Wing Commander #07 False Color by William Forstchen (novels for students TXT) 📗

rustic life on the frontier?" Then he turned to Bondarevsky with an equally hearty greeting. "And you, my boy. I'm glad to see you, too."

Again he had to force himself to take the other man's hand in his bionic grip. "It's . . . good to see you again, Admiral," he said, trying to hide his surprise.

He hadn't thought to see Rear Admiral Geoffrey Tolwyn again, certainly not at a Confederation military base. Not Tolwyn, the man who had come so close to losing the war . . . the man whose Behemoth project had shattered a Terran squadron and cost Bondarevsky his command and his arm.

The man whose court-martial had been a sensation across the Confederation, and whose acquittal had aroused indignation on nearly every world in the human sphere.

CHAPTER 2

"Fang and claw, sharp eyes and alert ears and the nose of a hunter, these are the tools of the Ideal Warrior, but they are as nothing without the spirit and heart of a fighter"

from the Fifth Codex10:23:05

VIP Lounge, Moonbase Tycho Luna, Terra System 1310 hours (CST), 2670.275

Jason Bondarevsky studied Admiral Tolwyn as they all took seats around the table and punched in their drink orders on the small keypads in front of them. Over the years Bondarevsky had come to regard Tolwyn as one of his most powerful navy patrons, a man willing to recommend him for promotions and important assignments and generally helping along his career. Ever since his attack on Kilrah and the mission Tolwyn had staged against orders to pull him out Jason felt as if his very life was owed to the Admiral and it was debt he would never forget. He'd always looked up to the man, even when one or another of the admiral's schemes was putting him squarely in the line of fire somewhere out on the Kilrathi frontier. But, like most of the rest of the Confederation, he'd been stunned to find Tolwyn masterminding the Behemoth project. And when it was all over, the collapse of the plan and the high cost Bondarevsky had personally paid had certainly colored his opinion of the man who'd been so important to him for so many years.

"So, Vance," Tolwyn was saying, "how was the trip in?"

"The usual," Richards told him with a grimace. "When I retired from Intelligence I was used to quarters you could stand up in. Ever since I got out to that benighted frontier all I ever get to travel on is destroyers or cruisers, and they've got just about enough room to think about swinging a pet cat . . . but only if you want to risk banging your head when you think it."

Bondarevsky joined in the laugh, but he could still remember how good it felt to have a ship, any ship, around him. He'd loved the little Coventry, fast, responsive, and maneuverable despite the minor inconveniences of her small size.

"I watched your approach on the monitors," Tolwyn said. "Cruiser?"

Richards nodded. "LCA. She's the ex-TCS Andromache. Now the Themistocles, if you please. Old Max has discovered the fine art of historical pretensions. Cruisers get named after famous military men who ended up in exile." He smiled. "The Republic picked the ship up for a song and refitted her from bow to stern. Crash job . . . Kruger's got a team of specialists ready to turn around anything we can buy, salvage, or cobble together in a few weeks, and he's pushing everybody hard to build up the fleet ASAP."

"So he still figures it'll come to a fight, then." Tolwyn made it a statement rather than a question. There was a brief lull in the conversation as a waitress brought their drinks. Richards didn't answer Tolwyn until she had gone back to the bar.

"No question about it, Geoff. Things are even worse than when I talked to you last time. The whole damned mess looks like it's coming to a head out there in the next few months, and we need you more than ever."

Tolwyn gave a grim nod. "I figured as much. I may be out of the mainstream these days, but I still have my sources. And the facts are there, no matter how hard the government is working to ignore them."

"So you're ready to come aboard, then? No more excuses?" Richards gave Tolwyn a sour look. "You know we could have used you three months ago."

"Back then I still thought I had a career, Vance. I thought the court-martial would clear me completely and let me get back to work."

"You were cleared, Admiral," Bondarevsky said quietly.

Tolwyn gave him a bleak look. "Oh, the verdict was `Not Guilty,' son, but that isn't the same as being cleared. Not by a long shot. You should know that if anyone does."

He thought back to the aftermath of the Gettysburg mutiny and gave a reluctant nod. Back then it had been Bondarevsky on trial, and even after the court pronounced he'd done the right thing his career might have fallen apart then and there. But Tolwyn had come to his rescue then.

Perhaps he owed the same kind of support to the admiral now, no matter how bad things had looked day Behemoth went to debris.

Tolwyn was still talking. "Hell, I'm surprised they acquitted me, now that I look back on it. I had the weapon that could have won the war, and I just plain blew it. If it hadn't been for Paladin and his Temblor Bomb—and our old friend Blair—the Cats would be squashing the last resistance down on Earth right about now. And I'm too damned old to go down fighting in a guerrilla resistance. We were lucky we stopped the furry bastards when and where we did . . . and I'm sorry to say I didn't have much to do with carrying it off. I'd . . . kind of wanted to be in on the kill." The admiral