Enjoy this free ebook! Write me and tell me what you thought of this book (at Steve2 "at" allreaders.com)! Feel free to save this at any time in your hard drive by clicking on "file" in the upper left hand corner than "save as" so you can finish reading it at your leisure. The Flight of the War Admiral By Steven Gordon Foreward From the log of War Admiral Norman North, Commander, 7th fleet: We were caught with our guard down, and humanity paid a terrible price for it. We had battled the Insects, a race of sentient seven foot tall insects, to a standstill in twenty years of terrible combat. We had taken losses, but our worlds secure, and most of our people were safe. And then the politicians, lured by a gullible desire to believe the overtures of chief negotiator with the Insects, the traitor Mitterand, agreed to an armistice at Vitalics. There they ambushed and destroyed almost all of our entire fleet. Almost all. The small fleet under my command, combined with a task force from our junior Alliance partner, the June Directorate, survived, but was forced to flee vastly superior numbers of Insect battlecruisers and battleships. Nothing stopped the Insects from moving in, occupying all our worlds and enslaving our people, putting them to work producing material for their war machine. But the Insects were smart enough to realize that as long as any of us were free that we were still a threat to them, that someday we would come back and reclaim what was rightfully ours. They sent many fleets to hunt us down, even as we've fled Alliance space into the unknown. We've had two brief battles since we left Orotis, on the edge of Alliance space, and those two battles have cost us three warships (and a badly damaged fourth that had to be scuttled), as well as two of our precious merchantmen. Our efforts to escape are not merely a mindless route; we are moving with a purpose, even if our crews do not fully understand or agree with it. For we are going to search out the technology of the Monumentals, the ancient civilization who may hold the key to helping us defeat the Insects. But the Insects are bent on making sure we don't survive long enough to make any discoveries, and our most immediate task right now is simple: escape from the Insects. Rewind: The day of the attack at Vitalics. Finally, there would be peace. Humanity had been in conflict with the Insects for nearly 20 years. They had appeared out of nowhere--giant, seven feet tall intelligent insects bent on conquering the human race. And, for a time, with their flood of destroyers, cruisers, and battleships, it appeared they would win. It was only at the decisive battle of Trajinar, three years earlier, that the Alliance fleet under the command of War Admiral Norman North had turned the tide and decisively crushed the Insect fleet. After that, battles became skirmishes, skirmishes became hit and run raids, and then the Insects ceased their attacks altogether. They had contacted one of the Alliance's most respected ministers, Lawrence Mitterand, and sued for peace. And peace there would be. After a year of slow but steady negotiation, Mitterand had worked out a peace agreement that both sides could agree to. League President Hov Marshall looked out from the bridge of his mighty flagship the Augustus at the rest of the fleet. He shielded his eyes from the powerful glare of Vitalics' brilliant sun as he stared at the assembled ships. Nearly the entire League fleet was here for the armistice with the Insects. The League was the dominant partner in the Alliance; the junior partner, the June Directorate, had chosen not to participate in the armistice, but had agreed to abide by the terms of the ceasefire. Well, Marshall wasn't going to let the Directorate spoil things. "Ze Insect fleet is here," said Mitterand, standing by his side. "Finally, ve will have ze peace," he said in his old westeuro accent. "Admiral Peterson, order the fleet to a halt," Marshall as he eyed the approaching Insect Fleet. "Fleet command: hold here," said the Admiral over the central comm. The Insect fleet maintained a healthy distance from the League fleet. Only four of their larger ships slowly moved towards the League Fleet, each moving towards a different part of the fleet. "Admiral, I'm getting some weird readings from those ships," said a bridge crewer. "The scanners seem to say that they have some kind of unstable cargo." "Cargo? What kind of cargo?" At that moment external ports opened on the giant ships, which rapidly spat out a series of oval objects which speeded towards the densely packed League fleet. As they closed on the fleet these spheres started to detonate, casting a fine mist over the League fleet. "Power drain!" cried a crewer. "All systems are down!" cried another. "What's going on?" said Marshall. "Ve must continue ze peace process," said Mitterand, almost mechanically. "Ve need ze peace like ve need ze air." And it was at that moment that the Insects attacked. Still staying well clear of the League fleet and the mist that enveloped, the Insect ship launched a massive wave of missiles. The tail section of the missile exhausts cut out as they entered the misty area, but inertia caused them to continue moving forward. Peterson eyed the missiles streaking towards them. "Raise shields! Activate anti missile lasers!" "We can't sir, we've lost all power except emergency batteries!" said one of the crewers, frantically turning switches on and off again. The Augustus was rocked as a missile hit it amidships, causing everyone on the bridge to stumble momentarily. Other missiles slammed into other ships of the fleet, all of which were helpless and dead in space. Several of the destroyers, not large enough to survive a direct impact, burst into pieces. "What's going on here?" said Marshall. "This was supposed to be an armistice!" "All ships to battlestations, repel attackers!" Admiral Peterson shouted into the hectic fleetcom channel. But with so many voices over the comm he couldn't make himself heard. Not that it mattered; most of the fleet was disabled, as dead as museum pieces. The Insects launched a second wave. "Ve must continue ze peace process," said Mitterand mechanically. Marshall, almost out of his mind, grabbed Mitterand by the shirt. "What are you talking about? They're blowing us to pieces!" Another set of missiles slammed into the fleet. This time a number of cruisers were seriously damaged, several of them critically. One blew up just starboard of the Augustia, creating a white flash which shook the flagship. "Ve must continue ze peace process," said Mitterand. "Stop saying that!" Marshall shrieked, shaking Mitterand and slapping him hard in the face. What happened next surprised him even more. Mitterand's face came off, revealing wiring and circuitry underneath, with sparkling orbs for eyes. Marshall reflexively let go, just as another missile slammed into the Augustus, causing him to stumble. "What... are you?" Moving very quickly, Mitterand grabbed Marshall and started to throttle him. "Peace begets peace begets peace" he said, squeezing Marshall's neck in a crushing grip. There was a crack of broken bones and Marshall was tossed across the bridge. General Peterson reached for his sidearm... Just as another missile slammed into the bridge. The Augustus was one of the most heavily armored ships in the fleet, but it wasn't intended to operate without shields, and without shields it couldn't survive more than a few direct hits. The missile blew up much of the forward decks, incinerating the bridge crew instantly. The survivors in the interior sections didn't last much longer either. Missiles from a succeeding wave crashed into the engine section, detonating the fuel supply and creating a miniature sun in the space where the Augustus stood. This scene was repeated throughout the entire fleet. One after another League ships turned into fireballs, their crews helpless to do anything to defend themselves or even fleet. Within a few minutes, the rest of the fleet was destroyed. So complete was the destruction that there were almost no survivors. Of the 362 ships in the League fleet, only 8 managed to escape the immediate battle. Three of those were quickly hunted down and destroyed; one light cruiser managed to go to ground and her crew joined the planetbound resistance on Whenfor; one destroyer managed to link up with members of the surviving fleet, a battle cruiser and a fast attack destroyer became blockade runners until they were hunted down and destroyed, and one battleship, whose story is told elsewhere, escaped into deep space. But for all intents and purposes the bulk of the League fleet ceased to exist in a matter of minutes, leaving all the League worlds open to domination by the Insects. There would be peace, all right, but the peace of the subjugated, the peace of the master and the slave; peace, but on the Insects' terms, and humanity, what elements that survived, would fare very, very poorly. Chapter 1: Attack at Hunt's World Further Rewind: Two weeks before the disaster at Vitalics "It's utter foolishness!" said War Admiral Norman North. "Watch your tongue, Admiral!" countered Admiral Gubar Peterson, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff for the League of United Worlds. He was addressing a fellow admiral, the legendary Norman North. There were precious few War (four star) Admirals in the League, and although North's permanent rank was Victory Admiral (five star), he had given up that rank to return to active duty in the field. Regardless of his rank, Peterson was technically the top Navy man, and expected proper behavior from all his sailors--even the great Norman North, the hero of Trajinar. "I still think it's foolish," said North stubbornly, as if he didn't fear anything Peterson could do to him. "This is a decision of the civilian hierarchy, and we report to them, not the other way around," said Peterson. "Are you saying you are going to go against the orders of our civilian authorities?" North avoided this obvious trap. "No, of course not, sir." He was already aware of the number of resignations, a number of them forced, over the issue. Some of the best fleet captains and admirals of the line had already resigned in protest; but North was not ready to take that route. That wasn't his way. Peterson relaxed slightly. "Very well then. You're entitled to have your own personal opinion about peace with the Insects, but keep that opinion to yourself. Now, let's talk about your next assignment." Having taken North down a notch, he felt inclined to be a bit more generous. "I'm prepared to give you some latitude. Where would you like your fleet to be located?" North felt his mouth drop open. "I had assumed that I would go to Vitalics with the rest of the fleet for the signing of the armistice." "That's not wise, War Admiral. You yourself pointed out the folly of putting the entire fleet all in one place, leaving our planets undefended. The League President has agreed with your line of thought in this matter. That's why he's permitting you and your fleet to stay behind." "Meaning he doesn't want me anywhere near Vitalics during the signing." "That's another way of putting it," said Peterson, allowing himself a grin. "But I'm prepared to give you some latitude in your positioning." "Latitude?" "You can base your fleet anywhere you like... as long as it's not within 10 lightyears of Vitalics." "I see," said North. He turned to a star map, as if thinking, then pointed to a star, "Hunt." "The Hunt system?" Peterson looked surprised, both at the speed of North's response and his selection. "I would've thought you would've chosen a system 10.1 lightyears from Vitalics, or stationed yourself here on August." "Hunt will do fine, sir. What forces are under my command?" "Here's a readout," said Peterson, handing him a datapad. North took a look at it, and bit his lip. 42 ships. About 10% of the fleet. It was almost an insult for a War Admiral to be commanding such a small force. Well, at least he still had the Glory, his flagship, and a fair mix of top of the line and current ships. It would have to do. Peterson was looking at his face to see his reaction, but North forced himself to give a blank expression. "Very well, sir. If you'll excuse me?" The Glory was an old Command Carrier, one of only four such ships still in existence. But old shouldn't be confused with feeble; although over 300 years old, every part of the Glory except her armor and her bulkheads had been stripped out and replaced several times with upgrades and new components. The Glory was one of those very rare and expensive combinations of a battleship and a fleet carrier. On the bottom the ship was pure carrier: it had two launching and landing bays capable of holding six squadrons of fighters plus a wide variety of support and transport craft. The Glory currently carried a complement of five squadrons of old but proven assault Wildcats and one squadron of even older Defender heavy bombers. Although both classes of fighters had been in service for over 100 years, the Glory carried a mixture of type 145-D and 150-B Wildcats and type 78-J Defenders, among the most modern versions of these fighters in the fleet. The top of the Glory was pure battleship, featuring three sets of massive 34 inch laser cannon turrets, side mounted missile launchers, a 22 inch turret in the rear, and a number of small caliber anti-fighter armament. While no longer state of the art compared with the most modern battleships, the Glory could go toe to toe against nearly any ship in the fleet except the most modern superbattleships and dreadnaughts. In short, the Glory had the teeth of a battleship and the carrying capacity of a carrier. That combination, however, made the Command Carrier line tremendously expensive, which explains why they were discontinued after only eight models, in favor of regular carriers and battleships. North's shuttle, accompanied by his standard fighter escort, landed in the forward landing bay. His executive officers, Captain Roger Dulin, skipper of the Glory, and Commander Stacy Wren, his first officer, were waiting for him in his ready room. "Ridiculous!" were Dulin's first words. "Obviously a trap," said Wren. "Why else would they want to meet at Vitalics?" "Admiral Peterson said that they considered that neutral territory," said North. "And it's just a coincidence they chose a meeting place where electromagnetic interference would prevent any communication outside of the system?" said Wren. "Mitterand said with the entire fleet there we'd have nothing to fear," said North hollowly. Even he didn't pretend to believe what he was saying. "Mitterand is a traitor!" said Wren savagely. "Commander-" "Or at least a dupe," said Dulin. "It doesn't matter which. What are we going to do?" "Do, Captain?" North raised his eyebrows. "Our orders are to go to Hunt's world and stay put." "We've got to stop them," said Dulin. "They'll ambush the fleet." North frowned. "Assuming you're right, how do you propose we stop them? Admiral Peterson is leaving even as we speak, and the bulk of the fleet is already on its way to Vitalics." "We could catch up to them at top speed before they get there," said Wren. "And then what?" said North. "Tell them they're going into an ambush, of which I have no proof of? And when the admirals and civilian leaders who are traveling with them tell them to disregard my orders, what then?" "Tell them not to obey their admirals, if necessary," said