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

the expanding Landreich fleet or to carry out the initial moves of the planned invasion of the human frontier worlds. A major clash of ships at this stage would be premature, and Ragark would entertain no tolerance for failure.

So they had followed the humans to Vordran, alerting the picket boat posted there of the cloaked ship's presence in the system. Running at maximum acceleration, they had arrived at the jump point from Vordran to Hellhole just in time to see the last stages of a skirmish between the picket boat, the escort Wexarragh, and the human vessel which had been forced to drop its cloak for an instant in order to transfer power to its jump drive. The escort had damaged the Terrans, but they had jumped anyway, switching the cloak back on as they slid into the hyperrealm for the interstellar transit to Hellhole.

The task force had followed close on the enemy ship's heels. Julgar had almost been able to smell the chance at a kill, knowing the prey was damaged.

But what awaited the Kilrathi task force on the other side of the hyperrealm was not a single badly damaged scout, but a large ship and a swarm of fighters almost on top of the jump point, and more warships identified by the computer as elements of a Landreich carrier battle group further off, out of formation but representing a potent force.

The Imperial ships had the edge in numbers, but they were risking the possibility of a major battle . . . exactly the thing Ragark had warned against. How could Julgar carry out both sets of instructions?

To add to his troubles, that nearest Terran ship was entirely too close to the Klarran for comfort. In his zeal for the pursuit Julgar had taken his flagship through the jump point first, rather than sending lighter ships on ahead. That put the Klarran in a dangerous position. His speed was minimal after the hyperspace transit, and it would take time to build up a substantial vector. Meanwhile the Terran ship was well within the usual defensive perimeter a battle group's destroyers and cruisers were supposed to maintain. Carriers were not intended to engage in ship to ship duels, but there was a risk here. The rest of the task force would be following, of course, but hyperspace transit arrival points were wildly variable and some of the other ships might not build up a vector that would get them to the scene of the battle for as much as an hour.

Much could happen in an hour.

Julgar flicked his claws in and out nervously, studying the tactical board and trying to get over the lingering effects of jumpshock. The Terran ship was like nothing in the Kilrathi warbook program. The computer was calling it a transport, but energy readings were equivalent to a destroyer or a small cruiser . . . and the long-range imaging scan made it look like some kind of pocket carrier. The fighters around it were old human designs, but time and again even older human fighters had dealt severe blows to Kilrathi fighter squadrons in actions during the decades-long war.

His thoughts finally began to come together, and Julgar turned his seat to face his communications officer. "Establish a blanket jamming field," he said. "I want no contact between the apes here and those on the edge of our sensor range. Lord Ragark does not want the ship we are chasing to communicate with anyone else."

"Yes, Lord Admiral," the officer responded crisply. "We will not be able to damp out tight-beam communications, my Lord. At close range they will still be able to maintain contact. It is possible there will be intermittent contact over the longer range as well, at least between the larger ships."

"Understood. Do your best." He turned to his own console. "Captain, this is Admiral nar Ta'hal. Launch all fighters, fastest possible rotation. Crush the enemy ships nearest us as quickly as possible. Especially the scout, if you can locate it. I would suggest it will probably be attempting to rendezvous with the capital ship ahead of us."

"Yes, Lord Admiral," the Klarran's captain responded.

"Do not get underway from this position, Captain," he went on. "I do not wish to be drawn into closer action until we have some support from the rest of the task force. Keep the vector low until then. Pass the word to the rest of the task force as well."

"Yes, my Lord," the captain responded.

"And once the fighters have launched, put out a pair of Zartoths. We will be jamming enemy communications but I want to be able to extend our area of interdiction in case the apes attempt to break off."

Julgar cut the intercom link before the captain could reply. He bared his fangs once again, this time in anticipation. A single overwhelming attack would eliminate the fugitive and anyone he communicated with here. Then the task force could disengage if they needed to . . . or, if the odds looked favorable, they could close with the other apes and defeat them as well, whatever Ragark's orders specified.

It was a glorious day for combat.

Flag Officer's Quarters, FRLS Independence Deep Space, Hellhole System 0759 hours (CST)

Admiral Vincent Camparelli struggled to sit upright in his bed despite the pressure in his chest and the uneven wheeze of his breath. Although ill and confined to his bed, he had been monitoring the tactical board from his bedside computer hookup and the holographic projector that occupied a table by the door. He had watched in satisfaction as the battle group had surprised and scattered the pirates, although he'd been tempted to call back the capital ships Galbraith had scattered in pursuit of the fleeing enemy. In the end, though, he'd decided against that. Galbraith knew what he was doing, and didn't need an old, sick man telling him what to do from his bed.

He had promised himself that this would be the last cruise. No matter how much