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

Max Kruger wanted him to stay in harness, Camparelli knew it was time for the old war-horse to go to pasture.

The admiral had almost dozed off, until a warning alarm had signaled the appearance of new ships on the board. Awake once more, he had studied the newcomers, his chest tightening as he'd realized who they were. Cats . . . a small task force built around a pair of carriers. They had erupted almost on top of the fighters and their quarry, the makeshift pirate carrier.

Camparelli reached for the intercom controls at his bedside. Independence was heading straight into that mess at maximum acceleration, and without any supporting destroyers or cruisers. The carrier operating alone wouldn't stand a chance against those Cats.

He fumbled with the controls, and swore an ancient oath in the Italian dialect of Romanova, his boyhood home. His fingers weren't obeying the orders from his brain—a fine admiral he made, unable even to command his body any longer, much less his battle group—and a sharp pain was shooting up his left arm and side.

Camparelli persevered and activated the intercom circuit, now gasping for breath. He had to get Galbraith to act . . . or Independence, maybe the entire battle group, would be lost.

Combat Information Center, FRLS Independence Deep Space, Hellhole System 0801 hours (CST)

Galbraith stared at the tactical monitor, hardly able to comprehend the new data flowing across the screen—or the Wing Commander's words echoing in his ears. Of all the times the Cats could mount a raid . . .

"Sir? Admiral Camparelli on the line." Roth didn't wait for Galbraith to respond. She switched the intercom on.

The admiral's face looked pale and drawn. "Captain . . . Captain, you have to get the battle group together quickly. The other ships are too badly dispersed . . too badly dispersed . . ." The battle group commander was gasping. "Get them together . . . have to withdraw . . . Cat force too large for a stand-up fight . . ." He trailed off, still fighting for breath. "Can't . . . can't think straight, Captain. Turning over full command . . . to you." The screen went as dead as Galbraith's hopes.

He forced himself to act. "Helm, kill our vector. We won't sail into the middle of that without some support from the rest of the battle group." He paused. "Exec, have a medical team lay down to the flag bridge and see to the Admiral. And order all ships to break off operations immediately and form on Independence ASAP."

"Aye aye, sir," Roth replied. "Sir . . . what about Tolwyn's flight wing? He was calling for orders. Then everything went dead. Looks like jamming by the Cats. We can't recall him, and we can't even let him know our plans." Something in her tone suggested she wanted to know them herself. "The Cats have started launching fighters, and I don't know if Tolwyn's got enough planes to handle fighters from two Cat escort carriers."

"I know," Galbraith said grimly. "But he's going to have to try. The Flight Wing has to buy us some time, keep those Cats off our backs until we reassemble the battle group and can pull back to the jump point to Landreich." He paused, swallowing. "He's a good man, Tolwyn. He'll know what he has to do."

Raptor 500, VF-84 "Liberators" Near Jump Point Six, Vaku System 0804 hours (CST)

"It's no good, skipper," Peterson said. "The jamming's too damned thick around here. I can't raise Camelot."

Kevin Tolwyn cursed under his breath. If a Hornet fitted out with an elaborate suite of electronics and communications gear couldn't break through the static, none of them could. That left the Liberators on their own, and Kilrathi birds were already beginning to form up around their lead carrier as if organizing for an attack.

Meanwhile he didn't know what to do. If he withdrew to the carrier he risked getting jumped halfway by the Cats . . . or, worse yet, drawing them back to Independence, where they could inflict a lot of damage before the Kilrathi capital ships came up and finished her off. But if he stayed out here his fighters, already short on missiles and fuel from the long running battle with the pirates, were likely to be overwhelmed.

Everything depended on what the Kilrathi did.

He turned his attention to his sensor readouts, and gave a low whistle as he took in the changing situation out there. He had forgotten about the pirates.

In the confusion that had followed the appearance of the Cats, the battered pirate carrier had altered course. Strangely, though, it was not running away, not from the Landreich fighters, nor yet from the Cats. It had veered so that its course took it across the line of advance of the oncoming Kilrathi. In the circumstances it was an insane move . . .

Unless they had a reason.

Tolwyn remembered the surge of energy in the jump point that had preceded the appearance of the Cat ships. Something had come through ahead of them, unseen. A cloaked ship?

Maybe . . and if it was a cloaked pirate, it may have contacted the carrier on a channel the Landreichers couldn't monitor, a tight-beam laser, for instance.

Which meant there was more going on out here than met the eye . . . maybe a lot more. The Cats had appeared right behind the cloaked whatever-it-was. As if they were chasing it . . .

As if to confirm his line of thought, the first wave of Cat fighters peeled off toward the pirate carrier, opening fire from long range. A sustained bombardment washed over the carrier's forward shields and across her bow in a seemingly random firing pattern. But one of those bolts hit something.

The scout craft shimmered as it materialized, its stealth generators failing. A flurry of fire erupted from the

Kilrathi fighters, Vaktoth heavy attack craft fitted with a wide array of powerful beam weapons.