Chapter 1: The Shakedown Cruise
“Anything on the scans?” asked Captain Stravinsky, breaking the silence on the command deck. It wasn’t much of a command deck, originally being only a basic freighter control room. But after the Fleet got her hands on the ship, she…well, she still looked exactly like the basic run of the mill freighter she’d started as.
Run-down and cramped—and with a mysterious stain on the back wall behind the captain’s chair—she looked like a down-on-her-luck merchant ship. But underneath all that grunge and the sketchy interior paneling, she sported the latest in military hardware—or at least the best the Fleet contingent in Easy Haven could manufacture. In short, she was a recently commissioned Q-ship.
And she was all hers.
Captain Stravinsky snorted.
“Nothing so far, Captain. Plot is empty and everything looks set for a smooth transition to the next star system,” said the Sensor Officer who did double duty as one of only three sensor operators on the bridge of the Hot Potato.
Stravinsky frowned because even though his voice was steady she could still hear the sigh behind his words.
“Expect the unexpected, Junior Lieutenant,” Stravinsky said tartly, searching for the right tone. She didn’t want to micromanage her people, yet at the same time …
“Aye aye, Sir,” agreed the other officer, breaking her out of her ruminations.
The Hot Potato’s Captain pursed her lips.
Her crew was green and untested, which wasn’t very surprising considering the current state of the reserve squadron. Easy Haven, and the Wolf-9 contingent stationed there, had expanded itself all the way into a decent sized task group—right before the Imperials under Admiral Arnold Janeski invaded and killed or seriously injured something like half of them.
Right now they were licking their wounds and coming back together under a new leader, Acting Commodore Synthia McCruise. At that thought, the Captain of the Hot Potato frowned.
With ships and crew contingents shot to pieces, it was no surprise that the Hot Potato hadn’t exactly been outfitted with the crack crew her captain had grown accustomed to serving with under their former commander, Commodore LeGodat. As his Flag Captain it had been her job to work hand in hand with him and take much of the burden off the System Commander as he juggled both the mobile forces, battle-station and defenses of an entire star system. As such, she’d required and received the best—and she’d gotten it.
All that changed when her previous command was disabled and LeGodat died. Or at least that was what everyone, including Captain Stravinsky, had thought up until a few days ago. There was no denying her former command was down for the count with the repair yard backed up with no end in sight, but when it came to their former commander...
It could simply be that there was a new sheriff in town and the Acting Commodore, Synthia McCruise, was flexing her muscles and throwing her weight around determined to get things done. That was normal enough for any new commander, let alone one who arose to the top of a battle damaged chain of command. Most any commander worth their salt liked to put their personal stamp on things.
Even still, the way Captain McCruise had concealed the fact that the Commodore was still alive was criminal, in Stravinsky's opinion, and she was ready to say so in front of a review board.
Because even if he was in critical condition and currently stuck in stasis, that was no excuse! Colin LeGodat was the man who single-handedly maneuvered them through three and a half years of bloody chaos and deadly danger. He deserved better than to be stuck in a freezer while everyone who cared for him was told he was dead!
When the Confederation abandoned the reserve squadron in place, telling them to wait for another photo-op that never materialized, Sector 25 and the entire Spine imploded. At that point it was the Commodore, along with the Little Admiral who had held the reserve crews together and brought the Easy Haven star system back up to what it had been.
“Put our current location up on the main screen,” she instructed, feeling her emotions growing beyond a safe level as she stewed over things she'd had no ability to change—but she was powerless no more. And wasn’t that the part that galled the most? She’d been shuffled off to a sideshow command like yesterday’s news while the Acting Commodore did whatever she wanted, and Stravinsky had even been forced to be grateful for it.
“It’s up for you, Captain,” reported her operations officer after a short pause.
“Right smack in the middle of the Overton Expanse,” Stravinsky said with patent dissatisfaction, noting the desolate patch of space they were located. It was legitimately worrisome being so far out in the middle of nowhere. You could call her a Q-ship but, in reality, the Hot Potato was essentially nothing more than an up-gunned freighter.
A freighter with a critical mission: to take their worst injured sailors back to Confederation space and get them the best care possible in a top of the line Confederation fleet hospital
“What’s our fuel status?” she asked as she pulled up the latest crew performance manifest and started scanning through the individual reports.
Right now Stravinsky and the q-ship, CSS Hot Potato, were on a shakedown cruise in the middle of the Overton Expanse, and while the Reserve Squadron had done its best at putting a Q in front of the ship’s classification, all the weapons and shield upgrades in the galaxy still did nothing to change the fact that the hull of the Potato, when compared to that of a proper warship, was still basically an eggshell just waiting to be cracked.
“Fuel bunkers for normal space engines down to 63%; fuel consumption holding well within expected tolerances,” reported Helm, giving his pre-jump report.
Stravinsky turned her eyes toward the pimple-faced Ensign at the Nav console and then—predictably—waited.
“We have enough trillium to jump all the way to the Old Confederation Capitol and back home, Sir,” the Navigator said belatedly, her face coloring as she nervously pushed her bangs out of her eyes.
“Humph,” Stravinsky harrumphed. Unfortunately there was only one navigator on the Potato currently and the Ensign was it.
At only sixteen years old it was enough of a miracle the Ensign’s family had signed an age waiver, allowing her to apply for the service. But it was an even greater blessing that the fleet personnel department in Easy Haven had accepted her.
Fortunately for the young Ensign, she had been calculating Nav-jumps on a family freighter almost identical to the Hot Potato since she turned 13 years old.
It still gave the Captain heartburn to see a teenager who hadn’t even formally reached her first majority, holding the fate of the ship in her extremely young hands, each and every time the young girl calculated a point transfer. If she’d had another navigator, a more experienced navigator, she’d have eased the young woman into the job. Unfortunately, she didn’t.
While Stravinsky was lost in thought, the captain’s chair beeped at her. “Stravinsky here,” she accepted the channel request.
“Captain, it's Doctor Blue-Comet down in Medical,” said the Doctor.
“Trouble Doc?” asked Stravinsky, her shoulders instinctively tightening.
“Nothing that can’t wait,” he assured her, “one of the coolant tanks needed to be taken offline for inspection. It was running 3% under minimum efficiency ratings. Engineering’s tracking it down as we speak; they suspect a leaky coolant line but we won’t know more until later. Rest assured we have more than enough redundancy built into the system we could down-check this tank for the rest of the trip if necessary. So no problem on that account as of this moment,” he reported.
“Understood. Thank you, Doc,” said the Captain before adding, “was there anything else?”
“No, Sir. Our cargo continues to remain unaffected by our voyage to the Confederation and the various equipment maintenance,” said the Doctor, “really, the only reason I called was because of your standing orders to report any issues no matter how minor.”
Suppressing a frown at the doctor’s reference to the Commodore and their fellow crewmates as cargo, Stravinsky stiffened.
“You did the right thing. Continue to apprise me of any and all further issues in the future,” she said and then paused, “oh, and Doctor, what you do in the privacy of your own mind or for official reports is entirely your affair but please refrain from referring to our injured crewmates as cargo where any officers or crew can hear.”
Doctor Blue-Comet frowned and then reluctantly nodded. “Acknowledged, Captain,” he said and then cut the channel.
Stravinsky pursed her lips. Right now her mission was twofold. First: contact the Confederation for new orders for Easy Haven and the reserve squadron; second: secure medical attention for the heavily injured fellow officers in cryo-stasis. But personally she would view this entire mission as a failure if their ‘cargo’, meaning LeGodat and the other critically injured, died en-route. She would accept nothing less than success, which meant zero mistakes.
So thinking, the Captain turned to her overly young navigator.
“Lay in a course and notify me at least ten minutes prior to our next jump. I’ll want to be on the bridge in case of an emergency. In the meantime I’m going to perform an inspection of the aft hydroponics section,” she informed her.
“Aye aye, Captain,” piped back the underage woman at the Nav console.
Shaking her head, Stravinsky walked off the bridge. Experience might be in short supply around here, but what they had in spades was a surplus of enthusiasm.
Chapter 2: Cornwallis Fleet Advances into The Reach
It had taken longer than expected to reach this point: the day they officially kick-started the campaign. It was a campaign that would spread the name Cornwallis throughout the galaxy.
That was mainly because his new flagship needed to make a quick stop in the Cornwallis repair yards while the Senator personally continued on to the rally point at the edge of the Overton Expanse. This was done mainly to check for any hidden surprises.
Charles Cornwallis didn’t want to leave for the Expanse only to find out, say, the main computer would shutdown in the middle of combat for no good reason other than that a member of House Pontifex hadn’t been aboard to input a single specific computer code. Such 'unforeseeable' eventualities were among the reasons why almost the entire computer system for the Mighty Punisher had been ripped out and replaced.
However, his moment of glory had finally come.
Seated on the flag bridge of his flagship, the Command Carrier Mighty Punisher, Cornwallis peered into the massive holo-display that dominated the center of the room. He snorted, unable to suppress a feeling of satisfaction at the sight in his holo-display.
“It was the work of decades in the making, but everything has finally culminated in this grand moment,” he said as the hundreds of warships paraded in squadron formation across the display.
Years of planning and preliminary work, the manipulation of the Confederation’s Grand Assembly and the Imperial Senate both, had finally paid off. Neither of them had been easy tasks or work suited to the fainthearted.
At long last, all that stood between him and a Triumvir’s seat now were seven Sectors of the Spine and one moderately sized fleet of Confederation locals. Previously little better than space militia they were now something…more.
Regardless of success or failure in the Spine, if he could get his hands on a missing Core Fragment then the Resurrection of MAN—the very one reputed to still be hidden in the Spineward Sectors—a Triumvir’s Seat would be his for the taking. If he could pull off a complete coup and pacify the Spine, bringing it into the Empire as three of her newest provinces along with the Fragment…well, at that point even an Emperor’s Chair might not be too much.
He chuckled darkly at the thought.
Everything he wanted was within his grasp. Now all he needed to do was reach out and take it.
“Relay the order to the 2nd Naval Reserve Flotilla and our allies in the,” he grimaced once again at the outrageous name, “Glorious Fleet of Liberation. Proceed to the hyper-limit and prepare to jump on my command.”
On the outside he projected nothing but professionalism, while on the inside he silently fumed.
Why the flaming Confederals couldn’t simply accept the designation '1st Volunteer Fleet' and continued to insist on using their more outrageous moniker during routine communications was baffling to him. More than that it was degrading and demeaning and…
He cut his thoughts short viciously. Some things even a Senator of the Empire had to learn to live with and, in this specific instance, Confederation foibles were one of them.
“Aye, Praetor,” nodded the Commander at the communications section beginning to relay the instruction.
“Leading Confederals is like herding cats,” he muttered aloud. How they had managed to expand even as large as they had before stagnating, without imploding or falling apart under the weight of their own incompetence, he would never understand.
“Praetor?” queried his Naval Chief of Staff. Such an individual was not to be confused with his Civilian Chief of Staff, who helped run his senate office and handle the civilian political side of the massive institution that was Charles Cornwallis' Imperial operation.
“Just pondering the improbabilities of direct democratic systems of government and finding our own representative system of Imperial government ever so much more satisfying, Chief of Staff,” the Senator dismissed.
“Very good, Sir,” said the other officer. A Commodore by rank, he’d been taken out of effective retirement in the reserve and brought back to active duty in order to shepherd a slightly rusty new flotilla commander through the daily minutia of military command.
Or at least that’s what High Command had probably told him. The fact was that the entire galaxy was about to learn that time may have passed but Admiral Charles Cornwallis, now Praetor Cornwallis hadn’t lost so much as a step when it came to defeating the Empire’s enemies in naval combat.
Chapter 3: The Official War Plan
“Commodore Druid, welcome to my office,” I stood up with a smile as the other officer entered the room.
The former Sector Guardsman nodded, his eyes sweeping around the room. His gaze fell on a figure in a hover-chair and hesitated before moving back to me.
“Admiral Montagne and…Commodore,” Druid said, exchanging a nod with Kling—the man in the medically-enhanced hover chair.
“It’s good to see you, Druid,” Kling said shortly, “but don’t mind me. I’m on indefinite medical leave until they regrow the lower half of my body and figure out how to regenerate a section of damaged brain tissue. I’ve got the easy job here,” he snickered wryly.
“Brain damage?” Druid looked taken aback.
“It’s mostly confined to the motor cortex,” I interjected with a frown, “so it in no way impairs the Commodore’s mental facilities.”
“I didn’t mean to imply—” Commodore Druid said with embarrassment, but I cut him off with a hand gesture.
“I wouldn’t have wanted to include a mentally impaired person in a strategy meeting either…unless, possibly, that person was Commander Spalding because even brain damage never seemed to slow that old man down,” I said dryly. “You can rest assured that Kling is right as rain for the conversation we’re about to have.”
“My space career might be finished,” Kling said quietly, “but I believe I can still help in some ways. What those are, I’m not entirely sure yet. So, when the Admiral requested my presence, I came.” He took a shallow, jerking breath, his face contorting slightly as he spoke. “But if you must know, the doctors say massive blood loss caused severe oxygen deprivation, which damaged portions of my brain before they could get me out of the pod and into a regeneration tank. Some of that was recoverable but the rest wasn’t, and when you throw in no small amount of blunt trauma to the head along the way to the tank,” his lips made a hard line as he paused for a shallow breath, “not that I’m blaming my officers for banging me around when they were saving my life.”
“You have my condolences,” said Commodore Druid seriously.
“It’s not like my life is over,” Kling said wryly, “at least this way I get to look forward to more time at home with the family. I did sign up for the Tracto-an SDF originally, and that was only after the colonist thing seemed to have fallen through.”
“I would think that since your mental capacity is still intact, they’ll be able to regrow the damaged portions of your brain without any issues,” said Druid looking at him seriously.
“Of course,” Kling agreed easily, “followed by years of therapy as I literally relearn how to use my body. Of course, there’s always a chance that something will grow wrong since apparently you can’t just put in a new motor cortex; you have to remove portions of damaged sections in order to regrow it first. For now, I’m considering all my options,” he replied.
“We’ve got a good medical team and the best facilities in the region,” said Druid.
“We’ll spare no expense fixing you up, Commodore,” I told Kling seriously, “Doctor Presbyter is personally reviewing your case at my request.”
“Thank you, Sir,” he replied.
There was a moment of silence.
“So…not to say that talking about my medical rehabilitation isn’t the most important thing in the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet, but I’m sure you didn’t call us all the way over here just to talk about my war wounds,” Commodore Kling flashed a smile. “What did you really want to talk about, Sir?”
Druid also looked over at me curiously.
“I’ll get right to it then,” I said seriously and the other two straightened in their chairs, “it’s obvious that only time will tell how long we have before the invasion occurs. But there’s no doubt in my mind it's coming.”
Kling’s eyes tightened as he went into deep thought. “Another war then,” he murmured almost inaudibly.
“We’re sure there’s no possibility it’s a hoax then?” asked Commodore Druid.
“No one in this room—or this galaxy for that matter—would be more pleased than I if the Imperial Navy didn’t invade. But I’m not paid the big bucks to assume everything’s going to turn out sunshine and lollipops. Which is why you two are here,” I informed them, “I need someone to help me game out the situation and strategize. Congratulations; you’ve been picked.”
“Strategy,” Kling looked intrigued, and more than a little surprised.
Druid, on the other hand, looked uneasy—an expression that disappeared behind his normal professional demeanor almost as quickly as it arrived.
“Was there a reason you excluded Commodores Laurent and Acting Commodore Hammer from this meeting?” asked my top Battleship squadron commander.
“Excluded?” I allowed, letting a hint of bewilderment show on my face. From the expression on the other two men’s faces they weren’t exactly buying it, so I shrugged, “Commodore Laurent is out on maneuvers so it wasn’t convenient to call him in.”
I paused, trying figure out the best way to say the next part and finally decided when in doubt truth was the best way to go. It was harder to trip yourself up that way later.
“As for acting Commodore Hammer…to be honest, she’s still not entirely happy with the notion of doing battle with an Imperial Navy, especially one that has elements of the Confederation Fleet within it, and her reservations aren't just because she seems sure we’ll lose,” I said finally. “Taking her concerns into consideration, I thought it best not to put anymore strain than necessary on the Acting Commodore’s principles. At least,” I expounded, “not without greater need than we have here today, strategizing for the future. That’s not to say she’ll be kept in the dark indefinitely. Hammer will be involved if and when the time is right.”
Druid nodded and Kling looked like he understood.
“To be clear: nothing we say in here needs to be considered a secret that has to be kept from her at all costs if she’s determined to help out,” I continued determinedly. “I want it understood she’s not here out of consideration for her principles.”
“Understood completely, Sir,” said Kling.
Druid frowned at the end of the explanation but eventually signaled his understanding. “There is one thing I am curious about, Sir,” Druid said taking a slow breath.
I lifted a brow.
“Have you reached a decision yet regarding the Spineward Confederation’s offer?” he asked with visible hesitation.
I scowled. “I am still undecided,” I said bluntly, and they proceeded to look skeptical to the point that they must thought I was lying. Unhappy at being silently called out on the subject, I reluctantly continued, “Look, that’s the truth. I haven’t. That’s in no small part why you two are here.”
At this, the other two men straightened.
I drummed my fingers on the edge of the table in consideration. “The way I see it is if I refuse to play ball with those backstabbers in the Assembly, I’m pretty sure I know, more or less, how this next war will play out,” I said finally.
The other two men looked surprised. “How so, Sir?” asked Druid.
I turned and pulled up a star map on the wall screen. “The Confederation in the Spine will bleed the Empire for a while until, eventually, the Confederated Empire, or in this case I suppose just the Empire and the Confederation’s overwhelming advantage will be proven. At that point it will be every man for himself as the rats jump off the sinking ship that is the Spineward Confederation, and who can make a deal will do so as fast as possible while anyone who can’t will fight to the bitter end. Or run till the bitter end for some of them.”
“That seems rather cynical,” Commodore Kling observed. From his facial features and tone of voice I couldn’t tell if he approved of my analysis.
“Either way, they’ll come for us sooner rather than later; no campaign to suppress the Spine can succeed while we’re free pieces on the board. At that point the die will be cast, we’d just have to hope the rest of the Sectors blunted their fleet hard enough we have a fighting chance. Ultimately doing nothing looks like a long shot to me,” I said, paused, then added, “not that I’m fully convinced it isn’t our best bet...even now.”
“I might quibble with a few of the particulars I imagine you used to game it out, but let’s say I agree with you...” Kling said after a moment’s thought.
“Say you do,” I nodded. “Also, for the sake of argument, let’s say I accepted the appointment to Grand Admiral. How does this impact the war effort, both at home and for the Spineward Sectors as a whole? What are we looking at?”
“That’s easy,” Druid muttered, “mass defections in the patrol fleet and gaping holes atop the chain of command, as well as among the petty officers, which will have sweeping effects on our line of battle until we can fill them with people who aren’t turned off by going to war with the Confederation.”
I glared. “I’m well aware of the trade-offs. If we reject the New Government’s proposal we’ll reduce the risk of mass defections, from our cryo-Confederals in particular, but other fleet members as well, at least for the time being. But our chances of victory go right into the toilet and we’d be stuck looking at a hit and run strategy to try and even the odds,” I rebuked.
“Even so, it’s a point that needed hearing,” Druid said mulishly.
“It’s even worse than that,” interjected Kling, causing Druid and I to look over at him. “Honestly, unless everyone in this room is ready to start singing the Imperial anthem—which I, for one, am not, having seen how they operate—when we finally do start to fight them we run the risk of mass defections anyway. Even if we decide to run a completely defensive campaign there will still be those who refuse to honor their oath to fight against an internal enemy of the Confederation, and outright refuse to fight—or even stoop to sabotage.”
Druid looked surprised but I just nodded grimly, having already thought of that.
“That fleet is made up of both the Imperial Navy and Confederation Fleet,” Kling said heavily, “even worse, but at some point we won’t just be firing on the Imperial Navy. That doesn’t matter much to us but for our cryo-crewmates that may be the sticking point. They won’t want to fire on Old Confederation ships even in a strictly defensive operation since the Old Confederation officially condoned this action. Meaning it’s technically mutiny for them to fire on this invasion fleet even at that point, if we’re still singing the national anthem and claiming we’re all loyal sons and daughters of the Confederation.”
“Blast it,” Druid swore.
“My thoughts exactly,” I said dryly, “but not to put too fine a point on it. I’d like to get back to looking at our tactics and strategy if we link up with this New Confederation fleet. We need to stay focused on what we can do and not get lost worrying over things out of our control.”
“So long as you remember to put enough Tracto-an Lancers aboard each of our ships, that shouldn’t be an insurmountable problem,” Druid pointed out, almost as if merely saying it pained him.
“A good point,” I agreed.
There was a temporary silence as we all contemplated the lengths we might have to go to in the future.
“At the point when you accept the top military slot, you’re essentially acknowledging you’re taking over the war effort,” Druid said unsteadily
“Just like we did for the Reclamation Fleet Invasion? What a crock. We all know how well that worked out,” Kling said bitterly.
“Yes. Just like how great things were when we were called down to lead the defense against the Droid Invasion of Sector 24,” I sneered.
“If you’re in this for the accolades and big rewards, think again. We might as well all go home right now if that’s the case. No one will thank us for a job well done after this is over and, honestly, the very the same people that would rather go into a state of rebellion or make their own government before giving us a fair deal are in charge of running this one,” I added bitterly.
“That seems pretty cynical—and this from a guy stuck to a hover-chair,” observed Commodore Kling neutrally.
“I would love nothing more than to be proven completely, utterly and dramatically wrong, but you all know what they say about old dogs and their tricks…” I retorted, still mad at the thought of letting Governor Isaak go.
“Speaking of the Imperial Invasion—or 'annexation,' as they’re probably thinking about it,” coughed Commodore Druid blatantly changing the subject, “I don’t see that they have any choice but to aim for three major targets if they want to conquer the Spine. First is the local Sector Capitol. Crush that and there’s nothing to stop the Imperial Fleet from entering the rest of the Spine. Second is our new Grand Assembly,” he continued grimly, “cut off the head and the serpent dies. There will be no organized resistance above the individual sector level and maybe not even that that once the new Spineward Assembly goes.”
“Remember Sector 26 has only recently been contested by the Sector Guard, or whatever we’re calling them today and sectors 27 and 28 are in all probability still under Reclamation Fleet control thus automatic allies of the Grand Fleet of Liberation. Third, and lastly, the MSP is the only other multi-sector organization in the Spine other than the new Grand Assembly. That may change as the new Confederation grows and spreads its wings, but for now we’re it,” said Druid.
“So the goal of the Glorious Fleet will be to decapitate the local Sector 25 fleet and leadership, capture or kill the new Grand Assembly, and then crush us. Does that about sum it up?” I asked.
“Not necessarily in that order, but yes,” agreed Druid.
“And our response?” I prompted.
Kling made a disgusted noise. “I don’t even know why you’re asking us. The solution to your question is as simple in theory as it is difficult in practice, especially considering we’ve already done it once before,” said Kling. “Concentrate our forces, fall back on a prepared position, wait for the enemy to come to us, and then smash them—or die in the attempt.”
“Getting them to come to a place of our choosing is the trick,” I sighed. I’d hoped for a miracle of tactics or strategy to emerge from this meeting of the minds. Discovering a solid but difficult plan instead—and one I'd already considered at some depressing length—was a letdown.
“Easy Haven is out since Wolf-9 was destroyed, but either Sector Central or the Aegis Star System have strong enough orbital fortifications that, when paired with a large fleet, might give us a chance,” Kling said ironically. “The problem isn’t what the ideal response to their invasion is, but rather, having already destroyed one Imperial Fleet with that tactic, will the 'Glorious Fleet' be willing to do the same?”
“Imperial arrogance knows no bounds. Anything is possible,” Druid said stoutly, “furthermore, their new fleet commander might just want to crush you wherever he finds you to prove Arnold Janeski’s loss was nothing more than a fluke.”
When it came to that last point he sounded doubtful, like a man that didn’t really believe what he was saying but feeling the need to throw it out there anyway.
“I highly doubt that,” Kling voice was scathing, “remember that this isn’t some glory hungry, up and coming young officer too big for his britches we’re dealing with. We’re talking about an Imperial Senator and former Admiral in the Imperial Navy. You just don’t rise that high in the Empire by being incompetent, the Confederation fleet maybe, but not the navy,” he said definitively.
“If anything he’s going to be more cautious because of Janeski’s defeat, not less so,” Kling rolled his eyes, “I honestly can’t understand Battleship officers. What exactly goes on in those duralloy skulls of yours?”
“I don’t think it’s likely, but it is possible, so don’t go ragging on Battleship officers just because you’re jealous of us. Frankly I came up through the lighter warships just like everyone else in this room. The only difference is I made it to the big leagues,” grunted Druid, fighting the formation of a smug expression at the corners of his mouth.
“You couldn’t pay me to join the ‘big league.’ As far as I’m concerned as soon as an officer steps one foot on a waller’s deck, it’s the same as immediately losing 10-20 points of IQ,” retorted Kling.
“I think we’re getting off track here,” I interrupted, rolling my eyes, “we can’t count on our enemy being overconfident, and besides that my family has a history with the Cornwallis House and this Senator in particular. He may be brutal, callous and uncaring about civilian casualties but he’s neither stupid nor incompetent,” I made sure to emphasize that, “so he may very well avoid attacking a fortified position until after he’s worn down our fleet. The next question is what do we do to counter?”
The two Commodores exchanged a look and then Druid gestured to his fellow commodore.
“You’ve been quite eager to point out all the holes in everything I’ve said so far. How about you take the lead for once?” said the Commodore.
“For once?” Kling shot back and then shook his head. “Sure, pick on the crippled person.”
“I don’t judge a man by the limits of his physical capabilities but rather on the merit of his mind—something that so far seems to be lacking in your case if you’re intending to use your infirmities to dodge the challenge,” Druid said righteously, earning a second dark look before Kling scowled at him and turned to me.
“Considering the edge Cornwallis and his fleet are going to have in Imperial propulsion and hyper-space jump technology?” he asked in a rhetorical voice.
“Yes, that,” I said dryly.
Kling sighed. “Factoring that in, his Imperial hulls will be able to jump circles around our fleet, comparatively speaking of course,” said Kling.
“Of course,” I repeated, mockingly gesturing with my wrist for him to keep going. So far this wasn’t anything close to putting anything forward. So far, I had to say he was failing the Druid challenge.
As if sensing this, Commodore Kling rallied, “If we want to outmaneuver the Empire and force a battle on our terms, we’ll have to hope the Confederation warships attached to his fleet slow him to a pace that allows us to direct the Imperial Senator to a location of our choosing and then attack. Again, at such a location as Aegis or Central,” said Kling.
“What if he chooses to avoid combat, or simply doesn’t care how much damage his allied ships soak up in order to wear us down, and then attacks when we’re not ready?” gloated Druid.
Kling looked at him irritably. “Why are you looking so happy at the enemy potentially destroying us, Commodore?” he rebuked.
“It’s not that I’m happy at the situation,” Druid said soberly, “I’m just surprised that you only seem able to point out the flaws in the things I say.”
“At least words can be used to accurately predict the Imperials' most likely courses of actions, unlike some people,” Kling said slyly.
“Enough, you two,” I shook my head sternly at the peanut gallery. This was a serious discussion and one that could decide the fate of more than seven sectors of known space.
Kling looked at me and his shoulders twitched. I got the sense he would have used his hands if his arms hadn’t been paralyzed.
“I’m not sure what else I can offer. Until we have a better understanding of the size of the enemy fleet, there’s no way of knowing if our light forces can somehow tie the enemy down long enough to do something like send out an FTL message via ComStat buoy. Then somehow ambush them with larger warships lying in wait within jump range,” said Kling, “or perhaps we could try letting the Imperial warships run circles around us, lulling them into a false sense of security and once they let their guards down and put some separation between their forces, we turn around and ravage their slower moving Confederation escorts with localized superiority.”
“The second is more risky than the first, but either might work,” I mused.
Kling looked unhappy despite my words. “What we have to keep in mind is that the heartlanders are most likely to be using second generation warships, while we of the Spine are still using third generation warships at best,” Kling said with a long face. “Personally I don’t see as how we can achieve a crushing victory without a numerical advantage or the possession of fixed or hidden defenses. Neither of which the Imperials are going to just stand around and let us use.”
“Which just means we have to be sneaky,” I said breezily, a plan already forming in my head, “I’d like to draw up a few general purpose plans for a sneak attack using orbital guns or the hidden pop-up missile launchers we used in the last Easy Haven battle.”
“Garbage in, garbage out,” Kling said rhetorically, “I can draw up any number of hypothetical contingencies but what I can’t do is make anything along the lines of a more concrete plan until we know what we have to play with, including the star system or systems we’re planning to seed them in or at least some rough idea of just what the other side is bringing to the table.”
“All I need are the outlines,” I said absently, my mind already plotting out how I was going to trick and outmaneuver Cornwallis and his oh-so-high-and-mighty Imperial Fleet. Third rate warships, indeed!
“Well...alright,” Kling said unhappily.
“My fellow Commodore is right in his assessment that we can’t get down to specifics yet, but we can start working on the broad strokes right away,” Druid agreed. “I haven’t done this sort of staff work since the academy so I might be a little rusty, but I’m sure my fellow Commodore is willing to help me out. Independent assignments, patrol routes and squadron command have been high on the agenda lately, contingency planning…not so much,” he said dryly.
“No wonder they stuck you with the Battleships,” Kling sighed. “Now, as what was essentially the former head of the Tracto-an SDF—let’s not even mention my time with the Caprian SDF—I’ve done more paperwork, including system defense planning, than I care to remember,” Kling said wryly.
“Good! You can take the lead,” Druid said brightening.
“What are you on about? Have you taken a look at these hands lately?” Kling asked witheringly and gestured with his chin to the lifeless arms in his hover-chair. “Now maybe as a learning experience you can be my spare pair of arms. I’ll dictate and you get to do all the leg work...might be plausible, and it’ll help hone those nonexistent flag skills of yours.”
Commodore Druid eyed him like he was a piece of three day old bread left on the table. “I wouldn’t call my higher command skills non-existent,” he said with censure.
“Quite your bellyaching and push my chair for me, you lump,” ordered Kling.
“You two can use the war planning room,” I approved.
The two other officers soon moved the discussion out of my office which was fortunate. I had several other messages to send.
Chapter 4: The ‘Unofficial’ War Plan
“I’m glad the three, er...four of you could come here so quickly,” I said, quite pleased as a human, a Sundered and two droids stepped into the ready room.
“Not a problem, Sir,” Spalding said stoutly.
I gave Steiner a significant look.
“Activating personal stealth systems now, Admiral,” she acknowledged, placing a small metallic sphere on the table and turning on the anti-eavesdropping system before exiting the room.
“You can stay, Lisa,” I said.
She looked surprised. “Admiral?” she asked, but I just gestured her to the seat beside Akantha.
“If you’re compromised, we’re already finished and we just don’t know it yet. So, that being the case, I need you to help me keep track of everything more than I need the illusion that having you gone will increase our chances of pulling this off, because as far as I can tell that’s just plain wrong,” I explained seriously, and when she nodded and started to pull out a tablet I held up a halting finger.
“Sir?’ she asked.
“While I trust you, I don’t trust the computer system—at least, not as much. We don’t need any electronic records for the moment,” I said, and with the flick of the wrist I reached down and slid a sheaf of old fashioned paper along with a pen into her hands.
“I haven’t taken notes on actual paper since Caprian history class back in school this will be… interesting,” she muttered, wrinkling her nose with surprise.
“No electronic records?” the droid representative asked with alarm. “How are we to maintain the continuity of agreements, let alone establish the veracity of anything agreed to here, if we can’t verify it?”
“Except for what is naturally created within your memory buffers, of course,” I conceded quickly, as there was no point in getting side tracked. Then cocked my head, “Unless the chairman has an objection?”
“No objection. Data restriction is a key part of any potentially clandestine meeting or agreement,” the spindle shaped droid said, rearranging his stick-thin arms as he perched on his chair and hooted.
His droid companion took up a position behind and slightly to the side of him. The second droid showed no intention of sitting down.
I eyed the other droid critically. It was most likely a bodyguard or an adviser of some kind. Most likely both.
A large, hairy figure moved into the room.
Settling down beside Bottletop IIV into an oversized, solid metal chair—brought in for him personally just for this occasion—the giant gorilla uplift grunted.
As he leaned back and the chair creaked in protest, the cybernetic hardware in the back of Primarch Glue’s head flashed animatedly.
“Hmph,” came the familiar voice momentarily eclipsed by the small mountain of hair, muscle and bone in front of him, as the old cyborg with long metal legs snorted and maneuvered around the Uplift. “I don’t see what all the hubbub is about,” Chief Engineer Terrence Spalding declared, grabbing a chair, offsetting it at an angle to the table—apparently to accommodate a new tool belt that bulged suspiciously to one side—as he snorted, “it’s not as if mankind didn’t get along perfectly fine for countless thousands of years before electronics, or even the written word were invented. Of course,” he mused openly, “we’d all still be grubbing in the mud looking for worms to eat if we hadn’t gotten that! On the other hand, and considering that some act like pigs rolling around in the mud once they get their hands on an electronic device anyway…well then I suppose that’s no great loss either way.”
“Spalding,” I said with exasperation. Between the support, backhanded insults and blatantly open insults, both to myself and all of humanity at large, I wasn’t sure if I should be reprimanding the old man—or better yet threatening to bar the old miser from future meetings if he didn’t shape up.
In the end I did neither. Spalding was just too valuable to even temporarily exile, not when the Empire was now officially invading us.
“Thank you, Sir,” Spalding laughed, as if he’d just been complimented.
Clearly, I thought, irritated because if any man in this fleet was a true tyrant it was the old chief engineer not me.
“Sorry. But, as they say, the truth sometimes hurts, Sir. However I’m certain that with the young Miss behind the helm of that pen, nothing will be missed,” the old engineer said, flashing an unrepentant grin.
“I was concerned with my hand cramping,” Steiner muttered, giving the old engineer an ungrateful look while Spalding started craning his head around as if looking for whoever she was speaking to.
“Looking for something or…someone, Wizard?” Akantha interjected from my side, “perhaps you expected someone else to attend this meeting?”
“What. Oh?” Spalding started and then hastened to assure her, “No! Of course not. Nothing like that in the slightest. Everything is perfectly fine just the way it is. No need to add interfering busy bodies that think they know better than an old honest warship engineer just because they work in a yard now.”
“Are not the learned opinions of our very own engineering wizards of the highest quality?” Akantha asked as if she’d just heard something suspicious. “Or is it simply that anyone else, even the best of women or men, would be redundant.”
“Redundant? Now that’s a good word, a very fine word indeed,” Spalding nodded sagely and then ran a hand through his recently re-growing hair as he pontificated. “Too many cooks in the kitchen is a recipe for disaster, I always say. We don’t need a bunch of hands stirring in the same pot. Not when you’ve got me around.”
“Correct,” Akantha shared a smile with the incorrigible old man.
Meanwhile I felt the urge to groan and gag both of them.
“I’m not exactly sure when or where a conversation about note-keeping and a pen morphed into an argument against listening to the opinions of other engineers, but I’m pretty sure we’ve managed to drift afield,” I grunted, and then before either of them could insert a protest turned to face the room in general. “Now that we are gathered here together I would like to make a statement and, in the interest of good relations, give my allies—the Sundered and the USA droids—both a chance to give and receive input,” I said, seizing back control over the conversation.
Glue’s hand thumped down on the table, the muscles around his eyes tightening while the droids became unnaturally still for several second before the chairman cocked his head.
“Please compile your update and we will download it, Admiral,” the Chairman Bottletop IIV said respectfully and Spalding, whose mouth had been opening, now closed discontentedly as he settled back into his chair.
I put on a serious expression to let everyone understand I wasn’t saying this next part lightly.
“First off, I don’t want anyone outside of this room to know this so don’t go spreading it around. Those who need to know have already been told and as for the rest it's better if they’re not burdened for the time being. As they say, in some cases ignorance is bliss.”
I stopped and there was a pregnant pause as I gathered my thoughts. There was no good way to say it I decided finally.
“After consulting with everyone, from fleet legal department to my top subordinates, I’ve...let’s say ‘unofficially’ decided to throw my support behind the Spineward Confederation,” I said, and as soon as I finished I looked around the room to assess the impact of the news and then held up a hand. “I want to be very clear about this next part, as clear as I can be. There is nothing final about this decision. I am still willing to change my mind.”
A hard expression crossed my face as the image of Governor Isaak the man who had pushed me into this corner appeared in my mind.
“But, barring new information or an unexpected development this means we, the MSP and the Border Alliance, we will have to go all in for the Spine,” I said and then glared around the room, “as far as I’m concerned the Empire will never have this region of space. Over. My. Dead. Body. As they say.”
I let that sink in and I could see how agitated Primarch Glue and the droid’s were by the almost diametrically opposite reactions each one had. While Glue shifted around in his chair with agitation the droids were once again unnaturally still.
“No matter what the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet or the worlds of the Border Alliance do, this is not a monarchy with Prince Jason at the top, which is why I wanted to speak with each of your groups privately,” I said and then stopped to see what they had to say.
“This Primarch appreciates your candor, Admiral,” Glue rumbled from deep within his chest.
I didn’t fail to note that in responding he referenced only himself and my method of information transmission, committing nothing from either himself or his group and giving away nothing regarding his own personal thoughts on the subject.
Not that this was a surprise. One didn’t get to be a leader in any community and stay there for as long as Glue had, even only counting the length of time I’d known him, without gaining a bare modicum of political horse sense. And one of the key requirements of any politician was to always appear in agreement, except to one’s direct and mortal political enemies, while never actually agreeing to anything without consulting.
The droid chairman’s servos whined as he leaned his whole body forward and slightly to one side.
“What is Tracto’s position on this development?” Bottletop IIV asked, looking directly at Akantha.
“Not only does Tracto stand with my Protector, as usual, we have voted to establish this new Confederation and accepted a provisional status within it,” she said.
Bottletop IIV drummed its fingers on the tabletop. “That being the case, the United Sentient Assembly would like to clarify the new Confederation in the Spine’s position on non-human and electronic life forms,” said the Chairman.
Glue nodded in agreement, a faint growl escaping from his lips.
“It’s too soon to tell what exactly the position of this new Confederation will be as it's barely had time to do more than establish itself,” I cut in smoothly, seeing where their concern was and moving swiftly to cut it off at the pass.
“With all proper respect to the Admiral, my question was for the Hold Mistress,” Bottletop IIV interrupted.
I stiffened, unable to keep my eyes from hardening for a split second before deciding to laugh it off and shake my head.
“It doesn’t matter what their position was, is, or will become, because our world has only accepted a provisional status. The scheming men of the stars think they can plunder our riches using the threat of an outside force and a less than equal status within their meeting hall, to pressure us into accepting their policies and paying large tributes in return for their support,” Akantha explained firmly. “However, the women of Messene are women of honor and our word is good. You have nothing to fear at this time.”
“You understand our concerns, I hope,” Glue rumbled.
“I realize neither of you have said it, but for Tracto to join together in common cause with those who you might consider your sworn enemies, without even consulting us first, cannot help but be concerning,” Bottletop said. “That is why I will make a definitive statement right now that so long as you are true and faithful to your word as our allies, we will defend this star system and all within her to the death and break off all relations with the Confederation in the Spine if necessary.”
“That is not a wise position,” Glue said, his nose wrinkling appreciatively.
“We knew what we were getting into when we accepted you into our star system. Tracto is resolute in her commitments and only the breaking of our agreement, the conquest of our system or god himself could cause us to change our minds,” Akantha said in a ringing voice. “We offered safe harbor in Tracto System in exchange for knowledge, warriors to help fight our battles, and mechanical marvels to enrich our people. Nothing you have done has caused us to change our minds.”
“The United Sentients Assembly appreciates your firm statement of support, even though we realize nothing in our agreements require our support for your internal decisions. We are satisfied for now that this new Confederation is not yet a direct threat to us and our way of life,” said the Chairman.
“I’m glad that’s out of the way,” I said, feeling grumpy although you wouldn’t think it to look at my face.
“I am sorry for the interruption, Admiral Montagne,” Bottletop IIV said, lowering his head, “please pardon an old model for its concern and rudeness. You were saying something about your position regarding the New Confederation if my data banks are operating properly?”
“Sometimes the niceties that keep civilization from descending into anarchy and strife must be cast aside during times of great concern, alarm and warfare. Although thankfully we have not, yet, reached that last state,” I said after a moment, extending a small olive branch in return, “and yes, I did say that your hard drive is still operating properly.”
“Then please act as if I had never spoke and continue,” Bottletop IIV said, gesturing quasi-invitingly with its spindly arms.
“I think my position on the new Confederation should be reasonably clear. I don’t like it but for now it’s the best of a bad set of options. I was prepared to fight to the death for the Old Confederation but, as it now appears they’ve literally sold us down the river, or at least to the Empire, they can keep their thirty pieces of silver. I’m out,” I paused, taking in and then releasing a pent up breath, “and since they effectively forced me out,” I shrugged, “well, that being the case, my job as I see it remains essentially unchanged.”
“In what way is that after being?” asked Glue.
I eyed him, momentarily confused as to the exact question before puzzling it out. “The Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet was formed to protect the Spine by the Spine, or at least three whole Sectors of it. I don’t see why it can’t continue with that mission for the foreseeable future,” I said, feeling let down.
Akantha placed a hand on my arm. I nodded at her appreciatively and reached up to capture her hand with my own. I gave it a squeeze and then looked up at the others.
“I won’t deny that it hurts spending years protecting this Sector in the name of the Confederation, only to see everything I’ve worked for go up in flames. But our choices are essentially nonexistent: either we help this new nest of snakes or we hand the whole region over to the Empire. The very same blighters that threw everything into chaos or we can stand up and be counted,” I said finally, “as I see it. Even if we did that the Empire wouldn’t be too happy that a proscribed world like Tracto has suddenly become a major player on the local scene. At the very least the MSP would be disbanded, our ships and everything we’ve worked for handed over to the Imperial Navy, and Tracto’s trillium mines seized. Maybe nationalized, maybe just heavily taxed to pay for the rebuilding of the Sector with an inspector hanging over the shoulder of every ore processing unit. I don’t know. What I do know is I’ve spent too long fighting for truth, justice and the Confederation way to just give up now. If the Old Confederation has abandoned its principles…well maybe just maybe this new Spineward Confederation can pick up where it left off.”
“A noble sentiment,” Bottletop IIV applauded, the droid stationed behind him nodding in agreement.
“Historically the Confederation has oppressed my people less heavily than the Empire,” Glue said much more neutrally.
It wasn’t quite the ringing endorsement I’d been hoping for, but I’d take what I could get. Even as I silently wondered if I was so eager to take up the banner of this new Confederation because the head of this new invasion fleet was the very man who orbitally bombarded my home world, or because I was becoming power mad.
I didn’t like to think it but back when I first started all I wanted to do was hand the reins of the Lucky Clover back over to the proper authorities. But at this point I’d bypassed several opportunities to give it all up and fade away into the woodwork. At first only the repeated attempts to blame me for the chaos in the Spine had stopped me. But now, after so much time, effort and, yes, lives…
I guess you could say that over the years I’d grown accustomed to being the Admiral. Did that make me a bad man? I’d like to think it didn’t. But what separated me from any other warlord in the Spine if I no longer pledged allegiance to the Old Confederation. Good intentions? A desire to fight for the people? Isn’t that how any number of totalitarian régimes and dictatorships started out?
I won’t deny I was an eager Admiral and a reluctant Prince but I had no desire to be a dictator, warlord or whatever you called it to dress things up and make them more palatable. Best intentions aside, if Governor Isaak somehow took control of this new Confederation and tried to double cross, betray or otherwise kill, destroy or imprison my people, I would throw over this new Confederation faster than you could say 'viva la revolution.' I was done being used by power-hungry politicians.
“Well, with that ringing endorsement there is something I’ve been meaning to do for some time,” I said, pulling out a data-slate and sliding it over to the Primarch.
The Primarch glanced down at the slate and frowned.
“I know you refused before, but you deserve a promotion for your efforts in the last Battle for Easy Haven. I’d still like to hold a formal promotions ceremony and give you the recognition you deserve, Primarch,” I said.
Glue kept looking at the tablet and then shook his head resolutely.
“There is no good reason to inflame the base-stock of Tracto over a Sundered person. Not when there is so much tension already over Droids and Sundered in the Fleet and on human space stations,” Glue paused and then slapped his thigh, “doing so would only be after causing a backlash to my own people. My pride is not worth their pain and suffering,”’ he said firmly and slid the data-slate back toward me. “Besides, your Confederation must already being after despising you for not sending us away or killing us. Do not lose your standing amongst your own people over this Glue. We still need you as a shield for the Sundered people.”
“Well I think no matter what you think of yourself, your people deserve to see you standing up there and being recognized. But since I can’t claim to know your own people’s situation better than you do, we won’t hold a formal ceremony,” I said, feeling conflicted before adding, “but I’m still promoting you.”
Pulling a pair of Commodore’s rockets out of my pocket, I tossed them to the Sundered.
“Admiral, No,” Glue rumbled firmly, letting them hit the edge of the table and fall to the floor.
“Yes, Primarch, you’re being promoted,” I said with certainty.
“The Sundered are being an allied force. We are not of your fleet. You can’t promote me,” Glue rejected.
“I can and will give you the recognition you deserve,” I riposted. One corner of my mouth turned up as a thought occurred to me, “Besides, the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet has a long history of recognizing honorary commissions and acting ranks. I’m sure issuing an honorary commission and an acting Commodore’s rank won’t be that difficult.”
Glue frowned.
“There’s nothing you can do to stop it so you might as well learn to accept it gracefully,” I said.
“Jason can be quite stubborn when he wants to be,” Akantha advised, “and he is correct: your actions in battle deserve recognition.”
“My own people recognize me. That is enough,” Glue grumbled, shaking his head in defeat.
“Not well enough,” Akantha disagreed.
“Good, it’s settled them,” I said.
“No ceremony though,” Glue glared.
I opened my mouth.
“As you wish,” Akantha said placing a hand on my arm.
“Fine,” I conceded, turning my palms upward.
“Fine,” Glue said, popping his lips disrespectfully.
For several seconds the two of us locked eyes.
“Since that’s settled, let me be the first one to congratulate you on your promotion, Primarch,” Bottletop IIV said, standing up and extending a hand.
The towering Sundered stood up, his head almost reaching the ceiling, his oversized hand engulfing the Chairman’s to the point the droid’s metal manipulators all but disappeared in his hairy grip.
“I am truly gladdened to witness this scene of inter-sentient cooperation. It’s one small step in the right direction but you can rest assured that the USA is more than willing to stand witness to this slightly momentous occasion!” the droid said eagerly.
After everyone in the room had the chance to extend their congratulations to the Primarch, I looked over at the one person in the room who hadn’t said anything up to this point.
“Any words of wisdom for us, Commander?” I asked.
“I don’t know what you’re expecting from me,” the old Engineer harrumphed.
“Well if I lose we might not ever be able to go home. And while that’s not a big deal for me, the rest of the crew, including yourself—” I began blithely before Spalding cut me off.
“How has switching from one Confederation a thousand light years away to a closer one a couple hundred away made it so I can’t return home?” Spalding asked bestowing upon me a withering look. “Use that brain in your head for something other than filling out paperwork. The only thing stopping me from going back to Capria is Parliament, plain, pure and blasted simple. Sweet crying Murphy, it’s an elected impediment back home not either Confederation that’s stopping me—not, that is to say, that they could actually keep me if I was really determined. Which I’m not; I like it here just fine. I mean who else would be foolish enough to let me build and then play with a space yard any time I feel like it?” he finished confidently.
While I was fighting the urge to make a comment, Akantha smiled in happy agreement.
“You will always be free to use our equipment and tools,” she assured him.
I gritted my teeth as she effectively gave him carte blanche to do whatever he wanted and mess up any production or rebuild efforts he felt like. Which meant I was about to get a big headache. First from the yard people claiming he was interfering, quickly followed by indignant rage filled messages from Spalding about how they were attempting to block him.
Already I could feel a headache building, which was why I quickly changed the subject.
“Well either way you and I are not exactly normal people. I feel guilty enough as it is that most of the original crew can’t go home. As for the ones that signed on afterwards, they signed up to serve in the Confederation fleet, the actual ‘real’ fleet not this Confederation-lite business Isaak’s dreamed up…” I trailed off. The original crew of the Clover had signed up for a yearlong training cruise as part of a stop gap replacement for the Rim Fleet and I’d later sold them on running around fighting off warlords and protecting the Spine.
“I don’t see how it matters which Confederation fleet they’re a part of. Especially since you could make joining this new organization contingent on the crews being given back pay, furloughs and the rights to go home anytime they felt like it, without being harassed or under the authority of the local provincial government,” Spalding pointed out. “To my thinking that might actually be better in some ways than if we stuck it out with the Old Confederation.”
“I think the crew are paid up thanks to Tracto, the trillium mines, and the Border Alliance,” I pointed out.
“Is it the job of the provinces to pay for a Confederation fleet?” Spalding asked rhetorically. “I say if they want an honest to goodness Confederation fleet, make them pay for it.”
“You have a point,” I said. I liked the idea of adding onerous conditions and requiring the Sector—or in this case new Confederation—government pay what they should have been funding all along was music to my ears. I was sick to death of provincial governors tearing proverbial strips off my hide demanding to know where my fleet was and what exactly their tax credits were going for, meanwhile I was essentially operating a interstellar charity. “I’m liking this more and more,” I mused as my mouth quirked into a grin.
“Just be careful they don’t try to hoodwink you out of those ships you brought to Gambit,” Spalding warned wagging a finger at me. “We can let loose a couple of Cruisers or Destroyers if we have to but don’t let them take you in the fine print. The lawyers and politicians will shaft you every time if they get the chance!”
“There’s no chance of that,” I said, my eyes hardening.
I heard a shifting in the room and realized I was rambling on and in front of allies that probably didn’t need a direct window into my plans and maneuvers. Even if on the surface they had more to lose than they did to gain by exposing my secrets to our enemies.
“I was curious about the status of those Bug remnants you were researching?” I asked idly, turning to the Droids to change the subject. Was I interested? In an academic fashion I was; they had asked for coordinates and details of the Bug ships that attacked Tracto several years ago and I’d provided the data. Was it that important? Not really. So long as they didn’t bring back the Bug’s bio-engineered terror, I honestly didn’t care what they were up to. Still, it was always wise to follow up with these things.
“Our studies into the remains of the Bug Mothership proved interesting and we thank you for the opportunity to study a bio-engineered organism,” Bottletop IIV said, and Spalding stiffened.
I lifted an eyebrow, “I was under the impression that there were lots of genetically engineered organisms.”
“Yes, all based off of similar genotypes, at least in a broad sense, but the Bug genotype is something else entirely,” Bottletop IIV said happily.
“Good enough,” I said, and was turning back to Glue when the sound of a clearing voice interrupted me.
“There’s more to it than that,” Spalding said, peering at the droids through one suspiciously squinted eye.
“For which part did you require clarification?” Bottletop IIV beeped at the old engineer.
“The part where when the Admiral asked you about the Bugs you got all concerned,” Spalding declared.
“Concerned? Hardly,” Bottletop IIV hooted breezily, “excited, surely, after all it is of great academic significance.”
“That’s why you immediately exchanged encrypted transmissions with your bodyguard? Because of its scientific, not military importance,” Spalding glared at the droids. “I can’t believe that over all your years on the Rim of the Galaxy this is the first time you’ve encountered Bug DNA. Why, I know for a fact it was for sale on the Omicron as lately as when we took over the place.”
“Why ever would you know that?” I asked the old engineer with surprise and then turned a newly skeptical look on the droids.
“It is after being common knowledge,” Primarch Glue said, also turning to look at the droids suspiciously.
“Yes, the basic worker blueprints are common knowledge,” Bottletop IIV said hastily, “but this is the first time we secured self-reproducing samples.”
“You mean from the Queen? And I see you didn’t bother denying the military applications you have been researching,” Spalding said.
Bottletop IIV froze and after a second the droid standing behind him stepped up to the table.
“This unit's designation is Tactician-Without-A-Flank-To-Turn,” it introduced itself. “United Sentient Assembly military weapons, tactics and research of a top secret clearance cannot be divulged by a civilian representative. Despite being a member of the assembly and the chosen ambassador to your Tracto and your people Admiral, the Chairman is not free to discuss the Bug Mothership.”
“And yet you are, and here I thought you were a simple bodyguard,” I said and stared at the other droid.
“Military attaché with special privileges would best match your human forms and functions,” the Tactician said with a bow, failing to deny it had the clearances.
“Interesting,” I steepled my fingers.
“Should I take it that you are officially requesting information on our Bug genome military research?” asked Tactician.
“You can consider this me asking for all the research you’ve performed on the Bugs. But yes, right now I’d like to hear about any military applications you’ve come up with,” I said, gesturing for the droid to continue.
“Accessing…” Tactician-Without-A-Flank-To-Turn said, his voice turning eerily electronic.
I felt a chill as the droid all but froze up for a moment, reminding me in that instant of the synthetic nature of the droids. On the surface they appeared…well, not human, but at least bipedal. However it was best to keep in mind at all times that droids were but a step down on the evolutionary ladder from AI’s, with all that entailed.
For a long second I had to ask myself if I’d made the greatest mistake of my life by not turning against these machines the moment I had no need for them. Did the ‘No Genes, No Genocide’ crew actually have a valid point?
Then the droid unfroze and I had no more time for existential crises.
“Our research findings are still somewhat preliminary in nature but we believe we have successfully found a way to weaponize the Bugs. USA scientist-technicians were originally tasked with creating a bio-terminator or, failing that, a bio-virus that could be introduced into a Bug population in order to cull or limit their reproductive capacity. Specifically, their larger spaceship level forms. However what we created instead, under the direction of Mad Scientist Omega 9, may be of even more use,” said the Tactician before pulling up the files. “It's crude in nature, and as of today an opponent must be brought to a functioning hive group or the proto-hive group introduced to a system with sufficient time and bio-mass for it to replicate to the proper size. However, with those conditions granted, this is what we have.”
I got a cold chill as I slowly read through the Droid research into the Bugs. In truth, it was nothing I hadn’t known before but to see it put together on such a grand scale… No wonder the leader of their project was called 'Mad Scientist.' Only such a person, electronic or otherwise, would come up with this idea.
Even though there was nothing about the science that was truly ground-shaking, their ‘research facility’ as they called it, all by itself looked to have the potential to have us all tried for galactic terrorism.
“Nothing we discuss here leaves this room,” I said, breaking out into a cold sweat.
“I have been granted the authority to classify sections of my report that I release to the Assembly by editing out anything with military significance,” said Bottletop IIV.
“I am required to report anything with military application to my superiors,” Tactician added.
“All I care about is if word of this is leaking to non-droids and then to our common enemy, the Empire,” I said, already labeling this as a worst case fall back plan.
“That will not be a consideration,” Tactician said with surety.
“Very good, because I think after this little meeting I’m going to need the help of your group. Both your groups,” I amended, including the Primarch in my assessment.
“If it is in the interests of the Sundered then our Elders will approve many things,” Glue advised.
“If defeating Cornwallis and the Empire aren’t sufficient motivation, we can talk later and make sure it’s worth your while,” I told the uplift.
Glue nodded. “We are after being having no interest in imperiling our deal with Tracto and your MSP fleet,” said Glue and, while I noted he didn’t say one way or the other about if his Elders were going to try and squeeze us for more credits or materials, I didn’t think they had any percentage in bringing us down either.
The Old Confederation would forcibly evict them from known space while the Empire would slaughter them outright if they couldn’t run fast enough. Either way, they weren’t getting a better deal than they had at Tracto.
Glue himself had mentioned this before the Sundered had agreed to move to Tracto, and it was a sad statement of affairs that failing to drive out and/or attempt to exterminate his people constituted ‘good’ behavior.
“Good,” I said rubbing my hands together and sharing a look with my Chief Engineer, “with the help of your people we’re going to give those Imperials a fight to remember and I know just how we’re going to do it.”
Needless to say we ran well over our projected meeting time as all sorts of dirty tricks and surprise attacks were contemplated and set up.
Chapter 5: It’s a Spalding! Part 1
“Alright people we’ve got to get the rest of these warships out of the yard and into service!” Spalding thundered storming into the Planning Team’s bi-weekly bull session.
One of the team members was so surprised she spilled coffee on herself with a shriek and began desperately patting her uniform blouse with a napkin.
“Do you mind?” demanded one of the team leaders, Jerry Cernovitch.
“Not at all,” the old Engineer declared, helping himself to a doughnut, “don’t mind if I do,” he said around a mouthful.
“Look, I realize you have pull, but unless you’ve got more workers or an order from higher up, we’re already going as fast as we can,” sneered Cernovitch.
“Yard dogs are all the same,” Spalding scowled pointing the end of his half eaten doughnut at the other man.
Jerry Cernovitch crossed his arms over his chest mutinously. “Put up or shut up, old man. You come in here every month with one of your motivational speeches, if your level of ‘harassment’ actually rises to the level of a speech. It's 'Murphy this' and 'old fashion outmoded superstition' that. We’re men of science and structural mechanics here, not priests on the temple mount trying to drive the demons out of our machines, Commander, and it's time you acted like it,” he said crossly.
Spalding purpled. “As far as you’re concerned, you back-slacking heathen, I’m a Prophet of the one true holy, here on a mission from the blessed Saint to relay his words to the masses,” roared the old engineer, “and I said it’s time to get out there and work!”
Mike Cernovitch rolled his eyes. “Look I know what you mean, Commander, but we’re literally all tapped out here,” Slip Boss Mellissa Marigold said, trying to calm the waters.
“No, don’t feed into it any longer, Melissa. The man’s a fraud. I’m not saying he doesn’t believe it—which in a way is so much worse it's even pitiful. But every single time he comes down here, it’s the same. We need to prioritize his projects at the expense of our entire work schedule or supernatural forces, by the name of the Demon Murphy, are going to drag us directly down to the abyss. Well, I for one have had it. Unless you’ve got a work order handed down through channels, please leave. The Yard Manager has left standing orders to not let you interrupt her work schedules,” Cernovitch declared.
The old Engineer threw a data slate onto the table.
“Read ’em and weep,” Spalding said furiously, “orders from so high up they might as well have come from the Saint Himself, you gall-blasted heretic!”
Cernovitch sighed while one of his companions, Marigold, picked up the slate.
“Enough of your archaic New Age nonsen—” Cernovitch was cut off.
“This is from the Admiral himself,” she said. looking up with shock.
“What? Let me see that!” Cernovitch demanded. snatching it from her.