Wren. "War Admiral, you've saved us countless times. We all owe you for Trajinar. The fleet will follow you." North self consciously fingered the silver eagles on the collar of his light blue uniform. "So you're telling me to stage a coup, to overthrow the elected leaders of the League and their military leadership. Do you realize what you're saying?" "If it has to be done to save us, yes!" cried Wren. North turned to Dulin. "And you, Captain? What are your views on this?" "I... I think the fleet will listen to you, sir," said Dulin. "You realize you're talking about mutiny," said North. "The penalty for which is still capital punishment." He paused, as if he were also fighting a battle with himself. "All right. Let's take your thought experiment a step further. What if we make our big announcement and some ships don't go along? Do we fire on them?" Dulin was silent. "Do we shoot at our own sailors? For that matter, what if the majority of the fleet doesn't go along? We'll be vastly outnumbered and outgunned. Are you prepared to be vaporized for mutiny, along with all the other ship captains and senior officers in this fleet?" North asked. Dulin, choked up, tried to make a sound but nothing came out. North slowly paced back and forth on the carpeting. "I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought about doing something like this too. But it's too risky. Even if we're right, without proof we might not be able to persuade the fleet. And just remember, we may not be right; it's been almost a year since the last skirmish; the Insects may really be suing for peace. "You don't believe that!" said Wren. North shook his head. "You're right, I don't. But I'm not certain. And as long as I'm not certain, and an 'intervention' on our part is risky at best, I'm not going to act. Remember that most of the fleet is going there; if there is an ambush being planned, the Insects will have to be strong enough to take out our entire fleet at once. Maybe they won't be foolish enough to try; maybe if they try, they'll fail." "At the very least we should go to Vitalics too." North shook his head. "We'd be risking court martial when we got into sensor range. And with only 40 odd ships under my direct command, I'm not sure we could make a difference." He sighed. "This isn't an easy decision. But I'm not going to overthrow an elected government unless I'm certain they're wrong, and I'm not.... And even if I were, I'm not nearly sure we'd be successful." "So what do we do now?" "We go to Hunt's world... and we wait," said North. The Glory and its accompanying fleet came into orbit around the moon orbiting Hunt's World. Formerly a pioneering world, Hunt had over the centuries gradually evolved into a center of industry and capital and was now the main "money world" in the League. Because of its importance to the financial industry, Hunt's World had a series of battlestations in high orbit around the planet, brimming with weaponry and a full assortment of starfighters. But, oddly enough, North hadn't stationed his fleet in proximity of the battlestations; instead, much of the fleet were in orbit around Hunt's moon, too far to get support from the weaponry on the battlestations, if needed. "It's been eight hours," Commander Wren fumed. "Eight hours since the armistice convened. "Patience, Commander," said North, sitting in his command chair which was set just behind Captain Dulin's. "I'm sure we'll be hearing something soon." He touched the silver eagles on his collar below his four stars, his only sign of restlessness. "How long does it take them to sign a piece of paper?" Wren fumed. North gave her a mild look but said nothing. "Sir, we're getting an incoming communication," said the comm officer, working the receiver. "It's faint, but I think it's from the fleet. We can only get audio." A few seconds later there was a hissing sound and then, "--under attack. This is Captain Tirako of the Cruiser Impulse. We are under attack by a fleet of Insect ships-" North's voice was immediate, but it was also calm. "Captain Tirako, this is War Admiral Norman North of the Glory. What happened to the fleet?" "...fleet... destroyed. All destroyed. Glory, they're firing again!" There was an explosion, then a crackle, and the line went dead. "Captain, I'm picking up a fleet of Insect ships at extreme range, closing rapidly," said the scanner officer. For a moment, the bridge was incredibly silent. "I think we have our answer," said North, very slowly, in a very soft voice, as if he had difficulty speaking. He looked grimmer than Wren had ever seen him. "Battle Stations." The attacking fleet was not, of course, the same one that had conducted the ambush at Vitalics; Vitalics, still days away, was too far away. Instead, this smaller Insect fleet had started out several days before the Vitalics ambush occurred, timing their arrival to come just after the Vitalics rendezvous had taken place. "I'm reading 78 combat ships,' said the scanner officer. "12 battleships, 14 battlecruisers, 27 cruisers, the rest an assortment of smaller ships." "They knew exactly where we were," North muttered, his heart sinking as he stared at the line of massive battleships on the screen. The Insects had a two to one advantage in ships, but probably a three to one advantage in weapons; while the Insects had 12 battleships and 14 battlecruisers, North's fleet had only the Glory, and a pocket battleship, the Blue Luna, and four battlecruisers. The rest were standard cruisers and other combat vessels. It would be a tough fight, and everyone knew it. Normally, North's cruisers wouldn't stand a chance against Insect battleships. But North had a few surprises planned that would help even the odds, if everything worked as planned. North raised his voice, "Only 78 ships? They must be feeling overconfident." He touched a button on his console to open a channel to interfleet. "This is War Admiral Norman North. By now you have heard of the destruction of the main part of our fleet. I won't deceive you with some public relations doubletalk and say that everything will be fine." He paused a brief moment to let that sink in, and then continued. "But I will say that whatever has happened to the main fleet, we are still alive and the Insects haven't won until they've beaten us. We've defeated the Insects before and we will again, as long as we continue to be a coherent combat force. That's why it's vital we win this encounter with a minimum of losses." The War Admiral paused again. "There will be time for grieving later. For now I expect you all to give your best. Prepare to conform to attack plan Hunt 1 exactly as we rehearsed it. Good luck. North out." The previous silence was replaced by a babble of voices as bridge officers readied their stations for combat. The Insect Admiral, a junior Queen, was puzzled. She had expected North's forces to be stationed in high orbit around Hunt, to take advantage of the defenses afforded by the battlestations. She had been prepared to conduct a standoff attack with missiles to destroy the battlestations first. Instead North had his forces strung out around Hunt's moon, where the battlestation weapons wouldn't be effective and where even the battlestation's fighters would take several minutes to engage. The Insects had fought Norman North too long to underestimate him, and yet the Insects still couldn't see what North was trying to achieve or why he would take such an obviously inferior defensive stance. The Admiral studied the scanner interface. It was a pity they didn't have the same suppression equipment they used at Vitalics; but there had been barely enough there to get the job done there. Well, they'd have to conduct this battle more conventionally. Either way, the result would be the same. "Order the attack," the Admiral ordered. The Insect attack fleet closed in a narrow formation. During their first attack they intended to punch through the human fleet, currently in low orbit. Then, while their formation was disrupted, the Insects would engage the enemy one-on-one until they were all destroyed. The Insect Admiral had competed with others to have the honor of destroying the great Norman North. She wondered what kind of honor the Queen would bestow upon her when she brought the Queen his head. Her attention snapped back to the present as her fleet plowed through the human fleet, firing madly at their ships. The human shields were holding up, but so were those of the Insect ships. The Insects, having gone past the human fleet and between it and Hunt's moon, started to brake, and turn, and... Brilliant beams of light shot up from the surface of Hunt's moon, impacting on several of the Insect ships. The Insect Admiral turned her scanners to the moon and saw, for the first time, that portable laser batteries had been set up on the surface. Where had they come from? She had no time to wonder, because even as those laser batteries opened fire, dozens if not hundreds of fighters were streaming out of hidden caves beneath the moon's surface. Where were all those fighters coming from? North's fleet didn't have nearly that many fighters, according to the intelligence reports. Then the Admiral immediately figured it out: they must have been moved from their berths in the battlestation to the moon. When had this been done? And then explosions started to come on a new front; as the Insect fleet braked and turned, heading away from the moon, some of them slammed into mines! The Insect Admiral checked her short range scanner. There was a thick layer of mines between the human fleet and the moon. How had the humans known that they would arrive at this exact spot? North's fleet closed on the Insect ships, which continued to be pounded by surface fire and, a few moments later, by squadrons of 145-B and even more nimble 150-D Wildcats streaming out of the surface. The Insect Admiral, realizing that being sandwiched by North's fleet on one side and the moon's laser emplacements and fighters on the other was a recipe for disaster, ordered her fleet to break off and cut through the line of North's ships to get to the relative safety of open space. But in doing so the fleeing Insect ships lost their carefully planned formation and bearings and became open targets for North's fleet. North's cruiser groups raked them with fire as they passed. A number of Insect ships also slammed into mines on their way out, causing heavy damage. When the Insect ships cleared the mine field and steered out of range of the moon's guns they moved to reform into their original squadrons, but War Admiral North's fleet gave them no quarter. By the time the Insect fleet had moved off and reformed, while still under constant attack from North's fleet, 37 ships had either been destroyed or heavily damaged, including five of the battleships and seven of the battlecruisers, and North's fleet hadn't lost a single ship. But if the two fleets were now roughly even in size the Insect fleet was still more powerful, its battleships and battlecruisers capable of outgunning any ship in North's fleet in a one-on-one battle, except perhaps for the Glory. But it wasn't simply to be a ship to ship battle. Fighters, nearly 300 of them, swarmed up from the moons surface, attacking key Insect battle groups. One fighter attacking a capital ship can almost be ignored. Three or four fighters attacking a capital ship is an irritant. But 20 fighters armed with heavy rockets can make short work of a cruiser or even a larger capital ship. A number of them were converted Defender heavy bombers with several payloads of ordinance. North's fleet was careful to only engage the Insect battlegroups already under heavy attack from the fighters. Whenever one of the Insect battlegroups not under fighter attack tried to engage North's fleet, his ships carefully maneuvered out of the way to try to keep the besieged Insect fleet groups between them and the ones not under fighter attack. In fact, at any given moment half of North's fleet refused to engage, simply playing cat and mouse with battleships and battlecruisers not under fighter attack. The fighters did quick work, not waiting to destroy Insect ships but rather halting attacks when they had achieved heavy damage, and moved in groups of 20 and 30 to attack the next ship. "Engage them!" cried the Insect Admiral. In their rush to get here they hadn't brought any fighters of their own, but the Insect Admiral thought that their overwhelming number of capital ships would even out that advantage. Then again, the Insect Admiral hadn't expected to face 300 heavily armed fighters, more than triple the number normally assigned to the Glory. "We can't," said an Insect officer. "They keep running from us!" But as the number of undamaged Insect ships dwindled down to 25, the bulk of North's fleet did turn and engage the Insects, even those not currently under fighter attack. A cruiser couldn't take on a battlecruiser, one to one, but three of them could. The Glory directly engaged one of the two remaining Insect battleships, while the pocket battleship Blue Luna, in the company of a destroyer squadron, engaged the other. The Insect fleet struck out at the human ships, damaging a number of them, but the momentum was on North's side. When the number of Insect ships remaining dropped to less than 20, the Insect Admiral gave the order to retreat. "Pursue and destroy!" cried North from the bridge of the Glory. The fleet pounded the Insects as they retreated, following them to the edge of the system and disabling or destroying four more of their ships. At the system's edge North called the fleet back to deal with the surviving damaged Insect ships who were trying to limp from the field. The fleet opened fire on the damaged Insect ships on orders from the Glory. Captain Dulin didn't ask War Admiral North if he wanted them to rescue any Insect survivors, and War Admiral North, grim faced, said nothing. After the slaughter at Vitalics, no one was in the mood to take prisoners. When it was all over Admiral North assessed the damage. Seven ships, three cruisers and four destroyers had been destroyed or heavily damaged. The rest of the fleet had suffered light damage, except for one cruiser whose engines had been knocked out. "Transfer the survivors from these seven ships aboard our battlecruiser group," commanded North. "The cruiser with the damaged drive section, the Larata, how long before it can be made spaceworthy?" "Our techs think two hours," said Captain Dulin. North calculated how long it would take them to get the fighters back onboard. "We leave in one hour," said North. "If they can make it spaceworthy by then, they can accompany us; if not, they can play catchup." "Where are we going in such a hurry, sir?" Dulin asked. "June," said North. June was the Capital of the June Directorate, the junior coalition partner in the Alliance with the League. Now that the League fleet, except for North's battlegroup, was largely destroyed, the Directorate's fleet was the only other allied fleet left. It was smaller than the League fleet, but their ships were technologically advanced and their navy had a solid reputation as capable fighters. "Get me Admiral Zarat of the June Directorate fleet," North said. There was a pause and the holographic display crackled but remained otherwise silent. "We can't, sir, there's some interference." "Jamming," said North. "They could already be under attack." He resisted the urge to order their immediate departure. If