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

on the firing button when a solid blow knocked him off his feet, slamming him against the bulkhead. He tried to get back up, barely seeing the Kilrathi Imperial Guard trooper closing in on him from behind.

The Cat fired again, stitching a burst across his chest and the world started to go warm and hazy.

He looked up and saw Jenny standing over him. She looked like his daughter, or was it his wife, or mother — filled with gentleness.

She looked at him, a smile lighting her innocent face, and then her fist slammed down on the ignitor.

Kevin Tolwyn flung his hand over his visor as a sun ignited before him.

They got it!

He knew he was getting dosed but he didn't care. Not now. The entire top forward half of the carrier was engulfed in the fireball, the lower and aft parts of the ship tumbling down from the shock of the explosion. The rest of the ship appeared to hold together for a brief instant and then fractured open, the engine cells igniting, the fireball racing outward. Another flash detonated to his right followed by half a dozen more. He guessed that two of them were cruisers, the others, he wasn't sure of.

But two more of them were heavy carriers! The glare of the explosions filled space across hundreds of cubic kilometers. His dose meter clicked off, beeping an alarm. He didn't care. He just didn't care anymore. They had finished the bastards.

He closed his eyes, feeling at peace.

Stunned, Prince Thrakhath turned his fighter around, looking back at his flagship as it blew apart, a dozen clicks behind him.

He knew that those on the deck had thought him a coward for leaving the ship, seeing through his excuse that he was going to personally lead the next wave into battle.

Well, they were dead now and he was still alive.

His heart filled with mad rage as more detonations let go, two more of his prized ships disappearing, and he howled with insane fury.

The explosions died away. He scanned through his tactical.

He still had one old carrier and Craxtha intact.

He punched into Craxtha's main channel and called in the commander of the ship obviously startled.

"We feared you were dead, my lord."

"I was off ship, preparing to lead the next strike."

"Sivar be praised. She guided you thus, my lord."

"The status of your ship?"

"She is fully operational, my lord. We repelled all boarders — my fighters stopped them long before they closed."

He could detect the pride in the commander, as if he were saying that the other ships were lost through negligence.

"Yes, of course, praise to Sivar. Order all heavy strike fighters from all ships to land on your carrier and rearm immediately for a killing strike on the enemy fleet. We will still win this action."

The commander hesitated.

"We have reports of an incoming strike of enemy destroyers, my lord. And besides, you are talking about turning around over five hundred strike craft on this one ship

"Your ship is designed to handle that. Now pass the order. Let the remaining fighters and our escorts block the destroyers."

"As you command, my lord."

Thrakhath turned his fighter in towards Craxtha, which within minutes was surrounded by swarms of fighters who were lining up for recovery on the six launch bays.

Thrakhath cut into the front of the landing pattern and came in, touching down in the forward portside landing bay.

Inside the hangar deck was mass confusion, the bay crammed from one end to the other with fighters. Fuel lines were snaked across the deck, armaments lockers were open and torpedoes were being hoisted out. Crews struggled with long energy cables, hooking them into ships, recharging neutron guns, batteries, and shielding systems.

There was no semblance of order: pilots and ship crews from the other three heavy carriers milled about, most of them in obvious shock at the sudden reversal.

Thrakhath stepped out of his fighter and instantly the deck went silent.

"Keep working," he snarled. "We will still finish the scum before this day is done."

He felt the ship start to heel over, the starfield outside the entry lock shifting. He could imagine the confusion this sudden maneuver was causing with the hundred or more fighters and strike craft still lined up for recovery. Angrily, he strode across the deck into the launch officer's operations office.

"Put the bridge on," he thundered.

"What are you doing up there?" he shouted. "We need to get these fighters in as soon as possible and turned around."

"Five destroyers have broken through the inner screen and are coming straight in on us."

"Enemy carrier turning away, sir.

"Keep on closing," Mike said calmly.

He looked over at his helm officer and smiled.

"Just like the Battle of Leyte Gulf," Mike said.

"I was thinking that," the helm replied "One of my illustrious ancestors commanded a cruiser there. We should have won that day."

Mike nodded.

"Torpedo room."

"Torpedo room, sir."

"Have lock yet?"

"Twenty-two seconds and counting, sir."

Mike looked back up at his tactical. Of the twelve destroyers in his squadron only four were left. There was a flash of light on his main visual and he realized he was down to three.

"Hell of a day to be a destroyer skipper," and then he focused back on the enemy carrier, a dozen clicks ahead as it turned hard over, now presenting a full amidships shot and then started to present its stern.

A swarm of Kilrathi fighters shot in, stitching his destroyer with everything they still had. Four of them elected to simply come straight in, one of them kamikaziing through the shield as it struggled to recover from the repeated hammer blows. The kamikaze hit just aft of the bridge, blowing into the center of the ship, knocking Mike to the deck. Decompression alarms sounded off, the damage control board sparkling with red lights.

"Torpedo room."

"Twelve and counting, sir. What the hell happened back there?"

"Never mind, just get those birds launched."

Another string of fighters swooped in, concentrating on the bow of the ship.

"We've lost lock, sir. Torpedo guidance control off line."

"Damn it!"

To his right, Roger Young launched its