bulkheads had already been sealed  for action  stations. Jason
looked  over at the damage  display board. Three sectors of  the outer  hull
were gone, crew quarters.  He  could only hope no one was still in there. He
waited, watching to see if the breach would rip down the length of  the hull
or burst into the heart of the ship. It held.
     "What ship was that?"
     "Destroyer Blitzkreig, Kruger's flagship, sir."
     "Damage?"
     "Part of her port rear stabilizer gone. Hull integrity holding."
     "Then the hell with her, get the rest of those fighters out!"
     He turned back to tactical display and drew in his breath.
     Kruger was  either a  genius or a  madman, the next five minutes  would
tell Ч so far the plan had worked.
     Directly  ahead,  at  less  than a thousand kilometers, were the  three
Kilrathi carriers, moving in line abreast formation. Kruger had met them ten
hours earlier  as  they jumped into  the Hell  Hole system, fought  a  brief
skirmish, trading a corvette and two fighters for two  destroyers and nearly
twenty fighters of the Cats and then fled, the enemy in hot pursuit.
     They had jumped out of  the Hell Hole System,  come to a dead stop, and
then turned, jumping straight back into the system they had just fled.
     The Kilrathi,  assuming they  were chasing a beaten and far weaker foe,
had recovered nearly all their fighters in preparation for jump in  pursuit.
Forward of the  carriers  by three hundred  clicks was  the outer screen  of
frigates, which would, according to standard doctrine, jump through first to
secure the next point in preparation for the carriers to follow.
     ъange to the forward ships would close in under a minute.

     Doomsday  gave the thumbs up to  the  deck launch officer. She saluted,
crouched  down  low, pointing  forward, and the senior  deck  officer in the
launch control room hit the catapult button.
     In under  two  seconds Doomsday was clear  of Tarawa, full afterburners
roaring, even as Tarawa turned  to avoid colliding  with Kruger's flag ship.
Doomsday banked hard  over,  skimming past  the  destroyer with  less than a
dozen meters to spare, and took a deep breath as he shot clear.
     His heavily modified Sabre, with  side-by-side pilot and co-pilot seats
crammed in,  and a single  heavy Mark IV torpedo slung underneath shook with
the 110% power surge. Grinning, he looked over at Paladin who was flying the
right hand seat as weapons officer.
     "Here we go again, laddie," Paladin said calmly, though  Doomsday could
tell that the old pilot was miffed that there weren't enough fighters in the
fleet for him to get one of his own.
     "Weapons check?"
     "Torpedo armed and ready, now give me a target."
     Doomsday spared a  quick look  down at his tactical screen. The forward
string of frigates were less than a minute away, the first  of them  already
slowing, turning  to move in across the carriers. Less than  thirty  seconds
behind them the three carriers were starting to come about
     "All hells about to  break loose," Paladin chuckled.  "These two fleets
are about to go straight through each other.
     "There's  the rest of the strike,"  Doomsday announced, pointing nearly
straight up, and he edged his stick back, climbing a thousand meters to tuck
himself  in  under  a  Broadsword's  belly,  giving  himself  a  little more
protection from the heavy strike craft's gunners.
     "We're going for the middle carrier," Doomsday said quietly.
     "We'll  go for his port launch  deck, you take the starboard one, lad,"
the Landreich pilot  of the  Broadsword  above  them  replied  and  Doomsday
clicked his mike twice as an affirmative.
     "Hang on, crossing through the frigates!"
     A crisscrossing of neutron bursts, laserflashes, and mass driver rounds
snaked  out  from  the  Kilrathi  picket line.  Doomsday held steady on  his
course, working  for an early fix  and lock on the center carrier, which was
now full broadside and starting to come around astern.
     "Launch bay hits are out," Paladin announced. "Go for main engines."
     A Landreich  fighter,  moving ahead of  the two, winked into a fireball
and disappeared.  They shot  through  the wreckage, Doomsday wincing when  a
bloody smear of what had once been the pilot smashed into his forward canopy
and spun  away into the darkness. The blood seemed to be a dark omen and  he
started to breathe hard, fighting down the sense  of premonition and Paladin
looked over at him.
     "He was already dead, laddie, already dead."
     Doomsday gulped hard and  shook  his  head.  He pulled  open his helmet
visor.  wiped the sweat from his face. He  reached  into a breast pocket and
pulled out a short cigar and clamped down hard on it, chewing the end.
     Ian  had  given the cigar to him long ago. He had never  smoked it, but
somehow, for this mission he felt it was a talisman and he brought it along.
