innocent  face, and  then her
fist slammed down on the ignitor.

     Kevin Tolwyn flung his hand over his visor as a sun ignited before him.
     They got it!
     He  knew he was getting dosed but he  didn't care. Not now. The  entire
top forward half of the  carrier was engulfed in the fireball, the lower and
aft parts  of the ship tumbling down from the  shock of  the  explosion. The
rest of  the  ship appeared  to hold together  for a brief  instant and then
fractured  open,  the engine  cells  igniting, the  fireball racing outward.
Another  flash detonated  to  his right followed  by  half  a dozen more. He
guessed that two of them were cruisers, the others, he wasn't sure of.
     But two more of them were  heavy carriers!  The glare of the explosions
filled  space  across hundreds  of cubic kilometers.  His dose meter clicked
off, beeping an alarm. He didn't care. He just didn't care anymore. They had
finished the bastards.
     He closed his eyes, feeling at peace.

     Stunned, Prince Thrakhath  turned  his fighter  around, looking back at
his flagship as it blew apart, a dozen clicks behind him.
     He knew that those on the deck had thought him a coward for leaving the
ship, seeing  through his excuse that he was  going to personally  lead  the
next wave into battle.
     Well, they were dead now and he was still alive.
     His heart filled with mad rage as more  detonations let go, two more of
his prized ships disappearing, and he howled with insane fury.
     The explosions died away. He scanned through his tactical.
     He still had one old carrier and Craxtha intact.
     He punched into Craxtha's main channel  and called  in the commander of
the ship obviously startled.
     "We feared you were dead, my lord."
     "I was off ship, preparing to lead the next strike."
     "Sivar be praised. She guided you thus, my lord."
     "The status of your ship?"
     "She  is  fully operational, my  lord.  We repelled  all boarders  Ч my
fighters stopped them long before they closed."
     He could detect the  pride in the commander, as if he were  saying that
the other ships were lost through negligence.
     "Yes,  of course, praise to Sivar. Order all heavy strike fighters from
all ships to land on your carrier and rearm immediately for a killing strike
on the enemy fleet. We will still win this action."
     The commander hesitated.
     "We have reports  of  an incoming strike of  enemy destroyers, my lord.
And besides,  you are talking about turning  around over five hundred strike
craft on this one ship
     "Your ship  is designed  to handle that.  Now  pass the order. Let  the
remaining fighters and our escorts block the destroyers."
     "As you command, my lord."
     Thrakhath turned his fighter  in  towards Craxtha, which within minutes
was surrounded by swarms of fighters who were lining  up for recovery on the
six launch bays.
     Thrakhath cut  into  the front of  the  landing pattern  and  came  in,
touching down in the forward portside landing bay.
     Inside the hangar deck was mass confusion, the bay crammed from one end
to  the  other with  fighters.  Fuel  lines  were  snaked  across the  deck,
armaments lockers were  open  and torpedoes were  being  hoisted out.  Crews
struggled  with  long  energy cables,  hooking them into  ships,  recharging
neutron guns, batteries, and shielding systems.
     There was no semblance  of order: pilots and  ship crews from the other
three heavy  carriers milled about, most of  them in obvious  shock  at  the
sudden reversal.
     Thrakhath  stepped  out  of  his  fighter and instantly the  deck  went
silent.
     "Keep working," he snarled.  "We will still finish the scum before this
day is done."
     He felt the  ship start to heel over, the  starfield outside  the entry
lock  shifting.  He  could imagine  the  confusion this sudden maneuver  was
causing  with the hundred or more fighters and  strike craft still  lined up
for recovery. Angrily, he strode  across the deck into the  launch officer's
operations office.
     "Put the bridge on," he thundered.
     "What  are you  doing up  there?"  he shouted.  "We need  to  get these
fighters in as soon as possible and turned around."
     "Five  destroyers  have broken  through the inner screen and are coming
straight in on us."

