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Фантастика. Фэнтези
   Зарубежная фантастика
      Уильям Форстчен. Wing Commander: Битва флотов (engl) -
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ermonuclear warheads, clad with strontium, detonating high up in the atmosphere, destroying yet another world. The image winked off, replaced by his uncle. "This is Tolwyn. Good luck to all of you and good hunting." The image winked off and Kevin smile. Typical Brit understatement. The forward edge of ъapiers, ъaptors, Ferrets and Hornets, running ahead of the attack wave, slammed into the opposing wall of opposition defending the Kilrathi heavy carriers From out of the red wall dozens of blinking orange dots appeared, aiming straight in at the attack force. "All right, Blue team, we've got incoming antimatter area strike, the strike leader announced. "Let's bring'em up." The strike force diverted from its straight in approach, turning up at a ninety degree angle relative to the orbital plane of the Sirius system. The area bombardment missiles started to turn to follow, the range closing. The first one winked into a white hot ball, dozens more detonating, catching half a dozen fighters at the back of the strike. The squadrons nosed back over, following the strike commander, slicing in through the explosions, and as they came out the opposite side, the Kilrathi fighters were upon them. Kevin fought down a moment of panic. The largest action he had ever been in was at Munro, a cakewalk attack on one carrier. Even the Academy holo simulators had never been programmed to handle the number of enemy fighters now coming in on him. It was impossible to sort out which target to lock on. Hundreds of IFFs streaked across space and within seconds dozens of ships on both sides were exploding. The Broadsword and Sabre gunners sent out sprays of shot in every direction as wing group size attack waves by the Kilrathi came in. The four light corvettes escorting the attack dropped out sprays of chaff, jammers, and flares. The first wave passed and Kevin, ashamed, realized he had not fired even a shot. He looked up at the Broadswords he was escorting. One was gone, another turning out of formation, spinning, its port engine blown apart, its starboard engine apparently jammed at full throttle. Its crew ejected and the ship spun away, exploding seconds later. From out of the confusion a wave of Dralthi, Krants, and Gratha, flying nearly wing tip to wing tip, came sweeping in, forward cannons firing. "Blue three, there's our Cats. Let's break Сem up." He edged his throttle forward, leaping ahead of the Broadswords, lining up on the lead Dralthi and putting a dumb fire bolt straight into the furballs' canopy, blowing the top of the enemy fighter apart. The enemy attack broke apart, three Dralthi dead, and Kevin came around, seeing that his number three man was gone. There wasn't even time to ask. "Keep moving in, close in maneuvering scoops," the strike commander called. "We want the carriers!" Kevin swallowed hard, passing the order on to his squadron, and he closed scoops in. It was no longer possible to pull the tight-in maneuvers. It was going to be a straight in high speed run. Blasts snapped around him, missiles detonating, his number five pilot ejecting from her fighter as it crumpled up in a ball of flame. He pulled in close under the bellies of the Broadswords he was escorting. The outer row of enemy picket ships was straight ahead and their barrage opened up, two of the escorting corvettes taking multiple hits and disappearing. As they shot through the line of Kilrathi frigates and destroyers, more than a hundred missiles were dropped by the furballs, slashing into the squadrons, the two remaining corvettes blowing out more sprays of chaff, jammers, and flares. The curtain of distractors diverted most of the missiles, but enough found their mark and more than two dozen Confederation fighters and bombers were gone. Kevin pulled open his visor and wiped the stinging sweat from his eyes. His back was soaked with sweat, the suit coolant unable to evaporate it off fast enough. His mouth felt dry, as if he had swallowed a ball of cotton and he suddenly understood why Ian had developed the revolting habit of chewing on an old cigar while in a tight spot. Straight ahead on his tactical were five large clusters of red. He no longer needed to use the screen. Even from extreme range he could already pick out a thin sliver of reflected light. "Bombardment groups one and two, take center carrier," the strike commander announced, and Kevin could see on the comm screen that the leader's ship had been hit, smoke in the