they left now, they'd have to leave most of the fighters behind. The Glory was officially rated to carry six squadrons of fighters but to help carry the additional fighters from the Hunt battlestations would now be carrying eight. In addition, each surviving ship would also be carrying a handful of fighters in their hanger bays. All said and done the fleet could now carry 200 fighters. The local Hunt military authority wasn't thrilled to lose half of its fighter support, but North pulled rank and gave them no choice. "Get those fighters aboard as quickly as possible," said North, looking at his chronometer and privately fuming. Time was so precious! Well, there was still one thing he could do. "Get me Battle General Tenor Markov, commander, ground forces on August, Sarney Sarittenden Central Command HQ." A Battle General was a three star general, the highest practical rank in the ground forces. Although there was theoretically one higher rank, that of War General, that rank was generally unfilled and reserved for great war heroes. Currently, only the head of the joint chiefs held that rank, and that was currently an Admiral, Ruber Peterson. Who was almost certainly dead. The comm officer opened a line to August. August. The capital of the Alliance. North's hands figited as he wondered if communications had been jammed there too. Which could only mean the attack had already begun there as well. But after a few tense moments the screen crackled and Markov's face filled his holocommunicator. "War Admiral," he said curtly. A loud babble of voices could be heard in the background on Markov's end. "You've heard the news," said North, referring to the transmission from the ship that briefly escaped the ambush at Vitalics. "We did. Was the entire fleet really destroyed?" "We have no way of knowing without going and taking a look," said North. "But if we haven't heard from anyone else by now, it's a safe bet that there aren't entire battlegroups in silent running." "The entire fleet," said Markov, trying to wrap his mind around it. "And the President, and the joint chiefs... and the cabinet... all gone..." He paused a moment, as if lost in thought, then snapped back into reality. "And your battlegroup?" North checked the scrambler controls. They flashed green. He looked up at Markov. "We had a little ambush of our own, but we're fine. We have only 34 ships left, so there's not much we can do." "Understood. What do you recommend?" "The Insects will be coming," said North. "Your orbital defenses will not be able to hold out long. My suggestion is that you abandon your military headquarters and disperse your troops and prepare for ground assault. Your best strategy, if there is any best strategy, is protracted guerrilla warfare to wear the enemy down." Markov's face showed that the implications of this were slowly sinking in. "Protracted? How long is protracted?" North lowered his voice, though he knew the entire bridge crew could still hear him. "We're about to go into battle again, General." Picking his words carefully, he said, "I don't know when, or if, we'll be able to communicate again. I suggest you wipe your command files and-" "Just a moment!" a third voice intervened, splitting into their two-way communication. The face of Vice President Novacan appeared. "Admiral North, where are you going?" "Into battle, sir," said North, picking his words carefully. Scrambler or no, this communication could be tapped and deciphered, with the right access codes. With the President, his senior military and civilian advisers, and most of the cabinet at Vitalics, only Vice President Novacan had been left behind to mind affairs on August. "Where are you going? Admiral, I order you to return to August to secure the defense of our homeworld!" said the Novacan. "Minister, our small fleet will be no match for the overwhelming force the Insects will throw at us-" "You're not paid to think, Admiral!" Novacan snapped. "I'm issuing a direct order for you to return immediately!" North paused a moment. "No." he said. It was obvious to everyone on the bridge that he omitted the "sir". "No? No what?" said Novacan. "No, we're not returning." "Admiral North, you are relieved of command! Captain Dulin!" "Sir?" said Dulin, stepping forward promptly. "You are to take command of the fleet and return to August immediately." "No sir!" said Dulin, just as promptly. "This is treason! You'll be vaporized for this!" "No," said North slowly. "What you and your administration have done is treason. You have lowered our guard and cost the lives of thousands of loyal sailors whose only fault was following your orders. We will no longer listen to yours." He turned as if to terminate connections. "Where are you taking your fleet? Are you going to run away? Coward!" Novacan spat. North turned back, murder in his eyes. "Yes, I'm a coward," he said slowly. "I've been giving the subject a lot of thought lately. I'm a coward for not arresting you, the President, and the Joint Chiefs when I had the chance. I'm a coward for not taking power when I should have. I was afraid of taking action. This is the result of my inaction. My inaction" He repeated it, for emphasis. "I don't know if we'll survive this, but if, by some miracle we do, I won't make the same mistake twice," he said, his voice deadly grim. "Goodbye, Minister, and try to take a kinder tone with your new Insect masters." He terminated communications. The bridge crew was speechless. North turned to Wren. "Are the fighters aboard yet?" he said quietly. "Another few minutes, sir." "Is the League network still up?" The comm officer checked, then nodded. "For the most part." The Insects hadn't yet gotten the chance to disrupt the League-wide communication network. "Activate the League wide network. Use our priority military code." "Online." North took a deep breath. He would now be addressing the senior military, political and administrative leaders and staff throughout the League. "This is War Admiral Norman North. A few hours ago, it appears that most if not all of the League fleet sent to the Vitalics armistice was destroyed in an ambush. As President Marshall unwisely sent nearly the entire fleet to Vitalics, we are now left open and defenseless to an Insect invasion." He paused for a moment to let this sink in. "The Insects will be coming, in some worlds in a matter of hours, and others in a few days. Worlds on the outskirts of the League may be lucky enough to have a few weeks, but they will come, sooner or later. This is a terrible time for the League; we have been led to defeat by the naivete and incompetence of our leaders." "But ultimately we are the ones at fault, we, through our complacency and nearsightedness and preoccupation with consumption and pleasure, who elected the Marshall and his cronies on their unrealistic "peace now" plank. President Marshall is no longer around to pay for his mistakes, but we are. I have spent most of my adult life fighting to defend what we hold so dear, and now we are about to lose it." "To those of you who still value freedom, who are still willing to fight for it, I call on you to rise up and resist. Form small, mobile tactical groups. Harass the Insects and make them pay for their occupation. Sabotage Insect installations and kill as many Insects as you can. It will be a long and difficult fight, but eventually we can make the price of occupation too expensive for them to pay." "As for myself, as long as I am alive the Insects have not fully conquered the fleet. Never forget that as you fight on the ground I will be here, in space, fighting for you as well. Mark my words: someday we will meet again, and the next time we do, we will regain our hard-won freedom once again." "This is War Admiral Norman North, signing off. Good luck to all of you." If the bridge had been merely stunned by North's communication with Defense Minister Novacan, they were overwhelmed by North's message to the League. It was one thing to know that they had been defeated; to hear it from North's lips, however, gave it a new weight and reality that was only now sinking in. Dulin moved closer to North's command chair. "Ah, sir, do you think it was really wise to blame the people for this?" he said, in a low voice. "Wise?" said North, raising an eyebrow. "I don't care. They're responsible. I've fought my entire life for these people, and look at them! Most of them are parasites simply living off their rohelpers and holopics, and haven't worked a day in their lives. They voted for Marshall because war was "inconvenient" and peace was the easy thing. Our rise in technology and productivity was supposed to make life easier, but when it reached the point when technology enabled the population to stop working and simply seek out pleasure, it set a moral decay in place. Quite frankly I'm tired of people who have no interest in defending themselves. I signed on to defend people, not spineless jellyfish, and that's what our society has become. When the Insects arrive, many of them will learn what hardship is like for the first time. Many of the survivors, that is," said North, his tone so angry and bitter that Dulin almost didn't recognize it. But then he addressed Dulin directly, and that legendary calm was back. "Are the fighters aboard yet?" Dulin distracted, quickly turned to check his board. "Uh, Yes sir. And I'm showing temporary repairs to the cruiser have been completed as well." "Compliment the repair crew on their fine work," said North unemotionally. "Let's get under way. Set course for June, maximum speed." Chapter 2: The Brief Battle for June Admiral Whyold Zarat was the soldier in charge of the Directorate's fleet defenses. North's opinion of the League's civilian leadership was only slightly lower than Admiral Zarat's opinion of the Directorate's civilian leadership. Until one year ago the Directorate, the junior partner in the Alliance with the League, was under the brilliant leadership of Steven Quick. Quick, widely accepted as a supergenius, had founded the Directorate and ran it as an enlightened dictatorship for as long as Zarat could remember. Quick took over from the previous corrupt and inefficient bureaucrats of the old Cahill Republic and created a model of government that even the League, which had a traditional disdain for dictatorships, found so admirable that they sent their people over to study how their bureaucracy worked. Quick also built up and modernized the Directorate fleet and made it a vibrant partner in its coalition with the League, especially during the early years of the war against the Insects. But all that changed a year ago when Quick's ship blew up under what could only be termed suspicious circumstances. Quick's handpicked successor, Administrator (now Director) Tel Kalin immediately took over, and quickly made a mess of things. First there was the explosion of the reactor at the enormous military base on Tentus IV. Somehow a chain reaction started which vaporized the base. The result: 20,000 sailors and their families dead, 20 ships lost. It was a tremendous blow to fleet morale. Kalin made things worse by pinning the blame on several of the Directorate's most distinguished Admirals, forcing a number of them into retirement before their time, even though most of them had nothing to do with the accident on Tentus. Then as part of a "modernization" program Kalin retired fifteen perfectly capable ships of the line before their replacements were made ready. In fact, since Kalin had taken over, Zarat hadn't seen a single replacement ship come off the assembly lines. There were "problems in production" he was told. Then the final straw came two months ago when a drive explosion on one of the newest class of battlecruisers forced all ten of those battlecruisers out of service for "inspection". Despite repeated inquiries, Zarat had had no word on when he was going to get those ships back either. So there he was commander of a once mighty fleet of a little more than 100 ships, now down to a demoralized group of 55 ships, all because of the incompetence of their leadership. There was already talk in the ranks about getting rid of Kalin and putting a new leadership in place, a military leadership, and if the situation didn't improve soon, Zarat might be forced to take sides. Kalin's predecessor, Quick, had been a civilian, but he had shown by example that he knew how to run the military. Kalin didn't have that touch. Currently the fleet was stationed in orbit around June, the capital of the Directorate. Well, at least Kalin had had the good sense not to agree to send the fleet to this ridiculous armistice the League had agreed to with the Insects. Zarat knew it would be a trap; the only question in his mind is how many League ships would survive the trap. There had been no word from the League fleet since the meeting at Vitalics had begun, several hours earlier. "Admiral, I'm getting a communication from Director Kalin, for your eyes only," said a crewer. Kalin entered his ready room, and keyed in a code. A hologram of the Director appeared in front of his desk. "Admiral, you're there. Good. Prepare the fleet for attack." "Attack, sir?" From the Insects? How could they attack this far into their territory without being detected? "The Insects are about to attack June," said Kalin. How did Kalin know this? "Sir?" "We haven't much time. The Insect fleet will outnumber and outgun your fleet by at least two to one. Your orders are to engage them in one pass only." "One pass only?" This was only getting more confusing. "And then what?" "Disengage and make for open space. Head out and stay alive as long as possible." "You would ask us to abandon June after a show of no more than a token resistance!" Despite his dislike for Kalin, Zarat was prepared to obey reasonable orders. But this wasn't a reasonable order, not by a long shot. He should leave the Directorate open to invasion? For a moment Zarat started to think that maybe Kalin wasn't merely incompetent; perhaps he was actually a traitor. That would explain the weakening of the fleet. "I realize these orders are hard for you to accept. And I also realize that circumstances have forced us to have a rocky relationship." "Nothing you can say will make me abandon the Directorate. Sir." said Zarat stonily. Kalin paused, checking something. "This conversation is scrambled. If you stay and fight your fleet will eventually be destroyed. And it's important for your fleet to survive." "What is the sense of surviving if we're not going to be able to defend our planets?" Kalin lowered his voice. "I was told, if you resisted this order... I was told to tell you to trust me, I know what I'm doing." Told? Who tells the First Director to do anything? And then the words struck home. "Trust me, I know what I'm doing." There was only one person in the galaxy who had used that line frequently, when talking to Zarat. Suddenly, an incredible thought burst into Zarat's mind. Kalin, watching the transformation of his face, nodded. "I see you understand. But you are to tell NO ONE about this conversation, not even your most senior officers." He then proceeded to give Zarat a series of secret instructions that he needed to commit to memory, and also provided him with three names. "Understood," said Zarat, when he was done. "Director? Will this really work out?" Kalin sighed. "In the short run.... no. But at least this way we'll have a chance of restoring what we're about to lose." Zarat swallowed. Well, at