“Tea and crumpet time’s over. boy,” Spalding chortled as the younger man’s face cramped then shoved a finger in the younger man’s face, “the Yard Manager can’t save you now! From now on it’s an honest day’s work for an honest day’s pay around here!”
Jerry Cernovitch purpled with outrage. “Even if we could get them out of the yard, which we can’t, no one could, we wouldn’t have the crew to man them!”
Spalding threw his hands wide and touching the transmit button of the data-slate in his hands his thumb had been hovering over. On every wall in 2-D and live in three dimensions on the scattered doughnut and coffee covered work desk appeared a new work schedule.
“All I hear nowadays is how the younger generation complains they aren’t earning enough pay to make ends meet! Well it’s overtime for everyone, approved by the man himself. It's double shifts, triple shifts! Why we’ll get the Clover...I mean, our Battleships, out of space dock in time for this big dust up yet,” he cried triumphantly.
Around the table appeared a number of resigned and nonplussed faces.
“The union will never sit still for this,” Cernovitch said with suppressed anger.
“Then it’s a good thing the only thing we have around here is a Fraternal Order of Mechanics and Space Engineers,” Spalding said shooting air out the side of his mouth.
“Working six hours more than a standard thirty six hour work week on average is bad enough, but now you want us to work triple shifts without relief?” Cernovitch asked in disbelief.
Spalding got right in the younger man’s face. “I don’t care what happy worker’s paradise you come from before, lad,” he said spittle flying, “but around here what we care about are our ships, our crewmates and the results—nothing else!”
“I won’t join your Fraternal Order. It’s not even a real thing and does nothing to protect a worker’s space rights,” retorted Cernovitch. “And what you propose is not only illegal, it’s insanity and I won’t have any part of it so you can get all up in my face and try to intimidate me all you want,” he finished crossing his arms across his chest and jutting his jaw mulishly.
“No one’s asking you to join the Order,” Spalding said looking down at him with disgust, “you look like pretty weak sauce anyway, so I can’t imagine who would have wanted you in the first place.”
“You did! You! Every single blasted time you come into this meeting you try to recruit us,” Cernovitch said with disbelief.
Spalding’s expression twisted into one of full out disgust. “Well consider me a fool for asking; the offer is officially retracted. Clearly I had no idea what I was thinking; you couldn’t pay me to take on a lightweight like you,” he said, rolling his eyes furiously, “as for the rest of the drivel coming out of your mouth, there’s nothing illegal about what we’re doing. Take a look at your regulations; you’re in the military now, boy, not some provincial work commissary.”
“The Manager will hear of this,” Jerry said mulishly.
“There’s only three ways to do things around here: the right way, the wrong way and the MSP Engineering Corps way. I don’t care who you go whining to in your own time. But as of right now you lot belong to me. Let’s go!” Spalding said, turning toward the door.
One or two people hesitantly started to follow, and he rounded furiously on the rest.
“That’s a direct order. By command of the Admiral, you lot belong to me. So you can follow or you can go sit it out in the brig and watch as your careers slowly flush down the drain,” Spalding said, his jaw jutting.
“Commander, the time-frame you’re listing is just too tight. We don’t have the bodies for it. Even just the Battleships alone getting them out of the yard and back into service that quickly it can’t be done. Cernovitch is right: even if we did, Fleet Personnel doesn’t have the bodies,” protested one of the other Slip Bosses.
“First, we’re turfing a lot of the smaller units over to our allies. Second, as the Sweet Saint is my witness, by gosh and by golly we are going to do it! And by 'we' I mean 'you!' I’m going to have my hands full up as it is with getting the Clover pushed out,” Spalding declared. “The Clover rides at the head of the Fleet when the Admiral departs or heads will roll,” he said with finality.
Deciding discretion was the better part of valor, the group of Slip Bosses followed the irate old engineer out of the planning room, several of them already tapping away on their data slates—including Cernovitch, who was already filling out the forms to file a formal protest.
Chapter 6: CNN Bad News Travels Fast
“This is Loup O’Leary with a flash update on all the latest news affecting Sector 25. Rumors of an Imperial Fleet can finally be put to bed. Provided to you time delayed and in full 360 degree resolution,” the reporter said with a serious expression before the feed cut to a panning shot of a fleet of warships circling an Old Confederation style starbase. A button at the bottom of the screen offered the option of changing the point of view to anywhere within the image on the holo-screen as he continued, “Not to mention, at great personal risk to this reporter, I am able to confirm that rumors of a fleet gathering at Wolf-11 on the Confederation side of the Overton Expanse are in fact true.”
The news reporter paused for effect.
“Yes, you heard me right: these images are not CGI, nor are they of the infamous and now decidedly destroyed Wolf-9 of Easy Haven. This is Wolf-11, a star base on the other side of the Expanse, and the Imperial Fleet stationed at it,” he finished smugly. “What is the meaning of this fleet on the other side of the expanse? What are the intentions of her Admiral?” Loup O'Leary paused for dramatic effect, clearly reveling in his moment in the spotlight when suddenly the screen with his image on it cut in half and another person sitting at a news desk appeared, “well it was difficult, but—”
“Thanks for all the hard work, Loup!” said the woman sitting at the desk with a thousand megawatt. “We couldn’t have done it without you.”
“Mathilda?” Loup exclaimed in shocked disbelief.
“I’ll take it from here,” she said with a wink before her face suddenly turned serious. “This just in!” she exclaimed dramatically, “Breaking News in the Spine. The Cosmic News Network reporter risks life bringing you all the news you need to know, breaks the story of an imminent Imperial Invasion!”
A flashing series of images showed the gathering Fleet at Wolf-11.
“But is this really an invasion or is this something more? Has the Confederation finally decided to restore contact with her wayward children and sent the forces needed to quell the growing unrest in the region?” she asked, her smile dimming momentarily before returning with enthusiasm. “We will answer all of that and so much more in just a moment. This is Mathilda May, hot off the Caprian News Desk and your new 5 O’clock news anchor bringing you all the news you need to know: fair, balanced and unafraid.”
The scene cut to a an image of the CNN central sector news desk, with only a tiny corner of the screen now taken up with Loup O'Leary.
“What are you doing, Matilda?” the field reported demanded face flushed with anger. “I have a contract with the central news desk! I don’t work with you anymore, remember?!”
“Oh, Loup,” Mathilda laughed, in front of billions as the 5 O’Clock show continued to broadcast live, as if at a naughty child. “Don’t be so silly, you don’t work ‘with’ me any longer. Now that I am a news anchor on the main sector desk, you work ‘for’ me,” she said, happily rolling her eyes.
“Mathilda! This farce is a complete violation of my work contract. You won’t steal my credit again—I’ll sue! I won’t—” Loup's angry tirade was cut off midstream as his sound was muted and his image quickly disappeared.
A now smile-free grave face dominated the main screen of the CNN broadcast.
“It is a sad day. A terrible day. A day of joy. A day of sorrow. A day when word has finally reached this Region of space that contact will soon be reestablished with the Confederation and Empire,” Mathilda said with dignity as billions hung on her words. “But in the end all we are left with are questions. Why has the Confederation left us alone for so long and, more importantly, what is the meaning of this fleet we are seeing at Wolf-11? More important still: is the new regional government now not just illegitimate, but in active rebellion against the mother country? We will discover all this and more, but first we will talk to our panel,” she said as her screen once again split, showing the images of two new panelists joining her via holo-image in the studio her patented thousand megawatt smile returned.
“Our first guest is the inestimable Ambassador Namus Ponce, newly arrived from his home world of Capria for his expert opinion of, among other things, the Tyrant of Cold Space and,” her smile twisted slightly. “The Marquise de Farqua who has also made himself available as a rebuttal witness.”
“Thank you, Mathilda,” the Marquise jumped in before she could speak and the holo-image which had begun to focus on Namus Ponce suddenly began to pan back out for a wider shot, “although I’m hurt that in your introduction you failed to mention that we are Co-Ambassadors and, in fact, Namus arrived here well before myself as I have only—”
“Thank you for that wonderful introduction, Marquise, but if we could get down to the issue at hand that would be wonderful,” Mathilda sighed in long suffering, “Ambassador Ponce?” she asked hopefully.
“As fair and balanced as always, Mathilda!” Ambassador Ponce grinned at his rival even as he spoke to the news anchor, before looking straight at the camera his smile falling from his face. “Despite the fact that many of my fellow MP’s are even now suffering somewhere deep within Capria’s parliamentary bunker, I was willing to risk my life to come here to Central to speak before a blue ribbon fact finding commission regarding the Tyrant. But that’s an issue for another time, as is the fact that even now MP’s are protesting the current Royalist regime back with an NPO—or 'nothing by mouth'—hunger strike!”
“Ah, yes, the dreaded hunger strike. I understand you yourself almost lost five pounds,” the Marquise said, making a throwing gesture and a holo image projected from his wrist band showing a cut scene of three rows of Provincial Parliamentary Members on cots laughing and joking as they were hooked up to intravenous feeding devices. One of them was even munching on a twinkie as technicians hooked him up, until he appeared to notice the floating holo-camera and, eyes widening, immediately covered his mouth and slumped back onto his bed assuming the expression of a sick dog as he clutched his stomach.
“Total parenteral nutrition, I hear it’s all the rage amongst the younger generation and the new craze on certain health-conscious worlds. Supposedly it increases vigor, boosts intelligence and ensures—”
“That’s quite enough, Marquise!” shrieked Mathilda like a harpy straight from the abyss. “How dare you project uncleared and, most importantly, unvetted images of what could be anything from outright forgeries to poorly edited hit pieces to try and make a mockery of the greatest news network in the galaxy?!”
“Ever since the Bombardment, some in the media—and those even now deep within the Parliamentary Bunker—have persecuted the Royal Family of Capria, attempting to perpetrate a fraud on the Caprian people. This holo-evidence clearly shows that this ‘hunger strike’ is simply yet another hatchet job masquerading as principled action, taken solely to besmirch the reputation of the Palace and reputation of the Royal—” his microphone cut out.
“You go too far, My Lord! The integrity of Capria’s elected leaders are beyond question,” Namus Ponce yelled, spittle flying as he frothed at the mouth. “Besides, this is a news program on a potential invasion of the entire Sector, not a platform for you to stir up sectarian strife! Restrain yourself from attempting to score provincial political points at the expense of the voters and, more importantly, at the risk of civilian lives sector-wide!”
Briefly the screen switched to an image of the Marquise speaking animatedly and shaking his fist, but without sound. It then cut back to just the one image showing only Mathilda and Ambassador Ponce.
“Some people are just so partisan and divisive. Thankfully my producer has informed me that the Marquise’s actions have caught the attention of the anti-hate speech regulatory programs and temporarily silenced him while the moderators run a legal check,” Mathilda said, shaking her head sadly. “As such, I officially apologize to my audience for the Marquise’s bigoted actions. He’s clearly the product of his provincial upbringing and I want to make clear he in no way represents the Cosmic News Network, Spineward Sectors, Sector 25 branch in any way, shape, or form,” she tut-tutted.
“Fair and balanced as always Mathilda,” gloated Ponce, “as for myself, I also apologize for my Royalist colleague’s bitter tirade. The election polls back home aren’t looking good for his faction and, well, it’s not like this is an excuse for his actions but rather an unfortunate explanation for such terrible behavior,” the elected politician sighed heavily for the camera.
“We’ll simply have to struggle on without him until the good Marquise is able to recover and explain himself. In the meantime, what do you think about the hard line the Imperial Fleet Commander is taking?” asked Mathilda. “Apparently the Confederation itself has requested the Senator come to restore order to our benighted region of space.”
“I, for one, say it can’t happen fast enough! The return of the Confederated Empire has been the dream of my last several years and the desperately held hope of billions across the Spineward Sectors,” Namus Ponse said, a gleam in his eye as he spoke passionately on the subject. “Speaking solely for the billions of citizens of my home world, I have to say it really can’t happen too soon. These past years we’ve been beset by droids, pirates, reavers, royals and space-faring psychopaths. Even invaders from outside the Sector have been bold enough to invade us, after realizing just how outrageous the criminals of this Sector had begun to act. Why, entire fleets of pirates have even outright joined the Sector Guard Force, causing citizen around the sector to howl with fear whenever the SGF makes orbit around their planet. These actions must stop! A return to peace and order, even if at Imperial hands, will be a good day that cannot come too soon in my book,” he finished, with a distasteful moue appearing on his face as he mentioned the Empire.
“It may be too soon to declare the return of the Imperial Navy and the Glorious Fleet of Liberation has completely succeeded,” she demurred. “However they were sent directly by the Confederation and alongside the Empire is an unequivocal positive force for truth, justice and the Spineward Sectors way, the Glorious Fleet of Liberation. On a strictly personal note, this news anchor for one can’t wait to be liberated and informed contact with the Confederation is restored and so I can finally catch up with the last five seasons of Desperate Househerms!” she said, her eyes gleaming with relish.
“A great day, Ms. May,” the Ambassador agreed with ponderous dignity, “the level of quality entertainment has decidedly dropped these past few years as we have been thrust back on the plebian creations of, let’s call them…lesser talents.”
The two talking heads shared a look of mutual understanding, combined with a hint of long suffering before the news anchor shifted back to the camera and it once again zoomed in on her face.
“In other news, for those of the audience eager for more information you can go to our website for all the news you need to know. Only on the CNN network can you be assured you’ll get the straight download, including a direct personal message from Imperial Senator Cornwallis welcoming our Sector back into the welcoming arms of humanity and the galactic community at large; as well as all the firsthand accounts of our intrepid reporters in the field, in all of its raw, uncut, unedited 360 degree holo-glory!” Mathilda May said happily.
She tapped the holo-interface on the table in front of her and different background colors immediately appeared behind her.
“And now, switching from the Galactic Desk to the Domestic Desk, I would like to take a moment to remind you that independent media reports are the height of unreliability. If it’s not on our network, it has not been verified and thus is unworthy of reporting. So don’t be taken in by all those fake news outlets that are just looking to make a quick buck using poorly edited click bait; instead rely on real, bonded and licensed media, a trusted organization with a track record of giving you the facts,” Mathilda warned flashing a patented smile, “however, before we get into all that I have been informed we must welcome back the Marquise, who I am assured by studio producers has agree to calm down and control himself for the duration of our next segment.”
“As fair and balanced as ever, Mathilda,” gloated Ambassador Ponce.
“Yes, as fair as we’ve come to expect from CNN,” sneered the Marquise. “It seems I was unfairly flagged by ‘anonymous’ sources as a hate speaker by an electronic program, but as soon as my case was reviewed by a live judge it was dismissed out of hand. I wonder. Who is it that would be so familiar with the program that they could immediately trip the program…given the eight second time delay in broadcasting this show!”
The female news anchor glared at the Caprian Lord before realizing she was back on camera and immediately smiled again.
“We’ll look into that with our best people. Now for the first question I have for this panel. Is this new government the…and let’s be real here, ‘infantile’ Confederation in the Spine really willing to fight for galactic recognition as they claim? Or are they instead ready to accept reality and a swift and certain return to the welcoming arms of the galactic community as other have proposed. Just so long as they can get a good deal for their constituents?” she asked.
“To my mind it’s the classic quandary, Ms. May. Will idealism triumph over experience?” Ponce said seriously.
“A good point, Ambassador,” Mathilda mused, her brow furrowing in a cute way as if she hadn’t yet considered that angle.
“The both of you realize we’re not being asked to accept a return to the open arms of the Confederation?” the Marquise asked with disbelief. “We’re being annexed by the Empire unless the politicians at Central manage to pull their heads out and somehow work a deal with the Senator.”
“Veteran Imperial Admiral and ‘Senator’ Cornwallis is here at the behest of the Old Confederation,” Mathilda glared, her mouth making a thin line as she refuted the Marquise. “They are here to reestablish contact and deliver us from the constant attacks and invasions that have plagued us these last few years,” Mathilda said scornfully
“That makes a fine story but word from my sources is that we’ve been given to the Empire in exchange for essentially saving us from ourselves,” the Marquise ground out. “Being handed over like a fat sheep to be fleeced by the same Imperials that threw our Sector into chaos and destroyed our infrastructure when they withdrew Rim Fleet. By the beloved space saints, woman, that’s like handing over the keys of our future to the very people who broke down the front door and let in all the riffraff.”
“You go too far my lord!” cried Ponce.
“It’s one thing to make those kinds of sexist remarks about me, my Lord! But it’s another thing entirely to attempt to use your religious beliefs as some kind of cover to besmirch the honor of the Empire and, by extension, that of the Confederation at large!” Mathilda May shrieked before drawing herself up with dignity.
“I don’t see how anything I’ve said was sexist, bigoted or even very religious. All I hear is a blatant attempt to shut down debate,” de Farqua said lifting an eye brow. “Also I’ve noted that despite repeatedly granting my colleague the dignity of our co-joint office, you have not once referred to me by my official title of Ambassador, Ms. May.”
“You’re evasions are laughable, Lord Marquise. But even giving you the very large benefit of the doubt,” said Ambassador Ponce in a tone of voice that said such a benefit was undeserved, “you’re still completely wrong on the merits. In what way are we shutting down debate or standing on your dignity as a person? For we are natural born citizens of the Confederation, the greatest star nation that was ever conceived!” Ponce said passionately.
“Who disputed that? And what does any of that have to do with what I said?” de Farqua said, looking at him strangely. “I simply said by all means let’s consider rejoining the Confederation but under what logic do the heartland Sectors believe they can hand us over to the Imperials like fruit from a vendors market stand?”
“The wisdom of the Confederated Empire is without peer,” the Caprian Parliamentary Member cried passionately.
“Again, we’re not ‘rejoining’ the Confederated Empire—it dissolved years ago. Instead we’re to be forced to join what is simply the ‘Empire of Man’,” the Marquise retorted.
“It’s impossible to reason with those with such simple minds,” Ponce said, rolling his eyes, “not only is the Empire too powerful to resist, but why would we even want to? Except maybe for a few unhappy politicians or angry Royalists dreaming of coup d'etat? I for one will gladly line up to welcome our liberators with open arms.”
“A few unhappy politicians! Royalists? Have you even read the Confederation Charter? I assure you if you look at it you’ll see such minor things as 'the right to local system sovereignty' and 'the ability for every provincial star system to direct its own destiny',” snapped the Marquise. “But perhaps even more telling than your glaring lack of education on the most basic tenets of our former system of government is your absolute belief in our military inferiority.”
“You can’t be serious? What can a fleet consisting of pirates, a few battle-weary heroes from the Sector Guard, and the space militias of our Core Worlds going to do against the full might and fury of the Imperial Navy?” demanded Namus Ponce.
“Maybe a lot more than you think,” shot back de Farqua.
“Just like a loyal lapdog of the Palace. Put a Royal in charge of something and, even if he’s a tyrant, you’ll follow him to the grave while singing the national anthem,” sneered the Parliamentary Ambassador.
“I’m a loyal servant of King James and the house of Vekna! The Tyrant of Cold Space can go hang himself for all I care,” the Marquise said, drawing back defensively.
“A likely story,” Namus sniffed superiorly.
“And there you have it, people,” Mathilda May cut back in with a thousand megawatt smile. “Will the veterans of the Empire succeed in saving us from the years of hardship and despair we’ve been mired in? Or will our defiant Governor Isaak stand on principle and send our battered star fleet, spearheaded by the Tyrant himself, to fight for our liberty? Are we to depend on a man like no other, known for his ruthlessness to his own people as well as unconventional tactics, to win the day on our behalf. Only time will tell if the Tyrant of Cold Space will be the savior that can give us the perfect government we’ve all be waiting for. Or, if instead, would everyone be better off if the unstable so-called Admiral stood down and finally received the very much belated psychological counseling mandated for him by medical professionals and members of his own family—the very same treatment which he’s been ducking and avoiding for years?!”
“Until next time, this is Mathilda May, bringing you all the news you need to know, signing off,” she said as CNN’s famous musical anthem started to play in the background.
Chapter 7: The Decision is Made
Standing in front of a podium and surrounded by cameras run by everyone from the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet’s own Public Relations Department to Tracto’s budding independent news organization, Border Alliance reporters and even a pair of Sundered and holo-capture droids, I was finally ready to make the big jump.
Why, then, did I feel like I was about to make the biggest mistake of my life?
“We’re ready anytime you are, Sir,” said an MSP Lieutenant, pointing a microphone pointed my way.
I snapped out of my own internal head space and bestowed a tight smile upon the various camera crews.
“Today, after finally receiving confirmation from the Cosmic News Network as well as independent news organizations across the spine, verifying the presence of an invasion fleet parked on the border of this Sector, I have come to a most reluctant decision,” I said, staring into the fleet PR crews camera stoically while, behind me, images of the Cornwallis Fleet appeared on the display.
“What have you decided, Admiral?” asked a Border Alliance reporter with bated breath.
“Simply put, in the face of this treachery I have decided to throw my support behind the Spineward Confederation,” I said, causing an immediate uproar among the gathered journalists as they began shouting out questions, confirmation, support and outright disbelief.
I raised my hands in the air, quelling the mayhem. “I want to make it absolutely clear,” I said, grabbing hold of the podium with both hands and glaring at the cameras through lowered brows, “it was one thing to loyally hand back over everything we have struggled so hard to preserve and maintain in the face of multiple invasions, piracy and outright machine attacks, in order to reunite the Spine with the Old Confederation. That’s what we fought and died for: a better life for everyone,” I declared angrily. But sadly the heartland government hasn’t recognized our efforts—heck they haven’t even gone so far as to simply abandon us,” I thundered, my knuckles turning white as I squeezed the podium. “No! Now after leaving us to rot for five years they’ve suddenly turned around and up and sold us to the Empire—the very blighters who attacked us last year. What are we now, Provinces? These are not Provinces—we are the Spineward Sectors! And we will not give into tyranny without a fight!”
I swept every person and camera in the room with my furious gaze.
“Read my lips: as long as there are people in the Spine to support us in our actions, there will always be a Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet to protect and defend them! This Fleet will fight for the people against any enemies. Foreign. Or. DOMESTIC!”
Somewhat predictably, the room erupted into pandemonium.
Interlude: The Stalwart Decision
“Elder Storm, it is so good to see you again,” boomed a Stalwart male with scars stretching up in a V formation from the left his chest all the way up his neck until it covered half his face in twisted scar tissue as he stepped into the room.
“Po’ta! My young nephew, it is good to see you again,” the Stalwart Elder that had been sitting almost despondently in his room seemed to visibly inflate as he turned and stood up arms outstretched toward his kinsman.
A bone-crushing embrace followed by mutual backslaps that would have dislocated the joints of lesser creatures soon resulted.
“I didn’t expect to see you alive again, Po’ta,” said Elder Storm looking at the other male with almost disbelief.
“Longtime no see, Grand Uncle,” Po’ta said eyes twinkling.
“You truly have no idea just how pleased I am. We all thought you lost,” said the aging male.
“If the Imperials couldn’t kill this nephew of yours then Rim Trash like the Bamona Pirates don’t stand a chance,” Po’ta said proudly and then glanced at the door, “but don’t spread your lack of faith in your nephew around any louder or you’ll scare off my new mate. If she learns that my own family had as little faith in this male’s own family—”
His words were cut off by a back slap so powerful it almost knocked him off his feet.
“You’ve finally taken a mate?? This is fortuitous news… truly this is a day for celebration!” Elder Storm drew his arm back and almost dumbfounded look on his face as he stuttered. “First my nephew returns to us from the grave, and now word of a new mating pact too. If only your mother were here to see this.”
Po’ta cocked an eyebrow and rolled his other eye.
Elder Storm flushed. “I meant your Grand Aunt! Of course I know your mother, and my niece, is still alive,” growled Storm.
“You’re losing a step, old male. Next thing you know you’ll be reminiscing about the bad good old days and requesting a self-heating blanket to get through the day,” snorted Po’ta with good humor.
“Self-heating blanket? I’ll show you a self-heating blanket!” Storm glared, snatching up a rug off the floor used for feet-wiping and tossing one end out like a rope, to wrap around the neck of the other male.
“Ack! Get off of me,” bellowed Po’ta, flailing his arms over his head to try and throw the thing off him. “Is this any way to treat your favorite nephew just returned from the dead?!”
“Favorite nephew is it? Say instead only nephew! I’m not as old as all that,” snarled the Elder as the tug of war over the rug degenerated into wrestling and rough housing from one end of the room to the other.
“Uncle!” cried Po’ta as they rolled all the way over to a wooden vanity desk containing his no longer living Grand Aunt’s favorite porcelain, “careful of the vase!”
“Ho!” Storm snorted, releasing his nephew who promptly tossed away the rug.
“And here they told me you were inconsolable,” Po’ta rolled his eyes as he slumped onto a couch.
Storm started to swell up angrily and then his shoulder slumped. “I doubt that’s how they said it,” he muttered looking to the side. “Bunch of interfering females,” he said under his breath.
“Depressed, possibly suicidal, certainly in need of a good reason to get out of his room so that they could sneak in and dust the place, give it a general cleaning,” Po’ta said frankly.
“A general cleaning!” Elder Storm erupted angrily and turned a withering gaze on his young nephew causing the younger male’s shoulders to shrink in slightly. “Never marry more than one female at a time, it’ll be the death of you for sure, Nephew.”
Po’ta blinked at him quizzically.
“I don’t know how you’re an authority on the subject; as far as I know you mated once and they still won’t let you alone,” he objected, “seems to me if you’re going to suffer anyway you might as well enjoy yourself before you die,” Po’ta finished clinically.
“But that’s exactly my point!” Storm said pacing in front of the younger male and waving his arms in the air. “There’s entirely too many females in this family as it is. Oveta is long past and yet still they’re conspiring against me! Imagine if instead of one I’d married three or four, why I’d be long dead by now for sure!”
Po’ta snorted and then chortled with mirth, even wiping the corner of his eyes after a several seconds. “That’s a good one,” he snickered.
“It’s the Maker’s honest truth I tell you. 'Go out and get this.' 'Move your lazy rump there.' 'Why are you messing up my perfectly good floor?' When you point out that you’re so clean you squeak, and in the best shape of your life, you’re informed that it's your attitude that’s cluttering up the place like a gravity field in the middle of an asteroid belt, so you need to take it elsewhere. Anywhere but your own home, I swear…” Storm trailed off into dire mutterings.
“You can’t beat them, you can’t join them, so I see no reason not to enjoy them while you can,” Po’ta said uncaringly, clearly not taking his old uncle’s dire rumblings to heart.
“You’ve just got one for now. But watch carefully or they’ll sneak up on you. There’s not nearly as many males as there are female Stalwart,” warned Storm, “first it will be a sister that always seems to be underfoot but if you show the slightest sign of interest watch how you’ll suffer. Then it’ll be a cute cousin they introduce you to or their best friend from primer school. All of it totally innocuous and then the next thing you know,” there was a loud CRACK as he slammed his palms together with finality, “you’ll have a whole harem around and they’ll be running your life.”
Po’ta shrugged. “If you’re going to suffer anyway, I say you might as well enjoy the benefits that go along with it,” he said carelessly, though the intelligent gleam in his eye belied his seeming complete lack of care. “Besides, from a species standpoint there are more females than males and we’re generally the ones dying in battle,” he got a twinkle in his eye, “that’s why I plan to do my duty to my race to the best of my abilities. Think of all the lonely future widows that will cry themselves to sleep if I decided to walk your crusty old path?”
“Crusty?! I say let some other fool be tricked into loading himself down with six wives. Supporting a family of thirty is an almost impossible task. Just think of the work hours you’ll be putting in,” he urged, “even just providing a proper education for all those kids, forget about having the time to raise them the proper way, when you have many under foot it is impossible.” He ended with complete rejection.
“So I am to take it then from your general reaction to my visit that you’re completely fine and I should take all the dire warnings of doom and gloom about your health and mental state as typical female overreactions and chalk it up to over-sensitivity?” asked his Nephew.
Elder Storm chewed on his lower lip, opened his mouth, and then closed it. “Have you been having any rage issues?” the Elder finally asked.
“Don’t change the subject without at least trying first,” Po’ta said drawing back with alarm.
The Elder male seemed to deflate shrinking in on himself, his former enthusiasm leeching from him. “I mean lately?” pressed the Elder.
“What are you going on about?” Po’ta demanded irritably, visibly alarmed, his eyes raking the old male front top to bottom and front to back even going to so far as taking a step to the side for a better view.
The Elder glared waving a long Stalwart arm and smacking his inquisitive nephew’s hands away. “Honestly...” he started harshly and then paused, “they may have had a point. I was considering ways to end my life.”
Po’ta’s started with shock, his eyes going wide. “How can you say that… how could you do that to the rest of us? How selfish are you to even think that?” he demanded furiously.
“I’m one old and increasingly useless male, one with a niece and half a dozen other widowed females of various ages to look after. Everyone else, including my daughter, mated out! What else was I supposed to do?” Storm shot back angrily. “At least if I died in battle the death benefits, along with my estate after they sold it off, would be sufficient to let them find a good mate or buy into a business cooperative if that’s what they chose.”
“At least you weren’t intending to take a long walk out an airlock. That’s something,” growled Po’ta.
“Our family grouping was all but dead, in service to a cause that’s destroying our people from the inside out. As for me I’ve buried two sons and a daughter with more brothers, cousins, nieces and nephews than I can easily count and my productive years are numbered. So until you came back literally from the dead, what future did our family grouping have?” Elder Storm’s eyes turned red with emotion. Even if I had another nephew or son, my productive years are numbered. I wouldn’t be around long enough for him to grow up.”
“I thought better of you. There are any number of quality males out there that could be welcomed into the family,” rebuked Po’ta.
“There were,” agreed Elder Storm, “but every one I approved of is dead and none of the females appeared interested in anyone that was left. I’m not going to wait around hoping against hope for something that might not be. I intend to take my fate into my own hands. “
“And kill yourself,” Po’ta said with disgust.
Elder Storm suddenly got a cagey look and gazed around the room shiftily. “There are many different ways to risk your life. Death is not a certainty. Not for myself and, now that you’re back, not for our people I’ll wager,” Storm said in a low voice.
“What are you cooking up now? There are no human spies within the walls, hiding inside the ventilation ducts or secretly copying our computer core via remote access devices. Your pretending at stealth is amusing,” Po’ta said relaxing slightly even as he rolled his eyes and hooted derisively.
Elder Storm smacked his lips disapprovingly. “I’m very serious here,” he said.
Po’ta frowned. “Fine,” he said, leaning forward, “what is it you think we can do for our people that is likely to risk our lives and lead to your death?”
Elder Storm now that he was being taken seriously turned pensive. “Over these past two years I have watched as the situation of our people grows grimmer by the week,” he said seriously.
“That’s nothing new,” observed Po’ta, leaning forward in his seat. “What’s changed?” he asked into a growing silence..
“I have been ruminating on the Alliance Gorgonus, old wounds, and the number of our youth who return to their family groupings ruined by the red rage,” he said heavily.
“We did what we must. You yourself told me that when you encouraged me to join and fight for our people,” Po’ta said brow furrowing as an edge entered his voice, “don’t tell me you’re abandoning your principles.”
“And I was right to urge you to join the fight to protect our people then, since you were inclined to fighting the Imperials then—just like I am right now,” Elder Storm growled.
“What are you right about then?” Po’ta demanded coolly. “Do you think we were wrong to stand on principle? Or maybe you think we should now surrender what we have. Turn tail and flee once again in the darkness of space? With many of our ships unable to sustain themselves without external support and no assurance they, meaning we, will survive the journey. Meanwhile, by going we tacitly permit the actions of the Empire of Man even as it slaughters out into the Rim pushing its borders ever further as it takes what we have built meanwhile killing all that oppose them—including ourselves, the near defenseless alien species like the slugs, and every other uplift and hard scrabble colony in the region?”
“Wrong? No.” Storm said flatly. “Misguided? Perhaps. Although even now I do not yet believe so it is possible. But at the end of our strength both as individuals and as a people? More and more I am coming to believe the answer is yes. Something has to change.”
“You’re on the Council of Elders. Is it not your very job to advise our people? Why not take your concerns to the Council instead of seeking death?” Po’ta said sternly.
“Don’t lecture me, boy,” flared the Elder, “do you think I haven’t tried? The council is heavily invested in winning this war, a conflict which I am coming to believe we cannot win. Did the Empire draw back, hesitate, or show any level of increased caution after we bombed their worlds for the first time in our history in response to their genocidal attacks on our planet side homes?” he popped his lips and half stood to make a double chest thump. “NO! Yet the fools who believed that all we needed to do was stand up to the bully for once still won’t see it. Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth, genocide for a genocide. They attack our warships, we strike back at theirs. That may have had meaning once but right now is just a losing proposition for all to see. Yet opinions are too heavily entrenched among the older generation at this point to be easily swayed and the newer council members fresh from the wars don’t even see the point of the discussion anymore. To them discussing the actions that originally split our people right down the middle are now nothing more than a distraction from the real issue. After all, why debate what has already been settled? To them this is a fight to the death nothing more and nothing less and just talking ourselves in circles will solve nothing.”
“I’m not sure that I disagree with them,” Po’ta said after a moment his gaze now a hundred light years away. “What is it you think you can do that needs my help?” he asked with a penetrating look his former joviality gone. “Keep in mind that while you’ve been thinking deep thoughts I’ve been out there on the front lines. The battlefield is not a place for social engineering. Giving peace a chance is all well and good in theory but if history has taught us anything, it is that when the Empire is involved ‘peace’ inevitably leads to orbital bombardments and annihilation as our people are hunted down in the streets!”
“Just listen to yourself,” Storm said, his gaze both piercing and insightful. “Even you are affected by this long war. I merely suggest we are losing and might need to reevaluate, and you question if I want to bare our necks to the enemy in some misguided attempt at galactic peace!”
“Then what are you saying?” Po’ta said, taking deep breaths and settling back in his seat.
“It is my belief that our people are unbalanced, they have been since we first stood Stalwart in the face of Imperial Aggression and Genocide and we are growing increasingly so as the battles drag on,” he said.
“Even though we took a stand on principle we seem to be coming to a bad end. Red rage incidents are up. Battle shock is at an all time high. Yet large numbers of mediators, councilors and psychologists, in fact a majority of those vital professions, the ones our people need so badly right now, chose to sunder themselves from their own people when we stood Stalwart in the face of genocide,” Storm said, glowering in anger as he remembered the sorry past.
“Don’t tell me you now think we should reunite with the Sundered,” Po’ta scoffed.
“Exactly,” said Storm.
“How can you say that?” Po’ta’s eyes bulged.
Storm gave his nephew a piercing look “Because I have spoken with a Seer and it advised it,” Storm replied, dropping a proverbial bombshell.
Po’ta’s eyes bulged even wider and he swayed back in his chair as if physically struck. “A Seer wants you to go and beg help from ‘them?” he asked, still in disbelief.
“While others—including female busy bodies and a nephew who should know better might think that I’ve just been been holed up in this room of mine spiraling into depression and attempting to figure out ways to kill myself—I’ve been busy,” Storm said flatly, “I tracked down a Seer. I asked its opinion on the future of our people and, when I began to hear answers I did not like, I asked what I needed to do to change the fate of my people. Imagine my surprise when I was given the location of our wayward cousins and how best to contact them for aid,” Storm said, turning and projecting an image along the wall along with a projected travel path.
Po’ta’s brow furrowed.
“I still can’t believe you were advised by a Seer to contact the holocaust deniers,” his nephew muttered as he took in the galactic map.
“They don’t deny the holocaust, Nephew,” Storm said grumpily, “they just refused to join us when we drew a line in the sand and were willing to back it up with reciprocal orbital bombardment strikes.”
“If they kill everyone on our planet while their population cheers, we will not stand by silent any longer. I don’t like what our people had to do,” growled Po’ta, “but it was the only way to stop them and it did…for a time. The only language the Empire of Man understands is force.”
“So we said,” agreed Storm, “but even among the Sundered there were those who, while not absolutely morally opposed to reciprocal action, still argued that a deterrent only works if your side is strong enough to be taken seriously. They said that we were wrong, not necessarily on moral grounds although they disliked those also, to dirty our hands in such a manner, simply because it wouldn’t work.”
That made Po’ta pause. “At least that’s a rational argument,” said his Nephew, “in light of the Empire’s actual response later during this war. Although, as they say hindsight is 20/20 and it’s easy to cherry pick things after the fact. Who knows what might have happened if we had made a few different tactical choices along the way?”
Storm looked at his nephew pityingly. “They were all rational arguments, Po’ta. Whole clans and family groups split down the middle not because they were irrational, but rather because both sides had a point. Remember we had all these arguments ‘before’ we launched our first reprisal attack,” he reminded his Nephew, “I think that in the end it all boiled down to some who would rather die than concede the moral high ground choosing to run, and others who refused to flee their homes like herd animals running from a brush fire. A sentient has the right to protect his home, unless he stole it from another, and we pioneered our worlds.”
“We are not lesser beings to be slaughtered at will,” agreed Po’ta unhappily, “at a certain point if you push a group of sentients far enough we will stand their ground and do anything to protect our families. Anything.”
“Yes, anything,” Elder Storm said clenching his fists, “even consulting a Seer for a prophecy and tracing the steps of our Sundered brethren, though it makes no sense on the face of it.”
Po’ta frowned. “What did the Seer say? You know how unreliable their words can be,” he finally replied.
“When I asked where we could go for help, it told me a great power is growing within the Spineward Sectors, one that could be used to turn the battle in our favor and that our morally uptight kinsmen are the key. Not only in saving our people from outsiders, but from the corruption growing inside of it,” said the Elder.
“The Council will not like this,” said his nephew, “this is not news they will enjoy hearing. Not many among my generation still believe in the old superstitions. The Seers are seen as highly intelligent information brokers. Nothing more.”
“Getting the Council to send me away on a fool errand will not be hard. If only so they can finally free themselves of my annoying voice,” Storm sounded amused, “call them Seers of Prophesy or call them highly intelligent information brokers, it doesn’t matter to me since they are rarely wrong. I am old. I am an Elder and I cannot do this alone. Will you join me in risking all to save our people, Po’ta?” Elder Storm asked.
“You mean throw away a perfectly good excuse to leave the battlefront and spend some time with my family?” Po’ta opened his mouth and laughed, “I’ve served my time on the front and nearly died recently. I think some time off ‘merely’ dealing with pirates, reavers and corrupt human fringers instead of the Imperial navy will be a relief.”
Chapter 8: Trouble in Easy Haven
“It looks like we’re stuck between the proverbial rock and the hard place, and you know what they say? The nail that’s sticking up is the first one that’s hammered down,” McCruise paced in front of her desk with her hands clasped behind her back.
“What do you think we should do, Commodore?” asked Captain Far-Bright.
“I’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this,” she said, slapping a news report face up on the table in front of Far-Bright, “but it look like it has.”
The Captain picked up the flimsy sheet. His face blanched as he read it.
“They’re not just coming, they have Confederation support?” he asked with disbelief. “Is this confirmed?”
“By CNN news reporters it is. As usual, what little government still exists in the Sector is completely useless. I currently have techs going over the raw data feeds attached to the report and crunching the numbers but so far everything checks out,” McCruise glared at the far wall.
“This is highly illegal, Sir! What do they think they’re doing? You can’t just hand over seven Sectors of the Confederation to the Empire without a world-by-world referendum of the people inside those sectors,” Far-Bright said and then paled. “But to go to war to stop them and have Confederation Fleet warships firing on one another...what are you going to do, Sir? We’re tasked with protecting the Spine from invaders.”
“Wrong,” McCruise said flatly, “our orders were to perform PR stunts for Assemblymen and to protect this Starbase. Enforcing Confederation law and control over the Easy Haven Star System is a natural extension of that, but nothing more! We may have a duty to the rest of the worlds in Sector 25 but we were not tasked to patrol this region of space nor any of the other seven Spineward Sectors. Just like we’re not tasked with patrolling the Overton Expanse, nor do we even attempt it,” she said with certainty. “So while failing to stop an Imperial military action aimed at our own worlds may be a gross dereliction of duty—a betrayal and stain upon our honor as fleet officers, even—to go so far as to fire on Confederation Fleet vessels isn’t just wrong, it's treason.”
Far-Bright’s eye went so wide they bulged. “You’re going to abandon the Spine…betray the Little Admiral?” he choked.
“We have no choice,” she said firmly, and then scowled as she leaned to the side and thumped the first two knuckles of her left hand into the side of the desk.
“As for the ‘Little Admiral,’ it would be one thing if Montagne were here with all of his fleet power. Maybe we could back them off without a shot fired, or just focus on the Imperial ships and not actually engage our brothers and sisters in uniform,” she said resolutely, “as just a practical matter, even if we went into this thing on the side of Vice Admiral Montagne, if we fight the Imperials we’ll be crushed to no purpose. Will our dying somehow make their invasion of the Sector more righteous? And that completely ignores that according to the news reports they are acting in concert with Confederation forces and operating under Confederation fleet and Grand Assembly authorization. Which, again, would mean treason.”
“So you don’t intend to resist at all?” asked the captain, aghast. “After all we’ve been through?”
“I won’t throw your lives away to no purpose. And I also won’t follow any officer—or Admiral—who would do so. I don’t know if Montagne thinks he can win or maybe hopes to negotiate a better settlement for this Sector. Either which way, Imperials don’t negotiate for squat and facing Imperial soldiers, sailors and marines in a real Imperial fleet, with purpose-built Imperial warships, is entirely different from Janeski’s scratch force mainly consisting of captured Spineward Sectors hulls,” McCruise says definitively. “Again, if he were here it might be different but…”
“He faced down an Imperial Command Carrier and won,” argued Far-Bright.
“We faced down an Imperial Command Carrier, and without Wolf-9 and all of our defenses he would never have managed to get close enough to ram the thing in the first place,” McCruise retorted and then took a deep breath. “Look, I am not here to argue with you about the merits of my command decisions or Admiral Montagne’s.”
“Of course, sir,” Far-Bright said stiffly, his eyes burning with indecision.
McCruise stared at him. “I’ve got a few tough decisions to make. Dismissed,” she said.
“Aye aye, Sir,” he said, turning on his heel and leaving the room.
Chapter 9: Commodore Montagne
“Ah, Commodore, it’s so good to finally meet you in the flesh,” said a black-uniformed Imperial Tribune, stepping out of the airlock coming to a stop and then clicking his heels together before offering his hand.
“Should I know you?” asked the individual in front of the Military Tribune with a mocking smile on his face.
The Tribune stiffened slightly before making a self-deprecating smile.
“My apologies. There is no reason you should, Commodore. I have merely been staring at your holo-image for too long and it’s nice to finally meet the man behind the face,” he said wryly.
Several of the scruffy looking individuals behind the other man snickered, and the pirate captain’s eyes acquired a steely glint.
“What’s with this creepy 'Commodore' business?” he demanded evenly. “I think it’s clear from my surroundings that my military days are long past.”
“Using your last previous military rank is merely a term of respect, nothing more,” said the Tribune.
“Please get to the point. I’m a busy man,” the ‘Commodore’ said impatiently.
“The Senator has something he would like you to do for him,” said the Tribune.
“Not interested,” the ‘Commodore’ said coldly and then turned and started to walk away, “leave the Senator’s payment with the ship’s purser; I won’t be seeing you out.”
“You can walk away from me, but don’t you walk away from the Senator’s personal representative! You reached out to us, or am I wrong, Agent Judas?” the Imperial Tribune's voice cracked like a whip.
The other man stiffened. “I would advise you to tread carefully from this point forward, Tribune,” he said, his voice a quiet rasp.
“Listen, we don’t need to have an adversarial relationship here. The Senator is well aware of your, let’s call them 'extracurricular' activities while he was away from the Sector and he simply doesn’t care. In fact, it’s exactly this prior experience, along with your previous personal relationship, that caused the Senator to think of you first for the upcoming task,” the Tribune said smoothly.
“I have no interest in becoming a lackey; that’s why I chose the life I did,” he turned around and said mockingly.
“No one is asking you to become anyone’s lackey. If it helps, you can consider it as entering into a form of partnership with the Senator,” the Imperial said with a knowing nod.
“Have you looked around lately?” the Commodore asked in harsh disbelief. “I may have an ego the size of a Battleship but even I’m not that stupid. I don’t have the forces to be anything more than an errand boy to the Senator—and I-am-not-an-errand boy!” he roared.
“Of course not,” the Tribune said hastily, “and that’s not what the Senator is asking for, or even offering—”
“Our arrangement was a simple one: information for cash. I’m going to make this very simple for you. The Senator already has the information, so do you have that cash: yes or no?” Judas asked coldly.
The Imperial Tribune reached into his pocket and then leaned forward and handed a duralloy plate to the ship’s Purser who was standing to the side with his hand outstretched.
“That doesn’t look like any form of lucre I’m aware of, and I’ve seen them all,” replied Agent Judas, pulling out a blaster pistol in one smooth movement and leveling it at the Tribune’s head, “enough with the insults. I don’t care if you work for the Senator—pay or die.”
“I have something from the Senator that’s even better than credits,” the Tribune said with an instinctive jerk of the head, but when the gun followed and other members of the ship’s crew moved to surround him, he froze with a bead of sweat rolling down the side of his face.
“Wrong answer,” said the Agent, pulling back the activator of his pistol with an ominous click and a high intensity whine started to build as the power capacitor cycled up to a maximum charge.
“In your purser’s hand is a letter of marquee and reprisal, effectively making you an Imperial Privateer and at the same time legalizing all of your future actions within the Spineward Sectors,” the Tribune said, his voice quickening.
“No. That is a metal plate that’s too thin to even be used as a hull armor patch. What I was promised were cold hard credits,” he said, making a motion with his head and pressing the barrel of his pistol against the Tribune’s head while on either side of him a burly pirate grabbed the Tribune by each arm and forced him to his knees on the deck. “This is your one chance to make your peace with this world before you leave it. I suggest you make use of this opportunity quickly.”
“Look in my pocket!” the Imperial Tribune exclaimed, and then grunted while straining against the pirates but was unable to regain his feet. “There’s a chip with the location of a Heavy Cruiser and a small number of lighter warships. It’s a far better deal than any credits,” he grunted, sucking in a breath as Judas' pistol pressed against his forehead with renewed force.
“So…not a coward,” Agent Judas said humorlessly and then pulled back his pistol with the audible click of the activator disconnecting, “a Heavy Cruiser, and more than that you say?. That’s not the deal I agreed to but in this case…I’ll allow you to live.”
“Yes…y-yes,” the Tribune said, rising to his feet after the former pirate king gestured for his men to let him up. Angrily straightening his rumpled uniform, he glared at everyone around him—especially the men who had held him down.
“Even though I’ve let you live...for now...don’t get too comfortable. This still wasn’t the original deal,” the ‘Commodore’ said with a chilling smile, “so what’s the catch?”
“No catch, unless you consider continuing to do what you’ve been doing all along as a catch,” said the Tribune. “The only difference is that after taking those ships and agreeing to help the Senator, if you suddenly decided to take a six month vacation then that would have more severe consequences.”
The pirate eyed the Imperial like a hunk of meat on the chopping block. “A detail so minor and inconsequential I wonder why you even brought it up,” Agent Judas said coldly, “you’re very brave for a man who has delivered himself into the power of his enemies.”
“Forget me. Most people think of angering a Senator of the Empire and, as a result, the Empire itself as something more than just a minor matter,” shot back the Tribune, looking irked in a way that insults to his person had failed to achieve.
“Most people are not me,” Judas sneered, “after you’ve been literally pulled from the grave there is little that can faze you. So, by all means—keep on digging.”
“I understand you are familiar with the name Jason Montagne Vekna,” said the Tribune and smiled mockingly.
His expression turned hard upon hearing that. “Take the Tribune to his quarters,” growled Jean Luc Montagne.
Chapter 10: The Hot Potato Skirts the Grand Fleet of Liberation
“Sir, I’ve got—!” started one of the Hot Potato's three operators in the cramped Sensor section.
“Contacts!” cried the Junior Lieutenant in charge of Sensors.
Captain Stravinsky’s head jerked over to the Junior Lieutenant and then back to the main screen, but there was still nothing showing.
“I need better detail than that, Sensors,” scolded the ship’s First Officer.
“Multiple contacts, Sir,” the Junior Lieutenant said right as the first dot appeared on the bridge’s main tactical plot, “hundreds of them, Sir,” he spoke urgently half a second before the main-screen started lighting up like a Christmas tree with yellow unidentified contacts.
Stravinsky bolted out of her chair.
“Take the ship to silent running and start recharging the jump engine—now!” she ordered.
“Captain, we won’t be entirely stealthy if we try to recharge the jump engine. Despite the Potato’s modification it's better if we pick one or the other, and considering the time frame for charging a new point transfer and a rough estimate on how long it would take them to pin point our location and send a Destroyer our way, assuming they have one…,” said the ship’s First Officer.
“Of course they have a Destroyer,” Stravinsky snapped and then something about the screen caught her attention. “Sensors, why are those contacts changing positions?” she asked censure in her voice.
The Sensor Officer tensed for a moment, fingers tapping away on his console and then his shoulders slumped as if a great pressure had been taken off him. He turned to face the Captain. “That’s neither an artifact nor an error, Captain,” the Junior Lieutenant said with relief at being able to report positive news, “it appears from the gravity displacement sensors that the smaller starships in that fleet are jumping out of the system.”
Stravinsky frowned. “Verify those readings,” she ordered and then turned to Navigation, “Ensign, I want you to work with Sensors to give me a best time estimate on how long before their larger ships jump.”
“Aye aye, Captain,” piped back the far-too-young-looking Ensign.
Several tense minutes passed as her bridge crew worked the data. The whole time they were working, Stravinsky had to stop from gritting her teeth. Running a Q-ship with a stripped down bridge crew, compared to the warships she’d served on in the past, was like going from a person with enhanced visual capabilities to someone with myopic vision who needed spectacles to see and didn’t have them. She just wasn’t used to waiting this long during crucial moments for data to be sorted.
When the time estimates finally came back, it felt like the whole bridge heaved a sigh of relief.
“They won’t all jump before they see us, but by the time they do they’ll be too far into their jump cycle to abort without risk of a catastrophic cascade event,” reported the Navigation Ensign.
“Looks like you were right to continue to charge the jump engines, Captain,” said the First Officer.
“Nothing has changed, XO; continue to charge the jump engines as fast as possible,” ordered Stravinsky irritably.
“Yes, Captain,” agreed her First Officer, speaking with engineering before turning back to her, “we need to be ready in case they jump out and then send a patrol back to sweep us up, but we should be gone before they can send another ship back on a turnaround, right, Sir?”
Behind her the Navigation Ensign shook her head in disagreement, earning narrowed eyes from the First Officer before he turned back to his Captain.
“That might be the best case scenario, First Officer. But we won’t know for sure until it’s too late,” said Stravinsky, and at her First Officer’s surprise she shook her head in disappointment. “I can see that Navigation is already aware,” at this she looked up to include the whole bridge in what she was about to say, “look lively, people, and remember that yes it ‘looks’ like they have to make that jump, but so what? We’re one micro-jump away from a very bad day. All they need is one seasoned Captain and a crack Nav department who can run a new set of point transfer calculations before their countdown is up, and they’ll be right on top of us.”
Crew members around bridge stiffened and the First Officer looked alarmed and his shoulders hunched.
“Of course, Sir,” he said lamely.
From its position on the outer edge the star system, the Hot Potato’s captain wiped sweat off of her forehead as Grand Fleet of Liberation slowly winked out, one by one, on the Hot Potato’s sensors.
“That was one big fleet,” said the Potato’s Tactical Officer as, seemingly in entire battle groups, the Grand Fleet of Liberation blinked out.
“Good riddance,” said Navigation from behind her console, looking like an oversized child with the way her well-cushioned chair seemed to swallow her in its embrace as the last of the ships finally jumped out of the star system.
If the Grand fleet of Liberation had stopped to board them things could have gone badly. Fortunately they had jumped in while Grand Fleet had still been in the system but after they were already in a jump cycle.
“You’re telling me? We don’t have anything much better than popguns on this beefed up freighter,” Tactical said scornfully.
“That’s enough, Mr. Thornby,” the Captain said, her mouth tightening.
“Sorry, Sir,” the Tactical Officer immediately wilted, realizing he’d crossed the line. Running down a ship in front of its Captain was an offense not to be taken lightly. More than one officer who otherwise had stellar performance had managed to get into his or her commanding officer’s black book for talking bad about a Captain’s ship. Even if it was a heap of trash it just wasn’t done.
“The Potato may not be much of a warship when compared to traditional builds, but this is one merchant conversion that has the capability to take a more powerful foe’s head right off and before they even know we’re coming for her,” Captain Stravinsky said archly. “Remember, people: a Q-ship’s job isn’t to look like or even to be the biggest, bad-est warship on the block, her job is to sneak up on them while they’re not looking and take them out in one salvo before they have enough time to fully understand what’s happening to them,” said Captain Stravinsky.
“Yes, Sir,” Ensign Thornby was quick to immediately agree with his Captain after his previous faux pas.
“I sense you’re agreeing with me out of…well I suppose that’s enough of that for now,” Stravinsky said, cutting herself short, “just remember no matter how much of a civilian ship she started out as, there’s a reason they put 'Hot' in the Potato’s name.”
Ensign Thornby looked slightly more uncertain before once again nodding in vigorous, career-saving agreement.
Giving it up for a bad game, the Captain turned away with a huff. She’d prefer genuine understanding over simple rote agreement, but in the end what was most important was to get things right the first time. True understanding would have to wait until after things had had the chance to sink in.
Chapter 11: Cornwallis and the Supply Dumps
Crew members on the Mighty Punisher looked up in surprise as the powerful, double blast doors leading into one of the most holy of holies in the Command Carrier swept open. A figure, decked out in an Imperial Admiral’s uniform with a white cape bordered in purple around its edges, stepped into the room.
The Captain of the Mighty Punisher looked up in irritation and frustrated anger on his face as he rounded on the blast doors, ready to cut loose with a tirade on the hapless person to step onto his bridge. All of that disappeared from his face as soon as he identified the individual stepping onto his bridge.
“Captain Matterhorn, I hope that my presence on your bridge isn’t an inconvenience,” said the new arrival.
“A minor matter compared to the honor your presence brings to our entire ship, Praetor,” the Captain said with a blank face. “I hope that we haven’t failed to accommodate you in any way. If the staff—”
“Your staff is adequate,” Cornwallis said dismissively and then frowned, “more than just adequate, if my decades old memories of my last several deployments are not misleading me. So there’s no need to blame my presence here on the Service Department.”
“I am gratified to hear that,” said the ship’s Captain with a cautious nod.
Cornwallis raised a hand. “I know that traditionally I should be monitoring things from the Flag Bridge without an invitation to the Command Bridge, and I don’t intend to make a habit of surprise visits. However, there are a few matters I wanted to speak about with you personally,” he said.
“My ready room?” the Captain inquired, gesturing to a side door off the bridge.
“Thank you,” said the Senator following the other man off the bridge.
“So,” asked the Captain after seating himself behind his desk and waiting until the Senator had also seated himself, “to what do I owe this honor?”
Cornwallis looked at the Captain skeptically and then put his fingers and thumbs together in the form of a triangle. “Let’s put our cards on the table, Captain,” said the Senator.
The Captain frowned and then gestured for Cornwallis to continue.
“Look, I’m aware that the Reserve Flotilla and her Flag Captain might not be as...let’s say for the sake of comity, as 'enthusiastic' about our mission as I—and the Imperial Senate— happen to be for this particular mission,” said the Senator.
“The Reserve Formation understands if the Praetor might have preferred this formation to be entirely staffed by House retainers and loyalists,” the Captain said emotionlessly, “especially in light of the irregular nature of this fleet. Coalition units are hard enough to manage.”
The corners of Charles Cornwallis’s eyes crinkled. “Compared to this lash-up of solid Imperial veterans, and all but incompetent Confederation provincial formations? I think you have the wrong impression of me, Captain,” the Senator replied calmly, “I won’t deny that having my own people in place would be one way to deal with this situation, however it would also be far from ideal. In many ways having a solid core of Reserve Formation veterans simplifies things for me immensely.”
“Simplifies, yes, considering we already know each other, have worked together, and that almost half the crew on this command carrier—my crew—are your partisans,” the Captain said with a touch of flint in his voice, his eyes entirely opaque.
“The reserve formation was barely staffed with enough additional personnel to fully crew another major unit, let alone a Command Carrier. I won’t apologize for not only bringing that Command Carrier to this formation, but also for bringing enough people to fully crew her. It was either that or strip people from every other warship in the Reserve Flotilla,” Cornwallis said flatly, “and, frankly, I wouldn’t be surprised if the people I brought are among the top performers on your ship.”
Captain Matterhorn looked at him narrowly. “Are you disparaging the original members of this crew?” asked the Captain, his voice tightening.
“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Captain,” Cornwallis waved that officer’s outrage away like a bad smell in the room, “I’m not talking down your crew, merely stating a fact. I’m aware of a number of personnel transfers, including your entire command team, but despite that the vast majority of your people were unassigned members of an inactive formation. We both know what that means.”
“Every crewman on this ship has the makings of a fine star sailor or I wouldn’t have them aboard,” the Captain said stiffly.
“All. Well. And. Good,” the Senator said his voice cracking like a whip, “if you choose to throw my genuine attempts to assist your command in my face then so be it. None of this was what I came to speak with you about today.”
Captain Matterhorn took a deep breath. “Let’s start over. How can I help you, Praetor?” he said after a moment.
“You can start by addressing me as 'Admiral.' Second since you are essentially my Flag Captain and the commander of my most powerful battle unit, and the warship I will be riding, I thought it prudent to keep you apprised of our most recent evolutions,” said Senator Cornwallis.
Captain Matterhorn released a breath through pursed lips. “I have specific instructions from both the Admiralty and the Senate, Praetor, so I’ll have to reluctantly decline your invitation to use your naval rank. For the second part of what you have to say, you are entirely correct. Despite the irregularity of having a Praetor instead of an Admiral on our flag deck and in command of this fleet, the Reserve Formation as a whole, as well as I personally, recognize your right to imperium. In the Spineward Sectors and during our journey there, you personally represent the Empire,” said Captain Matterhorn. “As you say, this is no regular flagship and you are no regular passenger. This is a Command Carrier. Better coordination between us can only lead to the confoundment of our enemies and a speedier resolution to this police action.”
“I would hardly characterize this as a police action, Captain. No matter how they try to spin it for the news agencies in the provinces, the Spineward Sectors have been in chaos long enough that all manner of local tyrants, warlords and pirate fleets have had time to form and hone themselves on one another in the fires of combat,” warned Cornwallis. “The last thing we need is to get over confident.”
“I can assure you, Senator, the last thing this Reserve Formation is, is over confident,” the Captain said levelly, “every member of my command staff, as well as the command staffs of every warship in the Formation, has reviewed the material presented by the Admiralty, the Senate, and yourself. Which is why we concur with you that any would-be rebels are just as likely to be trained, combat ready and highly motivated as they are inexperienced and poorly led.”