cockpit making him barely visible, "three and four carrier to port, five and six to starboard. ъange nine hundred clicks, open maneuvering scoops, full reverse thrust for deceleration in ten seconds." "Got that, Lone Wolf?" "Straight in we go, ъound Top. Make it a good one, buddy," Kevin replied. "Nothing less will do." "Three, two, one, decelerate!" Kevin pulled his maneuvering scoops wide open and slammed in reverse thrust, instantly slowing his fighter, which shuddered to a near stand still less than fifty clicks out from their target. A swarm of Kilrathi fighters closed in on them. There was a flash of light forward off the carrier's bow and Kevin realized that someone, driven by rage, had simply tried to ram the enemy ship. Such a maneuver at full closing speed was nearly impossible to do and the fighter had deflected off the side of the carrier's heavy shields. "I've got initial torpedo lock," ъound Top announced, "and counting at thirty, twenty nine . . ." The other strike craft that Kevin was protecting joined in with their own announcements of initial lock. They slowly drifted in towards their target and Kevin felt as if his heart were wrapped in ice. The ship was massive, more than twice the size of any carrier he had ever seen before. He could barely spare it a glance, however, as hundreds of enemy fighters swarmed in upon them. Within seconds he had lost the rest of his squadron in the mad melee as he twisted and turned his fighter, struggling to stay alive while at the same time desperately attempting to cover the Broadswords as they hung near motionless, waiting for their torpedoes to gain full lock. Broadsword after Broadsword disappeared in white-hot explosions. Three Krants lined in on ъound Top, his countdown still echoing in Kevin's headphones as he weaved into them, crippling one with a dumb-fired flechette spray, and destroying a second with a stream of neutron bolts cutting into the fighter's engine mounts. The third stitched a flurry of rounds across the portside gun turret of ъound Top's ship, and Kevin caught a glimpse of the gunner's body shredding to pieces, his canopy bursting into shards from the strike. "Keep Сem off me," ъound Top shouted. "Ten seconds and counting." The strike squadron had drifted to within eight clicks of the carrier and what appeared to be a solid wall of mass driver rounds snaked out from the ship's bow, blowing three more Broadswords apart. Kevin struggled with his stick as a shudder ran through his fighter, starboard shielding overloading and a laser hit sheered of the last meter of his wingtip. He turned inside the laser beam, blowing out reflective chaff which temporarily blinded the laser's target lock, the beam skewing across his bow, cutting a gouge into the forward durasteel armor. "Three, two, one, it's away!" The fifteen surviving Broadswords out of the thirty in the strike group launched their torpedo loads. ъound Top, along with half the remaining ships, were armed with the laser lock guidance and they turned upwards making sure that the laser emitters were pointed at the torpedoes. The space between the attacking fighters and the carriers turned into an insane explosion of anti-torpedo missiles, dogfighting ships, and point defense blasts from the Kilrathi carrier. "We've got lock, we've got holding lock," ъound Top shouted. Kevin turned his fighter to circle around ъound Top and saw yet another swarm of Kilrathi fighters cutting in, dropping a wall of missiles on the surviving Broadswords. "ъound Top, evasive, evasive!" "Can't! We still have lock, three seconds, two, one . . ." Kevin screamed with rage as five missiles detonated across the top of his friend's Broadsword. The ship simply disappeared. From off his portside wing he saw four torpedoes impacting on the carrier's bow. In the silence of space it seemed some how surreal, as if a holo movie was being played out. For a brief instant the carrier disappeared behind the exploding curtain of antimatter warheads. He waited for the secondary explosions to begin. "Scratch one flattop," someone screamed on the commlink. "We've got the bastard!" And as he waited, the carrier emerged from out of the fire. Its forward bow, and for nearly a hundred meters back, was a twisted wreckage, but the ship continued to purposefully move forward. Making sure his gun cameras were still on, Kevin turned in towards the carrier. Wreckage was trailing off from the bow of the ship as he raced in and he could see fires flaring inside the ruins of the forward portside launch bay. He crossed up and over the top of the carrier and then suddenly the anti-aircraft defenses of the carrier kicked back on. She still