ps in the fleet.
     He found the  word  flattop to be rather interesting,  it came from old
English when carriers were  ships of the seas, but in no way could  it  ever
describe a  modem carrier with its bristling array of defenses  and  landing
bays covered over with heavy durasteel armor.
     Tradition, how the Navy loves tradition, he thought with a smile.
     "All attack squadrons, job well done."
     He stiffened  slightly. It was the  old  man himself,  ъear Admiral Sir
Geoffrey Tolwyn.
     "All strike craft return to base."
     ъeturn to base? Hell, there was still a  major brawl going on down with
the Marines.
     "ъepeat, please?" Hunter clicked in.
     "That means you, Hunter, just like everyone else. All attack  squadrons
return to base," Tolwyn snarled.
     "Yes, sir," he said. There was nothing to  be gained by arguing with an
admiral. But it was certainly strange that the old man would  actually allow
a  voice transmission on  his part. A Kilrathi listening post could  pick it
up,  figure out  who he was, and  perhaps even trace a fleet  movement  as a
result. Tolwyn knew better and it bothered him.
     "What the hell is up, Ian?"
     He looked over at Griffin and could only  shrug his shoulders. This was
definitely  not  standard  operation  procedure.  They  had dumped the  only
capital ship in  the sector, now was the time to go after the few  corvettes
and really smash up any ground resistance and save some grunt lives.
     "Say, Hunter."
     It was Kevin Tolwyn, Geoffrey's nephew.
     "Yeah go ahead, Lone Wolf."
     "I  just  heard  the  word  on Tarawa's commlink  to  our two squadrons
covering  the  ground  assault. They've been ordered to break off engagement
and withdraw out of the atmosphere."
     "Yeah, that's the  word. You got any inside stuff? What the hell is the
old man up to?"
     "Damned if I know, sir."
     "Follow orders, then,"  Hunter replied  and then  checked  through  his
channels to  make  sure that  the other squadrons were  following orders  as
well. In the heat of a successful battle like this, it was tough at times to
break an action off. There could only be one of two reasons for this, either
some major Kilrathi reinforcements had been detected and  Tolwyn was pulling
in his fighters to rearm, or  the other possibility. He  pushed that thought
aside as absurd.
     "Griffin, get us on Concordia navlock."
     "Already on, sir."
     "Let's go back and find out what the hell is going on."

     "Attention!"
     The squadron commanders, and section  officers called together for  the
staff meeting leaped out of their seats and came rigidly to attention.
     ъear Admiral Geoffrey Tolwyn, strode into the briefing room. He reached
the  podium, lowered his head  for a second and then raised it again to look
out  at the men and women in the room. He felt  a  tug  at his heart at  the
sight of them.
     "Never, for God sake never, let your people get inside your  heart, for
your job is to use them,  and if need  be  kill them," a  voice whispered to
him. It was his old mentor Banbridge's classic piece of advice.
     I guess that's what separates  me from  him,  Geoff thought. With Clara
and the boys gone this is my family. It was something he never let show,  no
matter what. He knew  that  behind his back he was "the  old man," which was
the gentlest of epithets; usually it was far worse and ofttimes  even angry.
They  never  really knew how he felt, especially when  he looked  into their
eyes just before  a  strike went out, knowing that he was  ordering some  of
them to their deaths. Well, at least that's finished for the moment.
     He clicked a comm  button which opened the public  address channel  for
the entire ship.
     "All  hands,  all  hands, this  is Admiral Tolwyn,"  his  deep baritone
voice,  clipped  with  the  refined touch of  an Oxford  education,  echoing
through the ship.
     "I have just received the following communication from C-in-C ConFleet,
it reads, СTo Tolwyn, commanding, Task Force  45.  Armistice  agreement  and
cease  fire has  been reached  with Kilrathi Empire, to  be  effective  upon
reception of this signal. All offensive operations  to cease immediately and
to  withdraw  to  navigation  point  detailed  below ъepeat,  all  offensive
operations  to cease at once. Fire  only if  fired  upon.  Signed  Noragami,
commanding, Confederation Navy.' "
     He hesitated as if wanting to say something and then lowered his head
     "That is all," and clicked off the comm channel.
     He  looked  back up at his  officers  who  stood  incredulous.  In  the
corridors outside the conference room distant cheering could be heard.