     "Enemy carrier turning away, sir.
     "Keep on closing," Mike said calmly.
     He looked over at his helm officer and smiled.
     "Just like the Battle of Leyte Gulf," Mike said.
     "I was  thinking  that,"  the  helm  replied  "One  of  my  illustrious
ancestors commanded a cruiser there. We should have won that day."
     Mike nodded.
     "Torpedo room."
     "Torpedo room, sir."
     "Have lock yet?"
     "Twenty-two seconds and counting, sir."
     Mike  looked  back up at his  tactical. Of the twelve destroyers in his
squadron only four were left. There  was a flash of light on his main visual
and he realized he was down to three.
     "Hell of a  day to be a destroyer skipper," and then he focused back on
the  enemy  carrier, a dozen  clicks ahead  as  it  turned  hard  over,  now
presenting a full amidships shot and then started to present its stern.
     A swarm of  Kilrathi fighters shot  in,  stitching  his  destroyer with
everything they still  had. Four of them elected to simply come straight in,
one of them kamikaziing through the  shield as it struggled to  recover from
the repeated hammer blows. The kamikaze hit  just aft of the bridge, blowing
into the center of the ship, knocking Mike to the deck. Decompression alarms
sounded off, the damage control board sparkling with red lights.
     "Torpedo room."
     "Twelve and counting, sir. What the hell happened back there?"
     "Never mind, just get those birds launched."
     Another string of fighters swooped in, concentrating on the bow of  the
ship.
     "We've lost lock, sir. Torpedo guidance control off line."
     "Damn it!"
     To his right, ъoger Young launched its torpedoes just  before  blowing.
The spread of a dozen rounds leaped forward
     "Helm,  follow those torpedoes  in," Mike shouted, and then he  reached
over, punching the abandon ship alarm.
     "This is  the  captain  speaking. If you wanna see your families again,
you've got thirty seconds  to get  to the escape  pods and the hell off this
ship!"
     He looked over at his helm and fire control officers.
     "I hate to ask this of you two."
     "It's all  right, sir,"  the helm  officer said. "This  time the family
wants to be on the winning side."
     Mike looked at the rest of his team.
     "You heard me, get the hell off this ship."
     They hesitated.
     "Damn it, you  fools. You've got something to live for,  now move  it,"
and he grabbed hold of his damage control officer and pushed her towards the
door.
     She looked at him, wide-eyed, torn.
     "For God's sake, Elaine, you've got kids back home. Now move it!"
     She struggled to hold  back the tears and then, turning,  ran down  the
corridor to the nearest escape pod, the rest following.
     "Helm, follow those torpedoes in."
     Aye, sir.
     Mike stood, watching  the screen, ignoring  the  fighters  that swarmed
around his ship. A staccato series of  hammer blows blew the main  generator
off line, dim emergency  battle lamps coming back  on. All  but  two  of the
torpedoes launched by Young were gone as well.
     "Torpedo room, still with me?"
     "Still here, sir. Figured we should hang around for the fun.
     "Get ready for blind fire. Set fuses at point one seconds!"
     "Point one seconds, sir?"
     "Shut up and do it!"
     "Point one seconds, sir, and we'll see you in hell."
     "Helm, do  your job right.  Bring us  in  on the landing bay an instant
after Young's birds hit."
     The helm  officer grinned as he delicately worked the controls, weaving
the destroyer in, as it came up directly astern of the enemy carrier.
     The carrier's point defenses tore into his ship  and he felt her dying,
letting go.
     "Helm, full speed ahead now!"
     He felt the final surge of his ship thundering under his feet.
     "Torpedo room, ready, ready, fire!"
     The one  surviving  torpedo  from  ъoger Young  hit  the carrier's  aft
starboard launch bay and  blew, distorting the  phase shielding. An  instant
later a dozen more torpedoes fired at point blank range detonated.
     The last thing  Mike Polowski saw were  his  own torpedoes blowing less
than fifty meters ahead of his own ship. He thought of the warm hills of his
now dead world and smiled as the blast wave blew his ship apart. The forward
momentum  of what had been  the aft end of his destroyer, however, continued
on, even as it died, adding its thousand  tons  of  mass into the detonating
firestorm  of  the  torpedoes  impacting  against  the carrier's  overloaded
shields. Most of the mass was  repelled away, but the aft  end of the  ship,
engines still  pulsing, even  as  the  ship ahead of it vaporized, continued
onward, driving through  the  shattered hull, pushing before it fragments of
bulkheads, decking, and those few still on board. The engine mounts, made of
solid  durasteel, were  all  that  was left a hundredth of a second later as
they  impacted  through  the  landing  bay's airlock. Several dozen tons  of
molten  durasteel blew into the vast  hangar bay, vaporizing flesh,  cutting
into fuel lines, igniting ammunition, and ripping open the hundred and three
fighters being readied for launch.
     The entire bay exploded in a white-hot fireball of destruction.