     They shot under the belly of a frigate, the two attack craft shuddering
as  they  skimmed  through  the  high energy  field  of  the ship's fuel and
maneuvering scoops.
     "I have target lock," Paladin announced calmly, "and counting at thirty
seconds, twenty nine."
     Doomsday hated  torpedo  launches more  than anything else. It required
the fighter to stay on a straight and steady course for thirty seconds until
the torpedoes' guidance  and  arming  systems cut  through  the high  energy
shielding of the target, decoded the shield phasing,  and then countered the
phasing so that it could penetrate for the kill.
     The carriers were now  clearly visible in  space,  three silvery masses
less  than  fifty clicks  ahead,  the ships completing  their turns, engines
winking  white hot.  Three  Landreich fighters darted past  Doomsday,  their
afterburners  flaring, diving straight  in,  loosing a  string  of  infrared
guided missiles. The shots would not penetrate but their explosions  on  the
carriers aft shields would momentarily blind the point defense systems.
     "First  fighters coming out,"  Doomsday announced, able to  clearly see
the pinpoints of light leaping out from the Kilrathi carriers.
     "The  furballs are a bit late  today. Caught them with their pants down
this time, that is if the buggers are wearing pants."
     The  pin points of light disappeared, and Doomsday knew that meant they
had turned and were coming straight back towards him.
     He  caught  the  first hum of an IFF locking on. and  then three  more.
Taking over defensive systems control  from Paladin, he launched  one of the
new  noise  makers,  hoping  it would  distract the  missiles.  The Kilrathi
carrier seemed to fill all of space in  front of him and he felt that if  he
closed  any further, he'd  run straight into it.  The  sweat was soaking his
back and he found himself silently praying.
     A modified  Ferret, stitched onto what  looked  like old  twin  Sabre A
engines, slammed past, diving straight into the  emerging fighters.  Several
flashes of light appeared, fighters being killed, though  Doomsday could not
tell who had bought it
     "Ten  seconds,  nine.  eight. Signal lock  on, phase  counter lock  on,
warhead armed, three, two, one . . . it's away!"
     Doomsday felt his ship lurch as the ten meter long torpedo dropped from
the underbelly  pylon, its engine  flaring to life.  He  looked up and saw a
Landreich craft above him dropping his spread of three Mark III Torpedoes as
well. Breaking his ship hard to starboard  Doomsday nosed straight down  and
then spun over, keeping his belly turned towards the carrier so that the new
laser  torpedo  guide could maintain  lock.  Paladin stayed hunched over the
weapons  screen,  ready  to take  over manual  guidance  of  the  torpedo if
Kilrathi jamming should throw it off course.
     Doomsday  spared a  quick  glance  at his tactical as half a  dozen red
blips closed in.
     "She's  closing,  closing,"  Paladin  chanted  softly,  punching  in  a
guidance command as the torpedo  lost lock for  a second, his guidance laser
firmly tracking on the torpedoes tail. The fact that Kruger had half a dozen
of  the new ship-to-torpedo laser guiding systems in his munitions inventory
had  surprised Doomsday, who figured it was best simply not to ask  how they
got into Landreich hands.
     "Closing, closing . . . impact, laddie, we got Сem!"
     Doomsday  punched in  an  aft visual  and saw an  expanding fireball of
light erupting from  the carrier's main engine bank.  A second ball of light
snapped as one of  Doomsday's torpedoes  slammed into the explosion. Four of
the Landreich's old obsolete scimitars darted in towards the carrier's tail,
disappearing into  the inferno, two  of  them reemerging  from the  fireball
seconds later and as they pulled out, a solid ripple of explosions shuddered
across the carrier's stern from the  missile spread  they had  launched, now
that the  aft shielding was overloaded  and down. The  entire aft end of the
carrier suddenly disappeared in a white hot light.
     Doomsday  watched the  Scimitars,  amazed  yet  again  at  the suicidal
tactics of the  Landreich  pilots, flying fighters  that should have been on
the scrap heap years ago.
     "Fuel igniting, she's going!"
     The explosion  burst out, the blast wave washing over Doomsday's Sabre,
shuddering  it  as  if from a direct hit. He lost sight of the two surviving
Scimitars, who were simply consumed in the ball of light, the enemy fighters
pursuing them disappearing as well.
     "Look  out ahead!" Paladin shouted, and  Doomsday  looked up  to see  a
frigate  turning directly  in  front,  her  gun  mounts  shifting,  tracking
straight down on him, preparing to fire a full broadside at near point blank
range.

