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than in the last battle. One of his carriers was gone, another slightly
damaged. He would absorb and totally destroy the offensive strike, eliminating
the final threat. Then he would smash through with a totally annihilating
second strike, smashing whatever was left of the enemy fleet.
They could no longer retreat and regroup; they would have to stand and die.
But the Marines? What were they for? To draw fire, obviously, while the last
of the Broadswords went in.
"Still concentrate on the Broadswords," he said. Then we slaughter the rest."
Kevin tried to purge the anguish, to block it out. His friends, his comrades
were dying. Flickers of light filled space straight ahead and to starboard a
hundred and fifty clicks away. The Broadsword strike was going in. His
tactical screen traced the attack. The first wave of
Broadswords, what few were left, was slowing, hovering. Going through the
agonizing thirty second countdown to launch. And one after another their
transponders winked off, the blue blips replaced by brief flashes of light and
then disappearing.
He switched to strike two's main comm channel.
"Ten seconds, nine, keep 'em off, keep 'em off& "
"I can't eject, I can't get out oh God I'm burning& "
"Six on your tail, Maria, break, break& "
"Yellow three, torpedo lock failed, am& "
The signals became fewer, space ahead flashing with hundreds of points of
light.
The second wave, going towards the carriers, was straight ahead, slashing into
the storm of defense. A hundred Kilrathi fighters were now hitting into his
own attack column and ships were dying, but the main blow had not hit yet.
"Blue One, we've got company coming."
Kevin tore his attention away from the dying attack and saw a wave of fifty
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ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
fighters coming in from above and slashing into the column behind him. He held
course, looking over his shoulder.
Nearly a thousand craft were spread out around him. Off his port quarter he
saw a civilian transplanet liner trying an evasive and disappear in an
explosion after a single burst of neutron bolts from a light fighter.
It was suicide and he had to harden his heart to the realization that was
precisely what the pilots flying the civilian craft had signed on for.
They were nothing more than sitting ducks, unshielded, totally defenseless.
Having been given pressure suits and rescue transponders, the pilots were told
to bail out if things got too hot But they were serving their purpose. The
first waves of Kilrathi fighters, wading into the hundreds of targets, had
become drunk with the thrill of killing. He watched as a flight of Krants shot
right through a line of Marine transports, not even bothering to fire, racing
ahead to smash a cruiser size liner, a dozen fighters tearing into the
defenseless ship until it split apart. And each fighter that took thirty
seconds to line up and fire on a useless ship was one less fighter engaged in
the real fight, while the hidden weapon drew even closer.
"My lord, we might have a tactical analysis on what they are doing."
Thrakhath looked over at his tactical officer.
Even as the officer started to offer his analysis the truth of what he was
saying sunk in.
"All fighters strike them now! Strike them now. Order all carriers into full
evasive!"
"Here we go! All ships pick your targets. If you can't get to a carrier, nail
a cruiser. Charge!"
General Duke Grecko leaned forward, looking over the shoulder of his assault
craft pilot A recorded charge blared on the assault craft's loud speaker and
Grecko grinned with delight.
Behind him, in the aft personnel bay, a hundred assault troops cheered,
thumping the butts of their laser rifles on the floor of the ship.
Space around him was pure chaos. Hundreds of Kilrathi fighters were swarming
in, escort ships moving to intersect the attack. Dozens of ships and assault
craft were vaporizing every second in the slaughter, so that he thought for an
instant that his plan was exactly what Geoff, and for that matter everyone
else from the President on down, had declared it to be:
pure suicide.
The only advantage he could now see in being head of the Joint Chiefs of
Staff, was that he didn't have to convince anyone he simply had to give the
order, and then go.
A civilian liner twisted in front of him, blocking the rush of three incoming
Dralthi, diverting their shots. His own pilot dived under the liner as it
exploded and then lined back up on their target.
"The carrier, go for the carrier!"
"We'll never make it. Let's nail the destroyer to port!"
"Damn it, son, I'm the general here. Anything less than a carrier is an
insult, now move it!"
Kevin weaved his way through the melee, moving up to protect an assault wave
of twenty Marine landing craft, a full brigade of troops packed inside. They
were breaking through.
A Kilrathi destroyer was moving in towards the group and he saw three of the
landing craft turn towards the destroyer. The destroyers defensive batteries
nailed two. The third closed in, letting loose with its ground
bombardment armaments which leaped across space, exploding across the bow of
the enemy ship. The rounds were designed for area suppression, not shield and
hull penetration, but they nevertheless blinded the ship. The landing craft
swung across the top side of the destroyer, matching speed and then slammed
Page 143 [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl szkicerysunki.xlx.pl
than in the last battle. One of his carriers was gone, another slightly
damaged. He would absorb and totally destroy the offensive strike, eliminating
the final threat. Then he would smash through with a totally annihilating
second strike, smashing whatever was left of the enemy fleet.