“So long as you are aware of the potential of the opposition, that’s all I ask, Captain,” Cornwallis said seriously, “too often, as was the case with our very own overly patriotic former active duty veterans, we Imperials are quick to dismiss the opposition as inexperienced rustics. That would be a mistake when it comes to the Spineward Sectors. These are not one world rustics. For all their disorganized nature this is a Region belonging to the only Mega-Government to rival the Empire in the entirety of known space. On top of that, this region could be considered the hard-bitten frontier of the Confederation.”
“Hard-bitten?” snorted the Captain.
The Senator and the Captain shared a derisive smile. “Perhaps an overstatement on my part,” Cornwallis allowed, rolling his eyes, “just remember that this is not the heartland of the Confederation where the vast majority are more concerned with the local bio-sphere’s terraforming effort than what’s happening in galactic politics today, where the latest high definition entertainment program is the talk of the town and the next increase in their living wage the next big campaign issue.”
“The Confederation is soft,” Captain Matterhorn shook his head dismissively, “a healthy biosphere just makes sense sure, but entertainment and a…living wage? No one gives an Imperial man anything—he makes his way through this world by the sweat of his brow!”
“That or he takes it from someone else. No one takes from him. Expand or die,” said Cornwallis.
“Expand or die!” concurred Matterhorn with a laugh before once again turning serious, “I understand that the Spine has just had an extended five year wake-up call on the realities of life in the wider universe. You don’t have to worry about me.”
“Just remember that with a more than 80% employment rate, the people of the Spine actually work for a living. They may be soft by Imperial standards but for centuries the Confederation held its ground on the galactic scene before finally signing onto the Confederated Empire and outsourcing the majority of their military needs to us. You can consider the Spineward Sectors the last vestigial remnants of a bygone era. More so now, considering the last five years.”
“I’ll take it under advisement,” Matterhorn said, his smile fading.
“That’s not what I came here to talk about today,” said the Senator, making a brushing away gesture. Matterhorn motioned for him to go on. “You’re no doubt aware of the initial scouting forces I’ve sent out, however I intend to expand that,” said Cornwallis.
Matterhorn nodded. “Up until now you’ve only been sending out House Cornwallis ships as scouts,” agreed the Captain.
“That changes starting today. I’ve been using them because my people are more familiar with the region than the star sailors of the Imperial Reserve Formation,” said Cornwallis.
“I assume you’ll be needing a number of our Destroyer units,” said Matterhorn.
“Yes, but not the way you might think. As we advance through the Overton Expanse I will be detaching and sending out several mining and constructor ships that are part of the Grand Fleet of Liberation, to set up supply dumps. In fact I’ve already started. It’s true that I’ll also be sending out squadrons of Destroyer scouts to get the lay of the land. But for now the main focus will be on setting up these facilities within the Expanse.”
“Are you sure that’s necessary?” asked Matterhorn, his forehead creasing, “It will slow us down and we’re already behind schedule.”
“Behind the Imperial Senate's schedule perhaps, but not mine,” Cornwallis said dismissively. “Now, if this were simply an Imperial Fleet I might forgo the opportunity. But this bloated coalition of Confederate starships following along behind us are not used to traveling without all the comforts of an in-system repair dock. Many of them have deferred maintenance issues or were sent out with the bare minimum of provisioning by their system governments in the expectation that we would cover all of their operating expenses, including wages, from the moment they arrived.”
“That’s...insane,” Matterhorn started with surprise.
“They aren’t used to extra-system deployments. Let alone operating as part of a fleet. It’s going to take time to shake them down into something resembling a proper military formation,” said the Senator.
The Imperial Captain looked uneasy, and the Senator rolled his eyes.
“Don’t worry about the funding. I didn’t agree to bringing them along for the ride; the Confederation business representatives can squeal all they like but if they want to reap the benefits of being the first to get import/export business licenses to the Spine after the pacification then they’ll just need to suck it up,” said the Senator. “Part of which will be securing, or rather building, the supply behind us. If there are any unexpected occurrences this campaign will not need to be put on hold for lack of supplies.”
“It seems you have everything figured out,” said the Captain, “but, as you just told me, remember that the locals have defeated Imperial forces before.”
“Janeski’s main failure was he only knew how to maneuver his fleet,” said the Senator, “but any halfway decent officer can maneuver his fleet. An expert, on the other hand, monitors his supply lines and is able to take advantage of enemy mistakes in order to win battles in terrain of his choosing. A master…” Cornwallis looked solidly into the eyes of his Flag Captain, “he forces his enemies to make those mistakes—he doesn’t wait for errors. And with a secure supply line and a fleet behind me, I can force our enemy to make any number of mistakes to capitalize on.”
“From your mouth to the space god’s ears,” said Matterhorn, “just beware of hubris.”
Cornwallis’s gaze sharpened. “Hubris is just another Imperial trait which, if properly harnessed, will help usher the Empire into a renewed era of expansion and increased power,” he said with finality.
Chapter 12: The Matter with Antimatter
He was the very model of a very irritated space engineer
Spalding was in a foul mood. “Let’s get this over with,” he grumped, stepping onto the shuttle.
“Commander, are you really sure you want to go out to inspect the facility?” the shuttle pilot beside him gulped.
“Why else would I be here if I didn’t want to inspect it?” Spalding scowled.
“But, Sir. The danger…” the pilot trailed off.
“Are you saying you’re too much of a coward to ferry me out on a simple inspection mission?” Spalding demanded and then his face turned suspicious. “Or are you on the take and there’s something going on out here you don’t want me to know about?”
“What? No!” the shuttle pilot said turning white faced.
“Then get on with it,” Spalding ordered, still eyeing the other man. He could spot a slacker a mile away and this pilot had all the hallmarks of one.
Visibly sweating, the pilot increased the speed of his shuttle and they arrived at the antimatter facility as soon as possible.
“Now this is impressive,” Spalding said as the shuttle circled the facility before receiving permission to enter the landing bay.
With a central tube-like section two hundred meters long and fifty meters wide, the central section was dwarfed by a pair of large rectangular squares, each four hundred meters wide by four hundred meters long and half that thick.
The shuttle slid into the landing bay and the bay doors closed behind them. As soon as the room finished pressurizing Spalding stomped out onto the deck.
He looked around seeing a pair of heavily overbuilt shuttles and what looked like a small captain’s gig suspended in the air by a magnetic hoist. Its side maintenance panel was open and what looked like the legs of a droid were sticking out as it worked inside the panel fixing something inside the gig.
Then his eyes landed on a group of six droids busy talking to each other in the hoots, beeps, whistles and whirs of droid basic.
“Greetings from the staff of the antimatter processing facility, Commander Spalding. I am the production facility manager, Bruce Lee 99,” one of the droids in the back of the group hooted and beeped in droid Basic.
Another droid with a red, white and blue striped chassis hurried forward from the side of the group.
“Greeting, Commander! I am Chao Yun Phat-Boy 73, a representative of the new Antimatter Mining League. Please let me introduce you to my leader, Bruce Lee 99!” said Chao Yun Phat-Boy 73.
“This League sounds an awful lot like some kind of proto-unionist outfit. The Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet pays overtime so I don’t want to hear any monkey business from you boys like strikes for better hours or work slowdowns, Bruce Lee” Spalding warned.
“Oh, you don’t have to worry,” Chao Yun Phat-Boy 73 assured him, “the Antimatter Worker’s Union was before our time. It decompiled over 138 years ago after its last member experienced a bad motivator incident. PaulBunion@Sledgehammer.com fell into a trash compactor while it was working and was promptly crushed to death in the compactor. You don’t have to worry about any work slowdowns!” it assured the old engineer cheerfully.
Spalding blinked. “Well I don’t care if you throw your supervisor into the trash compactor on your own time. Just so long as it doesn’t affect your production schedules,” Spalding joked.
“It was never conclusively proven that PaulBunion@Sledgehammer.com was the victim of foul play and all his co-workers of that time were acquitted of wrongdoing by a hung jury,” Chao Yun Phat-Boy 73 assured him.
“A hung jury you say?” Spalding said eyeing the droid. “Well there will be none of that nonsense while I’m here!”
“The Antimatter Mining League has a long history of excellence and no fatalities on its record,” Chao Yun Phat-Boy 73 hastened to whistle.
“Bah,” Spalding snorted and then turned to the one that said it was the manager, “so, Bruce Lee 99, or whatever you’re called. Show me around this ranch, and while we’re at it you can explain why me and my Clover are stuck here in Gambit due to insufficient antimatter for our generators while the rest of the fleet gets to go to Central and raise Cain!”
“I am a bonded translator fluent in over four thousand forms of communications,” said Chao Yun Phat-Boy 73, “with my specialty programming I can facilitate your conversation with my manager, assuring that all sides in any conversation can be understood.”
“Sorry, Chow Yun Phooey, but me and your boss need to talk. Privately,” Spalding informed him and turned back to the manager.
“My designation is not Chow Yun Phooey. It is Chao Yun Phat-Boy 73 and I can assure you that without services like mine any number of random errors or translation redundancies may crop up,” said the translator droid.
“Listen up, Fat Boy, I appreciate the offer but I don’t need I third wheel so buzz off. I’ve got this covered,” Spalding dismissed him.
The translation droid hesitated before stepping back. It then gestured toward its manager.
“Now then, there's just one thing I’d like to know,” the old engineer said, shoving a finger at the droid manager’s chest.
The manager buzzed a single questioning note.
“I’m here to check on the facility,” Spalding declared, glaring at the droid.
Bruce Lee something or other just stared at him stupidly. Or at least that’s what it seemed like to the old Engineer.
“What, cat got your tongue? What’s up with your production levels, is this a processing facility or not?” he demanded, his dander rising.
“Sir! Manager Bruce Lee 99 doesn’t speak fluent Confederation Standard,” advised Chao Yun Phat-Boy 73, taking a step forward.
“I said 'get back,' you tin can,” Spalding glared and then shoved the Fat Boy droid out of the way.
“Sir, racial—or in this case sentient slurs—are hardly the best way to facilitate—” started the translator droid.
“Can it,” he said, rounding back to the manager. “Like to play dumb, do you!?” he asked his voice lowering dangerously.
The two droids exchanged a look.
“None of that high frequency communications now, droid,” warned the old Engineer, and seeing he still wasn’t going to get his point across pulled out a small bottle, took a drink and then cleared his throat.
“Speak Droid Basic like the rest of the machine world or you’re in for it,” Spalding instructed in Basic before breaking into a coughing fit.
“How do you speak our language?” demanded Bruce Lee 99 with an interrogative beep.
Spalding snorted falling back into Confederation standard. “Ever heard of the Automated Underground? A man can hardly sneak a bunch of overgrown toasters and too-big-for-their-britches grav-carts out of Capria without learning the basics,” he said, rolling his eyes.
“I’m aware of your reputation in the United Sentients Assembly, and of your working with the Automated Underground, but opinion on you is quite divided. While some claim that you are a hero of our kind, including some that you rescued, some say you are nothing more than just another anti-machine bigot out for himself,” said Bruce Lee.
“If you want forgiveness, explain why you can’t hold to your production schedule,” Spalding said eyeing the droid manager appraisingly. “As for those bellyachers, what do I care what a bunch of faulty processors like those ingrates think of me?” he rolled his eyes and then wagged his finger at the manager. “I’m a man that does what he thinks is right, that's all, and don’t go around listening to too much gossip. It’ll rot your brain. I’ve seen too many people, women in particular, especially a certain Yard Manager who…” he trailed off, muttering to himself unhappily.
“Come with me, human,” the Manager said, turning and leading the way deeper into the facility.
“Nice little operation you’ve got going here,” Spalding said as they walked through the antimatter production facility and used a lift arrive somewhere in the middle of the center section. He could feel a slight flutter in his stomach the moment they crossed through the blast doors.
“We have worked hard to make this facility operational,” said the Droid keying in a code and opening the blast door, “this is the area where we separate matter and antimatter. The two giant gravity wedges attached to either side of the main section are used to separate, stabilize and then store the antimatter.”
“Then what’s the hold-up?” asked the old Engineer, looking around the room curiously.
“There is no hold-up. We split the first shipment of antimatter directly into two parts and sent half directly to the Assembly. The second portion went to the Fleet, as directed,” said the Manager.
“You mean I’m stuck in this star system because of a clerical error!?” Spalding cried and then glared at the machine suspiciously. “And just what do you mean the first load was sent to the Droid Assembly? This is a Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet facility—you’re all employees of the fleet!”
The droid splayed his hands.
“Everything came through the proper channels. Look, here’s our electronic verification,” said the droid.
Spalding opened the file on his pad and then purpled.
“Is this some kind of sick joke?” he demanded shoving the file in the droid manager’s face. “It says here the requisition order was authorized by Advocate for the Disenfranchised, Acting Commodore of the MSP! If he’s an Acting Commodore then I’m an Admiral. What are you doing listening to that loon? Anything with his name on it is immediately suspect and should be discounted out of hand!”
The droid twitched his head from side to side like a metronome.
“I assure you all of the verifications match up with the codes we were given,” Bruce Lee 99 said stubbornly.
“More importantly, how exactly did you ship it out of this star system?” cried Spalding.
“It shipped out of here on a routine freighter run as specified in the manifest,” said Bruce Lee 99.
Spalding clutched his chest. “That stuff is highly unstable. It could blow up in transit! It needs special handling to ensure it doesn’t blow up whatever it’s transported in,” said the old Engineer.
“That’s why we sent half of our work force out with the proper equipment, to ensure it wouldn’t cause a catastrophic event. Our report is that it arrived safely and our worker droids are en route to return to us,” the manager beeped with scorn, “I presume you’re here because of our reduced production as a result of the loss of those workers?”
“I gave specific orders that everything was to be sent directly to the Lucky Clover, and instead you sent away half the antimatter and fifty percent of your work force,” Spalding said furiously.
“We were just following orders,” said Bruce Lee 99.
“Orders you should have known better than to follow. Vice Commodore, Advocate for the Disenfranchised indeed! What a crock,” Spalding said.
“If you have a complaint—” started the droid.
“It’s a conspiracy, that’s what it is! I knew I should have assigned a Lancer detail here,” Spalding declared, “the first thing after I get back I’m sending in a company of Lancers, just see if I don’t.”
“That is you’re prerogative,” shrugged the droid.
“Oh and you’re under arrest pending investigation until I get to the bottom of this,” cried Spalding.
The droid jumped. “You can’t do that! It’s a violation of my work contract,” protested Bruce Lee 99.
“Contact your legal droid if you want. but you’re coming with me,” Spalding said, leveling a finger at the droid.
Chapter 13: Grand Admiral Montagne
Two weeks ago I’d made the grand decision to cast aside any allegiance I owed to the old Confederation and embrace this new Confederation in the Spine, in all its dubious glory as the right, true and only proper authority in the Spineward Sectors.
I just hoped I hadn’t made the worst mistake of my life.
Even though I was only one jump away from Central with a course locked in, I had to admit I was feeling the worst case of buyer’s remorse in my lifetime. I couldn’t help but wonder if we all wouldn’t have been better off just telling the new Government that they could burn in the afterlife for all we cared and then thumbed my nose at them on the way out and then turned right around and went home.
As I grappled with my situation, I thought there had to be a play that let me retain my loyalty to the Spine, yet not pledge myself in any way to a group that endorsed that jackanapes in the Governor’s chair.
Right now I was worried not so much because of our current situation, but because of where I could see this leading. Sure, everything would be just fine and dandy in the short term. I figured they needed the MSP as long as we were fighting the Imperials with everything we had. But as the esteemed Governor had just shown us, as soon as I was no longer of immediate use he would move to take advantage of us—or destroy us outright—and think nothing of it.
I couldn’t imagine the new government would be any better. Not as long as they allowed a snake like him in their body as a major faction leader.
Oh I could hope they were different, and that later on they’d see the light and eject the Governor from their ranks but as they say ‘if wishes were fishes…’ Combine that with the conundrum that I fully intended to live my life by the motto of 'never again put your life in the hands of a politician, if you can help it,' and I had the groundwork for a real stinker on my hands.
To my mind what it all boiled down to was one important question: did I think I could beat the Imperials without the new government’s help? Or in other words, did I think I was strong enough to stand off the Imperials by myself?
Since I wasn’t even sure if I could win with a united Spine behind me, I was in a real pickle. So did I once again sacrifice my safety, the safety of my fleet and risk potential death in prison or from a knife in the dark as soon as we won? When I was no longer useful to them or did I fort up, let the new Confederation soak up casualties, and try to ride to the rescue when I thought the odds were better in my favor?
In other words was I willing to act like a warlord and put everything at greater risk in order to get a better result for ‘me’.
Put that way, the answer was clear.
“Once more into our breeches,” I whispered even as the bridge started counting down to the point transfer. Maybe someday I would feel like I had no choice but for right now I chose to place my trust in the people of the Spine. I didn’t have faith in the new government not yet, they’d have to work to earn that. Instead I was going to gamble on the people.
When the Navigator started to count down, I knew that regardless of my indecision we were committed. There was no more room for hesitation it was time for a show of force. Seconds later the Royal Rage, and the two squadrons of fast Battleships accompanying us, jumped into the Central Star System.
“Okay, let’s get this over with,” I said as the shuttle ground to a halt on the tarmac. Standing up and flicking my old style Confederation cape to let it hang just right, I took a moment to mentally gather myself while the ramp was lowering. When it came to a stop, I drew a steadying breath and walked out onto the tarmac.
“Remember, Sir,” Chief of Staff Lisa Steiner reminded me, taking up a position just behind my elbow, “there will be a short meet and greet, something that we negotiated through legal, before you will be escorted into the Sector Assembly building. The provisional Grand Assembly will be meeting there until they can secure a new venue by Confederation Marines.”
“Confederation Marines,” I snorted loudly, “you mean Sector Guardsmen dressed up in newly printed uniforms.”
“Shush,” she whispered urgently, “they might be recording us and there’s no guarantee our sound scrambling technology will stand up to their countermeasures. With all the representatives here they’ll have the best countermeasures in the Spine.”
“I’ll be good,” I said sour at being quieted by my Chief of Staff, even if odds were good she was right.
Stepping off the ramp and into a sea of noise and flashing lights, I plastered a well-trained smile on my face and raised my hand in the patented royal wave.
As my vision cleared, I tensed.
In front of me stood a small clot of political figures, including the Sector Governor and an honor guard of new Confederation Marines with blaster rifles at port arms.
They all appeared happy to meet me, but when Sir Isaak smiled at me I could only imagine nefarious reasons behind the look. A motion from the person in front of the delegation sent the Marines smoothly moving towards me.
Outwardly still smiling on the inside I tensed up even more ready for literally anything. This was the moment of truth. Was it all a pack of lies intended to get me within their grasp? Or had my sincerity and show of force with the Battleships paid off, and would they follow through on their promises?
Either way my fate was no longer entirely within my own hands, and that rankled me something fierce. Inwardly steeling myself as we were surrounded by Grand Assembly security, I reminded myself that everything I did right now was for the helpless people of the Spine.
The Confederation Marines fanned out, establishing a perimeter around the MSP delegation and the politicians while the news crews and bystanders who came here for a good show looked on from the outside.
“Hello Admiral Montagne. Greetings and salutations,” said the lead politician, grinning as he approached me hand out-thrust.
I accepted his hand gravely, noting his dry grip. No sooner had he started to shake my hand than the politician immediately pivoted sideways to present a side shot to high profile camera crews assembled on scene. As swarms of hover-bots of all makes and sizes fluttered, whirred and adjusted up and downward for better angles, he continually pumped my hand up and down turning here and there for better shots.
What a leech.
Not to be completely outdone, I stiffened into a pose as I smiled and used my free hand to wave for the cameras. I hoped I came across as dashing but realistic. The news agencies could play all sorts of tricks with camera angles to make me come off almost any way they wanted.
“I realize you probably didn’t have the time to look up each and every politician in the new Spineward Confederation, but I dare say that everyone in this Sector and soon the entire Spine knows who you are,” the politician said with a pleasant expression.
“I remain as popular as ever,” I deadpanned as a group holding up a sign that read: '!!Tyrant Go Home!!' in big bold letters started jumping and shouting as they pointed to their sign and tried to gain my—and, more importantly, the media’s—attention.
The politician’s expression flickered before once again regaining its amiable appearance.
“I can see the Grand Assembly didn’t feel the need to screen the attendees of our critical first meeting,” I said with a hard edged smile.
“You wouldn’t have us trample on the people’s rights, blatantly picking winners and losers among the attendees, Jason?” Governor Isaak asked mildly.
The politician still holding my hand winced and let go.
“You would never trample the people’s rights, would you Governor? Thus there’s no need to start now. After all, it’s not like I’m all that important in the grand scope of things,” I said agreeably.
“You! What do you want to do?” demanded Isaak.
The politician quickly stepped between us. “Let me be the first to say what a real honor it is to receive the Admiral of the incredible Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet into the new Confederation at the head of its first official fleet!” he said enthusiastically while at the same time flashing a troubled smile and instinctively angling himself toward a camera for best appearance. “Let me personally apologize for the disturbance, Admiral.”
“The honor is all mine, Representative. In truth I never thought I’d see the day when I’d be welcomed back to the very world that imprisoned me and declared me a Tyrant,” I said with a winning smile to hide the edge in my words. I shot a pointed look at Governor Isaak, and the politician frowned.
“That was an unfortunate occurrence which will not soon be repeated,” the other man hastened to assure me, looking slightly ill. That wasn’t a surprise because he had just been forced to leap to my defense in front of billions of voters or see this deal fall apart. The pointed signs waving in the background certainly wouldn’t be helping his popularity any, and things were only going to get worse the longer he was forced to publicly smooth my feathers.
I smiled sardonically. I would have felt some sympathy for the man if he’d cared enough to protect my arrival from the public, at least for as long as it took to hammer out an agreement. But he didn’t.
“I certainly hope we’ve moved past that sort of nonsense but you never know—” I started only to be rudely interrupted by yet another politician, this one a lady, who forced her way between myself and the man I’d just been speaking with. “Pardon me?” I asked, frowning at the discourtesy. Meanwhile my former conversation partner looked upset as he helplessly took a step back.
“Miss Kern—” he started only to be stopped by an upraised hand shoved into his face.
“My name is Kern. Valadencia Kern,” said the angry-looking woman in a skintight yellow sheath of a dress that flared up at her shoulders until the fabric reached the top of her well-styled hair.
“A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Kern,” I said reaching for her free hand. She deftly pulled her hand back and recoiled, but I continued blithely, “Regardless I believe I was speaking with, Representative...?” I stopped, realizing I didn’t know the other man’s name and looked over at him brows arched.
The female representative scowled. “Enough of that,” she interrupted rudely, taking back control of the conversation, “I come from New Prackter in the 23 Sector and I just have one question for you, Mr. Montagne,” she said hotly.
My face turned impassive. Who did this representative think I was?
“Assemblywoman Kern, if you could please,” started the man I’d been dealing with until this time while behind him Sir Isaak looked amused.
“That’s Sub-Faction Leader Kern of the Anti-Droid Alliance inside the MDL, and I only have one question for you, Mr. Montagne,” she declared.
“Admiral Montagne,” I said, lifting a brow as I prepared to watch a good show. If she thought I was some easy mark she was going to soon learn otherwise. I could tell a bad case of political grandstanding when I saw one, “And I so hope that divisive partisan politics won’t be allowed to sully the sanctity of our first meeting.”
She waved a hand irritably as if waving away a fly. “Mister Montagne, I said,” she repeated nostrils flaring, “the people of New Prackter and the entire 23rd Sector demand to know if you’re still consorting with those vile electronic beings called the droids—the ones that invaded our peaceful planets—and if those creatures are still within your fleet!?”
“In my fleet?” I asked, receiving a sharp nod. “Why, no,” I said with a butter wouldn’t melt look on my face.
“That is a lie!” she declared.
“No it is not. All the droids which I am acquainted with already have their own fleet, and I see no good use for them in the MSP. That said, the MSP is willing to work with any allies to further the cause of humanity…and the new Confederation of course,” I added a deliberately delayed beat later, “to my mind any Droid that’s willing to sacrifice its life in order to save the citizens of Sector 23 and the Spine from other Droids, the horrors of the Empire, and attacks from beyond the Rim is a good ally.”
<CRACK>
I saw stars before I even realized she’d taken the action of slapping me across the face. “Tyrant!” she shouted with angry satisfaction, “you would be well-advised to destroy those vile machines before you find out firsthand that quislings have always reached an untimely end,” she cried turning away and raising her arms to the crowd. “Dump the droids from the MSP. MAN NOT MACHINE,” she screamed, turning around and throwing her hands wide as she turned to the crowds, “Man not machine! Man not machine!”
I took an instinctive step toward her before realizing I was about to attack an unarmed woman with her back turned to me—and in front of inter-galactic news to boot.
My face turned stony as the media and the public surrounding the event went wild with joy and in moment shouts of ‘Down with the Tyrant’, ‘!!Human Lives Matter Too!!’and ‘!!!Man Not Machine!!!’ rocked the tarmac.
I could already see news reporters turning to face their cameras eagerly reporting on “The Slap heard round the Sector,” and “The Assemblywoman who dared speak Truth to Tyranny.”
“So this is the much vaunted personal invitation of the Grand Assembly, and the sort of greeting I can expect from the new Confederation from now on is it?” I asked coldly.
The politician who’d allowed himself to be pushed to the side, so that Assemblywoman Kern could physically attack me in front of billions of voters, seemed stunned.
“The Assemblywoman is overly passionate. Rest assured she will be censured by the Ethics Committee. I’ll see to it personally,” he said, and with a jerk of his head a pair of new Confederation Marines from the honor guard moved over to escort Assemblywoman Kern off the tarmac.
“The Grand Assembly may let the Tyrant silence me but he’ll never silence the people of Sector 23!” screamed Kern sounding like a harpy as Marines surrounded her and she shrieked at the crowd. “The true defenders of the Spine will not rest until each and every Droid in his fleet and inside our borders is destroyed and he has personally apologized to the Spine for his many crimes against the people!” she declared before proceeding to walk off the shuttle pad with stately grace, turning what should have been an arrest into a state escort.
“My deepest apologies,” grimaced the Spokesman.
“Tensions run hot…as I warned you,” said Governor Isaak, only to receive a hot look from the Spokesman.
“This way,” said the spokesman, escorting me off the tarmac and into the nearest lift.
I hesitated for a moment before allowing myself to be led away.
“I expect to be allowed to testify at her trial,” I said coldly.
“Trial?” the spokesman asked.
“The definition of assault and battery hadn’t changed the last time I looked it up,” I said.
He made a choked, noncommittal sound. “I’d like to take this moment to thank you for your restraint towards the Assemblywoman’s actions,” he said finally, “rest assured, the committee will look into this matter and apply the harshest punishment for Kern’s actions.”
“I don’t believe I caught your name,” I said to the politician by way of response. If he was looking for me to agree to let Kern walk in front of the Camera and grandstand some more, he was dead wrong.
He looked surprised. “I’m today’s Speaker for the Assembly, Norman Watts. Assemblyman Norman Watts from the 22nd Sector,” he replied.
“Today’s Speaker?” I asked lifting a brow.
“There’s currently a hotly contested election for the Speaker’s seat, but in the meantime the new Assembly is using a rotary system whereby every assemblyperson is eligible for the top slot. Today was my randomly assigned date,” said today’s Speaker, “and in any case I’d just like to repeat my thanks for—”
I lifted a hand, cutting him off.
“You are aware that, according to Tracto-an law, I do believe she just issued a challenge,” I interrupted.
The temporary Speaker looked alarmed. “I would ask you to overlook this incident in the interests of inter-galactic and inter-sector peace and let the committee handle it,” he said.
I gave him a hard look. “So long as she’s punished and it doesn’t become a media circus, I’ll stay out of it,” I said finally there were other ways to deal with the violent assemblywoman, “it’s not like I was really hurt, and I certainly am not in the habit of attacking women, even after they’ve struck me first and with obvious malice and forethought.”
“How very traditional of you,” he said with pleasure.
I waited a beat and then blinked at him. I had no idea what he was talking about. “That said, no matter what I do or say I may end up being the least of the Assemblywoman’s problems in this matter,” I said with a long suffering sigh. If I attacked a woman, no matter what the provocation, I’d never recover in the eyes of the public. It was better all around to let someone else deal with everything from this point.
The daily speaker stiffened. “Is that a threat?” he asked quietly.
“Not from me,” I assured him, “a warning, perhaps, but I swear to the Sweet Saint I’ll not so much as lift a finger against the woman. After all, a man stooping down to Kern’s level… tut-tut, that’s what I have a wife for,” I said, turning away as the lift door slid open. “Assemblywoman Kern had better watch herself. I’ll try to talk Akantha down, but Tracto-ans play by different rules so who can say. I mean, now that we are no longer part of the Confederated Empire and have devolved to the Old Confederation code of conduct, which places heavy emphasis on inter-cultural sensitivity…” I trailed off meaningfully.
Behind me I could hear Assemblyman Watts choking with surprise before taking a number of rapid steps to catch up with me.
“You shouldn’t toy with the man, Jason. It’s beneath you,” said Sir Isaak, approaching me from the right.
“Toy?” I asked, because I’d been fairly serious about letting Akantha have her head on the matter. Whatever that head turned out to be.
“Please now,” Isaak drawled, “you must realize that as a merely ‘provisional member,’ the intercultural sensitivity clauses are entirely moot—even if they would apply in such a case.”
“You aren’t recognizing Tracto’s status then?” I asked coolly.
“Tracto doesn’t fall under the Old Confederation code, even assuming we did decide to ratify and adopt those outmoded rules. Sadly, because of their own actions, the representatives of the Tracto Star System have demonstrated why it is not currently classified as a fully civilized and thus voting world,” said Isaak.
“I see that the esteemed Governor feels free to interject himself into my business yet again,” I said, eyes cutting his way, “I wonder why it is that I always seem to be using your title and proper form of address, but you appear almost constitutionally incapable of rendering me the same courtesy?”
“Constitution…it's funny you would chose to use that particular word,” Isaak drawled, neatly sidestepping the question, “I mean, you didn’t honestly expect me to just sit silently on the sidelines cheering for you after that stunt you pulled in Easy Haven, did you? I must warn you this is not the old Confederation, Jason, and once you join it our constitutionally mandated oversight will no longer be a theory for you to contemplate but a fact of life. Perhaps you might want to adopt an easier tone. He who goes along can get along, as they say.”
My face hardened. “Is that a threat, Governor?” I drawled.
“Does joining a democratically elected government—and no longer being a warlord, able to do whatever you want, to whoever you want whenever you want—threaten you in some way, Jason?” Isaak shot back.
“Warlord? What’s that?” I asked mockingly, “I have no reason to fear the people of the Spine. I am what I have always been, at least for the past five years: a Confederation Admiral and champion of the people,” I retorted smoothly.
“Yes, but it’s not the people who will be overseeing the Confederation’s new Fleet...Champion, but instead their duly elected representatives,” Isaak sneered.
“As long as the Grand Assembly is willing to meet my demands and sign off on my terms, rebels like yourself have nothing to fear from me, Governor,” I said with a smirk.
Sir Isaak’s face turned red with fury. “You’re playing with fire! Listen, you little squeak ant, you don’t make demands on seven Sectors of the galaxy even if you are the biggest warlord left standing,” he said furiously. “Threaten me again and—”
“Oh, so you felt threatened by the notion that not everything is under your control?” I interrupted rudely.
“You!” Isaak was red-faced.
“Or perhaps it was by the fact that you openly rebelled against the Old Confederation and now you’re worried you’ll be hung when the real Confederation Admirals finally get around to you,” I shot back sharply, “threaten me and I’ll threaten you right back, Isaak.”
“At least you’ve finally admitted from your own mouth you’re not a real fleet officer but a rank impostor who lucked into a fleet,” Isaak spat.
“I’d rather be lucky than good; it just so happens I seem to be both,” I sneered.
“Gentlemen!” Speaker Watts exclaimed pushing himself in between the two of us. “This is hardly the time or the place,” he gestured towards the large wood inlayed metal double doors right in front of us.
“If this is the greeting your Assembly intended for me, sending out an assemblywoman to slap me in the face on galactic news and a former enemy to hound me through the halls, I think this was a mistake,” I said coldly.
“No-no,” the Speaker's face turned grey and sweat beaded on his forehead, “let me extend my personal apologies for the manner of your arrival.”
“The personal apologies of the daily speaker,” I said, looking down at him and then turning away from the doors, “this isn’t what I was led to believe.” I started walking away.
“Wait,” cried Speaker Watts, “please at least wait for an hour or two before leaving. Give the Armed Services Committee a chance to speak with you first before making any final decisions.”
Despite knowing better, I eventually allowed myself to be calmed down and led into the committee chambers.
“Admiral Montagne, it is a great pleasure to finally meet the man behind the legend. The person behind the holo-images, as it were ,and the foremost fleet tactician of our day,” said the chairman of the committee as soon as I stepped into the room.
“Your greeting so far has been less than adequate,” I said shortly, not willing to be jollied along and placated with empty words. Talk was cheap; it was actions that were telling and so far every act had been one of aggression toward me. Once again I had to remind myself not to let my ego get in the way of saving billions of helpless lives.
The Chairman looked taken aback, as did other members on the twelve person panel.
“Please, have a seat,” the Chairman said finally, directing me toward an imposing looking chair facing the committee, “I saw the news. If there is anything this committee can do to make up for the uncivilized actions of our colleague earlier today, please let us know.”
“I have a few things in mind that you could do for me,” I said with a nod.
Several assemblymembers on either side of the chairman looked surprised, and as I swept my eyes over the committee I realized I recognized at least one member.
“High Captain Manning,” I said with a nod of recognition.
“It's High Admiral Manning now, Admiral Montagne,” said the former High Captain his eyes sharp, intense and hooded as he looked back at me.
“So it is,” I agreed blandly. He was probably still raw over the whole droid issue and the way the Battleships captured by the MSP hadn’t been turned over to the Mutual Defense League—like he’d hoped—after the battle for Elysium. You know, the same one that broke the back of the droid fleet and not incidentally saved his homeworld, not to mention his life, from genocide and destruction. The fact that we’d been capturing enemy warships while he’d been stuck on his flagship fighting off boarding actions probably played into that somewhere.
I mean, that had to rankle. The man who had been lured into Sector 23 with the promise of commanding the MDL fleet and who had been passed over, in no small part thanks to Manning’s own actions, had reaped a great deal of benefit while the High Captain’s fleet had been torn up. Of course, Manning’s flagship wasn’t the only one that had been boarded during the battle for Elysium, I thought darkly, silently remembering my capture and resulting torture at the hands of droid boarding forces on the Furious Phoenix.
Not my finest hour, I’ll admit.
“Admiral Montagne?” asked the Chairman, breaking me out of the dark place our reunion had brought me to.
I gave myself a shake. “My apologies, Chairman, my mind wandered,” I said, forcing a smile as I pushed away the memories.
“Yes, well you had mentioned there was something you needed?” asked the Chairman. “Because let me assure you we are more than ready to proceed with the induction ceremony whereby the Assembly will officially empower you as the first military officer of the new Confederation of flag rank and bestow upon you the position of Grand Admiral and command of our entire armed forces.”
“And, of course, welcome your fleet into the Confederation as its first—and so far only—active fleet,” High Admiral Manning said dryly. It seemed that, despite whatever animosity might exist between us, he was willing to admit the irony of the situation aloud.
I looked over at him with a lifted eyebrow and we shared a look of mutually amused understanding.
“Of course you are,” I said turning back to the Chairman, “and I am reluctantly willing to bring both myself and…” I gave a humorless smile, “the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet into the Spineward Sectors' very own newly established mega-government. After all' the MSP has always stood for principles of freedom, justice and the Confederation way, which includes the right to self determination in the Old Confederation charter. I think our current situation definitely applies.”
I paused and then looked over at a very pleased looking Chairman.
“But since you did ask what you could do for me, I won’t hold back. I’ll admit that if it were just myself I was speaking for we would already have an agreement and I would swear the fleet’s service oath. However, as things stand I have a duty to more than just myself which is why,” I looked over at one of the handful of people who had followed me down from the Royal Rage and snapped my fingers.
Lieutenant Harpsinger hurried over, placing a large paper file in my hands, as well as a data-storage device.
“My lawyer has prepared the necessary paperwork for you and as soon as it has been finalized and signed off on by the new Grand Assembly then you gentlemen will have yourself a fleet,” I said and then paused, “well, what you’ll actually have is me and my fleet, which really is the same thing if you stop and think about it.”
I then held out the papers in my hand toward the chairman and an aide scurried out to take them from me.
“What is this?” the Chairman asked, looking at the piles of papers skeptically.
“A trick, no doubt,” mocked Isaak from the side, “we were fools to think a Montagne would ever turn his stripes,” he turned to me from a seat he had quietly taken within the committee. “What kind of onerous restrictions have you placed in there so that you can later claim you tried but we wouldn’t take you in?”
“What!?” the chairman asked in alarm.
“It’s a ruse, a deception, a Royalist diversion meant only to dupe us into giving him a larger platform—” Isaak said cuttingly.
“You mean a simple recognition of the existing order of things so that there was no confusion going forward,” I cut him off.
“This is highly irregular,” the chairman said, looking back and forth between myself and Isaak.
“The very formation of a Confederation in the Spine itself is highly irregular,” I said dismissively, surprised to find that unlike my last time in Central I was in no way intimidated or even that much impressed by the politicians before me. I guess time on the Admiral’s Throne had changed me, “Regardless, a certain amount of discretion and accommodation will be necessary if we are to not just survive but merge together and thrive as one Star Nation.”
“'Discretion,' is it?” started Governor Isaak.
“If the committee member will allow the Chair its traditional prerogatives and let me lead the questioning,” the Chairman interrupted shooting Isaak a quelling glance.
The Governor looked surprised before shrugging and sitting back, “It’s your show.”
The chairman harrumphed before turning back to me. “Now, you were saying something about discretion. What exactly are you expecting from this committee that these documents you provided us with are designed to elicit?” he asked with censure in his expression if not his voice.
I paused, wondering if this was a serious request or if all they were interested in was a good PR stunt. They’d already poisoned the well as far as I was concerned by allowing Assemblywoman Kern to accost me. Having Isaak tag along with his sniping diatribes did nothing to convince me otherwise. In which case…
I unleashed a fully unrepentant smile. If they were dealing with me dishonestly, I might as well go in whole hog, and if not who cared? I could do more for the people at the head of my fleet and free to act than I ever could tied up in red tape.
“What I require for my people is easy: the simple recognition of the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet’s traditions, along with the ratification of our current rank system, time in grade status and five years' back pay,” there was a stir with several committee members blanching. I ignored them and continued, “
This in recognition of our hard work so far. We’ll also need blanket immunity from local prosecution for events that occurred during the past five years. There are a few other more minor details, like signing off on my proposed vacation schedule—to be honest some of my crew haven’t been able to return back to their home worlds for several years and are afraid of being arrested it f they do—and so on and so forth.”
“You want five years back pay?” the Chairman asked with surprise. “The Spineward Confederation has only been officially established for less than two month!”
“Whereas the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet has been actively defending the Spineward Sectors for more than five years, and engaged in multiple active operations in more than three of our seven Sectors,” I pointed out smoothly.
“The Old Confederation you mean,” said the Armed Services Committee Chair.
“That Confederation, this Confederation, it’s still the same people in the Spine that we’ve been fighting to protect—and I’ll add we've done so almost entirely without compensation,” I disagreed strongly. “Right now we’re living on a shoestring budget and voluntary donations from those worlds that felt the need to support us.”
“We’ll have to take that matter under advisement and look into all the pertinent facts first,” said the Chairman.
“Frankly, back pay is one of the issues I’m willing to compromise on, out of consideration for the funding issues the new Confederation must be going through,” I said, since if they refused to pay us for what we did five years ago, then that just made them prosecuting us for the things we did that they didn’t like just that much more difficult to my mind.
“This committee is thankful for that,” the Chairman said glumly.
“It’s no less than our patriotic duty, as provincial governments and Spineward citizens, to shoulder the burden of our own defense,” I said stoutly.
The Chairman looked at me sharply but before he could speak someone else spoke up.
“I have a question, if I may?” requested Governor Isaak.
The Chairman immediately scowled. “You may be a faction leader in the Assembly but you’re not the Speaker yet, Governor Isaak,” the Chairman said sternly, “proceed with decorum or I’ll have you tossed from this committee. We are here to secure the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet’s inclusion into our Fleet, not drive them off without cause because of personal animosity between the two of you.”
“I’ll take your advice in the spirit in which it was given,” said the Governor.
“See that you do,” said the Chairman, “you may proceed.”
“Admiral, you claimed that you wanted blanket immunity from prosecution, but could you list any valid reasons for your stated concerns?” Sir Isaak asked ironically.
“Of course,” I said with a nod as I locked eyes with the Governor, “during our patrols of the Spine we’ve had any number of governors threaten us with prosecution, or worse, for failing to arrive on time—this despite the fact that we had no set patrol route and had received no distress calls or request for our presence. In addition, we’ve shutdown any number of pirate operations while on commerce protection duty and defended ourselves from a number of other attackers from groups of pirates, droids and…others. Considering we are about to forgo the protection of the old Confederation, I somehow doubt that should we be sued or prosecuted by some jumped up local magistrate for doing our job,” I said dryly.
“There’s a point in there somewhere, even if it’s a weak one,” Isaak said reluctantly, and then to my surprise didn’t follow up.
There was a pregnant silence. “Well we can look into that too,” the Chairman said finally.
“I’m afraid that’s not something I’ll compromise on,” I said.
After that, another committee member received the right to speak. “I’ve been looking through these papers and much of it seems reasonable, given what we know of the Patrol Fleet. The vacation schedule for instance,” the member said, tapping the side of his holo-screen, his finger moving in and out of the holo-image, “However there are a few parts that my smart program has logged for my attention that puzzle me.”
“Such as?” I asked seriously.
“In here you ask the Confederation to set up a prize courts system for any future ship captures, even going so far as to mandate who can and cannot serve on such a court, which aside from that last part seems reasonable. That is until you look at the percentage values you assign to the Confederation, a paltry ten percent of the value. Why so low, Admiral? The Old Confederation had much higher prize court numbers,” said the member.
“The MSP was founded as an at-will organization. That means that our entire roster of warships are actually on loan to us from various different SDF’s… well at least in theory,” I said suppressing a smirk, “combine that with the fact that over 95% of our officers and crews hold dual status in both their native SDF and the Confederation, while spending the bulk of their service within the MSP while aboard ships of their own native SDF, and I think the percentages I listed in the chart are more than reasonable.”
“That may sound reasonable but it does not strike me as entirely fair to the Confederation,” harrumphed the Chairman.
“Nothing’s fair in love or war,” I said skeptically, “if the Confederation wants a fleet on the cheap…well, then, here it is. If you want one that’s wholly your own then you need to either build the warships yourself or pay for it and buy them from the provincial star systems. For instance, if you wanted to buy warships off me, I’ve included a list of hulls I’d be willing to part with, along with the price of each ship.”
Several committee members looked ill, others mad, while some, probably unaware of the government’s current financial situation, looked elated at my pronouncement.
“We’ll take that under advisement and get back to you,” said the chairman. He then looked around, “If there are no other questions we’ll break for recess and give everyone time to go over the proposed materials.”
“I have one more question, if I may, Mr. Chairman,” said the same member who had just been questioning me.
“Alright, but make it quick,” he said giving, Isaak a glare when the Governor looked like he might also like to have something to say, “the committee member from Napro System in the 24th may proceed.”
For his part, the |Sector Governor gave the chairman of the armed services committee a cool look before settling back down reluctantly into his chair.
The committee member looked at me with a wrinkled brow.
“Yes committee member?” I prompted.
“What was the purpose of requesting that the Spineward Sectors Confederation recognize Harpoon as a free and independent sovereign state?” he asked, causing an immediate stir among the committed—including Isaak, who looked at me sharply.
I cursed internally and arched a brow at the committee member. “As the committee is no doubt aware, I am a Caprian Prince by birth. What you may not be aware of is that I am also the Governor of planetary body Harpoon.”
At this, the committee stirred.
“I still don’t understand,” pressed the Member, “Harpoon could be declared independent but that still won’t give you voting rights or member status in the Grand Assembly,” he pointed out, “provincial status requires total or near total control of a star system. Even breaking off Harpoon from Capria won’t put your home world’s provincial status into question; the Confederation recognizing your planetary body as a legitimate government would only preclude our action but not that of the Caprian SDF. Your home world would still have the ability to rejoin Harpoon into the rest of the province—by force, if they so desired—no matter what we ‘recognize’.”
“I realize that Capria’s status in your assembly won’t be affected in any way. That’s not at all what I’m aiming for. The short answer is I simply don’t trust Capria not to try some sort of legal maneuver, based on the fact I’m Harpoon’s sitting Governor, to try and tie me up in court somewhere. Be it back in Capria, if I ever visit again, or more likely in Confederation Sector courts,” I explained with true but misleading logic. The truth was I had much bigger plans for planetary body Harpoon, and Confederation recognition of its status as a sovereign state was key.
“If I have a recognized sovereign status then they can’t impeach me for dereliction of duty. Invade or repossess Harpoon, yes. Sue me for millions of credits or tie me up for years in the courts when I have more pressing duties to perform? No,” I said with certainty, “believe me when I say I have no interest in winning this war only to pay millions of credits in bail bonds while I spend the next ten years hopping from one legal system to the next.”
The committee seemed nonplussed at my response, but the rising alarm seemed to have diminished with even Sir Isaak shaking his head. To my surprise he didn’t say anything further.
The comeback was so obvious that I found myself leaning forward in my chair, ready for a furious round of debate, accusation and counter accusation that, when the pushback I’d been expecting failed to arrive, it put me off stride.
To my surprise the committee wrapped up the question and answer session shortly afterwards and we broke for recess.
Later that day, the recently Confederated Sectors of the Spine, in the form of the Armed Services Committee officially swore me into their Fleet, formally appointing and beseeching their very own and, as of right now only, Confederation Vice Admiral, Jason Montagne to the position and office of Grand Admiral of the Spine.
My first order of business was to see to defense of the region against any forces, internal or external, with a clear instruction to focus on external matters for the foreseeable future. No one said it outright, but my job was clear: stop the Empire from annexing Sector 25 and the rest of the Spine.
Which I was willing to do, but only after they’d signed off on my terms.
All of my terms.
Chapter 14: Isaak’s Frustrations
“Alright, let’s have a run down on the current situation. Where are we?” asked Isaak as the governor’s staff gathered together for a post ‘Grand Admiral Montagne’ pow-wow consisting of the Sector Governor’s Advisers and, of course, the Governor himself.
There was a pregnant pause. “Well our contingency plan was successful, after a fashion anyways. Montagne was successfully inducted into abandoning the Old Confederation, forgoing all the protections thereof, or at least that he used to claim he had. He won’t be able to use that leverage anymore, in exchange for placing himself at our mercy,” said Policy.
“Mercy!” Isaak snorted. “For him to be at our mercy we’d actually have to have taken control of the newly formed government by now,” he slammed a fist down on the table.
“All in good time, Sir,” Policy soothed, “these things take time and it’s not as if anyone else has secured the permanent coalition majority leader or the Grand Speakership.”
“Blast the Speakership. Montagne didn’t even look fazed!” snarled Isaak. “Do you hear me? Not so much as one single discomfited expression. He’s up to something, I swear it.”
“He could have just missed it,” opined Media hopefully.
“Missed the fact that he just gave up his biggest protection in exchange for a dubious position in an even more dubious multi-sector government?” Isaak looked at her like she was a bug that had just crawled out from under the carpet and left a brown streak on the floor. He then dismissed her, glaring around the room, “I had him right where I wanted him, I could have lambasted him six ways from the moon and ruined him on inter-galactic holo-stream and there was literally nothing I could do. I practically had to get out and push to make sure he joined the New Confederation,” the governor stewed.
“The reports I’ve been getting state you were pretty hard on him actually,” said the former news anchor.
“Shows what the media knows,” Isaak sneered.
“All according to plan,” Policy interjected calmly, “let’s not cast aspersions now. Everything is still in flux and the time for self-examination and recriminations can wait until after we’ve won this thing.”
The room fell silent with most of the advisers nodding while the governor slowly steamed in his chair.
“Winning? Forget the rest of it all for now. At least we’re out from under the rebellion charges,” the Military Adviser said dourly, “that’s a plus. The Grand Admiral can’t very well prosecute us for rebels against the Old Confederation now.”
“Don’t do that! Don’t you dare attempt to legitimize him in my presence,” growled the Governor, glaring at his Military Adviser, “do you understand me? Montagne can’t do spit!”
“Peace,” said Policy, raising his hands, “everything is going exactly according to plan, aside from a small hiccough with the vote counts.”
“A hiccough? You mean a near revolt when you decided to rope in your wayward prince,” snarked Media.
Policy gave the former news anchor a hard look.
In response she crossed her arms rebelliously.
“I’m still waiting for a response to my question,” the Governor said looking straight at his military adviser.
“A response regarding what?” the Captain said, crossing his own arms and returning Isaak’s look levelly.
“You’re on thin ice, Soldier,” said the Governor, “you would be wise to remember that what has been given to you can just as easily be taken away.”
The Military Adviser leaned forward in his chair chin jutting as he met the Governor’s gaze. “First, I’m a star sailor, not some ground pounder. Second, you can take these rank tabs and shove them if that’s what this is about. Frankly I’m wondering if I should have even accepted the promotion. I jumped two grades when I didn’t even have the time in grade for even one, and I certainly wasn’t seeing any action, not riding a desk here as your adviser and liaison with the Sector Guard.”
“I may not like it, and you clearly hate it, but the Grand Admiral is now the Grand Admiral by order of the New Confederation that you…that ‘we’ schemed to create,” the Military Adviser said defiantly, “well here it is. Here we are. And you were the one that got the man put in charge of every single person now in uniform—up to and including me!” growled the Captain, reaching up to rip the insignia off his collar and slam them down on the table. “Here, take them. It’s not like I imagine I’ll have them for long anyway. Not considering how badly the two of you seem to hate one another.”
“You ungrateful little squeak ant, I’ll have you broken and sent to the front in Sector 26!” railed Governor Isaak.
“Calm it down, everyone,” Policy’s voice cracked like a whip, momentarily startling every person in the room including the Governor.
Every eye focused on him.
“This conspiracy will not go down in flames before my very eyes because we turned on one another,” roared the old former politician. “Because, make no mistake, that’s exactly what everyone is part of: a conspiracy. Yes, it was to save our necks, help this Sector survive and thrive and later to build an entire new mega-government from scratch, but that wasn’t what we were elected or appointed to do. For the immediate future we live and die together. So you put those things back on your neck,” he glared at the Captain, “no one’s getting demoted today,” he then rounded on Isaak, “and get a hold of yourself, man, before you get us all killed—including yourself. You hate the Grand Admiral? Well do something about it, and by that I don’t mean turn on your staff!” he finished angrily.
For a moment no one moved, and Isaak stared at him in shock.
After almost a minute of sheer silence, the Captain picked back up his rank tabs and auto-sealed them onto his collar.
“Right now we need a Governor, a Military man, and a Media Person, and we need all of you to be on the top of your game,” Policy said, locking gazes with Isaak, “and that includes you, Sir. Show me the politician I know you are and not the irate man we’ve seen so far today.”
Isaak drummed his fingers on the desk for several seconds. He opened his mouth, his face dark, and then closed it and grunted. “You’re right. We need to stay the course…for now,” he said darkly, not looking at anyone in particular as he said that last bit, “it’s still too soon to tell if this Confederation will go the distance.”
Policy gave a sharp nod.
“Morally repugnant to some, or not, sacrifices had to be made for the greater good of everyone in this room, not to mention this entire sector. Forget the Confederation for now, it’s still too young to know if it will survive. Yes it would be best if we were in control but while we have a big say it’s not a lock. So let’s go back to looking at things from the point of view of Sector 25. What do we need?”
When no one leapt to speak, Policy turned to the Military Adviser. “Speak. Go on and spit it out,” he said.
“We’re being invaded by the combined forces of two mega-governments, so I think it’s pretty obvious what we need: one fine negotiating team or enough ships and firepower to stand them off. The ‘Grand Admiral’ brings us that, or as close as we’re going to get in the time available to us,” he said with a touch of defiance as he looked at the Governor.
“That still leaves the fact that after everything we’ve put him through, Montagne’s going to want everyone in this room either dead or up on corruption charges and in jail,” sneered Isaak. “Dead by the Empire, the Old Confederation, or the hands of Montagne is still dead—and prison time isn’t much better.”
Media sucked in a breath while Policy lifted both hands.
“No one’s going to prison. This is our time of greatest threat but also our biggest opportunity. The reason we agreed to support the new Grand Admiral may have been primarily the rebellion issues, which was only a factor because we didn’t have the strength to defeat him, but support him we did. We can use that,” said Policy.
“How?” asked the Captain.
“We attempt to lull him into a false sense of security,” said Isaak, “first we give him everything he needs, and then as much of what he wants as we can without actively cutting our own throats. We get out and push if need be and then we wait. An opportunity will present itself,” he smiled direly, “opportunities always present themselves,” he finished certainly.
“That’s very cynical,” said the Captain.
“But necessary,” Policy put in, “listen, first we strip away his supposed protection in the eyes of the people, his status as an Old Confederation officer, and then maneuver him into putting himself between us and the Imperial Fleet by helping to build a new robust Confederation Fleet.”
“One that draws personnel from every world in this Sector,” cut in the former news anchor, a light growing in her eyes.
“And from outside this Sector if possible,” cut in Isaak.
“We can build a narrative that will have the populations of the Spine pull together in a big way,” she continued.
“And have the people all but begging their leaders to increase our—I mean Confederation level—tax revenues,” Isaak smiled like a crocodile.
Military grimaced at that, but Policy nodded and Media didn’t seem to care.
“You make it all sound so cynical,” the Captain sighed.
“You’ve been with us long enough to know how things work…Captain,” Policy added pointedly after a noticeable delay.
The Captain flushed. “I’ve already said—“ he started
“Peace. This isn’t about your ego,” Isaak snorted, “nor, sadly, is it about mine. We’re here to do what we’ve been doing ever since the Confederated Empire withdrew from these sectors: ensure the prosperity of our people and our own survival.”
“If that’s your position and patriotism is almost meaningless, then war almost seems counterproductive,” replied the Captain.
“If any man can win this coming war, much as I hate to say it, the Grand Admiral probably has the best chance of pulling it off,” Policy said.
“I am a patriot, never doubt that, but I'm also a realist,” Isaak said firmly, “and the reality is that the Spine will get the best deal possible by one of only two ways: through outright victory in combat, which the Little Admiral will give us the best chance at, or by doing enough damage that when we get to the peace table we’re able to negotiate a favorable settlement.”
“Again, an outcome depending on the Little Admiral,” sighed the Captain.
“Yes, but in only one of those scenarios is the Tyrant of Cold Space likely to have a power base strong enough that we would have to continue accommodating him,” said Policy.
“Right,” Isaak agreed visibly brightening. He rubbed his hands together, “But enough about another blasted Montagne. Right now what we need to be worried about is how we’re going to acquire the Speakership.”
“You mean how we’re going to make you Speaker,” said the Captain.
“Potato/Potahto,” Isaak said dismissively.
“The same dynamics that existed at the start of this convention are with us today. No one wants to see an MDL-Faction dominated Assembly,” Policy said smoothly.
“The only difference is that now that they’ve seen the Governor, they’re still not flocking to our banners. I can spin anything and make it look good, but first you have to give me something to spin!” said the former news anchor.
“Supporting the Tyrant into the top slot in the Fleet hasn’t just sat poorly with our own Sector Delegates, it's hurt us among the hard line anti-machinist faction in MDL. They were starting to break away with their current leadership over the issue when we threw our own support behind him,” agreed the Military Adviser.
“We have no choice,” stated Policy bringing the eyes back on him, “we have to secure the Speakership for our party, and right now that means the Governor,” he nodded in Isaak’s direction.
“We’ve got to have something to hang our hats on,” Media said with certainty.
“I hate to admit it but if we can’t swing things with our current strategy then we might have to consider drastic measures,” Policy said finally.
Military pressed his lips together tightly.
When it became clear he wasn’t going to speak, all eyes swung towards the Governor.
“Sir, I’m afraid…” Policy trailed off leadingly.
“I know what you’re about to say, but put that on hold for now,” Isaak said giving the other man a flinty look, “despite your lack of faith in me, I do have another plan. If that fails then we can consider drastic measures.”
“Then please let us in on your plan, Sir,” said Policy, “otherwise all we’re left with currently are grand and potentially self-destructive gestures to try and sway things.”
“Such as?” asked the Military Adviser, realizing from the looks of things he was the only one who didn’t know what they were talking about.
“Resignation, followed by a grand speech on the Assembly floor calling for unity,” Media said shortly and condescendingly.
Isaak grimaced. “In essence, yes,” he said and then fell silent, “but, like I said, put that on hold for now.”
“Again, what’s your plan?” said his top adviser.
“As we are all well aware, for some time the new Grand Assembly has been struggling to decide on the location of its meeting place. No one is happy with basing it permanently in one Sector—unless of course it’s theirs,” he smiled wryly.
“Your point? I take it you mean to concede the Capitol issue even though we’re currently winning it,” said Policy.
“I plan to both concede and, at the same time, to win with style,” Isaak gloated and then looked up sharply, “you remember when we spoke about a mobile headquarters for the Assembly.”
The older adviser nodded.
“You said you had a promising lead and then we got busy and I heard nothing for a while and we got busy. It honestly slipped my mind,” said the older adviser.
“It didn’t slip mine,” Isaak said.
“What have you got?” Policy asked looking excited.
Isaak smiled. “There will soon be the arrival of an aged monolith which, ironically enough, used to be a mobile Sector headquarters more than two century ago before it was decommissioned,” said the Governor.
Policy looked surprised. “I know for a fact we didn’t have anything of the sort in this Sector two centuries ago,” he said with certainty.
“Nobody said that it belonged to Sector 25—or even the Spineward Sectors for that matter,” said Isaak with relish, “it was an old heartlander construction dated back to shortly after the AI wars and only decommissioned recently.”
“Two hundred years is a short time ago?!” his Military Adviser protested.
“Compared to the AI wars it is,” Policy said shortly.
“Does it still run? That’s the real question,” said their Media Adviser, “something that old, well…if anything went wrong with the ship everything would be laid right at the feet of the esteemed Governor.”
She looked surprised when the Governor turned suddenly hot eyes on her.
“Well it would,” she protested defensively.