least he knew the truth. "What about you, sir, will you need evacuation?" "Don't worry about me, Admiral, just take your fleet to safety. Kalin out." Zarat sat alone for a moment. Then he activated ship-to-ship. "I need to speak to the following three officers, alone. Secured channel." He called for the names of three communications officers on three different ships. When Zarat returned to the bridge he said, "Prepare for battle." "Battle? Against whom?" said an aide. "Admiral! A large number of enemy ships are showing on our scopes!" cried the scanner officer. Suddenly, the ship was on alert. Zarat didn't even ask a single question about the size or composition of the enemy. Instead, he simply said, "Prepare to conduct a single pass. Then set course out of the system." "We're just leaving?" said an aide, stunned. "Follow my orders!" Zarat barked. "Where will we set course?" the aide asked. Zarat considered for a moment. Kalin had told him to set course for deep space. And yet... War Admiral North's League fleet was at Hunt's World. That was only a stone's throw from June. Suddenly, it all made sense. Zarat had wondered why North had stationed the fleet at Hunt; strategically, it made no sense. But now he realized why; Hunt was the League world nearest to June! North had intended to join forces all along. If he survived whatever the Insects had planned for him, Zarat was sure he would send his ships to June. In fact, he might even be on the way there now. Zarat checked the long range comm. The Insects were jamming all frequencies. But it all made sense. "Once we get clear we'll set a course for Hunt." Once they linked up with North's forces, then they would head out into deep space. The Insect fleet, 70 ships strong, came blazing into the June system. The June orbital defense stations opened fire, and the Directorate Fleet raced out to engage the Insect fleet. But after a few brief seconds of laser fire, the Directorate fleet whipped right past them! The Insects braked and turned in a leisurely fashion, confident that the Directorate Fleet would turn back and meet them. But the Directorate fleet kept going... all was going according to plan, until they reached the edge of the June system, where they ran into the rearguard, 22 Insect heavy cruisers. The command chamber on the Insect flagship was filled with holographic displays showing the movements of the Insect fleet across League and Directorate space. Hive Queen Zsst watched the screens with satisfaction, flexing her many arms and tendrils as she chittered softly to herself. She was so distracted that she almost didn't notice the hooded creature enter her chambers. Almost. It was impossible not to notice the curtain of fear that descended everywhere the went. "All goes well," says Zsst. "The human fleet at Vitalics was completely wiped out." "I know," said the hooded creature. "But what of Norman North's fleet, or the Directorate fleet?" "Mere mopping up operations," said Zsst dismissively, waving one of her arms. "Their fleets are small and inconsequential." "Then how did Norman North's 'small and inconsequential' fleet defeat the much larger one you sent against it?" "What? How do you know this? I have yet to hear reports-" "Norman North is alive, and his fleet is intact," said the hooded creature. A hint of green peeked out from under the hood. "And as you know from personal experience, while Norman North is alive, he is a threat. Dispatch three more fleets to find and intercept him." "I will," said Zsst. "But we will have to try and project where he will go." "I have already provided this information to the Admirals of your fleet. I launched them on their mission ten minutes ago." "You gave orders to my fleet!" thundered Zsst. "To be fair, they thought the orders came from you," said the creature, undisturbed. "Watch your step, Baraki," said Zsst. "One day you may go too far." Baraki, the hooded creature, stepped closer to Zsst, saying nothing. Zsst became noticably uncomfortable, and suddenly flinched as if struck, and pulled back. "We shall see," said Baraki. "Any word from June?" said North, pacing back and forth in the command area on the bridge. "There's still jamming in place," said Commander Wren. "We're about halfway there; there's only about four more hours to go. Almost there." "It's very fortuitous that we happened to be so near June in the first place," Captain Dulin remarked. If he was asking a question, the War Admiral gave no answer. "Sir, picking up ships, on the scanner!" "Battle stations!" said North. Then, over the klaxons, "Identify!" ".... 51 ships... They're Directorate ships, sir, all of them. Looks like they've been in a fight...." "We should be able to punch through the interference locally. Get me Admiral Zarat." The holographic field shimmered and a Directorate naval officer dressed in white appeared. "This is Captain Alada of the Directorate Flagship June Defender." "Where is Admiral Zarat?" "Admiral Zarat is dead, War Admiral," said Captain Alada. "I count only 34 ships on your end. Where is the rest of your fleet?" "All destroyed." said North. "All destroyed?" Alada looked stunned. "At Vitalics?" "At Vitalics," North confirmed. "I commanded only a small portion of the fleet, and we took some losses when we were ambushed at Hunt's Moon. We came here to help as soon as we could." "Appreciated, Admiral, but we're quite all right. We only lost four ships in the attack on June." "How did you escape with such light loses?" said North, frowning. "We didn't engage the first wave and immediately headed out system. It was only when we ran into the backup group that we took losses; that's when a missile struck the bridge and killed Admiral Zarat-" "Didn't engage the first wave? Why not?" "Admiral's orders. Or rather, orders he received from June." "Really," said North. His frown only grew deeper. "What else were your orders?" "I'm not sure. Admiral Zarat received them orally in private during a conversation with Director Kalin. All he told me was that we were to link up with you at Hunt's Moon. Beyond that, I don't know what his plans were." "I see." North was silent for a moment, hands clasped tightly behind his back, as he paced back and forth a moment. "War Admiral? We have to act," said Alada. "What? Yes," said North, snapping out of it. "I suggest we travel to Orotis, where we can get resupplied-" "Orotis is on the far end of the League." "Precisely. It's probable that the Insects won't have gotten that far yet." "We have imminent reports of an invasion of Jarja," said Alada. "Twenty two transports, with only ten escort ships. We could take them easily." "What about the fleet following you?" North said. "We have no indications we've been followed; they're probably just as happy that they've chased us away from June." "Assuming you're correct, how do you know there's not a secondary escort fleet following a safe distance behind the Jarja attack force?" "War Admiral, you're being too cautious-" "I tend to get that way when 90% of my fleet gets destroyed. We are the only effective fighting force left in the Alliance." "And what would you have us do with this fighting force? Run away?" North drummed his fingers on his console. "We don't know the disposition and location of the enemy force. We don't know exactly how they destroyed the fleet at Vitalics. They may have some new weapon or kind of ship we have yet to see. I don't favor rushing in when we're the only attack force left." "Well, I have a different interpretation." "What about your orders?" "I don't know what my orders were beyond this point, and transmissions in and out of June are being jammed." Alada's holoimage faced North directly. "We're going in. Are you coming with us?" North shook his head. "Then we'll just have to do it on our own. I hope you decide to take a stand somewhere, Admiral," said Alada. He made a motion, and his image faded. "What are we going to do?" Captain Dulin asked. "Are we going to assist them?" North stared off into space. He shook his head, mostly to himself. "The fools," said North. "The poor, bloody fools." The Insect fleet burst into the Jarja system unopposed. Jarja II was a medium sized colony world that didn't have any ground or orbital defenses. The other planets in the system were uninhabited. The Insect fleet had just reached Jarja IV when the Directorate fleet under Captain Alada caught up to it. The Insect escort ships immediately peeled off and engaged Alada's forces, but they were outnumbered. The Directorate fleet blasted through the escorts, and in a few short minutes wiped them out. The fleet turned to chase the Insect transports, when all of a sudden, a massive Insect attack fleet pounced on them--twenty battleships, twelve battlecruisers, thirty four cruisers, and thirty destroyers. Suddenly, the hunters became the hunted. A number of Directorate ships were instantly vaporized by the superior firepower. "Evade, evade!" cried Alada into the intrafleet comlink. The fleet started to turn and desperately speed away, but the Insects were in hot pursuit. Alada's battlecruiser tried to turn about, but was hit by simultaneous multiple torpedo attacks, and was blown to bits. On a nearby battlecruiser, an officer reported to the fleet's next ranking officer, Captain Bennett. "Captain Alada's ship has just been destroyed!" Suddenly, a hologram appeared on Bennett's bridge, and the bridge of every other Directorate ship. "Attention, Directorate forces. Proceed immediately to these coordinates," said the very familiar figure in a light blue uniform with four stars and silver eagles on his collar, pointing to a set of figures on a holographic display. It was War Admiral Norman North! "Admiral!' said Bennett, shocked. "My name is War Captain Michael Bennett, I'm in command-" "No time. Follow my instructions. It's your only chance," said North. He appeared to check an indicator on a console out of holoview. "If you want to live, you'd better hurry." "Instruct all ships to hone in on those coordinates," said Bennett. "Scanners, do you pick up North's fleet?" "Negative," said the scanner officer. Then, "Captain, these coordinates will have us going through the far side of the Jarja asteroid belt!" Of course! North's fleet must be waiting in the belt to ambush the Insects. The Directorate fleet followed the main path through the asteroid belt set out by the coordinates provided by North. But when they reached the belt and were inside it, Bennett still couldn't pick up any sign of North's fleet hiding in the belt. Where were they? On the other side of the Asteroid belt, the Command Carrier Glory and the rest of the League fleet was at rest, waiting. "They've just safely past the second group, sir," Commander Wren reported. "Very well," said North. "Activate the mines." The Insect fleet sped across the narrow channel as mines exploded around them. Because the path through the asteroid field was so narrow, there was no way for them to avoid the explosions. After several ships in the lead were hit by explosions and destroyed, the Insect fleet skidded to a halt and tried to reverse course. Several of them couldn't stop in time, and rammed into each other. "They're going to take the long way around, but it won't take them too long" said North, speaking holographically on Bennett's bridge. "Are all your ships capable of top speed?" Bennett checked a damage report. "No. Four of them have drive damage." "Scuttle them and take the crews aboard." Bennett opened his mouth to protest. "And quickly," said North. "That is, if you want to live. We'll be here for another 20 minutes to provide you with covering fire. Then we're leaving; any ships that want to come with us, can come; the rest stay behind," he said, bluntly. Once again, he was giving the orders. From the Log of War Admiral Norman North, Commander, Combined Alliance Fleet: We're nearly four days out of Jarja and the shock still hasn't worn off. We had a combined fleet service yesterday, for everyone lost at Vitalics, for the League sailors who died at Hunt's moon, and for the Directorate sailors who were lost at June and Jarja. But it hasn't quite sunk in emotionally that all our friends who we've served with for years are gone. We know it, intellectually, but since we didn't see most of them die at Vitalics, I think everyone is holding out hope that somehow, some of them survived. To think that men I served with for decades, even centuries, are just gone, dead, is too difficult to deal with. The bridge goes silent whenever we receive a transmission. We keep hoping we'll hear from other surviving warships. But of course we never do; even if one or two warships did survive, they would be much wiser to maintain radio silence; that would prolong, at least for a time, their survival in now-occupied League and Directorate space. We are getting transmissions, but they are disturbing ones. We're getting images of planets being conquered, of giant ships setting down in our cities, chasing civilians down, herding others to whatever the Insects have in store for them. At that point the transmission from a planet under attack is usually shut down as the Insects take control of the transmission facilities. But then the Insects start transmitting again, and they show disturbing pictures. Humans in collars, whipped and beaten by the Insects, forced to provide slave labor. One particular scene burned into my memory. A young woman, digging with a metal instrument in the ground. Something she did upset the Insect overseer. Maybe she wasn't working fast enough. Or maybe she was doing nothing wrong at all. The Insect stood over her, its arms twitching, and it gargled for a second, as if bringing up something through it throat. Then it vomited, spitting a pink liquid onto the woman. She shrieked, fell to the ground, and started to tremble with fear. Obviously, the liquid was having some kind of effect on her neurological system. A man, seeing what was done to her, rushed up to the Insect, yelling, "What are you doing to her?" The Insect just cackled, and lifted the man in its many arms, and then the arms moved swiftly, and the man was decapitated--his arms, legs, and head. Hardened bridge officers wept when they saw this broadcast; and from then on I ordered the comm officer to screen what was being relayed over the general comm. Why are they broadcasting such atrocities? Don't they realize that they will just make us fight harder? Perhaps they intend for it to be demoralizing. Which brings us to another problem. Many of us, in fact nearly all of us still have relatives on our home worlds. Thank goodness we haven't seen any of them in these broadcasts. But we know that they have almost certainly been drafted into forced labor, or worse. What of our families? Will we ever hear from them again? Are they still alive? And do they even know that we are still alive? Probably not. It was with these black thoughts that I listened to Commander Wren give our status report. Seventeen Directorate ships were lost in a matter of minutes at Jarja. That means 34 of their ships, and 35 of ours. 69 ships left to face the massive onslaught of the Insect fleet. We have enough fuel, ammunition, and supplies to reach Orotis, our outermost shipyard on the far edge of League space. I expect that the Insects may anticipate our move and send forces to meet us there; but I'm gambling we can get there first and resupply as best we can. What we can do from there is unclear. One option is to start hit and run raids, splitting into small groups of ships and launching guerrilla warfare attacks against the Insects. But guerrilla warfare only works when you have a lot of guerrillas, and a lot of places to hide. There are only so many habitable worlds in the Alliance, and we only have 69 ships. It's my feeling that sooner or later massive Insect fleets would hunt us down and destroy us. We might do some damage in the short run, but eventually they would destroy us. If hit and run isn't an option, then what is? I'm a soldier, trained in conventional naval combat. I was trained to fight fleets against fleets. But a fleet of 69 ships can't defeat a fleet of hundreds of Insect ships... unless we have an advantage. That's part of the reason we're heading for Orotis; that may be the first step in finding ourselves an advantage we can use against the Insects. Just a little under three more weeks to Orotis. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * From the Log of War Admiral Norman North, Commander, Combined Alliance Fleet: Two weeks after Vitalics. We stopped to catch our breath, and found it to almost be our undoing. My original plan was to head directly for Orotis. But then three of our ships started to develop engine trouble, and Danmark II was almost directly in our flight path. Captain Bennett, speaking for the Directorate fleet (replacing the late Captain Alada, whose ship perished at Jarja), suggested we stop there to make emergency repairs-- two of the limping ships were his. Actually, "suggested" may not be the right word. Even from the very beginning of the Alliance between the League and the Directorate, there's always been some tension when a Directorate commander had to take orders from a League officer, or vice-versa. There have even been rare occasions where each have gone their own way due to "creative differences" over battle strategy. But we can't afford to have creative differences now. There are too few of us left. Bennett obviously respects me, and he didn't state his suggestion as a demand, but I still sense he's not fully ready to buckle down and take orders from the senior Alliance commander. Unfortunately, that could be our undoing. A week ago I would've let him go his own way and do as he would. But there are too few of us left now. No longer will I passively sit by and let things unravel. I've already seen the terrible price we've paid for our inaction. My inaction. Bennet's suggestion does have some merit. I don't want to leave any ships behind, and those three ships have valuable sailors on it. We could evacuate the damaged ships, but with our shipyards out of commission each ship is priceless, irreplacable. Nevertheless a rest stop does give the enemy more of an opportunity to catch up with us, even though we have no indication that we've been pursued. Logic suggests that the Insects are too caught up swallowing the sheer size of their latest acquisition to go after us, but we can't afford to take chances. Despite my concerns, however, I have authorized a quick stop, and even my own officers concur with Bennett's suggestion to drop out at Danmark II. Nevertheless, if there comes a point where I have to relieve Bennett of command to save them all, even if I have to arrest him, even if I have to court martial him, even if I have to execute him, I'd do it, in an instant. Never again will I sit passively. Never again. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * The fleet was still decelerating into orbit when they received a transmission from Governor Delapan of Danmark II. "Admiral! I knew the fleet would save us! We heard the worst-" "The worst is true," said North. "What you see before you is all that's left of the fleet." "All?" Delapan frowned. "You mean, all that's left of the sector fleet?" "All that's left of all the fleets. All of them," said North. "And I'm sure our would-be conquerers aren't far behind us." "The entire fleet," said Delapan, stunned. He took a few moments to digest this. "Well, it's good you've arrived. Please take up defensive positions around-" "You misunderstand, Governor," said North. "We're on our way out of this region of space entirely." "But... you can't just leave us defenseless!" "I'm afraid we have no choice," said North. "I order you to assume defensive positions around our planet," said Delapan. "You are military, and are bound to obey the orders of civilian authorities-" "-no longer," said North bluntly. He knew that even under normal circumstances that the Fleet wasn't answerable to planetary governors. But he wanted to drive the point home. "I'm declaring this entire sector under martial law. Our crews are coming down to take on supplies; we also want all available merchant spacers to be made ready to join our convoy-" "You can't just give orders!" "I can," said North. "My troops are coming down armed. If anyone resists or hinders us, they will be shot." "What! I won't permit-" "We have your transmission zone pinpointed," said North. "If you incite rebellion or attempt to issue orders contrary to ours, we will flatten your administrative area with a proximity missile." "What... why...." "Politician. Dissembler. Traitor," North spat. "You're all the same. Because of your kind, we've lost everything. If you want to make yourself useful, start working on your surrender speech for your new masters, who will be along soon. End transmission!" The silence on the bridge was deafening. The crew had never heard North be this... visceral before, even when dealing with the enemy. His anger with the civilian authorities was intense, but it was only magnified and exacerbated by his anger with himself. Commander Dulin looked worried but said nothing. Lieutenant Commander Wren cleared her throat, and said, "Sir, don't you think-" North glared at her, and she fell silent. Wren turned away. And then, in a voice almost too low for anyone to hear, he muttered, "Not again. I won't let it happen again." Transports and shuttles from the fleet touched down at the main spaceport. And it was a madhouse. Word had gotten out about the fleet's landing, and the approach of the Insect forces, and mobs rushed the spaceport, hoping to escape. Everyone wanted to get aboard the few merchant ships left that were being conscripted to join the fleet. Major Fortran, commander of the Glory's marine battalion, bit his lip. The word going around was that North had given him strict "shoot to kill" orders; Fortran, who had received the orders face to face, knew that this was only a slight exaggeration. North had authorized him to use restraint if possible, but to "take all measures necessary" to ensure the cargo was obtained. Fortran's men were on guard at the spaceport perimeter, holding back the crowds, while the regular navy people took on supplies and made the remaining civilian spacers ready. The screaming crowd surged, and one of the perimeter security fences buckled, and fell. The crowd pushed forward towards the thin line of League Marines. Fortran could hear over his command monitor the corporal in charge of that section of the cordon frantically calling his platoon leader for instructions. "Sir, sir, what do we do?" said the Corporal, as the crowd surged forward. He was waiting, almost fearfully, for that dreaded instruction, "WFC", weapons-free clearance, a fancy way of giving permission to fire into the crowd. But before the platoon leader could respond Fortran broke into the command circuit. "Warning shots first! Fire rounds, over their heads!" His men fired a series of laser volleys over the crowd's head. The crowd screamed, pulling back. Fortran barely had time to exhale before the next hot spot demanded his attention. When had they ever gotten so desperate as to be at the point of firing on their own people? "The reports are coming in; there isn't very much available in the way of supplies at the spaceport, except for fuel, and seven civilian and merchant spacers" said Commander Dulin. "Perhaps if we went farther inland...." "Too dangerous. Not enough time," said North, looking into the air. "Sir, three of those ships are passenger ships, and even the merchant ships can take on some passengers," said Dulin meaningfully. North continued to stare into oblivion. "Millions of people, and we get to choose the handful that get saved. But are we really saving them? We're going on a journey that none may return from. Maybe they'd be better off where they are." "Sir?" North waved a hand dismissively. "Tell ground control that once everything is loaded to take some passengers aboard. But that should be the final task, and only after all the cargo is loaded aboard. There will be a stampede once the word gets out. What progress is there on the repairs?" Suddenly, the alert klaxons blared. "Report!' said North. "An Insect fleet is entering the system." "Composition!" "...14 ships, four scouts, five destroyers, five cruisers, four light, one standard class." "Battle stations!" said North. "Jam their frequencies! I don't want any message getting through!" The battle was brief but fatal--for the Insects. Even North's small fleet outgunned the small attack probe. The Insects lost three destroyers and two light cruisers in the first engagement. Deciding they had had enough, they turned tail and ran... right into the arms of the vanguard force North had purposely positioned behind them. When all was said and done the Insect battle group was destroyed, but two of North's cruisers were damaged, one beyond immediate repair. "Evacuate the heavily damaged one," said North. "And the other ship?" "Damaged, but spaceworthy," said Wren. "What about the three ships that were undergoing repairs to their drive units?" "One has been repaired. Repairs are pending on the other two." "Tell them they have one hour to make repairs. If they can't make their ships reach at least 90% of fleet flank speed, evacuate their ships and scuttle them." "An hour?" said Dulin. North swiveled his command chair to face Dulin. "We can't be certain they didn't get a message off before we engaged them. Also, this combat probe is bound to be missed. Those are my orders." * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * From the Log of War Admiral Norman North, Commander, Combined Alliance Fleet: Three weeks After Vitalics We're just a few hours out from Orotis. I suppose I should feel a small sense of victory that we've made it this far without further losses. I say "should" because I don't; there's no joy in making a hasty retreat. Basically, we're retreating out of Alliance space at top speed, and so far no Insect ships have come so far so quickly to catch us running with our tails between our legs. Which brings me to the subject of what we do next. Some of my officers have begun floating the idea of hanging out here, at the rim, and conducting hit and run raids on the Insects, when they come out this far. But if guerrilla warfare won't work in the core of our homeworlds, it will hardly work much better here. We'd have some successes in the beginning, but sooner or later the Insects, with an overwhelming number of ships, would hunt us down and destroy us. Guerrilla warfare only works when you have a secure base of operations to retreat to and get resupply from; very shortly we will have neither. I've been giving the matter of what to do next a lot of thought. There are really only two ways to have any realistic chance of destroy the Insects. First, we could build more ships. But that could take years, and the first thing the Insects will do is to destroy or occupy all our shipyards. That just leaves one other possibility. If we can't get the numbers we need to take back our homeworlds, the only other way a fleet this size could defeat the enemy is if we had superior technology. And that, I'm afraid, will require us to leave Alliance space altogether. It's risky; for one thing, we won't have any established means of resupply when we're gone. And it will mean leaving everything that we know. Outside of our fleet, we may never see another human face again, if ever. But we need to go into the uncharted regions if we're to find what we're looking for. For it isn't by chance that I selected Orotis as our final destination inside of Alliance space. The University of Orotis is known Alliance-wide for a certain field of study that will be vital to us in our search. The study of historical xenology. The study of the Monumentals. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * The remnants of the Alliance Fleet successfully made it into orbit around Orotis without further incident. North split up his fleet, sending portions of it out on barrier patrol around the outskirts of the system while his main force took up position above the planet. The governor of Orotis, though hardly pleased by the turn of events, was more willing to be cooperative than the governor of Danmark II, and offered his assistance in the resupply effort. Orotis, while hardly a major hub by the standards of the core worlds, was one of the largest trading areas on the fringe. Eighteen merchant ships were in orbit or on the ground when the fleet arrived, and all agreed to form a convoy along with the ships that joined their fleet at Danmark II. The merchant skippers figured, correctly that they'd get better protection if they joined with North's fleet, though if they knew that they were to undergo a journey that might last years or even decades, they might've had second thoughts. While the resupply efforts were underway, North took a military shuttle down to the University of Orotis. Dulin and Wren had tried to veto his decision, but he was adamant; but he did agree to take a platoon of Major Fortran's men, most of whom touched down on an accompanying assault transport. As Orotis didn't have its own landing facilities, the War Admiral made a splash as his shuttle landed on the front lawn of the sprawling campus. The War Admiral, flanked by a security detail, stepped off the ramp even while the shuttle was still venting exhaust gas. North slowly plodded across the campus, flanked by the security platoon, oblivious to the curious onlookers. He knew exactly where he was going; having done his research even before leaving the Glory: what he wanted was in the Department of Historical Xenoscience. North found the faculty members and research scholars waiting for him. "Good, gentlemen, I see you received my message," he said calmly. "As many of you may know, my name is War Admiral Norman North. I command what's left of the Alliance fleet." There was a small murmur in the room. "The Insects will be coming here soon, perhaps in several days, or even several hours." "What are you going to do?" said the head of the department, Professor Stevenson. "There's not much we can do," said North. "Nearly all the fleet was destroyed. That's why I've come to you gentlemen. You're going to help me defeat the Insects." Shocked glances. "That's right. We're preparing accommodations for you and your senior researchers on the Glory. We're taking you all on a little trip." "Trip? Where?" They asked. "To find the Monumentals." The Monumentals. An extremely technological advanced older race that had existed hundreds of thousands if not millions of years before mankind. Thought to be long extinct, some of their works had survived-- a few artifacts here and there, a few scattered monuments on distant worlds. "The Monumental are gone," said Stevenson "True, Professor," said North. "But not their works." He lowered his voice, but still