Wing Commander Action Stations Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen
Book	Wing Commander Action Stations
Parts	3
Previous	Chapter Fourteen

Text

FAWCETT'S WORLD

Captain Hans Kruger of the Landreich militia climbed back out of the wreckage of what the Landreich called a frigate, but in actuality was nothing more than an aging transport with guns welded on. Hoisting a survival pack and two assault rifles, he slid down the side of the smoking wreckage.

The Cats had smashed all the outer worlds of the Landreich into rubble, but they had been held in front of the Hell Hole, with one of their battleships disabled and three cruisers destroyed. The price, that was something he didn't even want to think about now. It was hard to admit that he had actually grown fond of Blucher during the short time he had served under his command.

He shifted his gaze up as a flight of birds, crying shrilly, took wing. The triple canopy of jungle overhead had been torn wide open by his crash landing. That, and the plume of smoke, were most likely visible for miles. It was time to get a move on, because the Cats would most certainly be closing in to check it out.

"Well, Kruger, you sure as hell ruined this ship."

His exec, a girl who had claimed to be a former ship's engineer with, of all companies, the Sarn consortium, appeared out of the jungle.

He laughed at the thought. If ever there was a place where those bastards would never get to him, it was here. He was two jump points inside the Empire, nailed raiding a Cat base at some place called Fawcett's World that was supposedly garrisoned by an entire division of Imperial marines. If the Sarns still wanted him, they'd have to get through the Cat marines first.

"You know, Kruger, that was pretty dumb, coming into the atmosphere of this place to try and shoot it up."

"Elaine, we trashed it, didn't we?"

"Yeah, and they got us too."

"Goes with the territory."

"Anyone else alive in there?" she asked.

"We're it."

"Could be interesting," she said with the slightest of smiles.

"Let's go raise some hell with the Cats first. The odds are only ten thousand to one."

MCAULIFFE

Popping open the back hatch of Lazarus, First Lieutenant Geoffrey Tolwyn nodded to Rear Admiral Winston Turner, who unstrapped from his seat. "Good landing, Tolwyn."

Geoff said nothing. It had been his first run flying the left seat, and he had sweated every detail of the approach into the landing strip, touching down right on the numbers.

"Door's open, sir."

"Well, son, let's go take a look around."

Geoff followed Turner down the back hatch ramp, and there was a momentary memory of the struggle to get on board this same ship, the shooting of the panic-stricken petty officer, and the heart-stopping takeoff.

The air was hot, dry and ladened with a sickly sweet smell. Stepping clear of his ship Geoff stopped short, stunned by the wreckage. The stump of the skyhook tower off to the south pointed like a jagged finger into the blood-red sky. Hundreds of wrecked planes littered the taxiway and parking area, coils of smoke rising up from some of the craft which were still smoldering. What had once been the town was now nothing but flame-scorched ruins, dark columns of smoke blanketing the sky.

A marine colonel was waiting for Turner and snapped off a salute, then extended a hand which Turner took warmly. The colonel stepped back and, behind him, Geoff saw Sergeant Major Ulandi, wearing full battle gear of camouflaged antiradiation battle armor, dented helmet, and a heavy assault gun slung over his shoulder.

Ulandi saluted, his hand dropping away as Turner stepped forward and flung his arms around the sergeant, the two men laughing, cursing softly, and hugging. Ulandi caught Geoff's eyes and nodded.

Turner finally broke away, and Geoff could see that he was struggling to hold his composure. In the distance came a rattle of small arms fire.

"Still mopping up some pockets," Ulandi said. "Got to admit, those bastards are tough. No surrender."

Turner nodded.

"So, what the hell is going on?" the colonel asked. "Hell, figured it was over for us. Then, yesterday morning they starting lifting out. Are they coming back in?"

Geoff was surprised that the marine didn't know.

Turner shook his head.

"Damnedest thing. They just beat feet out of here," Turner replied. "We waited beyond the jump point, expecting them to come on through, hoping to ambush at least a few of their ships before falling back. We finally sent a scout frigate back in and it reported their entire fleet was withdrawing. Colonel, they've bugged out. It's over."

"How are things with Concordia?"

Turner shook his head.

"We abandoned ship. She blew just before I jumped through to come back here."

"Sorry, sir."

Turner tried to force a smile.