“That’s not what I was upset by,” he replied turning his gaze away.
She released a pent up breath. “They built those things to last,” said the elderly adviser, steering the conversation back to where it belonged.
There was a pregnant pause before Isaak grimaced and gestured at the table where a new image immediately sprang up.
“It was completely refurbished into a floating pleasure palace…” eyes perked up around the table, “before it was captured by pirates and converted back into a mobile slave auction and clearing house,” reported the Governor.
“Converted ‘back’ into a mobile slave auction house,” the Captain’s said hollowly.
“It was originally intended as a prison transport, and served that purpose for several decades before being mothballed later due to politics. Eventually it was converted into a mobile Sector headquarters as a cost saving-measure and, although it was never actually used, it was maintained in service at inactive status for several hundred years before finally being sold off,” explained the Governor.
“Intense,” Media said, her eyes shining as she immediately began contemplating new media strategies based around this new addition to the political equation.
“It served the heartland well and now it will serve its new function as host of the Spineward Sectors’ Grand Assembly moot just as effectively,” Governor Isaak said with satisfaction.
“Assuming the Grand Assembly will accept it,” cautioned Military.
The Governor and his former colleague, the Policy Adviser, shared a chuckle. “We sacrifice basing the new Grand Assembly in Sector 25 and provide them a mobile base that not only can visit any of their Sectors at any time, but also allows them to avoid an Imperial attack on a fixed position? They’ll be all but jumping at the opportunity,” Policy said dryly.
“It also has the beauty of allowing a speedy government evacuation so that the Spine can heroically keep fighting long after Jason Montagne has been destroyed by Cornwallis,” Isaak sneered, “or, alternately, to quickly arrive at the scene of victory to laud our hero, pin on a metal, and then snatch up as many hulls for the Confederation as our tow ships—and an emergency bill rammed through the Assembly—can manage.”
“After all, the Grand Admiral,” he sneered, “will be fighting a full-fledged Imperial fleet this time, not the hum scrum of an Imperial cadre in local ships and overwhelmingly manned by Spineward locals. Either way, the losses the Little Admiral and his accursed MSP sustain will have to be brutal.”
“We don’t want to get ahead of ourselves here and start counting our chickens before they hatch,” warned Policy, “we want to be the ones giving the other side enough rope to hang himself by, not the other way around.”
“A definite point, and well taken,” Isaak said, the raging fire in his eyes banking back into a fitful slumber.
“I hate to be the stick in the mud here but can we afford all this? The Monolith, I mean,” the Military Adviser asked uneasily, looking up from the ship specs for the old monolith now that there was a break in the conversation.
“Commodore Bluetooth can be…persuasive, when it suits him,” chuckled the Governor, “and I did mention before that it was being used by slavers.”
“I didn’t mean that,” the Captain said with a grimace, “I meant the refurbishment. That’s going to burn a hole through somebody’s budget and if it’s not done on time…”
“Oh the refit’s almost done,” the Governor said dismissively, “the Aegis Yards were more than happy to accept the business, part of the reason they were willing to hold their votes on Montagne during the Grand Admiral issue,” he said wryly, “as for budgetary concerns, let’s leave that to the treasury, hmm? You just focus on the military picture while I lock down the political side of things.”
“This will definitely help things,” said Policy with a satisfied nod, “I knew there was a reason I hitched my star to yours—besides pure, blind idealism of course.”
“You are the least idealistic person I know,” grunted Isaak.
The other man just smiled like a well fed snake. After a while the smile slowly faded and he turned serious again.
“While this will help, and I dare say secure your position as faction leader for the foreseeable future, it may still not be enough for the Grand Speakership,” said the Adviser
The Governor’s eyes immediately cut back toward his adviser.
“I wasn’t aware that my position was quite that unstable,” Isaak said stonily.
“Well now you know. It’s my job to keep you focused and on task. You knew there was a risk and now there isn’t. That still leaves securing the top slot,” said Policy.
The Governor gave a humorless smile. “You and I are going to have to work on our lines of communication,” he said.
“Of course,” Policy said unrepentantly, “but if we can’t lock up both the faction and the Speakership we need to consider alternatives.”
The Governor took a deep breath. “This is not what I wanted to hear. We took great risks sending the flotilla into Sector 26 to secure this Monolith and now you’re telling me after everything it’s still not enough,” said the Governor.
Policy splayed his hands. “Nothing is certain in politics, you know that,” he said with a hard look, “at a certain point there’s only so much the rest of us can do for you. You are the one who has to lead, Isaak.”
Isaak nodded sharply and then sat back. He poured himself a cup of water and slowly drank it.
“While I prefer to win outright, I do have a fallback position,” he said humorlessly.
“What, Minister of Defense? Head of the Budgetary Committee?” asked Media with surprise.
“Nothing so plebeian…” he said, pulling back with a frown.
There was a pause as everyone looked at him expectantly.
“Confederation Prime Minister,” Governor Isaak said at last.
“Prime Minister?” Military asked with surprise.
“It’s a generally powerless head of state position that no one really wants. But,” Isaak smiled darkly, “while the Head of State in the old Confederation was a powerless, toothless position, a Moral Authority in name only, and one that no one wanted, who’s to say that Prime Minister of the Confederation of the Spine wouldn’t be an entirely different affair…especially depending on who the first Prime Minister is?” he added leadingly. “In the beginning a Prime Minister had wielded actual power in the Old Confederation, it was only later that the powers of that office were…curtailed.”
“For good reason,” Policy remarked firmly, “too much concentration of power in one person’s hands…” he trailed off and a smile started to grow on his face, “it would have to be very carefully done, but I suppose it’s doable. We did base our new constitution on the original Confederation charter after all,” he said finally.
“We just have to ‘guide’ which amendments the assembly brings up for consideration,” Isaak agreed.
“Or slightly modify the original wording,” said Policy.
The two old politicians shared a meaningful look of mutual understanding.
“This doesn’t sound entirely legal,” said their Military Adviser uneasily.
“Of course it’s legal! We’re lawmakers,” Isaak said firmly, “or at least I’m a lawmaker and you all are on my staff. It’s literally your job to help me draft bills that will be voted on to make new law. But you’re right, in a way. We don’t want to be brought up on ethics charges.”
“We’ll need a patsy,” said Policy his eyes suddenly calculating.
“Someone stupid enough for the job,” said Isaak.
“But well enough connected that it could realistically seem like it was his or her idea,” agreed Policy.
“Now that I think on it a moment, I have just the person in mind,” said Policy.
Chapter 15: Easy Haven Receives Troubling News
“Is it confirmed?” McCruise asked heavily as her hatchet face twisted into an even more ugly than usual expression.
“A local mining freighter carrying the Grand Fleet of Liberation’s general broadcast message put sensors on the fleet before being escorted away from the formation, boarded, and its computers files copied before being allowed to return to leave the Overton Expanse and return to the Spine with its cargo intact,” reported the captain, “they got the whole database.”
“So they know everything that freighter knew about the Spineward Sectors. Blast,” McCruise cursed in a low voice but with feeling, “well there goes any hope of keeping Easy Haven out of this mess. Faint as it was,” she turned to look at him, “now what was it I hear about fleet codes?”
“The codes embedded into the general broadcast check out with security,” the Chief of Staff said neutrally, “it would appear that, by order of the Grand Assembly, all Confederation forces are to submit themselves to Imperial inspection and are to render any and all assistance in turning this region of space over to the Empire.”
“They can’t do that! It’s a complete violation of the Confederation charter,” exclaimed Captain Far-Bright.
“Legal informs me that, technically, a case could be made that we are in a state of rebellion, due to unpaid taxes…of more than five years now. Technically the Confederation has the right to seize anything up to entire planets to pay back taxes using the eminent domain clauses. It’s only been exercised a few times our history but…” McCruise said neutrally.
“So because they abandoned us, cut all communications and then blew up what little mega-governmental structures remained and we couldn’t find a way to send a treasure fleet back to the Confederation capital after all this, they get to say we’re rebels because of back taxes and can sell us to the Empire? This is outrageous,” the Captain said with growing fury.
“No, that’s not what I’m saying,” she retorted sharply, “my point is that we are sworn to uphold the Confederation charter and according to that very charter, if they can do it legally then our oaths are still valid,” McCruise said unhappily. “We may hate it and we can petition the Fleet, the Government and the Civil Liberties watch dog organizations for help. We even have the option to resign our commissions in protest. But if we stay in this fleet and we fail to follow orders then this goes beyond a series of just actions taken while cut off from Confederation authority and the chain of command—it goes straight into mutiny and, potentially, treason charges.
“You can’t be serious! Has the entire Confederation gone into a state of temporary insanity,” exclaimed Far-Bright, “surely it is our job as the Fleet to fight tyranny and stop any enemies both internal and external.”
“I will deny no man or woman the right to her conscience,” McCruise said flatly.
“Blasted too right!” Far-Bright pounded the table for emphasis.
“At the same time I refuse to see this command tear itself apart from the inside,” she came back sharply.
“What are your intentions, Commodore?” he asked.
“Don’t you mean orders, Captain,” she said with heavy emphasis on Far-Bright’s lower rank.
He grimaced.
“Orders then. What are your orders, Commodore,” he frowned.
“Gather our top officers. We need to have a meeting,” she said and then after he left the room to begin gathering her staff she placed a call to security.
Chapter 16: Admiral Montagne Issues Movement Orders
“How go the talks in front of the Assembly sub-committees?" asked Captain Hammer the moment I walked into her ready room.
I immediately grimaced.
“That good, eh?” she asked as I plopped down into the guest’s chair in her office.
“Could be worse,” I sighed, and then looking up I motioned for my protective detail to finish scanning the room so they could leave.
Everyone except Sean D’Argeant exited the room and seeing that he intended to stay despite my non-verbal instruction I rolled my eyes but said nothing.
She looked at me questioningly.
“So how are things on the ship?” I asked.
“The ship is fine,” she replied.
“And its crew?” I asked.
“What is this, an interrogation? We were just discussing your meeting with this new Spineward Sector wide Assembly,” she said sourly.
“No, you were talking about it, I was asking about the ship and its crew. Maybe even hoping to hear a little bit about the ship’s captain as well while we were at it,” I said evenly.
“Not likely,” Hammer snorted, “I’m not ready to cry on anyone’s shoulder, Sir.”
“Just goes to show what honesty gets you,” I shrugged, “so about the crew?”
Hammer shook her head. “You actually went through with it,” she said wearily.
“We’ve known what I was intending to do for weeks now, that was the entire purpose of taking two Battleship squadrons along for an escort force, and I officially signed on as the Spineward Sectors’s new Grand Admiral two days ago. None of this is new, Captain,” I said, giving her a penetrating look.
“The crew is shaken, Admiral,” said Captain Hammer, “even though it was expected. Even though many knew it was a possibility, it was still a blow when it landed. I’ll be honest when I say that none of this seems real. We woke up from cryo-sleep to find that we were rescued as an afterthought. That everyone back home gave up on us decades ago thinking us dead or worse.”
“I’ve done the best I know how for your people, Captain,” I sighed.
“I won’t deny that. You rescued us, gave us back our lives and then you gave us a purpose and worse you gave us hope. And now that hope is being taken away.”
“Not by me, Leonora,” I said compassionately.
“Yes, by you, Sir. With all respect that is exactly what you are doing,” she said, drawing herself up.
“You think I should have just stood by while the Empire rapes the Spine then, Captain?” I asked.
“It’s Lieutenant Commander, and I won’t deny the Confederation turned its back on the Spineward Sectors but knowing that and betraying the Confederation myself in turn is a different thing,” she said tensely, a bead of sweat on her forehead.
I tensed, silently turning my left wrist up in a helpless gesture even as I confirmed the location of the hold-out blaster pistol strapped to my arm—a hold-out weapon Leonora Hammer had been with me long enough to know I sometimes carried.
“Let’s not pretend that the Confederation simply turned its back on us, Commander Hammer,” I said, leaning forward in my chair to lock eyes with her. “That might have flown back when all they’d done was abandon us in place while the Empire shot up everything in sight. Right now what we have is a whole other ball of wax. The Confederation, seeing an advantage to itself in carting us off to the Empire, suddenly remembers the Sectors it let go. That’s a betrayal infinitely worse than a loyal and honest sailor abandoned in place, continuing to defend the helpless people of the Spine from all enemies internal and external.”
“I thought I could do it,” she said talking to herself as much as to me, “I really, honestly did.”
“What defend the people of the Spineward Sectors against the Empire or did you mean to gun me down in your office and simply lost the nerve?” I snorted, but even as I pretended to laugh with forced humor I was watching everything with calculating eyes. I’d been gunned down in an office just like this one by my old adversary, Jean Luc Montagne. I wasn’t about to make the same mistake again. Being shot in the neck one time was one time too many.
Behind me Sean D’Argeant tensed, his gaze sharpening on the obviously conflicted Leonora Hammer.
“And do what? Die with honor after inciting everyone who feels like me to turn on their fellow crewmates? Please,” she said rolling her eyes, “don’t think I didn’t notice the extra Lancer battalions we took on before we left. Marine country is packed to the gills right now. A mutiny would be suicide.”
“So you did notice,” I said.
Hammer gave me a withering look. “I’m the Captain of this ship. Of course I noticed. Even if I was so inclined, the whole crew put together couldn’t take on those genetically engineered super freaks,” she glared.
“Why do I get the sense you’re not entirely happy with that assessment…or am I tragically misjudging you, Officer Hammer,” I said coolly.
“Killing you wouldn’t stop this, if it even needs to be stopped. Or should be stopped,” Hammer sighed, “just don’t take me for a fool; we have eight under-crewed warships running on this new slave rigging program that Science Officer of yours, Jones, cooked up and only the Rage has room for a full compliment of Lancers and marines. I know you consider me a security risk.”
“I don’t consider you a risk, and besides this is the flagship where history has shown that I need that kind of force at my disposal,” I protested.
“Then you’re a fool,” she said.
“No,” I said slowly and then sighed, “I’ve been down this road before and as you yourself said I have more than enough Lancers that I don’t have to consider one of my top officers and closest confidants a threat risk. I mean, not unless you plan to leap on me at close range with a knife.”
I could see Sean’s gaze become even more laser focused on the Flag Captain as I spoke.
“Strangely, not one of the options I had considered,” Hammer said, giving me a strange look.
“You should speak with my former First Officer about his aversion to knives,” I chortled with mirth, even though it wasn’t at all appropriate on so many different levels.
“I don’t believe I recall what happened to him,” she said, looking at me steadily.
“He was exiled,” I said waving a hand, “you have nothing to worry about; he tried to take my ship and plotted to take my life several times and I let him go. You should have nothing to worry about no matter what your decision. If I was the sort of officer who killed every mutinous subordinate the first time they raised the rebel flag, I’d have just about no one left.”
“That’s not exactly something I’d go bragging about if I were you,” advised Hammer.
“I was intemperate in my youth and far too forgiving for my own good,” I agreed, “but I’m still here—and so is the MSP and we’re both more powerful than ever before, so I must have done something right.”
“That’s not a way to live and it's certainly not any way to run a battle fleet,” she scolded with a long-suffering smile.
“Well that’s what I’ve got professionals like you for, right?” I grinned.
Her smile wilted. “If it was just the Empire I’d say batten down the hatches and dam the torpedoes. Not just myself but I dare say the rest of my transplants would be all in,” she said.
“Your transplants? I thought we were all one big happy fleet, and that partisan strife was no way to run things?” I reminded her.
“I think it would be best if I tendered my resignation,” she said, reaching up and unsnapping her rank tabs. Hesitating for a moment, her face firmed up and she placed them on the table with a click.
“I could refuse to accept,” I said calmly and without expression.
“I might have friends or family aboard some of the Confed ships with the Imperial Fleet. If I stayed here not only would I have to issue orders that could kill them but I might never be able to go home,” she said simply, “I’ve seen what happened to the original crew of the Lucky Clover. Most of them expected a six to nine month tour and they haven’t been able to go home or see their kin for five years now.”
“I’m working to change that for the original crew, and not just for them. The MSP will be instituting a vacation program. Extracting certain guarantees on that front from the new government was one of my key objectives,” I said.
“That’s great,” she said perfunctorily, “I really mean that. But the Confederation of the Spine can issue any proclamation it wants and pass a hundred bills and resolutions, but that won’t help those of us who have friends, family or even just ‘might’ still have family alive back home in the heartland sectors.”
“So is that what this has devolved to? We turn against each other like rabid snap weasels based solely on geographical lines,” I inquired as I could feel my face darkening.
“Really?” she demanded. “That’s not at all what I meant, but for you of all people to say that to me. Mr. 'Grand Admiral of the Spine, this is the Spineward Sectors and we’ll stand against all enemies internal or external'.”
I stopped moving and gave her a long look in response and then shrugged. “Alright then,” I said turning away, “I’ll expect a list of people who, like you, are determined to keep faith with the old Confederation to the bitter end before you leave this office. After that you can consider yourself relieved.” With that said, I walked to the door.
“What assurances do I have that anyone I identify will be treated properly?” Hammer asked.
I turned on my heel. “What?” I asked in a clipped tone.
“I said—” she started.
“I heard what you asked,” I said seething with anger, “when have I ever treated you or the other sleepers with anything other than respect or the proper behavior expected between a superior and a subordinate, that you would ask me such a thing?”
“This is a war, Admiral. While I have no desire to fight you that doesn’t mean I want to languish on some penal colony like the one you have back in Tracto without at least asking for better first,” she said.
“A penal colony? I see,” I sneered, “well, Captain, unlike what you think, I am not in the habit of putting honorable people who have served me well in penal colonies,” she opened her mouth but I moved to cut her off, “nor do I intend to throw you out an airlock for mutiny!”
Her mouth closed.
“Despite what you clearly think of me, I’m no barbarian,” I snapped, “a freighter is being refit and will launch before this war with the Empire hits its stride. When it's ready, you can all have a very long, very slow trip through the Overton Expanse while you think about your lives—and the lives of the comrades you left behind on your way back to the Confederation.”
“Thank you for that,” Hammer said, drawing herself up to attention and saluting.
I sniffed, turning away rather than return her salute.
“I had to be sure. The rumors about you, engaging in one on one combat to the death with mutineers, threatening to space people out of airlocks…” she trailed off, “we’ve been through a lot together but when it comes to lives of my people I had to be sure,” she finished.
And there it was: her people. I didn’t know when she had started thinking that way, with myself and the other loyal MSP’ers as outsiders, or if she’d just always felt that way from the beginning. Well, truth be told, I knew she’d felt that way at first—I’m not stupid—I’d just hoped for better.
I’d hoped that over time she’d come to see the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet as a new home for her and her fellow sleepers and the rest of us as fellow Confederation spacers, but apparently I’d failed.
How much of that failure was due to my recent decision to join forces with the new Confederation in the Spine? I grimaced, knowing the answer was 'probably most of it,' but given the chance I’d probably make the same decision.
Probably…
“I understand,” I said, and I did. To her I was a traitor, a mutineer or at the very best a deserter, either way she owed those loyal to the Confederation that sold the Spine to the Empire more than she owed the rest of us. “As soon as you're done here, confine yourself to quarters. You can use the mess deck and the rec facilities as per usual and you’ll be escorted by ship security for your own protection. Emotions are running high right now and not everyone will understand your decision to rejoin a government that just sold their home worlds to the highest bidder.”
Hammer winced but nodded. “I think you’re overstating that particular line of reasoning, but I can’t say you’re wrong and there are plenty of other good reasons not to have this ship’s former captain running around freely,” she said.
“I’m glad you’re so understanding,” I said with a stiff nod, and then slapping open the doors to the captain’s ready room I stalked away.
Hopping off a lift and arriving back in my own Admiral’s ready room, before I’d even realized in the front of my mind exactly where I was going, I plopped down in my chair with a weary slump.
“This is no good,” I said to no one in particular making note that ‘this time’ my bodyguards had decided to allow me to stay inside a room without their presence. Before I forgot, I passed a message to security to have the Captain escorted to her quarters as soon as she was done in her office, and then I sat and brooded.
The sad fact of the matter was that I was soon going to be out of as many as several thousand highly skilled officers and crew. The crew I could probably make up somehow, someway, but losing those officers wasn’t just going to hurt. It could cripple my expansion efforts. I had dozens of warships sitting empty right now for want of crew, and even more that needed to be fixed before they were crewed. Just manning these eight Battleships, even with the slave rigging, was stretching our pool of available manpower to the limit.
I was sitting there, unhappy and stewing, when the door to my ready room chimed and then without waiting for an answer swept open.
There were only a handful of people who my armsmen would allow to do that.
There is, of course, one other possibility, I thought as I reached up my sleeve for my hold-out blaster pistol. My guards could have been overwhelmed—
My train of thought came to an abrupt end as my wife entered the room.
“Overwhelmed indeed,” I groaned as Akantha tossed her hair over one shoulder and, after looking around to spot me, immediately walked over.
“Am I interrupting something?” she asked.
“Not right at this moment, but—” I started.
“Good,” she said simultaneously cutting me off and plopping herself down one of my visitor’s chairs.
“What can I do you for?” I asked wearily. We were both trying to improve our relationship but we’d had a few rocky encounters over the years when it came to my work. I just hoped we weren’t back for a rerun of past bad encounters.
“Rough day at work?” she asked with concern.
I looked at her with surprise. Alert for the coiled snake waiting, biding her time while she waited to strike and not finding it. That didn’t mean I wasn’t just too mentally tired to spot it right now though.
“It could have been better,” I said cautiously and then seeing her interested look decided to throw out a bone and see what happened, “I had to fire Captain Hammer today. Looks like I’m going to need a new warship captain.”
“Ouch. That doesn’t sound good,” she frowned giving me an assessing look, “we talked about this possibility before you left Tracto. When you say 'fired' did you forcibly separate her from service or…?” she trailed off.
“I guess you could say it was a mutual decision,” I paused as she looked at me steadily. I frowned, “Well that’s not exactly true. Basically she informed me she couldn’t do it anymore and that I needed to replace her. It was only what we talked about later which made me determined to let her go.”
Akantha’s eyes narrowed. “You were the one that told me her Executive Officer is a Confederation sleeper too,” she mused.
I eyed her. “Everything is under control,” I said, an edge creeping into my voice.
“I know it is, I’ve been monitoring the situation. I have every confidence in you and the Lancers assigned to watching the captain and guarding the ship,” she said.
“I’ve got this, Akantha. Let me take care of it,” I said wearily.
She gave a look and opened her mouth, her brows clashing together, and then she stopped and took a breath.
“I know you could take care of it by yourself. But I need…no I want to help you. You have enough worries with the Assembly. This new Confederation is taking up much of your time,” she said.
I looked at her wryly and then, taking note of the genuine emotion in her eyes, I could feel the seriousness of the situation.
“I just don’t want any bodies on the ground unless it’s absolutely necessary. These people deserve my trust,” I said.
“And they have your trust,” Akantha agreed, “I’ll just be there to make sure they think twice before betraying it.”
“Alright then, I agree,” I said despite my better judgment.
Akantha’s smile lit up the room.
“Whoa there,” I said, leaning back as Akantha looked at me quizzically.
I tugged on the collar of my shirt and quickly changed the subject.
“Considering that we are about to lose several hundred, if not several thousand, of our most experienced personnel I’ve decided to order the Easy Haven contingent to send the bulk of their personnel to rendezvous with us here at Central. Hopefully that will help round out the losses. It won’t help for crew or command team cohesion but it’s the best we can do right now and, honestly, with Wolf-9 destroyed and their yard and fleet support and repair facilities still being repaired they’re swinging in the wind,” I said.
Akantha cocked her head. “My understanding is that Easy Haven is Confederation Fleet the same way these sleepers are. Don’t you risk losing their loyalty by calling upon them now?” she asked and then leaned forward. “Worse, what if they decide their oaths call them to join forces with the invaders? Remember Cornwallis leads a coalition force made of up Empire and Confederation Fleet forces,” she reminded me.
I winced. “Of course I’ve considered it. I just don’t see what I can do. For starters they are not exactly the same as the former sleepers, the reserve squadron based at Wolf-9 had to recruit heavily from Sector 25 to expand their forces and man their ships and reactivated facilities. Like me many of them should consider the Spine and, more specifically, Sector 25 and the worlds thereof to be their home. I hope that when called they will choose to follow me rather than join Cornwallis in suppressing their home worlds,” I said, giving the table a light thump with my fist.
“Hope is a thin reed that bears no weight,” Akantha said, “but I’ll hope alongside you. We can use all the forces we can muster.”
“While them joining with the Imperial Navy can be considered a worst case scenario, at the same time it would be a relief. Part of the reason I’m calling for them is Easy Haven can’t be defended by itself or what few forces I could spare them. At the same time, according to the armed services committee, the Grand Assembly in the Spine is sending out orders to rally everything at Central, as the place with the most intact defensive network. That makes this a natural extension of those orders and if they mutiny or declare their independence from my command doing so now will cut short any blow back in the Assembly,” I said.
“My my, you're already considering the political angles regarding Easy Haven,” Akantha said with distaste.
“Let’s not pretend we’re not the both of us political creatures, my beloved Sword-Bearer,” Akantha scowled, a hand instinctively going to the dark blade sheathed across her back.
“The difference is you seem to enjoy the role in a way I never will,” she said curtly.
“I don’t know that I actively enjoy it,” I said immediately and then honesty and two moments to reflect made me amend that statement, “well I don’t seek it out. If I could avoid the snake pit that is politics I would do so in a heartbeat. But I maintain it’s not my fault if I have a knack for it. Even if I occasionally enjoy the cut and thrust a little more than maybe I should,” I finished defensively.
“Apparently I made a better choice when I accepted you than even I knew at the time,” Akantha said.
“As I recall it, you didn’t have much choice in the matter,” I snickered, remembering the sight of her attached to the wall of the bug ship by a strap of living material extruded from the wall.
She glared at me. “Don’t you know it’s not wise to twit a woman about such matters?”
I suppressed a chuckle and hid a smile behind a quickly raised hand before smoothing out my features into amiable neutrality.
She shook her head at me and discretion being the better part of valor I decided it was high time to catch up on some paperwork.
Utilizing voice activated software I pulled up several standard forms and started dictating, cutting orders summoning as many warships from Gambit and Tracto as they could be spared before starting a new file.
I hesitated before clearing my throat. I might as well get this over with as soon as possible.
“Under my authority and in light of this invasion, I see no practical way for Easy Haven to hold by itself and no practical way for it to be sufficiently reinforced before it would fall to an enemy fleet. That being the case, I am summoning as much of the Easy Haven forces as can be moved to the rally point at Central alongside the MSP and our multi-sector allies.
“Discretion is given to the commander at the scene on whether to continue manning the system or to abandon the facilities in place for a later return, considering the honor of the reserve squadron tasked with its defense and the high levels of sacrifice that has been called from them.
“This message is to be sent by way of the FTL network marked urgent priority.
“Post Script: so long as the Imperials come in for a brawl, the fixed defenses of Central will make all the difference. Commodore McCruise. As such, I urge you to consider the best interests of not only your sailors and marines but also the citizens of this sector we are both sworn to protect in this time of renewed turmoil.
-Grand Admiral Montagne of the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet for the Spineward Confederation, with all relevant attendant signatures.”
I stopped to watch as the software finished affixing my electronic signature and felt the enormity of what I was doing. I was about to go up against the most powerful navy in human space, commanded by a military leader so successful he’d been elevated to a powerful position within the Empire of Man’s Galactic Senate. Worse, to do it I’d had to throw away five years of work. I fought for this Sector and others under the auspices of the Old Confederation—the original Confederation—for so long and so hard that I’d actually believed myself that I was a true son of the Confederation, and a real officer out doing Saint Murphy’s work here in the benighted regions of space the Spineward Sectors had become. The notion had become so ingrained in my public persona that I’d taken it on for myself. And now it was all coming apart.
Sure, I was the Grand Admiral of a Confederation in more than just name now. At least so the self-appointed members of the Assembly told me, a group of men and women who hadn’t stood for election except possibly on their home worlds for much lesser positions and even then were most likely political appointees.
I could already see the fault lines in our relationship and where I might have happily accepted the will of the old Confederation, so long as it meant the Spine would have been saved, not sold, and welcomed back into the Confederation of Worlds
This sucked.
“Feeling sorry for yourself again?”Akantha asked breaking into my mental train of thought.
I gave her an irritated look. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said.
“I’m your wife; I know you better than that, Jason Montagne,” she rolled her eyes.
“You know they say behind every great man is a woman rolling her eyes,” I shot back.
She looked taken aback and then scoffed. “I think you mean that in reverse,” she riposted in typical Tracto-an matriarchal style and then scowled at me, “not that you haven’t done a lot of eye-roll-worthy things of late. But joining this new Confederation was not one of them,” she informed me.
“Oh? Do tell,” I said, “regale me with your great wisdom, oh high-and-mighty Hold Mistress.”
“You mock, but in your lack of humor you’ve hit upon a truism you’d be wise to remember: I am a Hold Mistress with great wisdom,” she said seriously.
I couldn’t help myself from chortling.
“Are you starting to believe the rumors of your own infallibility, Mistress Akantha?” I asked with a grin.
“Who said I was infallible?” she shook her head. “No, I didn’t say I was infallible, I said I had wisdom. In this case, for you.”
“Alright, lay it on me,” I said, this was going to be good I could just tell.
“I know you’ve wrestled with casting off the Confederation that abandoned you for this new one of paper, artifice, and scared little men scrambling for power in the face of their own destruction,” she said seriously.
“I like your characterization of the new Assembly members,” I said seriously.
“Can you not mock me for half of one single minute?” she demanded started to get really angry for the first time.
“I’m sorry, my lady,” I said repentantly and then gestured for her to go on.
“Listen to this if nothing else: you had two honorable options. To stand firm in your fastnesses and only come out from behind the walls once the Empire and the new Confederation had exhausted themselves, or to join forces with the enemy of your enemy. It’s as simple as that,” she informed me.
“What about the fact that I’ve been telling everyone I’m an Admiral in one Confederation and suddenly I’m Grand Admiral in another, smaller one?” I asked.
Akantha shook her head. “How long have we been bound together now?” she asked rhetorically. “In all that time, not once have I seen this Confederation. Where were they? Easy Haven? The reserve squadron was abandoned in place with no supplies or relief to speak of, except what it received from you. The Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet? As I understand it, every single ship except the Lucky Clover abandoned the fleet and you had to rebuild it entirely yourself. Loyalty flows both ways, Protector, not just one,” she informed me strictly, “and besides, as I understand it, there was no dishonor when every ship in your original fleet renounced their service to your Confederation. How is it now different for you to do the same?”
“That’s one way to look at it,” I snorted, it didn’t help easy all of my worries but hearing the words definitely helped.
“Hold the line, and only when this is over with worry about the finger pointing,” she advised me.
“That’s good advice,” I agreed.
“Speaking of which,” she said coming around the table, pulling me to my feet and linking arms with me, “since I get the feeling you don’t want me watching the sleepers too closely, how about I stay with you for a while.”
“That sounds great,” I said.
“Perfect,” she grinned a sharp edge suddenly emerging to her smile, “I’ve so wanted to see this new Assembly in person!”
Alarm bells immediately started going off in my head. “I’m not heading down to the surface again for hours,” I said instantly.
“Oh pish-posh,” she said in a most un-Tracto-an of accents, which I could only take to mean she’d been spending entirely too much time with my mother of all people, “I’m sure we can find ‘something’ to keep us occupied in between now and then.”
“Akantha,” I said in a warning voice.
“I’ve traveled half way across the Sector,” she declared, “you didn’t think I did that so I could stay cooped up in our rooms did you?”
“Well no, but right now we are in particularly delicate negotiations and—” I started.
“My mother gets to go to this new Assembly, you get to go, why even my mother’s assistant gets to see what it is all about. But all I get are rumors and these four walls?” she asked witheringly. “Why, I’ve even seen officers from this very ship accompany you to the Assembly building so don’t tell me that I of all people—”
“Alright-alright-alright!” I cried before calming down, “Listen, it’s clear you have your heart set on it so I won’t try to stop you,” I hastened to interrupt. “I just beseech you: we are in the middle of very delicate negotiations right now, literally anything could set this off, if we’re going to make this work we need to do our best job.”
“Implying I won’t do my best?” she asked archly.
“That’s not what I meant at all,” I said with a sinking feeling.
But instead of what would usually happen, her taking offense and the conversation degenerating from there, she just nodded. “Good. Then you won’t mind that I’m accompanying you,” she said.
I was taken aback and momentarily thrown off my stride but I soon rallied. “That's great then,” I said with a sigh of relief.
“Perfect,” she said enthusiastically, “I’ll make sure to wear my formal best. I think that, after we’ve done whatever it is you need to do, I’d like to visit the Assembly floor if possible.”
“Any particular reason?” I asked, feeling a sense of foreboding.
“Oh, no particular reason,” she said airily and I started to relax.
That was a mistake.
“I just remember my mother saying how intractable the Assembly proved to Tracto when she was here. It would be nice to put a face to the Assembly, and your holo-images only do so much,” she said.
“We’ll probably end up spending more time here in Central, or reporting back here, so that’s probably a good idea,” I said.
“Then of course there’s your less-than-stellar treatment here since we arrived, and the 'slap heard round the Sector',” she finished with a decided edge to her smile.
“I’m a big boy; I can handle myself,” I said firmly.
“I know you can—that’s why I took you in. But did you know that in my culture for a powerful woman to lay hands on a Hold Mistress’s Protector is a direct and personal insult to that Mistress, possibly even a challenge,” she said sounding almost happy.
“Akantha…” I said.
“Wars have been started for less you know,” she advised me.
“We won’t be starting any wars here. Promise me that,” I said, as my hard-edged words from immediately after the incident surrounding my arrival at Central turning around to bite me.
Akantha grimaced in distaste and gave me a hard look.
“We’ve had several wars now and almost no hand-to-hand combat!” she berated me. “If I didn’t still have your sword I’d start to think you were biased against me in some way. No! I’m not here to start any more wars, we have enough of those, I assure you.”
“Thank you,” I sighed.
“Looking up the rules of this new Assembly has been quite illuminating: full members are subject to the rules of reciprocal decorum, requiring each side respect the individual culture or face the Ethics Committee, but it appears that since we are just provisional members that doesn’t apply to us,” she said.
“I hesitate to know more,” I said firmly, determined to end the conversation now.
“Instead we are treated as ambassadors,” she confided to me as I felt a growing sense of dread. “I’ll give you two words,” she added.
“I’d prefer to skip the words and buy a vowel,” I joked.
“Diplomatic Immunity,” she said.
“Akantha,” I warned.
“What do you think the media will do when they look back and compare the 'slap heard round the Sector' with the 'slap heard round the galaxy'?” she asked contemplatively.
“Akantha!” I said, jerking away.
“Okay, I’ll give her a fair chance to offer a challenge first,” she said patiently.
“Akantha!” I shouted.
Chapter 17: Long Faces in Easy Haven
“New orders from the MSP, Commodore,” reported McCruise's Aide.
“We’re getting bold now, aren’t we, Admiral,” she mused aloud before looking around and reminding her staff, “this is an independent command.”
After she had made her point she motioned for the aide to continue.
“The MSP, or directly from the Admiral, Ensign?” she asked. “Please try to be as specific as reasonably possible when reporting.”
“The Grand Admiral has issued new orders, Acting Commodore,” reported McCruise’s aide when he finally had the chance to speak again.
McCruise and Captain Far-Bright exchanged long looks as their slate’s pinged and the new orders sprang up on their small screens.
“We’re stuck between a rock and a hard place then, Commodore,” sighed the Captain.
“Grand Admiral, he says,” asked McCruise raising a brow, “is there any confirmation? I haven’t had a chance to look at the attachments yet.”
“Grand Admiral Montagne, Sir. He’s been promoted by the new Confederation in the Spine,” the Aide reported stiffly.
“It’s confirmed then? Ah, there it is. Montagne has officially joined this new Multi-Sector Spineward organization,” McCruise said flatly as she started reading through the new orders.
“I don’t see how any of that matters, Sir,” argued the Captain, “we’re cut off, abandoned in place, and now invaded by the very same people who’re supposed to be on the same side as us!”
“Check that kind of rhetoric double fast, Captain. This is Confederation Fleet territory—never forget that. Wolf-9 may be gone but the ‘Fleet’ still holds Easy Haven and given enough time we may even be able to rebuild it thanks to LeGodat’s early deal with Montagne,” said Synthia McCruise.
“We won’t be able to build or rebuild anything if these new reports are accurate. We’ve been sold down the river, Sir,” the Captain said with a serious expression and a touch more reserve, “how much more confirmation do we need? We have media reports, Sector level briefings, and now a mining ship that came here directly after being boarded by Imperial Marine Jacks.”
“I find your lack of faith disturbing, Captain. We swore an oath of service to the people of the Confederation and the government that represents them,” McCruise reminded stiffly.
“I find being issued orders to hold in place indefinitely for a photo-op that never materialized disturbing. I find going on five years now without pay or direction from higher up disturbing, Acting Commodore. More than that, I think that those very same ‘rumors’ and lack of pay—and by rumors I mean smuggled in CNN reports from outside the region—saying that the Spine has been given to the Empire, to be more than just disturbing but out and out illegal! Sir!” he finished angrily.
“While I sympathize with your point, please note that this operation is Confederation Fleet not Provincial SDF or this new…Confederation Lite, or whatever they’re trying to call it today. We’re the Fleet that holds these worlds together,” McCruise said harshly.
“Some would argue that it’s the Navy, as in the very Imperial Navy that’s about to invade us, and not the Fleet that’s been holding things together. While others would argue it’s organizations like the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet that are the reason everyone in this room, not to mention this Sector, are still breathing,” shot back the Captain.
“That’s enough.” McCruise’s voice cracked like a whip. The Captain looked at her mutinously. “I am not LeGodat and this is not the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet,” growled the Acting Commodore, “we stand by our brothers and sisters in uniform and hold faith with our oaths to the Confederation. Is that clear? If you want to sue the Grand Assembly in the courts for back pay, by all means file a brief and I’ll forward it for you at the first opportunity.”
“The Grand Assembly isn’t the entire Confederation, and Imperial Navy certainly isn’t the Confederation Fleet Sir!” shot back the Captain.
“The same way our ‘Grand Admiral’ who, by his very own actions, is no longer a part of our Fleet?” Synthia McCruise ground out. “My sympathy is there but it is decidedly not without limits, Captain,” she took a calming breath, “however because of the irregular nature of this command I won’t hold it against any man, woman or herm in the Reserve Squadron who requests relief or separation from service. If you find yourself unable to keep your sworn oath, Captain, then just say so and there’s the door,” she said gesturing before adding more sympathetically. “No one will hold it against you.”
“Why are you doing this, Sir? Our oath is to protect the Confederation from all enemies internal or external. If invading its own territory so that it can sell seven Sectors of the Spine to the Empire isn’t a violation of that charter, I don’t know what is. There have been no planetary, sector or regional votes in the Spine to join the Empire, so how is the Grand Assembly not acting out the very definition our charter has for a domestic enemy of the people, Commodore McCruise?” asked the Captain resolutely.
“That is borderline treason, Mister,” she snapped.
“A Confederation is not an Empire. A Confederation means each star system and Sector has individual sovereignty! A federation-based federal authority might trump local sovereignty, but we’re Confederal, Sir—there’s a difference!”
“You’re splitting hairs now, Captain. Lock it down,” she ordered.
“They can’t do this,” he said hotly and rising to his feet, “it’s wrong, it’s immoral and it's grounds, under the charter we are sworn to uphold, for legal rebellion.”
“That’s your interpretation—one made without all the facts at hand—” started McCruise.
“Facts we’ve been denied! How hard would it be to send a courier to this starbase? But no! We don’t get so much as a mail run back here, instead they sent an invasion fleet!” cried the Captain.
“Marines,” McCruise leaned forward and activated her com-channel to call in security before turning back to the Captain. “As I was saying, we don’t know all the facts. More importantly, I regret that it has come to this,” McCruise said as the door behind her opened and a pair of marines entered the room, “as I said before: I sympathize with anyone who cannot continue in service under these conditions, and won’t hold their honest beliefs against them so long as they do not rise above belief and into actions which, in turn, rise to the level of mutiny against this command. As the current system commander, I cannot allow the chain of command be compromised. I hope you understand,” she finished firmly.
“I understand that you’ve lost touch with reality,” Far-Bright snapped.
“Sergeant, please remove the Captain from my office and confine him to quarters for a 24 hour period. There will be a temporary hold and no incoming or outgoing messages from him during this time,” ordered McCruise.
“You can’t do this, Synthia. Our own people won’t sit still for it,” protested the Captain as a Marine appeared on either side of her.
“This way please, Sir,” said the Marine Sergeant as each woman taking hold of one of his arms.
“I agree with you that a number of our people won’t, perhaps even a large number,” McCruise said sadly before squaring her shoulders, “which is why I have to make sure this split is as peaceful as possible. I won’t have a blood bath where sister turns against brother and friends against each other. I won’t allow it.”
“We’ve spilt too much blood to just hand Easy Haven back over to those Imperial butchers, Synthia,” pleaded the Captain. “You know what they’ll do to this Sector. History is replete with examples of Imperial ‘pacification’ efforts.”
“Those actions were mostly against uncivilized barbarians,” Synthia dismissed. “I can’t imagine Confederation Observers allowing things to go that far,” she shook her head with certainty, “I don’t see that happening but by the same token I completely disagree with you on one thing. You seem to think taking a stand like this, with the ‘Grand’ Admiral, will work. It won’t,” she said harshly, “you can’t fight mega governments from the outside. I’ll concede that someone has to hold them accountable for what they’ve done, for what they’re doing even right now, but that can’t happen if you’re part of some two bit rebellion destined to be crushed!”
“You don’t know that! Almost every battle the Little Admiral fought has been against the odds but we’re still here, Commodore,” Far-Bright passionately rejected.
“Seven Sectors against fourteen, and an additional thirteen Imperial provinces—each of them anywhere from half again to almost twice the size of a Confederation Sector?” she shook her head in disappointment. “There’s no way to win that. The only way to get justice for the Spine is to hold the politicians back in the core accountable for what they’ve done is from ‘inside’ the system. And as far as I’m concerned, you and the others that think like you, while noble in sentiment, are just going to get a lot of good women killed fighting a foe you don’t even realize you can’t beat.”
“Winning is not all important. At the end of the day our job is to hold the line, not hand it over to the very sort of people we’re supposed to protect the citizens against. Sometimes a captain goes down with his ship,” said the Captain, “LeGodat would have understood that! You don’t know if we’d lose or not. Just look at our battle with the Reclamation Fleet we’ve faced long odds beside the Little Admiral and won in the past. ”
“A pyrrhic victory if ever I saw one, and I won’t have it! Let me repeat myself: I am not LeGodat. That’s it. I’m done arguing with you,” McCruise said face hardening, “I am not a dictator. I won’t stop any man or woman from following the dictates of her conscience when she’s taking a stand on principle and honor. You and the others like you will be given every chance to link up with the Grand Admiral,” she paused, “by way of a resupply ship. While I think more people will agree with my position after everything’s been properly explained, and without the dissenting voices of firebrands like yourself to egg them on to their deaths, I repeat that this command will not fall to internal strife or internecine activities. Now take him away,” she said to the Marines.
The politicians who’ve screwed over the Reserve Squadron and seven Sectors of the Confederation, the Sectors of the Spine, will have their day of reckoning, McCruise added with silent determination.
It was a sad day when that was the best she, the commander of a fortified star system, could offer the citizens of the border Sectors the Confederation Fleet was sworn to protect. Although she wouldn’t admit it aloud, part of her wanted to go broadside to broadside with the Imperials and their Confederation, boot-licking lackeys.
Maybe if LeGodat had still been alive she would have chosen to fight the good fight, even knowing the inevitability of defeat, to keep faith with her brothers in arms. But he was gone and might never come back.
Yes, Montagne had, despite some high body counts, managed to pull off several stunningly risky victories but even he lost his fair share of battles along the way. But she knew she was right: when you fought mega governments you couldn’t afford to lose even one battle. Defeat one fleet and they’d just send three more in its place, and another two after that, until you were crushed. On that level tactics and élan failed in the face of the brutal reality of the numbers game, and there was a reason no one bucked the mega governments. At least not successfully.
She was ready to die for her people, but only if it would do some good. In her judgment, this wouldn’t. Now was the time to salvage what she could and pull back. It was a bitter pill to swallow, abandoning Easy Haven and the Wolf-9 complex, but all she could do was save her people and try to build up a position back in the heartland sectors that would allow her to hold the politicians to account…some day.
That last battle for Easy Haven hadn’t just broken Wolf-9 and destroyed the bulk of their active fleet. It had killed thousands of her fellow officers and crew. The Starbase today was a pale shadow of what it had been in it’s prime. If she’d had five years, heck even just two more years to rebuild…but she didn’t. The Empire was here now and there was no getting around that.
Montagne was just going to have to play the hand he was dealt, the same as the rest of them. She wouldn’t fire on a former ally given the choice—which was why it was time to wrap things up here and pull out.
Chapter 18: Imperial Destroyer Squadrons
“Striker Prime this is Striker Six-C, no sign of local militia forces at this time. Will continue to monitor the situation,” reported the communications officer of Striker Six.
“Striker Six this is Striker Actual,” a new voice asked over the com-channel, “any local freighter activity?”
“Thirteen freighter transits were detected over a three day period, Actual,” the Communication Officer reported.
“Good work, Striker Six, and you are to proceed to the next destination on the list,” Striker Actual ordered.
“Thank you, Striker Prime,” the Communication’s officer on Striker Six said respectfully, “Striker Six out.”
As Striker Six charged her jump engines and faded away, Striker Prime performed a high scan sweep of the star system while charging its engines before engaging their hyper drive.
Point transferring into a new star system, the Imperial Destroyer appeared well outside Sensor range.
“Silent running enabled, Sir,” reported the Destroyer flagship’s Electronic Warfare officer.
“What do we have on the scan, Chief Rutledge?” asked the Commodore, sitting in the Captain’s Chair, after waiting for several minutes as the tactical plot populated.
“I’m reading over five hundred intra-system signatures, ranging from shuttles to non-hyper capable freighters, as well as three dozen interstellar freighters at their main orbital space station or moving to and from the hyper limit,” reported the Chief.
“Somewhat on the light side for an inner system wouldn’t you say?” the Commodore said disapprovingly. “What’s the name of this star system?”
“Aegis, sir,” the Chief reported crisply.
“What have you got so far on the military front?”
“Two Battleships are in orbit of the system primary, hanging close to their orbital shipyard to do double duty protecting the planet and the yards,” reported Rutledge. “Two Cruiser squadrons posted on Sentinel duty outside of the hyper limit with engines constantly charging. Over fifty lighter warships pulling convoy duty for the star freighters and in-system traffic, as well as three squadrons of Destroyers maneuvering around the system on what look like random hunter killer sweeps, looking for stealthed warships.”
“Definitely on the lighter side for an Inner System. Pathetic,” the Commodore gave his damning judgment.
“I’m not so sure about that,” said the ship’s Executive Officer, “this is the Rim, after all. Both the traffic ranges and warship numbers match Imperial best estimates in the database.”
The Commodore scowled running a hand through his graying hair. “The Spineward Sectors are an armpit,” he scowled and then muttered, “it’s been too long since I’ve been outside the Provinces.”
“Ten years for me,” agreed the Chief, “you know things on the Front have to be going poorly if they’re dragging reservists like us out of retirement to go haring off on some Senator’s wild adventure, Commodore Trempkin.”
“That’s enough of that, Chief,” Trempkin said with a disapproving gaze.
“Sorry, Sir,” the Chief said with the sort of openly respectful tone of voice that indicated to an experienced officer that secretly the Chief was feeling anything but that emotion.
The harsh lines on the Commodore’s face deepened but he refrained from saying anything as the hull of the ship started to groan from the continued gravity strain placed on it from the inertial sump.
“Prepare to break free from the inertial well and continue with silent running on my mark,” said the Commodore.
“Aye, Sir,” the Helmsman said seriously.
“On it, Commodore,” drawled the EW Officer.
The Commodore let the EW’s tone of voice slide. The man was probably the best electronic warfare office in the Reserve Formation outside of the Command Carrier and maybe even including that.
“Continue monitoring system traffic and decrypting all encrypted traffic. We’ll stay here for at least eight hours, unless we discover something critical and then depart. Prepare to deploy a pair of stealth drones in our wake to monitor the system while we’re gone. This may be a poor excuse for an inner system but it’s one of the biggest threats this region has to offer, so stay sharp,” he said, leveling a somber gaze on the crew of the bridge. “Remember: Imperial Partisans of the Reclamation Fleet, whom you’ve all read about in the briefs, were defeated by a coalition of these same Spineward Sector locals. Before you start telling me how they weren’t regular navy or that, the majority of their ships were locally crewed—and let me remind that our partisans had a Command Carrier run by former active duty officers and an Imperial Admiral.”
The Commodore’s somber attitude started to infect the crew.
“Let me repeat: the Spineward Sectors, which were entirely comprised of locally-built third-rate warships, successfully repelled—no, not just repelled but destroyed—an Imperial Command Carrier run by former Imperial officers and carrying an Imperial-trained Admiral. This is the measure of their resolve,” said Commodore Trempkin, “how can we do any less? Do not underestimate them.”
“Aye aye, Commodore,” Chief Rutledge nodded, a steely glint to his eye as all around him officers and crew stiffened at their post.
“We rendezvous with the Hub in seven point seven hours. Stay sharp,” he instructed.
As the hours passed and the ship’s sensors continued to scan, the Commodore took a long look at the information as it came in.
Silently taking special note of the shipyard with the oversized Monitor currently being refitted, and the half dozen Battleship keels and hulls in varying stages of construction, he marked down the Aegis shipyard as a high priority target for future punitive strikes and spoiling raids.
If he’d come here in greater strength…he shrugged the notion off, putting it firmly out of his mind. He had specifically been dispersed so as not to be tempted into a raiding profile. This was an information gathering operation only—for now.
But as orbital fort after orbital fortress, hordes of gun turrets and orbital missile launchers were identified and several areas ideal for stealthed mine fields located he silently marked down the Aegis homeworld’s orbital industry and defense for destruction.
“Eight hours is up, Commodore,” reported the ship’s navigator, “we will reach the point of no return momentarily.
“I think we’ve got all we need from the system for now,” he said decisively, “continue to charge the engines and prepare to jump.”
Thirty minutes later they had jumped into a new system.
“Report!” ordered the Commodore.
“Friendlies spotted. No enemy or unidentified contacts at this time,” said the Lieutenant Commander in charge of the Destroyer’s sensors.
“Excellent news. Identify our point of contact and establish a secure laser link,” he instructed.
Several minutes later, “Laser link established. Protocols exchanged, code keys register as valid…identity confirmed,” reported the Communications Officer turning to the Commodore with a nod, “they are who they say they are, Sir.”
“Proceed with data dump,” ordered the Commodore.
As soon as the data dump was completed the Destroyer began to charge its engines and proceeded to jump out of the star system. Continuing with its mission to scout out the various Core Worlds and key transit systems located throughout Sector 25. In days they would start their next plant to insert agents into those worlds via stealth shuttles.
Behind them, the Monitor spent the better part of a day charging its hyperdrive and then jumped back to the stealthed FTL relay buoy recently laid by an FTL Com-Stat carrier, to rapidly relay the latest intel directly back to the main fleet and Admiral Cornwallis.
Chapter 19: Receiving the Scout Reports
Cornwallis sat and reviewed the intelligence updates from the Admiral’s ready room on the flag bridge of the Mighty Punisher.
After he finished the report from Commodore Trempkin, the Senator drummed his fingers on the desk pensively.
“Trouble, Praetor?” his military chief of staff asked respectfully.
The Senator eyed the graying commodore enigmatically before flicking his fingers and sending the file directly to the other man’s slate. The Imperial officer scanned through the report before looking up.
“I don’t see the problem here,” the Commodore said quizzically, “the operation seems to be working successfully. Using a Monitor as the centralized gathering point of intelligence is a standard operating procedure for the navy.”
“It’s working successfully for now,” Cornwallis said with a frown, “despite repeated requests to high command, the Imperial Navy was only able to attach one ComStat carrier to the fleet. We have enough FTL com-buoys to bridge the Overton Expanse and no more,” his countenance turned grim, “I suspect that certain members of the Senate War Committee decided that this formation should be supported only so far and no further, and put pressure on navy to ensure such.”
“It is not my position to question Imperial Navy High Command,” the grey haired Commodore said neutrally.
“Well, fortunately for me, I’m normally on the War Committee so it literally is my job to put harsh questions to High Command,” Cornwallis said, his lips pressing together thinly.
“I’ll leave such matters to yourself and the rest of the Imperial Senate,” replied the Commodore.
“That still leaves us short of enough FTL buoys to have a functioning FTL communication line for this fleet,” said the Senator.
“We have an old mine sweeper attached to the Reserve Formation,” remarked the Chief of Staff, “we could use it to pick up the FTL buoys and move them forward, to enable us to maintain communications.”
“I would do that if the Senate hadn’t issued direct orders that we are to establish an FTL network that spans the Expanse. Which only leaves us with a couple buoys to play around with,” said Cornwallis, “I technically have the power to override their orders while in the field but I’ll need to justify that decision the moment I step back onto the Senate floor. Which I honestly wouldn’t care about,” he grimaced, “except that the loss of communications would probably be all the excuse they needed to trigger another vote on the Senate floor. Next thing we know, they’re sending out another Senator or Admiral with a different set of instructions for the Spineward Sectors. Best case they interfere, worst case they hinder our operations and try to steal our credit.” The Commodore met his gaze but refrained from comment. “You’re a naval officer, I get it,” Cornwallis glared, “but I would like some suggestions from my Chief of Staff on just how best we can maintain the communications flexibility we need while still following our mandate.”
The other officer drew a long face as he slowly worked his lower lip with one eye narrowed.
“I assume suborning the local FTL communications isn’t an option?” he queried.
“What little wasn’t destroyed has been co-opted by the locals,” Cornwallis frowned, “moved, in another word, and an entirely new operating system installed and all our backdoor accesses erased. They’re gone and we’re not getting them back. Cheeky of them to steal our own network out from under us,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Well if suborning their network won’t work and we can’t move ours…” the Commodore brightened, looking like he’d had an idea and then shook his head and looked back down.
“I can see you thought of something there. What was it?” asked Cornwallis.
The Commodore shook his head dismissively, “It’s non-standard, you definitely won’t like it, and I’m not even sure if it’s legal. I could get in trouble for even suggesting it. It’s a very bad idea,” he said immediately in rejection.
Cornwallis narrowed his eyes. “Let me be the judge of that,” he snapped.
“Are you—” started the Commodore.
“Get on with it!”
“Alright, but don’t say I didn’t warn you,” the Commodore said cautiously.
“Granted. Now...” the Senator gestured for him to continue.
“Well there is only one organization in the galaxy rich enough and crazy enough to put FTL buoys all along this fleet’s path into the Spineward Sectors, or wherever else it pleases for that matter, and it just so happens they’re a part of this fleet. With a whole host of buoys with them even,” said the Commodore.
“Give me a name. I don’t care who it is, all I care about are the com-buoys,” said the former Admiral, “I’ll squeeze them until they’re dry if I have to.”
The Commodore shook his head.
“You don’t think I can?” demanded the Imperial Senator.
And then the Commodore told him who it was.
“What!!! Say that again?” the Senator immediately glared at the Commodore.
“I said the PGE has a small fleet of ComStat carriers, along with a small host of other ships, attached to this fleet,” repeated the Commodore.
“The Pan-Galactic Entertainment network,” the Senator’s mouth worked with disgust, like he’d just bit into something rotten.
“A more useless corporation I’ve personally never seen, and they’re Confederation to the core, but they also have a budget equal to the GDP of at least two provinces and a fleet of ComStat buoys with them to help them reconnect with viewers in the Spine. I heard they were furious five years ago when a number of their top rated shows took a ratings dive because of the Spine. They lost billions of viewers overnight and almost successfully lobbied the Grand Assembly to reestablish contact with the Spine in order to get their ratings back up to pre-withdrawal levels. Their motto should be 'we’ve never met a viewer we couldn’t court',” said the Commodore.
“PGE…in the name of MAN, this is what you bring to me, PGE!” Cornwallis glared at the Commodore.
“I said you wouldn’t like it,” said the Commodore, “they’re not just civilian, but Confederation civilian and they have big market penetration into the Empire. On top of that they’re probably the only corporation in the Confederation the people actually support. Trying to touch the top rated entertainment network in the Confederation is likely suicidal…”
“In case you hadn’t noticed, we’re Imperials here,” growled Cornwallis.
The Commodore brightened.
“Do you have any idea just how bad an idea it is to send high level encrypted naval traffic through the data lines of a Confederation civilian entertainment network?” said the Senator. “MAN help us, this is the best you can do?” he rounded on the Commodore.
His Chief of Staff’s face immediately blanked.
“Wait here,” Cornwallis stood up and stalked out the door.
He returned several minutes later looking composed, prompting the Commodore to immediately jump to his feet.
“I wanted to take this moment to apologize for speaking out of line earlier,” began the Commodore.
“Sit back down. It was a dumb idea, there’s no doubt about that,” the Senator shot him a glare, “which means the only person in this room dumber than you is me. Because I just contacted Floston’s Paradise and asked to speak with one of their representatives. They said they’ll be sending over someone to negotiate a lease.”
“Who is it?” the Chief of Staff asked with a frown
“Some nobody called Ruby Rod,” the Senator said dismissively.
“Never heard of him,” said the Chief of Staff.
“In the meantime, moving back to our actual task: bringing the Spineward Sectors into the Empire and reorganizing them as provinces,” the Senator said briskly.
“You mean conquer the Spine,” interjected the Chief of Staff.
Cornwallis waved his hand dismissively. “Let’s not get bogged down describing things,” he said impatiently, “we are here to do what we’re here to do and right now the main obstacle to taking the Spine for the Empire is the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet. Take that out of the equation and the rest of the Spine will topple like a house of cards.”
“Then we need to decide if we’re going to make him come to us, go at him straight, or do something more creative,” remarked the Chief of Staff.
“I have no intention of making the same mistake as Arnold Janeski,” Cornwallis shook his head, “I don’t plan to corner him in front of the Sector’s most powerful defenses. Right now I’m drafting a strategy to draw Jason Montagne and his Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet out with a series of diversion attacks on their Core Worlds and transit hubs and force a battle away from all those fixed defenses. With their mobile assets destroyed, defeated or on the run, mopping up a few star fortresses and mine fields will be child’s play,” he finished with a snap of his fingers.
“What were you thinking exactly, Sir?” the Commodore said, leaning forward as Cornwallis began to lay out the opening steps of his plan.