They could no longer retreat and regroup; they would have to stand and die.
But the Marines? What were they for? To draw fire, obviously, while the last
of the Broadswords went in.
"Still concentrate on the Broadswords," he said. Then we slaughter the rest."
Kevin tried to purge the anguish, to block it out. His friends, his comrades
were dying. Flickers of light filled space straight ahead and to starboard a
hundred and fifty clicks away. The Broadsword strike was going in. His
tactical screen traced the attack. The first wave of
Broadswords, what few were left, was slowing, hovering. Going through the
agonizing thirty second countdown to launch. And one after another their
transponders winked off, the blue blips replaced by brief flashes of light and
then disappearing.
He switched to strike two's main comm channel.
"Ten seconds, nine, keep 'em off, keep 'em off& "
"I can't eject, I can't get out oh God I'm burning& "
"Six on your tail, Maria, break, break& "
"Yellow three, torpedo lock failed, am& "
The signals became fewer, space ahead flashing with hundreds of points of
light.
The second wave, going towards the carriers, was straight ahead, slashing into
the storm of defense. A hundred Kilrathi fighters were now hitting into his
own attack column and ships were dying, but the main blow had not hit yet.
"Blue One, we've got company coming."
Kevin tore his attention away from the dying attack and saw a wave of fifty
Page 142
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
fighters coming in from above and slashing into the column behind him. He held
course, looking over his shoulder.
Nearly a thousand craft were spread out around him. Off his port quarter he
saw a civilian transplanet liner trying an evasive and disappear in an
explosion after a single burst of neutron bolts from a light fighter.
It was suicide and he had to harden his heart to the realization that was
precisely what the pilots flying the civilian craft had signed on for.
They were nothing more than sitting ducks, unshielded, totally defenseless.
Having been given pressure suits and rescue transponders, the pilots were told
to bail out if things got too hot But they were serving their purpose. The
first waves of Kilrathi fighters, wading into the hundreds of targets, had
become drunk with the thrill of killing. He watched as a flight of Krants shot
right through a line of Marine transports, not even bothering to fire, racing
ahead to smash a cruiser size liner, a dozen fighters tearing into the
defenseless ship until it split apart. And each fighter that took thirty
seconds to line up and fire on a useless ship was one less fighter engaged in
the real fight, while the hidden weapon drew even closer.
"My lord, we might have a tactical analysis on what they are doing."
Thrakhath looked over at his tactical officer.
Even as the officer started to offer his analysis the truth of what he was
saying sunk in.
"All fighters strike them now! Strike them now. Order all carriers into full
evasive!"
"Here we go! All ships pick your targets. If you can't get to a carrier, nail
a cruiser. Charge!"
General Duke Grecko leaned forward, looking over the shoulder of his assault
craft pilot A recorded charge blared on the assault craft's loud speaker and
Grecko grinned with delight.
Behind him, in the aft personnel bay, a hundred assault troops cheered,
thumping the butts of their laser rifles on the floor of the ship.
Space around him was pure chaos. Hundreds of Kilrathi fighters were swarming
in, escort ships moving to intersect the attack. Dozens of ships and assault
craft were vaporizing every second in the slaughter, so that he thought for an
instant that his plan was exactly what Geoff, and for that matter everyone
else from the President on down, had declared it to be:
pure suicide.
The only advantage he could now see in being head of the Joint Chiefs of
Staff, was that he didn't have to convince anyone he simply had to give the
order, and then go.
A civilian liner twisted in front of him, blocking the rush of three incoming
Dralthi, diverting their shots. His own pilot dived under the liner as it
exploded and then lined back up on their target.
"The carrier, go for the carrier!"
"We'll never make it. Let's nail the destroyer to port!"
"Damn it, son, I'm the general here. Anything less than a carrier is an
insult, now move it!"
Kevin weaved his way through the melee, moving up to protect an assault wave
of twenty Marine landing craft, a full brigade of troops packed inside. They
were breaking through.
A Kilrathi destroyer was moving in towards the group and he saw three of the
landing craft turn towards the destroyer. The destroyers defensive batteries
nailed two. The third closed in, letting loose with its ground
bombardment armaments which leaped across space, exploding across the bow of
the enemy ship. The rounds were designed for area suppression, not shield and
hull penetration, but they nevertheless blinded the ship. The landing craft
swung across the top side of the destroyer, matching speed and then slammed
Page 143 [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]