     "All weapons fire independently  and at will," Jason announced  calmly,
standing now  and pacing behind  his row  of  bridge personnel, who remained
hunched over their tactical, communications, damage control, and fire system
holo displays.
     He looked up at the main  holo battle  screen, watching the  converging
line of blue and red dots. A blue dot, representing  a light frigate  winked
out, followed an instant later by two red dots to either side, one of them a
cruiser, the other a destroyer.
     "Landreich frigate just detonated her  reactor pile, crew has ejected,"
the tactical officer announced calmly.
     "These people are insane," Jason  whispered, realizing that even if the
crew had ejected,  a bridge team would have had to stay on board to time the
detonation.
     The  explosion  cut  an  opening straight  through  the  middle of  the
Kilrathi defense line deploying aft of the three carriers. All of the strike
fighters from  the four  escorts had  already  launched  and were inside the
picket  line,  engaging the  carriers. A dozen  fighters  disappeared within
seconds  caught  by the  crossfire between  the  picket  line  and carriers,
hundreds  of  blinking  yellow  dots  marking  the  crisscrossing  paths  of
missiles. Bright green  snaps  of  light  flared inside  the  holo  display,
detaching from half a dozen fighters.
     "Torpedoes are launched and running," tactical reported.
     "All ships close and advance on carriers, follow me."
     Kruger's image  appeared on the command screen only long enough to pass
the  order then  disappeared.  Helm,  lock  on  Kruger's  ship,  follow  her
maneuver.
     Kruger turned  in, racing through the  opening created by the Landreich
frigate's sacrifice, and within seconds every battery on Tarawa was engaged,
trading shots with Kilrathi frigates, and destroyers to either side.
     Jason suddenly  imagined  that  he could almost hear  a bugler  blowing
charge, the way the Marines still did when their landing craft went in on an
assault. as they raced straight towards the  three carriers. It was madness;
they were about  to close and trade broadsides  with capital ships at  point
blank range. The center carrier in the holo flared, exploding outward.
     "Scratch  one  flattop!" tactical shouted, and  Jason looked up at  the
visual, watching the explosion, then back down at the holo  as two fighters,
his own,  emerged  out of the fireball.  A Kilrathi frigate turning  towards
Tarawa moved in front of the fighters, its guns turning to fire.
     "All weapons, train on frigate, port side!" Jason shouted.
     Turrets  swung  about,  fire  rippling  out  from  Tarawa,  the frigate
swinging her  guns back on Tarawa, ignoring the two fighters  as they  raced
between the two ships.
     A shuddering explosion  ran  through Tarawa, battle lights winking  out
for a second, a gust of acrid smoke filling the  bridge,  red  lights coming
back on again in the now shadowy gloom
     "Main generator off line, emergency back  up, shielding down to seventy
one percent"
     "Tarawa, close it up, hit the carrier to starboard."
     Kruger's image appeared for only a second and was gone again
     The  fleet flagship  was out forward of  the charge, a Kilrathi cruiser
angling  in,  opening  with a spread of  missiles.  Flare, chaff, and  noise
makers streamed out of  the destroyer and the two ships  traded fire. Behind
the flagship the four escorts, moving in two  lines  of two, stormed through
the maelstrom,  while frigates, corvettes, destroyers,  and fighters swirled
about them.
     Another  shudder ran  through  Tarawa, damage  control shouting  out  a
report, red  lights  blinking on  his screen.  Jason could  barely hear  the
officer as  the explosions  echoed  through his  ship, the concussion nearly
bringing him to his knees. The Kilrathi cruiser shot past, unable to turn in
tight enough to run parallel.
     On  the  port side the still  expanding wreckage  of the blown  carrier
continued  to swirl  out  and then  was astern. Kruger arced  his  destroyer
directly across  the stern  of the  carrier  they were pursuing, lashing out
with a volley of torpedoes and missiles at near point blank range. Landreich
corvettes raced  past  the escort carriers, closing in on the prey,  two  of
them  fireballing  from the  strikes  of  Kilrathi  fighters, the  survivors
launching torpedoes, most of which were shaken off  by the carrier but three
impacting nevertheless. Four more of the corvettes disappeared.
     "Her shieldings down!" tactical shouted.
     Jason felt as if he were about to explode with excitement.  The  battle
had lost all semblance  of tactical maneuvering, the old standard of  fleets
launching fighters at long  range, and  capital ships rarely if  ever coming
within  ten thousand clicks of each other, was gone in the mad confusion. He
thought of  Nelson at Trafalgar, charging into a broadside exchange with the
French and Spanish, and felt that if Tolwyn were  here the  old man would be
proud.