     "I'm only going to say  this once," Tolwyn  said quietly. "I'm proud of
all of you for the job you've  done. In the seven years I've been in command
of Concordia  we've  taken  out eight carriers, a  score  of  capital ships,
countless fighters  and  bombers,  and  fought  in nine major fleet actions.
Concordia is not just  steel, guns and planes, in fact it is you, it is your
flesh and blood  and the spirits of all those who've  served on  her, living
and dead."
     He hesitated for a moment.
     "When it comes time for her to fight again,  I hope and pray that  I'll
be able to count on you all in our hour of need."
     "Dismissed."
     He started for the door, the room silent.
     "Damn,  we're going home!" somebody  shouted and  the room  erupted  in
cheers. Tolwyn stiffened his shoulders and walked out.
     He passed down the corridor, ignoring the cheers and the momentary lack
of discipline, retreated to his office,  closed  the door, and for the first
time  in months  poured a good stiff drink of  single malt Scotch.  Settling
back in his chair he started to  review the  first holo tapes  of the strike
mission.
     The timing was masterful, the strike  crews the finest professionals he
had  ever  served  with, nearly every Broadsword gaining lock  and launching
simultaneously. A successful strike  like that was even  more intricate than
the most finely crafted ballet, and in his eyes even more beautiful.
     Damn it.
     A knock on the door disturbed  him  and  he  set  his drink down on the
table behind his desk.
     "Come."
     The door slid open and  he could not help but allow a slight flicker of
a  smile  to  light  his  features  at the sight  of  Captain  Jason  "Bear"
Bondarevsky standing at attention in the corridor.
     "Come on in, Bear. What brings you over here anyhow."
     Jason came into the room and stood nervously in the middle of the room.
     "We'll wave regs and at  least let you have a sip," and he poured out a
thin splash of Scotch in a tumbler and passed it over.
     "Thank you, sir."
     "Have a seat."
     Jason  went  over  to the  proffered chair  by  the admiral's desk  and
settled in . He sniffed his glass and tasted the Scotch.
     "Not bad, sir."
     "The best, saved for special occasions."
     "Like this one?"
     "No, not really, I just felt a need for it."
     Jason looked down at the floor and Tolwyn could feel the tension.
     "Come on, son, out with it."
     "Sir,  something's  troubling  me,  I  thought I  better  come over and
discuss it with you privately."
     "You mean this little thing called an armistice."
     "In part," Jason said quietly.
     "Well, what is it then?"
     "Sir,  that communication from ConFleet  announcing the  armistice came
through close to fifty minutes before our strike hit the carrier."
     Tolwyn exhaled noisily and leaned back in his chair.
     "How the  hell  do you know  that, Bondarevsky?"  he  asked  quietly, a
threatening chill in his voice. "That message was directed solely to me."
     "Sir, Tarawa was the  back up carrier for  this operation. If something
should have  happened  to  Concordia  it would  have  been  my job to assume
control  of  the air  strikes. In  that situation,  I took it upon myself to
monitor all ConFleet channels and that included yours. Suppose you were hit,
sir? It  would have then been my  job  to know  the entire picture. I didn't
notice it immediately since it was  simply decoded and stored in my personal
data system.  But after  the action I was going through the signals  to dump
them off my system and I saw it."
     What Jason was confessing was  somewhat outside the regulations but  it
showed careful planning and  foresight  on his part. If something had indeed
happened to Concordia  the young officer  before him might very well have to
take full responsibility for everything that transpired.
     There was an ancient cautionary tale told in the service academies, the
incident dating back to a war once fought between England and America. In an
encounter between an American and British ship the commanding officer of the
American  vessel was mortally wounded, and  the junior officer took him down
below deck to the surgeon. In the short interval that followed all the other
officers  were hit  and, without his  even  being  aware of it,  the  junior
officer was now in command. By the time he returned to the deck his ship had
already been battered into submission  and forced to surrender  after barely
putting   up  a   fight.  The   junior   officer   was   held   responsible,
court-martialed, and found guilty of dereliction of duty,  a duty he was not
even aware had suddenly come to rest upon his shoulders. The lesson was part
of the tradition and backbone of the fleet Ч there is no excuse for defeat
     Geoff looked at Jason  and realized as well that he had made  a crucial
mistake in not assuming that Jason might very well be listening in.
     "And what do you think?" he finally said quietly.
     "I  lost  two  crews  in  that  attack, two  pilots  and a  gunner. I'm
wondering how their families would feel if  they  knew their kids got killed
after a war was officially over."
