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

Richards corrected him. "We're in this thing together . . . unless you're backing out after all."

"I'm with you, Vance," Tolwyn snapped. "I've got just as many good reasons for wanting to help the Landreich as you do. Maybe one or two more."

There was an awkward moment of silence as the two strong-willed admirals regarded one another thoughtfully. Bondarevsky took the opportunity to change the subject.

"Couldn't you take your evidence straight to the people, Admiral?" he asked Richards. "Let them know about the Kilrathi involvement? Surely the Confederation government doesn't control every news channel."

"Maybe not all of them, but all the ones that matter, son," Richards told him gruffly. "And at any rate, the propaganda effort's being stepped up against us, lately, too. We're agitators, troublemakers, a threat to the success of the Treaty. When we complain about Kilrathi violations, we're simply trying to stir up trouble on the border. If we take any kind of aggressive action ourselves we're deliberately provoking an interstellar incident. So any evidence we presented would be discredited as a fabrication before the report was off the air."

"Then what's Kruger planning?" Tolwyn asked.

"What you'd expect from Old Max," Richards told him with a grin.. "He's going to take the bull by the horns. Fight the Cats with everything he's got, carry the war across the frontier into Ragark's territory if he has to . . . anything he needs to do to keep them off-balance until the Landreich can deal with them. And Confederation protests be damned."

"But if this Ragark's naval force is so much better than what the Landreich has, how can Kruger hope to fight and win?" Bondarevsky fixed a questioning stare on Richards. "Even Kruger's not crazy enough to buck the odds if the outcome's certain defeat."

"Well, he's building up the Navy as fast as he can. We've been buying up every warship we can get our hands on as fast as the Confed decommissions them. We've got an experienced team of salvage experts working on each ship as it comes in. And we're recruiting officers who can make a difference . . . in case you hadn't noticed."

"It isn't much, sir," Bondarevsky said, frowning.

"Old Max has some other schemes in hand, son," Richards told him. "Believe me, we're going to hand out some surprises. You'll find out more once we get to Landreich. Max'd skin me alive if I let out any of his little secrets, especially here. You know what he thinks of the Confederation."

"Kruger always plays things close to his chest," Tolwyn said. "But whatever he has in mind, it isn't likely to be easy . . . or safe. You know, don't you, Jason, that this campaign's going to be dicey. Maybe more dangerous than anything you've been in before . . . and you were in a couple of the worst fights the Confederation faced. I hope, when everything's said and done, that you won't hold anything against me."

"Against you, sir?" For a moment, Bondarevsky thought Tolwyn was referring to the Behemoth battle and the wounds he'd suffered aboard Coventry, but Richards quickly set him right.

"Didn't you know, son?" he asked with a raised eyebrow "It was Geoff here who first brought your name up as a possible recruit. Max and I both liked the idea, of course, but we wouldn't have even known you were available if he hadn't suggested you be brought aboard." He raised his glass. "So . . . here's to comrades in arms."

"May we all gather together again when the fighting's done," Tolwyn added, touching his own glass to Richards'.

As Jason Bondarevsky silently joined in the toast he wondered just how much chance there might be of Tolwyn's wish coming true. Facing a powerful new enemy on Mankind's most distant frontier, outnumbered and without Confederation backing, this time it didn't look like there was much hope of coming out alive.

But at least he could go out fighting, doing something positive instead of wasting away, one more retired hero in a society that didn't want his kind reminding them of the dangers they'd so recently faced.

Bondarevsky found himself looking forward to a chance—any chance—to see action once more.

Warrior's Hall, Brajakh Kar Baka Kar, Baka Kar System 1855 hours (CST), 2670.277

"The last one is here, Lord Haka."

Ukar dai Ragark lak Haka turned from his contemplation of the scene outside the window to return his young aide's arm-to-chest salute. "Very good, Nerrag. I will be there shortly. See to the refreshments."

"Yes, my Lord." Nerrag jaq Rhang saluted again and hastened to the door. As the young officer left him alone, Ragark permitted himself a brief baring of his fangs. How they all feared him!

He turned back to look out the window again, savoring the thought of eight-eights of the fleet's senior officers kept waiting for his arrival in the chamber below. In the days of Thrakhath and his idiot grandfather the Haka hrai had been in disfavor, and Ragark had been forced to lead by compromise, conciliation, and petty chaffering with other leaders whose status might be lower but whose favor in the eyes of the Imperial Court made them too powerful to ignore or overawe. Now the Emperor and his heir were dead, and Ukar dai Ragark ruled his province of the Empire with unbreakable talons.

Power at last. After too many eights of years the Haka Clan had the power it deserved . . . Ragark had the power he deserved. With the Imperial Family gone, the clans would start the age-old scramble for control all over again, and this time the Haka would be poised to win the Imperial Throne itself.

To think that there were religious-minded fools who believed the loss of Kilrah meant the end of the Kilrathi as a people! The Kilrathi had traveled the stars when the dirty apes of Terra had lived in wattle-and-daub houses and fought with blunt-edged weapons. They were the rightful inheritors, not of a single world but of the entire