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

Banfeld knew he'd feel right at home when he sat on the bridge of the supercarrier. . . .

Hornet 100, VF-12 "Flying Eyes" Near Vaku VII, Vaku System 1459 hours (CST)"We have multiple targets! Repeat, multiple targets!" Babcock strove to keep her voice level. "Looks like a cruiser and . . . twenty small craft. Maybe fighters." "Nonsense," Viking argued. "A cruiser can't carry that many fighters." "Look at your warbook, you dumb Dane," she flared. "Those are reading as Broadsword heavy fighters . . ." "Confederation fighters?" That was Bondarevsky, back in Primary Flight Control. 'What are twenty obsolete Terran fighters doing out here?" "Beats the hell out of me, Captain," she replied. "What I want to know is what the hell I'm supposed to do about them? Do I wave, ignore them, or spit?" There was a long moment of silence before Bondarevsky replied. "They're not Confederation Navy. Broadswords are out of service except with Reserve Wings. And they're not Landreichers, unless somebody's forgotten to update our own warbook files." He hesitated again. "Your ROE is to consider them potentially hostile, but engage only if fired upon. Repeat, fire only if they fire first. I'm launching the Alert Five birds and putting the rest of the Wing on scramble now. Just in case." "Thanks a lot," she said sourly. Fire if fired on, indeed . . . as if two Hornets could fight off twenty Broadswords under any circumstances. "The bandits are accelerating," Viking reported, sounding cool and professional. Whatever his personal shortcomings might be, he was all business in a crisis. "I make their vector an intercept with Karga." She checked her navicomp. "Confirmed. You copy that, Kennel?" "Roger. Break off and pull back to join the rest of the patrol. Stay close to the boat and we'll give you support from the laser turrets." "Two bandits breaking formation!" Viking broke in. "They're coming after us!" "Break formation!" Babcock ordered. "We can outrun them!" The Broadswords opened fire . . .

Primary Flight Control, FRLS Karga Orbiting Vaku VII, Vaku System 1500 hours (CST)

'We are under fire. Repeat, we are under fire!"

Bondarevsky turned from the communications console. "Why aren't those Raptors up yet?" he snapped.

"First one's launching now," Boss Marchand replied evenly. "How do you want to handle the rest of the deployment? It'll take time to get the other birds from the Eyes and the Eights up and prepped. They've already started their maintenance rotations . . ."

'What's the status on the Kilrathi planes?" Bondarevsky asked. They had scheduled a practice launch of the recovered Imperial fighters for later in the day, the first flight for the pilots who had been taking simulator training these last two weeks.

Marchand didn't even hesitate. "The Strakhas were scheduled first up," she said. "They're ready to go, Five minutes to get the first two up on the flight deck and ready for launch. After that . . . call it four more every three minutes. The Dralthis and the Vaktoths will take a little longer."

"Do it," he ordered. "Scramble the Strakha squadron! And make sure one of the first two is one-zero-zero." "You're taking her out yourself, sir?" Marchand asked. "Yeah." Bondarevsky was already heading for the door. "You think I'd send those people out there to fight in ships they've never handled before without going out there myself?"

Marchand gave him a long, thoughtful look. "Some would," she said curtly. Then, "Good luck, skipper."

Combat Information Center, FRLS Karga Orbiting Vaku VII, Vaku System 1502 hours (CST)

"One minute to the ring field, Captain."

Tolwyn clenched the arms of his chair and watched as the forward viewer began to grow hazing from the gradual thickening of multi-hued ice dust. Somewhere up ahead a small swarm of hostile fighters was bearing down on his ship, but he was helpless to fight them for the moment. Blind and unable to change course, Karga could only ride out whatever was coming at them. The patrol fighters wouldn't be able to stop the attackers, and the rest of Bondarevsky's planes would take time to launch. The enemy, whoever they were, would get at least one punch in before Karga cleared the ring field and the Flight Wing went into action.

After that, though, they'd be fighting an even battle. Or so he hoped.

"Captain, Durendal and Caliburn are moving to support us, but it will be at least ten minutes before they can get into the game." That was Richards, calling on the private line from the flag bridge. "I've ordered Xenophon to keep station with the Carnegie and the City of Cashel. I know it isn't likely, but I don't think it's a good idea to leave them open to attack. It looks like we're on our own for now."

Tolwyn gave a tight nod. "Looks that way, Admiral," he responded. "We'll keep them busy until the tin cans can get here, don't you worry." lie turned from the intercom screen. "Deniken! Are your weapons on-line?" "All laser turrets ready, sir," he said. "Point defense off-line until we get the sensors up again." He sounded apologetic.

"Stay on top of it." He glanced at Kittani. "Get Damage Control ready, Exec. And alert Doctor Manning that she may be getting some casualties down there." Tolwyn didn't like to think about that. Sick Bay was still not up to anything like ConFleet standards, and Manning could be handling combat injuries under appallingly primitive conditions down there if the carrier took any serious damage.

"Aye aye, sir," Kittani replied.

"Engineering, this is CIC. Will your shields keep on holding, Mr. Graham, or should I order Sindri to go back on-line?"

"Won't matter much one way or the other, Captain," Graham responded, sounding harried. "Sindri's shields might stop a mosquito—if it wasn't too mad. I'd say we've a better chance with our own. They might not be able to take a whole