He doubted if anyone actually slept, though with the autopilots set it would have been possible — assuming adrenaline and anticipation left any room for any of them to relax. It was a forty-five minute flight at maximum thrust, and Blair spent the time reviewing his plans and trying to spot ways to improve their chances of success. He saw precious little hope of shortening the daunting odds against them. Everything depended on luck, now.

Blair was surprised when the computer alarm sounded the warning. They were close to their navigation checkpoint now, and the autopilots were disengaging automatically. He checked his scanners, saw the blips representing the two watchdog interceptors trailing the Kilrathi fleet ahead. The enemy showed up on long-range sensors, which showed the presence of large vessels, but so far his monitor showed nothing in range of the more accurate but less powerful short-range scan.

That was exactly as it should be. So far, so good . . .

"Shepherd to flock," he said, breaking radio silence. "Commence your run . . . NOW!"

"Lord Prince!"

Thrakhath looked up from his computer display. The Tactical Officer sounded frightened, but whether it was due to something on his scanners or the danger of bothering Thrakhath was difficult to tell. "Lord Prince, I have multiple targets on close-range sensors. Small . . . a cluster of fighter-class targets. At least four eights of them!"

"Position?" Thrakhath rasped.

"Bearing to port and low, range five thousand octomak and closing." The officer paused. "They are Terran by their signatures, Lord Prince . . ."

"Of course they are Terran, fool!" Thrakhath raged. "Who else would send fighters against us? But how . . . ?"

"The Terran carrier," Melek said. "Victory."

"Victory," Thrakhath repeated, his claws twitching in and out of their sheaths with the violence of his emotion. "The Terrans must not be allowed to stop Unseen Death. Order all Vrag'chath missiles fired immediately, and launch fighters. Do it now!

"We could deploy the Red Fang squadron to engage them, Lord Prince —"

"No! Red Fang has its own role to play. They will adhere to the battle plan!"

"As you wish, Lord Prince. But I am afraid that the Terrans might have more surprises planned for us." Melek's words were grim as he turned to carry out Thrakhath's orders.

The Prince summoned up a holographic tactical chart in the air in front of his command seat. He glared into it as if the very anger in his eyes was a weapon to destroy the Terran with. "It is they who will be surprised, I think," he said quietly.

Melek glanced up from his console. The renegade will be among these pilots, Lord Prince," he pointed out. "Do the orders regarding him stand?"

Thrakhath didn't answer right away. If only Sar'hrai had carried out the job of crippling the Terran carrier at Tamayo, none of these complications would he around to plague him now. Carrier and renegade would be safely ensconced in some Confederation shipyard, waiting for the moment when they would join in the intricate dance of Thrakhath's grand design. He hoped Sar'hrai's late captain was suffering on the unending barren plains of the Kilrathi netherworld for his failure. "If detected, the renegade must be avoided," the Prince said at last. "It is not yet time for Ralgha to realize his destiny . . ."

"The big boys are launching missiles, skipper." The voice in Blair's headphones had been scrambled, decoded, and computer-reconstructed, but he recognized Vagabond's smooth, laid-back tones. "Big suckers . . . must be those Skippers you warned us about."

"Time to give them something else to think about, Blair said. "Green Squadron, execute Plan Hammer. Amazon, give them cover . . ."

"Acknowledged," Major Berterelli said, his tone bland and professional.

"On it, Colonel," Mbuto chimed in a moment later. "Come on, Blue Squadron, let's give the cats something they can really chew on!"

The Longbows and Arrows peeled away, headed toward Thrakhath's command carrier. Blair had been forced to improvise an attack plan quickly once the Kilrathi fleet had been spotted, and Plan Hammer was a modification of a standing tactical operation he hoped would do the job.

The main vulnerability of the Kilrathi was their reliance on a highly organized leader cult at all levels of their society. From the Emperor down to the most ordinary noncom, leaders were looked to for virtually all decisions, even minor tactical choices a human would automatically make on his own initiative. The chain of command in the Empire allowed for a certain amount of flexibility, but an Imperial force without a leader grew rapidly unstable.

And Kilrathi leaders were well aware of this. They fought honorably in battle, like any of their race, but they were also all too conscious of the need for protection.

A threat to Thrakhath's flagship, then, might just get the full attention of the Kilrathi prince, at least for a time. He would almost certainly concentrate his capital ships to meet the danger, and that might just give Blair and Gold Squadron the time they needed to do something about the Kilrathi missiles that were already accelerating away from the enemy fleet. If the Kilrathi concentrated on defending themselves, their missiles might just be vulnerable.

"Gold Squadron, stay with me," he went on. "Let's give the heavy stuff a wide berth if we can."

"I'm for that!" Vaquero said. "The wider, the better."

Still at full thrust, the Thunderbolts raced in pursuit of the Kilrathi fighters, but despite Blair's preference their course led them directly past one of the enemy destroyers. For a moment he debated steering clear of the ship, but that would give the Kilrathi strike force too much lead time. Blair decided their only choice was to risk the capitol ship's defensive fire. . . .

"Check your shields, people," he ordered. "And hold your fire. Our targets are the fighters."

"Goddamn," Maniac said, almost too soft to hear. "We could nail this bastard if we wanted to. . . ."

"Stick to the program, Maniac," Blair warned.

"I know, I know," Marshall said. "But you can't blame a guy for dreaming can you?"

The destroyer opened fire, massive energy discharges crackling from each of her turret batteries. One shot grazed Blair's starboard shields, and his status board lit up red as the computer assessed the power loss. It wouldn't take too many such hits to overwhelm the shielding and start sloughing off armor.

The biggest problem, though, was just gripping the steering yoke and trying to stay on course. Every nerve and muscle within him wanted to take action, any kind of action, but Blair forced himself to maintain his course and press on. He hoped the others would follow his lead.

"I'm hit! I'm hit!" That was Beast Jaeger. "Direct hit on bow shielding. The generator's overloaded —"

"Hold on, partner," Cobra said. She was flying as his wingman again today. "Ease off a bit. I'll slide in ahead of you." Blair glanced at his tactical display and saw that the lieutenant was suiting actions to words, bringing her Thunderbolt in directly ahead of Jaeger's. She could soak up at least some of the energy that came his way now . . . but it was a dangerous move, keeping such a tight formation.

"What's your status, Beast?" he asked.

"Bow shield generator's off-line, Colonel," Jaeger reported, calmer now. "But I'm re-routing the system now. It'll be makeshift, but I'll get the shields back up."