Star Wars_ The Black Fleet Crisis 03_ Tyrant's Test - Michael P. Kube-McDowell [88]
“How’s everything look?” Tuketu asked as he clambered up the short ladder.
“Everything looks clean. Shouldn’t have to make any hand deliveries.”
“They’d definitely have to pay extra for that,” said Tuke. “Any change in the load-out?”
“No change. One egg, eight CM-five concussion missiles. Packing heavy.”
“All right. Preflight checklist, from the top—”
As Vanguard and Indomitable accelerated toward their rendezvous with the Yevethan thrustship, a thin fighter screen—two dozen fighters altogether, half E-wings, half X-wings—fanned out around them. When the lead ships in the formation came into view on the cruiser’s viewscreens, Tobbra was prompted to once again seek out Brand for a private conversation.
“You’re breaking every rule of engagement in the command codex,” he said bluntly. “The standard fighter screen for this ship alone is three squadrons, not two. The spacing is so loose out there that it won’t take much for the enemy to break through.”
“I’m holding back the other two fighter squadrons for escort duty. The bombers are going to need help punching through,” Brand said.
“We don’t even know for certain how many fighters a T-type carries,” Tobbra protested, his voice rising. “It could be twice or three times what we saw at Doornik Three-nineteen.”
Brand shot Tobbra a frosty look. “Mind your tone and your volume, Captain, or remove yourself from the bridge. I don’t intend to carry on a running argument with you throughout the engagement.”
Tobbra lowered his voice, but his tone was unchanged. “We shouldn’t be engaging the enemy, sir—that’s the issue. It’s my duty to point out—”
“That we don’t know everything we might? This is no revelation, Captain. I can count, and I can read an Intell report. Give me that much credit.”
“I mean no insult, sir.”
“That’s not always obvious from your words,” said Brand. “Captain, if a smaller force never defeated a superior one, we could just weigh the orders of battle and declare the winner, neatly avoiding all the messy parts. But war’s not like that. Throw away your calculator. You can’t use it to make the hard decisions.”
Tobbra frowned, but nodded silently.
Brand moved closed and dropped his voice to a near whisper. “Theb, there’s something else at issue, too. Something you won’t find in the codex. Which is that if a perfectly hale New Republic cruiser and gunship can’t handle a T-type one-on-one, Fleet needs to learn that sooner rather than later. Because all the reports I’ve been seeing say the Yevetha have a lot of T-types.”
Exhaling sharply, Tobbra said, “That’s why you had Folna stand off.”
“Apart from the fact that she’s too thin-skinned for this kind of roughhousing, yes.”
Tobbra looked out at the planet, now a distinct disc with a mottled yellow-brown face. “I’d better get back to my station,” he said. “It’s time to poll the batteries.”
Fifteen minutes before the projected reappearance of the Yevethan ship, Brand gave the order to launch the bombers and escort fighters. He did not want to risk being surprised with the flight decks full of fuel and high explosives if the Yevethan ship made an early appearance, thanks to settling into a lower-than-expected orbit.
The K-wings formed up in groups of three, each group sandwiched between a trio of fighters above and another below. Brand watched from the bridge as they moved out to their positions twenty kilometers ahead. Though the wings and other surfaces had been darkened for space operations, their engine exhausts glowed like candles in the night. The triple exhausts of the K-wings stood out among them.
“I just hope they actually drop their eggs this time,” the tactical officer said quietly when Brand returned to the plot table.
“They will,” Brand said without hesitation. “And not because we changed the combat frequencies and installed scramblers. Because it has to be done.”
Five minutes before reacquisition, Vanguard detached from the cruiser. It moved out