Chapter 20: Imperial Sightings at the Core Worlds
I was sitting in my room reading the latest Confederated Spine intelligence reports. I had nothing better to do while my ships orbited Central and the various committees argued and debated. I’d sent out the call for warships and the call had been sent out for all available SDF units to gather at Central to resist the invaders. Now all I could do was read the intelligence reports and wait.
There had been an alarming number of Imperial sightings at the remaining Core Worlds of Sector 25 that hadn’t been reduced to proverbial rubble by Janeski’s fleet. Which made sense considering Janeski had moved into Sector 25 from the Sector 26 border and Senator Cornwallis’s Glorious Fleet of Liberation was approaching us by way of the Overton expanse.
I was just frustrated by the number of reports. Any Imperial sightings at our Core Worlds was one too many, yet at the same time there were not enough for a clear pattern to form.
“If he was scouting our Core Worlds then given the high level of Imperial technology, just how many were we flat out missing? It was worrying.
Of course as the new Grand Admiral of the Confederation in the Spine I’d belatedly sent out scouts of my own.
The pressure was building in the Grand Assembly and I could tell that as soon as the scouts finally made contact with the Imperial Fleet, I’d have to head out to meet them or risk being voted out of office.
Not that I cared about the Grand Admiral hat in and of itself, or at least not much if I was being brutally honest but I wanted everything I and the MSP were sacrificing to have meaning. If I was being truthful with myself I really didn’t want to raise the Montagne flag and declare myself some kind of fringe space poobah. I’d had plenty of chances to become a real life warlord and it didn’t appeal to me. I could do it if I had to but I wasn’t out here for my own self-aggrandizement, or at least such things were a pleasant side benefit if and when they showed up, no, I was here for the people of the Spine.
My job as I saw it was to protect the ‘people’ of the Spineward Sectors from Tyrants, Imperials and politicians of the local persuasion determined to line their pockets while people died.
My com-panel chimed.
“Who is it?” I asked shaking my head as I was brought out of my musings.
“Chief of Staff Steiner, Grand Admiral,” Lisa’s voice came over my intercom, “you asked to be reminded a half hour prior to your shuttle flight.”
I grimaced. “Thank you, Lisa,” I said.
“Happy to help, Sir,” she said cutting the channel.
I spun around in my chair. “This is going to be fun,” I sighed.
I was busy changing my jacket and foot wear using the extra uniform and clothing stored in the day closet of my ready room when the hatch chimed.
“I’ll be a minute,” I called out.
The door swooshed open while I was still buttoning up my jacket, and I whirled around blaster pistol in hand.
“Is that any way to treat your Hold Mistress?” Akantha asked hands on her hips while my weapon was pointed at her head.
“I think ‘a’ Hold Mistress anyway and this is getting out of control,” I said irritably.
“I did knock,” she informed me as if I had been unaware.
“Yes and I distinctly recall saying for whoever it was to wait. What use are Royal Armsmen if they won’t even guard the door when I’m putting on clothes?” I asked, shooting a look at my Chief Armsman.
Sean D’Argeant raised an eyebrow in response.
“Useless,” I said witheringly.
Akantha shook her head disapprovingly. “There’s nothing there I haven’t seen before,” she said.
“That’s not the point,” I said defensively.
She shook her head. “Stop being petulant, it doesn’t suit you, and besides put on some clothes. Just because I’ve seen it all before doesn’t mean I want to see it all again right now,” she said.
“A coat and some shoes,” I repeated gesturing to my unzipped uniform jacket and dress boots beside my feet, “I mean if you’re desperate to get after me for being uncovered…” I added, suggestively starting to pull up the bottom of my shirt.
“Just get dressed, Jason,” Akantha growled and then her voice turned sweet, “and remember you promised to take me over to Central.”
“Oh, yes, joy,” I said, unenthusiastically putting on my boots before zipping my admiral’s jacket.
I turned to her only to find my big bowler helmet in her hand. I grimaced, hating the big oversized thing that we Confederation admiral’s were supposed to wear before giving into the inevitable and putting the thing on my head.
At least I decided I wasn’t rocking a head of fresh burns and scar tissue like I’d been early on in my independent space officer career.
“Ready?” Akantha asked.
“Let’s go,” I said holding out my elbow.
Rolling her eyes, she grasped my arm firmly and allowed me to lead her out of my office and down to the shuttle bay without any bickering or in-fighting.
Score one for Team Montagne, I thought wryly.
“Admiral, what do you intend to do about the Imperial Navy sightings throughout the Sector?” a Media Reporter shoved her microphone into my face and demanded as soon as I entered attack range.
“Three sightings clustered together are by definition not ‘sightings throughout the Sector,’ and my wife and I are late for an appointment with the sub-committee, thanks,” I said, turning to move past him but the woman and his small swarm of floating hover-cams immediately moved to block my way.
“Not so fast!” snapped the reporter with various hover-cams moving in closer while others moved to new positions for better shots. “Inquiring minds throughout the Sector want to know: why did you turn to a life of tyranny and crime??” the reporter demanded once again shoving her microphone in my face.
My face turned cold. “What organization did you say you were with again?” I asked.
“I didn’t,” the reporter admitted before going back on the attack, “what my viewers want to know is that, other than your experience running a vast criminal enterprise, all you seem to have succeeded in is getting two entire battle fleets entirely trashed. So what is your answer to the skeptical voter fearful of your well proven record both in combat and outside of it?”
I looked at the reporter in disgust. “I don’t have to justify myself to you. Vast criminal record? All I’ve ever been accused of is planetary piracy and illegally enforcing my legal duties as a Confederation officer. I make no excuses for protecting innocent worlds and freighter traffic from pirate attacks, or for stopping a droid invasion that ravaged dozens of worlds. As for the planetary piracy issue, you can speak to my wife,” I said turning to go back the way I came.
“Not so fast!” cried the reporter, her hover cameras whining with protest as they moved around to cut me off.
I irritably waved one of several cameras out of my face.
“Security! Security,” cried the reporter, “Confederation code 8-2-9-4-5, I’m reporting a physical action that resulted in damage to the equipment of a credentialed reporter in the course of her duties. Under the law, attacking a member of the fourth estate’s equipment is the same as a physical attack upon the person herself. I demand this tyrant be arrested for both assault and battery,” she turned to a security guard, “the people will not sit still for this!”
I shook my head and started walking away even as a quad of security guards that had been looking on uncaringly as the reporter heckled and badgered me immediately started walking our way.
“Don’t you walk away from—” started the reporter, but was blocked when she ran into an arm thrust in her way.
“Stand away,” Akantha said coolly.
“That’s a second attack! This is suppression of the press—I demand my day in court!” the reporter said, a cruelly victorious smile crossing her face.
The security quad’s faces turned grim and they pulled out hand held stun-batons.
“Ma’am. Sir. We’re going to have to ask you to step away from—” began the leader of the Quad.
“You all heard her,” Akantha said, her voice filled with icy fury, “she admitted an attack occurred and cried for justice in the presence of a Tracto-an head of state.”
“Please calm down, Ma’am,” the lead security agent said with a stony, impassive demeanor.
“As the Hold Mistress of Messene, I hear your plea and formally accept your challenge. I wish to be clear that I am waiving my challenge immunity due, as it relates to her low status,” Akantha said officially and then turned back to the reporter. “Do you wish to designate a defender?” my Hold Mistress asked.
The reporter went bug-eyed and she started to back up, looking as if she’d just encountered a crazy person in the middle of the Assembly halls.
“Get this lunatic away from me. I demand you take her into custody immediately,” the reporter said, putting a hand on her hip as she turned and began instructing the guards.
“Please set away from the reporter, ma’am. This is a safe space,” instructed the Security Guard.
Akantha ignored her and stepped closer to the reporter. “Are you insulting my honor?” she asked in a dangerous voice.
“Help!” cried the reporter starting to panic.
The lead guard reached for Akantha, but I smoothly stepped in between them to block.
“You space witch! I’ll sue you for everything you have. You won’t be worth so much as a centi-cred if you don’t back up right now!” shouted the reporter.
“You refuse honorable challenge and then dare threaten me?” demanded Akantha.
This was getting out of hand. I motioned my armsmen forward with a two finger gesture.
<BANG>
I couldn’t see it, but I could hear the sound of a body hitting a wall and the resulting cry as one of my bodyguards flattened the reporter.
Stun batons all around us flared to life as the guards activated them.
“You’re all under arrest. If you resist we are authorized to use physical force!” snapped the lead guard, shoving me aside and starting to swing her baton.
“You’re not going to touch me. I’m the representative for Tracto in the Grand Assembly,” said Akantha scoffed, looking down her nose at the security guard.
The security guard’s face turned hard and the other of my two unarmored armsmen thrust himself between my wife and the over eager security guard.
Seeing the way this was heading, I motioned for my quad of power-armored Lancers to step forward.
“Instruct your protective detail to step back, I’m notifying the master-at-arms and our Marine detachment of your aggressive posture,” the Security Guard barked, stepping around me and putting herself between the reporter and myself and Akantha.
Her jaw jutted belligerently. “You may think you’re hot stuff on your home world or because you’re a Grand Assemblyperson, but that means squat here,” the Security guard glared at us while the reporter finally seemed to recover from her shock. With a hand on her side where she’d been body checked, the reporter glared spitefully at us as her hover-cams started moving once again to get better angles of the altercation.
“Attacking hover-cams and physically assaulting a member of the press,” she looked at me and then Akantha and shook her head balefully, “diplomatic immunity doesn’t cover members of the Grand Assembly attacking the press. Your world waived that right when it joined the Confederation, they agreed to the primacy of Confederation law,” the lead guard sneered, “place your hands on the top of your heads and prepare to be restrained. If your security detail refuses to stand down they will be put down by the master-at-arms.”
“As a provisional member of this Assembly we’ve been asked to waive nothing. I am also both a sovereign individual and head of state representing her people. Touching me outside a challenge circle is the same as laying hands on every one of my citizens and will result in an appropriate response,” Akantha said icily, looking down at the security guard like she was a worm, “touching me and crying attack is the same as initiating a challenge or declaring war. Your press member can consider herself as having gotten off light.”
“Lay on the floor with your hands behind your head. I won’t say it again,” ordered the Guard.
“You will not be so lucky. Touch me, guardswoman, and I can assure you I will not be lenient with you as I was with her,” Akantha said.
In the background I could hear the reporter illustrating the situation for her viewers. “Confronted with his crimes, the Tyrant and his wife lashed out in rage, attacking the associated press whose only goal was to expose their lies and speak truth to power,” the reporter said in a low but urgent tone, “this reporter has to ask: if they’ll attack the press simply for asking questions, what will they do next?”
“You slander a Hold Mistress?” Akantha’s head shot around and she took a step towards the other woman.
“Stand back. The master-at-arms is on his way to settle this,” the security guard said sternly.
Almost as soon as she’d finished speaking, two quads of Marines in powered armor, alongside a serious looking man with a vibro-sword and a pot belly, came striding down the hall.
“Here is the master-at-arms,” said the Security Guard nodding to the man with the pot belly.
“All parties are to stand aside,” the master-at-arms instructed, stepping between us. “You there, what happened here?” he asked the Guard.
The Media person immediately started speaking. “I was assaulted in public!” she shrilled. “I have holo-vid to back it up.”
“Your turn will come,” the master-at-arms held up a hand, “in the meantime I want all records of the altercation sent to my office. But I was speaking to you,” he said turning back to the Security Guard.
“The reporter got pushy. The Grand Admiral swatted away one of her toys, she cried foul and then ran into his lady’s arm when she tried to chase him down. After that the lady,” she jerked her thumb at Akantha, “started a fight and her guard body checked the reporter, which is when I broke things up,” she reported.
“Is that how it went down?” asked the Master-at-Arms looking at me.
“Close enough,” I agreed.
He looked over at Akantha, who said matter-of-factly, “She issued a challenge and I accepted it. Now she can’t handle the results and wants to cry about it like a small child.” My lovely lady frowned, a bit theatrically for her norm, and it was this expression she now turned toward the reporter as she silently now promised violence.
“There’ll be none of that now,” the pot bellied man said with authority.
Akantha nodded. “In the interest of diplomatic relations, an admission of wrongdoing followed by a simple apology will be enough to end the matter,” Akantha nodded to the master-at-arms.
“You want a member of the press, a person who was just doing her job and updating the people of the Spineward Sectors as to the actions of their so called leaders, to apologize for being physically attacked and having her equipment nearly destroyed?” the reporter snapped, still holding her side. “For all you know I have a cracked or broken rib. You’re a vicious female brute every bit a match for your tyrannical ‘husband’ here!”
“Why is it that almost every woman I run into lately seems bound and determined to tell me what she thinks of me?” I asked, shaking my head. I mean did she honestly think insulting me to my face was going to succeed in causing me to act out on camera one feeding directly into the galactic evening news?
My wife, on the other hand, was not as shy.
“Yet another insult! Has your press been given orders to start a war? It makes a woman wonder just who is pulling this news reporter’s strings,” Akantha glared.
“No one is looking to start a war,” the master-at-arms said patiently, “please, this is a safe space, let’s all try to tone down the rhetoric,” he paused, “now at this time I’m going to ask each of the parties involved to take one step back and away from each other. That includes bodyguards and floating holo-cams. And please understand that you really don’t want to cross me on this.”
Looking at the other man, I could see he was serious—or at least he thought he was, I honestly couldn’t tell the difference at this point, having just met the man but I wasn’t here to create an incident. At least not this incident, I thought stepping back with a faint smile.
“You may think it fiery rhetoric,” I pointed to the reporter, “but although I disagree with my wife on the matter of this challenge or even wars, I’m afraid the Matriarchy is still quite strong on her home world. When personal insults are involved my wife is almost impossible to sway by a mere male,” I said regretfully.
“Another blatant attempt to shift the issue,” scoffed the reporter.
“Hopefully her world’s culture can slowly transition to a more gender equal, or at least gender neutral society, if not in my lifetime, then in those of my sons or grandsons. I look forward to the day when the advice of a mere male is of greater value,” I finished piously.
The master-at-arms looked unconvinced but the reporter was visibly outraged.
“Careful, Husband, you wouldn’t want to ruin my reputation in front of these outsiders,” Akantha smiled sweetly, the twinkle in her eye promising I’d be hearing more about this later.
“Apologies, my dear,” I said with a courtly bow.
“I want to press charges. You’re the person to speak with correct?” asked the reporter of the master-at-arms.
“This way, ma’am,” motioned the potbellied man.
“There is still the issue of her duel,” Akantha cut in.
“Duel?” asked the master-at-arms.
“Indeed,” Akantha nodded, “I’m prepared meet her with blades at dawn unless she designates a defender to take her place, else I expect her to hand over her forfeit as both custom and law demand.”
“Blades at dawn? Are you insane? I don’t know what barbaric hovel you crawled out from but you might as well just crawl back inside it. This is the known galaxy not your own personal hovel, Crazy Person,” scoffed the Reporter.
“In which case I am prepared to declare your government in breach of their treaty obligations and withdraw our representative and ambassador to the Confederation immediately. You can expect a declaration of war to follow. A Hold Mistress’s person is inviolate outside of carefully regulated challenges and duels. This action of your government in helping a woman to successfully avoid paying her forfeit or alternately demand a match with blades in the circle, as custom dictates, is a deadly insult,” Akantha said.
I just stood back arms folded, hiding a smile.
Even if I was still too easily pushed around, my wife was a different story entirely.
The master-at-arm’s lips thinned. “Wars are beyond the purview of this office. My mandate is to maintain the peace and security of these Assembly halls,” the man replied, placing his hand on the hilt of his sword.
Akantha placed a hand on the hilt of her own sword and eyed the master-at-arms challengingly.
Looking at the line of her jaw I decided it was time to intervene.
“Then I would say that by allowing independent media reporters free run of the halls while your security stands by and does nothing as they accost random officials, you most clearly have failed in that duty,” I cut in, stepping between my wife and the swordsman breaking the visual deadlock.
The master-at-arms gave his guards an angry look before turning back to me. “That’s your interpretation. My people are my own concern and I will deal with it, and them, in due course. In the meantime there are allegations on all sides. Please continue about your duties.” he said flatly.
I shrugged. “Good enough for me…for now,” I added with an edge in my voice, “but just to be clear: if I physically assaulted her hover-bots it was only because she falsely imprisoned me in order to slander and libel both myself and the office of Grand Admiral in front of the public. I think any kidnap victim has the right to escape their captors, or do you not agree?”
“A kidnap victim? You! Ha!” the reporter laughed stridently. “You had a quad of Marines here to protect you while I am unarmed.”
“We were informed these halls were cleared of all non-Assembly personnel. When an unidentified individual pointed random electronic devices at my person, blocking my way with potential explosive self-tracking devices, how were my people to know that you weren’t simply another random upjumped terrorist? For all they knew, I was in a potential hostage situation and any move on their part to free me from the situation you’d created would have led to your hover-cams exploding!” I declared, my voice rising. “Which entirely ignores their naturally law-abiding nature, which essentially neuters their ability to do anything except block you and take a bullet for me, if a member of the fourth estate such as yourself became violent.”
“This is preposterous!” cried the reporter.
“My wife merely feared for my life while my bodyguard stood by paralyzed with indecision until she acted, bravely forcing the situation. And as for her heroism in the face of a potential terrorist attack, you now have the gall to insult her on intra-galactic news? How could you miss,” I scolded the reporter.
“I’ll show you what I can do,” the reporter said furiously, raising a fist.
“Please see here, Mrs. Starbuster. Please step away from the Grand Admiral,” instructed the master-at-arms as the reporter was all but literally dragged away yelling and fuming.
“If that’s all done, we’ll be on our way. We have a meeting with a very important sub-committee,” I said, looking at the potbellied man with lifted brow.
“Get out of here and go see to your committee,” he said, shaking his head.
After we were out of earshot, Akantha leaned toward me looking upset. “I’m sorry if I helped that little bimbo tarnish your reputation,” my wife said.
“It would have been better if you hadn’t touched her, they get concerned about things like that here,” I said seriously, before breaking out into a grin, “but it’s not like we were ever going to get a fair shake in the media anyway, so she can just go fly a kite for all I care.”
Akantha relaxed slightly, no longer looking upset. “So long as you’re sure I didn’t ruin things for you,” she said.
“Yep,” I said and that was actually true. Making things more difficult? That she’d undoubtedly done. But ruin it for me? Sir Isaak had already done that back when he branded me the Tyrant of Cold Space and tried to railroad me in the courts. Planetary Piracy indeed!
“She did deserve it though, and a lot more,” Akantha said with a scowl, “how dare she call you a Tyrant? I know an insult when I hear one, even if the word in my language for that title isn’t necessarily considered as serious as it is in yours.”
“Ah yes, the glorious culture of Tracto,” I said dryly, “a place where a nickname like a 'tyrant' might actually get you more mileage with the public not less, and in some quarters could be considered a potential boost to your reputation.”
“I’m glad to see you’re beginning to understand our ways,” Akantha said, giving a squeeze to the arm she was holding while we walked.
My face stiffened and then I smiled wryly. “Ah yes, I believe I’m starting to understand your people better and better by the day,” I said finally.
She nodded and we continued in silence as we bypassed a number of committee rooms, both those currently in session as well as those rooms still empty, before reaching the hall of the Grand Assembly itself. Or in this case the Sector Assembly hall which had been taken over by the Grand Assembly.
“I thought you said you were needed in one of the committees?” Akantha asked.
“A white lie,” I said with a smirk, “I am needed in a committee a couple hours from now, or at least they’ve requested I join them, which means we have plenty of time for a chivalrous Protector to show his lady love around the Grand Assembly building. Like he originally promised,” I added pointedly.
“There you go again, trying to be considerate,” Akantha sighed, almost unhappily if I was any judge.
I looked at her questioningly.
“It almost makes what I need to do…” she trailed off and I immediately felt a flash of concern.
“Now-now, my love, let’s not be hasty,” I said quickly.
She patted my arm. “I promise,” she said sweetly.
I closed my eyes. “Akantha,” I warned.
“Let’s go this way. I think I see someone I’m familiar with,” Akantha said, hand still locked on my elbow as she started to forcibly drag me to one side of the room.
I flushed red with embarrassment as I subtly attempted and then failed to resist.
It was one thing to be manhandled by your wife in private, but to be all but dragged around in public was embarrassing. Some ‘Grand Admiral’ I was turning out to be. One genetically engineered super wife later and here I was, reduced to arm candy at a meeting I’d been summoned to attend.
I plastered a well-trained smile onto my face as she forced us over to a small group of new minted Grand-Assemblymen and women.
“I’m telling you that ever since our ethnic group fell below 49% of our world’s population, and became a legally recognized minority, our world’s been rocked with sectarian strife,” a Grand Assemblyman I recognized as being an ambassador from the Border Worlds Alliance was speaking passionately.
“Well your people need to realize that they just don’t have a lock on power any longer and get over themselves. Its time to attend to the majority voter’s bottom line,” drawled another Border Alliance ambassador, this one quite fat, “in my experience I’ve found that producing a great deal of wealth very quickly is the fastest way to silence your critics. Whining and complaining that you’ve lost power doesn’t get you very far.”
“That’s not it at all!” cried the first assemblyman, whose voice was filled with frustration. “Yes we still control the largest voting bloc in both the upper and lower houses of local planetary government, but a coalition minority government has been running our world for the past decade and yet still, even after becoming a legally recognized minority, nothing has changed!”
“Then I fail to see the problem,” drawled the obese ambassador.
“What I’m trying to tell you is we were fine being literally spat on in the streets when we were the majority population, but now that we’re a minority we want our rights to be recognized too, blast it all! The illegal discrimination we’ve experienced since the population shift has shot through the roof—the roof, I tell you! I mean we firmly believe in the right to legally discriminate against the majority, even if you’re not actually in power, but as a newly protected minority class we too deserve the same rights as every other minority. We demand equal rights!”
“If your party’s out of power back home, and for several years now,” asked another ambassador with a turban on his head, “how is it that you’ve been appointed to this post, both here and back in the Border Alliance?”
“I’m almost sure they expected things to blow up spectacularly a long time before now, in which case they'd be able to blame me for everything that’s gone wrong,” he admitted in disgust.
“You should have put a stop to all that protected class nonsense back when you were still in power, that sort of thing never works out well,” opined the fat, capitalist ambassador, “it sounds to me you waited too long and now you’re stuck.”
“But we’re finally a minority too!” shouted the first Ambassador. “I don’t believe in institutionalized majority heritage. Just because you were born into a majority group doesn’t matter if you’re not now part of a minority grouping. Will our sins only end when our children grow up?”
“Look, it’s just the sort of discrimination lots of minorities have to deal with. Man up and move on, guy,” the fat man said, popping a grape into his mouth, “it looks like you screwed the pooch and now you’re paying for it. Live and learn the lesson, which is: if you’re ever back in power don’t do this again.”
“No! You don’t understand; we firmly believe as a people that a majority must be oppressed. It’s when you’re no longer a majority that—” the first ambassador continued stridently.
“Shut-up shut-up, SHUT-UP!” cried an assemblywoman here as part of the Border Alliance voting bloc in the Grand Assembly. “Who cares about the messed up legal system you have on your home world? I certainly don’t! Stop whining and stay on task. My bill is coming up for a vote and you owe me a favor. Remember that each and every one of you owes me a favor and this vote is how you’re paying me back.”
“But it’s not going to pass, Satira. You realize that, yes?” demanded the fat capitalist assemblyman, popping another grape into his mouth. “No one is going to vote to legally mandate a Confederation-wide 10-to-1 female-to-male birth rate. It's simply not going to happen.”
“Of course I know it’s not going to pass! Do you think I’m insane? You lot are too stupid to recognize a superior social system even if it came and smacked you in the face. But so long as I can show the voters back home that I brought it up during my appointment, my seat on the Grand Assembly is covered, at least until the next election cycle back home,” she snapped.
“Fine, I’ll vote for it,” sighed the obese ambassador standing up. “Aye!” he called out waving a hand at the temporary speaker sitting at the speaker’s podium.
“Are we done here yet?” I asked Akantha. “I mean I’m sure this is all fascinating to some people but…” I shook my head.
“Almost,” she said, her head swiveling around.
“Looking for someone?” I asked.
“There she is,” said Akantha, her eyes tracking on her target with laser focus.
I looked at where her eyes were pointed. At first I didn’t see who she was talking about and then I spotted her. “Let’s go this way,” I said, pulling on her arm and turning to the left, “there’s a fine looking tray of finger food on that table over there.”
It was like trying to drag a donkey or trying to drag a bolder with a rope. It wasn’t happening.
“Dear,” I said quietly.
“I’ll be right back,” she replied, patting my hand before seeming to almost disappear after she let go of my arm and moved away.
I made a fruitless grab but unless I was ready to give up all dignity and go running after her…and for a long moment I considered doing just that, but even if I caught her, what then?
Instead I decided to take that moment to appreciate the sway of her hips before giving myself a small shake and focusing back on the scene. All I could do was stand there and watch a good show.
As Akantha approached the small group off Grand Assembly members crowded around a punch bowel set up on a small circular table, several of them looked up at the oversized woman stepping up to them with determination and an icy expression.
“Do I know you?” one of the Grand Assemblymen asked, moving forward with a smile.
Akantha brushed him aside. “Sub-Faction Leader Kern of the Anti-Droid Alliance,” Akantha called out to a golden dressed woman, with her hair piled up on top of her head and coifed together with a green dragon hair band made up of emeralds and green jade.
“You,” Kern said, face immediately twisting with distaste.
“Kern D’draco, I find your presence in these chambers a stain upon the honor of this institution. What do you have to say?” Akantha demanded.
One Grand Assembly member gasped and several others were taken aback, instinctively stepping away from the growing confrontation.
“If it isn’t the Tyrant's oversized little housewife,” the Grand Assemblywoman sneered. “Honor? The Dragons of High Planet don’t answer to likes of you, Gigantor. So feel free to crawl back behind your Grand Admiral where you can keep hiding behind his Battleships, like you have for most of your career in civilized space.”
“You go too far, Kern!” Akantha said in a clipped voice, her eyes icy pools of blue fury.
“You’re the one who thinks too highly of herself! Who are you to talk down to a Grand Assemblywoman in the Grand Assembly Hall of Spineward Confederation, in this of of all places? You’re nothing but an oversized barbaric hussy,” snapped Kern D’draco answering her own question, she then picked up her cup of punch and took sip, “yes, feel free to go back to your primitive hellhole. This hall is for ‘real’ members of the Assembly.”
“If it weren’t for my Protector, you’d be dead, your cities rubble, and your polis occupied by Imperial soldiers. All I have to do is withdraw my hand and everything you own would be overrun by the Empire. You’re either brave or very stupid to slander me like this in public,” Akantha said, placing a hand on the hilt of her sword.
Kern D’draco appeared delighted and a vicious smile crossed her face. “You overestimate yourself up and down the board, Akantha Zosime, Hold Mistress of po-dunk wherever you’re from. You’re not even a full member of this Assembly; you are just an ambassador and, unlike most of the people here, I’ve actually looked at the post-battle the intelligence briefings from my system’s SDF,” sniffed Grand Assemblywoman Kern. “That report makes it clear that any half competent Admiral, with the forces our Sector had assembled to fight the Reclamation Fleet, could have won the 4th Battle for Easy Haven. Instead we ended up with your half-incompetent droid-loving Husband who nearly destroyed us with his pyrrhic victory. Not that he would listen to any supposed orders you issued; you don’t have the clout to do anything here.
“So feel free to go back to wherever you came from with your tail tucked firmly between your legs, because I assure you the Confederation Assembly has no interest in associating with droid-loving criminals or the spouses of droid-loving criminals who suck up to genetic uplifts and welcome the machine menace directly into their orbital home space to set up shop!” shouted Kern.
“Speaking down to me is one thing, D’draco, but now you are insulting warriors sworn into my service. Prepare to defend your honor!” Akantha said in an elevated voice, looking down at the Grand Assemblywoman like she was looking at a snake.
“You can’t touch me, you savage,” Kern snarled, stepping up to Akantha and glaring at her, “I’m a Grand Assemblywoman,” so saying, she tossed her cup of punch into Akantha's face. “There. Now what are you going to do about it?” sneered Kern.
Face twisting with fury, Akantha picked up the punch bowl and tipped the entire contents over Kern’s head. With a loud splash, the Grand Assemblywoman was soaked.
“How dare you?!” cried Kern.
“You want another one?” asked Akantha, reaching down to pick up someone’s half finished drink that was still sitting on the table.
“You planet-bound little space wench!” Kern snarled, stepping up and slapping Akantha right across the face, “that’s how we deal with Tyrants in my—”
Her words were interrupted by an open-handed blow—one that literally knocked Kern D’draco off her feet into a backward roll, sending her feet over her head. At the end of it Kern was left sprawling limply on the floor with the hem of her dress now up around her head.
Someone screamed and the entire Assembly Floor turned almost totally silent—a first since I’d started coming to the Grand Assembly halls. The only sound to be heard was the clatter of her broken, dragon-shaped hair guard as it shattered and sent emeralds and green jade scattering across the floor.
“If you won’t defend your honor then I’d advise you to protect your person. No one speaks to a Hold Mistress of Tracto like that and lives,” Akantha said with withering scorn.
Most of the Assemblymen and women in the area backed away in fear, looking at Akantha like they’d just identified a crazy woman in their midst.
“Guards!” shouted a Grand Assemblyman who’d been part of the initial group with Kern. Unlike the rest of his colleagues, who were fleeing for the exits, he was made of sterner stuff stepping between my wife and Kern D’draco and staring at her steadily.
For a moment I felt a small portion of respect for the man. From his stance he’d had some kind of training but from his overweight frame it had been quite some time ago. And yet there he was willing to put himself in harm's way—Akantha was a trained killer from a line of genetically engineered super warriors, and a simple glance at her would suggest as much.
Then I was moving to the side, to cover my wife’s left flank, and I forgot any regard I had for him.
“Back off, Jack,” I warned, standing on the balls of my feet and ready to intervene if necessary.
“Security!” shouted the temporary Speaker as the doors leading into the Grand Hall were thrust open and more than six quads of mixed power-armored and plain-clothed security guards came running into the room in our direction.
“The slap heard round the Sector?” Akantha asked, looking down on Kern D’draco who was just now moaning and coming around. Fear immediately covered the other woman’s face and she promptly half-crawled, half-rolled over to hide behind the Assemblyman between her and Akantha, “If you can’t even slap better than that you need to hire yourself a defender. My slap will have been heard across the galaxy,” Akantha shook her head at the other woman.
“You crazy space witch!” she screamed, coming to her senses and seeing Akantha looming over her Kern immediately cowered behind one of the assemblymen near her.
“Touch my Protector again and I’ll kill you. In my world when a powerful woman lays hands on another woman’s Protector it is a declaration of clan war,” Akantha said as security arrived around us with stunners pointed at our heads.
“Hands on your heads!” shouted a security officer.
“I want this crazy woman in chains. I’m pressing charges,” Kern screamed, regaining her aggressive personality as soon as Assembly Security had us surrounded, “you’ll never see the light of day, Akantha Zosime.”
“Diplomatic Immunity, Kern; I’ll never even see the inside of a prison cell,” Akantha scoffed, turning away from the anti-droid Assembly woman to the men who were threatening to stun her if she didn’t immediately comply with their orders, “you need to learn that threats are a weapon for the weak. The truly strong would have no need to talk; they would simply crush their opponents as I have done to you.”
“You!” shrieked Kern D’draco.
“On your head!” screamed a guard, shoving his stun-gun into Akantha’s back.
“Touch me again and Tracto is withdrawing from this Assembly,” Akantha informed the security guard.
“You should probably cooperate, Dear,” I said, putting my own hands on the top of my head even as I silently cheered her on. Sure, this wasn’t going to help our public image, but it was a lot of fun nonetheless.
However, almost as soon as I laced my fingers together one of the guards swept my legs out from under me and I was hit in the back of the head by something on my way down. Before I knew it, I was swarmed by more security guards then I could count.
“Don’t move,” screamed a security guard, landing on my back with both knees and when involuntarily twitched from the force of the blow someone immediately punched me in the ribs twice.
“Hey!” I shouted.
“Shut up!” screamed a guard, jerking one of my arms behind my back and forcibly attaching a magnetic cuff while another seemed like he was trying to tear my other arm off.
While I was busy being assaulted on the ground and restrained with magnetic cuffs, I could hear Akantha arguing with whoever was still trying to arrest her.
Until, finally, the master-at-arms arrived personally and ordered his men to escort the ‘Tracto-an Ambassador’ off the floor and directly back to her shuttle with no stops, and certainly brooking no if’s and’s or but’s.
He eventually realized I was present under the pile of a half dozen security officers holding me down when they started tazering me.
“Get the Admiral on his feet and escort him to the same shuttle as his wife,” bellowed the Master-at-arms, “we’ll let the Assembly Ethics Committee decide if and when they return. For the meantime, outside of a direct summons you’re banned from these Halls, Grand Admiral.”
“Me? I didn’t do anything! I surrendered peacefully,” I choked out in protest, my body still twitching from the multiple electrical shocks.
“This’s for my cousin who died under your command in Easy Haven,” hissed a Guard, jamming me in the armpit with needle.
Two seconds passed and then I could feel the familiar tingle right, before a full load of combat heal hit my system and I started to convulse as it began working on healing my body in the most brutal way possible.
“My people were just doing their jobs,” replied the master-at-arms with a shrug while I was still convulsing from the combat-heal, “there’s no reason to complain. I doubt you’ll have so much as a bruise on you. Unlike Assemblywoman Kern, only your dignity was assaulted,” he finished dismissively as his guards hauled me away.
I all but choked on anger as I was literally dragged out of the room by a pair of guards meanwhile Akantha was escorted out of the room as if she were in the middle of an honor guard.
We were what felt like halfway to the tarmac when I finally recovered enough to shrug off the security guards dragging me by the shoulders and get to my own feet.
I glared at the stone-faced guards who, if anything, looked pleased with how things had worked out.
“Take these manacles off,” I said, holding out my hands to the guard on my left.
“Dream on. A Grand Assemblywoman was attacked,” scoffed the Guard, “you’ll be uncuffed when you get to the shuttle.”
“This is outrageous,” I said, motioning toward my wife who was walking alongside and slightly ahead of me now without having so much as a hand on her, let alone magnetic cuffs!
“Learn to live with it,” advised a sergeant behind me.
“Just take them off,’ I protested, “I mean she’s not even restrained and she’s the one that attacked someone!”
“She’s not the Tyrant of Cold Space,” said the Sergeant turning her face away, “you’ll be out of them shortly.”
One of the guards who’d been dragging me leaned over toward my ear.
“I’d start learning the feel of cuffs. Kern’s not the only one unafraid to speak truth to tyranny,” he hissed in my ears, “no one here in the Central Star System cares for an intergalactic criminal that’s strong-armed the Assembly into being put in charge of our Sector’s Defense Fleet. Especially after the way you proved you really were a pirate, after all, by stealing all of those warships. My sister fought and died against the Imperials so that you could what? Just steal all of those ships she died capturing? I don’t think so…Tyrant!”
His words were followed by a shove against my back so hard I was almost sent sprawling to the ground, only managing to keep my feet by stumbling repeatedly.
I caught my balance just in time to see several smiles—which quickly disappeared as soon as they saw me looking among the guards and my heart instantly hardened. I used to have the foolish and misguided belief that the Assembly guards were professionals who would abide by their oaths of office but no longer.
“Where’s our Lancer detail?” I asked, looking around for the first time and realizing they were missing with a silent pang of alarm.
“They’re shadowing us one hallway over,” Akantha informed me.
I shook my head and fumed as I walked in my rumpled uniform with my hands locked together while she strolled down the hall like she was a queen.
“We’re going to have a serious talk once we get home,” I warned, already imagining what damage the smuggled holo-vids of me being beaten and then dragged out of the Grand Assembly Hall was going to do to my public image.
I could tell I was going to take a definite dive.
“Yes we are,” she said sternly and I could see the hint of a smile appear on the faces of our guards at this hint of marital strife. I wondered how long it would be before one of them sold a recording of our perp-walk and conversations to me media, before Akantha continued, “honestly, the way you keep allowing underlings, people like these guards, to treat you is disgraceful. It’s a disgrace borne not only by yourself but by your Fleet, Messene, and the House of Zosime—notably in the person of myself!”
“I allow them?!” I exclaimed instantly enraged and lengthened my stride to catch up with her.
“The prisoner will refrain from making any sudden moves until you reach the shuttle,” warned the Guards behind me, reaching for my shoulders and hauling me back.
Akantha shook her head at me and I was forced to wait until we reached the shuttle and our own security force of Lancers once again surrounded us before I was free to speak my mind without being interrupted of physically assaulted.
“Blast it, Akantha, what was that?” I snapped as soon as we were inside our shuttle.
“That was showing Kern and, by extension, the rest of the Assembly that you are my territory and that any mistreatment of you will be met with a swift response. Even if it wasn’t as decisive as I wanted,” she said.
“No, I get that,” I said and then frowned, “that was not decisive enough for you? Sweet Murphy, Akantha! But that’s not what I want to talk with you about.”
“No, it wasn’t,” Akantha cut in while I was mid-breath and struggling to make sure I didn’t say something we’d both regret in a moment of anger. “She’s still alive isn’t she?” my Sword Bearer asked darkly. “And stop whining about the guards.”
“Whining?” I glared.
“I wasn’t lying when I said that if it had been one of my people, another Hold Mistress or powerful Lady-Holder in Hold, there would have been a body count. No outsider woman lays hands on my Protector in a social scene without hearing from me about it,” she growled, “as it is, I’m considering a side trip to High Planet. Do you remember when I went to Capria on my own? There’s no need to concern yourself. I can handle this with just a few of the smaller ships.”
I reeled back in immediate alarm. “You almost blew up the Palace retrieving my mother. We don’t need another Caprian incident. No!” I said with force.
“Don’t raise your voice like that to me, Jason,” she warned with a scowl.
“You send away our guards and let strangers abuse and drag me through the halls, and you have the right to get mad when I get angry?” I retaliated with no little heat. “Speaking of which—” I rounded on the head of my personal armsman team. “Why am I giving up so much personal freedom in exchange for top notch protection if you’re not actually around to protect me?”
Sean looked back at me impassively. “I’ve been warning for weeks that the entire Grand Assembly and its Assembly Hall are chock full of security risks. Every time you step onto the floor of the Grand Assembly you leave your security bubble. You knew the risks going in, your Highness,” he replied.
“That’s not what I’m saying and you know it. Where were you when I was being man handled through the halls by those brain washed anti-tyrant bigots?” I demanded. “I was jabbed with combat heal this time, but the next one I might not be so lucky. Poison, sedatives, genetically engineered retro-viruses, or just a plain good old fashioned shiv—” I started listing the many and various ways things could go wrong.
“If you want your Royal Armsmen team to try and start a war all by ourselves the next time you’re inconvenienced on the Assembly Floor, we can do that. But it will be the shortest war in the history of this Sector, I guarantee it,” D’Argeant replied evenly.
I glared at him.
“Like I said before: stop—” Akantha interrupted.
“I’m not whining,” I snapped and then stopped to take a deep breath.
“Listen,” my wife lectured, “people want to be led. They hunger for certainty and they want their leaders to be infallible. Act like a leader and most of the time they won’t even dare to touch you. Act like a peon or worse a victim and a warrior will respond accordingly. You just have to present yourself accordingly and warriors such as the Assembly Guards will respond,” Akantha said with certainty.
I personally thought it was more along the lines of she was both a woman and a genetically engineered super soldier. The optics of beating her up on the Assembly floor versus laying hands on the Tyrant of Cold Space were entirely different. Throw in the fact that they might get their rears handed to them by a girl and most of the non-female security guards would be twice as hesitant.
“Well if they want a leader they’re certainly going to see one,” I said with crystallizing certainty, “the Assembly asks me to bring in my people and fight their wars for them and this is the thanks I get?”
“Backing out?” D’Argeant asked neutrally.
“Not on your life,” I smiled with a definite edge.
The rest of the trip back up to the flagship was a silent one.
Chapter 21: The Laurent Surprise
“Why are we here again, Sir?” asked the Sensor Warrant manning the sensor section of the Mini-Surprise. “There’s nothing here.”
“Keep your eyes on your panel, Warrant,” warned the ship’s XO.
The Warrant shook his head and turned back to his console shoulders hunched.
“We’re running a grid pattern search with the other Corvettes of this squadron because we have good reason to believe the Imperials are or will soon be hitting this star system,” said Captain Shepherd after the better part of half a minute had passed.
“Yes, Sir, but we’ve scanned this entire star system four times already and that’s before we started the grid search. If there was something here we’d have found it by now. The Imperials are not ghosts,” said the Sensor Warrant, swiveling around to look at him.
Rick Shepherd gave the other man a stern look. “You’re that sure our sensor technology will be able to scan top of the line Imperial stealth warships, are you?” the Captain asked.
“Uh…” the Warrant covered his mouth and coughed, “it’s impossible to scan a negative, Sir. I just know we had new sensors installed before we left Tracto Star System and we’re seeing better than before the refit.”
“The Admiral tells me to take my squadron out and look for the enemy, that’s what I’ll do, Sensors. Intelligence is sure that one of the systems they’re going to go through is Hart’s World, so we’ll scan and scan again, and then scan some more if we have to. Maybe they already went through and we missed them or maybe the intel is bogus, but if they do show up I’d hate to be asleep at the switch…you feel me?” asked the Captain.
The Sensor Warrant stiffened in his chair. “I feel you, Sir,” he said quickly.
“Carry on,” growled Captain Shepherd.
Silent and unseen by the star system’s defenders, a trio of Imperial Destroyers ghosted into the Hart’s World Star System and began drinking in the radio and electronic emanations of the Spineward Core World.
“Anything new on the scanners, First Lieutenant?” asked the Captain of the Imperial warship Praxis Eternus.
“Nothing, Sir,” the First Lieutenant replied.
“Are those Corvettes still running a standard search and patrol grid?” asked the Captain.
“Yes, Sir. They’re putting out a lot of noise but not so much as a hint that they’ve caught so much as a comet's tail, let alone seen us,” reported the First Lieutenant.
“Good. Helm, make sure to stay outside of their grid. Local scanner technology, at least with this bunch, is slightly better than expected and a high powered scan at close range could still unmask us,” said the Imperial Captain.
“Aye, Sir,” said the Helmswoman.
“Are you sure you don’t want to bag a few easy kills?” asked Commander Torrent, the Praxis Eternus' XO.
“I’m not against a few easy kills,” the Captain said with a hungry smile, “but our orders are to avoid enemy contact until orders change…unless of course we’re spotted. If that happens, all bets are off.”
The Captain and the XO shared a toothy smile.
“I think we’ve finally got these jokers pinned down, Sir,” reported the Lieutenant Starspitter.
“Good, it’s been blasted long enough,” growled the Captain.
“I’m not sure how you can say that,” cut in the First Officer pointing down at Starspitter’s console, “all I see are a few blips that look a whole lot like sensor artifact to me.”
“Gravimetric sensors and stealth systems are supposed to look like artifact, or at least the good ones are, Sir,” said Starspitter.
“The important part isn’t if you’re right or not, we’ll find that out in due time. The question is whether you’re sure,” snapped the Captain, “are you sure, Starspitter?”
“Absolutely,” nodded the Sensor Officer.
“Alright then, go to full active with the satellites, kick our drives into full speed and bring this ship to battle stations, XO. Time to flush out some Imperials,” the Captain said with a hard gleam in his eye.
“We are hot and ready to trot, Sir,” said the First Officer after relaying the orders to the rest of the bridge. He then pressed a hand against his ear and nodded saying something under his breath before turning back to the Captain, “The Lancers are asking if they’re going to do an imitation of sardines for the rest of their stay in this star system or if you’re going to let them out for a little action.”
“Tell those beasts they can stay put for the foreseeable future and I’ll let them know, and not the other way around, when they’re ready to get out of those combat shuttles,” growled the Captain. “Just make sure you’ve got a solid lock on those stealthed contacts, Lieutenant,” the captain said to the Sensor Officer.
“I’ve got them isolated, Sir; they’re not getting away,” Starspitter said confidently.
“I still don’t know how we can see them on passives while an entire squadron of Corvettes going active scan can’t catch hide nor hair of these quote unquote contacts,” said the XO.
“That’s because they’re using top of the line Spineward Sectors technology with a few upgrades from the shipyard and we’ve got an actual rebuilt suite of top of the line Imperial sensor technology. And a little birdie told me that thanks to capturing that Command Carrier we cracked enough of their database to actually know how to use them properly. I hear that soon all of our warships will be retrofitted with Imperial class technology,” Lieutenant Starspitter said confidently, “and that leaves out one more thing: we may be on passives but those satellites we deployed aren’t.”
As he finished speaking, the warship began to move.
“New Sensor Contact reading level 5 by 5, going full active and slewing around to head in our direction!” reported the Imperial First Lieutenant.
The Executive Officer jerked in the captain’s chair. “Take us to battle stations throughout the ship and start taking us away from this position at maximum sustainable stealth,” ordered the XO.
The Helm started moving the Destroyers away at a crawl
The door to the Captain’s ready room just off the bridge opened and the Praxis Eternus’ Captain walked confidently onto the bridge, “Report!”
“We’ve got a large enemy contact, Cruiser class, that just popped up and is now making course correcting adjustments to our position in space,” reported Starspitter.
“Flaming atoms,” swore the Captain, “Tactical, what are we looking at and just what are those Corvettes doing?”
“They’re not massing and appear to be moving to cut us off from moving out of the star system,” reported the Tactical Officer, “meanwhile the Local SDF seem to have realized this is no longer just a wild goose chase and a large part of their fleet is moving to intercept. The rest are taking up positions around valuable worlds and infrastructure but all of it is too far out right now to impact things out here.”
The Captain scanned the holo-screen and then swore again.
“Take us to full military speed; we’ve obviously been spotted but advise the rest of the squadron to stay under stealth and use their best judgment. We may have been the only one caught out and we don’t need to take three Destroyers up against a Cruiser and a squadron of Corvettes just for the fun of it,” he growled and then slammed a fist down on his armrest, “this is not going to look good in a report.”
“They’re fleeing, Sir, they know they’ve been spotted,” reported Starspitter.
“They think they’re fleeing, Lieutenant. But they have yet to see the Furious Phoenix really stretch her legs. Tell the Chief Engineer to red-line our engines; I want this ship moving at 115% of maximum or I’ll have answers,” said Captain Laurent, staring hungrily at the screen.
“Aye, Sir,” said the Engineering watch-stander.
“She’s faster than expected, Sir. Those are Imperial engines in her,” reported Navigation.
“Her profile doesn’t match anything in the…ah, there, I see her. It’s Victorious Solar Flare, a former Imperial Strike Cruiser captured after Rim Fleet left the Spine for the Gorgon Front,” said the Imperial Tactical Officer.
“She’s one of ours,” growled the Imperial Captain.
“Heavily modified, Sir,” warned the Destroyer’s Tactical Officer, “intelligence reports from the Partisans in Sectors 26 and 27 report that she’s been significantly enhanced with a Duralloy II belly band, pushing her up from normal Strike Cruiser range right into Heavy Cruiser range.”
“We don’t need to tangle with a Heavy Cruiser that moves like she’s a Strike Cruiser, Helm. Get us out of here,” ordered the Destroyer Captain.
“I’ll try, Sir but between the Corvettes and that Strike Cruiser it’s going to be tough,” replied the Helm.
“Imperial Destroyer is making for the hyper limit like a bat out of the abyss,” reported the Tactical Officer on the Phoenix.
“Tell Shepherd to move to intercept. She’s going to have to pass by one of us. I’m betting she’d rather face us than a whole squadron of Corvettes by herself,” said Laurent.
“I don’t see why, Sir,” the XO shook his head, “if she can pass us by she’s golden and there is only one of us but we’ve got a much heavier broadside. The odds…”
“She can’t risk engine damage. Even a glancing hit would be the death of her and with that many Corvettes to blow through, one of them would get off a shot. Besides you’re forgetting one fact, Bill,” said the Captain.
“What’s that?” asked the XO.
“We’re a former Imperial ship. That should prick their supremacist pride right where it stings,” said Laurent.
Two tense minutes passed as the Destroyer continued to cut the difference between both groups until it became clear it the Imperial Destroyer was going to have to face one or the other. Then she adjusted course and shot almost straight toward the Phoenix.
“It looks like they’re coming about for a high speed pass, Sir,” said the Tactical Officer.
“I can see that. Tell Gunnery to man their guns and be ready to take the battle to the enemy and remember Easy Haven. It’s time the Empire learned they’re not free to go wherever they like whenever they feel like it. Right Bridge Crew?” asked Laurent with a bared teeth grin.
“Remember Easy Haven!” cheered the bridge.
There were long faces on the Praxis Eternus as it finally became clear they were going to have to beard a modified Strike Cruiser to get out of this star system.
“Sir, the Captain of the Belly Butte is offering to take those Corvettes in the rear and distract them long enough for us to get out of this trap,” reported the Praxis Eternus’ Com-Officer.
“Negative, Coms. We were the one’s that were spotted not them. We got ourselves into this and we’ll get ourselves out. Instruct the Butte’s captain to follow protocol and complete the mission its important that the information we’ve gathered here get back to the Praetor. Besides there’s no sign they’ve been spotted. If they try to intercept those Corvettes they’ll just be exchanging their ship for ours with no better chance of success.”
“Even if both our sister ship’s popped up there’s every likelihood we’d still be defeated. So stay the course people,” the Captain said jaw jutting as he swept the bridge with a steely look, “they’ll get some licks in but we’re the Imperial navy.”
“That’s right,” the XO agreed strongly.
Heads nodded around the bridge and the Captain nodded in approval.
“It’ll be tight but we’re lined up for a high speed pass. We’ll just have to weather one or two broadsides and we’ll be past them,” he said.
Faces looked concerned.
“Are we sure she can do that captain, I love the Praxis and her regenerative shields are nothing to sneer at but that’s a strike cruiser out there, she’s not exactly in our weight class is she, Captain?” asked a Junior Chief looking uncertain.
“I’d put Imperial shields and maneuvering up against Provincial gunnery any day of the week, Chief,” the Captain said with certainty before cracking a smile, “thankfully we won’t have to put everything on our Helmsman’s shoulders,” he looked over at Tactical, “prepare to deploy every drone in the launcher. Let’s see how well the locals deal with it when their sensors and targeting computers fuzz up.”
“Time to eat some jamming, right Captain?” asked the Tactical Officer in a loud voice.
“Exactly right, Commander,” said the Imperial Captain as the Chief faded back and the bridge visibly perked up.
However as soon as everyone had turned back to their tasks the Captain sat down and clenched his right fist down beside his lap and the armrest where no one else could see and sent a silent prayer to the heavens.
“Great Maker, make us fast and accurate,” he muttered.
With the Corvettes snapping at her heels the Destroyer didn’t have a lot of room for maneuvers. So her captain apparently chose to sacrifice maneuverability for speed.
“She’s coming on fast, Sir,” reported Phoenix Tactical.
“All we have to do is wing her. Normal space drives or main dish for her hyper drive and she’s going nowhere fast,” Laurent said confidently, “wait until she’s at extreme range and prepare the turn the ship. I want starboard side gunnery to fill her full of holes, for Easy Haven and our fallen.”
“For Easy Haven!” cried the Bridge crew.
At a rapid pace relatively, for things moving through normal space, the two warships began their final approach.
“Wait for it,” Tactical said into his ear piece, “wait for it.”
“Now helm!” Laurent ordered seconds before the entire screen fuzzed mid turn.
“Jamming! We’re being jammed,” cried Sensors.
“Trying to isolate the signal,” reported Coms in a rising voice.
“Continue with that turn,” snapped the Captain.
“Now Gunnery!” shouted Tactical.
“I can’t see a thing, Chief,” exclaimed a medium laser Gunner, “my whole targeting computer locked up.”
“The best I can do is a yellow lock, Master Chief!” reported a Turbo-Laser gunner.
“Take your best guess, aim and fire!” ordered Chief Gunner Taser-Face, his heavily-scarred face forming into a scowl.
“Fire!” cried a Gunner lining up his Laser mount and pulling the trigger.
The heavy pitched whine of lasers discharging filled the deck.
“I’ve got hard tone,” screamed a Heavy Laser Gunner opening fire just as the Destroyer made its closest pass to the Furious Phoenix, “boohya!” she cried as her targeting computer registered a hit.
“Demon Murphy,” Laurent said as half the broadside didn’t come anywhere near close to the Destroyer and its regenerative shields.
Then one hit and three more struck the Destroyer.
“Roll the ship!” he ordered.
“Rolling now,” reported the Helm as the Destroyer shot past them.
“Be ready to target those engines, Gunnery,” called out the Tactical Officer.
“Yes!” Laurent said slapping the side of his chair.
Then just as the Furious Phoenix was about to bring its port side broadside into line with the Destroyer the Imperial warship’s engines cut out and flashed twice flipping the Destroyer end over end moments before the Furious Phoenix opened fire again.
“Murphy Wept! Helm, bring us around as soon as port gunnery has had their chance to fire,” barked Laurent.
“Aye aye, Captain,” said the Helmsman.
“Captain based on their current course and speed unless we are able to slow them down we’ll never catch up to them,” said Navigation.
“Belay that and stay focused on the task at hand,” Laurent said and then the port side gun deck opened fire, “Sensors is there any way to cut through this sensor fog?”
“I’m working to resolve their jamming field but there’s more than just one or two sources. This is going to take some time,” reported a Sensor Operator, a specialist added to the team soon after the MSP’s last run in with superior Imperial jamming technology during the last battle for Easy Haven.
“Time is something we don’t have,” the Captain grumped as laser blasts thundered through the void all around the Imperial Destroyer.
Then a pair of heavy lasers struck home causing the Destroyer’s shields to flare, punching through the hull, before the regenerative shielding kicked in spreading out the majority of the drain to shield nodes on the other side of the ship. Unfortunately thanks to Imperial technology the heavy lasers did little more than scratch the Destroyer’s paint job.
Moving away at top speed and with their targeting sensors being jammed so that it was hard for Gunnery to get a lock all Laurent could do was glare at the screen as the Imperial Destroyer started to reach the end of their firing envelope.
One by one the broadside of the Furious Phoenix fell silent and then like the finger of the blessed Saint himself reaching out to touch the enemy Destroyers a single Turbo-laser punched across the void and hammered through the Destroyer’s shields.
“Yes!” said Tactical pumping his fist back in satisfaction before immediately getting back on the microphone and urging the gun-deck to fire again.
“Enemy Destroyer is experiencing venting and they are now starting to turn,” reported Tactical.
“I’ve isolated one of the jamming sources it looks like a mobile drone or shuttle of some kind,” reported the Sensor Operator in charge of overcoming the jamming, “I’m relaying best known position to tactical.”
“Tell gunnery to put a few medium lasers on it,” ordered the Captain, “and give me an update on that Destroyer. Did we hit her hard enough to slow her down?” he asked urgently.
“Too soon to tell, Sir. All I can say for sure is that they’ve flipped around and engaged their drives,” said Sensors.
“Blast,” said Laurent as the helmsman turned their ship towards the Destroyer and belatedly tried to catch up.
While the Furious Phoenix was still struggling to get up to speed half a dozen Corvettes went streaking around her in hot pursuit of the Destroyer.
“The Phoenix winged her but it looks like the Imperials are going to reach the hyper limit before we can stop them, Captain,” said the Corvette’s sensor warrant.
Captain Shepherd stared at the holo-screen.
“Getting that Destroyer across the hyper-limit is one thing. But her captain escaping this star system is another,” said the ship’s captain in a contemplative voice.
The bridge crew who had been looking down and disappointed immediately perked up.
“You have a plan, Sir?” asked the ship’s XO.
“Start charging the hyperdrive and prepared to come to a full stop just outside the hyper limit. She may get out there first but it won’t be by much,” said the Captain.
The First Officer looked at him and frowned.
“You’re thinking to follow them to another Star System? But they have a longer jump range than we do, Captain,” said the First Officer.
“There’s no way we can keep up with her when it comes to jump range. No our only advantage is it takes a Corvette a couple minutes over half the time it takes a Destroyer to jump. That’s our edge and we’re only going to have one chance,” said Shepherd.
“You don’t mean…” the XO trailed off looking ill.
“A micro-jump,” said the navigator.
“We’ve got the best helm team in the entire Corvette force,” Captain Shepherd said confidently.
“A micro-jump,” the Navigator repeated.
“Are you up for it?” Shepherd asked.
The Navigator took a deep breath.
“I’m going to need some help from the other shifts if we’re going to try this. And I can’t promise anything. This is risky business. We’ll barely have time to calculate the jump as it is and we’re just as likely to scatter far outside the star system as we are to get within anything close to attack range before that Imperial ship gets away,” said the Navigator.
“We sat out the last war over Tracto. Somebody had to protect the place and that was us. But if we’re ever going to get recognized this is our chance,” said Rick Shepherd, “however if anyone is against this plan let me know and we’ll let that Destroyer slink away.”
There were a few uneasy looks but no one spoke out against their captain’s plan.
The XO swallowed.
“They’ll have to sit still while they calculate their jump. But the only way they’ll be able to do that in safety is if they stay far enough ahead of our Corvettes. Either way it’ll be a gamble,” said the First Officer.
“I say we try it,” said Tactical and just like that their ship was committed to the micro jump.
“Two minutes after we cross the hyper limit we’re going to slow down, cut all emissions and go full stealth. We’ll run under stealth speed just long enough to clear our most likely ballistic paths and then come to a complete stop in order to make the jump,” said the Destroyer’s captain.
“They’ll see us once we start to charge our hyperdrive,” warned the Navigator.
“They won’t spot us immediately. Not with our stealth system’s engaged,” said the Captain.
Second Lieutenant Kosher looked up from the Electronics Warfare console.
“So long as they don’t get too close that should work for the Corvettes, they’re still plinking around with local technology but that Strike Cruiser has military grade Imperial sensors and seems to know how to use them. We still don’t know how exactly they spotted us,” Kosher said with a grimace.
The Destroyer captain nodded and then turned to damage control.
“What’s the status on our casualties?” he asked.
The aging woman sitting with a ramrod straight back at damage control grimaced.
“Current estimated losses are 33 with another 20 injured. Worse than that we lost both our doctors and at least one of the medical assistants when that turbo-laser punched through the hull,” she reported steadily, “right now all we have left to triage the injured are a pair of aid-stations, and one medical assistant. The other assistants are part of the casualties. Survival estimates for anyone with significant injuries looks dire.”
“That’s going to hurt,” the XO said with a grimace.
“That’s life in the Imperial navy,” the Captain said cutting off debate, “take us away.”
“Bring us to a full stop and prepare to jump,” ordered Shepherd.
