Fleet Action (wc-3) by William Forstchen (100 books to read in a lifetime txt) 📕

his hand in acknowledgment. It seemed strange to Ian to see the Admiral not in standard fleet uniform, but in the khaki of a Landreich officer.

Just how the hell did he get out here so fast? Ian wondered, what with Jason's ship arriving only last night into orbit above Landreich.

"Those of you in colonial forces that are assigned aboard former Confed ships will take orders from the duly appointed commander of that ship."

A low groan went up from the colonial personnel in the room.

We've got to coordinate this effort," Kruger snapped, "so no complaints."

"Any questions?"

The colonial officers looked at each other, mumbled a bit and said nothing.

Kruger nodded towards Tolwyn, who came up to the front of the room.

"Well, I'm glad to see that most of you at least made it out here.

"First off . . ." and Tolwyn was interrupted by the sharp spine tingling wail of a klaxon.

The room went quiet as Kruger raced to a monitor, leaned over it, and then turned back.

"Any pilots with strike craft please man them immediately."

Ian pushed his way out of the room, a stream of colonial pilots pushing around him, Jason, Kevin, and Doomsday falling in at his side.

They ran up the corridor and out into the blazing heat, scattering towards hangars, the high wail of sirens echoing against the surrounding hills. The ground crew, which had so lazily come out to meet Ian when he landed, were moving with a cool precision, unchocking the wheels, the crew chief inside the cockpit, the engine already up and whining, four crew members lifting two missiles up onto the Sabre's wing pylons. Ian ran to the ladder, one of the ground crew tossing him his helmet which he snapped on, the chief coming down the ladder and clearing it just as Ian leaped on to the third rung and scrambled up, the chief now behind him. Ian saw Jason and Doomsday running past, heading for the Ferrets they had flown down from Tarawa.

"Engine green, nav system loaded by combat control, all weapons green with two radar trackers loaded, emergency eject armed and ready, good luck, sir!" the chief shouted, even as he reached over and helped buckle Ian's safety harness on, cinching the shoulder straps tight.

This is Hunter in Sabre 239A ready," Ian announced to the control tower.

"Will advise, Hunter, ground chief will signal your clearance," the ground control officer snapped and then switched off.

Ian gave a thumbs-up as the chief slid down the ladder and the canopy snapped shut, the green light of airtight lock flashing on. The chief was now out in front of Ian's fighter, hands held high over his head with fists crossed, signaling that the taxi ramp was not yet cleared. The Ferret with the light corvette engine he admired earlier bolted straight out of its hangar to his right, not even bothering to go for the runway and not needing one anyhow as it pitched its nose back, and within fifty yards stood on its tail, flame slamming off the concrete taxiway as it screamed straight up into the sky, riding a column of fire.

To his left he saw the armored bunker which contained the surface to space missiles peel open, the silver tips of half a dozen Sprints pointing straight up.

"Hunter cleared for takeoff, once lifted depart angle nine zero," the control officer's voice crackled in his headset and he grinned with the order to go for a full burn vertical ascent into space.

The crew chief uncrossed his arms and leaped to the side of the Sabre, crouched, and pointed forward. Ian released his brakes, slammed in full afterburners and all aft maneuvering thrusters. The Sabre leaped forward and within seconds he was up past a hundred and ninety clicks an hour. He yanked back on his stick, pulling it into his gut, the nose lifted up and he was off.

Ian toggled up his landing gear as his Sabre pointed straight up into the red sky, the altimeter spinning. Inertial dampening didn't work all that well inside the gravity well of a planet and he started to breathe in short convulsive grunts as the Gs built up. He knew his sonic boom was blasting out across the landscape but it was almost silent inside the cockpit except for the teeth-rattling rumble of the twin Tangent-class engines burning white hot behind him. He punched through the thin clouds and the color of the sky shifted, turning from a deeper red into violet, the first stars starting to appear. He looked to his left to see the curvature of the world and what looked like another Ferret rising up to close on his port wing.

"Combat information, this is Hunter, what's the trade today?"

"Forward scouts report detecting an ionized trail emerging from Jump Point Beta 233. There have been weak radar detects and one laser scan lock indicating a fighter of Kilrathi Stealth design is approaching. Patrol grid is already fed into your auto-nav. If you encounter unknown you are cleared to shoot to kill without warning."

"Just what I wanted to hear," Ian replied as he locked in on the auto nav system and released his controls, the autopilot taking over. Cleared into space, and with fuel scoops closed he continued to accelerate so that within minutes the full sphere of the Hell Hole hung in space behind him.

The attempt to ship fighters to the Landreich was known by the Kilrathi thanks to the peace commission and a scouting attempt had to be expected. At least the colonials didn't fool around with diplomatic niceties, Ian thought. If someone violated their space in a suspicious manner they were taken out, no questions asked

He scanned the comm channels, listening in as pilots tersely called out their check points and the search spread outward. The frustrating part of it was that unless they had some really good luck, they could very well pass right over a Stealth and not even know it. The mere fact that the Empire was sneaking a very