"My Lord Prince." Khantahr Baron Vurrig nar Tsahl dropped to one knee. The other officer, hands in manacles, sank awkwardly to both knees beside the noble. "Sar'hrai is at your command, as ever."

"Indeed?" Thrakhath fixed the Baron with an icy stare. "I wanted the jump point from Orsini cut, and the Terran carrier damaged beyond capability to interfere with Operation Unseen Death. But the blockade was only partially effective and the attack on the carrier was repulsed without touching the ape ship. Is that a fair assessment of your performance?"

"Lord Prince . . ." Vurrig quailed under his stare. "Lord Prince, there were many . . . complications, especially due to the renegade. We could not press home attacks against ships he escorted without risking a breach of your orders . . ."

"This one did, or so your report claimed."

"Yes, Lord Prince. This is Flight Commander Arrak. He engaged the traitor in battle despite my specific orders to the contrary."

"But Ralgha was not harmed?"

"No, Lord Prince."

"So, Arrak, you are inept as well as insubordinate, is that it?"

Arrak met Thrakhath's stare with unexpected spirit. "In battle, Lord Prince, it is not always so easy to set conditions," he said defiantly.

Thrakhath felt a stir of admiration. The flight commander knew he was doomed for his disobedience, so he met his fate with a warrior's pride. Baron Vurrig on the other hand, danced and dodged like prey on the run from the hunter.

"Let Arrak have a warrior's death. He may fight any champion or champions who wish the honor of dispatching him." Thrakhath noted Arrak's nod. He was proud to the bitter end. "As for you, Baron . . . because of you we must push back the timetable for Operation Unseen Death. We must await additional ships so that we may ensure the Terrans not intervening when we launch our strike. You will be relieved as commander of Sar'hrai . . . and suffer the penalty for your incompetence. Death . . . by isolation. The coward's end, alone, ignored, cut off until you die from thirst, starvation, or madness. See to it, Melek."

"Lord Prince —" Vurrig began. He was grabbed by the guardsmen and dragged away, his appeals for mercy echoing hollowly in the chamber.

"I regret the failure, Lord Prince," Melek said quietly, "but at least the renegade came to no harm."

"We must hope that the War God continues to smile on us, Melek," Thrakhath said coldly. "The time is not yet ripe to deal with Lord Ralgha . . . but it is coming. As is the day of our final victory."

"According to Chief Coriolis, the last of the battle damage should be repaired by this afternoon," Blair concluded. "So the wing will be up and running . . . except for the ships we lost."

"Good job, Colonel," Eisen said. "I'd say three days is a pretty good turn-around time, considering the way your fighters looked when they touched down. Give my compliments to the Chief for a job well done by her techs."

"Yes, sir. They did a fine job." Blair paused, then cleared his throat. "About the losses . . ."

"We've already taken care of the situation," Eisen told him. "Mr. Rollins?"

The Communications Officer consulted his portable computer terminal. "No problem at all on the Hellcats, sir," he said. "The CO at Tamayo Base called for volunteers from the point defense squadron stationed there. They'll be aboard first thing tomorrow."

"Fast work, Lieutenant," Blair commented.

"The commander was pleased with the support he's been getting from the Navy. He was eager to help." Rollins frowned. "I'm not so sure about Mad Max's replacement."

"What's the problem, Lieutenant?" Eisen asked.

"There's a home defense squadron on Tamayo that flies Thunderbolts, sir," Rollins said slowly. "Strictly reservists, mostly rich kids who figured it was a good dodge to avoid active military service and still get to wear a pretty uniform and boast about being hot fighter pilots. The squadron was activated into Confed service when the cats moved into the system."

"Well, we've had green pilots before," Eisen said. "I dare say the Colonel can break in one of these kids fast enough. Or are they being sticky about transferring someone?"

"Oh, they're willing to give us a pilot and his fighter, sir, Rollins said. "A little too willing, the way I see it. I think they're planning on handing us one of their discipline problems."

Eisen shrugged. "Hardly unusual. We'll just have to ride him until he snaps to attention. Right, Colonel?"

"Or ground him and find another qualified pilot," Blair said, nodding. "What makes you think he's going to be a problem, Lieutenant?"

"Hey, I told you, Colonel," he responded with a grin. "Radio Rollins always has his ear to the ground. One of my . . . sources at Tamayo Base was warned by the Home Defense boys that they were looking for a place to dump this guy. I just gotta wonder though, what kind of a screwup gets thrown out of an HD squadron? Know what I mean?"

"As long as he can fly and he's got a Thunderbolt, I can use him in Gold Squadron," Blair said. "He can't be any more difficult to handle than Maniac Marshall."

"I hope you and Major Marshall can work out your little . . . problem, Colonel," Eisen said quietly. "I don't like to have this kind of conflict between two senior officers. Marshall's record is impressive, even if it's not quite as outstanding as yours. I'm not sure I understand why the two of you have such difficulties with each other."

"Part of it's purely personal, Captain," Blair said. "We've been competing against each other since the day we met. At least he's been competing with me." He smiled. "I, of course, am blameless in the whole thing."

"Of course," Eisen said blandly. Rollins chuckled.

"But I do my best to keep the personal problems and the cockpit apart, Captain," Blair went on seriously. "I mean, you don't have to like a guy to serve with him. But Marshall's flying style . . . it scares me, sir, and just about everybody else who flies with him. You saw the tactical tapes on the battle?"

Eisen nodded. "Yeah. Marshall got heavily involved out there a couple of times."

"He chased anything he could see," Blair told him.

"Hobbes saved Sandman because Marshall was too busy playing the personal glory game to support his own wingman. He gets kills, sir, but he does it by ignoring the team. You of all people should know that the team must always come first."

"Sounds like you don't want him on your team at all," Eisen said. "I'd rather not try to transfer him . . ."

"I'm not asking you to, sir," Blair told him. "Look Maniac is not my idea of the ideal wingman, but he's better than when we were on the old Tiger's Claw together. And despite his lack of discipline, he's a good pilot who knows how to score kills. Right now we need everyone like that we can find." He paused. "I know you're concerned about having us clash, but I guarantee that when the Kilrathi come into range we're on the same side. If there's one thing we agree on, it's our duty."

"Glad to hear it, Colonel," the captain said. "I think things are about to get a lot rougher for us, so I want to he sure we're all up to it."

"Rougher, sir?" Blair asked.

Eisen nodded. "That's the reason for the big scramble to get the wing up to full strength again. We've been given new orders, Colonel. Seems the situation in the Locanda System is getting tense. There has been a sharp uptick in Kilrathi activity there, even a couple of sightings that could be the Hvar'kann, Crown Prince Thrakhath's new flagship. And we know for a fact the carrier that launched the attack on us, the Sar'hrai, withdrew through the Locanda jump point shortly after the battle. It seems that a major installation of troops will arrive on Locanda, so the High Command wants us to reinforce them.