“We’re still extremely close to the hyper-limit,” warned the ship’s Navigator.
“Ship coming to rest, relative to the system’s primary,” said the Helmsman a minute later.
“Cut everything but critical systems and dump everything we’re getting from the generator into the hyper-generators, we can run off the emergency batteries and shave several minutes off our hyper jump,” ordered the Captain.
“Sir that’s a violation of fleet regulations-” started the First Officer.
“Begin your calculations, Nav, and make sure they’re good, we’re already past the point of no return,” said the Captain.
“Aye-aye, Sir,” said the Navigator putting his head together with both his assistants and beginning to work his console.
“There they go,” said the Sensor Officer as the Imperials who had just crossed the hyper limit minutes ago cut all emissions and shimmered their sensor profile already starting to fade.
“This is your chance, boys,” Shepherd said to the trio grouped around the navigation table, one of which was a woman.
The lead navigator just nodded while his assistants didn’t even bother looking up.
“Remember this is just like the training exercises I’ve had you working on, just with a time limit,” the Navigator said, “I want each of you to take part of the gravity equation while I work on the stellar coordinates.
“New estimated time to jump is only three minutes, Nav,” urged Engineering his voice sounding strained
The two assistants instantly tensed up looking worried.
“We’ve got this,” Nav said confidently barely showing the strain.
As the minutes counted down and the navigators still remained furiously tapping away at the oversized nav-plot the tension on the bridge ramped up. Everyone in the room was well aware that while a bad jump could just as easily send them out to the middle of nowhere as into the middle of a rogue planet or wandering star, a failed jump would literally tear this ship apart.
“Point Transfer in 10-9-8…” Engineering started the countdown while the three navigators started working even faster.
“Now, Navigation,” ordered Captain Shepherd his voice tight, “Helm extend the baffling I want to be ready to jump as soon as we transfer.
“Done!” cried the navigator punching a final button and the ship lurched.
“Sir!” said the Helmsman looking like he wanted to protest but hitting the buttons on his console to extend the baffling anyway.
“Point Transfer!” screamed the Sensor Officer seconds later.
“Engines!” roared Shepherd.
“Going to maximum,” said the Helmsman causing the ship to jerk forward with enough force several people slid across the floor and toward the back wall.
“Paint them up, Lieutenant!” shouted the Captain, “Find them.”
“Take us away. All ahead slow,” instructed the Imperial Destroyer’s Captain.
“Not a problem, Captain. Engaging the gravity-drive now” said the Helmsman taking the ship to a slow and steady 2% thrust.
“Silent running enabled, all systems nominal. Running self-diagnostics to double check those results now,” said the Electronics Warfare officer.
“Steady as she goes people,” the Captain said with steady confidence, “remember these are locals and other than that one fluke ship they captured so far it looks like they’ve got nothing that can compare to Imperial technology. We sneak away from her we’re golden.”
With those words said the bridge settled back into watchful efficiency.
Then a quickly cut off cry and a blinking red light appeared on the main battle-screen simultaneously. A second later the ship rocked slightly from side to side.
“Contact,” the sensor officer reported with quick competence.
“A gravity wave just ahead of the ship impacted our stabilizers the computer auto-corrected,” reported Engineering.
“One contact reported dead ahead at less than ten thousand clicks, Sir!” the XO said furiously.
The Captain closed his eyes.
“Full power to the stealth field,” reported EW emotionlessly.
“Hot sensors—we’ve just been pinged!” the First Lieutenant at sensors said urgently.
“Electronic warfare suite estimates our stealth shroud has been compromised,” the EW Lieutenant reported tonelessly.
“Well that tears it good and proper doesn’t it,” grunted the Captain, “go hot and take the ship to full alert status, Commander. We are combat imminent,” he said to the XO.
“Battle station aye aye, Captain,” said the Commander, “you all heard the captain,” he roared, “we are weapons hot, bring up the shields, launch combat drones and battle stations for any fool who snuck away to hit the can, this is not a drill. Paint up that Corvette like a Christmas tree and fire when ready Tactical. I say again this is not a drill. We are danger close, people,” the XO’s voice rang throughout the ship.
“Enemy ship is breaking gravity sump, they must have fired engines the moment they transferred, they’re fast, Sir,” reported Sensors.
Before the shields had even had a chance to form, the Destroyer’s pair of medium lasers mounted to the forward hull opened fire.
“Miss! The enemy has already begun emergency evasive maneuvers,” screamed an assistant Tactical Officer.
“Order on my bridge,” roared the Imperial Destroyer captain as a pair of light lasers lanced out raking the side of the Corvette and causing out gassing but failing to stop the other warship.
“Opening fire with the close defense chain-guns all starboard and forward facing lasers have been expended,” barked the Tactical Officer as his assistant was approached by the master-at-arms and taken away while a stand by petty officer was slotted into his chair.
“Roll the ship,” ordered the Imperial Captain.
The Corvette on the battle-screen took fire from the chain guns and estimates of moderate yellow level battle damage and compromised sensors and shield generators started to show as the shields around the Corvette that were starting to build winked and disappeared.
The Destroyer had just completed bringing her port fire-power to bear when the Corvette finished slewing around to face them head on and opened fire with a quad of fire linked light lasers.
The shields which had almost stabilized wobbled as all four lasers struck the same point on the Destroyer and punched through the starboard shield arrays.
“Minimal damage, no out-gassing, we are still combat effective,” reported Engineering.
They stabilized a moment later and Captain and crew were just starting to relax when the Lieutenant at the Electronics Warfare station looked up.
“They hit something critical in the starboard shroud. It will take fifteen minutes to bring back on as the computer recalculates our most effective stealth patterns at which time we will only be an estimated 50% effective. Estimated time to full repair is two hours with a dedicated work team,” reported Second Lieutenant Kother.
The words landed like a stone in the stomachs of the Imperial bridge.
“Well that tears it,” growled the Captain after a quick look at the projected courses of all the ships in the star system. There was no way they could slow to a stop and jump out before being hit by an entire squadron of Corvettes now that the stealth system was down. And with their speed already reduced as much as it was in order to deploy the stealth field and find a place to reach a full stop and transfer out, they couldn’t get away. That only left one answer.
“What are your orders, Captain?” asked the Executive Officer.
“Turn and fight. I want that Corvette blown out of my skies, XO. After that we turn and beard that squadron of Corvettes. It’s time to show this benighted hellhole what an Imperial crew can do,” he said.
“We could still get up to speed, fight our way clear and keep going, Sir,” pointed out the XO as the Destroyer went to full power its shields taking hits from the Corvette as its new broadside opened up raking the Corvette from stem to stern, “with some work and if they don’t get our engines, we could just point our nose away from the system primary and keep going. Their smaller units would run out of fuel eventually and we could get far enough away that that Cruiser couldn’t catch us before we could jump.”
“And turn the Imperial navy into a laughingstock? The Empire’s Navy doesn’t run from a fight, Commander. It picks fights and then crushes the opposition,” the Imperial Captain said dismissively, “no, we will not run, it’s time to show these rubes what a real navy looks like. The order is Red Horizons, Commander…Red Horizon.”
“Aye-aye, Sir,” said the Commander stepping back and then turning to the crew, “you heard the captain: Red Horizons! No one heads to the escape pods until every weapon on this Destroyer is combat ineffective—and may Man help the these rustics because we surely won’t!”
“Red Horizons!” cried the bridge crew.
Captain Laurent glared at the screen as his perfect ambush turned from a farce to a tragedy.
“The Mini-Surprise just ejected her twin fission piles into space, I’m reading multiple escape pods, she’s gone, Sir,” reported Starspitter.
“At least she unmasked them for the rest of us,” said the Furious Phoenix’ Tactical Officer with a shrug.
Laurent’s blood pressure shot through the roof and he glared at the Tactical Officer.
“We will not be dismissive of any warship’s loss on this bridge, especially one that’s part of our own Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet,” he snapped.
“Right, Sir. Sorry, Sir, won’t happen again,” said the Tactical Officer hunching his shoulders.
“See that it doesn’t or I’ll have another Tactical Officer up here so fast your head will spin,” growled the Captain causing the Tactical Officer’s back to go rail straight.
Shaking his head the captain of the Furious Phoenix took a moment to recover his temper. Yes the Tactical Officer had been wrong but at the same time it was Laurent’s actions that had lead to the destruction of one of Tracto’s defense ship’s, the Mini-Surprise.
“Murphy only knows if Captain Shepherd and his crew got out in time,” he mumbled.
“What did you say, Sir?” asked his First Officer.
“I said; what’s the status of the rest of the Corvette squadron?” he asked.
“Now that the Mini-Surprise has flushed the Imperial Destroyer out they’re one minute out from a high speed pass. Unless they make cruiser’s and pack them into Destroyer size hulls it’s doubtful the Imperials will survive the pass,” the First Officer reported.
“If not we’ll come along behind and finish them,” Laurent said coldly.
“Of course, Sir,” said the XO.
As Laurent and the bridge of the Furious Phoenix watched the remaining Corvettes of the squadron formed up in a staggered line.
The first ship to pass the Destroyer fired everything including five light laser beams and a swarm of anti-fighter missiles at the Destroyer which shrugged off everything thrown at it like it wasn’t even effected and returned fire. A medium laser from the Destroyer punched through the Corvette’s shields sending it reeling away spewing atmosphere.
The second and third Corvettes then entered the fray splitting to either side of the Destroyer as the enemy Destroyer slewed around to present a fresh broadside. Light lasers crashed back and forth weakening each side’s shields as the delayed anti-fighter missiles started impacting the Destroyer’s shields.
The fifth Corvettes seemed to be on a collision course with the Destroyer taking light laser and then chain gun fire on its shields and shrugging them off as it bore in toward the Imperial Destroyer without responding before finally firing at point blank range with the single medium laser welded to the front of its hull.
After repeated strikes the Imperial warship’s shields flared and then collapsed as the medium laser punched through their outer armor and deep into the Destroyer’s hull.
Spewing atmosphere the Destroyer struggled to turn and present its other side as the Corvette and its expended medium laser started to fly past it. They were just starting to move their injured side away from the still oncoming sixth Corvette when a shuttle, that must have been attached to the back of the 5th MSP Corvette and recently separated, left the shadow of its mother ship and blasted toward the weakened Imperial Destroyer.
“I don’t think that shuttle will be able to send its marines to board. Even with the extreme gees she’s pulling there’s no way it will be able to achieve an intercept,” remarked the First Officer.
“Then you haven’t been paying attention,” Laurent said tightly, “because while that shuttle is trying for an intercept she’s not slowing down.”
“What?!” exclaimed the First Officer as the shuttle just managed to adjust its course enough to punch through the small shieldless area already cleared by its mothership’s medium laser and slam into the side of the Imperial Destroyer.
A massive explosion rocked the Destroyer as fire and atmo spewed from the giant new opening in its hull.
“For 4th Easy Haven and the Mini-Surprise!” the Captain of the 5th Corvette, Captain Cutler’s, voice screamed out over an unencrypted open com-channel.
“I hope for Cutler’s sake that there was no one onboard that shuttle of his or I’ll have him up on charges so hard he’ll never fly a ship of any kind again,” Laurent said direly.
“He succeeded though,” said the Phoenix’s First Officer.
“Which is why, if no one died in that stunt, I’ll let it pass,” Laurent said.
By the time the sixth Corvette was approaching attack range, the Destroyer had ejected its primary fusion core and the damage that finally crippled it and sent its second and final fusion generator out into space was almost anti-climactic.
Soon escape pods started to leave the Imperial Destroyer, and the other warship finally signaled its surrender.
“Dang, and here I was hoping we’d have a chance to get a few licks in,” said the Tactical Officer before seeming to realize he was still in the dog house and quickly turning back to his console with hunched shoulders.
“That will be all, Tactical,” Laurent said with a hint of a smile on his face. Eager to fight Tactical Officers chomping at the bit he could use, ones that were openly disrespectful of losses from their own side he could do without.
“Tell the Lancers that while it won’t be the kind of mission they may have been hoping for I’m going to need them anyway. I want that ship secured and any electronic intel that still remains secured,” said the Captain before shrugging, “who knows there might even be a few Imperial marines on that ship who haven’t got the message and they may even see combat yet.”
“I’m sure that will be some consolation for them,” said the First Officer.
“I’m sure that it won’t,” Laurent snorted before turning back to his plot, “but we all live to serve anyway. Relay my orders and Tactical,” he said raising his voice as he spoke to catch that officer’s attention, “eagle eyes on that imp Destroyer out there. I won’t have us suckered in on a wild goose chase. We’ll make good and Sweet Murphy sure not to get within blast radius of that Destroyer. Let the Lancers go out there to risk their lives, that’s what they signed up for.” He then stopped and muttered “crazy bucket-heads,” under his breath.
“With both fusion generators gone will they even be able to blow up that Destroyer?” asked the First Officer who then seemed to have another idea, “or will the Lancers even be able to identify it if they are?”
“Good point,” said Laurent, “attach an engineering team to the Lancers and send them over with them.”
The XO nodded.
“Alright people you heard the, Captain. Slow approach not close approach and we’ll wait for the Lancer/engineering teams to recon first. In the mean time standard escape pod retrieval policy for potentially hostile pods,” said the First Officer.
“Speaking of which,” he turned to Laurent.
“What are we going to do for escape pod search teams if you’re sending all of our Lancers off the ship? You want me to issue arms to ship security?” he asked.
“One of the shuttle loads of Lancers will just have to forgo the honor. We can move the engineers in with them. As for security have them standing by at critical points throughout the ship while the Lancers are saying hi to our newly arriving guests before they are escorted to the brig,” said Laurent.
“I’ll make it so,” said the First Officer.
Chapter 22: The Pressure is On
“I have another staffer on the line requesting to speak with you or to set up another date for a meeting with the armed services war sub-committee, Grand Admiral,” said Chief of Staff Lisa Steiner.
“Another staffer? Give him the usual response and just plain regular Admiral without the ‘grand’ part will be fine, Lisa,” I said shaking my head and turning back to the latest report. Apparently Laurent and the Furious Phoenix were on the hunt for Imperial scouts and thought they had a lead. For all I knew they’d either found them or come up bust and moved on to the next likely spot by now.
Wishing them a silent prayer of success I went back to the full time job of keeping up with my paperwork. Although thankfully now that I had a full staff I was spared most of the inane boring stuff and got to focus more fully on the more critical life and death stuff…joy.
“So give him the run around before telling him you’re indisposed and unavailable for anything before letting him go,” she said with a suppressed sigh.
I cracked a smile.
“Exactly right,” I said turning to cut the channel.
“You’ve been unavailable for the past three days and you’ve missed numerous committee appointments,” she reminded me.
“Have you seen Cosmic News lately?” I asked.
She hesitated.
“Just in case you missed it here’s a link,” I said forwarding her the most popularly viewed news article of this week and if it kept trending like it was the entire month. It was titled the Tyrant-in-the-Assembly.
She closed her eyes briefly before opening them working to meet my eyes without looking away.
“I’m aware of the video, Sir. In fact I think the whole fleet is aware of it by now, at least every ship here is,” she said before visibly steeling herself and taking the plunge, “and no one in the fleet is taking this lightly. Believe me on this. However we’re here to fight the Empire, not each other; aren’t we? What is the alternative? We can’t just sit here forever.”
“Are you saying I’m acting like a spoiled child and need to grow up, Lieutenant?” I asked blanking my face.
“That’s not how I would put it at all, Sir,” Steiner said looking embarrassed, “but either we’re here to defend these people or we’re not. We all understood when you were going to meetings, making strategy with the assembly and getting more ships for the Amalgamated Fleet or whatever they’re calling it now but standing around in orbit doing nothing while you sit in your office refusing to take calls is pointless.”
“Is that your expert opinion, Chief of Staff?” I asked wryly.
“I know you don’t want to hear it right now but it is…, Sir,” she belatedly added my military courtesy.
“You know what you’re right. Or at least you would be if this was a fit of pique,” I admitted and then pursed my lips, “or ‘just’ a fit of pique actually. I can’t deny that this is part of it. But there’s more at stake here than my fragile ego, I recognize that.”
“Then could you help me understand what you’re trying to accomplish here, Admiral? I think as your chief of staff I need to know at this point. If only so I can tell our own people with a straight face that there’s a real plan, even if I can’t tell them anything about what it is,” she said.
“I’m going to be honest here. After my treatment by Assembly Security there is a small but real possibility that I could be assassinated the next time I go onto the Grand Assembly Floor,” I said frankly.
“What?” she looked shocked.
“One of the guards stabbed me through my uniform with combat heal after they knocked me down and pummeled me, and I believe it was the same one who later told me he wasn’t afraid to speak truth to tyranny. Maybe the next time he doesn’t use a vial of healing solution but a knife or a vial laced with delayed acting poison? Until I’ve received certain assurances there’s no way I can risk myself, let alone Akantha down there in that kind of situation,” I said.
“I didn’t realize that was a real possibility,” Steiner looked alarmed, “if even their best security is compromised to that degree…should we even be here, Sir?”
“Like I said it’s small but real, seeing as how they haven’t fired or even reassigned that specific guard to another area of their security service for my next visit,” I said again, “the other factor is that if I’m the head of the military I can’t just let them push the entire Confederation military around.”
Steiner nodded and then looked at me questioningly.
“I get the first part but doesn’t the military serve the government not the other way around. We’re supposed to answer the call of our elected government…” her eyes widened and then she coughed, “be they elected, appointed or hereditary I meant no disrespect to the royal family back home, Sir.”
“Well since I feel quite a lot of disrespect towards King James and House Montagne right now, I’ll let it pass,” I smirked before turning serious. “But let’s ignore the fact that most of the Grand Assembly right now is appointed and just go with the elected part. As Grand Admiral of the Confederation I maintain that, when summoned by an assembly member representing a Grand Assembly committee, I probably have the duty and obligation to show up. But as of right now no member of the Grand Assembly, elected or appointed, has bothered to so much as give me a call.”
There was a pause.
“I see your point even if I’m not sure I agree with it, at least in theory. In practice I can see where you’re going with it. We have received written instructions though, Sir,” she said finally, “and aren’t written orders considered the most important orders a fleet officer can receive?”
“A captain and, by extension, Admiral, has to have a great deal of leeway when he’s with his ship and I realize that doesn’t answer your question. Let’s just say that this is real politic and there’s a reason I’m Grand Admiral and your not, Lieutenant,” I said spinning my chair from side to side, before coming to an abrupt stop. I gave her a penetrating look, “the fact is that this government is still very new. It could break apart in the face of a stiff wind. I refuse to be that wind but at the same time after everything everyone in the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet and me personally have given up for these people I’m not going to open myself up to mistreatment on the Assembly Floor and potential assassination over a point of protocol.”
“I understand better now, Admiral. Still, this can’t go on indefinitely,” she said.
At this I leaned back in my chair with a smile.
“They’ve had their chance to revel in my misfortune and spread it all over the Sector. But it’s been days and my sitting up here brooding in stony silence. Meanwhile I orbit over their heads with two squadrons of Battleships; I could do literally anything at all. That's got to have an impact sooner or later,” I said.
“You mean you’re threatening the Grand Assembly,” Lisa said not looking nearly as shocked or surprised as I’d thought she would.
“Threaten is such an ugly word, when in fact I have no intention whatsoever to attack or otherwise coerce them,” I said righteously.
“Right,” she said pertly, “and while you’re not threatening them what is it exactly you hope to achieve? The punishment of those security guards for striking you, additional security measures the next time you’re there, personal guarantees? That sounds like coercion to me, remember we’re not the government here we’re the military that’s supposed to protect the government,” she said.
I pursed my lips and gave her a level look.
“Nothing would please me more than to continue being part of a Confederation military that protects the Spine. But let’s take a look at not only how they’ve treated us so far but also who are taking up high level positions within the new Confederation government. Governor Isaak has no love for us, he’s tried to kill me and end this Fleet multiple times and for our part I recently declared him a rebel and was ready to take him down as soon as our new Battleships were repaired, crewed up and ready to go,” I said pointedly.
Then there is the Grand Assemblyman from Aegis, a former member of the Sector Security Council and current influential member on the Armed Services Committee, he’s always been a strong ally of Isaak and don’t tell me that even if I wanted to, he’ll think for an instant that I’ve forgotten how he was voting with Isaak to have me executed back when I was on trial. I can think of half a dozen other members off the top of my head that voted along with them or entire star systems that have grudges against us due to the outcome of the last war,” I continued blithely.
Lisa Steiner winced.
“Praxis comes to mind,” she admitted.
“That’s just the most obvious and for the record it’s all Nuttal’s fault. I would have preferred Veraxiam alive but Admiral Nuttal executed him before I could put him on trial,” I seethed pounding the table for emphasis, “as it is we made a lot of enemies when we didn’t need there and well here we are.”
“Now having listed all of that let’s stop and ask ourselves for just how long they’re going to want to keep me in their Confederation? Right now they need us that’s a fact even they can’t deny, they need our warships, especially after the way they tried to screw us over and we decided to take the whole lot of captures home with us as punishment. Sure they made me Grand Admiral, they had no choice, but as of right now we’ve got the former High Captain, Manning, to one side as one of my Vice-Commanders, representing Sector 23 and 24 interests and we’ve got that tool of Governor Isaak on the other. Both of them are waiting in the wings ready for me to screw up the next battle or the MSP to weaken and woosh!” I said slapping my hands together. “You can bet your bottom dollar I’ll be out on some trumped up charge and out of the Grand Admiral business for good.”
“If that’s the case then why are we even working with this bunch of snakes, Sir?” Lisa Steiner asked her lower lip thrust out in a way that she probably meant she was serious but in fact just tended to make her look cute like a brown pixie.
I gave myself a shake. There was no time for this sort of wool gathering I was a married man with a dozen kids. Not to mention an Admiral…Grand Admiral now in fact, although for how long was anybody’s guess. Especially if I couldn’t stay focused like this. What were we talking about again, I briefly spent a moment recalling, ah yes it was ‘snakes’.
“The sad fact of the matter is that the best way to defend this Sector and even this Region of space, meaning the Spineward Sectors as a whole, is by joining forces with the politicians,” I said distastefully, “that and I honestly have no desire to become some kind of cold space warlord,” I could feel my nose wrinkle at the thought, “I mean could you imagine it? Me? Running around making everyone bow and scrape to me? No, my Montagne ancestors had their chance to fully exercise the despotic genes, leaving me quite content where I’m at, defending the people of this Sector and the Spine from dangers beyond our borders both on the sides that touches unknown space as well those fronting more civilized space such as the Overton Expanse.”
“Those of us from Capria, the original crew who have been there from the beginning at least, are very happy you are who and what you are, Admiral,” she said seriously.
“I appreciate that,” I said seriously, “I know it can’t have been easy. Turning what was meant to be a nine month to a yearlong cruise into a more than five year odyssey. Not being able to go home or take leave must have been rough.”
Lisa gave me a pained smile.
“Most of us understood what was waiting for us if we went home after it was explained to us. Better to be out here fighting for our families back home than stuck in a prison cell being interrogated,” she said.
Then she brightened.
“Besides, the Station and city of Messene down on Tracto are nice enough,” she said putting on a smile for my consumption, “it’s not like we’ve never had any leave at all.”
“Still not being able to go home because you were serving some benighted Montagne…” I trailed off leadingly.
“Are we supposed to hate King Larry too now? Just because his kids turned out bad?” she asked rhetorically. “Maybe we should have hoped that our home world had never been settled? A few people went back home with the mutineers and those marines from General Wainwrights command. The rest of us understood that we were here for the duration.”
“That’s big of you guys,” I said, I’d always tried to do my best by my crew but sometimes the needs of the people of the Spine came first. Our job was to protect those people and that meant that sometimes my crew and myself were the ones to suffer, some resentment over that was understandable.
“Not everyone feels the same way all the time. But we all know we can go back if there’s really no other choice. It’s a roll of the dice though and frankly this is what we signed up for,” she said.
“It is?” I asked with surprise.
“Fighting pirates, staving off droid invasions, protecting the Spineward Sectors and our home world from an Imperial invasion?” she asked rhetorically, “those of us from the Lucky Clover may have started out as Caprian SDF but we willingly joined the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet back when we thought it was going to be the new Rim Fleet. Rim Fleet would have done all of those jobs except for maybe fighting against the Empire.”
“I see,” I said, that never really occurred to me before but then again I’d just been a supernumerary, a glorified passenger in other words for most of our initial trip. I hadn’t been an officer of any kind except an honorary one, which to my mind doesn’t count, and I’d only really woken up when they frog marched me to the bridge and tossed me the command-key that gave me control of the original Lucky Clover.
That was still a very big event for everyone involved in it but for most of the regular crew of the old Clover their mission in the MSP had started out nine months earlier under Admiral Janeski.
The thought of my old commander and later nemesis was souring but by reminding myself that he was dead I was able to easily get past it.
My Chief of Staff’s console chimed and she looked down at her screen in surprise. Her brow wrinkled as she looked up to me.
I was surprised to see she seemed to be laughing under her breath.
“I guess you were right, Sir,” she said.
“I’m always right,” I said facetiously holding my nose in the air with mock noble haughtiness before looking back down at her in pretend befuddlement, “what exactly am I right about again?” I asked.
“Apparently the Temporary Speaker wants to speak with you directly. His staff says it’s urgent and they’ll splice him into this line as soon as you’re available,” she said.
“Ah about that,” I said dropping the humor and sharpening my gaze as I looked down at my own screen with anticipation.
“Do you want to speak with him now or should I give his staff the runaround?” she asked.
“I think I’ll take it right now. As you were just reminding me I’ve wasted enough time already with these sorts of childish games and maneuvers. The most important thing is the people of the Spine and right now that means doing everything we can to deal with a combined Imperial/Confederation invasion fleet,” I said pulling straight my uniform with its new rank insignia and settling down behind my desk. I made sure everything was set just right before nodding to her, “put him through.”
Steiner nodded and the screen built into my desk flashed as my chief of staff was replaced by the relatively powerless figurehead of the new Government I’d been dealing with on my last few trips over to Central. At least when I was dealing directly with a committee or sub-committee he was there.
“Esteemed Temporary Speaker to what do I, this humble Fleet Officer, owe this surprise call?” I asked deciding to lay it on thick right from the get go.
The temporary speaker’s brow wrinkled.
“Grand Admiral Montagne,” he said courteously, “I appreciate the kind words but let’s not pretend that you aren’t infinitely more valuable to the Assembly and the Spine than I am. In fact,” he added a touch bitterly, “I am only the temporary speaker a second time as of today simply because it was felt you would be more receptive if I were the one to deal with you. Directly.”
“We can cut the excessive courtesy if you desire, Grand Assembly Speaker,” I agreed amiably and then fell silent.
He coughed.
“Temporary Speaker, please,” he said and the Speaker looked at me hopefully.
I remained silent and just looked back at him.
He coughed again.
“You have missed a number of committee meetings, some of the members are growing…concerned,” he finally said.
“Really? The last time I spoke to anyone with authority in the Grand Assembly building I was specifically instructed not to return until someone in authority spoke with me first or I would immediately be arrested by those who ‘dare speak truth to tyranny’,” I said emotionlessly.
The Speaker winced and then looked me in the eye, clearly forcing himself to do it.
“A terrible misunderstanding, Grand Admiral. All the way around the board,” he said hastily, “however I assure you that order was rescinded the very same day, just as soon as those in authority became aware of it. In fact I believe the previous speaker as well as several committee heads relayed that to your fleet on numerous occasions since then. We desperately need your input on our military strategy.”
“As soon as they became aware of it,” I repeated, “I find that hard to believe. One would imagine the sight of the new Confederation’s supreme military commander being beaten on the floor of the assembly and then dragged out of the building by security would have caused anyone with a brain to immediately look into the situation and yet it was still several hours after my departure, after I was ejected and barred from returning to the building that my staff received a notification from one of the the assistant of an assistant to the then Speaker of the Assembly inviting me back the next day for a committee meeting as if nothing of note had happened.”
“So you have been receiving electronic messages from the assembly,” the temporary Speaker looked relieved, “I must tell you that several people were concerned that there was turmoil within your fleet, raising the possibility that you hadn’t even-”
“No, I got them,” I cut in and then stopped.
“Then…could you please tell me what seems to be the issue. Surely you are not refusing…” he looked like he’d swallowed a pile of fish and cleared his throat, “that is refusing to recognize the authority of the Grand Assembly. Are you?” he asked with a sick smile.
“But I was instructed to wait until I was contacted by someone in authority before ever daring to step foot within the Grand Assembly building,” I said putting on a confused face, “how is that refusing to recognize Grand Assembly authority?” I then laughed, “Surely you aren’t claiming that some assistant’s assistant has the power to decide who comes and who goes from the Grand Assembly? That direction lays madness! No it is because of my deep respect for the Grand Assembly’s authority that I have waited here quietly until someone in actual authority, not some secretary’s secretary got back to me.”
“Come now, Grand Admiral,” the Temporary Speaker chided, “I realize your last experience in the Assembly wasn’t pleasant but I assure you everyone involved in that terrible incident has been reprimanded and it’s not like you did nothing yourself. Can’t we just let bygones be bygones.”
“Wasn’t pleasant?!” I was furious and continued tightly voice. “What exactly is it you think I did to bring being beaten in front of the entire galaxy on myself, Speaker? Please spell it out.”
The Speaker looked shocked.
“Was it trying to stop Grand Assemblywoman Zosime from striking Assemblywoman Kern? Was it allowing Assemblywoman Kern to strike me in the first place and declining to prosecute her? Or perhaps I made myself a victim by following the instructions of Assembly Security when they told me to put my hands on my head? Saint Murphy knows Akantha didn’t listen to them and no one laid a finger on her and she was the one to attack someone on the assembly floor. Is that it, Speaker? Was I just too cooperative?” I was breathing deeply and glaring at the screen when I finished.
“I can see this isn’t a good time,” he said weakly.
“This is the perfect time…to answer my questions,” I snapped.
“I already said that security was reprimanded for their actions. I really don’t know what more you want from me, Admiral,” the Speaker said with a sick smile, “we’re all here to defend this sector from and the entire spine from an Imperial invasion fleet. Please can we just put this whole badly handled episode on all sides behind us and move on to the business at hand. The saving of lives, Sir?”
“That’s it...you reprimanded them and just moved on.” I nodded and pursed my lips. “Was anyone fired?”
“I beg your pardon?” he asked with surprise.
“They were reprimanded for police brutality. Was anyone fired? Transferred? Perhaps to a played out trillium mine on an penal ice moon with work force of hardened criminals?” I asked pointedly.
“What? That’s preposterous; we don’t even have a trillium mine on an ice moon to send anyone to in the first place. If we did the Grand Assembly wouldn’t be looking to cut a deal with Tracto for the fuel to run the bulk of the carrying trade throughout the Spine!” he said.
“So is it preposterous that you would put any real penalties on those guards or it’s preposterous that you buy the very fuel that keeps civilian freight hauling for three sectors of the Spine from Tracto?” I asked belligerently.
The Speaker started to look annoyed.
“I understand you’re upset and you have every right to be but the guards have valid right to work contracts. We can’t just fire them on a whim. I’ve already run everything by legal and our lawyers say there’s just not a jury in the entire Central Star System which would vote to convict and barring that we’re looking at paying out millions of credits in a wrongful termination case. On top of that if the security guards, who aren’t actually police, wanted to take part in a PR battle against you and the Grand Assembly they could just ask for their old jobs back and the courts could probably mandate we had to rehire them. Basically we don’t have a leg to stand on, firing them wise, the public is basically on their side. It’s a non-starter,” he said with an air of long suffering, “as for the Trillium, I think our offers have been more than generous, we’re even prepared to offer more and of course we want as much as we can legally purchase.”
“Alright I understand. A couple quads of abusive security guards and the public support they generate are more important right now than a Grand Admiral and the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet,” I nodded my lips making a thin line, “and at the same time you’re also now willing to increase the price you’re paying for our trillium. What a surprise.”
“You’re making things sound much more sordid then they are,” the other man said seriously, “I’ll be honest we need Tracto. We need your Fleet and we need you, Admiral. Yes there are forces in and outside the Grand Assembly that don’t like you or are actively working against you but unfortunately we can’t simply get rid of our security forces because you don’t like the way they do their job. Part of their contract on hire was that they wouldn’t be subject to the whims of political expedience and they have quite a few clauses in there to ensure things to that effect. I hope that in the interests of the people of the Spineward Sectors you can bring yourself to understand the bind this puts all of us in and overlook this unfortunate incident.”
“You know what, yes. In the same spirit of sacrificing for the good of the Spine that you suggest, I can look past being beaten in the Grand Assembly chambers,” I said and then fell silent.
“While this is a relief to hear, I’m sensing a ‘but’ in there somewhere,” the Speaker said cautiously.
“Since it’s become clear to me during this conversation that the new Spineward Sectors Confederation places more emphasis on written agreements and less the importance of personal relationships I’ll be having my fleet’s legal department send you a new series of documents that will supersede and clarify our previous agreement,” I said with a sharp edged smile.
“Admiral I have limited purview in these matters,” the Speaker protested, “wholesale changes to the previous documents you sent to us are unlikely to go over well at this time.”
“Meaning there are a large number of people in the assembly who are just as happy to see me suffer humiliation on a nightly basis and unwilling to pay for their entertainment,” I said with a sneer, “no worries; there will not be any wholesale changes it will be basically the same document we had agreed upon in principle.”
“Then what are you hoping to accomplish here if there are no changes?” asked the Speaker.
“The areas where I had made concessions have been reworded. Those concessions are over. My crew will have total immunity from local prosecution and any Confederation level prosecution will not take place on their home worlds, but rather in a star system and high court of my fleet’s choosing. By the same token we’ll be having the full nine months paid leave, deferred of course until this current conflict is over, such funds to be set aside and paid this fleet immediately. Such other minor matters as the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet’s tradition of at-will service for both ships, crews and officers will remain intact and every warship currently listed as part of the MSP contributing member worlds will also be recognized. I’m also restructuring the prize court arrangement. You’ll get to keep your courts but in light of your latest bad faith gestures I think I need to cover my bases a little better.”
“I’m not sure how willing the Grand Assembly will be to go back over previously settled matters,” said the temporary speaker, “for such a minor, although completely unacceptable on the personal level, action to impact Grand Assembly level agreements…even though I understand just how unpalatable the previous actions were, I’m not sure how open the assembly will be to these sorts of changes.”
“The Assembly can sign off on it or explain to the people of the spine just why the MSP and their Grand Admiral no longer appear to be at the beck and call of your new government,” I said flatly.
“Please! You can’t just abandon your duty to the voters like this. I thought you were a man of principle,” said the Grand Assemblyman masquerading as a person of actual power.
“And I am prepared to fight to the death on their behalf. Whether I do that a Grand Admiral of the New Confederation leading and fighting alongside the forces of the new government or as just plain old Vice Admiral Montagne of the Tracto-an SDF, a world that’s not even a full member of your assembly, with as has been pointed out to us repeatedly an only provisional non-voting status, is entirely up to you.”
“There are forces within this assembly that do not take well to threats. You would be well advised to tread carefully,” warned the temporary speaker starting to show some steel in his spine for the first time in our conversation.
“Just relay my message to your masters and let them decide just how valuable a seasoned war fleet with more than two squadrons of Battleships are to them right about now. Last I heard the Empire has already crossed the border with its lighter forces and it’s just the heavy stuff accompanying their slower units that’s holding them back,” I sniffed.
“I am not a dog to come at anyone’s whistle,” the temporary speaker said sharply. It was amazing how conciliatory a person could be when nothing of personal value was on the line but touch their bottom line and suddenly all their good wishes went up in smoke and you encountered an almost completely different individual.
“Politicians,” I said derisively, “just pass on my requirements.”
“I can already tell you that if your list of demands are agreed to the Grand Assembly isn’t just going to take this sitting down. There will be requirements of ours you’ll need to fulfill,” the temporary Speaker said sharply.
“Now we’re talking my language. What have you got?” I asked.
“As you said the Empire is already crossing the border. Having Imperial warships going in and out of our Core Worlds and important star systems is unacceptable. We realize you probably can’t stop them entirely, but having our most powerful fleet sitting in orbit here isn’t exactly instilling confidence in the new Confederation. Quite the opposite, it makes it appear as if we are running scared and keeping you around to keep us safe,” said the Speaker.
“Meaning you want me to go out and deal with the Empire,” I clarified.
“Meaning your reinforcements are already on the way, such as they are, and yes we need you to get out there and reassure the public. Hopefully without getting yourself destroyed,” said the Speaker.
“It’s militarily inadvisable to move the fleet before we’re entirely concentrated, especially considering we’re already going to be outnumbered,” I pointed out.
“You want concessions? You’re going to have to make some of your own. Jump from world to world if you have to and avoid them until all your forces catch up if that’s what it takes, but you have to get out there and do it now,” he said firmly. “Send regular reports back so we can assure the public or you know what better yet we’ll send a reporter out with you to package it all for the masses.”
“I’d think the Grand Assembly would be too fearful of sending out your most powerful unit leaving Central and yourselves open to a sudden surprise attack,” I commented wryly, “as for the reporter that’s a no go. Operational security means we can’t have any potential leaks onboard.”
“We considered the surprise attack angle ourselves and accounted for it,” the speaker said seriously, through various channels certain Grand Assembly members have secured for us a old style Monitor, a massive ship that used to serve as a mobile emergency Sector government center for one of the heartworld Sectors. It will soon be finished with its latest round of repair and refurbishment and become habitable. Whereupon it will be able to take up its old duties post haste or in this case acting as a permanent, non-temporary, mobile Grand Assembly hall ensuring the new government is able to function well beyond the immediate future, even I believe in the face of Imperial aggression with the added bonus that later on no one can claim favoritism based on which world, system or sector the new capital would be founded in.”
“So you’ve already secured a way to run if things go bad,” I said with disbelief, “I don’t even know why I’m surprised.”
“We have a duty to the people, Grand Admiral!” the temporary speaker said sharply and then frowned at me, “you have a very cynical outlook for someone so young for your position, you’re not even out of your twenties yet and yet you already control the bulk of the military power in the Spineward Sectors and yet from your attitude…” he trailed off disappointedly before continuing briskly as if nothing had happened. “We must survive for their sake,” he explained, “we owe a duty to the people to look after their interests and ensure that the fight for their freedom and better interests carry on, even in the face of a seemingly overwhelming Imperial attack. This war of Imperial aggression will not go uncontested by our assembly!” he finished fiercely looking more like a rabid rabbit or mole than anything resembling anything actually fierce or dangerous.
I sighed.
“Talking big is easy and running away is even easier, Speaker,” I suddenly felt depressed, “actually fighting and standing your ground isn’t the glorious business the holo-vids make it out to be. If you think I lack a certain hopeful outlook all I can say is, you spend the better part of five years running around desperately trying to save the Spine from enemies internal and external and we’ll talk about cynicism. Personally I think my outlook is more along the lines of realism but as I said, unlike yourself, I’ve been desperately fighting for your survival and freedom for a long time now so it’s possible I’m jaded.”
“Your contributions to Sector 25 have been more substantial than perhaps the media has warranted, Admiral,” the Speaker said awkwardly before clearing his throat, “regardless of all that. The truth is we need you out there. Your fleet is a symbol and, like it or hate it, the people of the Spine now take a certain comfort knowing it’s you out there facing impossible odds. We need the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet, Admiral Montagne. The people need you. Out there and not sitting in orbit nursing, possibly very well deserved grudges.”
I made a non-committal sound. The Speaker was speaking the secret language that existed only in my heart but the years of betrayals and disappointments told me that a politician would say anything to further his agenda. Even, or possibly especially, at my expense and I’d learned over the years that it was one thing to foolishly risk my life but it was another to risk the lives of my fleet on nothing more than hope, wishes and ephemeral promises.
“I’m hardly one to nurse a grudge,” I informed the speaker, leaving out the part where I preferred to settle things quickly rather than have to stew about them later, “the Assembly has abused me and now seeks to make use of me out and far away from your soon to be mobile headquarters. I can’t say that I’m surprised but you are right,” I continued speaking when it looked like he wanted to say something, “but you’re right: the people need me out there giving the Empire headaches, not here giving you guys trouble. Besides,” I snorted, “I’m a big boy. I can take a beating in the name of the democratic process just as well as the next man.”
More importantly I could see which way the winds of political pressure were blowing and unless I wanted to risk turning our unified defense over to a newly promoted Grand Admiral Manning I was going to have to go along with them… for now at least. I was willing to die for what I believe in, an independent Spine and a free people, but I was no one’s sacrificial goat. Not any longer.
The Speaker grimaced, several different emotions flitting across his face.
“I just hope you can put aside personal feelings for the sake of your fleet,” he finally said lamely. From another man that might have sounded like a threat but from him, an almost non-entity pushed into service as a figurehead, I didn’t take it that seriously. I knew who was actively acting against me behind the scenes.
“We wouldn’t be here if I couldn’t,” I nodded after deciding I’d just have to see how things turned out. Once again I was being forced by political pressure to do something that was militarily inadvisable, going out before concentrating the forces of my fleet.
Unfortunately after giving it a hard think I didn’t see how I could do anything else. Right now the Empire could reduce every other world in the sector except Central and we could still keep fighting, soon the Grand Assembly would be mobile and even that wouldn’t stop us, not as long as we had a fleet. And what was I going to do anyway, run off with the largest Fleet in the Spine and then stand by while they crush High Captain Manning and then moved on Tracto?
“Good day then, Grand Admiral. Your official orders and the new fleetwide encryption keys will be couriered over by shuttle later today. Please plan to leave soon after,” he said.
“We’ll be here a couple days, I’m expecting a couple of freighters to arrive soon and in the meantime we’ll start filling up our holds with supplies for the fleet. You can’t run a campaign without sufficient supplies,” I said, throwing out an excuse. I was done running things on a shoe string budget or funding things entirely from my own pocket. Tracto’s trillium mines were no excuse; a non-voting world listed only as a provisional member for funding the entire Sector defense? It was preposterous and, dare I say it, tyrannical to make Tracto shoulder such a burden. “Speaking of which. How long is it before you expect the 25th Sector Guard to return and reinforce us?” I asked.
The Speaker stilled and then looked back over at me.
“The Sector Guard Flotilla is currently engaged with the remnant forces of the Reclamation Fleet. I’m told that after you failed to subdue them in your last battle and a large intact fleet task group escaped to set up shop in sectors 26 and 27. Our forces there are currently outnumbered and I fear it will be sometime before they are able to subdue their adversaries and return to join the main fleet,” he said.
“Ah, my fault again, for not making my last victory clean enough,” I said with disbelief, 4th Easy Haven had been so close a run thing that looking back at it we should have lost it. The fact that we hadn’t, or that right now we needed those Sector Guardsmen and their ships down here helping to drive off the Empire more than we needed them trying—and almost certainly failing, from the sounds of it—to hold the line against the Reclamation Fleet in Sector 26 was certain to fall on deaf ears, “Still, as Grand Admiral it’s my judgment that we need whatever Sector forces we have available over here concentrated and facing the Imperial Fleet instead of scattered across the Sector 26 border facing a superior enemy in penny packets.”
“I’ll be sure to relay your advice to the appropriate committees for review,” the Speaker said appreciatively, “however for the time being its probably best to just proceed under the assumption that the forces already allocated are all you’ll have. We’ll keep trying to get you reinforcements but…”
“I see,” I said and I really did. They may have made me the Grand Admiral of the Confederation in name but it was clear I wasn’t going to be given every possible resource or the right to send every large formation in the Spineward Confederation wherever I as the man supposedly leading our spirited defense against the Empire felt it best.
Go fight for the people and if at all possible win this one for us, Montagne, and if you die fighting them that’s all the better so long as you win but even if you don’t with our new mobile headquarters we’re ready to valiantly carry on the fight without you, was the vibe I was picking up.
“I’ll begin issuing new orders to ready the fleet for movement and you can relay to your ‘committees’ that I’ve dispatched several new squadrons from Tracto that should be reaching the front lines soon,” I said.
“That will certainly help on the propaganda front. And it would be even more helpful if you could get us holo-records of any combat against the enemy that puts our forces in the best light to help reassure the people,” said the Speaker.
“I’ll see what I can do,” I didn’t promise anything.
It might not be the best play to head out to battle with my forces still strung out all over here, there and everywhere but nothing said I couldn’t just move to another star system and then order every warship on its way to gather on me there.
The politicians would have a harder time giving me trouble if I picked one conveniently out of com-stat range and as far as I could see the sooner I could get away from central control, such as it was, the better.
“Then I’ll be off,” said the Speaker and after making sure I didn’t have anything else to raise with him he sighed off.
After the speaker disconnected I started issuing orders we would wait for the last several expected batches of warships, the last major units in the sector that could join us in the next week, and then sally out.
Later that day when my newly signed deal with the Confederation in the Spine with all of my expected provisions, including the increased leave time for my fleet’s crew members, after this latest war was over of course, arrived I immediately sent one last set of orders, this time by FTL com-buoy.
Chapter 23: The Return of Crazy Ivan
“I say again: strange warship this is a warn-off. You and your squadron are to move to a position five minutes inside the hyper limit, a position I will give you, and heave to for inspection or our system defense forces will have no choice but to consider you hostile,” came a series of time delayed instructions as a pair of Light Cruisers on hyper-limit patrol finished pulling themselves out of their hyperspace-induced inertial sump.
“Negative, System Control. I have already relayed our priority code. This is a Confederation Unit in the course of its duties, we have primacy over local regulations,” repeated the Com-Operator, starting to look stressed.
“Negative, unidentified vessels,” snapped System Control based out of one of the Light Cruisers, “our SDF is in control of this star system and you’re rocking the electronic footprint of an Imperial Destroyer class! Like Hades we’re going just let you waltz into our star system doing as you pleased. The last information we have doesn’t show you people doing too well against another Imperial Destroyer even when you had her heavily outnumbered. You could have been captured and those codes intercepted for all we know. Furthermore—”
The MSP Destroyer captain stepped over to the Communications console leaned over the com-operator and focused the pick up right on him.
“This is Commander Dimitri Ivan of the Crazy Ivan,” he said with a thick slavic accent as he punched the transmit button on the operator’s holo-display, his finger going right through the holo-image of the button from the force of his thrust, “you know us already. Me and my old crew we are only in new ship because lost old one fighting last Imperial fleet. You can check your records and identify me and even if you don’t know me,” he panned the camera so that it showed the Lancers guarding the blast doors into the bridge, “surely you can see our Tracto-an Lancers. No one else in-Sector looks like these fighters.”
“Encryption keys can be captured and holo-images faked.
We are advancing on your position, Captain. If you don’t want to see your ship destroyed you will heave to and stand by for—” Central Control said with suppressed impatience.
“Yes-yes, you will try to destroy this brand new Imperial technological wonder of which I am commanding. Your impertinence is only exceeded by how boring your words are,” growled Captain Ivan.
“We are going weapons hot. You have an Imperial drive signature and hull design,” said Central Control.
“I have decided,” said Dimitri Ivan as if suddenly coming to a decision, “by my authority as Confederation Officer, you are ordered to bring your ship alongside warship for our inspection.”
“Are you crazy or just plain dense?” Central Control asked suspiciously.
“My ship is named Crazy Ivan for a reason,” snickered Captain Ivan, “and as Captain of the Crazy Ivan it is my duty to inspect all suspicious ships outside your system border but there is no reason we cannot mix business with pleasure. While my people are inspecting your Cruiser, you and your captain are invited over for dinner. Your crew can receive what is called 'guided tour' while we eat. You and your officers inspect a fine meal in my cabin.”
There was a long silence as the people on the other side of the com-channel digested this latest suggestion.
“This is the Captain of the Fighting Badger, how do we know this isn’t a trap?” asked the new voice suspiciously.
“Because I have fine vodka hidden inside my safe, and with my people it is crime to waste perfectly good drink—and because I have enough firepower in this squadron, including my fine former Imperial Destroyer, to destroy both your warships,” said Captain Ivan his voice turning deadly serious, “the choice is yours, Captain. A fine drink with friends or…” he trailed off.
There was another but much shorter pause.
“That had better be some drink,” said the Captain of the Fighting Badger.
“Only the finest vodkas smuggled into the Destroyer ships of MSP,” Captain Ivan said with pride.
“Uh-huh,” the other captain said with skepticism.
Chapter 24: The Lucky Clover Goes to Capria!
“Alright boys, make time for one last check to make sure the holds are full and then we’re off. And lads those holds had better be full because the little admiral is counting on us and I have no intention of missing out on another war,” said the temporary Captain of the Lucky Clover.
There was a pause as everyone double and triple checked to make sure that everything that was supposed to be aboard was there. Several Ensigns conferred with a junior lieutenant before the junior lieutenant turned to the acting Captain.
“Everything’s aboard and accounted for Captain Spalding,” said the Lieutenant JG.
“Now that’s what I wanted to hear! The yard didn’t short us this time boys!” Spalding chortled happily and then proceeded to slap himself on the knees repeatedly.
He was still snorting happily when the Junior Lieutenant on his bridge crew stood up and cleared his throat.
“Was there anything else you wanted, Commander?” he asked leadingly.
“Are you daft?” Spalding goggled at him. “Can’t you see we’re hot and ready to trot?” he demanded.
“What does that even mean, Sir?” an Ensign asked screwing up her courage and then flinching and ducking back as his head swiveled around to look at her.
The old engineer rolled his eyes.
“Sometimes I forget just how wet the lot of you are behind the ears,” he said, shaking his head and then straightened up cleared his throat officiously, “very well then: Engineering, bring the Clover’s generators up to full power and start charging the Spindles. Navigation: start calculating the jump. Take the ship to ready condition and inform Gambit Control that the Lucky Clover is ready to proceed with its mission!”
“Bringing all six antimatter generators up to full power and activating our backup fusion generators, Aye, Commander,” said Engineering.
“The Helm is ready whenever the ship is, Sir,” reported the Helmsman.
“Preparing sequence and activating the strange particle generator,” continued Engineering.
“Well that’s good then,” Spalding said with a gleam in his eye, “it sounds like you’ve got everything well in hand. I’ll just mosey on down to Engineering and take a quick look like. Make sure everything’s running smoothly and all that.”
He levered himself out of his chair and started for the door.
The Navigator cleared her throat.
“Uh…Sir?” she asked hesitantly.
Spalding paused mid motion and turned back to look at her.
“Yes, Ensign?” he asked gruffly.
“Well…I mean that is…” she took a quick breath and then calmed down, “what I mean to say is I’m ready to calculate the jump but you never got around to telling me where exactly it is we’re going,” she said starting off strong but finishing weakly.
“Ah!” he slapped himself on the forehead. “Sweet Crying Murphy, I must be getting old,” he said unhappily and then pulling out a data crystal he tossed it to the navigator, “here, catch.”
The Ensign used both hands to receive the crystal and it nearly bounced out of her hands before she secured it.
“Thank you, Sir,” she said with relief.
“Got our entire data set and list of orders all tabulated nice and proper like,” the old Engineer said wisely, “yes, sirree, they’ll be quite surprised back home when we show up. Oh yes they will. Why I doubt they’ll even recognize the old girl when we get there. Might even take us for an alien attack, Ha!” he chortled.
Shaking his head and snorting he once again turned to go.
“Uh, Sir?” the Navigator asked once again.
“Yes, Ensign?” he asked with long suffering as he turned around for the second time.
She quailed for a moment and then her expression firmed up. “I hate to have to be the one to ask this but is there a reason you’re having the night watch crew ready the ship for this jump? I realize it’s the middle of the night but none of us have ever worked the bridge during a point transfer before, outside of maybe a few former freighter crew, but a warship is very different from a merchant vessel. Are you sure you don’t want to assign a couple of the more senior personnel to the bridge crew to help out on our first point transfer or replace us entirely?” she asked
Spalding’s happy expression soon morphed into a proper scowl.
“A very fine question, and one that tells me you’re not going to let me have any fun today are you, Ensign?” he asked, his brow beetling.
“Sir…?” she asked taken aback.
“Oh all right!” he threw his hands in the air, “I guess it doesn’t matter if the XO and the rest of the ship’s senior staff wake up an hour before the jump or twelve hours. Although it would have been fun to see how long it took before they figured out what was going on and see their reaction when we arrived in Capria,” he sighed.
The crew of the bridge exchanged looks.
“Well it looks like this is one Captain that won’t get to play hooky today,” he frowned and then brightened, “but of course after we get everything squared away a short ‘inspection tour’ wouldn’t be out of line. After all,” he said sounding as if he were trying to convince himself as much as he was everyone around him, “this ship has only recently been rebuilt! Can’t be too careful. No, sirree, bob! The fleet’s top engineering resource has to do his duty down in Engineering even if he doesn’t want to,” he finished piously.
“What does that rebellious Montagne think he’s doing over there at Central?” sneered King James from atop his throne.
“Clearly his time on the Rim has given the Grand Admiral an over-inflated sense of his self-worth,” the Prime Minister remarked smoothly.
“Never mention the title 'Grand Admiral' in my hearing again!” screamed the King as he pounded on the arm of his throne. “Or you’ll be relegated back to the Bunker for the duration of my reign. So long as the rank of Grand Admiral is worn by that rebel scum, the Star System of Capria will refuse to recognize it. Inform our Royal Ambassador, the Marque de Farqua, to that effect at once!”
“It will be done immediately,” the Prime Minister said, bowing low, so low in fact that his perfectly-done hair almost scraped the floor.
“Who does he think he is?” demanded King James.
All around him courtiers, politicians and even uniformed military leaders exchanged uneasy looks but none of them seemed to have the courage to speak up.
“He probably thinks he’s the head of the Confederation Military, my liege,” the Royal Marine Commandant said steeling himself and stepping forward, “and from all signs he’d be right to do so.”
The King bestowed a withering glare upon the Marine General.
“For as long as the Monarchy rules Capria, this Star System will never give in to tyranny,” he declaimed, standing up from his thrown, grabbing his scepter and holding it high for royal emphasis before looking back at the Marine and continuing in a normal voice. “And if I wasn’t absolutely sure of both the Marine’s traditional neutrality and your personal loyalty to our home world, I would find you a new job, General Villimouse.”
The Marine Commandant gave a minute shake of his head. “Still, everything seems simple enough to me, your Majesty,” said the Marine.
“How is anything my never-to-be-blasted-enough-cousin and his-never-to-be-cursed-enough-wife, does simple, General?” the King asked sharply.
“It’s true that we may not be able to do much about his Sector and Regional ambition, my King. That is the realm of our ambassadors and yourself, not the Marine Corps,” the Marine admitted before his gaze sharpened like a hunter sighting prey, “however, by declaring Harpoon’s independence from Caprian Rule and making a point of notifying us through the new High Assembly, Prince Jason Montagne has gone a step too far!”
“What would you suggest, General?” the King asked eyeing the Marine closely. “And do not disappoint me. I freely admit I am not at my most…‘understanding’ when it comes to my royal Cousin!”
“As long as planetary body Harpoon stands in a state of rebellion it threatens not just the integrity of our star system but our way of life,” the General said grimly. “He wants to test us; I believe we have the perfect answer to his provocations.”
“A bit hyperbolic for a Marine, don’t you think, General?” the Prime Minister asked snidely. “Leave the outrage to the politicians. Harpoon is a side issue and the new head of the Confederation Fleet may soon be dead and all of our hopes for a free Sector 25 with him.”
King James' face darkened.
“Mind to your free and fair elections and let your Monarch decide what is hyperbole and what is a threat to Capria,” he instructed. General,” he asked after shaking his head to clear it and turning to the Marine, “what is your proposal?”
The Marine smiled—a hard edged ruthless expression.
“Since Admiral Montagne has made it a point to stake his claim to a part of the Caprian Star System for himself I think it only proper that the Kingdom gives him an appropriate response. Send a squadron of warships to Harpoon my liege, along with a top notch mining team and four companies of marine sappers and I’ll shatter Harpoon into its constituent parts for you,” the Marine said with certainty, “the remains can be dragged to the molecular furnaces in the defense fleet’s orbital shipyards and turned into the raw materials used to fit out King James Justice, Capria’s soon to be newest and most powerful Battleship.”
King James lifted a finger and then dropped it back down again. He stared at the Marine Commandant.
“I like the way you think, General,” said the King, “make it happen.” He turned to his High Chancellor, “provide the Royal Seal to the General. I want to make a statement to the whole world and the rest of the Sector: we of Capria will not tolerate any interference in its internal affairs!”
The various ministers, advisers and generals once again shared looks before nodding and the Chancellor ran off to procure the royal seal.
“Cousin Jason may think he can dictate to Capria now that he’s a high and mighty Confederation official but he will find that he’s dead wrong,” the King said harshly, “destroy Harpoon for me, General, and you will be rewarded.”
While the Marine Commandant was busy coordinating the formation of the Harpoon Destruction Squadron, the powerful system-wide sensor system based in the Caprian planetary orbitals with links to independent sensor arrays and listening posts throughout the star system started going crazy.
“What seems to be going on in here? And somebody shut down that alarm,” snapped Lieutenant Commander Morrison-Pierre of the Caprian SDF as he stomped into the room still adjusting his uniform and tucking in his blouse. “And if this is another one of your false alarms, Anastasia, you’re not going to like the performance review I put in your file. This is the third 0’dark thirty emergency in as many months—and every time is when you’re on watch!”
The Senior Sensor Watch Lieutenant colored and drew herself up. “I resent the implication, LC. Last time we had a valid sensor ghost on our screens and protocol states the duty officer is to report any anomalous sensor readings cruiser size or larger within the inner system, how was I supposed to know we had a hardware issue?” she said stiffly. “And as for the time Chief Bullhorn leaned on his console and accidentally activated the intercom in your room, I’ve already apologized and taken full responsibility.”
“Leaned on the console? He had a ham sandwich on the communications panel and coffee mug sitting on the override!” he exclaimed and then looked at her sternly. “Report on our current emergency, Senior Lieutenant.”
“It looks like another hardware issue, Sir,” Lieutenant Anistasia reported looking mad at her console and her life in general. “We’ve got a massive gravitational disturbance well inside the outer system and far away from anything other than a couple of oversized asteroids. Nothing nearly large enough to explain the grav-readings we’re picking up.”
“Why is the sensor system registering a hyper drive foot print larger than that of a max diameter Colonizer inside my hyper limit, Lieutenant?” demanded Lieutenant Commander Morrison-Pierre.
“Your hyper limit, Sir?” Anastasia asked mockingly and then continued more officially. “Anyway, it’s only an 80% match on the hyper-footprint scale, forgetting that its inside the star system but on the other hand there’s no testing ships and nothing out there with a big enough mass to cause these kinds of reading from an internal event of some kind.”
“So it’s looking like another hardware issue. Sweet Murphy, how many more of these sorts of issues are we going to have before maintenance finally gets its act together and switches out its old—” Morrison-Pierre grumbled.
