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smoky air, coughed, then felt as though he were spinning through the
chair.
Behind him, Obutu's voice penetrated the bass-drum booming of
lower-deck explosions. "The hull has been breached at level three. Steering
loss: eighty percent. Drone repair crew activated. Estimated recovery
time: six minutes."
"Sir?" Gerald asked, standing somewhere nearby. "Sir? Medic! Medic
to the bridge."
"Gerald," Sansky managed, gurgling blood. "What's Deveraux doing?"
"Blair? How's our six?" Deveraux asked.
"Clear for the moment," he replied, not that his report really mattered.
The radar display a living, breathing thing could change in a heartbeat.
The proof lay in front of him as four Salthi light fighters broke from
their box formation to intercept the bombers. Blair tracked their velocity
at nearly one thousand KPS, their afterburners stoked. Forward-swept
wings fixed to their broad, flat fuselages in an inverted V pattern gave the
fighters a low profile while maintaining a respectable level of intimidation
through design. One Salthi didn't pose a huge threat to a Rapier. But like
killer bees, if you faced enough of them, they would drop you through
attrition.
A Dumb-fire missile flared below Deveraux's starboard wing, then went
from zero to 850 KPS in three seconds enough time for the Salthi pilot
she had targeted to curse her, beg for Sivar's forgiveness, then experience
a more corporeal wrath.
As Deveraux's Salthi vanished in a short-lived conflagration, the fighter
nearest it scissored across Blair's field of view. He dove after the Salthi,
lined up on its six o'clock, then fixed his cross-hairs on the green circle
leading the fighter. Target locked! He dished out a flurry of bolts from his
rotating nose cannon. The first salvo struck the Salthi's shields, crooked
fingers of energy scattering across a light blue hemisphere. Another volley
stitched a pattern across the Salthi's cockpit, and the ship flipped into a
barrel roll before bursting apart.
"Hey! Save some for me," Maniac said.
Pulling up from the Salthi's still-flashing rubble, Blair saw Maniac
shoot off the third Salthi's wing. The cat inside fought for control but
couldn't help spinning into the fourth Salthi flying toward it. A white-hot
fireball enveloped both fighters.
Maniac howled with glee. "Buy one, get one free!"
Cannon fire from the cap ships scoured Blair's path as he strained to
regroup with the bombers. He jammed the stick forward, plunging in a
sixty-degree dive to evade.
But the autotracking systems aboard the cap ships refused to abandon
their quarry. The thick, deadly bolts returned, raking space along his
Rapier's portside.
"It's getting too hot," Deveraux said. "It's up to the bombers. Let's get
back out there."
Blair pulled up, flying below the bombers, then banked hard on a new
heading for Deveraux's six. He switched to his aft turret camera and
watched the bombers zero in on the destroyer's starboard bow.
"Thanks for the escort," Taggart said, then addressed Knight, who had
assumed point for the run. "Steady on course. Wait for them to drop
shields and open tubes."
Triple-A and tachyon fire clogged the space around the bombers as
their defense computers automatically released clouds of chaff and decoy
missiles. Three of the destroyer's tur-reted cannons went after the
countermeasures, but the others spat their venom at Taggart and Knight.
The lightning of reflected rounds writhed across their shields. Blair
couldn't believe that they held course. The wall of Triple-A began
terrifying him, and he wasn't alone in that feeling.
"They're throwing up too much flak!" Knight screamed. His
Broadsword's starboard wing grazed the expanding edge of a Triple-A
cloud. Rivets popped as the wingtip tore off, violently rocking the bomber.
"I'm hit!"
"Almost there," Taggart said, trying to calm the man. "Steady now.
Steady."
Tachyon fire chewed into Knight's Broadsword, tearing open its belly to
expose its synthetic bowels. Knight released a strangled cry as the bomber,
now engulfed in flames, shattered across the destroyer's bow.
Taggart veered away from the flickering aftermath and vanished from
Blair's screen.
In the meantime, Deveraux had engaged a pair of Krant fighters, who
braked hard to get on her six. Blair guided his Rapier about 800 meters
above the destroyer, then circled back to assist her. She wove left and
right, dodging pairs of laser bolts, her tactics tight, efficient,
practiced but not enough against two Kilrathi pilots. The cats struck
direct hits, and her shields glittered as bolts dissipated over them. A few
more strikes and they would have her.
On full afterburners, Blair roared up behind the two Krants. Before he
could lock a target, Deveraux pulled into a six-G loop parallel to his
position. She leveled off and liberated a pair of IR missiles. One Krant
swallowed a projectile, but the other blew chaff and pulled into a loop of
his own. Deveraux's missile took the bait, detonating harmlessly.
Blair craned his neck to spot the Krant, now on Deveraux's tail, cutting
loose a dense storm of fire. Her shields absorbed a half-dozen rounds
before dying. Bolts passed over her canopy, each one tightening the gap as
the cat adjusted its bead.
Narrowing his gaze, Blair locked on to the Krant, then lost the lock as
Deveraux banked sharply. He considered firing but without a lock, friendly
fire might do her in. Instead, he dove beneath them, his glance shifting
between the radar display and the cap ship fire that seemed to lace up the
space below. He yanked the stick back, thundering into a hard climb. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]