Wing Commander #07 False Color by William Forstchen (best books to read in life .txt) 📕

"That must have been right near the end of the war," Bondarevsky commented.

"I suppose it was, sir." Harper shrugged again. "Fact is, we don't really figure the war is over. If anything, things are worse now than when Kilrah was still around and old Thrakhath was calling the shots. He thought the same way the confees did about our stretch of space, I guess. The Imperial province facing us was a dumping ground for rejects and castoffs, ships and Cats alike. The leaders were usually nobles who were out of favor with the Imperial Government but too important to deny a posting. The ships were mostly third-line, and the crews were either still getting their spacelegs, or recovering from a hard stint in the main Theater of Operations, or sometimes they were oldsters past their prime but still serving in the Navy."

"That's probably the only thing that kept your people alive," Bondarevsky said. "No insult intended, Harper, but if this had ever become a primary target area, I doubt if the Free Republic's Navy could have stood against some of the stuff the Cats were throwing at us."

"True enough, sir, true enough," Harper said. "When they launched that raid last year, they built their squadron around one of their supercarriers. Damned big, she was, I tell you true."

"But you beat her off?" Bondarevsky couldn't keep a note of incredulity out of his voice.

"It took everything we had, but we did it," Harper said. "The Cats lost a couple of ships, and when they found us waiting over Landreich they contented themselves with a long-range orbital bombardment and then headed for the jump point. Our Intel boffins said they were supposed to teach us a lesson in return for our helping the confees at Earth, but I don't think their hearts were really in it. 'Twas a damn-fool idea anyway, supercarrier or not. Even if they'd done what they set out to do, what would it have accomplished anyway? They might have chopped up Landreich pretty bad, just like they did Terra before the relief fleet arrived, but the rest of the Republic would still have been there . . . and it wouldn't have made much difference to the course of the war elsewhere."

"Is the carrier still there?" Bondarevsky asked. "If the Cats still have a supercarrier in these parts and they decide to make a serious attempt against the Republic, that one supercarrier would be a more serious threat than most of the rest of their fleet, especially if they've been relying on junk Thrakhath didn't want for the primary theater."

"As to that, who knows?" Harper's shrug was eloquent. "We had a message that a couple of confees caught up with the big bastard somewhere out in the Disputed Zone, but they never came back. On the other hand, word is the raiding squadron never went home either, if the intelligence reports that've leaked from on high are anything to be trusted. I guess both sides ended up as debs, more's the pity for your confee boys."

"Well, at least the Cats aren't waving a supercarrier in our faces," Bondarevsky said. "That's something."

"Aye, it is, but I'm thinking it might not be enough this time, sir. Not by a long shot. We're used to standing on our own two feet out here, but I'll confess to you, sir, that I wish Admiral Richards was bringing back word that Terra was willing to back us." He mustered a grin, but Bondarevsky could see that Harper was forcing the cheerful expression. "Fact is, we've never been completely on our own, even when the confees put us at the bottom of the list of strategic targets. We always figured we'd get help if we truly needed it—your Free Corps, or something like it—and that made facing the Cats a mite less frightening. Now, though . . . we really are on our own this time out, and I'm wondering if it's any of us at all who'll be seeing home again after it's done with."

Unbidden, an image of the wrecked bridge of the Coventry flashed through Bondarevsky's mind, with the dead sprawled across their consoles and vacuum tearing away the air with an audible shriek. But he thrust it away. "Some won't make it, Harper," he said quietly. "But if we can stop the Cats, even the ones who don't come back will have counted for something."

Presidential Palace, Newburg Landreich, Landreich System 1624 hours (CST), 2670.292

The Presidential Palace was said to be the largest residence on Landreich, and Bondarevsky was prepared to believe it. On his last tour along the frontier he'd never actually been here. In those days Kruger had led his people from the front, setting up a presidential command post at the Landreich base on Hellhole when he wasn't playing squadron commander from the bridge of a warship. It was a lot easier picturing the hard-bitten Kruger going into action than it was to envision him in the palatial surroundings that greeted Richards, Tolwyn, and Bondarevsky on their arrival. Themistocles had barely made orbit when word came for the three to see Kruger in person. Lieutenant Harper's shuttle had carried them straight into the Palace Compound, and from there they'd been conducted inside, passed from one staffer to another until they had finally been led to the reception chamber outside Kruger's office.

"A moment, please, gentlemen. The President is in a meeting, but he'll be able to see you shortly."

Bondarevsky nodded courteously to the slender, elderly man who had been introduced as Kruger's Chief of Protocol, a soft-spoken and gentlemanly sort who seemed completely out of place anywhere within twenty light-years of Max Kruger. Admiral Tolwyn didn't respond to the man at all, seemingly wrapped up in his own thoughts. Richards gave the aide a cheerful smile. "Don't worry about it, Karl," he said. "Knowing how Max feels about meetings, I'd be willing to bet we won't have long to wait."

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