Fleet Action (wc-3) William Forstchen (fox in socks read aloud .txt) 📖

fighter that took thirty seconds to line up and fire on a useless ship was one less fighter engaged in the real fight, while the hidden weapon drew even closer.

"My lord, we might have a tactical analysis on what they are doing."

Thrakhath looked over at his tactical officer.

Even as the officer started to offer his analysis the truth of what he was saying sunk in.

All fighters strike them now! Strike them now. Order all carriers into full evasive!"

"Here we go! All ships pick your targets. If you can't get to a carrier, nail a cruiser. Charge!"

General Duke Grecko leaned forward, looking over the shoulder of his assault craft pilot. A recorded charge blared on the assault craft's loud speaker and Grecko grinned with delight.

Behind him, in the aft personnel bay, a hundred assault troops cheered, thumping the butts of their laser rifles on the floor of the ship.

Space around him was pure chaos. Hundreds of Kilrathi fighters were swarming in, escort ships moving to intersect the attack. Dozens of ships and assault craft were vaporizing every second in the slaughter, so that he thought for an instant that his plan was exactly what Geoff, and for that matter everyone else from the President on down, had declared it to be: pure suicide.

The only advantage he could now see in being head of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, was that he didn't have to convince anyone — he simply had to give the order, and then go.

A civilian liner twisted in front of him, blocking the rush of three incoming Dralthi, diverting their shots. His own pilot dived under the liner as it exploded and then lined back up on their target.

"The carrier, go for the carrier!"

"We'll never make it. Let's nail the destroyer to port!"

"Damn it, son, I'm the general here. Anything less than a carrier is an insult, now move it!"

Kevin weaved his way through the melee, moving up to protect an assault wave of twenty Marine landing craft, a full brigade of troops packed inside. They were breaking through.

A Kilrathi destroyer was moving in towards the group and he saw three of the landing craft turn towards the destroyer. The destroyers defensive batteries nailed two. The third closed in, letting loose with its ground bombardment armaments which leaped across space, exploding across the bow of the enemy ship. The rounds were designed for area suppression, not shield and hull penetration, but they nevertheless blinded the ship. The landing craft swung across the top side of the destroyer, matching speed and then slammed down on its main cargo hatch. Explosive shape charges mounted to the bottom of the landing craft detonated, blowing the destroyer's main access hatch open.

The landing craft edged forward, gaining magnetic lock on the destroyer's hull. No matter what the ship now did as evasive, the Marine assault craft was glued to its side like a lamprey eel on the side of a fish — and it was just as deadly.

The back hatch of the landing craft blew open and assault troops streamed out, wearing magnetic-soled shoes and swarmed in through the ruptured cargo door, firing RPGs, miniguns, and assault recoilless flechette launchers.

Kevin shot past the destroyer.

The damn plan just might work!

The seventeen assault ships ahead pressed in, Kevin now riding herd above them. He tried to ignore everything else: the hundreds of ships fighting and dying around him, the total chaos, as all tactical formations were lost. Kilrathi fighters, now fully committed to this new threat, swarmed in, space so thick with them that he witnessed half a dozen collisions between turning fighters, their own ships, and Confederation craft.

Five of the Marine ships disappeared a full battalion of five hundred men winking out of existence. In any other situation their loss would have been viewed as a disaster. Here, with the final desperate defense of Earth, it was the mere incident of a second's time. Three Jalthi turned in on the group, ignoring Kevin. He slashed two out of existence, while the third took out three landing craft and then broke hard down and to the left, disappearing.

The Marine craft pressed on in, dodging past a lumbering cruiser, with the lead landing craft pushing up and over.

"Come on, take it, just take it before you're all killed," Kevin thought, wanting to scream at the assault unit's commander. The cruiser fell astern, taking out three more craft as they shot past, with a mass driver burst shutting down his own aft shields and slicing deep into his armor. Six craft were left and then he saw the target straight ahead as he looked up after dispatching yet another fighter — a Kilrathi heavy carrier turning in evasive.

The carrier, with a mix of twenty civilian and assault ships behind it, was going through a slow, ponderous turn, its aft, top, and bottom batteries all engaged, slaughtering their pursuers. Within seconds the twenty ships were gone.

They were racing straight in on the carrier. The six craft he was escorting opened fire, sixty area suppression bombardment missiles blanketing the ship's bow.

"Fighter following me, we're going for their topside forward bay, match speed and give us suppressive!"

Startled, Kevin looked at his comm screen. It was Duke Grecko on a laser link line.

The order was insane and yet he followed it. He leaped ahead of the six landing craft, even as two more of them exploded, then slammed in reverse thrusters, coming to a dead stop fifty meters in front of the launch bay.

Kevin toggled through every weapon he still had, dumping out IFFs, dumb fire and then mass drivers. The spread exploded across the airlock bay, which shimmered and glowed red, part of the concentrated blast kicking through the shielding, blowing apart a mass driver turret above the bay. Two landing craft came streaking past and headed in. An explosion rocked his ship, spinning it over in a cartwheeling pivot away from the carrier. A quick scan of his instruments told him the worst and he reached down between his