little mole. If they ain't using radios, your little wire patch may be the only way we can get a word in edgewise.”
Two
Senior Pilot Rita Nuu liked having Major Ray Longknife on her bridge. It hadn't always been so. He'd done a good imitation of a horse's rear end the first time he crossed her bridge coaming. As the senior woman in Wardhaven's attack transport squadron, she was used to male disapproval. It had taken her a while to realize that his attitude had nothing to do with her and everything to do with his beloved brigade. Once that was straightened out, she discovered she actually liked the guy. Love came later.
They had discovered, both on and off ship, that working together was far more fun than fussing. At the moment, Rita was putting the major's position to good use for her squadron. As usual, the admiral didn't think the transports needed to know boo. However, Longknife's access to the command net was displayed on her heads-up. It helped to know what the hell was happening.
To Rita's right, Junior Pilot Cadow had the conn; his hands showed white knuckles on the stick. Technician Hesper did double duty behind Rita, running the electronic countermeasures stations and communications. Ray rode the jump seat behind Cadow, his portable battle station linked with the Friendship's .
“The destroyers in the van are going in,” the major reported. “The Dry Lightning is low. The Stormy Night is high. Should have visuals and sensors sixty seconds before the cruisers start dusting down the crater.” Again Rita wished they had a cruiser attached to the transports. Setting down in that crater five minutes after the cruisers shot it up and two hours before they'd be back was not her idea of smart.
Rita eyed two data screens. One showed strung-out lights representing the gun line. The other waited for sensor data on their target.
* * * *
The rocket was old, and the dumbest of the dumb. In its nose was a tiny proximity fuse to tell it to blow up a few meters above the ground, scattering its plastic flechettes in a deadly cloud to puncture battle suits or thin-skinned vehicles. Today, the proximity fuse was disabled.
Today, it simply waited for the backup timer to tick away the seconds as its motors blasted at full power. The tiny brain did face a challenge, though. The weight distribution of the rocket was off. The simpleminded CPU had to adjust the rocket nozzles again and again until the missile took on a slight spin. The dumb control unit had not intended the spin, but it did make its job simpler.
The source of the rocket's problem, if it had been wise enough to seek out and solve problems, was a collar that had been added around its payload section. A thick cylinder of sand, barely held together by glue, covered the entire warhead.
Two of the rockets shed their dusty mantles. Three more could not solve the problems created by them and wandered off on their own track. None of them heard Commander Umboto's proud shout. “Crossbows away, Captain. Thirty-one running hot, straight and normal.”
* * * *
“What's that?” Rita and Ray asked at the same moment.
Hesper worked her board with quick, deft fingers. “Stealthy something, not well guided. They'll miss the destroyers by a wide margin. Doubt if the cans'll waste a shot on them.”
“Hope all their defenses are as shabby,” Rita prayed.
The first sensor reports came in—video of the crater. A couple of piles of ice stood out, but they looked like ship Armor that had been dumped there for later processing.
Give me some other scans,” The major breathed. “Infrared, electromagnetic. We can't go in there on visual alone.”
A new scan started working its way down the screen. Electromagnetic. Good,” the major smiled.
The picture went fuzzy, then turned to static.
“Hesper, get that back,” Rita ordered.
“No signal,” ECM answered.
“Fix it.”
“Can't, Skipper. It's not us. We got a beam from the flag, but it's just noise.”
“Is the