavery image.
     "Where's Ching?"
     "Dead, sir. Last hit took out the bridge."
     He nodded silently. Damn.
     Sir,  we  have to abandon ship,  all engines  are dead. We're moving on
inertia and one bank of maneuvering thrusters only. Secondary generators are
going  off  line,  hull  integrity  lost in sixty-three  percent,  remaining
bulkhead are leaking and will rupture with one more hit."
     "Get your people into the escape boats. I'll have Polowski stand by  to
pick up survivors."
     "I'm sorry, sir."
     "You fought her well, lieutenant, you fought her well."
     He  looked back at the action  reports  that  streamed  in  across  the
monitors.
     Two of the  new  carriers and one  of the old ones  had been hit in his
strike. The old  style carrier was gone, but the two new ones still appeared
to  be relentlessly moving forward. In return, all four of his carriers  had
been hit. Verdun was lost with all hands. and now Moskva was finished  Leyte
Gulf, which had only joined him this morning, had one bay down from a direct
hit.  Of  the more than four hundred and eighty  strike craft and bombers he
had launched three hours  ago,  less than  two hundred and twenty were still
able to fly. Worst of all was the  loss of Broadswords; less than  a quarter
had returned.  Estimates  of Kilrathi fighter  loss stood at just over seven
hundred. He  knew the  figure would be cut once the debriefing  teams had  a
chance to look at all the camera footage. In short, he had lost.
     He looked  at the  status plot boards. Only twenty-nine Broadswords and
twenty modified Sabres were armed and ready for a second strike. Already the
Kilrathi were sending up their next strike wave which was even stronger than
their  first  as  they  shifted  craft  over  from  defensive  to  offensive
operations. He turned back to his  strategic communications officer, who was
burst signal linked back to Earth.
     "Latest reported position of Saratoga?"
     "Still six hours twenty-one minutes short of jump point 3A."
     Geoff looked back at his main nav screen. Jump Point 3A, the connecting
link back from Sirius towards Earth was an hour behind him.
     Saratoga would never come up in time to help repel the next attack, let
alone be able to aid in a second strike.
     "Signal all ships by laser link. We are withdrawing from Sirius."
     His bridge crew looked around at him startled.
     "We'll  be  swarmed under in the second strike. If I  thought we had  a
chance  of hitting  them back  hard enough, I'd do  it. There's  no sense in
dying for no reason."
     "What about Sirius, sir?" a helm ensign asked angrily. "Damn  it,  sir,
that's my home."
     "Son, it's  finished whether we  stay here  and die, or leave.  We need
time to repair damaged planes, get Leyte's port launch bay  back on line and
prepare  a  second  strike.  Saratoga will nearly  double our  heavy  strike
fighter strength if we fall back on her."
     The ensign looked around, realizing he had  spoken way out of turn to a
full admiral. He started to  open his mouth  again and was restrained by his
section lieutenant who took him by the shoulder and turned him away.
     Gilead, the smaller  of the two  worlds,  was  already  flaming  ruins.
Sirius  Prime,  thirty nine  million clicks  to port, was now  wide open and
already  a section of Kilrathi cruisers  was turning  towards  it. He didn't
even want to think about how many people were down there.
     "Helm, turn us about. Let's get the hell out of here," he snarled.

     "Recall those cruisers now!"
     Prince Thrakhath turned to gaze coldly at Baron Jukaga.
     "Growing soft, my good Baron?"
     "Your senseless barbarism will  only  arouse  them further. You've made
your point,  now  spare  the second  planet. Show  mercy  and it still might
weaken their will."
     "Terror breeds terror, Baron."
     "Terror  can also breed  fanaticism  and  hatred. Your demonstration at
Warsaw did not intimidate the humans,  instead it caused  them to stop their
internal  bickering  and  unite.  You  know  nothing  of  humans.  Senseless
bombardments of their civilian populations have always tended to unite them.
The deliberate destruction of entire  worlds with radiation  will cause them
to fight us tooth and nail to the death rather than surrender."
     "And that s what you wanted, wasn't it, surrender?"
     The Baron attempted to control his loathing and rage.
     "You are  a barbarian," he snapped. "We could have undermined them, let
their natural weaknesses play into our hands. You have gone on a rampage and
destroyed eleven of their worlds so far, and their fleet is still intact.
     "We just crippled it, or weren't you watching?"
     "They still have fight left in  them. Remember, Prince  Thrakhath,  the
new  fleet is  to serve two purposes:  one to win  this war,  and second  to
prepare us for the Mantu if they  should ever  return. You  are now gambling
that fleet in your drive for vengeance on the humans."
     "Not vengeance, extinction."
     Sickened, the Baron turned  away. He knew now that the accusations were
right.  Study  one's enemy for too  long and in  the  end you  might come to
admire  them. He did not admire the  humans, the very essence of his  nature
prevented  that,  but  he could acknowledge them as something more than mere
prey to be slaughtered. His plan, if it had been  allowed to  be played out,
might very well have resulted in  a near bloodless victory, a  Confederation
completely  divided,  lulled by peace,  and then psychologically overwhelmed
when the dozen new carriers appeared. It all suddenly became very clear.
     "You allowed that recon ship of the humans to  slip into Hari space and
then allowed it to escape. You wanted the peace ended, didn't you?"
     "In spite of your claims of intellect, Baron, you are often rather slow
at figuring things out."
     "You wanted this war  to end in a  blood  bath.  You were  the one  who
triggered the bomb in the human headquarters.
     Prince Thrakhath smiled.
     "You  were  never  a prisoner of  the humans. I  was. You have not lost
comrades to them, I have. I shall rise to the Imperial Throne, hailed as the
conqueror of the humans and winner of this war, while as for  you . . ." and
he leaned over, touching a button on his console.
     The  doors to his wardroom  were flung  open and  four  Imperial Marine
guards stepped in.
     "Escort   the  Baron   to  his  quarters  and  make  sure  he  is  very
comfortable."
     "Are you arresting me?"
     Prince Thrakhath shook his head.
     "Let us say that there are certain questions to be asked of you  later,
once the battles are completed and I am secure in my victory."
     Baron Jukaga smiled coldly.
     "Don't underestimate Tolwyn and his people. They are not finished yet."
     "They soon will  be, Baron," and  he laughed coldly as  Jukaga was lead
from the room.

     "How are you, Geoff?"
     Geoff  looked up in  surprise  as  "Big" Duke  Grecko  walked into  his
private quarters.
     Geoff started to get up from his cot and Duke motioned for him to relax
while he pulled a chair around and sat down across from Tolwyn.
     "What the hell are you doing out here, Duke?"
     "Can't  keep the  Marines  in port  when  the  action  starts.  I'm not
interfering  out  here,  Geoff, but  I thought I should come out and have  a
look."
     "You got the after ac