     Prince Thrakhath staggered through the wreckage and onto Craxtha's main
bridge. The  room  was  choked  with  smoke, half  the bridge  crew dead  or
wounded, open fires still  licking out of  shattered equipment.  The  ship's
commander was dead, slumped in his chair, the top of his head gone.
     "Who's in command here?"
     The crew looked at him, stunned.
     "I  think I am now, sir," and  Thrakhath  saw the green tabs  of damage
control on the officer's collar.
     "Can you save her?"
     "We've  lost  two  aft  bays,  my  lord," the  officer  reported.  "The
explosion started in starboard aft  bay, then  leaped through an open access
elevator to topside bay."
     "Why was it open?"
     "The commander ordered it. They were out of torpedoes in the lower bay.
We were shifting them down from above."
     Thrakhath looked back at the  commander and silently cursed. If he were
still alive, he would have him executed on the spot for such stupidity.
     "Two of  our main engines are gone as well,  sir. We're lucky the  main
fuel cells didn't go up. I'm purging out the three cells closest to the fire
right now. I've  also ordered  all armaments in the  aft  topside bay dumped
overboard"
     "Do that and we have to run with scoops full  open!"  Thrakhath roared.
"We'll  lose  whatever  offensive  capability we have  left.  With half  our
remaining armaments gone, we're finished!"
     "Sire, if you  don't  like what  I'm  doing then  execute me and  do it
yourself," the officer snapped. "We're lucky to be alive as is. If we  don't
purge those cells now they'll blow. It's an inferno back there."
     Thrakhath stood silently, looking over at the flickering display on the
damage board and finally lowered his head.
     "Tell me what we can still do."
     "We still have more than  five hundred of  our best fighters out there,
my lord. They have no offensive strike capability left; they're mostly light
fighters. I think it's time we landed them, my lord, to get our pilots back.
We won't  have enough room for them,  so  the craft will  have to  be dumped
overboard as fast as we recover them."
     Thrakhath looked up at him, unable to speak.
     "It's time to go home, my lord.  We've done all  we can  do today.  One
more hit and we ll lose this ship as well. We've got to save our pilots now,
my lord.  There'll be over a thousand of them on  board  here. They'll still
give  us  victory once we've repaired  this ship, and the rest  of  the  new
carriers come on line."
     Thrakhath looked  around  the  bridge. He  knew the  young officer  was
right. He had to save his pilots; he had lost too many already.
     The only satisfaction left  now was the  fact that  within a  matter of
minutes  the cruiser squadron  would close on  Earth.  At least  with  Earth
destroyed, this would still be a victory.

     "Launch fighters now!"
     Jason  Bondarevsky leaned forward in his chair, wishing  now  more than
ever to be back in a fighter.
     The first fighter, piloted by Doomsday, cleared the bay.
     The blue-green home of his race filled the forward screen.
     The run  in  from  jump  point 12Y, the line  leading  back towards the
Landreich, had been with scoops fully  closed. Kruger had even committed the
ultimate madness of doing the final jump at full speed. A third of the fleet
had  missed  the Jump point completely,  forcing  them  to decelerate,  turn
around and  come back in. They were now several hours behind. They were  the
lucky ones. Two frigates had only  achieved partial jump, hitting the  point
as fast  as  they did. Part of the two frigates had come through,  the other
part had simply continued on  back in the last system. The crews never  knew
what hit them, their molecules spread between Alpha Centuri and Earth.
     The maneuver, however, had  gained them precious  time, and moving at a
good fraction of the speed of  light  they had closed from the jump point to
Earth in under three hours.
     They  were too late  for the main battle, but the threat closing in  on
Earth was all too obvious and Kruger had ordered them in to head it off.
     He could only hope that they would be there in time.

     Baron Jukaga watched as  the  three  escort  carriers  came up over the
northern pole of the planet, a spread of fighters leaping ahead of them.
     He had  but  one  cruiser  left  with  him,  seven falling to the inner
defense line. The  other two cruisers had turned  to bombard the naval yards
of the Earth's satellite, the  bright  flashes of explosions tearing through
the military bases and construction yards spread  out on its  barren airless
surface  and  in  orbit above  it, smashing dozens  of ships  of  the  fleet
including the carriers still caught in drydock. Both were destroyed by point
defenses but  they had  successfully smashed a military  target  Ч an action
which, at least for the moment, had filled him with pride.
     That,  at least, he approved of. It was a target worthy of being hit, a
fitting vengeance for the raid on the moon of Kilrah.
     He stood silently behind  the cruiser's  captain, ignoring the Imperial
Marines standing to either side as his guards.
     "We'll  only  have time for  one  pass," the  commander  said  quietly,
looking up at the tactical  display in  rage. They  had detected  the  small
fleet of escort carriers and destroyers only minutes before, the enemy ships
coming from the direction of another jump point  at full  speed  with scoops
closed.
     "We have  first  target  solutions  and locks," the captain  announced.
"After our first hit and destruction of their defensive centers, we drop the
thermonuclears."
     "First wave, antimatter warheads ready for firing."
     The commander grinned, looking over at his weapons control officer.
     "For the glory of Kilrah, the Emperor, and the Empire. Fire!"
     Baron  Jukaga  watched  as the first weapons leaped  forward,  tracking
downward, racing in  towards  the  North  American  continent  and  Northern
Europe.
     "Incoming fighters!"