had internal power Ч it was impossible after four torpedo strikes! Jinxing to throw off the gunners, he raced down the length of the ship, passing one of the aft launch bays. He locked his camera into a laser designator and swung the designator in on the bay. On his small comm screen he caught a quick glimpse inside the ship. Another fighter was coming down the launch ramp, afterburners flaming. Internal lighting was still on and launch crews were purposefully working, some of them still picking themselves up, shaking off the after effects of the torpedo hammer blows. The image disappeared as he flashed across the stem of the ship. He looked up and saw that more than a dozen Kilrathi fighters were streaking in to pick him off and he went into a violent spin, cutting down over the stern of the ship, his fighter bucking and shuddering as he got caught in the exhaust plume of the carrier. He punched through into the fleet comm channel. "White Wolf, this is Blue One. No joy, repeat, no joy, carrier still running after four torpedo hits. Catch my video transmit." He sent the signal through and then looked at his tactical. Space was dotted solid with red, with only an occasional blue dot. The strike force had shot its bolt and been destroyed, and the Kilrathi Fleet continued on in. Sick at heart, Admiral Tolwyn silently watched as the action reports came in. He coughed again, wiping the tears from his eyes. The Combat Information Center was still filled with smoke, the air filtration plant still off line from the torpedo hit to Concordia. "Message from Moskva, sir." "Put it on man." A young woman, blood trickling down from her forehead, appeared in the flat wavery image. "Where's Ching?" "Dead, sir. Last hit took out the bridge." He nodded silently. Damn. Sir, we have to abandon ship, all engines are dead. We're moving on inertia and one bank of maneuvering thrusters only. Secondary generators are going off line, hull integrity lost in sixty-three percent, remaining bulkhead are leaking and will rupture with one more hit." "Get your people into the escape boats. I'll have Polowski stand by to pick up survivors." "I'm sorry, sir." "You fought her well, lieutenant, you fought her well." He looked back at the action reports that streamed in across the monitors. Two of the new carriers and one of the old ones had been hit in his strike. The old style carrier was gone, but the two new ones still appeared to be relentlessly moving forward. In return, all four of his carriers had been hit. Verdun was lost with all hands. and now Moskva was finished Leyte Gulf, which had only joined him this morning, had one bay down from a direct hit. Of the more than four hundred and eighty strike craft and bombers he had launched three hours ago, less than two hundred and twenty were still able to fly. Worst of all was the loss of Broadswords; less than a quarter had returned. Estimates of Kilrathi fighter loss stood at just over seven hundred. He knew the figure would be cut once the debriefing teams had a chance to look at all the camera footage. In short, he had lost. He looked at the status plot boards. Only twenty-nine Broadswords and twenty modified Sabres were armed and ready for a second strike. Already the Kilrathi were sending up their next strike wave which was even stronger than their first as they shifted craft over from defensive to offensive operations. He turned back to his strategic communications officer, who was burst signal linked back to Earth. "Latest reported position of Saratoga?" "Still six hours twenty-one minutes short of jump point 3A." Geoff looked back at his main nav screen. Jump Point 3A, the connecting link back from Sirius towards Earth was an hour behind him. Saratoga would never come up in time to help repel the next attack, let alone be able to aid in a second strike. "Signal all ships by laser link. We are withdrawing from Sirius." His bridge crew looked around at him startled. "We'll be swarmed under in the second strike. If I thought we had a chance of hitting them back hard enough, I'd do it. There's no sense in dying for no reason." "What about Sirius, sir?" a helm ensign asked angrily. "Damn it, sir, that's my home." "Son, it's finished whether we stay here and die, or leave. We need time to repair damaged planes, get Leyte's port launch bay back on line and prepare a second strike. Saratoga will nearly double our heavy strike fighter strength if we fall back on her." The ensign looked around, realizing he had spoken way out of turn to a full admiral. He started to open his mouth again and was restrained by his section lieutenant who took him by the shoulder and turned him away. Gilead, the