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

Tolwyn replied, taking a shot at a Darket light fighter that swept past his bow.

They had battled their way through increasing resistance, the human fighters forming a protective screen out ahead of the battered pirate carrier as it shaped its course right into the heart of the Kilrathi task force. In a conventional fight the humans would never have been able to penetrate so close to the two Cat escort carriers, but the Kilrathi had been disorganized coming out of their jump so close to the Bonadventure, so they hadn't been placed to block the approach with their cruisers or destroyers. These were closing in as fast as possible, but the Bonadventure was going to win the race by a slim margin . . . if the Kilrathi fighters could just be held at bay.

It was costing entirely too many of the Liberators to do that job, and Tolwyn could only pray that the sacrifice was worth it. At least the Cats had concentrated on the main threat as soon as they'd perceived it, leaving both the Landreich battle group and the crippled scoutship with its escort of three Hornets alone while the fight raged around the pirate carrier.

Earlier he'd scorned the pirate ship as a clumsy improvisation. Now Tolwyn could feel a grudging respect for the ship and crew. He'd never seen a Navy ship, ConFleet or Landreicher, bear up any better under fire than Bonadventure. Her captain would have done ConFleet proud, under different circumstances.

The carrier held on course, aimed straight for the Kilrathi escort carrier ahead.

"Skipper! Skipper! Heads up!" Venture's voice was hoarse with adrenaline. "Four Dralthis closing fast . . ."

Tolwyn cursed his own inattention. He'd let himself become distracted, and the Cats had turned up the heat against the beleaguered Landreichers. He cut sharply to port just in time to avoid multiple hits from the incoming Kilrathi medium fighters, all of them swooping down on him with their energy weapons searing the midnight sky of space.

"Mongoose" Callahan in Raptor 506 wasn't so lucky. As the Dralthis flashed past Tolwyn's fighter in tight formation they maintained their fire, battering Callahan's shields.

"Get 'em off me!" Callahan shouted.

Tolwyn tried to fall in behind the enemy formation, but they were too maneuverable. His Raptor wasn't designed for tight turns or fancy maneuvers, and he was just too far out of position to be effective . . .

Broadsword 206, Guild Squadron "Raider-One" Jump Point Six, Hellhole System 0828 hours (CST)

Winston Drake saw the four Dralthis attacking the Landreich Raptor, and almost instinctively rolled sideways to line up a shot on the nearest of them. It was only after he'd squeezed the trigger to activate a full-spectrum energy weapon bombardment that the irony of the situation really hit him.

Less than two hours ago he'd been dogfighting with the Landreichers, whose vast superiority in numbers had accounted for nearly half his fellow pilots from Bonadventure. The onslaught had been so fierce that Captain Tanaka had hastily ordered a retreat. Otherwise Drake himself would probably be vapor by now.

Yet with the appearance of the Cats everything had changed. Now the humans were working together, and that Raptor pilot out there who might have accounted for one of Drake's buddies earlier was now an ally to be saved.

His beam weapons burned through the rear shields of the Dralthi and bored into her stern. A moment later there was nothing left of her except an expanding cloud of debris. Drake let out a whoop and started lining up his next shot. This sure as hell beat sniping at unarmed tenders or getting pummeled by overwhelming Landreich forces.

The Cats realized their danger and broke in three directions at once. Muttering curses under his breath,

Drake pulled right and increased to full power, trying to keep the more maneuverable Dralthi in his sights. He squeezed off several shots, but couldn't maintain a target lock long enough to have any real effect.

Then the Kilrathi ship he was chasing burst into flame and shards of hull plating as the pilot he'd rescued joined the party. "Whoever you are, thanks for saving my bacon back there," the Raptor pilot said over the comm channel.

"Glad to help," Drake said, surprised to find he really meant it. "Check your low two. One of them's heading in!"

The Raptor turned slowly onto the new vector, and Drake's Broadsword shot past him, opening fire again. But the Dralthi's forward shields were better than those protecting the stern, and the Cat pilot made no effort to evade the incoming fire. Instead he fired back, soaking up everything Drake had to give him and countering with his own full-powered beams.

Drake gave a cold grin. The Dralthi's energy reserves didn't cycle back to full power as quickly as a Broadsword's did, and his forward shields were weaker. This Cat wanted to trade body blows? That was fine with him. "Goodbye, puss," he said, tightening his grip on the trigger on his stick.

It was only then that he spotted the second Dralthi rising from behind the first one, adding its own hellish energies to the onslaught hammering at his forward shields. He barely had time to register the fact before half-a-dozen alarms went off in his cockpit.

After that, Winston Drake knew no more.

Flag Bridge, KIS Klarran Jump Point Six, Hellhole System 0829 hours (CST)

Admiral Julgar nar Ta'hal could feel the cold claws of the God of the Running Death closing around his throat. "Where in the name of all the Gods are the cruisers?" he demanded.

His aide had to grab on to the back of a chair to steady himself as another hit rocked the carrier. "Closing, Lord Admiral. They have already opened fire on that . . . ship. Whatever it is."

"Not enough . . . and not in time. Who would have conceived of the apes being willing to use a ship that size as a suicide vessel?" Julgar clenched one hand. 'We