spoke loudly enough to be heard. "The situation is grim. We no longer have the numbers to defeat the Insects. Our chance, our only chance, is to find some piece of Monumental technology we can use to destroy the Insects. That's why I need you people. You've made some good progress in deciphering the Monumental monuments. You can help us locate other Monumental sites, and maybe even point us in the right direction of where to go." "Researchers have been searching for Monumental artifacts for centuries, and most have turned up little or nothing," said Stevenson. "What makes you think we'll fare any better?" "We have no choice," said North. "If we stay here, we'll be destroyed; if we dance around the sector, we'll only be postponing the inevitable. This is our only chance. If it will take time, spent it with me. I'll see it through with you, if you come with us." A researcher said, "This could take decades, or longer." "Yes." "Our colleagues on August or June are really more knowledgable in this area and maybe they-" "Your colleagues on August and June are already being fitted with Insect control collars and are now slaves of the Insects. Do you really want to be in their company right now?" Stevenson said, "Let me have some time to talk it over with my people." North shook his head. "I'm sorry, but we have no time. The Insects could be here at any time. We'll only have a few minutes warning before they reach in-system, which won't be enough time to evacuate you and your staff." "Admiral, I think we need to vote-" North shook his head again. "You don't understand; I'm not asking you to accompany me; I'm telling you. I offered an explanation out of courtesy. Lieutenant!" "Sir." The platoon leader stepped forward. "Allow these men to gather any papers or files they need. But they're not to leave the building, and I want them boarded on your assault transport within the hour. If they resist, carry them. If they run, stun them and carry them." "An hour!" said Stevenson. "But what about our families? Our-" North's face softened ever so slightly. "Call them. If they want to come, we'll make room for them. Just be honest with them--we're going away for a long, long time, and there's no telling when we'll be coming back." Turning on his heel, he marched backed to the shuttle in the company of two marines. Much as he wanted to supervise the evacuation of the scientists, events were moving too quickly, and he didn't want to be caught on the ground when the Insects arrived. "Glory," he simply told the shuttle pilot, as he strapped himself in. His concerns seemed justified when the shuttle, on final approach to the Glory, was relayed a proximity alert from the bridge. "How many of them are there," North asked, stiffening immediately. His mind was racing; could they evacuate the scientists in time? How had they gotten here so quickly? If the attackers were only another small combat probe, maybe they could repell them.... "Just a moment," said Wren, studying the data being relayed from their out-system pickets. "Just one... it's one of ours, Admiral! A fast attack destroyer, the Suny Blue! Wait... I'm getting a relayed message...." "What is it?" North asked, straining to listen over the sounds of the shuttle landing in the bay. With a scrape and a small bump the shuttle touched down securely in the hanger. "The Suny Blue was assigned to Armistice duty at Vitalics," said Wren, her voice filled with awe. One hour later the Captain of the Suny Blue, Tens Zender, was standing at attention in North's command office, just off the main bridge. "At ease, Captain," said North. He gestured for Zender to sit down. "We didn't know that anyone survived the ambush at Vitalics. Did any other ships get away?" Zender swallowed. "No sir, not that we saw. But it was quite a hectic situation." "I imagine," said North. He gazed cooly at Zender. "I'm very interested to hear how you got away. I'm even more interested to know how you found us." "Found you, sir? We didn't even know any elements of the fleet had survived," said Zender. "Once we escaped we realized that most of the fleet was probably destroyed. We were pursued by Insects ships in the area around the core worlds, and barely managed to escape. Finally we decided that our only chance for survival was to make for the fringe worlds. I guess you came to the same conclusion." North nodded. "But how did you survive Vitalics? What happened at Vitalics?" "Well, sir, I'm not really sure." Zender swallowed again, and got a pained look on his face as he tried to recall unpleasant events. "The Insects sent ships forward to meet us. They weren't military ships-- actually, they looked more like cargo ships. The ships launched these round, spherical objects, a lot of them." "What kind of objects?" Zender shook his head. "We don't know. But when these objects got near us they exploded, spreading a fine mist. It took down the shields, weapons, and power systems for most of the fleet. Then they started launching wave after wave of rocket attacks at us. It was a slaughter." North's hands grasped his chair more tightly, but otherwise betrayed no reaction. "And how did you escape?" "We were on the very edge of the formation. One of the battleships got wise that something is wrong and opened fire on the ship heading closest to us. The Insect ship wasn't destroyed, but it was damaged enough so it stopped launching globes at us." "Did any other ships fire back?" "Not that I could see." "What battleship was this? Did you see what happened to this battleship?" "I don't know," said Zender. "Once we heard reports of power failures throughout the fleet, we knew we had to steer clear of the mist field, which we were mighty close to. When we saw what was happening to the fleet, we knew there wasn't much we could do... so we escaped. Or tried to escape. We were hunted for several days by several battle groups. They got a few potshots at my ship before we managed to get out of range, but they kept up the chase. We managed to evade them, hiding out in an asteroid field for several days. After we got out, we knew we'd have to escape, so we headed out here." "And did you see or hear of any other ships escaping from Vitalics?" said North. "If you were clear of the field, perhaps others were as well." "Perhaps one or two," said Zender. "But if there were, we didn't see them." "Hm." North drummed his fingers on his desk. "And they were simply destroying the fleet, not taking any prisoners." "Not that we saw," said Zender quietly. North's face grew grave. "A lot of good men died that day, Captain. And I served with a lot of them for a long time." "Yes sir," said Zender. "Sir? What do we do now?" "Return to your ship," said North. "Naturally, you'll join our fleet. We're going on a little journey. You'll get details on that soon. Dismissed." As Zender turned to go, North hit a button on his command console. "Captain Dulin? Please report to my ready room." Dulin entered a few seconds later. "Sir?" "Have a tech team go over Captain Zender's ship from stem to stern." "What should they be looking for?" "Anything out of the ordinary. Tracking devices. Anything. Then have sickbay do a thorough medical scan on our Captain and his senior officers. Have them look specifically for any signs of medical tampering." "You suspect a trap?" "Unlikely, but possible," said North. "I believe the young man is telling the truth. But I still find it hard to believe that anyone got out of Vitalics alive." He told Dulin what Zender had relayed to him. "I wonder who that battleship captain was and what happened to him." "His ship would've been vastly outnumbered; he was probably destroyed, along with the rest." "Probably," said North. "When you're done with my little errands, call all senior captains to a meeting in the briefing room in two hours. It's time we got moving." The briefing room was packed when North arrived, several minutes late. Normally he insisted on punctuality for all under his command, including himself, but he had just been on the line with the medical staff, and received a preliminary report from his tech team. Zender, it appears, was in the clear. "Gentlemen," said North, gazing at the assembled Captains. Every senior captain was there, mostly Command Captains but a sprinkling of War Captains as well. Most senior captains were in charge of the larger ships, the heavy cruisers and the battlecruisers, but several captains in charge of destroyer battle groups were present as well. Also present were North's senior staff--Dulin, Wren, and Colonel Robert Dey, commander of the Glory's starfighter squadrons. North noticed that all the white uniformed Directorate captains sat on one side of the room with Captain Bennett, who had been second in command to the late Captain Alada, while all of North's light-blue uniformed League sailors sat on the other side. That would have to change. North quickly related Captain Zender's story. A hushed silence fell on the crowd. "What kind of a weapon could render our fleet defenseless?" "We don't know yet what kind of a weapon it is, but we know its effect," said North. "It makes ships defenseless. If we stick around here, we're just giving the Insects an invitation to try it out on us." "No one is proposing that we stay here," said Bennett. "What do you propose, War Admiral?" North slowly walked around the room, staring at different faces in the crowd, both Directorate and League officers, as he spoke. "We know now that this battle won't be won by sheer force of numbers. In the past we have won victories even when we've been outnumbered, but never by margins of five or ten to one, never when the enemy is as technologically advanced or more advanced than we are." "Therefore if we cannot win by numbers, we must prevail by utilizing superior technology. We have to develop new weapons that will let our little pocket fleet destroy the Insects." "How do we develop this new technology?" said one of the captains, Captain Harkness, of the second largest ship in North's fleet, the pocket battleship Blue Luna. He was a crusty old officer, but very reliable; and as Captain of the Blue Luna, he was technically third-in-command of the fleet, should anything happen to North and Dulin. North frowned inwardly; with the combination of the two fleets, he would have to give some serious rethinking to the chain of command. But not now. "Perhaps 'develop' was a poor choice of words," said North. "We're not going to develop this technology, we're going to find it." "Where do we find it?" Someone else asked. "Out there," said North, pointing out the viewport. "Out among the stars. Among the Monumentals." He paused to let this sink in. "All of us know from the bits and pieces of Monumental technology we've discovered that they were vastly superior to what we've developed now. If we can uncover an abandoned Monumental base, or even the remnants of one of their ancient cities, we may be able to harness enough of their technology to help us defeat the Insects." "The galaxy is a big place," said Bennett. "We could search for centuries and not find anything." "I've recruited a bit of help," said North. "Leading researchers on the Monumental from the University of Orotis have patriotically decided to sign up and join our efforts to search for the Monumentals. I'm not saying it will be easy, and it will take time, but I think it's our only chance." "But if we leave human space, how will we be resupplied?" one of the captains wanted to know. "We won't be," said North. "Your ships already have the ability to grow a limited supply of your own food. We will be augmenting this ability with hydroponics equipment that we're bringing up from Orotis. We can plant gardens in our cargo bays and on the civilian ships which are joining us." "And what of spare parts, and fuel?" "We have an ample supply of spare parts at present, but we will have to improvise," said North. "As for fuel, we can adapt our collectors to run on plasma from any nearby sun." "Plasma!" said one of the Captains. "Even if you get that to work, we won't be very fuel efficient; and we'll have to constantly be refueling." "Not constantly," said North. "More frequently, yes." "And what if it takes us a century of looking to find what we're looking for--that means another century just to get back to Alliance space!" said another. "The farther out we go, the longer it will take us to return." "I never said it would be easy, and there's no guarantees. But it's our only choice," said North. "What if we stay here, and start a hit and run operation? We can't destroy them, but we can sting them, wear them down," said another. North shook his head. "Guerrilla tactics work where you have a network of friendlies who can resupply you and give you sanctuary for repairs and refueling; we don't, or won't, for very long. Sooner or later, they'd find us and destroy us." Bennett said. "War Admiral, I hear what you're saying, but you're asking a lot. You're basically asking us to leave mankind behind, and perhaps never to see our people again for years, if ever again in our lifetimes.... It's a lot to ask." North looked at the assembled officers. "Most of you know me, if not personally, from fighting side by side in battle, then from the legends of what I've accomplished. For hundreds of years I've fought to keep the Alliance safe. You know what I've accomplished, what I've achieved, despite sometimes overwhelming odds. I'm asking you to trust me again, now; and to join me, not as League sailors, or Directorate sailors, but as one group. Alliance sailors. Only by sticking together can we survive. Otherwise, by this time next year we'll all either be wearing Insect slave collars, or we'll simply be dead. I'm offering you an alternative to this certainty. Now who will stand with me?" At that moment North's stern face looked as if it had been chiseled from stone. He stared at the assembled officers like a searchlight staring out at the darkness. Wherever he gazed confusion, and fear, was replaced by confidence, and resolution. North's officers stood up, almost as one, and declared themselves for him. But he knew they would. The Directorate officers, however were seated, each looking at the other, as if waiting for an unspoken signal. "I don't like your plan," said Captain Bennett slowly. "But you warned us against going to Jarja; and if we had listened to you, this room might be a good fuller than it is now. You saved us then, just as you saved us before and undoubtedly will do so again. I know your history, War Admiral, just as I know you, and while I say I have doubts about your plan, I have no doubts about you. Where you lead, I will follow." And then Bennett' men stood up as one, and declared themselves for North. And after that day, though sailors knew if in the past they had belonged to the Directorate, or the League, they simply called themselves soldiers of the Alliance now, and War Admiral Norman North was their leader. That didn't mean there would never be factionalism or disagreements again, but at that moment, they were more united than they ever had been. It was two days later before outlying warning beacons, dispatched far beyond the edges of the Orotis system, sounded the alarm; a fleet of Insects ships, some 104 ships strong, was on its way. Although information on the composition of the attack force was sketchy, it was composed of at least 60 capital ships. This was no small combat probe. Immediately, transshipments from the planet ceased; the