unned,  Prince Thrakhath  sat  alone in the wardroom of the Craxtha's
now dead commander.
     The long range opticals showed the end  of  the drama. Their moon bases
were totally shattered, but that was not the ultimate prize. Less than three
eights antimatter warheads had  hit Earth. The  final wave of thermonuclears
had never been launched.
     He looked  at the status  reports  of  his losses. But one more carrier
here and we could still press through to victory. But one more carrier.
     All the if's started to play out in his mind. If only he had waited but
five eights more days, he would have had his  sixth ship, but  Jukaga had to
be contended with.
     He looked back at the visual, glad at least that Jukaga was dead.
     Another explosion shuddered through  the  ship and he held  his breath,
waiting. The explosion rumbled away.
     A  piping  call sounded  and he connected into the bridge.  It  was his
chief navigation officer.
     "Go on."
     "Sir, your orders. With the engine speed we  now  have,  we'll only  be
able to make it to the next jump point with less than four eights of minutes
to spare ahead of those new ships coming up from Earth orbit."
     Thrakhath nodded silently. They had  at least crippled the human fleet:
three of their five carriers  gone, the third exploding only minutes ago, at
least three more smashed at the  moon base along with the construction yards
and several eights of  other ships. Nearly two eights of  their major cities
were now smoldering ruins. He could still pull back, his one remaining older
carrier covering him, repair the damage sustained on his two surviving heavy
carriers. His precious pilots would be brought back as well to fly once more
off the new  carriers still coming on  line. If he  stayed now, chances were
good that they would finish this carrier  off, and everything would be lost,
including himself.
     He looked back at the screen.
     "Order the fleet to retreat," he hesitated. "The battle is over.


        CHAPTEъ FOUъTEEN

     Geoff Tolwyn, in spite of his exhaustion, forced a smile as the shuttle
craft door swung  open. He walked  forward, extending his  hand as President
Kruger, followed by Jason, Paladin, Doomsday and ъichards, stepped down.
     Kruger hesitated ever so briefly and then took Geoff's hand.
     "Damn it all, Kruger, thank you."
     "I'm rather surprised myself that I did  it," Kruger said. "It was your
young commodore there who just kept badgering me until finally, to  shut him
up, I said all right."
     Geoff looked at the group and though he was afraid to ask he had to.
     "Ian?"
     Jason shook his head.
     Geoff sighed and then came up to shake Jason's hand.
     "How are you doing, sir?" Jason asked.
     "A terrible day, Jason."
     Jason hesitated and then finally asked.
     "Kevin?"
     "Missing in action," Geoff said quietly.
     "He might still turn up, sir."
     Geoff nodded, unable to reply.
     Jason looked around at the smoke-filled flight deck.
     "Looks like it was kind of rough here."
     Geoff couldn't  even  reply.  He  had  lost three  carriers,  Lexington
finally succumbing to internal explosions,  and over seventy  percent of his
pilots. First reports indicated that the  Marines had  suffered  over ninety
percent  casualties.  Duke Grecko was  confirmed as dead,  his landing craft
crew  telling  what happened.  As for the  civilian pilots, their casualties
were almost at one  hundred percent. The primary bases on the moon were  all
gone, as  were the  drydock  yards  and  three carriers hangared there.  The
casualties on  Earth,  he didn't even want to  think about  that.  The  only
bright spot was that  for some reason  the Cats had not  launched a  wave of
strontium clad  thermonukes.  England  had  been spared  as well,  though it
seemed at the moment to be an almost selfish thing to think about.
     Geoff led his guests  down to  his wardroom  and  without even  asking,
pulled out a bottle of  single malt Scotch, six  tumblers and poured out six
very stiff drinks, draining the bottle dry.
     "To our comrades," he said quietly, and they silently drank the toast.
     Geoff settled back in his chair and looked around.
     "If this is victory," Geoff finally said, "I sure as hell would hate to
see defeat."
     "You  stopped  the bloody Cats at least,  sir,"  Jason  replied. "Hell,
three of their super carriers blown apart, more than half their best  pilots
gone, forty other ships crippled. I heard the  report coming in that they're
dumping fighters off their carrier as they retreat, not even  enough room to
haul them all out."
     Geoff nodded, fighting an exhaustion that had all but robbed him of any
ability to do anything beyond sitting in silence and staring.
     "I heard about Polowski, sir," Doomsday said.
     Geoff  looked over  at him. When he had ordered Mike in, he knew in his
heart that Polowski  would get his revenge and die doing it. If the Cats had
miscalculated anything,  it  was that. They  had  pushed the intimidation  a
notch too far, and rather than terrorize it had aroused every pilot, spacer,
and Marine  in the  fleet  to  a  willingness to die rather  than submit. He
suspected  that Jukaga had realized  that but it was  obvious that Thrakhath
never would.
