Wing Commander #07 False Color William Forstchen (top 10 books to read .txt) 📖

paces. In some respects the Kilrathi had a superior system to the Confederation and Landreich navies, using such auxiliary craft very effectively in conjunction with fighters and bombers. Bondarevsky had decided early on to adapt the same techniques to the ex-Kilrathi carrier's operations, to bridge a gap in technologies that reflected the difference in doctrine. The supercarrier itself had fewer onboard systems adapted to the roles filled by those special planes, and Bondarevsky had quickly decided it was easier to get used to operating like Kilrathi pilots rather than attempting to upgrade the onboard support systems to carry out these same tasks. So fighters and bombers were often re-armed and refueled on the fly instead of coming back aboard for servicing, and lightly armed recon planes performed the scouting duties of a human light fighter squadron. The Primary Flight Control center aboard the carrier extended its reach by handing off coordination duties to the Command/ Control birds.

It all took a lot of getting used to, and Harper had heard plenty of grumbling and cursing from the rest of the wing. But slowly they were getting accustomed to Bondarevsky's demands, and starting to show pride in their roles.

Harper wondered about the Admiral's estimate of needing another six months to finish the refit. Graham was still working on the jump generators, the last major ship's system that hadn't been tested under field conditions. But there were fewer problems there than the engineering crew had first feared, and the work was going quickly. After the jump drive was pronounced ready, Mjollnir would probably be as ready as she ever would be. There would be plenty of minor things to take care of, to make the ship more efficient and more comfortable, but already she had engines, sensors, guns, and a working flight deck. That, to Harper's way of thinking, qualified her as a fighting ship.

They had pulled far enough away by now to be able to view the entire carrier. From this distance the individual damage didn't show much, except for the scar on her superstructure where the original Maneuvering Bridge had been patched without being restored. The unearthly lines of the Kilrathi-built supercarrier never failed to make Harper just the least bit uneasy. There was something about a Kilrathi ship that summoned up an instinctive desire to fight or flee. Even the giant supercarrier was all knife-blades and sharp angles, a deadly sword to be wielded in battle.

"Very nice, Mr. Harper," Bondarevsky commented. "From out here you can almost picture her as a warship, and not a collection of repairs waiting to fall apart."

Harper frowned. Of late Bondarevsky had been sounding more pessimistic about the whole refit project. He worked hard, driving himself even more unrelentingly than he drove his subordinates, but he had been badly shaken by the encounter with the pirates. Sometimes it seemed as if he blamed himself for the loss of Sindri, and was frustrated by the continual problems that cropped up to remind them all of how big a job the refit process really was.

"Beggin' your pardon, sir," Harper said quietly. "I know 'tis not my place to say so, but I think you should lay off the cracks about the ship."

Bondarevsky looked at him with a puzzled frown. "What's that supposed to mean, Lieutenant?" he asked.

"A lot of the crew has started to take some real pride in Mjollnir, sir. She may look like hell and be held together by spit and good intentions, but she's ours. Like the Landreich itself. We're no Terran Confederation out here on the frontier. We can't afford the best ships or the best crews, so we make do with what we have. And we're proud when we can achieve something good by the sweat of our brows and the skill of our hands. 'Tis bad for morale to hear Mjollnir being put down as second rate, sir."

Bondarevsky shook his head, then smiled suddenly. "Sometimes, Mr. Harper, you really do make me think," he said. "Okay, you win. From here on out she's the best ship in the fleet, bar none." He paused. "But I hope you won't mind if I try not to sneeze too hard. I'm still afraid of what might happen."

Harper grinned. "Aye, the Cats could take us out of action for good with one strong dose of the flu."

"Take us home, Lieutenant," Bondarevsky ordered. "Before you have me convinced that old lady is actually as good as you seem to think she is."

The return to the port side flight deck took longer than they had planned, thanks to an unexpected new arrival. A courier shuttle, light, fast, and fitted with jump drives, had arrived while they were conducting their survey, and was on final approach when Harper contacted Boss Marchand for landing clearance. They held clear of the flight deck until Marchand came on the line to let them know it was safe.

The shuttle settled onto the deck just aft of the courier. As Harper and Bondarevsky exited, the hatch on the top of the courier opened up and a suited figure clambered down the ladder on the port side. When he undogged his helmet and lifted it clear of his head, Harper saw the new arrival was Kevin Tolwyn.

Bondarevsky advanced, hand extended. "Kevin! What are you doing here? And why the flying coffin?" Courier shuttles were notoriously cramped and uncomfortable, with just enough room for a pilot—and a passenger if they were very friendly—with a cockpit and a tiny cabin mounted in front of nothing but fuel tanks and engines. Taking the proffered hand, Tolwyn shrugged. "Old Max sent me. I'm his new fair-haired boy these days, and he wanted me to bring you guys the latest news." Bondarevsky stepped back. "Captain's bars, is it? You're not bucking for my job again, are you?"

"Not me," Tolwyn told him. "We had a little dust-up with some Cats a few days back, and Max thought I had earned a promotion. He even gave me a case of beer