William Fortchen - Action Stations

Along the entire jump line from McAuliffe back to Earth, there was only one squadron of destroyers besides Dayan's task force. If the fleet at McAuliffe was totally destroyed, nothing could stop the Kilrathi from storming straight on, into the inner worlds. If there was anything left out there, he could only pray that whoever was in charge knew how to save the ships and get out.

It had been nearly twenty-four hours since the action had opened. Burst signal back to McAuliffe was down again, and all he could do was wait and pray.

Mcauliffe System

Coughing and spitting, Valeri Olson crossed through the damage control doors and stepped back into the Combat Information Center. A damage control ensign handed her a bottle of oxygen and she gratefully took a couple of breaths. Wiping the soot from her face, she looked around the deck. The ventilation system filters had already overloaded, so the room had a surreal sense to it; smoke-filled, red lights from battle displays illuminating the center in a Dantesque light. Turner was standing in the middle of the room, waiting for her.

"How is it?" he asked, not even bothering to look at her, his gaze fixed on the holo field.

"There's at least a hundred dead or missing. Fire is still raging on deck twelve, sectors B through K. It's a hell of a mess back there, but we can still fight."

"The warhead?"

She smiled. "The armorer said she's a dud. He said it was the damnedest thing, a key link in the firing mechanism was installed backwards. A test scan would show it in place, but an actual firing, and nothing."

Surprised, Turner looked at her.

"All I can think is that we heard reports about how the Kilrathi use slave labor. Maybe somebody decided to do a little sabotage."

The irony of it all caught Turner's attention. Whoever installed the card backwards had saved his carrier, yet he would never know who it was, nor would the saboteur know just how much they had accomplished.

"And here?"

Turner nodded towards the holo display. He had been on his feet for over twenty-four hours as they made the long retreat out of the system, maneuvering around the primary star to finally rendezvous with Dayan, coming down from jump point Delta.

"Their carriers are starting to move away from McAuliffe, heading towards us. Two battleships are bombarding the surface, wiping out any pockets of resistance. It looks like ten assault transports are moving in to disembark a landing force."

He held up a pointer and started to trace out particular points of the battle.

"Did anyone else get out?"

Turner shook his head. "Three frigates, a couple of destroyers, one light cruiser, all the rest are gone."

"My God," she whispered, "that's it?"

"That's it. We've lost over eighty ships, the base-" he paused, " — and at least two hundred thousand personnel."

"Where's Dayan now?"

He pointed back to the holo field and a blue flash appeared.

"She is coming in to rendezvous with us now."

"And you're still going to do this?"

Turner nodded.

"Val, we've got to do something. The Third Marine Division down on McAuliffe is putting up a hell of a fight. We can't write them off. Tactically, the Cats should have taken off in hot pursuit of us before we could link up with Dayan. But, for God knows what reason, they stayed in orbit around McAuliffe, providing space-to-ground support. The Marines and surface-to-space interdiction systems tore things up, and they lost a lot of birds."

He fell silent, remembering the pullback with Commando Six, two of his men left behind. I should have died with them, I should have stayed. I'll be damned if I let them down now. Ulandi's down there.

He looked over at Val.

"If you think I'm out of line, Val, tell me. We're talking about going back in."

She shook her head. "That's a good division down there, Turner, thirty thousand men and women. We're not going to abandon them."

"More like ten or fifteen by now," Turner replied sadly. "The damn Cats just nuked the hell out of the place. The only thing relatively intact is the airstrips. But Val, if we go back it might very well mean this ship."

"If the situation was reversed, what would they do?" she said with a smile.

"Come back and try to get our asses out, or die doing it," he replied softly. "But we've got to think of this carrier and Dayan's task force. We're the only assets left between here and the inner worlds. Even if we do fight our way in, there's no way in hell we'll be able to stay. All we can hope to do is cut them up enough so that the old Third has a fighting chance, then get the hell out."

"Sir, if we turn about and run, everyone will know we've abandoned our comrades. We're going to have to come about anyhow, and face off against the bastards, and we might as well do it here. Maybe, if we twist their tails enough, it'll stop them from pushing on, even if we do go down in the process."

Turner nodded wearily. It was the same argument he had used for himself. It had to be more than sentiment, more than guilt for a dead team lost twenty years ago. Yes, it was those things, but he could not allow himself the luxury of letting the personal side interfere with a decision that could very well affect the outcome of the war. Dayan was in favor of the suggestion as well. There was part of him that wished the comm link with Banbridge was back up, so he could push the decision to Skip, but he knew that was dodging the shot. And besides, he knew what Skip would do.

"Hell of a day," Valeri said, looking over at Turner.

"Thanks again for not putting up an argument when I came on board."

"Hell, sir, if I had you might have flunked me if I ever came back to the Academy for some graduate work."

The Academy… a long way from that now. He thought of his office, the photo of Marine Six, the other of Midway and the suicidal gesture of the Torpedo Squadrons.

"Well, Val," he said quietly, "maybe they won't cut the budget after all."

"Commander Turner?"

The comm screen lit up to show Rear Admiral Naomi Dayan, her pale blue eyes blazing with an intense emotion. "I've reviewed your suggested tactical plan and am in agreement."

Turner nodded grimly.

"I'm ordering the fleet to come about now and close at top speed."

Gilkarg paced back and forth angrily, looking at the plot board. Everything was confusion. The first assault wave, which was supposed to drop six hours after the initial attack and secure the landing sites, had failed abysmally. An entire legion had been annihilated before they had even touched down, slaughtered by hidden surface-to-air batteries which had held their fire until the transports were in the atmosphere. Nargth had ordered the direct attack, rather than transferring the troops over to landing craft, claiming that all resistance had been neutralized and that it would be a waste of time to go through the transfer.

As a result the other transports had been pulled back out of orbit and the Imperial shock troops were just now completing the transfer to assault landing craft, while his bombers and fighters continued to pound the planet's surface.

This was not what he wanted his carriers to engage in. The old doctrines were gone, it was the surviving enemy carrier and the new one that had come into the system which should be his targets. Damn Nargth for sending the dispatch to the Emperor about the opening stage of the attack. The orders had come for his own group to stay near McAuliffe until the base had been seized, and only then for the fleet to push on in pursuit.

"My Lord."

Gilkarg looked over at his tactical command officer.

"My Lord, the enemy carriers and their accompanying ships are reported to be moving at high speed."

Gilkarg walked over to the tactical display and examined the red blips.