     Tolwyn nodded and said nothing.
     "I don't  give  a good damn about the  furballs," Jason continued, "but
five hundred or more of them died when that carrier got cooked. I don't feel
too good about that either, sir."
     "Neither do I."
     "Then why did you do it, sir?"
     "I'd rather not say, Jason, but let me ask you a question."
     "Sure."
     "If this was just another  day in the  war,  how would  you  feel about
taking out that carrier."
     "I hate losing  people, but trading  a ъapier, a Sabre and two of  your
Broadswords for a light carrier is a damn fine piece of work  in my book.  I
wish it had always been that easy."
     Tolwyn nodded.
     "That's how I still feel about it, Jason."
     "But the war's over. We were hearing the rumors even before this attack
started out.  Something about a peace party coming into power in the Empire,
Prince Thrakhath falling into disgrace, and Foreign Minister Jamison pushing
for an armistice. Damn it, sir,  they're saying it's finally over and we can
go home."
     "And do you really believe it?"
     Jason hesitated.
     "Well, do you?"
     "I want to believe it, sir."
     "Damn it, man,  that's  exactly  it. You want to  believe  it. Everyone
wants  to believe it. But  there's a hell of a long  stretch between wishing
for  something  and  actually  seeing  it  come  true.  Anyone  who believes
something  simply  because it sounds good and  he wishes it to be true is  a
damned fool and that's why I did what I did."
     "Sir?"
     "This war is not over  by  a long shot," Tolwyn growled, "and I'll kiss
the hairy backside of  the first Kilrathi I meet  if they can ever  prove it
differently to me.
     "It's too pat, it's too damn straight  forward  and simple. I  remember
once hearing a great  line about another war, Сthis is  such madness only an
idealist could  have started  it.' Well, this peace offer is the same thing,
only an idealist would be stupid enough  to believe it. By God, son, we were
finally getting an edge. We stumbled on the tactics of it all thanks to you,
realizing just how under-protected and  vulnerable their construction  sites
were. They haven't  gotten a single new  carrier on  line in the  last year.
They still outnumber  us,  but they're hurting, hurting  even worse with the
loss of their transports. We just might be turning the edge in this war, and
now the damn fool politicians go for this armistice offer."
     "So you  disobey orders on your own and decide to  keep the war going a
little longer."
     "The target was there and I took it, a carrier that if we allowed it to
get away might cost  us  fifty to a hundred pilots  the  next  time around,"
Tolwyn said quietly. "And I think that even you, Jason, who once risked your
career to try and save a ship load of Kilrathi civilians, even you down deep
agree with me."
     Jason drained the rest of the Scotch from his glass and closed his eyes
for a moment.
     "Yes, sir, I do."
     Tolwyn could  see the struggle  such an  answer had  created. From most
other officers he would have dismissed it  as brown nosing a superior but he
knew that from Jason it came from the heart.
     "Why?"
     "Like you  said," Jason replied. "It just doesn't  smell  right. I know
that even after Vukar Tag, and the Third Enigma Campaign they still have the
edge on us. For  the Kilrathi, war  is  part of the core of their soul. This
intel stuff about a  shift in the  power structure of  the  palace.  If it's
true, the new power behind the throne would have his throat ripped out if he
tried  for  a serious peace after all the  sacrifices they've endured. Now I
don't know much about Kilrathi psychology other than what I got in the naval
college  while waiting  for Tarawa to finish out  her  refitting, but I know
enough  that  the seeking of  peace other  than  after  a total  triumph  is
anathema to them.
     "Going for  peace is impossible to their  mindset. If they  were losing
there  would be only one  possible action, a  suicidal fight to  the end; if
they were winning, a fight to ultimate triumph. There is no inbetween. Their
society functions primarily through submission to strength, with the  one in
power  gaining  complete loyalty by refraining from killing  the one who has
submitted. But since we are not of the blood, we are therefore inferior, and
as such it is impossible to submit to us. There might be exceptions, such as
that warrior  who serves Hunter, but that was through direct orders from his
superior."
     "So if  the emperor or whomever is behind the  emperor orders it,  then
why not peace?"
     "Because  the power  at the  top derives its strength through conflict.
They  know that if their aggressive  instincts are not diverted  outwards it
will turn inwards  and the families  will eventually destroy each other. And
besides, it's one thing for a lone warrior to submit, but for the highest of
noble  blood  to  do  so,  to  submit  to  someone  not of  equal blood,  is
impossible."