fleet formed the formations that North had worked out with Dulin and Bennett; and the fleet was made spaceworthy within an hour. There was a last minute crush of people trying to reach the civilian ships; but only a tiny number could be taken, and then only after they agreed to maintain the hydroponic farms on the spacers that were appropriated by the fleet. As the ships accelerated away from the planet, there was more than one teary eye as the image of Orotis, the last human outpost they would ever hope to see, shrunk from a round oval into a shiny dot in the sky... and then it was gone. When the Insect fleet arrived in-system twelve hours later, there was nothing to greet them but Orotis itself and empty space, no trace of North, or the rest of the fleet, which were long gone, in search of a slender chance and a wild hope. Chapter 3: The Insects Make A Dangerous Enemy "David!" said a pleasing but insistent voice. A serious looking dark haired man continued to hack away at the soil with a hoe, listening to the birds chirp on... what was the name of the planet? Just beyond the edges of Alliance space, it only had a numerical designation, but the man had been giving some thought to giving it a name. All in good time; with Amy, there was always time. "David!" came Amy's voice, from the house he had built. The man dropped the hoe, sighing. He really didn't like leaving things undone. But he never had been able to resist that voice. He made his way back to the house, admiring the trees as he listened to the birdsong. This planet was almost perfect, and probably, given it's location just a dozen lightyears out from the frontier world of Orotis, would eventually start to attract settlers in 20 or 30 years. Well, 20 or 30 years was a long time, and even then it was a big planet; He and Amy would have it to themselves for a long, long time. She leaned against one of the supports on the porch, squinting at him in the late afternoon light. He stared back at her, realizing he could never wish for a better sight. "David, it's happened!" she said, pulling him by the arm and taking him inside to the interstellar radio. The man listened to the babble of reports. The Insects had destroyed the fleet. The Insects were taking over. The Insects were landing on habitable worlds. The man said nothing. In another time, another place, his first impulse would be to hop into his fighter and blast off. But he had Amy, and Amy had him, and they were alone, together, and what else really mattered? He said as much. She looked at him oddly. "Aren't you worried that they'll come here?" "This is an empty world," he said. "And it's a big galaxy. I'm sure they'll have much better things to do with their time." "But David, what if they come?" she said, pressing against him. "Don't worry," the man said, wrapping his arm around her. "Probably nothing will happen, not for years." They came almost ten weeks later. The first inkling he had of it was when he heard the roar of the Insect scoutship touching down near the house. He was hunting in the forest when he saw it, and he started back to the house on a run, his blaster drawn. He heard the screams just as he reached the clearing, and saw Amy lifted up by the neck by one of the Insect troopers. There were four of them, and the other three quickly pointed their weapons at the man. "Wait!' said the man, approaching slowly. "There's no need for this!" "Surrender," said one of the Insects through its harsh translation device. Amy struggled to breath in its grasp The man lowered but didn't drop his weapon. "We're not a threat to you." "Drop your weapon," came the modulated voice. "Surrender." Amy, screaming, continued to struggle, flailing her feet; and one of her random kicks caught the Insect holding by one if its legs. The Insect, perhaps annoyed, but not really hurt, twisted its grip; and there was a crack, and then Amy's lifeless body was tossed to the ground. "NO!" the man screamed, and he fired his blaster; and even though three of the four Insects had their weapons aimed at him, and his was lowered, he managed to kill all four of them with a single shot to each of their foreheads before any could fire back. The man ran over to Amy, and felt a long moment for a pulse. Sobbing, he cradled her head in his hands and cried hysterically. Later, much later, the man found himself standing over a freshly dug grave; the tombstone had been carved out of rock by a blaster, and the flowers on the grave were fresh, though the man had no memory of how either got there. He stood at that spot a long time, and as the sun sank low, he muttered, "They took the only thing that ever meant anything to me...." Then he paused, for a long time, and said, every so softly, while staring after the setting sun, "This isn't over...." ****************************************************************** War Admiral Norman North eyed the status reports. They had managed to save 64 active warships and 24 merchant/civilian vessels. The foremost and proudest of them was, of course, the Glory, his combined command carrier/battleship. Unfortunately, they didn't have any other battleships or dreadnaughts in the fleet; they had all been lost at Vitalics. But he did have a number of smaller capital ships at his command. There was the Amory Til, a converted heavy cruiser/half carrier that was jammed packed with three squadrons (it was rated for two). There was the Blue Luna, a pocket battleship which didn't quite have the punch of a true battleship but was almost as heavily armored and shielded as one. There were eight battlecruisers in the fleet, four of them the newest Tiger-class ships. But the bulk of the fleet were cruisers--12 light, 11 regular (7 of those being deep space cruisers), and 7 heavies. The rest of the fleet was a mix of destroyers (including seven of the newest fast attack destroyers) and frigates as well as one minesweeper/layer. But of course, no discussion of the fleet's military assets could be complete without a discussion of starfighter support. They had a little over 250 starfighters, with eight squadrons packed on the Glory and three on the Directorate half-carrier, the Amory Til. The Blue Luna carried a full squadron, and the rest were scattered in three's and four's throughout the fleet. The Glory's squadrons were the most modern version of the Wildcats--the 145-D and 150-B's, while the Defenders were 78-J's. The rest of the fighters were of similar configuration, both from the Directorate fleet and the ones we had picked up at the Battle of Hunt's Moon, though some of the Wildcats were of the older variety, and they had also acquired a small collection of miscellaneous fighters--variants on the Lancer 4FF's, mostly. North had positioned the fleet in a classic symmetrical double V position, with the bulk of the heavy cruisers and battlecruisers taking point in the first formation, and most of the weaker ships in the rear "V", though supported by a sprinkling of heavies, such as the Blue Luna. The Glory was positioned in the center, between the two V's, providing close support to the merchant vessels, who were also in the middle. The formation was hardly original and had its weaknesses, but for now that was the way North left it. He had bigger matters to attend to. The mess and maze of logistics he handed off to Captain Dulin and Commander Wren and the other ship captains as much as these tasks were delegable. The civilian ships had to be converted to growing food as soon as possible. Some of the larger ships, like the Glory and the Blue Luna, had a "full/full" complement of hydroponic labs--theoretically, they could grow enough (rationed) food to support their crews indefinitely. But the battlecruisers and the smaller ships had much smaller hydroponic bays, and were on "half/full" status; they could supplement, but not fully replace food stocks. North hoped the merchant ships, once properly converted, could provide enough food to make them self- sufficient; now that they had left Alliance space, he didn't think they'd be able to resupply for some time... if ever. Fuel they would eventually run out of, but they had begun switching over to process hydrogen, which they could skim from any nearby star. The energy burned less efficiently, but was an acceptable substitute. The fleet had a fair supply of medicine, including the anti-aging vaccine, with enough supply in stock to give boosters to the entire crew for at least the next 50 years. Then they would start aging again. Another important issue was unit cohesion. The fleet was an mixture of League forces, which North originally commanded, and allied Directorate forces, who only recently joined forces with them. Though the two had been allied all during the long war with the Insects, North knew that there was some resistance on the Directorate side to taking orders directly from him, especially from the top, from the highest ranking surviving Directorate officer, Fleet Captain Michael Bennett, now stationed on the half-carrier Amory Til. The Directorate had their own procedures, their own chain of command, even their own uniforms (Directorate white as opposed to League blue), none of which helped to integrate the two forces. North had almost had a knock-down fight with the man last week when he ordered him to redeploy his ships. Bennett had wanted to keep the Directorate ships together, but North wanted to deploy some of his battlecruisers to different parts of the "V" formation. It was bad enough that the man questioned his orders, but to do so in front of the other fleet Captains was inexcusable. Something would have to be done to improve unit cohesion. Another thought on North's mind, but still not the foremost one, was the composition of the forces that pursued them. They had retreated out of Alliance escape quickly enough, which prevented the bulk of the Insect force from catching up to and destroying them; but over the past several weeks they had been harassed by small attack forces, indicating that there was still a pursuing fleet behind them. But even the constant threat of enemy attack was not foremost in North's mind. Foremost in North's mind was the higher goal, of finding the technology that would defeat the enemy. That meant searching out the hidden technology of the Monumentals. North had risked capture and destruction of the fleet by stopping at Orotis to pick up several of the leading researchers on the Monumentals, notably Professor Stevenson, but it had been a risk worth taking. North had consulted with Stevenson frequently on where they should go to conduct their search. He had hoped that some of the artifacts that Stevenson had examined might contain clues that could help. But Stevenson had given a bitter laugh and said to North, "War Admiral, I've been searching for Monumental artifacts my entire life. There are, or were, a lot of them out there, but it's a big galaxy, and most of those that have been found have been plundered by other races." When pressed for a direction, Stevenson had been unable to provide specific guidance. Nevertheless, he had given North one important piece of information: every Monumental artifact that had been found in Alliance space had been found on habitable worlds. And habitable worlds only orbited certain types of stars. That, at least, narrowed their field of search a little bit. So North constantly studied Lieutenant Shishman's long range scans, looking for appropriate star types or even tentative scans of distant planets to find those which were more likely than not to be suitable. But he had to admit, even to himself, that it was like searching for a needle in a haystack, and it might takes years for them to find anything useful. Still, they had to try. And so North constantly ordered long range Wildcat patrols to head out in pairs in every direction ahead of them to look for signs of habitable planets. "Well, this has been another swell patrol," said Command Captain Idaho Took. He checked the scanner to compute, once again, the range back to the Glory. Another routine patrol, a few planetless stars, and billions of gallons of empty space. "Would you rather have run into an Insect patrol?" said his wingman, Lieutenant Kato Obe. "A small one, maybe," said Took. "At least it would've given us something to do." Took certainly wasn't itching for a full-scale Insect attack, but Obe shared his frustration. It had been almost two weeks of quiet now, and it had been too quiet. Obe checked his scanner, saw three blips, heading in the same direction as they were, back to the Glory, but coming from different directions. "Getting something on scanner," said Obe. "Must be Marsten's patrol," said Took. He switched to general comm, "Mars, is that you?" "That must be Took," came the voice on the other end. "Uh, Mars, this is Obe, how many ships do you have in your patrol?" Obe asked. "Two," came Marsten's voice. "You know that." "Then why do I have a vector on three ships coming in from your direction?" Took checked the scanner, saw he was right. He did a focused scan: the three ships looked like Wildcats, but only two of them were 145-D's; the third ship resembled a Wildcat, but had a different design; definitely not one of theirs. Took set an intercept vector. "Unidentified starfighter, this is War Captain Took of the Command Carrier Glory. Identify yourself." They got silence for a response. Took checked the scanner. The fighter had already shot past Marsten and his wingman, and now only Took and Obe stood between it and the Glory. "Do you suppose it could be one of those Directorate guys from the Amory Til? They could be on a different frequency?" said Obe. "Different from general broadband?" said Took. "Not likely. And take a close scan of that ship. It looks like someone took it apart and put it together with a totally different set of pieces--the thing looks like an antique that's been mish-mashed together from ten different sets of fighter parts." "If it's such an antique, why is it almost outflying us?" said Obe. At full speed they caught up with the ship just short of the fleet. It was as old and battered as the scan had indicated; and it was heading straight for the Glory. Took activated his targeting scanner. "Unidentified ship, identify yourself!" He got no answer. Took let go a volley just short of the unknown fighter, who banked to the right immediately as the bolt launched, and turned around to arc towards Took. Took, tense, repeated, "This is your last warning! Identify yourself!" Suddenly there was a scratching sound on his comm, as if a long disused circuit had been activated or repaired. "Do not fire," said a flat voice. "I am an allied force." "Who are you?" said Took. He noticed Obe and his wingman closing. Good. Reinforcements had arrived. There was a silence for a moment, as if the pilot didn't want to identify himself. Then, the deadly cold voice spoke, "Ken Pilot, 04." Took looked over at Marsten, who was flying parallel to him. "Ken Pilot? THE Ken Pilot?" "That's impossible. The Ken Pilot, that Ken Pilot, he must be dead by now," said Marsten. Took radioed the Glory. "Glory, we've got a problem here." Colonel Darley, the Glory's starfighter command, had been monitoring communications on the bridge, and he quickly called over Captain Dulin and explained the situation. "A Ken Pilot?" said Dulin. "The Ken Pilot, 04?" He shook his head. "Extremely improbable." "Should we get the War Admiral?" said Darley. Dulin shook his head. "He's busy with Professor Stevenson. It