"The trade-off was worth it, Colonel. It was worth it."

"So this is a victory then," Ulandi said.

Geoff looked closely at the sergeant and was surprised to see just how burned-out Ulandi really was. The look in the man's eyes told Geoff volumes about the reality of ground combat. It made him realize that his own few moments of terror were undoubtably trivial by comparison.

"Yeah, I guess the historians will call it a victory."

Ulandi spat on the ground and said nothing for a moment.

"Sir, we better get you down below," Ulandi finally said. "It's still a bit hot up here."

Turner motioned for Ulandi to fall in by his side while the colonel led the way, Geoff coming up on the other side of the towering sergeant.

"Long, Nagomo?" Turner asked.

"Heard Long tried to get up, then nothing. Nagomo, well he died at his post, I'll give him that."

"How was it here, sergeant?"

Ulandi motioned towards the wreckage, the burning city, and then at the hundreds of bodies laid out in long rows on the tarmac. A group of marines was wearily loading the dead into trucks.

Geoff saw Ulandi slow for a moment and then stop to look over at a young corporal, a woman, who seemed almost to be asleep. Two marines stepped up to her and lifted her body into the truck. The sergeant seemed on the edge of breaking. He sighed and then looked back over at Turner.

"The colonel will fill you in, sir. We lost nearly seventy percent of the division. Ground personnel for the base even worse. It was a slaughter."

"Fifth Marine is being deployed. They'll be here in two weeks," Turner replied.

Ulandi nodded, saying nothing.

"I'm staying on here, sergeant. Ordered to take command of the base, get it ready, dig in if they come back. Looks like our retirements have been postponed. Want you as my topkick."

Ulandi smiled.

"Sure, Winnie. Glad to have you with me."

Ulandi fished in his battle tunic and pulled out a cigar. Breaking it in two, he gave half to Winston and lit it for him.

Reaching the shattered remains of the base command center, Winston stopped.

"You might as well head back up, Tolwyn. With all the planes and crew from Concordia on Ark Royal, there'll be a slot there for you now."

"Sir?"

"Well, I'm ordered to stay on here at the base for now. You're a flyer. I don't think you or Vance would want to be stuck down on the ground here with me."

"Sir, I'd be glad to serve with you."

Turner laughed.

"Maybe someplace else, another time."

Geoff looked back out at the ruins of McAuliffe.

"It never should have happened," Geoff said, an edge of bitterness in his voice.

"What do you mean?"

Geoff looked at him. How could he voice the rage in his heart? Again he thought of More. A bulletin had arrived just before they came down to the planet's surface that More's world was now behind enemy lines, but it was decided that all senators from the occupied territories would continue to hold office. More was now the most rabid war hawk of them all, calling for a war of total annihilation, no prisoners, no quarter expected or asked.

It was the government, Geoff thought, that had been the problem. If ever there came the chance, he would see that a similar mistake would never be made again.

He looked back at Winston.

"Just, it shouldn't have happened, sir."

"Tolwyn."

"Sir?"

"Let it go. In every war, mistakes are made. In every war that a democracy has fought, a hell of a lot of good kids die due to the asinine mistakes, stupidity and greed of their elders. They're not all bad, in fact most of them are pretty damn good, and try their best. And yet the system survives in spite of its mistakes, and goes on, and sometimes those kids who survive one day are the elders and make the same mistakes. I sense an incredible ability in you, son. I've noted that in my report. You've been recommended for the Medal of Honor."

Stunned, Geoff could not reply.

"I think we're in for a long haul. If you stay alive, Geoffrey Tolwyn, I suspect one day you might command a ship, maybe a new Concordia." He sighed. "She was a hell of a ship."

Winston smiled, and for a brief instant he again looked like the kindly professor.

"Just do me a favor and then the lecture's ended. Remember everything you've learned, everything, but never forget that you are fighting to save the Confederation and all that it stands for. Never forget that your sworn duty is not to the Fleet, it is to the Confederation which the fleet serves."

"Aye, sir."

"Fine. Now we've got two choices here. Richards has been booted up to wing commander for Ark Royal. While you're on station here until reinforcements arrive, you'll have a section of fighters under him, but you're going to have to get a hell of a lot of training in despite your accomplishments—" he then paused for a moment, "—or you can have an independent command."

"Sir?"