     "Precisely," Geoff  said  quietly, inwardly pleased  as  if  a favorite
pupil or son had mastered an intricate question.
     He felt a  flash of  warmth for  Jason,  remembering the relief he felt
when  he had jumped into  the heart of the  Empire to  pull  Tarawa out  and
discovering  that  the ship  was  still  alive.  He  felt the warmth as well
because it  was Jason who  had taken his nephew out to war as a spoiled brat
and brought him back as a man.
     "This whole  thing is a set-up,  I'm convinced of  it; and  I tell  you
this,  Jason,  if our government falls for it, all our butts will be in  the
wringer."
     "I best get  back  to my ship,"  Jason said  quietly  and  he stood up,
putting his glass down on the side table.
     "Jason?"
     "Sir?"
     "What do you plan to do about my violation of orders?"
     "If I'm asked about it,  sir, I plan to  tell the truth." He hesitated.
"I  have to tell the  truth, that you launched an attack  after knowing that
the  initial cease fire  had been agreed to. To  do  anything  else would be
dishonorable."
     Tolwyn smiled.
     "You're a good officer, son. I've always  been proud  of  you; I know I
always will be."
     He extended his hand and Jason took it.
     "Let's hope I'm wrong about this armistice, but I know I'm not."


        CHAPTEъ TWO

     Jason Bondarevsky  winced from  the  glare of the  lights. Damn, how he
hated  the press. He had endured "the treatment"  before when he had brought
Tarawa  back to Earth  for  refitting after  the raid  to Kilrah. The  press
swarmed over the ship, poking cameras in  his face,  asking the same asinine
questions over and over again, probing far too deeply into parts of the raid
he simply wanted  to forget. When one  had finally hit him  with a  question
about  the  death  of  Svetlana,  asking how  he  felt  while  watching  his
girlfriend  die, he had to be restrained from punching the reporter's lights
out, a fleet Pъ officer, all smoothness and charm, separating the two.
     The  press madness  flared up  again  when Jason was presented with the
Medal of Honor and yet again when the absolutely ridiculous holo movie about
his   raid,  First  to  Kilrah,  came   out.  The  film  was  a  humiliating
embarrassment, especially since the plot had little to  do  with the  actual
raid,  spending most of its time focused on his doomed affair with Svetlana,
with half  a dozen steamy scenes padded  in. It still made him boil that the
holo spent  precious little time  on  the hundreds of others who had fought,
sacrificed, and died with him. He wanted to take the damn money the producer
had given him and jam it down the lying scum's throat after seeing the film,
which he had  been promised would be  shot as a straight forward documentary
honoring those who had served. The only satisfaction he got out of the whole
fiasco was in donating every dollar he earned from the film to a scholarship
fund set up  for children  of the  Marines and  naval personnel lost  in the
raid.
     And now he was stuck under the lights again, all because he had taken a
wrong turn while looking for a bathroom. The same lousy reporter who was far
too curious about Svetlana  had seen  him  first and rushed over, the others
moving like a herd of cattle  when  the word spread that  "the guy they made
the  movie about,"  was  present  as  a  staff  officer  for  the  armistice
conference.
     "So whatya think of  the war ending? It's Bondevsky, isn't  it?" one of
them shouted, aiming his holo recorder at Jason's face.
     "That's  Bondarevsky,"  Jason  said quietly,  remembering  how  his old
captain O'Brian had always mispronounced the name.
     "Yeah, sorry. So tell us what you think?"
     "First of all, negotiations  for an armistice do not mean  that the war
has ended. There's a big difference between an armistice  and formal  peace,
he tried to  explain patiently. "Other than that, no  comment," and he tried
to shoulder his way through the crush.
     "Still  hate the  Kilrathi,  is that it? Seems like  you fleet officers
don't want peace," a sweating beefy faced reporter shouted.
     Jason looked back at the fat-faced reporter.
     "I'm a captain in the fleet. I'm a professional, I try to do my job and
leave the hating to others."
     "Even though they killed your lover, that Marine, Susan wasn't it?"
     He hesitated,  wanting  to  turn and belt  the reporter in the face, or
better  yet strap him into  a  tail gunner's seat  and  take  him  out for a
mission to see what it was really like. Though he hated  to do so, he turned
away and continued down the corridor, shouldering his way through the crush.
     "Military's gonna be out of work, that's what's  got  them pisse