Another alarm went off on the main console bringing him to an abrupt halt.
Senior Lieutenant Anistasia immediately tensed. “I’m getting independent confirmation from remote sensor buoy’s 68 and 72, LC. This is not a hardware failure,” she said with alarm.
“Coms notify the ready response squadron and the border patrol immediate,” barked Morrison-Pierre.
“On it, Sir,” the com-operator said sharply.
“And then somebody get Admiral Willard’s office on the phone. I need to know if we’ve got some sort of special research or black ops project out there and I need to know it NOW!” he ordered.
“New readings!” reported Senior Lieutenant Anistasia, “erroneous hyper-spike has subsided. I’m now reading a small task force comprised of multiple ships based around an 1800 meter long ship of some kind.”
The Lieutenant Commander immediately paled.
“Forget his office. I want Admiral Willard himself on the horn now! There’s only one ship in the Spine that size that’s also rumored to be able make a point transfer inside a hyper limit like that,” he said urgently.
“Who is it and why wasn’t I notified before this? Blast it all sir I’m your second in command!” the Senior Lieutenant asked with great concern.
“Either that’s one oversized Imperial Command Carrier or we’ve just been visited by the new Lucky Clover; in which case we might have just been invaded. If this is a prelude to an invasion, then Prince Jason and the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet are here for the crown...and the space gods help us all,” he said.
“The Tyrant of Cold Space?” Anastasia immediately paled.
“The outer system! Now that’s what I call traveling though hyperspace!” the Navigator said, excitedly almost as if he couldn’t believe what had just happened.
Several members of the navigation team exchanged high fives while the remainder of the bridge crew released pent up breaths and long held sighs of relief.
“Any point transfer you can walk away from is a good one,” the XO said stoically.
“Pish-posh! Why you’d think this group was made up of nothing but greenhorns and the fainthearted. I should just wash my hands of the whole lot of you,” Spalding snorted with amusement tinged disgust.
“That seems a little harsh. This is only the second time this ship has used the new drive system and she’s been significantly rebuilt since then,” said the XO.
“We’re still using the same spindles as we were the last time, nothing about them’s changed. As for the changes to the Clover…what changes? All we did was follow the build plan and complete her!” Spalding said sounding ornery and looking for a fight, “surely every man jack of you would prefer the finest, most powerful ship in the fleet, if not the entire galaxy leave Gambit fully functional and ready for service!”
“No! No one’s saying that, Sir,” the XO said quickly, “I think we’re all just so excited to have arrived in this system safe and sound, as well as for the…big surprise we’re about to give to Capria and the SDF. This may be a new crew and many of us new to the service, but I doubt any of us are faint of heart,” he finished with an edge in his voice
Spalding eyed the other man and then gave a fractional nod of his head before looking out at the crew and slapping his knee.
“Ha!” Spalding chortled. “I think you’re right, Mr. First Officer,” he said, ignoring the way the other man’s face darkened, “only the bravest lads and lasses would sign up for a run up against one of the most powerful self defense fleet’s in the sector in an untested ship! Even if it perpetrated one of the most moving engineering feats humanity has ever seen!” he finished enthusiastically.
“Not exactly how I would put it. But I think that works,” said the First Officer.
“Not how I’d put it at all,” one of the Ensigns at the science console whispered to another at coms.
“Kee-hem!” the First Officer cleared his throat loudly and glared at the offending junior officers.
Spalding jumped out of his chair with a metallic clang and a loud thump.
“Enough of that wool gathering! It’s full speed ahead, Ms. Helmswoman; don’t spare the plasma drive! I want maximum cycle rate until we get in close,” ordered the old engineer.
“Aye, aye, Commander,” said the Helm.
“Sensors get with Navigation and plot us a least time course and get us there pronto,” he said.
“On it, Sir,” said the respective offiers.
“Anything you want me to do, Commander?” asked the XO pointedly.
“Just make sure we lasso those Spindles and get us to Planetary Body Harpoon as soon as possible, XO,” Spalding instructed him.
“On it, Commander,” said the XO.
“Alright then,” Spalding said with satisfaction and started wandering toward the blast doors, “if anyone needs me I’ll just be down in Engineering checking on the hyper rail…” he seemed to catch himself and broke out into a coughing fit, “I mean 'plasma drive'.”
After saying this his speed toward the doors increased until he was all but hopping and whistling.
The Executive Officer cleared his throat.
“Are you sure your time would be best spent in engineering, Sir?” he asked pointedly causing the old engineer to pause mid-stride.
“Absolutely,” Spalding said with complete conviction and then turned right back toward the blast door.
“What I meant was, we’ve got a completely new bridge crew up here, ‘Captain,’ and I think they would benefit immensely from your years of experience, much more so than, say, the highly trained, highly experienced crew you’ve assembled for the Engineering Department…sir,” he said levelly.
Spalding’s shoulders slumped. “You know what? You’re probably right,” he sounded unsettled and ill at ease, “we’ve got a lot of greenhorns up here. Who decided to set things up like that anyway? Someone wasn’t on the ball. It’s as good a team as any I’ve seen but you’re right that they need a steady hand on the rudder,” he complained.
The Executive Officer looked at him in disbelief.
“You personally picked everyone on both the Bridge and Engineering teams, Commander Spalding,” he said.
Spalding blinked at him like he’d just said something stupid.
“Well of course I selected them. This is a handpicked crew,” he declared, “I’ve always said go with seasoned hands and those fresh out of training that haven’t had to spend any time to stew in the barrel with a bunch of slackers and malcontents,” he continued with righteous conviction, “there’s a saying about rotten apples and picking them straight off the tree, only in this case there were no bad apples only good, better and best! And this crew is the best…only the best for the Lucky Clover….” he continued, seeming to lose his train of thought as he started ruminating.
“As fascinating as all this talk of apples and barrels has been, Sir. We have a large number of contacts from both the inner and outer system giving us high intensity sensor scans and setting intercept courses. So if we could focus on space combat, Sir?” asked the XO.
Spalding waved him off as he returned to the Captain’s seat.
“I have every confidence in your skills, and the Clover’s overpowering weaponry, to see us through to the end. If by some horrendous Demon Cursed event outside of any rhyme or reason slows down our engineering teams. After all isn’t that why they appointed you to be my First Officer?” he asked pointedly. “After all, you can say that I handpicked everybody on this bridge but I don’t seem to recall picking you!”
“Again, perhaps this is a discussion for another time,” said the XO pointing toward the screen.
“Handed to me, appointed, even foisted off on an old man like he couldn’t spot a good officer when he saw one. Not that I’m saying you aren’t half bad…for a career bridge officer,” Spalding continued.
The XO winced. “Captain,” he started.
“That’s not to say you don’t have your rough spots,” the old engineer said with relish, “for example.”
“Captain!” the XO all but shouted over the top of him.
Spalding blinked in surprise. “I was just going to say that you’d never served on a Super Battleship or anything of comparable size before,” he said innocently.
“No one in the MSP has served on a ship this size,” the XO said with forced patience, “and furthermore the only reason you’re stuck up here on the bridge is because you were so picky over who would take command of this Super Battleship that they simply gave up and left you in charge.”
“The Clover deserves nothing but the best. Besides I am not picky!” Spalding spoke impatiently. “I had at least three officers I considered highly qualified for the post. Although I’m sure there were other qualified officers out there, the candidates they sent me were underwhelming at best,” he said, wagging a finger at his First Officer.
“Yes, the Admiral, Captain Laurent who’d been the Captain of the old Lucky Clover before she was repurposed for this ship, and highly reluctantly you added the current Flag Captain of the fleet—but only after personnel literally demanded another name!” shouted the XO.
“I owed the head of personnel a personal favor so I had to give him another name,” Spalding said defensively. “Besides, Captain Hammer is pretty much qualified! I can’t help it if all the good captains were already taken,” he finished.
“What I find amazing is that they didn’t just assign a new captain,” the old engineer’s eyes narrowed dangerously and the XO swiftly changed tacks, “I mean since your heart’s clearly set on engineering, Sir,” he finished lamely.
“Hmph!” Spalding snorted disdainfully and then fell silent, “Well it’s not like I’ll be stuck with this job for too much longer. The Admiral will transfer in and take command as soon as we finish putting the Clover through her re-build trials.”
“I doubt he’ll take personal command of this ship, Commander,” his XO warned.
“Oh, he’ll have a captain for sure,” Spalding waved his XO away, “but once he’s aboard to take a look at things I can get back to fine tuning the Clover until she sings just as sweetly as she used to.”
“Right,” said the XO as the accompanying warships snagged the three spindles and then followed sedately behind the belligerent form of the super Battleship.
All across the system, in singles and pairs, entire squadrons began to converge on a small planetary body, an oversized asteroid by any other name in the outer system of Capria’s star.
Thanks to the Spindle’s accuracy they were less than an hour away from Harpoon and within forty five minutes the smaller ships had reached the oversized asteroid with the bigger slower Clover now lumbering along behind them.
“What’s our status, Sensors?” asked the old engineer.
“We’re on close approach to Harpoon now, nothing looks to be stealthed or hiding dark,” reported the Sensor Department Head.
“Tactical what’s our read?” Spalding turned to the next department.
“We’ve got a couple of Corvettes that were out on a routine patrol about half hour out and a single Destroyer another fifteen minutes behind that, Commander,” the Tactical Officer said crisply, “but we won’t see anything cruiser size or bigger for another two hours.”
“Battleships?” he questioned sharply old eyes turning intent.
“A pair of them just broke orbit. If everything goes to plan we’ll be long gone before they ever even get close to here,” he replied confidently.
“Alright then,” Spalding said settling back in his chair and sticking his big metal legs out to land on their heels with a loud clang, “we’ll just have to make sure those Corvettes and Destroyers steer clear of the Spindles. We can’t lose those things until long after we’ve plumbed them of all their secrets.”
The Tactical Officer and the Executive Officer exchanged looks.
“Yes and it’s our only way to complete the mission and leave this star system, note I don’t say escape, without a fight,” said the XO.
“The Clover has never shirked from a fight,” Spalding said belligerently running a hand through the hair that was once again, after many years and several regeneration treatments now sticking up behind and around his head like a halo, “but even so this was her original home port and who knows,” he shrugged, “it may even be so again. Best not to tear up the landscape while we’re here. Well…,” he added, “not any more than we were planning on in the first place.”
“A rational decision,” agreed the XO.
“You can take a man out of the stonelands but you can’t take the stonelander out of the man, there’s no one more rational than a stonelander,” Spalding said proudly, “one day I may even be buried in capria…. if they don’t shoot me straight into a star just to have done with me!”
“You mean more knuckle headed and irascible surely, Sir,” said the XO.
“I said rational and that’s what I mean!” Spalding scowled at him, “but then I wouldn’t expect a man from the suburbs to understand,” he finished with a sneer.
“The suburbs!” protested the XO.
“Alright enough of this nonsense,” Spalding gloated as he changed the subject, “it’s time to warm up the main cannon.”
“Your target, Commander?” Tactical asked turning around professionally to begin setting up targets.
“I want those Corvettes out of my orbit, Tactical, and scampering back to where they came from. Which is probably the orbital repair yard considering their model,” Spalding, said shaking his head, “they retired the Fiery Duchess class Corvettes fifteen years ago and with good reason. Even the Royalists in the SDF didn’t bother to grumble about it, especially since we were the one’s they generally posted on those little hellions. Those things are cramped, let me tell you the overhead is not three inches above your head and the quarters? You have to hot bunk just to run a full crew and don’t get me started about the continuing maintenance problems!”
“Target locked on, Sir,” reported Tactical into the sudden silence as most of the bridge looked at their now silently fuming Captain, “we can destroy them as soon as they come into range.”
“Destroy them?” Spalding looked at him and scowled, “What do I want to destroy a pair of Fiery Duchesses for? I probably served with a bunch of those men and women or their parents. Why, just the maintenance costs alone and the hole they’re eating out of Capria’s budget are enough reason to ignore sentiment and leave them alone! No, I just want a couple of warning shots across their bows, nice and gentle like. I think it’s past time that this part of the Sector learns just what kind of firepower the Lucky Clover is now sporting,” he finished with satisfaction.
“Aye aye, Sir,” said Tactical and over the next several minutes they watched as a pair of Corvettes and a Destroyer approached Harpoon.
“We’re being hailed, Sir,” said the Com-Tech.
“Put me on with them,” Said Spalding.
“It’s a prerecorded message, Commander,” reported the Tech.
Spalding scowled, “Put it on anyway.”
“Illegal warships in the Caparian Star System, you have crossed our territorial boundaries and now orbit one of our settled asteroids. Please vacate this star system at once. If you fail to leave or are unable you are ordered to step down your fusion generators, eject their cores into cold space and prepare to be boarded for inspection. If you fail to do this as well. the Caprian SDF will have no choice but to destroy you,” said an older looking woman with liberal streaks of white hair all throughout the bun on top of her head, “rest assured we have more than enough fire power to make good our arguments.”
“They seem serious,” said the XO.
“Very serious for a pair Corvettes going up against our weight in metal,” joked Tactical.
“She’s a fiery wench at any rate,” Spalding said fondly staring at the screen for several seconds before rolling his eyes, “not that that’ll do her any good!”
“What are your orders, Sir?” asked the XO.
“Fire a shot across their bows and then put me on the main screen, Number One!” Spalding said. ignoring the sudden chill in the eyes of the XO.
“Fire away!” Tactical said as the ship hummed underneath them and then, with a muted ‘Wwwwhump!’ sound, the main cannon fired.
“The channel is ready when you are, Sir,” reported the Com-tech as the shot crossed the bows of the little warships and the two Corvettes on the screen scattered in different directions at 45 degree angles away from their previous course.
Spalding straightened in his chair, ran a hand through his wild hair and almost looked professional for a minute.
He gave a nod to the com-tech and received a thumbs up in response.
“This is Terrance P. Spalding, Commander Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet, Detached Service, and this is Royal territory; the Caprian SDF is to respect tradition, custom and Royal law and stay away from Harpoon or our next shot will not be as… gentle as our last,” he said stoutly. “By order of his Highness, Prince Jason Montagne, Governor of Planetary Body Harpoon, Grand Admiral of the Confederation, Vice-Admiral of the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet, Admiral of the Tracto-an SDF, Warlord of the Montagne War-band, Protector of Messene, and no doubt a whole host of other titles I can’t be bothered to remember right now.”
“I’m receiving a hail,” reported the Com-Tech.
“Ha! That’s more like it, put them on,” ordered the old Engineer.
“This is rebellion, Junior Lieutenant Spalding,” snapped the older woman as she once again appeared on the screen, “as such I’m going to have to refuse your mutinous instructions.”
“By order of the Prince, Harpoon is now a sovereign territory and as far as I know he intends to build his palace on the Planetary Body as soon as he has reclaimed his possession. Whether or not it's rebellion, this is a legal action recognized by both Caprian law and the Confederation of the Spine,” retorted Spalding, “and I wouldn’t have expected a woman with a reputation like Captain Lightning-Flash Le-Blanca to risk her crew over an old space rock like this one.”
“This is a King’s Ship, Lieutenant Spalding,” scowled Captain Le-Blanc, “we’re servants of the King, just like every loyal Caprian, royal or not, should be.”
“You can start calling me 'Commander' or I can take a space wrench to you, Lightning-Flash,” Spalding retorted, “and as for the King? You can keep your king what use do I have for him anyway, eh? I’ve already got a perfectly good prince to manage,” he snorted loudly, “and in case you haven’t noticed that prince is all that stands between you and an Imperial invasion force intent on raping Capria’s wealth and enslaving her people into their working class.”
“You were a Royalist once. Is your patriotism as pale as your skin and as steadfast as those mechanical contrivances I see scattered all over your body, Engineer?” Le-Blanc asked in a hard voice.
Spalding purpled with rage. “Loyalty, Patriotism? I haven’t seen a single credit of my wages going on five years now—and that’s after saving this entire Sector several times over!” he roared. “Where were you and all of those good patriots when a Prince of the Blood Royal was out there fighting your battles for you. And now! Now you’ve got the gall to lecture an old engineer like me on my duty to a sovereign who turned his back on us and the new mechanical prosthesis I require as a result of that war to keep you safe? Ha! Double HA! Triple…you know what. Fire another shot!” he raged, turning to the Tactical Officer.
The Lucky Clover hummed and thrummed as another round roared out of the front of the super Battleship towards the Corvette.
“This is an act of war, Officer Spalding!” shouted Le-Blanc as her Corvette sprinted away from the tract of the expanding plasma ball. Despite its best efforts, the Corvette barely cleared the round.
“Mark my words: the next one won’t miss,” bellowed Spalding. “And now hear this! Apparently Mrs. Akantha’s visit didn’t do enough to remind the Royal Caprian SDF about the value, honor and duty they owe to their fellows in uniform the same ones that they abandoned out on the Rim. Well I’m here now with a message for those lost souls from those of us from the Lucky Clover. Kneel down before the Sweet Saint and confess your sins so that you yet may be saved, because while those of you here may have forgotten about the rest of us you’d so easily written off, but we haven’t forgot about you!”
The eyes of the aging Captain on the other screen flashed with regret before they steeled once again.
“I don’t know how you snuck into this Star System, Engineer, but I can assure you that with an oversized Battleship like that monstrosity you’ll never clear the hyper limit before the entire SDF can catch up with you. Save us all a lot of time and surrender now before we’re forced to destroy your warship,” she said frostily.
“Monstrosity? MONSTROSITY!!!” Spalding bellowed like a stuck pig. “And we didn’t sneak anywhere—we barged right in through the front door! Furthermore, I’d like to see the warship that can catch the new Super-Dreadnaught Class!”
The Corvette captain cut the channel in disgust and moments later both of her ships came about and blasted away from Harpoon at their top acceleration.
“The nerve of that Captain,” Spalding growled like an angry bear.
“What are your orders, Commander?” asked the Executive Officer.
Spalding took the better part of a minute glaring at the screen representing the rest of the system, and those two Corvettes in particular, while clenching his fists before baring his teeth.
“Send out a general hail. I don’t have time for shiftless lay-a-bouts with a questionable sense of duty when there’s proper work to be done. Anyone who cares two figs about preserving Capria from another Invasion Fleet is free to join us, they already know where they can come to sign up,” Spalding growled before cutting the channel and turning to his bridge, “in the meantime, crew, hook us up to those Spindles and start cranking up the antimatter feed. It’s high time we make ready to get while the getting is still good. Just make sure we aren’t going to bump into any of those spare capacitors and then send them on over to help super charge those other two spindles. We don’t have all day to spend powering up the things”
“Aye-aye, Commander,” said the XO.
Time passed as the Clover ran a giant bundle of power lines over to the Spindles and started recharging one of the Spindles. Meanwhile shuttles deployed half a dozen cutter sized battery banks to each of the others.
“How much longer?” Spalding asked the engineering officer stationed on the bridge and then not seeming able to help himself got up and wandered over to the engineering station.
“Our previous recharge estimates appear to be in error, they were too long,” reported the Engineer as Spalding appeared to hover over his shoulder and peer down at his screen, “we’re still recalculating, Captain.”
“Well of course they were,” Spalding reproved with professional disdain, “we charged the things up for the first time in who knows how long, maybe ages, when we used it the last time to get to Easy Haven. It was a much faster jump getting home to Gambit on the return trip.”
“Yes, well, I wasn’t given the time to jump calculations from our last transition for some reason,” remarked the other engineer with a frown, “we were expecting something on the order of 26 hours but with the apparent increase in efficiency and those portable recharge stations you attached to the other two Spindles, I think, though I can’t say for sure, that we’ll be able to charge them up in about 8 hours,” the Engineer cautioned, “and some of that number appears to be from a residual charge that was kept in the Spindles from our jump here.”
“A bit longer than I’d hoped,” Spalding grumped.
The other engineer looked at him in disbelief.
“Initial estimates were 22-26 hours,” the other man looked at him in disbelief.
“Look, man,” Spalding shook his head sadly, “those were worst case estimates. You don’t get a reputation as a miracle worker if you post your best case scenarios over the data-link!”
“That’s not protocol, Sir,” warned the Engineer.
“I wrote the protocol! Besides,” Spalding continued seriously, “did you really think we could stand off the entire Caprian SDF for a whole day without endangering our ride home?”
“Not my job, Sir,” the Engineer said stiff with disapproval.
“Now that’s what I like to hear, a man eager to get back to his real work,” Spalding approved clouting the other man on the shoulder with enough force to almost launch him out of his chair, “monitor those antimatter readings like a hawk and ensure the power feeds are stable.”
“Aye-aye, Sir,” said the Engineer.
“Meanwhile I’ll see what we can do to keep the buzzards off,” Spalding said with relish.
The old engineer marched over to the weapons console.
“Load up the main cannon,” he instructed eagerly, “we’ve never really had a chance to let her strut her stuff; it's time to find out what she can really do. We’re going to go…rapid fire!”
“Commander, are you sure that’s wise?” asked the Executive Officer. “The Corvettes will soon be entering extreme range and even that Destroyer has begun to turn course to bypass Harpoon at an oblique angle, all twenty Cruisers and that pair of Battleships that just broke orbit are well beyond any conceivable range.”
“I have a plan,” Spalding dismissed instantly but the Executive Officer wasn’t done yet.
“And that’s not even mentioning any difficulty this Super Battleship might have maintaining its position relative to Harpoon due to excessive use of our main cannon. Nor the very real possibility of yanking our trunk lines free from the Jump Spindles!” exclaimed the XO.
“Now will you hold on a cotton picking second we’re not pulling or yanking free from anything,” Spalding rounded on the First Officer.
“We’re not?” demanded the XO.
Spalding sneered. “Now that we’ve finally got enough power, the gravity system will hold us in place,” he said.
“But I thought…” the XO trailed off before rallying, “how sure are you?”
The old Engineer bestowed a withering look. “Now that all of our antimatter generators are up to snuff it won’t be a problem,” he said definitively, “you think I like being jerked around by that cannon whenever it fires?” he asked incredulously.
“No!” the old engineer continued righteously before slightly moderating his tune, “oh it won’t be perfect and we might still bounce around a small bit,” he finally admitted, “but we won’t be running into any asteroids!”
The XO nodded and then coughed.
“Hah…planetary bodies you mean,” the other man said.
Spalding rolled his eyes but didn’t correct the other man. “Now if you’re done disputing my orders?” he said gesturing toward the weapons console.
“You’re the commander,” the XO said stepping back reluctantly.
The Lucky Clover then began a live fire drill that sent the Corvettes and Destroyer into full on flight and caused many of the other ships that had just started toward Harpoon to slow down.
It was only for less than a half an hour but by the time they started moving at full speed again the only thing that could reach the Lucky Clover in time to try and stop her were two squadrons of Corvettes and a Light Cruiser.
Neither of which showed any interest in approaching to within range of the main cannon.
Seven and a half hours after reaching Harpoon and eight hours after entering the Caprian Star System the Lucky Clover and her accompanying escorts took up position around the asteroid and along with Planetary Body Harpoon the Jump Spindles moved every star ship and Harpoon to another star system in one jump.
Chapter 25: The Re-Return of Crazy Ivan
“Captain, I’m reading something strange on my sensor read out,” reported a Sensor technician.
“What have you got?” asked Commander Dimitri Ivan of the Crazy Ivan, hopping out of his chair and stepping across the relatively small bridge to the sensor section.
“It looks like artifact, Sir,” reported the Tech trepidation in her voice as she spoke hesitantly.
The Officer in charge of the sensor section glared daggers at the tech causing her shoulders to hunch in.
“I am asking of you to report anything that looks suspicious. I’m certain this qualifies,” Ivan rumbled soothingly in an accented voice.
Her shoulders eased slightly.
“What have you got?” he asked exercising captain’s prerogative and ignoring the warrant officer nominally in charge of the section.
The technician turned back to her screen and started pointing.
“At first blush it looks like a non-repeating sensor artifact. But if you run a pattern analysis over an eight and a half hour period it looks like there is a pattern and it repeats itself twice, Sir,” she reported, showing the pattern using a time compressed graph.
“A more than eight hour period?” the Sensor Warrant leaned forward to take a look and then scoffed. “These reading don’t match any pattern in our Imperial stealth techniques database.”
“Then you are disputing the technician’s findings, Warrant?” asked Captain Ivan.
“Oh I’m not denying that she found a pattern, Sir,” the Warrant said straightening, “but if you go randomly looking for repeating patterns you’ll find them. That doesn’t mean that you’ve found a stealthed Imperial warship, though, because there are any number of repeatable interactions between a star systems planetary bodies and the surrounding stars. There are even more that only appear to repeat but over a course of time don’t. Honestly, Sir, eight hours is too long for a pattern like this and like I said there’s nothing similar in the database,” he repeated.
“Your concerns are valid and noted, Warrant Officer,” the Captain nodded in polite but it was a clear dismissal before turning back to the Tech.
“Using these readings as a reference, can you isolate where the enemy ship might be located, as well as anything about its size or armament?” asked the Captain.
The Tech looked at him blankly.
“Well?” he prompted impatiently while behind him the Warrant Officer in command of the Sensor Section on this shift shook his head, practically radiating disapproval.
“I-I-I’m sorry, Sir. But as of right now nothing can be determined as to size or weapons capabilities from these sensor readings. I’d need to get closer,” she said hesitantly and then her eyes widened with alarm, “much closer,” she added hastily.
Ivan’s eyes dimmed with disappointment before lowering his brow and pointing to the screen. “Where?” he asked sharply, his meaning clear.
The Tech gulped. “Just one moment, Captain,” she said immediately pulling up a program with a few quick taps of the screen and then migrating the sensor results into the program, “I’ll have those results for you as soon as this program finishes compiling the raw data.”
“Take your time,” Ivan said, laying a hand on the tech’s shoulder before taking several steps back.
Visibly relieved, the technician continued to work.
“Sir I must protest,” the Warrant Officer came over and spoke in a lowered voice so that the female sensor tech and the rest of the bridge crew couldn’t understand his words.
“What is your problem, Warrant?” Ivan asked, turning his deep brown eyes on the other man.
“Sir! I understand that you specifically asked for any anomalous readings but Tech Jannice clearly overstepped her bounds when she started you on this wild goose chase with her spurious findings,” he said stiffly.
“I asked for any anomalous readings, Warrant,” Ivan said.
“And you received every potentially relevant one. But I don’t know where she and the other transferees from the Lucky Clover get this from, but they are far too willing to jump the chain of command. Their adherence to protocol was also strictly lacking until after they received remedial training,” said the Warrant.
Commander Ivan Dimitri stared at the Chief through narrowed eyes.
“Look I understand your desire for quick results. I’m frustrated too and patrolling an empty star system…” the Warrant trailed off shaking his head, “but Sir—”
“Enough, Officer Palmateer,” Ivan cut him off, “I am the captain of this ship, not you.”
“Why…I never said otherwise, Sir!” exclaimed the Warrant Officer in dismay.
“No, but you implied it,” Commander Ivan shook his head, “frankly I don’t care what star system a man, or woman, comes from. Nor do I care if they like to jump up and down in their chairs. What I want is competence. Flair. Dedication perhaps. Not blind obedience. That can take a back seat to true competence.”
“You’re the Captain, Sir,” the Warrant Officer said looking hurt.
“You’re a new addition to the crew, Warrant. You only transferred six months ago. The Ivan isn’t like an SDF ship or even other ships in the Patrol Fleet for that matter. This is your chance to learn our ways. Don’t squander it,” said the Captain.
“Sir,” the Warrant said backing away.
“I’ve got it!” the sensor tech said, waving her fist in the air.
The Commander’s head swiveled like a laser turret tracking on target. “Where are they, Jannice?” he demanded.
The Sensor Tech quailed and then rallied. “Best estimates put our last known location here,” the Sensor Tech said, pulling up a plot, “and projected course and speed puts them right about…here.”
Captain Ivan looked at the projected course and speed. “They’re slow,” he said.
“Moving under stealth they can’t be fast, Sir,” she replied promptly, “Imperial protocol limits show there is a maximum top speed. Even allowing for improvements in stealth speed limits it can’t be too much faster than this,” she ended confidently.
“Now she takes into consideration standard Imperial stealth protocols,” grumbled the Warrant.
“Helm, new course and maintain current speed,” instructed Captain Ivan.
For a moment the entire bridge seemed to hold its breath until the new course was uploaded onto the screen and then released them with sighs of disappointment. The course barely shifted from the original.
“Steady, Bridge,” said Ivan Dimitri, “the wise hunter does not startle prey in the brush.”
“Sir?” asked the ship’s Executive Officer.
“We have an Imperial ship with Imperial engines. But so did Captain Laurent. I want to make certain we are able to enter attack range before we startle this rabbit,” said the Captain.
“Aye-aye, Captain,” said the First Officer.
Over the next several hours, the Crazy Ivan altered its patrol pattern minutely until finally, with the assistance of Tech Jannice, they were projected to be in the vicinity of the suspected Imperial warship.
“Well, Jannice?” asked Ivan Dimitri.
“If there’s an Imperial warship inside this star system, she’s somewhere right around here, Sir,” the Sensor Tech said confidently, “I can’t narrow it down any further though.”
“XO, take the ship to battle stations; Sensors, prepare to blast this region of space with active sensors. If there’s so much as a chunk of ice or space debris, let alone an Imperial warship operating under stealth I want you to find it,” he ordered.
“Aye-aye, Captain,” said the Executive Officer.
Like turning on a light switch, the Crazy Ivan went active and lit up the surrounding space like a Christmas tree.
“All initial scans are negative, Sir,” the Warrant Officer reported neutrally.
“Continue your search and increase the intensity, Sensors,” instructed the Captain who then turned slightly, “and tell Gunnery to stay on their toes. At the first sign of the enemy they are to fire first and ask for permission later,” he said to Tactical.
“Increasing intensity and still no response…sir” the Warrant Officer said patiently.
The Captain waited a beat. “Helm, I want you to simultaneously increase our speed to full military power while making a 90 degree change in course,” instructed the Commander Ivan.
“Sir?” blinked the Helmsman. The Crazy Ivan’s Executive Officer quickly stepped up to the captain, but Ivan ignored him. “Now, Helm,” grunted the Captain impatiently.
The Helmsman’s face stiffened as he quickly thumbed his controls to life.
“Is there a problem, Number One?” asked Ivan.
“I just wanted to know if I should be ready to break out the shots later, Sir?” the XO said seriously.
“What kind of question is this, Petrov? Either way, we’ll need the vodka,” Ivan demanded.
The XO opened his mouth only to be interrupted by a scream from the sensor section.
“Contact! There she is. I knew it all along!” screamed Jannice, looking relieved as a new data point appeared on the main plot.
“Yes! We flushed her out! You won’t be transferring to the quartermaster’s department after all, Jannice,” Ivan said, pounding a fist into his other hand. “What have we got?”
“What?” Jannice asked, looking alarmed.
“I said the contact. What is she?” demanded Ivan brusquely, striding back to his captain’s chair and perching forward on it like a hawk about to strike. “And get after her, Helm!”
“Initiating full speed pursuit!” said the Helm.
“Instruct the gunners they’re going to be busy today,” said Ivan.
“Sensor contact is tentatively classed as…there she goes,” said the Warrant Officer the stealthed warship suddenly went to full power, “it’s clearly a Destroyer class of some kind, Captain. Probably Imperial,” he reported.
As the MSP Destroyer finished its radical course change and went to full burn the Imperial Destroyer went from a speed so slow that for the purposes of this combat she’d almost been moving at a dead stop to full military power while simultaneously trying to charging her shields.
The Imperial warship was only 38 degrees off the Crazy Ivan’s previous course and the newly entered into service MSP Destroyer was easily able to overtake the enemy warship before she could escape.
Realizing she couldn’t get away the Imperial warship flared her engines and her maneuvering jets firing for all they were worth she rapidly turned, presenting her broadside to the Crazy Ivan.
“Sir! We’re being hailed by the Fighting Badger, her captain says he needs to speak with you urgently,” reported a Com-Tech.
“Because we’re having difficulty with our com-system it is…regrettable that I won’t be able to speak with him until after the engagement,” said the Captain turning back to the main-screen.
“Helm, we’re going to pass on our starboard side. Shields! Supercharge the generators on that same side,” he ordered.
“Sir our communications array and computer systems are working at full—” said the Com-Tech.
“If the Captain says you have a problem with the system then you have a problem with the system, Technician,” scolded the First Officer, “especially if it’s a local officer in an System Defense Force calling.”
“Aye-aye, Sir,” cowered the Tech hunching her shoulders.
“Chin up,” the First Officer said, shaking his head as he turned away.
“Entering firing range in ten seconds,” the Tactical Officer said with a big grin.
“Get ready for a blizzard,” warned the Captain.
Several moments later, the former Imperial Destroyer met the current Imperial Destroyer for the first time, and a predictable batch of fire and fury was the result.
The Imperial Destroyer was well positioned to strike the first blow and her broadside followed suit slamming into the forward starboard side shields of the Crazy Ivan. In a show of Imperial superiority the Imperial Destroyer’s gunnery section landed every laser strike within a ten meter area on the MSP Destroyer forward starboard hull and as a result punching into the hull beneath.
The Crazy Ivan’s gunnery section not to be outdone returned fire, every laser on target as they unleashed a unified broadside that knocked out the still forming Imperial shields and raked the Imperial Destroyers mono-locsium hull.
As the Ivan’s blast doors isolated the hole now present in the forward crew compartments and super heated crystal fragments flew from both warships from the multiple laser strikes each side had received, both captains gave the order to immediately roll their warships.
“Imperial warship is coming about—hard!” reported First Officer Petrov.
“Be faster, Helm,” Ivan ordered with an excited expression.
“I’ll do my best,” said the Helmsman.
“Emergency Protocol 3,” commanded the Captain with a crazy gleam in his eye.
The helmsman’s eyes flashed and a split second later jets of fire lanced out all in more than a dozen places along the hull of the Crazy Ivan.
“Utilizing disposable thruster packs now,” said the Lieutenant.
With more than a dozen extra thruster packs igniting at the same time, in addition to the Destroyer’s regular thrusters, Crazy Ivan competed its roll faster than its Imperial counterpart and its gunners once again opened fire.
Only this time, because the Imperial warship had not yet completed its roll, this broadside landed on an unprotected hull.
Laser after laser struck the enemy Destroyer, with the light lasers destroying sensor arrays, communication towers and shield nodes across bottom of the hull and three of the medium lasers completely punching through the hull, causing out-gassing. In addition, several space-suited figures were sucked out, flailing for a purchase they would never find, into cold space.
Not to be outdone, the Imperial Destroyer launched a pair of drones and completed its roll broadside smashing into the Crazy Ivan the moment their gun mounts gained line of sight.
“Full power to the shields!” yelled Captain Ivan right before the enemy lasers struck.
“We’ve just lost a light laser to counter fire and another medium laser scored the hull around our gun mounts,” reported Tactical as the Ivan shot past the Imperial Destroyer at high speed.
“Turn and bring us around wide and then cross back in front for another pass. This time we’ll cross her T,” said Ivan.
“If they’ll let us,” said the First Officer.
As the Ivan first turned wide and then swung back around the Imperial Destroyer continued to gain speed before also turning in the same direction so that instead of meeting side to front both warships met side to side.
“I’m getting increasing interference, the closer we get to the Imperial ship the harder it is to cut through the interference,” reported the Warrant Officer in charge of sensors.
“Our targeting sensors are experiencing interference and our shot-to-hit ratio is going to drop,” warned Tactical.
Dimitri Ivan glowered at the main screen before the corner of his mouth turned up.
“Not if we get in close. Real close,” he said with satisfaction and a crazy gleam in his eye.
“To get in close enough to overcome their interference we’d have to be almost right on top of them,” said First Officer Petrov.
“Exactly the point! Helm, take us in,” ordered the Captain.
A few members of the bridge shared knowing looks before turning back to their console. Captain Ivan had made his reputation back in first battle against the Imperial Reclamation Fleet through his use of unorthodox tactics and crazy maneuvers. To them this was just par for the course.
Of course for those newer members of the bridge crew things were not quite so sanguine. But despite their unease he was still the captain and this was the middle of a battle. They had no choice but to hope that their unconventional captain would once again rise to the occasion… without getting any of them killed.
As if sensing the wavering thoughts of some of his crew Captain Dimitri glare suddenly swept the room causing spines to straighten and wandering attentions to immediately fixate back on their consoles.
As the MSP Crazy Ivan approached the Imperial warship the other struck out with punishing force as it again showed the superior skill of trained Imperial gunnery. As a swarm of laser fire all struck within a fifteen meter section, breaking through the Crazy Ivan’s shielding and punching through the hull.
“How are they doing so much more damage than last time?” demanded Captain Ivan.
“They’re focusing on the same spot!” reported Engineering.
“Saint Murphy howled! Put this ship into a spin, I want to get close enough to see the back of their teeth,” snapped the Captain.
“Aye-aye, Sir!” said the Helmsman and sent the Destroyer spinning.
As the MSP Crazy Ivan continued to close with the Imperial Destroyer the enemy attacked with focused broadsides but with the Ivan now spinning it was much harder for them to target their lasers all on the same hull section.
“The rotation is throwing off their targeting computers, that last broadside struck near but not on the same area as the last attack. No hull penetration,” reported Tactical.
“I believe their own jamming field is also effecting their targeting. Even if they know the exact frequency shifts, they’re still pumping out a lot of radiation. That has to be jamming up their targeting,” said Sensors.
“Not enough so you could tell,” growled the XO, “how much longer are we going to be stuck taking broadsides and not dishing them back out, Helm?” the XO demanded glaring at the screen.
“Not that much longer, Petrov,” observed Ivan as the MSP Destroyer entered close range, “stand ready with those emergency thruster packs.”
“Entering close range approach…now!” said the Helmsman excitedly.
“That’s not good enough,” roared Ivan, “bump their shields. Now!”
“All gunners are to hold fire until we have achieved closest approach,” instructed tactical, “and that means until either their shields go down or we start pulling away!”
Realizing the danger of the close approach the helm team on the Imperial Destroyer tried to pull away to gain a safe separation but MSP Crazy Ivan didn’t shake.
Beam after laser beam hit the MSP Destroyer as the deadly Imperial gunnery took its toll punching through shields and striking the hull repeatedly.
“Not good enough Mr. River-Fork!” snapped the Captain as the Imperial warships dodged to the side and flipped their ship end over end.
“I’m trying, Sir!” exclaimed the Helmsman as he followed suit and burst after the Imperial Destroyer engines and thrusters flaring.
“This is practically suicide. We can’t hardly see!” cried the Sensor Warrant. “We could crash into them at any moment and a collision at these speeds could destroy both warships.”
“Ramming speed, Mr. River-Fork,” Captain Ivan ordered.
The Crazy Ivan’s engines flared brightly as the Destroyers engines went full out to match the maneuvers of the Imperial warship and close the distance.
Several tense seconds passed as the Imperial warships continued to fire single aimed shots at the Crazy Ivan whenever its gunners could line up a decent shot and then the Imperial warships zigged 18 degrees to port when it should have zagged to starboard, and the Ivan was on her.
Shields flared causing cascade failures and sending the starboard shield generators on the Crazy Ivan into emergency shutdown.
“Now!” shouted Tactical into his dedicated line down to gunnery and the shields on both warships collapsed while the Ivan approached dangerously close to the Imperial’s hull.
As the helmsman desperately tried to compensate and keep an actual ramming event from happening the gunnery section which had been watching in frustration as their ship took hit after hit unanswered finally saw their chance and unloaded at point blank range.
“Sweet Murphy!” shouted the Sensor Warrant as gunnery punched through the Imperial Destroyer’s hull, causing massive out-gassing that scorched the Ivan’s hull, causing his section to lose an array.
The Ivan’s hull was hit by flames from a severed plasma line as well as several enemy crew members that didn’t survive the experience, quickly followed by several cubic tons of oxygen that bled from the Ivan with enough force to leave burn marks on the hull.
Things did not go entirely the Ivan’s way though as at least three enemy lasers took advantage of the MSP Destroyer’s own lack of shields to land its own strikes but it was nothing compared to the crippling broadside that had just landed on the Imperial warship.
Almost instinctively, the helmsman of the Crazy Ivan turned the ship away from the Imperial Destroyer, gaining enough separation that they didn’t accidentally crash together.
“She’s still there. Prepare for another pass!” ordered Captain Ivan, causing his ship to come about toward the Imperial Destroyer.
“Enemy warship is returning fire,” reported Shields, “port shielding now down below 25%!”
“Roll to starboard, that will help spread out the load,” the Captain barked back his eyes never wavering from the main-screen.
“The load has already been spread out as much as possible with multiple smaller shield nodes and load balancing system. We’ll get some but…” the Operator finished hesitantly.
“Understood,” Ivan said curtly as the Imperial Destroyer went into a series of increasingly difficult maneuvers.
Both warships exchanged fire lasers lancing back and forth as the screen showing the two ships maneuvers fuzzed and jumped around due to interference.
“We just lost a laser mount,” reported Tactical.
“And two shield nodes,” reported the Shield Operator.
Dimitri Ivan nodded standing with both hands clasped behind his back.
“Sir you might want to consider sitting back down,” advised the First Officer as the ship underwent a particularly violent maneuver, one strong enough to cause even the Crazy Ivan’s gravity system to give a slight gut rolling flutter.
“I’m fine,” said the Captain.
“Enemy warship coming back around for a head to head pass!” reported Tactical.
“Gunnery is standing by,” reported and assistant Tactical Officer.
There was a stir in the sensor pit.
“Report,” snapped the Captain.
“There’s a fluctuation in the—” Jannice started enthusiastically but the warrant cut her off with a sharp look and a no-nonsense gesture back toward her sensor console.
“It’s hard to say for sure,” the Warrant reported looking pale faced but determined as he overrode his tech, “but it's possible,” he stressed, “that the Imperial Destroyer is having some kind of trouble with its fusion generator. The power reading are all over the place. But again that could just be from the jamming field.”
The Captain’s eyes gleamed.
“Keep up the pressure. Tactical, fire as she bears. Helm stick on them closer than a tick on a mule,” he instructed.
“For the next half minute, the two Destroyers swirled around one another, each one determined to pummel the other into submission.
“Two more nodal shield generators down. The Starboard broadside is down to half its effectiveness. The forward crew quarters are uninhabitable. Backup power system are degraded. It looks like they aimed for where the main power system used to run before the yard reworked things,” Engineering reported the litany of things damaged or destroyed while the rest of the bridge fought their ship.
“Another hit!” crowed Tactical right before a series of laser strike knocked down their starboard shield and slammed into the hull of the ship.
“Out-gassing,” reported Damage Control, “emergency bulkheads have deployed and are holding.”
“How much more can that ship take,” growled the First Officer.
“Not more than the Crazy Ivan,” the Captain said confidently, “steady, lads, we’ve got them on the ropes.”
A quick look at the damage control report showed that the Ivan had taken more damage than the enemy ship was estimated to have received but no one contradicted the Captain on his own bridge.
“Enemy warship coming around and…!” the Sensor Warrant paused and then continued in a rising voice, “her grav-system is fluctuating and her speed just temporarily slowed.”
“Press her!” ordered the Captain causing the helm to flare engines shortening the distance.
“I’m reading a power spike!” reported the Warrant moments before something was ejected from the hull of the Destroyer.
“Power drop off!” cried Sensors. “The Imperial ship has slowed to 20% of main speed and her shields have stopped recovering.”
“She’s turning to run,” reported Tactical.
“Enemy warship's signal is flickering. She’s trying to go back into stealth but we’ve still got her,” reported Sensors.
“Helm, bring us in alongside them. Tactical, refrain from individual fire and sink another broadside into their hull. Coms, as soon as Gunnery has fired you are to immediately demand their surrender on pain of instant and even immediate destruction,” crowed the Captain bringing a clenched fist from around behind his back and giving a small fist pump as the Imperial ship continued to try to run away using only her back up power generator.
Less than a minute later the Crazy Ivan pulled up alongside and launched another devastating broadside that annihilated the other Destroyers shields and did additional damage to the ship’s hull.
“Unidentified Imperial warship, you have just been warned. This is your last chance: surrender or be destroyed,” the Com-Operator said in a deep and forceful voice.
The Captain looked over in surprise but the Officer in charge of the com-section just grinned. Clearly he felt that the operator's voice was much more threatening than his own.
Less than a minute later the Imperial Destroyer struck its shields and shuttles filled with Lancers were on the way to the other Destroyer.
Lancers had taken control of key portions of the Imperial warship and had just transferred over the first group of high value prisoners for the Crazy Ivan’s small brig when another warship arrived.
The Crazy Ivan was hailed.
“Captain Ivan,” the Captain of the Fighting Badger glowered at the MSP Captain dourly, “it seems you don’t listen very well to instructions.”
“I think I follow instructions very well,” Commander Dimitri Ivan said, his brow wrinkling.
“How do you figure this?” demanded the captain of the Fighting Badger.
“My Admiral ordered me to intercept stealthed Imperial warships scouting out this system by any means necessary, and that’s exactly what I’ve done,” said the Commander.
The Captain of the Fighting Badger shook his head the faintest hints of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth before his brow lowered thunderously and he glared at the MSP Captain.
“On behalf of my government, I officially protest your lack of coordination with our system control,” he declared.
“Of course you do,” Dimitri Ivan said with a respectful nod, “but surely any protests are better delivered in person. Say, my cabin in one hour? I’ll provide the drinks.”
“You!” the Badger’s Captain shook his head angrily.
“Feel free to bring senior officers if you like,” Captain Ivan said with a cocky smile.
“I suppose you’ll be providing more of that liquid fire you call Vodka,” the SDF Captain sneered.
“Is real man’s drink,” Ivan said stoutly.
“No! This time I bring you a specialty from my home world: spiced pumpkin brandy. I just got a case from my brother and it’ll put that vodka of yours to shame in two swallows I guarantee it,” the Badger Captain said with certainty.
“Impossible,” Ivan sneered.
“Unless you’re too afraid to try our home world’s best liquor?” the other Captain asked with a twinkle in his eye.
“I’ll try this pumpkin drink of yours,” Ivan rolled his eyes, “but there’s no way it can compare to a real man’s drink like Vodka!”
“Bah! You’ll swear off your potato wine forever the moment you try this one,” shot back the other Captain.
“You’re on!” said Ivan.
Chapter 26: Bad News from Easy Haven
“Sir, system defense is reporting that a pair of freighters have just arrived in system,” reported Communication.
“This is important why?” I asked turning to the Com-Section.
“They’re squawking MSP Easy Haven ID’s, Admiral,” replied the Com-Officer.
“Interesting. I wonder why they’re here,” I said curiously and then shrugged, “report back when you have more.”
“Sir.” The Officer nodded and turned back to his console.
I turned back to my chief of staff.
“What’s our latest status throughout the fleet?” I asked.
“The last of the conscientious objectors and Old Confederation loyalists have been transferred off ship. As soon as we’ve finished unloading the new recruits from Tracto and the Border Alliance the freighters we’re giving them will have their computers wiped, except for basic navigational data, and we’ll hand over the command-key’s. They should be gone as soon as two days from now,” she reported.
“I’m sure we could do that faster,” I said feeling the urge to get out of Central and get going, “let’s aim to have the last of them settled by tomorrow and then send them off. The sooner they’re gone the better for the rest of our fleet. It’s no good for the people who are staying to be constantly reminded of the holes in their personnel. Some of those people had been with us for years.”
“Sitting around here with reporters hounding our people for comment and the politicians changing their minds every other day hasn’t helped,” Lisa Steiner said helplessly.
“Sir, I have that information for you,” the Com-Officer said.
I spun my chair around. “Alright, hit me with it,” I said with a smirk, “what has Easy Haven decided to send us that was so important it couldn’t wait yet at the same time had to be sent via freighters? And, more importantly, do we have any idea why they didn’t notify us beforehand that they were on the way?”
The Com-Officer looked shaken.
“The Freighters report that they’re full of defectors, Sir,” the Communications Officer said tonelessly.
I instantly straightened, all levity leaving my features while on the inside it felt like a stone had just dropped in my stomach.
“So they were having issues with loyalists too,” I said seriously, “well I guess it’s good that they sent them here ‘before’ our freighters full of objectors left for old Confederation space. Have them give us their manifests and number of transferees and we’ll get them settled for the long trip back to heartland space.”
The Com-Officer looked ill. “I’m sorry I wasn’t clear, Sir,” said the Com-Officer, “but the defectors aren’t here to join the objectors, they’re here to join us the MSP.”
I froze as my mind raced, working through the implications of that little statement.
“Ah,” I said carefully as I mulled things over. “How many are there?”
“Several thousand, many of them officers,” he reported and then added a belated, “Sir.”
I sucked in a breath and my face carefully blank I slowly nodded.
“Well we’ll need to verify their loyalty but, considering our recent defections, I’m sure we’ll be able to use them,” I said and then looked over, “I take it from the arrival of these…defectors that Easy Haven has declared for the Confederated Empire?”
This was a shock, to say the least.
Under LeGodat Easy Haven had been like a rock. There had been a few minor issues concerning the chain of command in the beginning but after a heart to heart with the Old Confederation reservist Easy Haven and the MSP had been inseparable.
Well it looked like with LeGodat dead Easy Haven was under new management.
I looked back up to confirm this with the Com-Officer.
“Negative, Sir,” he said in reply.
I looked at him questioningly. “Apparently Easy Haven is being abandoned by Acting Commodore McCruise even as we speak and they’re planning a return to the Confederation, rather than choosing to join forces with the Grand Fleet of Liberation and fight against the MSP,” he reported.
“So...at least they weren’t willing to fight with us directly. I guess that’s something,” I said, feeling a moment of crushing disappointment and anger.
“It looks that way, Sir,” said the other man.
“Well this a fine kettle of fish. Thank you, Coms,” I said with a nod.
“Grand Admiral,” the Com-Officer said, carefully turning back to his console.
After all the sacrifices to keep Easy Have free and independent of the Empire, I couldn’t help feeling bitter at the betrayal. The blood, bodies and treasure we had expended and they just abandoned the place?
In some ways that was even worse than turning on me, or against us, the MSP.
“Steiner, what do you think?” I asked turning to the former com-officer.
“Just a second, Sir. We just got a personnel manifest,” she replied.
“Okay,” I replied.
Several minutes passed as she rapidly scanned through things.
“After a brief overview and utilizing the smart programs… I’d say there will be chaos in the fleet as new arrivals are slotted, but most of the holes we have from losing the sleepers and other objectors will be filled in,” she finally replied with a helpless shrug.
“That’s better than nothing,” I said shortly, not in the mood to thank the galaxy for small favors right at the moment.
“Between them and the several thousand new recruits we’re not just holding even, we’re actually better than when we started, Sir,” said my Chief of Staff.
“Thank you, Lieutenant. Suddenly I feel the need for a walk,” I said in dismissal, “in the meantime, accelerate the departure of the fleet. As soon as we’ve slotted in the defectors and sent away our own loyalists and objectors, we’re leaving Central.”
I thought that maybe I’d go to my quarters and speak with my wife if she was present. She had a decent enough perspective on the political angle of things and at least there I would be free to show my anger and hit something if necessary.
For all the silver linings this was a blow.
Chapter 27: Sallying the Fleet
It had taken fifteen hours longer than I'd hoped but we were finally ready.
The Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet was ready for war—and we weren’t alone.
In addition to the warships from Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet, a large number of ships from all across the Sector and beyond had gathered in Central, with more arriving every day. Thanks to a new resolution passed by the Grand Assembly, they were calling themselves the Grand Fleet of the Spine.
Nominally everything was under my command, both the MSP and the Grand Fleet of the Spine, but it seemed that my Vice-Marshal and Vice-Grand Admiral had already appointed most of the commanders of the Grand Fleet of the Spine and had those appointments confirmed by the Grand Assembly.
Not that I particularly cared. We were leaving Central in an attempt to force a battle at Easy Haven or one of the Core Worlds, and if one of those appointees stepped out of line I was their official commander—and I had more than enough Lancers to ensure a speedy transition of power. Anything short of outright mutiny I could handle with them. An actual mutiny…
I smiled slowly. If the Royal Rage and my Battleships weren’t enough, that’s what I had Spalding and the Lucky Clover for. I was done playing nice.
“Sir, The Fleet signals its readiness for point-transfer. Our course is locked in and all calculations have been performed,” reported Lieutenant Steiner.
“Give the order. Begin charging engines,” I instructed.
“Aye aye, Sir,” she say relaying the order to the rest of the fleet.
We were on our way to Hart's World.
Chapter 28: Imperial Maneuvers
“New reports just in from our spies in the Spine, Praetor,” an unassuming civilian staffer reported with relish.
“Very good. What do our sources in the Spineward Sectors new Grand Assembly have to tell us?” the Senator spun his chair around.
“Their fleet just left what passes for their current center of government. What Sector 25 unimaginatively calls, Central Star System,” reported the Spy Master.
“It’s always nice when the locals will do half the work for you. You said ‘current’?” asked the Senator looking over with a lifted brow.
“Apparently they’re planning to shift over to a mobile headquarters. A former emergency Sector Government transport. A Monitor of some kind that’s been extensively overhauled and rebuilt,” reported the Staffer.
“I presume they had the intelligence to send along the location of that Monitor and a breakdown of their current fleet forces?” the Senator said mildly.
“The report states that the Monitor’s location is a closely held state secret,” sniffed the Spy Master.
“No doubt they don’t want to risk their bolt hole, in case we change our minds,” Cornwallis sneered, “the fleet status?”
“We’ve got the number of hulls and a relatively decent list of Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet warships but as far as the rest of their ship, this ‘Grand Fleet of the Spine,” the Staffer rolled his eyes, “all we have is a basic number of hulls. Apparently the MSP fleet breakdown is easily obtainable information but they had to use a telescope to count the Grand Fleets numbers.”
“Complete and utter space rot. Who’s our agent on the ground? Is it possible he went native?” the Senator scowled.
The Spymaster grimaced. “It’s an old contact from the Reclamation Initiative,” he admitted, “the son is currently serving in the Rim Fleet on the Gorgon Front so the contact was considered low risk. But it’s possible he was turned by one of the former Initiative Investors or has simply placed the best interests of the rest of the family over that of the son’s now that the invasion is actually taking place.”
The Senator’s mouth twisted and he shook his head.
“What’s the background on this contact?” he asked.
“He runs a starship repair dock in their home system, so he’s a spacer, civilian background, except for the son of course. Some ties to smuggling and the grey market, which we’ve made use of in the past. A brother-in-law is a provisional member of the new Assembly,” said the Staffer.
“And the son?” prompted the Senator.
“He’s currently a Warrant Officer in Engineering, it looks like he signed up in a fit of patriotic fervor. Apparently he wanted to stay close to home and fight pirates, which was Rim Fleet’s job at the time,” the Spymaster didn’t look up from his tablet as he rolled his eyes and continued to dictate details, “looks like a usual provincial worlder determined to keep the local spaceways clear for the sort of freighter traffic his family depends on to survive.”
“And then that Fleet was sent down to the Gorgon Front for a war and stopped patrolling the region for pirates,” observed the Senator.
“We have been feeding him information on his son’s status in the Imperial Navy, along with the exchange of occasional holo-taped messages,” said the Spymaster.
The Senator shrugged, “It’s not unusual for this sort of source to dry up at a time like this. When we were far away, doing everything you can for a wayward son makes sense, but now that we’re here in force and the rest of the family is potentially in the cross-hairs the calculation changes. I’m not surprised he’s been hedging his bets or at the very least not pushed for the information we need as aggressively as possible,” said the Senator.
“We know where he lives,” said the Staffer, “and it’s my understanding we’ll soon have naval special action teams inserted into a number of the local star systems…”
“Let’s not go down that route for now. How long until we have one of our own or at least a Naval Intelligence officer in position to directly interface with the locals on central?” asked the Senator.
“According to our estimates, if nothing went wrong, the Navy has an pair of agents en route and we already have a team on the surface by now but unfortunately they haven’t had time to get the lay of the land or meet up with the contact and provide us with a direct feed of information yet,” said the Staffer.
“These things take time,” Cornwallis said shaking his head with irritation, “that will be all,” he ended in clear dismissal.
As soon as the spymaster had left the Senator summoned his naval chief of staff and then turned and immersed himself in the latest naval intelligence reports.
Initial reports had been excellent, even exceeding expectation but lately there had been a recent string of failures. The warships lost in action against the enemy were Imperial Destroyers with the latest stealth and weapons technology. Ships that shouldn’t have been lost.
The locals and their new patrols were proving surprisingly effective now that they were getting their act together. Which boded poorly for the future.
The Chief of Staff stepped into the room and saluted clicking his heels together for emphasis.
“Reporting for duty, Praetor,” said the Commodore.
“Are you familiar with the latest reports from our advanced forces, Commodore?” the Senator asked the middle aged reservist.
“I am apprised. As your Chief of Staff I have access to the reports from every ship in the fleet… well every Imperial ship at any rate,” the Commodore corrected himself, “but I do stay on top of everything,” he cocked his head, “how else am I supposed to know what information to pass on to you and what your staff needs to handle for you?”
The Senator looked at the other man coolly and then turned around and activated the holo-plot in the middle of the room. An accelerated timetable, showing every reported maneuver of the advanced main forces as well as the main fleet along with the currently projected actions, began to appear one by one until they reached their current situation in time.
“As you can see things went almost entirely our way in the beginning, with the locals unable to even spot us—at least that was the situation until their newest reinforcements began to arrive,” he said pointing to several systems that started flashing red. “These new patrols of theirs have proven…troublesome.”
“Losses are only to be expected in wars, and we are only talking about two ‘Destroyers’ here, Sir,” said the Commodore.
“Now take a look at the latest projected movements of this Grand Fleet of the Spine,” said Cornwallis, causing a large mass of enemy warships to appear. A significant number of them were red but an even larger contingent were yellow with red circles indicating that their information and number count was spotty.
“At least that’s a better name than the Glorious Fleet of Liberation,” the Chief of Staff said derisively.
“How accurate is this?” the Commodore asked with a frown.
“The count should be accurate but this is only an initial report from a questionable source. The number of hulls should be accurate as of the moment as for types and weight of metal…that’s still anyone’s guess at this point,” the Senator shrugged.
“And the jump estimates?” the grey haired officer asked.
The Senator lifted a hand splayed his fingers wide and then shrugged. “They’re as accurate as we can make them. We’ve spotted a large number of escort warships screening something that appears to be their main body. We should have a number of Destroyer squadrons shadowing their main force soon. MAN knows they’ve been moving slowly enough, one would almost think they were up to something” the Senator said with amusement.
The Commodore shot him a penetrating look. “A trap, you think?” he asked.
“Clearly they want us to know where they are and hope for us to follow them,” the Senator said with a slight smile.
“Away from their seat of government,” observed the Commodore.
