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

you wish, Jason," Richards said. "But be guided by Mr. Diaz as far as the salvage team personnel he thinks are best suited to your part of the operation." He looked around. "Anything else?"

When there was no response Galbraith took over once more. "Very good. Colonel, make whatever changes you need to in your assault plan to include the survey teams. I emphasize again that battle group personnel have full authority at all times. Our people have the final say in how things are done. Commander Tolwyn, you'll have to see to any changes the extra personnel will cause in the shuttle load specs, of course."

"Yes, sir," the younger Tolwyn responded, a don't-tell-me-my-job gleam briefly flashing in his eyes. "It'll be taken care of."

Bhaktadil spoke again. "Keep in mind that if the shielding is out aboard the derelict we will have a radiation problem to deal with. Space armor can protect personnel for a short time, and the portable shield generators we're loading aboard the shuttles will handle the problem for a while longer—but only over limited areas. Make sure the people you choose for your survey teams are used to suit work. Zero-g experience would be useful, too, if the gray systems have gone off-line . . ."

"I dare say we've more experience of this kind of work than you have, Colonel," Diaz told him. "Though I admit we've never operated outside of a dry dock facility before."

"That's where we come in," Dickerson—or was it Lake?—put in. "The quicker your gang gets things secured and calls us in, the sooner you'll have all the comforts of home, courtesy of the good ship Sindri."

The briefing session moved on to more detailed discussions of individual phases of the operation, and Bondarevsky leaned back in his chair and let the comments flow past him while he considered the mission. It seemed strange not to be in Kevin Tolwyn's position, planning for the flight wing's operation as the mission profile unfolded. Bondarevsky was eager to be something more than a VIP to be shielded by marines and kept out of the chain of command.

He was ready for action again.

Flight Wing Officer's Lounge, FRLS Independence Deep Space, Oecumene System 1924 hours (CST)

The Officers' Lounge set aside for use by the Flight Wing had always been one of Bondarevsky's favorite places aboard the old Tarawa. Even after he'd gone on to become the captain of the ship he'd still managed to wangle frequent invitations to join the off-duty pilots in the large recreation area, even though there were those who claimed it was bad for a CO to socialize too freely with his crew. Bondarevsky had always maintained that it was good for morale for him to relax with his men instead of retreating into the isolation of the captain's cabin, and there was certainly an element of truth in the statement. It had done his morale no end of good, whatever impact it might have had on the rest of the ship. By nature a sociable man, Bondarevsky had never fully come to grips with the isolation imposed on a commanding officer.

Tonight Kevin Tolwyn had extended the invitation, part of a long-time ritual of theirs—toasting an upcoming mission with a few drinks the night before it was scheduled to start. The lounge was much as Bondarevsky remembered it. Evidently Armando Diaz and his men hadn't seen any need for extensive renovations in this part of the ship when they'd brought it back into commission. There was a shabby, run-down atmosphere about the room now, mildly depressing to Bondarevsky. He had the feeling that he could walk over to the dart board on the bulkhead beside the door and turn it over to reveal the same dog-eared picture of Max Kruger that had been a favorite point of aim for dartsmen back in the Free Corps cruise.

But even so there was something right about being here with Tolwyn and Sparks, sharing a quiet drink, swapping old war stories or just pausing to stare out the wide windows that dominated one wall with a panoramic view of space.

Bondarevsky was watching a shuttle moving a few hundred meters from the monstrous factory ship Andrew Carnegie. Nearly totally automated, the factory ship had a tiny crew to oversee operations, but frequent personal inspections inside and out were the order of the day to ensure that no trouble developed that wasn't caught and acted on early. Carnegie -- Bondarevsky had heard that her nickname, "Old Carnage," referred to a notorious accident on board ten years back that had resulted in the deaths of most of her crew after a catastrophic computer breakdown—was going to play merry hell with the rest of the battle group's operation. Ponderous and difficult to maneuver, she'd slow them down tremendously in both normal space and jumps through hyperspace, but she was too damned valuable to abandon if they were caught in a firelight. In addition, they'd have to find a ready source of raw materials to keep her fulfilling her intended function, and the brown dwarf's ring system had already been ruled out as being mostly ice chunks lacking almost all the minerals needed to turn out finished replacement components. Wrangling over exactly how to ensure the big factory ship's safety had taken up a large portion of the briefing earlier in the day, and Bondarevsky still wasn't entirely happy with the outcome. But Old Max had decreed that the carrier was to be refurbished where they found it or not at all, even though Sindri's captain had claimed he could tow the derelict home to Landreich and save a lot of headaches by getting her into a proper space dock for her refit.

But it wasn't just concerns over how difficult it might be to get the supercarrier back to civilization that had dictated Kruger's decision to refit her in the field. The longer they kept the project under wraps, the bigger the surprise the Landreich would hand the Kilrathi