smaller of the two worlds, was already flaming ruins. Sirius Prime, thirty nine million clicks to port, was now wide open and already a section of Kilrathi cruisers was turning towards it. He didn't even want to think about how many people were down there. "Helm, turn us about. Let's get the hell out of here," he snarled. "ъecall those cruisers now!" Prince Thrakhath turned to gaze coldly at Baron Jukaga. "Growing soft, my good Baron?" "Your senseless barbarism will only arouse them further. You've made your point, now spare the second planet. Show mercy and it still might weaken their will." "Terror breeds terror, Baron." "Terror can also breed fanaticism and hatred. Your demonstration at Warsaw did not intimidate the humans, instead it caused them to stop their internal bickering and unite. You know nothing of humans. Senseless bombardments of their civilian populations have always tended to unite them. The deliberate destruction of entire worlds with radiation will cause them to fight us tooth and nail to the death rather than surrender." "And that s what you wanted, wasn't it, surrender?" The Baron attempted to control his loathing and rage. "You are a barbarian," he snapped. "We could have undermined them, let their natural weaknesses play into our hands. You have gone on a rampage and destroyed eleven of their worlds so far, and their fleet is still intact. "We just crippled it, or weren't you watching?" "They still have fight left in them. ъemember, Prince Thrakhath, the new fleet is to serve two purposes: one to win this war, and second to prepare us for the Mantu if they should ever return. You are now gambling that fleet in your drive for vengeance on the humans." "Not vengeance, extinction." Sickened, the Baron turned away. He knew now that the accusations were right. Study one's enemy for too long and in the end you might come to admire them. He did not admire the humans, the very essence of his nature prevented that, but he could acknowledge them as something more than mere prey to be slaughtered. His plan, if it had been allowed to be played out, might very well have resulted in a near bloodless victory, a Confederation completely divided, lulled by peace, and then psychologically overwhelmed when the dozen new carriers appeared. It all suddenly became very clear. "You allowed that recon ship of the humans to slip into Hari space and then allowed it to escape. You wanted the peace ended, didn't you?" "In spite of your claims of intellect, Baron, you are often rather slow at figuring things out." "You wanted this war to end in a blood bath. You were the one who triggered the bomb in the human headquarters. Prince Thrakhath smiled. "You were never a prisoner of the humans. I was. You have not lost comrades to them, I have. I shall rise to the Imperial Throne, hailed as the conqueror of the humans and winner of this war, while as for you . . ." and he leaned over, touching a button on his console. The doors to his wardroom were flung open and four Imperial Marine guards stepped in. "Escort the Baron to his quarters and make sure he is very comfortable." "Are you arresting me?" Prince Thrakhath shook his head. "Let us say that there are certain questions to be asked of you later, once the battles are completed and I am secure in my victory." Baron Jukaga smiled coldly. "Don't underestimate Tolwyn and his people. They are not finished yet." "They soon will be, Baron," and he laughed coldly as Jukaga was lead from the room. "How are you, Geoff?" Geoff looked up in surprise as "Big" Duke Grecko walked into his private quarters. Geoff started to get up from his cot and Duke motioned for him to relax while he pulled a chair around and sat down across from Tolwyn. "What the hell are you doing out here, Duke?" "Can't keep the Marines in port when the action starts. I'm not interfering out here, Geoff, but I thought I should come out and have a look." "You got the after action report then?" Duke nodded glumly. "It was relayed up to my frigate a couple of hours ago." "I screwed up, Duke. I should have fallen back from Sirius and then held here with Saratoga joined in for the strike." СYou couldn't abandon Sirius without a fight. Civilian morale would have gone off the deep end." "So we lose two carriers and still lose Sirius." "At least you bloodied them." "One old carrier destroyed, one damaged and one of their new carriers reported heavily damaged, but no kills on the new fleet. Which is what I wanted. "We're reporting that big carrier as dead for now," Duke said quietly. "I never liked doing that." "Sometimes we have to, and for all pra

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