"William R. Forstchen & Ben Ohlander - Wing Commander 05 - The Price of Freedom" - читать интересную книгу автора (Forstchen William R)

Prologue
Major Tom Vale toggled his navigation plot to the Nephele system and smiled as the system diagram
appeared on his heads-up display. The convoy, made up of three small freighters and his escort of four
lightweight Arrows, would arrive at the jump point late, but well within acceptable parameters.Unless, of
course, one of the old transports blew another engine. That land of delay would kick his entire schedule
into a cocked hat.

He traced his finger along the patrol route. His Arrows had to escort the convoy to the jump point, but
the patrol legs through the system could be trimmed if he needed to make up time. He leaned back in his
seat, glad he'd solved the toughest problem he was likely to face all day.

The circuit was a typical Nephele milk run—long and boring. He had survived twelve years of fighter
combat against the Kilrathi, and two more of rough-and-tumble peace on the frontiers. Thecommand of a
patrol squadron on a third-rate system was the perfect assignment for him to coast out his career and
retire .

He grinned happily. He was entitled to be bored, he even enjoyed it. He made it a point to complain
regularly to the personnel office, however. The rear echelon bastards at Central Casting would have
collective apoplexy if they thought an officer was happy in an assignment.

The section's leading element, made up of Tiger and her wingman, Sparrow, pushed ahead of the
convoy's main body. One fighter remained above each flank of the leading transport, ready to intercept
targets closing on the convoy from the front. He glanced back at his own wingman. Scarman kept loose
station on his port side, behind and below the civilian ships.

He opened the squadron's common channel and cleared his throat. "Fuel check," he said.

"Eighty-three percent," replied Tiger.

"Seventy-two," from Sparrow.

"Eighty-six," answered Scar.

Vale nodded, satisfied. Wingmen usually used more fuel than their primaries, and Tiger had been
keeping Sparrow busy. He remained cynically amused that his ability to bring fuel home found such high
praise in his Officers Efficiency Reports. His superiors, all combat veterans whom he felt should have
known better, wrote more on his OERs about his ability to husband scarce resources than they did on
how well he trained his squadron or led it in combat. Ah, the peacetime fleet, back to polishing brass,
kissing butts, and fighting against nothing more dangerous than boredom.

The Kilrathi War was less than two years over, and it seemed to him that the navy was already busy
forgetting everything it had learned in three decades of conflict.

He knew he really shouldn't have been surprised at how quickly the emphasis had changed after the war.
Fleet construction provided jobs, and could be justified toa Senate intent upon rebuilding the
Confederation's shattered economy. Military supply, combat readiness budgets, and training funds didn't
contribute as visibly to local employment and could be easily, and often, pared. The result was that an
officer who could save money was more competitive for promotion than one who could save lives. It was
a truism that hadn't changed in centuries.Unfortunately.