"Once we get some more assets in here, Ark Royal is heading back to Earth for refitting. She's a hell of a mess. I sent a message up to a friend of mine about your service. There'll be a lot of light frigates getting commissioned now. The fleet needs gutsy first lieutenants to run them. They'll most likely be sent out to do scouting, behind the lines type action. I think it's the next step in your career, son."

Stunned, Gooff said nothing.

"Go for it, kid," Ulandi interrupted. "You can always got back to the carriers later."

A smile creased his features. "I'll take it, sir, thank you."

"Gentlemen, I hate to interrupt," the marine colonel said, "but we're in a hot zone here. The rad level's still pretty high."

Turner extended his hand. "You're the best student I've ever had, Tolwyn. Continue to make me proud of you."

"Thank you, sir. I will."

Tolwyn drew himself up to attention and saluted.

Turning, he headed back to Lazarus. Turner, his features serious, watching as the boy disappeared up the ramp, closed it, and then fired up the engines.

"Tough lad," Ulandi said. "Got the stuff of a damn good commander."

Turner nodded. "As long as he just remembers what the hell it is he's fighting for."

TO: INTELCONFEDFLT

FROM: CICCONFEDFLT

Received your report of yesterday and will forward appropriate sections to commanders, Task Forces Three, Nineteen and Forty-Two.

Jim, I agree fully with your analysis. We are lucky. The disaster at McAuliffe was indeed the worst known in the long history of the Fleet. One can look back to the China Sea, Pearl Harbor, Tsushima, Salamis, and not find a defeat so lopsided. Yet rarely in history has a combatant thrown away such a stunning victory and walked away from the spoils. I don't think we'll ever really know why they abandoned McAuliffe and let us hang onto it. My gut instinct is that Turner's insane counterattack scared the crap out of them. The casualties he inflicted on their landing force most likely struck a nerve with their Emperor that triggered the withdrawal.

In spite of the disaster at McAuliffe, it has stirred us and united us in a way that the Kilrathi little dreamed of. To them the Jak-tu, the blow upon a superior and unsuspecting prey, is both attack and climax in the same instant, the blow that kills and then the feast thereafter. For us it was an outrage that demands revenge.

It has been thirty days since the beginning of the war. Yes, we have lost a hundred and fifty-three systems, thirty percent of our industrial capacity, nearly forty percent of key strategic resources and the shocking number of twenty-eight billion citizens who are now behind enemy lines and condemned to slavery or death. And yet we have not given in.

The prognosis for the short term is terrifying. Seventy percent of the fleet is gone. The loss of Concordia in the closing minutes of the fight was a painful blow. She was a proud ship and I hope someday we'll pass her name on to a new ship. We are now down to three carriers in active service, with Ark Royal arriving back at Earth later today for what is expected to be a six-month overhaul.

I must now urge you, Jim, to press forward.

Our enemy is still an enigma to us, as we are to him. We must, therefore, learn who he is, and in the process learn his weaknesses and how to exploit them. We already have learned much in the technical sense. Within three months we shall be turning out copies of their torpedoes, and the crash program to bring the new Corsair fighter on-line is rapidly moving ahead. Above all else though, we must learn where they will strike next.

There can never be another McAuliffe. For that matter, any form of defeat in the next campaign will spell our doom. In the next fight we must win an overwhelming victory or die. I am counting on you, Jim, to find out where the next blow will come so that we might be ready. A significant enough victory and we can yet turn the tide of war.

Banbridge CICCONFEDFLT

Banbridge hit the transmit button and sat back.

The tide of war, he thought. To everything a season…the tide will one day shift. And yet, in his heart, he feared that he would not live to see it, that the war to come would be a bitter twilight struggle that would reach across generations.

Admiral Skip Banbridge wearily rubbed his eyes and, with a sigh, he turned his comm unit off. Leaving his office, he went down the darkened corridors and stepped out under the midnight sky. Somewhere above, he knew that at this very moment the Cats were poising for their next strike. And even if we throw them back, he thought sadly, when will it over end?

"Admiral?"

Wearily he turned about. It was his new aide.

"Sir, another dispatch from Task Force Forty-Two came in. You're also being paged by the president."

"Fine, son. Put the coffee back on. I guess we've got another long night ahead of us."

Shaking his head, Admiral Spencer "Skip" Banbridge went back to work.