If she did spot enemy ships blocking Victory's chosen escape route, the other squadrons would be called: Berterelli's Longbows to launch bombing strikes on capital ships and Gold Squadron to provide cover for them or to engage Kilrathi fighters. Meanwhile, once the initial scouting was finished, Mbuto would withdraw and land on Victory, followed by the bombers as soon as they dumped their loads and, hopefully, disrupted any enemy capital ships in the neighborhood. The Thunderbolts would be the last to return to the carrier, thus reducing the amount of traffic Flight Control would deal with in the critical minutes before the ship attempted to jump.

That was the plan, at least. But Blair couldn't help remembering an ancient military maxim . . . No battle plan survives contact with the enemy. Any number of things could go wrong, and there was precious little room for error.

At least a mistake today wouldn't end in the devastation of an entire colony world. But that was cold comfort as far as Blair was concerned. Victory's fate was on the line, and despite his early reaction to the battered little escort carrier, Blair had learned to think of the ship as home and her crew as comrades, even friends. Losing her wouldn't be like losing the Concordia, but . . .

He shook himself out of his reverie. If Victory didn't make it, neither would Colonel Christopher Blair. This time he wasn't likely to outlive his carrier by more than a matter of minutes, hours at most.

The time passed slowly as they waited for a report from the scouts. Comm line chatter was subdued and sporadic, and Blair had plenty of time for second and even third thoughts. Periodically he cursed the prolonged inactivity, knowing it would be demoralizing the others as much as himself, but there was nothing to be done. Until the interceptors reported, the other pilots could do nothing more than keep formation, watch their screens, and wait.

Victory to Recon Leader," Rollins said at last. "We're getting sensor imagery from Amazon. Captain was right, Colonel. There's a welcoming committee out there. Stand by for coordinate feed."

In seconds, his scanner began displaying targets around the Caliban jump point, and Blair studied them intently. There were half a dozen large targets there, probably destroyers escorting a cruiser or a small Kilrathi carrier. A handful of smaller contacts were fighters, probably Darket on escort duty. The enemy force wasn't overwhelming, but it would present a significant challenge nonetheless.

"Okay," he said at length, using a low-power general broadcast channel that would keep his transmission localized and, hopefully, secret from any Kilrathi who might be trying to monitor Terran comm frequencies. As he spoke, his computer relayed additional data as he entered it, projecting courses, targets, and other information. "We ve got them spotted now. Major Berterelli, you're going to circle the jump point outside their likely sensor range and attack the targets designated Four and Five on the sensor feed. Gold Squadron will cover for you. When you withdraw, go to ecliptic heading one-eight-one by zero-six-four."

"That's away from Victory," Berterelli pointed out.

"Got it in one, Major," Blair told him. "I want to hit the cats fast, rile them up, and then draw them away from the jump point. If they think Victory's coming from the far side of the point, they'll deploy in that direction and throw out a wide cordon to try and spot her."

"Leaving the route in wide open," Maniac said. "You know, Maverick, sometimes you're almost as smart as everybody says you think you are!"

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Blair said. "Once you break contact with the bad guys, Green Squadron should circle around to rendezvous with the carrier. Gold Squadron will continue to withdraw on the original heading until I give the word. Then I want you to separate into wing teams and head for home. Don't leave your wingman unless absolutely necessary, and remember the timetable. Victory will be at the jump point in . . . seventy minutes from now. If you're not back on board by then, you've lost your ride out of here. Any questions?"

There were none. "Good," Blair continued. "Now . . . Hobbes, you and Vagabond are on point. Then the Longbows. The rest of us bring up the rear. You have your orders. Make sure you all come back in one piece. You know how I hate filling out casualty reports."

Hobbes and Vagabond were already accelerating, steering the course Blair indicated. As he waited for the Green Squadron bombers to move out, Blair switched to the tactical channel for his wingman. "This is it, Cobra. Hope there's enough cats out here for you."

"It'll do," she said. "But I'm still kind of wondering how I ended up on your wing, Colonel."

"Not a whole lot of options, Lieutenant," he told her. "With Flint off the roster and Vaquero banged up from that fight yesterday, I'm juggling. Sorry if the arrangements don't suit you."

"I guess I figured you'd team with Hobbes, is all."

"Not this time," Blair told her. "I figured it was about time I let you show me some of those moves of yours."

Actually, it had been a difficult decision to make, pairing up the pilots in Gold Squadron for this mission. He had wanted Hobbes on point, no question; the Kilrathi's instincts and discipline made him the ideal choice to lead them in. But much as he would have relished flying with Ralgha, Blair's place wasn't on the very front line. As wing commander he had to stay out of the action until he was sure of the tactical situation.

But there were sharp limits in how he could deploy the rest of the squadron. He still couldn't trust Buckley to cooperate with Ralgha, and neither Flash nor Maniac was his idea of a good point man to team with the Kilrathi. So Vagabond was with Hobbes. With great reluctance Blair teamed the two majors together, even though he knew he was asking for trouble. Neither one was very reliable anyway, so it seemed better to have them let each other down instead of breaking up two different teams if and when they let themselves run wild.

So he'd crossed his fingers and put them together and ordered Cobra to fly on his wing. He hoped neither choice would turn out to be disastrous. But Vaquero, though physically fit after the battle with the Dralthi, was a bundle of nerves and not really ready for duty so soon. And as for Flint . . .

He almost put her back on the roster, but with so much at stake, he wasn't willing to risk a repeat performance. She was on duty in Flight Control again.

Cobra stuck close by him as they trailed the rest of the Terran flight, keeping strict radio silence now. They wouldn't use their comm channels until they engaged the enemy. Blair hoped Amazon Mbuto had followed her orders and headed back for the carrier. He wouldn't know for sure until the operation was nearly over. . . .

On his sensor screen, images began to appear, seemingly out of nowhere, as he came into range of the enemy force. The blips that represented the Confed fighters and bombers seemed pitifully inadequate to take on the Kilrathi ships, but they were already starting their runs. Hobbes and Vagabond opened the fight by engaging a trio of Darket close to the nearest of the two targeted capital ships. Berterelli's bombers ignored them and plunged past, hurtling at top speed toward the Kilrathi destroyer. There were more fighters registering beyond that large ship, and they could pose trouble for the Longbows.

"Maniac! Flash!" Blair said sharply. "You see that formation on the other side of the destroyer? Get in there and have some fun with them."

"Yes, sir, Colonel, sir," Maniac said. "Come on, rookie last one firing is kitty litter!"

"What about us, sir?" Cobra asked.

"We stick with Berterelli, Lieutenant," Blair told her, "in case something crops up he can't handle."