William Fortchen - Action Stations

Kilrathi Second Fleet of the Claw

"Remember, all pilots are in their attack craft and will start immediate launch once the jump point is cleared. No matter what is encountered on the other side, the launch will proceed without delay."

The Crown Prince carefully examined the expressions on the faces of his six carrier commanders. They were all personally picked, all were eager.

"Return to your ships."

The commanders saluted and hurried down to the launch bay for the return flights to their vessels. Gilkarg looked over at his son.

"I expect you to return with blood on your claws, but do not take any unnecessary risks like a fresh cub looking for notice from his elders."

"I will do my duty, father."

Gilkarg drew closer. "Your duty is to stay alive."

Ratha looked at him, unable to reply. Was he being asked to shirk?

"I will not be like Jukaga, if that is what you mean."

Gilkarg snarled with disdain. "He is an embarrassment to his family. The shame will follow him for lingering behind when there is glory to be won. But as for you, I expect survival. You are the heir after me, remember that."

Ratha smiled. That, of course was a fact he would never forget.

Gilkarg watched his expression carefully, then waved a dismissal. Three of the best pilots in the fleet had been assigned to his unit with orders to keep him alive, something Ratha would never know. He would win his glory, but he also must learn when to let others do the killing.

The Crown Prince turned to look back at the navigation plot boards. They were continuing to accelerate towards the jump point into McAuliffe. They would hit it in less than six hours, attempting a jump at a velocity never before tried by carrier- and battleship-size vessels. The tests with old cargo hulks indicated that the risk factor of a misalignment had increased, but not enough to be of concern.

He settled into his command chair and motioned for the latest reports to be handed over. Most of the news was troubling. The Confederation picket ship did get off a partial burst signal before being destroyed. Could McAuliffe's station be back on-line, and had they been warned? There would be no way of knowing until the first carrier cleared the jump. Sixth Fleet had just completed its final burst transmission before jumping towards the Landreich, but resistance had already been encountered short of the jump point, when a picket ship opened fire first, then fled. Obviously, the Landreich was waiting for the attack.

Finally, there was the report on the transfer of information to the spies on the smuggler ship. All leads had turned up cold. The courier was completely untraceable. He wore no identification or clan markings. His record of teeth imprints and laser scan of his eyes revealed no records, as well. It was as if he had never existed. Gilkarg smiled and shook his head as he contemplated just how masterful the betrayal truly was.

Mcauliffe

Commander Winston Turner stormed out of the McAuliffe communications center and headed for the base headquarters.

"The stations still down. They said another couple of hours at least!" he cried bitterly. "Now, let's go find this damn admiral."

Geoff, still self-conscious about his filthy clothes and lack of uniform, raced to keep up.

"Some damn Confed Day Eve we got here," Turner snapped as half a dozen enlisted personnel, several of them more than a little tipsy, came out of headquarters, laughing and talking loudly. They looked at Geoff, Vance and Winston in surprise. An officer, following the boisterous crowd, stopped at the door and stared at them coldly.

"Now, just where do you three think you're heading?"

"I'm Commander Turner, on special duty for Banbridge. I need to see Admiral Long or Admiral Nagomo now."

The officer grinned, as if he was a majordomo confronted by a peasant begging for audience with the king.

"You are not in uniform, Commander," the lieutenant started. "Second, you have no authorization here to see either admiral. The weekend holidays started. Come back on Monday and follow the proper channels."

Winston sprang on the officer, slamming him up against the open door. With his free hand he whipped out his identification card, which was trimmed with red and gold, a color coding indicating that he worked for the office of the Chief of Staff.

"Son, I'm giving you just thirty seconds to get into your damn office and find me one of the admirals, or find me someone who can, or I'll rip your damned head off, then jam it down your gaping throat."

"You could be court-martialed for this," the officer stuttered. His gaze shifted from Turner to Geoff and Vance, as if hoping they would restrain the lunatic, but the two simply closed, in on either side of him.

"Better listen to him, lieutenant," Geoff said calmly, "I've seen him do it."

The lieutenant sagged against the door and nodded weakly. Turner loosened his grip and shoved him through the door so that the lieutenant almost fell on the waxed linoleum surface. He looked back at Turner, as if ready to try an escape, but Winston was standing straight over him.

"Move it, lieutenant."

They followed the frightened officer down the corridor. As they passed the main desk he looked over at the young woman behind the counter. "Get security, now," the lieutenant hissed.

Turner ignored him and pushed the lieutenant forward.

"Where are the admirals?" Turner asked.

"At Highcroft, the officers retreat. Everyone's standing down for the holiday."

"What about their execs?"

"The same."

"Their heads of security?"

"The same."

"Damn it all to hell, is anybody here?"

"I am, sir, I'm on Nagomos staff."

"You the highest ranking officer in here right now?"

"I guess so, sir."

The lieutenant stopped by a small cubicle.

"That's my office."

"Well, let's get in there," Turner snarled. "Get on the horn to your boss, right now."

"I can't do that, sir. Standing orders are that the Admiral is only to be disturbed this weekend if there is a serious emergency."

"Would you call a damn war an emergency? Because, son, there's one coming straight at us. Now get on that comm unit, and I want to see Nagomos face on that screen in one minute, or it'll be your face that's jammed right through it."

"Is there a problem here, sir?"

Geoff turned to see two military police standing in the doorway.

"This man attacked me, he's a lunatic, sergeant, arrest him!"

The marine sergeant started to step into the room with a bit of a bemused look on his face. He had already dealt with half a dozen fights so far this evening, fueled by the rivers of cheap booze flowing in town. The sergeant stopped cold when he found himself staring down the bore of a blaster held by Geoff.

"Vance, take their weapons. Good move, Tolwyn, don't hesitate to shoot either of them if they make a move."

Geoff stared calmly at the sergeant. Though he doubted if he could actually blow the man's head off in cold blood, he knew that he had to convey the impression that he would if forced to do so. Vance pulled their pistols and nightsticks, then tossed them towards the far corner of the room.

"Come inside, gentlemen," Turner said calmly, motioning for them to sit down.

"Look, fella," the marine sergeant said. "I don't know who you guys are, but you're quickly moving from thirty days in the brig to a lifetime of bustin' rocks out on Devil's Planet. So, why don't we be friendly about this and I'll forget about the gun?"

"Tolwyn," the other marine said, looking over at Geoff. "Hey, you're the guy who told that senator to kiss your ass."

"The same," Geoff said calmly.

"Lieutenant, these guys are officers."

"Like hell they are," the lieutenant cried, trying to reassert some control now that there were witnesses from the base in the room who would undoubtedly discuss how he behaved.