     The war had  changed, changed far  from  anything that  either side had
ever  anticipated.  The manipulation  of the  human  desire  for  peace  had
backfired, their collective rage turning the  enemy  back, though at best it
was a Pyrrhic victory.
     The Cats still had seven  more heavy  carriers close  to completion. If
they  came  on again, he dreaded to think  what would happen. They had  shot
their bolt  in  turning  back the attack. Perhaps the new  dreadnought-class
battleship  under construction  on the far  side of  the Confederation might
reverse that, but  in  his heart he doubted if it would be ready in time  to
repulse the next attack.
     All he could be certain of now was the fact that those who had survived
this  attack  would stand  united to the end. He could even see  that in the
eyes of Kruger, who, upon seeing him, lifted his glass in a salute.
     "To the Confederation Fleet," Kruger said.
     "And to comrades gone," Paladin replied softly.
     "Admiral Tolwyn."
     Geoff looked over at the comm  screen, dreading that it was yet another
battle  report  stating that  the Kilrathi  had turned about and were coming
back.
     "The Kilrathi?" he blurted out.
     "Their  carriers  have  already jumped through in retreat,  sir,  still
trailing  abandoned fighters. Cruisers  are  now jumping out as well. Picket
squadrons are reporting no further action."
     He let out an audible sigh of relief. The battle was really over.
     "Admiral, sir, you're wanted on the port flight deck."
     "Why?"
     "Don't know, sir. Launch officer requested your presence, that's all."
     "On my way."
     Geoff stood up, his knees suddenly weak and  Jason rose from his  chair
coming up to his side.
     "I'll go down with you, sir."
     Geoff smiled a thanks and looked back at his guests.
     "There's  another  bottle  in  the  cabinet. Finish  it  off,"  he said
quietly.
     "Best advice  I've had in weeks, "Doomsday replied  even as  he reached
into his pocket and pulled  out the chewed  on  remains of the cigar Ian had
given him.
     "Geoff, for heaven's sake," Kruger interjected, "would you order him to
get rid of that god-awful cigar? It's enough to turn my stomach."
     "Hell, he's still  officially  Landreich,"  Geoff  replied.  "He's your
responsibility, not mine."
     Doomsday  pulled out a lighter and  puffed the cigar  to  life, Kruger,
ъichards and Paladin cursing him while they poured out another drink.
     Geoff left the wardroom and headed back to the launch deck, pressing up
against the  wall as a med  team came  past, bearing a  stretcher,  a bloody
towel draped over the body's face.
     Geoff watched it silently as they passed.
     Jason reached out, and put his hand on Geoff's shoulder.
     "No  matter  what  you might  think, you  did good, sir. Earth is still
alive, the Confederation still lives."
     "And how many did I lose, Jason?"
     "I once asked the same thing after Vukar Tag,  sir. It's the  nature of
war,  you  told me. Even when you win,  it still breaks your heart  and will
crush your soul if you let it."
     "And you call this winning?"
     "It's a damn sight better  than  what the Cats wanted. You  turned them
back and you brought us time."
     Geoff  nodded  and  then  continued on,  reaching  the flight deck. The
launch officer was by the door.
     "I  thought you  should  come down here,  sir.  We  just  brought  some
casualties in."
     Geoff looked  at him, confused, as  the officer pointed him over  to  a
flame scorched landing craft. Its  back hatch was open, pilots and  Marines,
most of them wounded and still in their pressurized flight and combat suits,
being helped out.
     Geoff looked back at the launch officer who smiled and nodded.
     Geoff  ran to  the back of  the landing craft, Jason at  his side,  and
climbed in.
     On the flight  deck was a bundled up form, two medics working over him,
one holding  an IV,  another  injecting an anti-radiation dose  straight  in
through his suit.
     Geoff knelt down by their side.
     A blood-stained medic looked up and she smiled softly.
     "Picked him up an hour ago. He caught  a hell of a dose, sir, over four
hundred rem. He's gonna be a sick fighter jockey for  awhile but we  got him
anti-radiation dosed in time. He'll be all right."
     Geoff nodded and looked over at Jason.
     Kevin Tolwyn opened his eyes and saw Jason first.
     "Hi ya, Jason. What the hell you doing here?"
     "Came to save your ass, boy, that's all."
     Kevin smiled weakly and then saw his uncle kneeling by his side.
     "Did we win?" he whispered.
     Admiral Geoffrey Tolwyn nodded, no longer able to fight back the tears.
     "Yes, son, we won."