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

see how we can ignore the threat. And I don't see any other way to deal with it."

Kevin Tolwyn spoke up again. "Whatever you do, you'll have to do it fast," he said. "That's the rest of the bad news. Somehow the Council's gotten hold of details of the refit here. Some of the political types are demanding the whole Goliath Project be called off right away. They'll strip away the battle group, order the carrier scrapped, and relieve or reassign the whole crew. And probably stage a vote of no confidence that'll kick Kruger right out of office."

"With a dreadnought staring down their throats?" Richards demanded.

"The President hasn't shared that particular bit of intelligence, sir," Captain Tolwyn replied. "He says it would only cause needless panic, under the circumstances."

"That's Old Max, all right," Richards said grimly. "Willing to scuttle everything he's done just to stand on a principle. How long?"

"The vote will be in a few days. It depends on whether the President can manage to stall them with parliamentary tactics."

"I doubt that Max Kruger would know a parliamentary tactic if it pulled a laser pistol on him," Richards said. "So we have to get moving before somebody notices what we're up to, is that it?"

"Yes, sir," the younger Tolwyn said.

"I hope all of you know just how little I like this," the battle group commander told them. "Okay. We're out of options and out of maneuvering room_ I'll draft the orders to get underway as soon as we can take care of all the noncombatant ships and personnel."

"We could escort them as far as Oecumene," Admiral Tolwyn suggested. "There's a small fleet detachment there that could look after the Carnegie and the City of Cashel. That way we wouldn't have to detach any of our combat ships for escort duty."

"Good thought, Geoff," Richards said. "God . . . there's a thousand things to do, and no time to do them." He looked at the younger Tolwyn. "I imagine you'll want to get back to Landreich before Independence spaces."

"Yes, sir." Kevin paused. "I'd rather go with you, but I have my own Flight Wing to consider. They're drafting every spare plane that can fly to rebuild from the losses we suffered at Hellhole. And we're competing with Arbroath, too, for birds and pilots. I have to be there."

"You always did know where your duty was, Kevin," Bondarevsky said, rising as the younger man did and taking his hand. "We've had to say good-bye a good many times not knowing if one or both of us was going to buy the farm out there. This time . . . well, who knows. Take care of yourself."

"You, too, Jason," he replied. He turned and gave Richards a salute. "Sir, I don't think luck's of much use where you're headed, but good luck to you anyway."

Richards shook his hand. "And to you. Watch that ass Galbraith."

Kevin's uncle stepped up to him last of all. "I brought you out here because I was afraid for your safety back on Earth," he said. "Now both of us are back in the front lines again. I'm sorry, Kevin."

"Don't be, sir," the younger man said. "This is the job I chose. And you know I'm pretty damned hard to get rid of. Just make sure you're as hard to kill off, when you hit Baka Kar."

The admiral looked old as he faced his nephew. "You've done the family proud, Kevin. Always remember that." Then, after the briefest of embraces, he stepped back. "Now get back on that courier and go tell Max Kruger we'll make his suicide run for him. But if I get back from Baka Kar alive I expect to see every can of beer on Landreich waiting for me!"

Kevin saluted again and left. As the door slid shut behind him, Richards spoke again. "All right, gentlemen, it looks as if we have some planning to do. Let's break it down into a few main headings. There's the jump drive . . ."

Flight Deck, FRLS Mjollnir Near Jump Point One, Oecumene System 1315 hours (CST), 2371.036

"What do you mean, I don't have a spot? For God's sake, woman, I'm a civilian! And I'm not riding this tub into a war zone!"

Bondarevsky strode purposefully across the open flight deck toward the source of the shouts and abusive language. As he'd expected, he discovered Armando Diaz at the center of it all, engaged in a heated argument with Sparks. The woman looked uncomfortable, standing by the ramp up to the shuttle with a computer clipboard in her hand and a harried expression on her face. Sparks was used to dealing with small craft repairs and resupply, where her charges didn't talk back or make demands. But Bondarevsky had press-ganged her into this detail because every department on the ship was so shorthanded.

'What's the problem here, Lieutenant?" he said loudly as he strode up behind Diaz.

The salvage expert turned. "The problem, Bondarevsky, is that I haven't been given a seat of any of the outgoing shuttles. This is the final evacuation flight to the City of Cashel, is it not?"

He nodded. "It is, Major," he said, slightly emphasizing the courtesy rank to remind Diaz of his status. "I'm afraid there must have been a mistake made somewhere—"

"There certainly has been!" Diaz interjected.

"A breakdown in communications," Bondarevsky went on. "Apparently you weren't informed that the Admiral had requested you to stay on with the other computer experts from your team."

"What? I'll do no such thing! I'm—"

"You're a major in the Landreich Armed Forces, sir, and thus under military discipline. And your services as a computer expert are very much in need right now. We have a great deal of information to extract from the Kilrathi computer records, and only a limited number of people to take care of the problem."

"Now see here, Bondarevsky—"

"That's Captain Bondarevsky, Major," he said quietly. "Look, I'm not happy about the situation either. But you answer to Admiral Richards. You