     "No!"
     Doomsday screamed  with impotent  rage  as he saw the heavy  antimatter
rockets streak away.
     A light screen of enemy fighters, launched from the cruisers,  moved to
intercept,  and  with a wild frenzy Doomsday slashed into them, killing them
with a mad insane glee, while behind  him, four modified Sabres lined up for
the first torpedo launch.
     The torpedoes leaped out, tracking in on the first cruiser, and seconds
later detonated. Kruger's fighters swarmed in, slamming  the cruiser,  which
appeared for  a second to collapse in on itself before bursting asunder. The
comm link was filled with mad screams  of hatred and rage as the strike team
turned towards the other cruiser.
     Down in the  Earth's  atmosphere  Doomsday  could see pinpoint winks of
light as point  defense systems fought to knock down  the incoming  wave  of
more than a hundred missiles. And then  there was a flash of light over  the
center of the  North  American continent.  It looked like Chicago  going up,
followed seconds later by a  dozen  more: Pittsburgh, Boston, Miami, Quebec,
then across in Northern Europe: Amsterdam, Berlin, Stockholm, Constantinople
and Paris.  Other  flashes  detonated  over the  primary control center; for
Earth's  American and European  space  defenses at  Omaha, ъio, Tripoli, and
Kiev.
     He started to close towards the next cruiser, knowing in his heart that
it would be too late.

     "We have incoming, still closing."
     The  commander  looked up at  his tactical  screen and  could see  that
within less than a minute he would be under attack.
     "First strike report?"
     "Primary strategic defense  centers over target areas destroyed, ground
to space  anti-missile defensive system  seriously damaged except  for point
defenses."
     "Second  weapons  load,"  the  commander  announced with a  cold  glee.
"Prepare thermonuclear strontium clad weapons for air bursts."
     He looked back at the Baron.
     "We  might  not have the  pleasure of first  pounding their  cities  to
rubble, but we'll poison them all anyhow.  In  a month their world will be a
charnel house."
     "And you call this victory," the Baron hissed. "May Sivar spit on you."
     "No, I call it revenge," the commander said coldly and he turned away.
     Behind him he heard the cold laughter of his guards who stepped forward
to look at the screen.
     "Weapons ready for launch."
     The commander held up his hand, talons extended.
     Baron Jukaga lunged  forward,  grabbing at  the commander's holster and
pulled  out his  pistol.  The commander  turned,  wide-eyed, even  as Jukaga
brought the gun up, jamming it up under the commander's jaw and squeezed the
trigger.  The laser burst  streaked  through his head, the top of his  skull
erupting a boiling mass pouring out.
     The  Marine guard  to his left started to  turn, startled,  and  Jukaga
dropped him  in turn. He then swung about, killing  the weapons officer, the
blast knocking him backwards and away from the firing switch.
     A stunning blow  knocked Jukaga  to the deck, and  he  realized with an
almost detached emotion that he could no longer feel his legs. The shot must
have  severed my spinal cord,  he thought, even as he  brought  his gun  up,
toppling the other guard over.
     Jukaga lay back, wide-eyed, looking at the rest of the bridge crew. One
of them  tried to lunge for the firing panel and he dropped him and then two
more. The two surviving bridge crew members stood still.
     "You filthy traitor, Sivar will roast you in hell forever," one of them
hissed.
     Jukaga laughed softly. It was all such a  wonderful joke, he  realized.
Just  what  was a traitor to a traitor, and who exactly had he  betrayed? It
was an interesting logic question to be certain.
     He looked up at the main visual screen.
     Earth actually did  look beautiful; in a sense far more  beautiful than
Kilrah.
     And then the explosion of the impacting torpedoes washed over him.

     St