could be a trap, or a kamikaze. Let's see what we have first." He toggled the comm. "Unidentified vessel! This is Captain Dulin of the Glory; we will send a shuttle out to meet you. Cut drive and wait for rendezvous." "The Glory?" said the voice, as if the name meant something. "Glory, I'm coming in." The fighter accelerated. Dulin spoke to the fighters. "Took, Obe, stop him!" "Stop him?" came Took's voice. "You mean, blow him up?" "You heard me," said Dulin. "He could be a kamikaze!" "All right," said Took, with great reluctance. What if this guy was who he said he was? Blowing up one of the greatest fighter pilots of all time wouldn't be a great way for Took to end his day. He looked at the fighter several dozen feet ahead of him, then looked down at his targeting scanners... odd, the ship didn't show up. Took looked up again, and understood why; in the short time he had taken to check his scanners, the ship was had accelerated rapidly towards the Glory. "Speedy little bug," Took grunted. Took and his wingmen accelerated to maximum speed. He lined up for a shot... even at this distance he should still be able to hit the fleeing fighter... he squeezed the fire button, and a ball of energy burst out... missing the aging ship. By now Obe and Marsten and Marsten's wingman, Chang-Wha, were firing too, and they were all missing. It was very odd; just as they aimed and put the fleeing ship in their sites, it weaved, bob, or jittered to another vector. After a half minute of worthless firing, Took reported, "Sorry sir, he's out of effective range." The fighter was by now about a full minute ahead of Took and almost at the Glory. "Tell laser gun crews to target and open fire!" ordered Dulin. "Sir?" said the ops officer. "Do it!" A hail of small caliber laser fire opened up on the old fighter from the smaller caliber artillery on the Glory, designed specifically to take out hostile fighters. But the unknown fighter turned and twisted in every direction, avoiding several trails of laser fire, still heading unstoppably into Bay Two. Dulin sounded the alarms. The fighter wasn't decelerating. He had visions of the fighter packed with explosives, ramming into the bay. "Clear the bay!" he yelled as the klaxons blared. At that moment War Admiral Norman North came onto the bridge. "What's going on here?" The fighter accelerated to ramming speed... and then, at the last moment, braked furiously, and came to a perfect three point landing less than ten feet from a supporting bulkhead inside the bay. That part of the bay, being partially evacuated, was empty when the cockpit opened and the occupant emerged.... Took and his wingmen were only a few seconds behind the intruder, and they landed their ships in near picture perfect formation next to his and took off after the pilot, who they could see running down the main corridor just outside of the bay. "Bridge, I have him in sight, seal off sections fourteen through seventeen on Deck 24," said Took, drawing his blaster as he took off in pursuit. Thick bulkhead doors slid into place behind and in front of the intruder farther down the hallway. Took ran down the hallways, trailed by several other pilots and security officers who had joined the fray. He waited for them to catch up. There was no need to rush any more now. "We have him," said Took. "Ok, open bulkhead door 17-J." He stood to one side, his weapon drawn, and the other officers positioned themselves in such a way to give themselves a clear aim from different angles. If the intruder tried to resist he would be dead very, very quickly. But this guy seemed to have very fast reflexes; could he take out Took and several others before getting shot himself? Took tried not to think about that as the door slowly grinded open, revealing... an empty chamber. After looking about carefully, Took entered the chamber, and then looked up, and saw the dark hole cut in the deckplate above. "Nimble fellow," Took commented. He spoke into his comm, "He got away." "We know," came a new voice, the War Admiral's voice. "He's here with us now." The Ken Pilot was unsurprised to see the weapons drawn and pointed at him as he entered the bridge. His own blaster, still warm, was in his hand but not raised. He looked about at all the unfamiliar faces, until he latched onto a very familiar one. "War Admiral," he said. North nodded slightly. "David. It's... surprising to see you here." "Meaning what am I doing here, and now, in a very big galaxy when you're probably being hunted down by the Insects who are chasing you like mad and using every trick in the book to catch you," said the Ken Pilot. "You're suspicious and want to make sure I'm really what I seem." North nodded. "A reasonable precaution. After all, I haven't seen you since the celebration on Eratta, after the battle of Karis." The Ken Pilot pursed his lips. "You mean, of course, the celebration on Whenfor, after the Battle of the Doublestar." North nodded to the Ken Pilot, and to one of his officers as well. She approached the Ken Pilot, and ran a scanner over him from a cautious distance. Without turning to face North she said, "I'm sensing a highly advanced nervous system, War Admiral. He's either a Graftonite, or something just like it." North nodded. "Lower your weapons," and all blasters were simultaneously reholstered. At that moment Took and Marsten entered the bridge on the run. "What did I miss?" Took asked, nearly breathless. "I stopped at one of the frontier colonies you passed by after Orotis," said the Ken Pilot, getting comfortable in North's ready room. "They said you were in the neighborhood." "But what were you doing out here?" said North, handing him a drink. "Seeking a life, alone." "Alone?" "On a frontier planet," said the Ken Pilot. "With Amy." "Amy," said North. He started to piece things together--the Ken Pilot's tone of voice, the circumstances of his arrival. "They came for you, even there, out in the frontier." The Ken Pilot nodded. North didn't ask any further, but he said, "You have my condolences." He paused, considering. "You don't just want my condolences. You want to join our fight, don't you?" The Ken Pilot nodded again. "We're heading out of Alliance space. We're not seeking out fights." "Fights will come to you," said the Ken Pilot. The War Admiral arranged for the Ken Pilot to have a berth with the other starfighter pilots. He was wise enough not to assign him to a specific squadron; the Ken Pilot was about as a rugged an individualist as one could get. Quite frankly, North wasn't sure how to fit him in with their forces. Solitary assignments would be best. Maybe to make him a long-range scout....? Took and some of his buddies were getting lunch in the mess hall when they saw the Ken Pilot sitting alone, in a corner. Took motioned the others that they should join him. "I don't know, Iday," said Marsten. "He's a stranger, and he looks like he wants to be alone." "Nonsense," said Took, with one of his irritating smiles. "A stranger is just a friend you haven't met yet." He approached the Ken Pilot. "Mind if we join you?" The Ken Pilot gave no answer for a moment, and then, seeing Took wasn't going to take silence for an answer, gave a small nod. "Good," said Took, not overanalyzing the ambiguous body language. He sat down, joined by Marsten, Obe, and two of the other pilots. "By the way, we never got the chance to introduce ourselves when we were shooting at you," said Took. "My name is Idaho Took. This is Robert Marsten, Kato Obe, Ben Hunter..." he introduced the others. The Ken Pilot sipped his drink. Took, giving a small smile, said, "I didn't catch your name." The Ken Pilot paused, considering. "David Norman." "Some people on the bridge were calling you the Ken Pilot," said Took. The Ken Pilot continued to sip his drink. The tension in the air was palpable. "Are you?" The Ken Pilot nodded. "I was a pilot on the Ken." "But were you Ken Pilot, Ken Pilot 04?" Took persisted. The Ken Pilot paused, as if considering the question. Then he nodded. "Can someone enlighten me?" said Marsten. "The Ken incident was a bit before my time." "Were you sleeping through your military history class at the academy, Mars?" said Took. "The Ken was one of those old-styled modified "quarter carriers", cruisers carrying one full squadron. They tangled with an enemy fleet around Porstan-" "Locutus," interrupted the Ken Pilot. "Locutus," said Took, nodding, "and ran directly into an enemy carrier, with three or four full squadrons-" "Four," said the Ken Pilot. "Four," said Took, looking at the Ken Pilot as he were a legend out of the pages of history. "The Ken was swamped, of course, and her fighters were quickly overwhelmed. The ship was destroyed, as were all the fighters... except one. Ken Pilot number 04. The story goes that he was outnumbered 40 to one, but managed to destroy all their fighters. When a relief task force arrived, they found his ship just sitting there, dead in space, out of fuel, surrounded by the carcasses of all those enemy fighters." "Really?" said Obe skeptically. "You destroyed 40 fighters on your own?" "41," said the Ken Pilot. "41," Obe repeated. "Uh-huh." "You know, you did some pretty fancy moves out there in that hunk of junk of yours," said Took. "No offense, but it really looks like its on its last legs." The Ken Pilot made no comment. "If you're going to fly with us, you should fly one of our 145- D's or 150-B's." The Ken Pilot shook his head. "That bucket of bolts you're flying could come apart on you at any minute." "I can handle anything that comes my way," said the Ken Pilot. "Yeah, you've got that look about you," said Took. He noticed the other's confidence, took it for cockiness. "So, you think you're a better pilot than us?" "Iday-" Marsten interrupted. "I can handle myself," said the Ken Pilot quietly. "Do you think you could take one of us in a mock dogfight?" The Ken Pilot nodded. "Would you like to test that theory out?" The Ken Pilot shrugged, as if he didn't care. "Afraid?" said Took. The Ken Pilot gave Took a cold, long look for a moment. Then he said, "All right." "Who do you want to fly against?" Took asked, hoping it would be him. "Me? Obe? Mars?-" "All of you," said the Ken Pilot. "All of us?" said Took. "All right, we'll do a series of one-on- one battles-" "No," said the Ken Pilot. "All of you." He got up. "Meet me in landing bay in 20 minutes." He walked away. "You think he's trying to prove something?" said Obe. "You think those stories of him taking out 40 fighters singlehandedly are really true?" said Marsten. "I think we're about to find out," said Took. When they arrived at the landing bay they had their first chance to take a good look at the Ken Pilot's ship. It was old, that much was clear, and it was made of all different pieces, of all different sizes, shapes and colors. It was as if someone had gone to a ship wrecking yard and collected pieces from a dozen different ships and then glued them together. How the different pieces were made to be compatible with each other was a mystery; how it flew at all, much less so well, was an even greater puzzle. In addition to forward weaponry, it also had a small rear turret mounted into the high fin. "That looks like something out of a museum," said Obe, none too tactfully. "What is the hull based on?" He peered at it closely. "It's a Wildcat 50 hull, right?" "A Wildcat 5 hull, actually," said the Ken Pilot, climbing into the cockpit. He eyed the arriving pilots who were streaming into the launch bay behind Took and Obey. "Standard simulation protocol 1.2?" "We use 8.0 now," said Obe. "But we're downwards compatible," said Took hastily. "It will be no problem." He eyed the other pilots. "Are you sure you want to take us ALL on at the same time?" The Ken Pilot just looked at him for a second, giving a slight shrugging gesture, as he sealed his cockpit and started his preflight. "This is going to be one for the history books," said Took. Took dogged the seal on his cockpit. His entire squadron was getting ready to launch. Elements of Obe's and several other squadrons were going to their ships too, if not to fight, then at least to watch. Took wondered what Colonel Darley would think of this massive mobilization. Well, they could chalk it up to a training exercise. "Remember," said Took over the comm, "No matter how cocky this guy is, there's only one of him but ten or fifteen of us. If we keep on him together, he might get one or two of us at best." He thumbed the launch button and a fraction of a second later so did the rest of his squadron, as well as Obe and two of his wingmen. Almost the instant his squadron launched and cleared the hull, Took noticed a flash of light to his right and some yells on the comm. He quickly glanced at the SSP indicator and saw that three of his ships had been hit and already taken out of action, slowing to a halt, dead in space. "What's going on?" Took said, seeing a battered Wildcat 5 suddenly come roaring ahead of his squadron. The Ken Pilot must have been waiting for them, just outside the launchbay, and shot several of their ships right as they launched. "An ambush right outside of launch? That's not fair!" The cold reply came immediately. "When the Insects start obeying rules of combat etiquette, let me know so I can too." And then, after a pause, "What's the matter, are only twelve of you insufficient to take on one fighter?" "Let's get him," said Obe. "He's on my tail!" cried one of Obe's wingmen. "Good," said Obe, getting behind the Ken Pilot. "Keep him occupied for just a few seconds...." He concentrated on his targeting scanner as the Ken Pilot's ship seemed to weave and bob all over the place. The old W-5 seemed twice as maneuverable as Obe's 150-B. Or was it just the pilot. There was a flash of light ahead of him and then "He got me!" Obe heard his wingman cry as the SSP, sensing the low-power laser hit, shut down the ship's systems. But at that same moment Obe saw the Ken Pilot's ship line up in his sights. He moved to squeeze the trigger... and then there was a flash that blinded him, as the Ken Pilot's rear turret blasted his cockpit. The blast was only at .1% strength, but the power of the light was enough blind Obe for a few seconds. When his vision cleared, his ship was dead in space. The Ken Pilot continued to zoom this way and that, effortlessly picking off squadron members while equally effortlessly avoiding the gunsights of his hunters. The Ken Pilot seemed to be able to vector right behind an enemy fighter and squeeze of a shot in a split second-- without any need to adjust his heading or to aim more carefully. He seemed oblivious to fighters getting in behind him, only paying attention when opponents almost had him lined up in their gunsights. How he knew when that moment occurred, and how he was able to pay attention both in front and in back of him at the same time, was a complete mystery. Took kept trying to take aim at the bobbing and weaving ship, every few seconds punctuated by a flash of light and a cry over the comm. He was about to take aim again when the Ken Pilot flew out of view again, to line up against another target. Took checked the SSP. There were only three pilots left, him and two wingmen. The Ken Pilot had demolished an entire squadron in seconds. "We need help," Took muttered. "You got it," said Marsten's voice, taking it as an invitation. Took had been so focused on the battle that he had paid scant attention to what was happening in the background. As word |