     The Kilrathi carrier was less than fifteen hundred meters ahead.
     "Fire on her, fire!
     Simultaneously  the four escort carriers opened fire, hundreds  of mass
driver  rounds and  neutron bolts,  from the  anti-aircraft  batteries,  now
slamming  into the  stern  of the enemy  carrier. Explosions rippled, jagged
fragments of metal  hurtling off into space. Tarawa raced down the length of
the  carrier, stitching the side of the ship with everything she had,  while
Gallipoli  turned  to  cross the  T  of the  Kilrathi  carrier  astern.  The
Kilrathi,  however, were firing with  everything in  return, and  explosions
rocked Tarawa. Jason felt as if the frenzy of battle had torn into the heart
of his soul.  He stood rigid,  wanting to roar  with both rage and  delight.
More than one  of the bridge crew had broken  discipline, pounding the sides
of their monitors, screaming curses, oaths, encouragement, and whooping with
joy at the destruction.
     "Gallipoli's going!"
     Jason looked up  at the  aft visual and  saw  his sister ship splitting
open  as  if she had run straight into a buzz saw that was  tearing the ship
apart  from  stem  to stern.  The fuel  cells astern  ignited  and the  ship
fireballed, her flame washing over the topside stern  of the stricken  enemy
carrier.
     They  darted  past the  ship, turning  to starboard while  the Kilrathi
carrier edged over to port and started to dive.
     "Tactical report!"
     "Enemy  carrier suffered multiple  hits, computer counting  two hundred
plus  hullings,  secondary  explosions igniting, three of  five engine  pods
destroyed.
     "Damage control?"
     "Sections  one, three  through five portside hulled, midships port mass
driver  gun mounts destroyed, main generator still off  line, shielding down
to forty-two percent, holding steady."
     Jason looked back at the tactical.
     The enemy carrier was turning hard over to port, now moving  away at  a
right angle, debris  trailing out behind her as she struggled to accelerate.
The  other carrier was coming around  to flank  the stricken ship. The enemy
picket line was now racing full back, coming abreast of  their two surviving
carriers and moving to pursuit.
     "Helm, prepare to come about for a second strike," Jason announced, and
his crew looked up at him, startled.
     He knew it was madness, but  they  had not finished the carrier off and
he'd be damned if it was going to get away.
     "All ships follow me,"
     Jason looked up at Kruger's image and then back at tactical.
     Kruger  was  moving  straight away from  the  engagement,  heading back
towards the Hell Hole.
     "Get me Kruger," Jason snapped.
     The old man's image reappeared, looking annoyed.
     "Let's finish em, sir, he's crippled."
     "We  killed one,  we crippled another  and  lost  one  escort,"  Kruger
snapped. "Go back  and we'll  lose the rest of our escorts just to finish  a
kill. We  want him  crippled. They'll have to protect him.  Bondarevsky, I'm
breaking  the  engagement. We got what we wanted, they'll run for  home now.
Hell Hole is still under bombardment and that's our main priority now.'
     "Aye, sir."
     The image winked off.
     Jason took  a deep breath, realizing that the  excitement of the charge
and the lust of battle had clouded his judgment
     "Belay helm over, lock on Blitzkreig and follow."
     He  could see that some of his crew were disappointed while others took
a sigh of relief
     "Damn  good, I'm  proud of all of you," he  announced  and then settled
back into his command chair.
     He looked up at the chronometer.
     It was less than six minutes since they had jumped through, undoubtedly
one of the shortest fleet actions in history. Kruger had  lived up to  form,
shattering  an  invasion, killing  a  carrier, and crippling another. He had
certainly taken them in harm's way.
     The question now was, what would Kruger do next?

     "Signal all fighters, return to your ships for recovery."
     Admiral Tolwyn stood silently, watching the display screen.
     It had been a standoff for more than a day. They had met the four enemy
carriers just  inside  the Warsaw  system, his fleet and theirs  arriving at
opposite jump points almost simultaneously.
     He had raced to cover Warsaw but  the  Kilrathi carriers had held back,
staying close to the jump point.
     The question had been whether to close and engage, or wait. It could be
that they were holding at the edge of the jump point, waiting to lure him in
and then the main Kilrathi fleet would jump through. A listening post inside
the next system had managed  to get  out a brief burst signal, reporting the
transit of more than thirty  escort  ships and then  had  gone  off line. It
could  only mean that  the  main  fleet  was  coming up fast. Yet if  he did
advance and close for action t