Cornwallis looked back implacably. “It’s obvious the game they’re playing: they hope to grab out attention and hold it there but there’s no reason we can’t go after two targets at once,” he said.
“Unless that’s a trap also, Sir,” warned the other man, “remember we only have so many ‘reliable’ units. Is it wise to divide our strength in the face of the enemy?”
“I see no reason that a significant portion of the Glorious Fleet of Liberation, commanded by an experienced Imperial officer and backed up by two squadrons of cruisers, can’t take the fight to the enemy with severe alacrity,” Cornwallis said with a hard edged expression.
“The question is will The Glorious Fleet fight?” observed the Commodore.
“We’ll send enough ships and a man of sufficient rank to ensure that they don’t have a choice. Oh, they can talk all they like, right up to the point our squadrons enter attack range and open fire,” said the Senator.
“That should work but there’s still a chance that we’ll be risking our supply of new com-stat buoys if we sufficiently enrage the Confederation reinforcements,” the Commodore said cautiously.
Cornwallis’s face hardened.
“The method and manner of this conquest will not be dictated by a Confederation wide Entertainment Channel,” he said with utter negation.
“With respect they’re more than just a channel but I understand the sentiment, Praetor,” said the Commodore, “just expect Pan-Galactic Entertainment to come knocking if you split the fleet like you’re planning.”
“PGE and Ruby Rod can be imprisoned in a trillium mine for all I care. As far as I’m concerned we’ve already bridged the gap, the Overton Expanse now has a faster than light com-link back to the rest of known space, and while having them follow us trailing their string of faster than light breadcrumbs behind would be nice it’s no longer strictly necessary,” he said flatly, “in a few ways it would even be preferable.”
“In some ways even preferable, Praetor?” asked the Commodore.
“Why, Chief of Staff, are you saying that our Confederation allies are less than totally reliable and stalwart in the face of adversity? For shame!” Cornwallis rolled his eyes.
“You would know them better than me. But if their actions, letting this region go to the dogs and any two bit warlord that fancied it and then turning around and ‘assisting us’ in reconquering it for the Empire, are any measure then…yes. I believe that’s exactly what I’m saying, Sir,” said the Commodore.
“I like the way you think. That will be all, Commodore,” the Senator said, an approving tone in his voice that was at odds with the semi-harshness of the words of the dismissal itself.
The Commodore drew himself up, saluted, clicked his heels and then turned and exited the room.
Once he was gone, the Senator leaned back in his chair, pulled out a cigar and lit it up.
He could see the game Montagne was trying to play: concentrate his forces, lead the Empire into a confrontation of his choosing—probably a star system with formidable fortifications—and then roll the dice with all the odds he could control in his favor.
Unfortunately for the new minted 'Grand Admiral,' the Senator wasn’t interested in catering to his every whim. Janeski had proven that allowing this particular opponent to dictate the place of his choosing was a losing proposition and despite his advantage in firepower, some would say overwhelming advantage, this was a mistake he had no intention of replicating.
In fact, he thought letting out a puff of smoke and then stubbing the cigar in his ash tray, I plan to do the exact opposite of this local’s plan. I'll use my superior Imperial scouting forces to lead the locals toward a system of my choosing: an uninhabited star system where the rubes have no chance of laying out any sort of ambush.
If this Jason Montagne disagrees, he leaned back in his chair and laced his hands behind his head, I’ll just burn down worlds until there is nothing left in this Sector before moving move on to the next.
The forces he sent to Central to attack their burgeoning Central Government ought to provide just the spur the Imperial Fleet needed to force the locals into a confrontation at a place and time of their Imperial Choosing.
Then they would be crushed once and for all, with only a few scattered remnants to be swept up.
The Senator unveiled a deadly smile and then walked over to the side bar to pour himself a drink. Everything was coming together nicely. The opponent just needed enough time to realize that he had no other option but to dance to the Empire’s tune.
Chapter 29: Jason’s Scheme
In the new war strategy room aboard the new Lucky Clover were gathered all or at least most of the top officers in the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet.
“So what’s our next move, Admiral?” Captain Far-Bright, the new and possibly temporary captain of the Lucky Clover asked respectfully as soon as the meeting had officially started. Spalding hadn’t been excited by the move but I was the head of the organization and the old engineer recognized that.
In response, I eyed my new Flag-Captain with reserve and then turned back to the main plot. Seeking to settle my stomach, I reached out with well practiced precision for my tea cup. Only after I’d completed the ritual of stirring, smelling, sipping and finally returning the little cup back to its saucer did I turn to considering the question.
Sometimes presentation is just gilding the lily but at others—like now, for instance—it was everything.
Reaching out, I touched the holo-plot tracing a line following the Imperial Invasion of our Sector.
“The combined Imperial/Confederation Fleet left the Overton Expanse two weeks ago and have proceeded to jump eight systems deep into our Sector…well, eight systems so far,” I pointed out, tracing the estimated line and current location of the Cornwallis Conquest Fleet.
“We’ve lured them deep into the Sector, well away from any targets,” Far-Bright observed with a satisfied nod.
I looked at the other man in disbelief.
“They crossed the border almost two weeks ago and it took our fleet the better part of a week just to catch up to them. They’re practically crawling, keeping everything except their screening elements together and jumping all at the same time. Thus limiting them to their shortest Corvettes jump range and longest Battleship’s recharge time. They could have gone literally anywhere in the same amount of time, hit any number of Core Worlds, yet there they are right smack dab in the middle of nowhere,” I glared at the screen.
The former Confederation reservist immediately stilled and looked taken aback. “I thought that was what we wanted, Admiral,” he said stiffly.
“Rather that’s what we wanted them to think we were trying to do, Captain,” I said with exaggerated patience, “which all by itself ought to have been a major clue that something was very wrong!”
“Whenever the enemy appears to be doing exactly what you want them to do, something is wrong,” intoned the Captain obviously repeating something he’d heard multiple times before; probably starting back in his academy days.
“Exactly. Which is even worse for us, considering that our actual intentions were to lead them to Hart’s World so we could fall back on their defensive fortifications and negate at least some of their numerical advantage,” I said flatly.
“They were too wiley to take the bait,” Spalding spoke up from his seat on the other side of the table.
“Not surprising considering who’s in overall command over there,” said Chief Gunner Lesner.
“Any idiot can see that plain as the nose on your face. Are you sure your head’s fully recovered from that big crack those louts gave you?” Spalding asked with exaggerated patience and concern.
“Go stuff yourself, Spalding,” the Chief Gunner growled.
“Ate a full dinner—dessert too! This is as full as it gets, I’m afraid. Too bad you missed it transferring over here from the Rage. We had a nice turkey dinner with all the fixings,” the old Engineer said patting his belly contentedly.
“You can go howl outside if you keep that up you overgrown wrench turner,” the Chief Gunner growled half rising from his chair.
“Better a wrench turner than a man who points and clicks for a living. And I’d like to see the man what could put me outside a hull because he certainly isn’t a crusty old gunner!” Spalding sneered.
“That’s it!” Lesner tossed his cigar onto the table, his other hand going for his belt.
“Gentlemen,” growled the Captain, glaring at the two old reprobates until they settled back down into their seats rebelliously, “that will be enough of that.”
“Sorry, Sir,” muttered the Chief.
“Harumph,” the Chief Engineer frowned, but under Far-Bright’s continued withering glare crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair.
“Now that sort of divergent behavior is, hopefully, behind us,” I said bestowing my own frigid look upon the unruly pair before moving on, “as I was saying, they failed to take the bait and follow us to Hart’s World, and worse they’re threatening to cut us off from Central.”
That caused ears to perk up and people to shift uncomfortably around the holo-plot.
“Technically we’re still between the Imperial Fleet and the new seat of government, Admiral Montagne,” a Battleship captain sitting next to Captain Eastwood finally observed.
“And they’ve shown no sign of making a move on Central, Sir,” agreed another one of the new Battleship captains, this one a former First Officer under Quentin ‘Rampage’ Jackson. I easily recognized him.
“You mean so far,” Commodore Druid weighed in causing a number of former Confederation officers, all captains now, to nod in agreement; including among their number a certain former Flag-Captain who was still in command of the Furious Phoenix.
“I think we might be jumping at shadows that aren’t even there. This is war, we can’t be risk averse,” snorted the former XO of the Metal Titan.
“Risk averse!” Druid exclaimed, a vein on the top of his forehead throbbing. “I’ve been to more wars than you can count on the fingers of one hand. Any man who thinks I’ve lost my nerve can just come right out and say it. I lost a Battleship not my will to fight or my good judgment. I think the fifth battle for Easy Haven would have proven that!”
“No one’s calling anyone here faint of heart or uncommitted,” I cut in, taking back control of the strategy meeting, “not unless they think the line for such people starts with me,” I finished with a quelling look as I met and held the eyes of everyone in this room one by one, challenging them to disagree.
Not too surprisingly, none of them did.
“Yes, Sir,” several people muttered or words to that effect.
“Everyone in this room is here because they weren’t just willing they actively wanted to be here. We’re all here fighting against the Empire and the traitors in the Confederation government that would illegally sell us to the Empire. We’re here because we believe in something greater than ourselves; our families, our comrades in arms, our home worlds or our Sectors.”
“Hear hear,” said Captain Rampage.
“Too blasted right,” echoed Captain Eastwood slamming a fist on the table.
“Let’s be honest here. We in the spine have done nothing wrong. We didn’t leave the Confederation the old Confederation left us,” I took a deep breath, “and now because they can’t find a real pretext they had to invent the flimsiest excuse I’ve ever heard of: tax evasion. Apparently they get to sell seven Sectors of the Spine to the Empire because they didn’t bother to come collect our taxes!”
“What a crock,” Spalding couldn’t wait to put his two cents in and then looked around the room bullishly as if daring any man present to say it otherwise.
“What? We’re supposed to go and chase down the tax man now so we can pay him?” demanded Captain Rampage.
“Else-wise the big bad Empire will take our planets away?” Eastwood crossed his arms.
“I say enough is more than too much. The Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet held the line when no one else cared to do so and this is how they repay us? With an Imperial suppression fleet! We stood fast against the enemies of the Rim and beyond it, fighting to keep all of humanity safe and what was our prize? Not one but two Fleets of Conquest!”
“Let’s end this Fleet right here then,” Spalding bawled like a stuck pig, jumping out of his chair and waving his fist around, “with the Lucky Clover rebuilt to her new specifications we finally have something that can stand up to the worst the Empire can throw at us. Even an Imperial command carrier is not her match,” he bragged.
There was a moment’s silence and then the room broke out in cheers.
“If we can get them within range and nothing can stand for long against her main-cannon,” Far-Bright said stoutly championing his new command.
A few captains shared uneasy looks and no one mentioned the long range strike reach of the carrier’s that was their main offensive punch.
“We just have to be careful of their main force beam,” Spalding said excitedly, “don’t mind the fighters, if all goes well I have a plan to take care of those,” he laid a finger alongside his nose.
I shot Spalding a cross look my lips making a thin line before I deliberately ignored him and turned back to the rest of the room.
The seriousness of my expression must have come through because the rest of the room fell silent and over the course of several moments every pair of eyes in the room focused on me.
“Is there something you wanted to say, Jason?” asked Akantha with a tight smile.
I gave a grateful nod at the show of support and turned back to the group.
“Stepping back from the larger strategic picture to the tactical, our main focus right now can’t be on the policy. It is the job of the politicians, not the military, to refute this illegal annexation attempt,” I said firmly. “Our attention has to remain focused on this combined Confederation and Imperial Fleet,” I continued taking a breath and looking around the room, “and like I said: they’ve been moving slowly but they’ve so far refused the bait we’ve been giving them to follow us to Hart’s World and they’re large enough and fast enough, at least the Imperial contingent is, that if and when they decided to beat feet they could move between us and Central before we could stop them. Essentially cutting us off from Central. That is our current situation. The question is: what do we do about it and how do we stop them? Also, should we stop them? Any thoughts?” I asked.
Eastwood’s brow furrowed and Captain Rampage looked like he was ready to fight already.
Commodore Laurent leaned forward. “What do you mean by 'should we stop them,' Sir?” he asked intently and several heads nodded, mostly from the new Battleship captains, the former First Officers who hadn’t had as much contact with me as their predecessors still in the room.
“Just exactly that,” I said.
One of the new Captains leaned forward. “Isn’t it our job to stop the enemy whenever, wherever and however we can, Admiral?” he asked in a respectful yet disagreeing tone.
“Nay, Captain,” I said seriously, “if, say, a pirate dived into the corona of a sun and dared you to follow him in, would you?” I asked rhetorically and then rolled my eyes and answered my own question. “Of course not.”
“I see what you’re saying, Admiral. And of course you're right but in this specific case,” the other Captain said doggedly, his face flushing slightly with embarrassment.
“But the Admiral no 'buts' lad,” Spalding harrumphed leaning forward to thump the table, “it’s not our job to go where the enemy wants us to go and do what the other man has all planned out for us.”
“Confusion to our enemies,” agreed Commodore Druid.
“I prefer dead enemies to confused but I’ll take the latter,” snorted Commodore Laurent.
Finally a large, hairy figure wedged into a corner of the room thumped the floor with his feet.
“That’s not after being what the Admiral was asking,” said the large scar covered Sundered Captain, “Question was: should we let them have a free shot at Central or dive right into them away from our defenses just like they were after wanting?”
“If the enemy wants you to do something, the general rule is: don’t,” snorted the old Engineer.
“Not unless you don’t have any choice,” remarked Chief Gunner Lesner.
“I’m not going to cry a river over a bunch of blasted politicians finally forced to see the elephant instead of safely pulling everyone’s strings from the safety of their palaces,” Spalding shot back.
Lesner opened his mouth for an angry retort, but I hastily cut in before the meeting could derail once more. “Let’s not be hasty here. I won’t be crying any rivers for them either, not after the way they’ve bungled things up to this point but that’s just it,” I said sharply, “it’s not just the elected officials putting on airs that are in danger over at Central, there are more than a billion citizens in the line of fire.”
“Plus of course,” Laurent observed slowly, “there’s rumors going around that the new Assembly spent their first round of tax money on a mobile pleasure palace big enough for the whole lot of them, should the current seat of government be attacked.” He looked over at me with a searching look. “Any truth to those rumors, Sir?”
I swallowed a few choice words and gave him back a flinty look.
In the end I could either lie and cover for the politicos or keep faith with my men. Of course I chose to keep faith with my officers.
I slowly nodded.
“That’s what they told me. Except it’s not a pleasure palace, it’s an old monitor that used to serve as an unused emergency mobile governmental headquarters for some heartland sector before it was turned into a slave transport. Last I heard it’s still being converted back to its previous status, only this time not for some Sector Assembly but our Spineward Sectors Grand Assembly,” I said finally.
A number of officers exchanged significant looks while others shook their heads in disgust.
“They can’t even pretend to share the same risks as the rest of us can they, Sir?” asked the former captain of the Metal Titan mouth twisting.
I bestowed the other man a quelling glance. “You mean having the option to fly around in a relatively unarmed giant space wagon as compared to being surrounded by the hull of one of the finest Battleships or in this case super Battleships in the Spine?” I asked, thumping the wall behind me for emphasis.
Captain Rampage colored momentarily, ducking his head before looking back up. “You know what I mean, Sir. We’re here to fight and die for the citizens, we’ve got skin in the game. What about them?” he asked after a moment. “Are they just planning to run away once the going gets tough?”
I pursed my lips grimly. “This war will be a test, Captain,” I said making sure to look all around the room to emphasis my next point, “for all of us.”
“You mean those greasy politicians in central too, Sir?” asked Rampage, sitting back looking surprised.
“Each and every man and woman in this fleet and yes in the Spineward Assembly as well will have their chance to rise or fall to the occasion. Our job isn’t to force anyone outside of this fleet to do their jobs, to…perform their sworn duty,” I said with a wintery expression.
“You cannot force your allies to honor their oaths, merely thank them if they do and take appropriate measures if they don’t,” said Akantha.
“Too bloody right, my Lady,” Spalding said in a rousing voice, “we’ll be here to hold them accountable afterwards. Isn’t that right, lads?”
“Aye!” said a few hot blooded younger captains finally looking satisfied.
I ran a hand over my face. This wasn’t at all where I’d meant to go with this conversation but I wasn’t about to court-martial any of them over simply saying what most of us in this room were already thinking.
On the other hand.
“Let’s not get beyond ourselves or draw any arbitrary lines in the sand. Situations change as do battlefields. That said a man recognizes cowardice or treason when he sees it and responds accordingly as both his conscience and oaths require,” I said firmly, “in the meantime I’ll hear nothing more against the only unifying government the Spine has at this time of war and conquest. We must all endeavor to hang together, if we turn to infighting and recriminations before we’ve even come to grips with the enemy…”
“Then we’re sunk,” chimed in Laurent looking pissed.
“We’re not sunk,” I said lips thinning, “it would just make things much-much harder than they would otherwise need to be.”
“Aye-aye, Sir,” muttered a much subdued crowd in support.
I gave myself a shake.
“Please let me remind everyone that while the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet will as usual be in the front during battle and in the middle of any action that we’re not alone here. The survivors of the Amalgamated Fleet, 25th Sector Guard Units as well as additional warships from the rest of the sector have been pouring into the new 1st Fleet of the Spine,” I said firmly, “so while its true they will be under their own Admiral’s, Captains and Commanders, it’s not like we are going this alone and,” I smiled wryly, “as usual I will remain the overall commander.”
There were satisfied nods among those of recent lower rank and dark mutterings from those more in the know about the real situation surrounding my new tenure as Military Commandant and Fleet Grand Admiral.
Commodore Laurent gave me a level look and leaned forward to pin me down with his gaze.
“Speaking of the new situation, Sir. What are we supposed to do if there are any…mix-ups in the chain of command going into the future,” he asked picking his words carefully.
The room stilled.
“I’m not sure I follow you, Commodore,” I said coolly. This meeting was turning into a festival of question-filled lines of thinking I had hoped to avoid entirely.
“Say if there are communications difficulties that cause, let’s call them 'conflicting orders' to be received by MSP units from 1st Fleet Admirals that contravene previous instructions from the flag. Or even orders recalling you to the Grand Assembly for ‘consultation’ immediately before, during a lull in combat, or after the battle is won, placing another person in ‘temporary’ command of the Patrol Fleet and the rest of the new fleet too of course,” posited the Commodore lifting a brow.
Glue pursed his lips.
Spalding looked at me expectantly a gleam in his eye even as the rest of the room was so quiet you could have literally heard a pin drop while they waited, breath’s held, for my answer.
“That first won’t be an issue,” I said dismissively, “first off, I’ll be temporarily frocking both Commodores Druid and Laurent to Grand Admiral, with seniority back dated to the inception of the Spineward Confederation. Literally no one will have seniority over them, not even my supposed Vice-Commandants. However, their temporary commissions will be in sealed orders that temporarily appoint them to command of the entire Confederation fleet and ground forces should I be unavailable for any reason.”
I paused for emphasis.
“Of course, these orders are only to be opened upon the sudden appearance of some sort of, as was said before, 'confusion' in the chain of command,” I continued grimly. “Second, and finally, the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet is still and will remain an at will organization; the Spineward Assembly has recognized that right for all of our warships as a precondition to us helping them. So in anything less than a combat situation each captain will be free to remove ships from the Confederation’s Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet where upon they will immediately revert to the SDF of their world of origin,” I unveiled a tight smile, “and that world’s chain of command. Right now the majority of our warships are Tracto or Border Alliance registrations, by tomorrow a number of you will find your registrations updated to Gambit or Harpoon registrations. But be it Tracto, Gambit or Harpoon, the current commander of each of those systems or world’s SDF is still me.”
Several heads nodded in sudden understanding.
Then Spalding cleared his throat. “You can change the files and update the parchments, but when a politician sees a chance at power he takes it and when a government has the power to extend its authority, in my experience it does. It’s a dangerous game you’re playing here, Admiral, and make no mistake,” Spalding warned.
“Is that concern I hear in your voice, Commander?” I quipped, throttling the urge to strangle him by reminding myself that of all people Spalding might be wrong and he might be uncouth but he was loyal as the day is long. I would have never survived long enough to get where I was now if not for him backing me up at every step along the way.
I wondered what I was going to do when he finally got too old and passed away. I silently decided to to send the old man over to Gambit Medical as soon as our current campaign was over. There was no point in losing him before his time.
“Concern, Sir? Of those wily snake in the grass government officials and backstabbing politicians? Never,” he said stoutly, “I’m with you till the end. You know that,” he finished loyally.
“Ah, Spalding,” I grumbled shaking my head.
Grabbing a slate, I rotated the view of the local starscape until four different stars on the screen started flashing. Hart’s World, Central Star System, our current location, and the best guess as to the location of the Imperial Suppression Fleet.
As no one seemed to have any great ideas on just how we were going to get the Empire to take their fleet right where we wanted it, the briefing turned into a general bull session as various officers put forth different ideas.
We were still going at it when my Chief of Staff walked up to my elbow and leaned down to whisper.
“Sir, fresh reports from the screening force. The Empire is on the move and the Grand Fleet of Liberation missing more than one hundred ships, we don’t know where they are, Sir,” she muttered.
“Blast it all,” I said under my breath and then stood up, “as fascinating as this discussion has been, we need to bring it to a close. Apparently the Empire is starting to make its move.”
As soon as I finished speaking looks of frustration and oddly relief that things were finally moving showed in the officers around me. Something was starting to happen.
Shortly after the captains were dismissed back to their commands and several new squadrons of Destroyers were sent out to find those missing warships.
Now I had a choice to make. Did I stick with the strategy of shadowing the enemy fleet or did I risk it all in one mad gamble?
When put like that the answer was obvious. The only question could we catch the enemy fleet in time.
I activated a com-channel.
“This is Lieutenant Commander Steiner,” replied the Chief of Staff.
“New movement orders,” I instructed, “we’re moving the whole Grand Fleet of the Spine, minus the screen elements left behind to continue monitoring Cornwallis.”
“Alright. Where are we going now, Admiral,” she asked.
“Set course for Central and pray we’re not too late,” I said.
Chapter 30: An Imperial Attack
More than one hundred warships, most of them Confederation—and a large number of those Battleships—jumped rapidly away from the main body of the Glorious Fleet of Liberation.
Being a majority Confederation Fleet the task force took its name from its nominal commander, Front Admiral Featherby’s flagship, the Battleship Puma. He was a former and reserve officer in the Confederations fleet before it was downsized, and he was forced to return home to take up service in his homeworld’s SDF, Admiral Featherby was one of the few service members in the Confederation fleet with actual combat experience, albeit that experience was almost sixty years ago.
As such he knew how to keep his task force as together as modern technology allowed and more importantly moving at top speed; which was why it took Task Force Puma a mere four days to reach their target, the Sector Capitol.
Unfortunately for Central Star System the Grand Fleet of the Spine, even moving at top speed, was a full day behind.
Battle of Central
Order of Battle -
Orbital Defenses around Central Prime
3 Battlestations
150 Gun Turrets
300 Orbital Missile Launchers
System Defense Forces
1 Battleship
8 Heavy Cruisers
4 Light Cruisers
37 Assorted Destroyers, Corvettes and Armed Freighters
Total: 50 Warships
Confederation/Imperial Fleet
vs.
Task Force Puma
CO: Front Admiral Willard Featherby Commanding
Chief of Staff: Commodore ‘Bob’ Fritters
Flagship Puma: CO Flag Captain Weathers
21 Battleships
35 Cruisers
34 Destroyers
Task Force Puma Total = 90
Independent Imperial Contingent
8 Cruisers
12 Destroyers
IIC Total: 20
8 Troop Transports (4000 marine Capacity)
27,000 Marines
Fleet Total: 118 warships
Upon arriving in the Star System, Task Force Puma consolidated its forces and moved in system.
Comprising of two main groups, the more than 90 warships and Battleships of the Glorious Fleet and twenty lighter units based around two squadrons of Cruisers that belonged to the Empire.
Officially the Imperial forces said they were there in an advisory capacity, but while they agreed to work in conjunction with the Task Force Puma of the Glorious Fleet they stoutly maintained that although they had the same general orders, they weren’t under the direct command of Front Admiral Featherby.
“What a way to run a war,” muttered Commodore Fritters, Front Admiral Featherby’s Chief of Staff.
“Just be glad they put someone like the Front Admiral, who actually has experience both in combat and fleet operations, in charge of this Task Force,” replied Flag Captain Weathers, “Imagine what a cock up we’d have had if Praetor Cornwallis had selected any one of a dozen other officers?”
Commodore Fritters shuddered.
“Enough standing around gossiping like two housewives at the supermarket, you rapscallions,” snarked the Front Admiral stepping up between the men. He took a moment to glance back at the main-plot for any recent updates and then turned a stern look on the other men.
“Sorry, sir, it won’t happen again,” Captain Weathers said face immediately blanking.
“Not that I don’t appreciate the vote of confidence but even if asking for a little humility is too much to ask in the Glorious Fleet, I do expect my officers to maintain a professional demeanor,” I warned a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“The Flag Captain was just having a little excessive burst of esprit de corps,” Fritters said with a straight face.
The Front Admiral shot him a penetrating look.
“So if that’s his position then what’s your excuse?” he asked with an arched brow.
The Commodore coughed covering his mouth with a balled up fist to hide his expression from his old friend and commanding officer.
“That’s what I thought,” said the Front Admiral and then he nodded toward the screen and all the levity seemed to fade away from him. “What’s the status of our long lost friends?” he asked, nodding his chin toward the Spineward Sector forces.
“The local SDF has holed up surrounding that giant space complex they call their seat of government orbiting around Central System’s main planet. No sign of movement or any new warships hidden behind large asteroids or any of the other planets in the system, Front Admiral,” the Chief of Staff reported immediately.
“Current estimates are still at fifty warships, that one Battleship and three squadrons of Cruisers, two heavy, one light and a variety of odds and sods all transmitting on different worlds SDF signals,” reported the Flag Captain.
“So still nothing to stand up to our twenty of the wall and another thirty five Cruisers of the line,” Featherby said wryly.
“Nothing other than those three massive battlestations and large number of orbital defenses they built to protect their Sector Capitol,” the Flag Captain said heavily.
“In other words, nothing that can stand up to Task Force Puma so long as we’re willing to take the time to reduce those defenses to space rubble,” the Front Admiral sighed. “Steady on, Captain. Hopefully it won’t come to that; we’re just here to do a job that’s all.”
“It’s a dirty business, sir. That’s all I’m saying,” replied Captain Weathers.
Featherby’s face turned cold. “Perhaps you’ve said too much,” he said evenly.
“Sorry, Admiral,” the Flag Captain paled, bracing to attention.
“I believe you have other business to attend to, Captain. I know it’s been a while since my last ship command, but as I recall a captain’s job is never done,” he rebuked.
“Yes, sir. Right away, sir,” the Captain said saluting before turning and quick stepping away.
“That was a little harsh wasn’t it, sir?” inquired Commodore Fritters.
“This fleet runs on discipline, Commodore,” the Front Admiral said pointedly, reminding his old friend of their differences in rank, “today it’s the Captain, tomorrow it’s the dishwashers down in the mess hall, and next thing you know the gun crews won’t fire and I’ll have to space good men for mutiny. Best to nip this sort of talk in the bud before it has time to bloom.”
“Even if the Captain might have a point,” the Commodore asked lowering his voice, “you and I both know there’s nothing in the Confederation charter about using the eminent domain clause to repossess entire sectors, let alone entire star systems. Planets yes, after several hundred years of deficit spending and decades of back taxes, entire continents even taken away and given to large corporations to settle a system’s debt but this sort of action has no precedent. Sweet Murphy, Sir, we’re talking about seven Sectors, an entire region just taken and sold to the highest bidder. This after we were the one’s who pulled out!”
The Front Admiral looked as if the weight of mountains were on his shoulders but there was not an ounce of give in his face.
“Especially if the Captain has a point, Fritters. That makes it even more important than ever to shut exactly this sort of talk down double hard. Frankly any man who can’t get behind this mission, even you my old friend, had best ask for separation from service and expect to be set down on the next closest life sustaining planet along our route. The only other option is fall in line or an airlock. We are not here to practice democracy, Commodore. We’re here to defend it,” said the Front Admiral.
“Yes but at what cost?” the Commodore said before drawing himself up to attention and then saluting. “But regardless, I’m with you to Hades and back, Sir. We can share a room in the pit after it’s all done and over with.”
The Front Admiral nodded, “Glad to hear it. What’s the status on ongoing negotiations?”
“Our diplomats are talking with their diplomats,” the chief of staff shrugged, “not to belabor the point but the expected sticking points have cropped up. The civilian channels are in an uproar but the local government is holding firm…for now.”
“Which one, the star system, sector or this new regional government they’ve set up illegally?” he asked.
“Try all of the above,” the Commodore shrugged, “I just hope we can wrap this up without having to reduce their defenses. That could get ugly. We’d win but it would cost.”
“This might take a while but we’ll wear them down, Bob. A man can only stare down the barrel of a turbo-laser for so long before his courage starts wavering. In my experience that goes double for civilians. Remember this doesn’t have to end in a blood bath, not unless the other side is completely unreasonable,” the Front Admiral consoled.
The Commodore drew a steadying breath and nodded sharply.
“Now we just need to keep some fool from getting a bright idea and try to give us a sucker punch. Because no matter how intimidating our 110 warships we’re still nothing compared to the thousand ship main fleet we left behind,” said the Front Admiral.
“I hope the Spineward Sectors don’t force Praetor Cornwallis or us for that matter to teach them the full weight and firepower inherent in the Glorious Fleet,” the Commodore said sadly.
“With that in mind, what’s the status of our screening units?” asked Front Admiral Featherby. “I want to make sure they’re pushed out well ahead of Puma’s main body. We need to sweep every inch of space in front of us two and three times.”
“We’re already on it. Our best light ships are on the wings with the the Imperial Task Group and their cutting edge sensors right out front. Nothing will get through, Front Admiral,” reported the Commodore.
“Excellent,” Featherby approved, “however, just to be on the safe side, make sure the main body sweeps in front of it with active sensors too. Second generation Confederation might not be up to cutting edge Imperial standards but they’re still nothing to sneer at.”
“The Battleships are already planning to scan ahead of themselves but I’ll tell the captains to plan to double their active scans,” said Fritters.
“Now all we have to do is wait for the locals to cave and avoid a blood bath that we’d win but they’d definitely regret for the rest of their very short lives,” said the Front Admiral.
Slowly and majestically, moving at the pace of half the drive speed of Task Force Puma’s slowest Battleship the contingent of the Glorious Fleet and its accompanying Imperial contingent moved in system.
At a faster pace the screen elements pushed forward ahead of the main body, while the local’s light warship squadrons kept pace ahead of them as they slowly fell back on the Central Space Complex.
Finally Featherby frowned at the main screen.
“Is it just my imagination or have our Imperial screening elements sped up?” he asked.
“Not your imagination, Sir,” his Flag Navigator replied not a beat later, “they’ve been slowly increasing their speed.”
“While I appreciate the enthusiasm, they’re too far forward to protect the fleet from stealth missiles and they're risking a confrontation with the system defenders. One I’ve no doubt they’ll win but which might very well kick off the very confrontation we’ve been working so hard to avoid,” said the Front Admiral.
“Will do,” said the Commodore and then after relaying his admiral’s directions to the Imperial screen he remarked, “it’s nice to see that even the vaunted Imperial navy can chomp at the bit at times, not just our Glorious Fleet.”
The Front Admiral smirked but didn’t comment.
However, minutes later when they finally got a reply from the Imperial screening force, his expression changed radically.
“What do you mean they’re refusing to follow orders?” Front Admiral Featherby asked in a brittle voice.
“They claim that they are not subject to your orders or under your authority as fleet commander, Front Admiral,” the Commodore quickly replied.
“Apparently,” Featherby said strictly and then his brows lowered, “was that all they had to say? I’m to sod off and let them do whatever the blazes they want in a Confederation star system while they uncover the rest of the fleet from a potential sneak attack?”
Fritters looked like he’d just tasted something foul before discretely swallowing and saying. “They just repeated how they have the same orders we do: to liberate this star system by any means necessary.”
“Uptight Imperial jackboots are going to get a lot of good people killed, those arrogant blighters,” swore the Front Admiral before stepping up to the com-console. “I’ll take it from here,” he growled at the tech manning the console.
“Of course, Sir,” said the technician.
“This is Front Admiral Willard Featherby, commanding officer, Puma Task Force: you are hereby directed and ordered to return to your agreed upon position screening this task force from a stealth attack. This is a combat situation and I will expect your instant and immediate compliance or I will fire a warning shot across your bows. I will brook no mutiny or no mix ups in the chain of command. Featherby out,” he snapped putting down the microphone.
Several minutes passed.
“Any answer from the Imperial screen?” the Front Admiral finally asked.
“Nothing, Sir. They’re talking to each other on an encrypted channel but all we’re getting is message fragments. There’s nothing directed at us,” said the Com-Tech.
The Front Admiral shook his head dourly.
“The Imperials have increased drive speed. They’re now moving faster than the war book says should be possible. At this rate they’ll overtake the local forces momentarily,” reported the Tactical Officer.
The Front Admiral slammed his fist down on the hand rail. “Are they trying to start a war? All we need is enough time and they’ll surrender. We’ll have them eating out of the palm of our hands before the week is out and the entire Sector surrendered before the month is out, mark my words,” glared Featherby.
“I’m afraid that they, or perhaps Praetor Cornwallis, disagree with you, Sir. They show no signs of stopping and…there they go,” on the main screen the Imperials finally overtook the hapless tax evaders and opened fire, “combat has just been initiated, sir.”
“Yes. I’m well aware of that; I have eyes, Fritter,” Featherby said in disgust.
Over the next several minutes the Imperial screening force overwhelmed and then annihilated the system defenders. Even going so far as too shoot down an armed shuttle and a captain's cutter that refused to cut all power and surrender fast enough.
Shortly after the cutter was shot down, the diplomats aboard the Puma who had been in negotiation with the locals placed an angry call to the flag bridge.
“Just what are you playing at, Admiral Featherby,” demanded the furious Confederation Representative, “I practically had them ready to sign a peace treaty and surrender the system, on the condition that no one was killed and their political leaders be given safe passage off world, when you and your ham-handed military decided to blow three squadrons worth of Destroyers and Corvettes!”
“As the representative is no doubt aware, while this may be a primarily Confederation fleet operation, I am only in command of the Confederation elements of Task Force Puma,” said the Front Admiral.
“Which means what exactly, Featherby?” snarled the Representative. “A few weeks of negotiation would have seen this system and possibly even the entire Sector surrendered without a shot fired!”
“As you’re aware, we have a number of Imperial warships attached to Task Force Puma. Unfortunately the Imperials insist they have a separate set of orders and are refusing my orders at this time,” the Front Admiral said crossly.
“Great Gaia, Featherby! Get control of your fleet. I don’t care how you do it. Take charge of your forces, Front Admiral, or I’ll find someone who will!” commanded the Representative furiously.
“Your purview is the diplomatic side. You have no control over the military or this fleet. That’s up to our Admirals and Praetor Cornwallis, Sir,” warned the Front Admiral.
“It doesn’t matter how much confidence the Senator has in your incompetence, Featherby. One call back to the Grand Assembly and I can have all local aid and subsidies to your world halted pending your early retirement! Don’t try to play your military games with me, Willard. I assure you I’ll have you handed your walking papers as shortly as one round trip FTL message from here to the Assembly and back,” threatened the Diplomat.
“I can only do so much when forces in my Task Force aren’t even in my chain of command. This isn’t me playing games, this is the work of Praetor Cornwallis—I’d bet my retirement on it. For some reason he wants us to fight them here,” Featherby said through teeth gritted with impotent fury.
The Diplomat hesitated and then his face hardened.
“I don’t have the authority to deal with the Senator. You on the other hand are on your last life-line. There will be no more extra lives, rests or get out of jail free cards, Willard,” the Diplomat said finally, “I’d better start seeing the sort of confidence our hard-earned tax money have been paying for—or else.”
The Front Admiral looked at him in disbelief. “Tax dollars? Our budget was cut almost entirely five years ago to pay for mandatory healthcare electives or so we were told. What are you—” started the Front Admiral.
“Results, Featherby, or you’re fired!” said the harried diplomat as he abruptly cut the channel.
There was a deathly silence on the flag bridge as no one dared to say anything, meanwhile the Front Admiral sat there and stewed.
“Your orders, Admiral?” Commodore Fritter finally asked.
The Front Admiral glared at his chief of staff. “I was shoved into the reserves, my contract canceled without so much as a 'by your leave,' and my understanding is Fleet’s been selling off old hulls and mobile space stations just to make payroll for our retirees and reservists. What kind of all fired…” He trailed off into angry mumblings.
“Uh, Sir?” the Chief of Staff prompted again.
The Front Admiral looked up under lowered brow. “The Imperials have gone and torn it already so there’s nothing to be done but pull back or finish the job,” glowered Featherby.
“The diplomats could still pull one out, Sir,” pointed out Commodore Fritters, “maybe a show of force will cause the locals to cave. Just like we were told by the Grand Assembly when we set off.”
Front Admiral Featherby gave him a pitying look.
“And maybe once the bloated defense budget is finally gone we’ll be able to pay for affordable…oh, wait, we already did that and the politicians are still complaining about budget short falls, it’s almost as if cutting the defense budget wasn’t the answer. But wait, I’m not going to sit around for space horses and unicorns, Fritters. Just like I’m not going to hold my hands hoping the Spine will wake up and realize that they should have just surrendered and thrown themselves on the mercy of the Empire. But you feel free to keep right on hoping for the both of us, Commodore. After all it’s every spacers gods given right to complain, believe the words of our elected leaders when they make high and wide promises, and then get right back to their duty,” said the Front Admiral.
“Thank you, Sir,” Fritters said quietly.
The Front Admiral shook his head. “In the meantime we have a war to win, and unless the entire Spineward Sectors Fleet shows up before we’re done, there’s nothing they can do to stop us,” said the Front Admiral.
“Aye, Front Admiral,” sighed the Commodore.
Minutes later when the Imperial Screen simultaneously released a dozen kinetic rounds, it was just icing on the cake; Task Force Puma was no longer at the negotiating table.
Having set events into motion, the Imperial screening force slowed down and waited for the rest of the fleet to catch up and resumed its screening duties without bother to give so much as an explanation.
They also didn’t comment when two squadrons of Destroyers silently pulled up behind them, positioned between the main body of the Task Force and the Imperial screening force.
Picking up speed, the Task Force followed in behind the slow moving kinetic rounds as they struck the shields protecting the station fortresses and then impacted on the hull.
The orbital fortresses fired their lasers, missiles, rockets and chain gun and the small fifty warship fleet sallied out to repulse Task Force Puma and together they destroyed the majority of the kinetic rounds but enough punched through to drop the shields and then it was down to an old fashioned slugfest.
Outnumbered more than two to one, and with only one Battleship and three squadrons of Cruisers on the Spineward Sectors' side—facing a full twenty of the wall and nearly another forty Cruisers of the line from the Glorious Fleet side—it didn’t matter how many orbital fortresses the defenders had. After exchanging one broadside, the Sector defenders turned and ran for the hyper limit like their engines were on fire.
“Well that didn’t take long,” snorted Commodore Fritters.
“I expected more,” admitted the Front Admiral, “but that’s of no matter. Our…” he trailed off as the Imperial screening forces moved to follow the locals.
The Front Admiral’s face went stiff.
“Detach our Destroyers and one squadron of five Cruisers to shadow and ‘assist’ our Imperial brethren. Mark my words: I’ll be speaking with the Praetor after this affair,” the Admiral said grimly.
“Is that wise?” asked Fritters.
“Put it on my schedule,” he said flatly and then turned back to the screen. “New orders to the fleet,” he continued in a clipped voice, “Battleships to the front, standard wall formation, Cruisers to assume staggered formation by squadrons above and behind the Battleships. Troop transports are to maintain their distance behind the Battleship formation and well out of range of the orbital defenses,” he paused, “detach a four Cruiser squadron to hang back and cover the transports.”
“Will do,” said his Chief of Staff.
Willard Featherby nodded.
“The transports are to prepare to sally their soldiers, Marines and commandos at any time. Tell them to keep a third of their force in their internal shuttles ready for deployment and cycle their men in and out every hour or two in order to keep them fresh,” he said.
Fritters nodded. “Message relayed,” he reported minutes later.
“Advance the Fleet. We’ll rotate any damaged Cruisers back to escort duty. Meanwhile it’s time to start reducing Central’s fortifications. We’ll start with the port-most orbital fortress. That should only bring us under the guns two of the three main fortresses,” said the Admiral.
“This is going to be expensive,” sighed Fritters.
The skin around the corner of Featherby’s eyes tightened forming wrinkles. “I’ll make sure and send the bill to the Empire,” he replied flatly.
“I’m seeing a number of couriers and fast Destroyers skittering toward the hyper limit now that we’re focusing on the orbital fortresses, and the screen is chasing the local fleet out of the star system. Do you want to pursue?” Commodore Fritters asked carefully.
The Front Admiral started to answer and then stopped and a sneer crossed his face. “My initial response is to detach a couple squadrons of Destroyers and run them down but,” at this he smiled angrily, “our Imperial screen seems to have a mind of its own, which means that sadly I can’t risk detaching the Destroyers.”
“Some might argue that we should have done more in a post battle review,” warned the Chief of Staff.
“Let them. I’m not going to risk an incident where our Imperial ‘brothers’,” he sniffed derisively, “are defeated in detail while the Glorious Fleet pulled out most of its forces to go chasing after ghosts.”
“The Imperials with the main fleet might not be happy when we get back,” said Fritters.
“Then they shouldn’t have forced my hand with their duplicate orders,” retorted the Front Admiral, “my decision stands. Better a few rats escape a leaky boat than we’re all up for a spacewalk because we didn’t support our friends and allies from the Empire. The last thing we need is to kill our careers by letting our ‘friends’ in the Imperial navy overextend and get themselves killed,” he said bitterly.
“Aye aye, Sir,” said Fritters.
So while the Battleships of Puma, along with the Task Force’s Cruisers, pounded the first space fortress into scrap metal the rest of the force either guarded the troop transports or moved to assist the Imperial forces in harrying the local defense fleet.
“Battleship Red Dawn is requesting to pull out of the wall,” reported Fritters.
“What? Why? I don’t see any sign of battle damage,” asked Featherby.
“Apparently they’re experiencing electrical problems with their shield systems and request the chance to move back effect repairs before it impacts their combat effectiveness,” reported the Chief of Staff.
“How many readiness reports and Task Force-wide maintenance checks have I ordered?” fumed the Front Admiral. “Them pulling back when they could have held if they’d just taken care of their ship is going to get a lot of good men and women killed.”
“What do you want me to tell them, Sir? They’re already drifting back on maneuvering thrusters,” prompted the Commodore.
“Demon Murphy avert,” snapped the Front Admiral, his face twisted in disgust, “never give an order you know won’t be followed,” he said finally, “tell them they can fall back for emergency repairs only. I expect them back in the wall inside a half hour or they’ll face charges for failing not just themselves and me, but their brothers and sisters of the Glorious Fleet from their own ineptness.”
“Relaying now,” said Fritters.
In coordinated but somewhat off-time broadsides, the Battleships and Cruisers of the Glorious Fleet slammed into the sides of the second battle-station, bringing down her shields and punching deep into her hull.
In reply the two remaining fortresses focused fire all their fire on one Battleship and then a second, forcing down their shields and causing serious hull damage and causing them to withdraw from the line. But by the time those two Battleships had fallen back, the Red Dawn had repaired her shields and rejoined the wall.
After that the orbital fortresses switched targets each of them attacking a Light Cruiser. Despite being at long range more than half of the fortresses lasers found their targets and, as the Fortresses continued their defensive spin, within the rotation of two if its five facings both Cruisers were destroyed.
“Blast those battlestations. The Far-Bright and Hex99 didn’t stand a chance,” Commodore Fritters said angrily.
The Front Admiral took a shuddering breath.
“It’s been nearly fifty years since I’ve even seen a ship lost in action and more than that since I lost one personally,” muttered the Front Admiral for a moment his face twisted with pain and then his face steadied and he glared at the holo-display built into his chair.
Officers around the flag bridge turned to look at their commander for direction.
Front Admiral Willard Fritters looked up and around the bridge.
“We may all have a few years of rust on us, but underneath that is the same steel that forged the Confederation star-spanning super power. And boy and girls, let me tell you one thing here today,” the Front Admiral said seeming to swell as he spoke gaining presence and even height a sort of energy filling him that had been lacking previously, “they picked the wrong Task Force to mess with. They will be repaid several times over for every loss the Glorious Fleet takes today,” he vowed.
“Too blasted right,” Fritters said in a loud voice.
“Hear hear!” agreed a number of now satisfied Confederation officers.
“Agreeable in peacetime and determined in battle, the Confederation shall overcome this trial just like she has every other one before now and emerge all the stronger for it. It’s time to put these rebel Sectors in their place and bring them back into the welcoming arms of the rest of civilized space!” swore the Front Admiral.
The previously firm but low-voiced support finally morphed into loud cheers and the flag bridge gave voice in support of their admiral.
“New orders to our Battleships and Cruisers: they are to advance until they have closed half the distance between us and the orbital fortresses. We may take more losses in the short term but if we break their will here and now it will save us from having to pacify the rest of the system,” said the Front Admiral.
“Aye aye, Admiral. Advancing the fleet,” said the Commodore who then instructed the communications officer send the new order to the rest of the fleet.
When the main body of the task force, the Cruisers and Battleships advanced on the faltering the battlestations it came in range of a large number orbital turrets, pop up missile launchers and floating chain guns. The amount of firepower that was unleashed was staggering and another two Battleships were sent reeling from the wall of battle, with a third so badly damaged it was forced to eject two fusion cores and a host of escape pods.
For the next several minutes an intense battle raged back and the second orbital fortress exploded but not before taking two squadrons of Cruisers down with her.
Down to one battlestation and a host of lesser satellite defenses, many of which, particularly the popup missile launchers, had already expended their ordnance, the defense fleet which had been making for the hyper limit at the speed of their slowest most powerful warship finally abandoned the single Spineward Sectors Battleship inside the star system and it was every ship for itself.
Over the next half hour lasers flashed back and forth as the defenders were slowly but surely beaten down and defeated.
When just under half of the host of smaller orbital defenses had been destroyed and the last remaining battlestation was on its last legs and the previously fleeing Battleship had struck its fusion generators and was spewing escape pods the flagship of Task Force Puma received a hail.
“I’m receiving a message from the system government, Front Admiral. They say they are seeking terms,” reported the Commodore.
“Notify the troop transports it is time to launch their shuttles,” said the Front Admiral stiffly, this 'victory' tasting none too sweet for his palate—but a victory was a victory, and he had a job to do.
Chapter 31: Late to the Party
Grand Fleet of the Spine
CO: Grand Admiral Jason Montagne
25 Battleships
64 Cruisers
112 Destroyers
48 Corvettes
Total: 249
The First Fleet of the New Confederation jumped into Central in all its might and power.
We’d been moving at our fastest pace and a number of slower vessels had fallen behind, an acceptable price to protect a star system, plus they should catch up to us in less than 24 hours unless intercepted.
Unfortunately, we arrived too late.
“Scanning the system, Admiral,” sensors reported as soon as we were clear from the jump.
“Let me know as soon as you have something,” I said curtly.
A tense minute passed and the sensor officer jerked.
“Multiple contacts both in the inner system, around central and scattered around the outer system in strategic locations, there’s more than eighty of them, Sir,” reported the Officer.
“Coms get me ship ID’s,” I ordered.
“I’m reading multiple old Confederation ship ID’s, Admiral,” said the Com-Tech.
My face tightened.
“What about the Orbital Fortresses? Any signs of weapons fire?” asked the Tactical Officer who then immediately turned back to his console, most likely to hunt up the information himself.
“No weapons discharge detected at this time, Grand Admiral,” reported the Tactical Officer turning back around a moment later.
“Noted, Tactical,” I replied tight lipped.
“There’s no weapons fire,” agreed the Sensor Officer, “but we’re missing a number of defensive platforms, including two of the orbital fortresses, from our initial returns, Admiral.”
“Could they be hiding behind the planet?” asked my new XO, a former Cruiser captain I was eyeing as a replacement for Captain Hammer, who was even now en route to the Old Confederation in an old converted freight hauler alongside thousands of other officers and crew—former allies all of them who now felt the rest of us were on the wrong side of history or at least our oaths of office.
“It’s possible, Sir, but no I don’t believe they are, as we are also able to detect several debris fields of equivalent size to the missing space fortresses and the single remaining intact fortress looks damaged and its currently squawking an Old Confederation fleet IFF,” he replied.
“Is there any sign of active Spineward Fleet or Central SDF signals?” asked the XO.
Both the Sensor and Tactical Officer took one last check and then turned and one after the other shook their heads.
“Then we arrived too late,” I said, clenching my fist.
“Not too late to avenge their loss, Sir,” Lieutenant Commander Snyder the new XO of the Royal Rage said loyally.
“General order to the Fleet,” I said drawing myself up, “all ships are to form on the flagship and assemble in battle formation one. Meanwhile, the Royal Rage is to set course for Central Station at standard military speed.” Standard military was another name for 80% of our Battleship’s maximum thrusts.
“Not everyone has completed their jumps, not to mention those ships strung out behind us, Sir,” warned the First Officer.
“They’ll just have to follow along at their best speed and catch up when and as they can,” I replied grimly.
“Of course, Sir. But as we still don’t know how many enemy are in the Sector Capitol’s space if enough of them do get behind us they may be able to catch our stragglers strung out and vulnerable. Defeat in detail is a possibility as it regards those ships, Admiral,” she warned.
“What would you have us do, sit here impotently while the enemy ravages the system unopposed?” I demanded my temper rising.
The Lieutenant Commander’s face started to close.
“I wasn’t suggesting we do nothing, Grand Admiral Montagne,” she said stiffly, “but it’s my duty as this ship’s Executive Officer to point out potential problems.”
I took a firm hold of my temper.
“Pointing out issues is your duty and you’re doing it well. I would just appreciate, if time allows, suggestions to go along with the problems you will no doubt spot now and in the future,” I said finally.
“Yes, Sir,” she said with a firm nod, “then in my opinion First Fleet should detach at least two squadrons of Destroyers or one of Cruisers to guard the area and leave orders that they are not too allow any stragglers to leave the area until there are at least 8-10 warships. Strong enough to protect each other from a small raiding force and yet enough hulls that, if they are faced with overwhelming firepower, they can flee in enough directions that most of them should have a decent chance of escape.”
I smiled but my true feelings must have leaked through because I could see people hesitate when they looked at me. I sighed.
“Good work, Snyder,” I said shaking my head, “we’ll go with your plan. Detach a squadron of Cruisers to patrol the area. They can round up any stragglers and send them out in convoys. Anyone who can’t get started following the main fleet within the next ten minutes is to first gather into a ten ship convoy under the direction of the cruiser squadron leader and follow at the best speed of their convoy’s slowest ship.”
After the orders were passed and the fleet was on its way detailed sensor returns started to come in followed by several minutes later by a flash report transmitted by a covert listening station that had gone dark during the initial invasion. Attached to the transmission from the listening post was a recording of the conquest of the Sector Capitol along with current estimates of enemy fleet numbers and positions throughout the star system.
After looking through the various reports I convened a short council of war in the captain’s ready room. My wife, the Rage’s First Officer and a number of other stalwarts who happened to be aboard the ship, such as Chief Gunner Lesner were summoned.
“So this part of the enemy fleet seems to be primarily Confederation, units of the Glorious Fleet of Liberation as they style themselves?” Lesner asked squinting at the screen suspiciously.
“And they have 80 some warships, seventeen of them functional Battleships although five show various states of battle damage and repair, with another four dead in orbit,” reported the ship’s Tactical Officer.
“I saw there were another twenty Cruisers spread out through the system, and wasn’t one of their working Battleships one of ours?” Akantha asked pointedly.
“Twenty two,” corrected the First Officer who then paused, “although perhaps that was an unnecessary correction,” she said shooting me a sideways glance.
“No, the exact numbers are much appreciated. I supposed I should have kept them in my head; they are the second most powerful unit on the battlefield,” Akantha replied with a smile.
“Which is fortunate. I didn’t fancy another run in with a Command Carrier at this particular moment in time,” I said.
“Afraid, Jason?” Akantha asked with concern.
I shook my head. Such a question from anyone in her warrior culture was a double-edged sword—or maybe just a single-edge one pointed laying against your throat.
“There is a time and a place for everything and right now Central Star System is not that place,” I replied curtly.
“As always my, Protector is brave. I chose well,” Akantha said flushing with happiness.
I looked at her nonplussed.
“Well there are a number of damaged or destroyed Cruisers floating round out there,” the Chief Gunner said lamely in a transparent attempt to get the conversation back on track.
“Exactly right, Chief,” I replied with a grateful nod, it didn’t matter how lame it was still a much appreciated break in the conversation, “the Glorious Fleet,” I stopped to roll my eyes, “what a name. Anyways, their Fleet of Liberation…'subjugation' is a better word as far as I’m concerned but their fleet has clearly taken quite a bit of damage capturing our Sector Capitol.”
“An indignity for which they must and shall pay,” Akantha said with such surety that, if I didn’t know better concerning her real feelings concerning Governor Isaak and the Sector Capitol, I might have believed she was actually upset over the attack.
“Quite right,” I agreed.
Lieutenant Commander Snyder dutifully voiced her agreement but the Chief Gunner thumped the table in front of him.
“After what they did to you the last time we were here, they can all go howl. They didn’t just insult you but the entire Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet when they had you dragged out of the Grand Assembly Hall like a common criminal,” he growled.
I turned deliberately opaque eyes upon the Gunner.
“While I appreciate the sentiment Chief, we can’t let personal animosity cause us from our duty. The people of this star system deserve our help and they will receive it. No matter how churlish their leaders or even their security forces are,” I said curtly.
“I hear tell that the same day as you were struck down by security, the media was all over the airwaves suggesting the creation of a new holiday, Punch-a-Tyrant Day, as a symbol of the people of Central’s dedication to resisting this latest Imperial invasion fleet. O’ course, they used a blond haired Imperial officer in the Empire’s uniform getting punched by a Confederation marine, but it's still currently on the ballot as a People’s Initiative to be voted on during the next election cycle,” said the Chief Gunner.
“Those ingrates!” Akantha shouted, jumping to her feet.
“Now, now, my dear,” I turned to her, “we can’t let Governor Isaak's little tricks get under our skin. It only takes a minute number of people supporting something like this to get it on the ballot. Right, people?” I asked, looking around the table confidently. I appreciated Akantha getting offended on my behalf but we could sort all this out sometime later, after we’d saved the star system.
Unconsciously my eyes had rested a moment too long on my First Officer, because she took a breath and then womanfully proceeded to report the facts as she knew them.
“My understanding is that it’s received over fifteen million signatures—more than ten times what they need. Apparently the planet only requires a little over a million to put it up for a vote,” she said hesitantly.
I frowned at her crossly, not liking the fact Akantha was only becoming even more enraged as the Lieutenant Commander spoke—to say nothing of what I was hearing.
“Like I said, this may be the Sector Capitol but this is a local star system affair. One I highly doubt will get to a vote or even if it does actually pass,” I said with finality. It was time to be done with this diversion and get back to the enemy fleet we were dealing with.
“Actually, Sir, the aggregate of all polling data had the new holiday’s approval rating at 58% system-wide at the time we left the Sector Capitol, which was down from the mid to high-60’s,” interjected Lieutenant Commander Steiner, my ever so helpful Chief of Staff who then got a self-satisfied expression on her face, “it looks like the holo-series we’ve been working on is more popular than expected,” she continued smugly, “because it just so happens the fall off in approval occurred shortly after we deliberately leaked the first half of the season onto the dark Net.”
I ran a hand over my face as Akantha cycled off the bulkhead. “Those ingrates! After everything we’ve sacrificed for them. The blood, sweat and precious minerals we’ve from my homeland that we have spent like water and they dare!” Akantha demanded in a rising voice.
“Come, dear,” I chided gently and her eyes tracked over to me her brows lowering dangerously, “you know that everything we’ve done has been of benefit to Tracto either directly or indirectly. Don’t let a few churlish politicians with access to the media ruin the mood.”
“These are the people you fight for, Jason? Ungrateful masses who refuse to fight for themselves yet eagerly cheer and clap when those of us, when ‘you,’ are treated poorly by their leaders and warriors, these are the ‘people’ of the Spine that we die to protect?” she asked tightly.
“Not everyone in the Spine and not everyone even in Central has been poisoned against us, Akantha. Clearly we need to increase our PR efforts. Besides, do you really expect me to stand to the side while the innocents of this system are being oppressed? Even if their parents are ungrateful idiots, the children don’t deserve to suffer for a few bad choices their mothers and fathers made while blowing off steam.”
Akantha shook her head dourly as she sat back in her chair. When she crossed her arms across her chest I knew that even if she had resigned herself during the meeting, I would be hearing more about this later, in private.
“Now I agree we can’t go around abandoning civilians, Admiral,” Chief Lesner said, “but does it really matter if they have innocent children at home? The enemy has any number of children back home that will be made widows, and they showed no in interest our kids when they invaded the Spine and more to point the Central Star System. Don’t let a misplaced concern for innocents stop you from doing what you need to do as it regards the Empire, Sir,” he warned.
“Your point is well taken. Even if they don’t deserve our help, which I have absolutely no doubt that they do deserve it, we have sworn an oath to protect and defend the people of the Spine, end of discussion,” I said with finality.
“That done with. Right now we need to get in there and push the Glorious Fleet back out of Central. Preferably with as many losses as we can manage to give them. Any ideas?” I said looking around the table expectantly.
The Chief Gunner puffed air, expanding his cheeks like miniature balloons before sitting back, clearly with nothing he felt he could add to the discussion.
I looked around the room.
My First Officer and Tactical Officer shared looked before Tactical finally bit the bullet. “If they’re determined to hold this system, it’ll cost but we can crush them. The only question is how long it takes and if they’ll get reinforced,” he said with certainty.
“How much damage do we think they can do?” I asked.
“The usual. They can cripple or destroy everything in orbit and bring the system’s economy to a screeching halt. But I doubt that, even if they have a garrison force, it's big enough to stand up to the local army and marine SDF units if we control the orbitals,” Tactical shrugged.
Over the next several minutes we gamed out our best guess of what they could do and came up with several alternate plans before I finally dismissed them from the room.
Akantha caught my eye on the way out, silently promising me that this conversation wasn’t done.
Unfortunately I didn’t have any great answers. I was willing to fight for the people, even a people who had been poisoned against me but that was because on some level they were ‘my’ people, warts and all. I considered myself a part of the Spineward Sectors community but now I had to ask myself did Akantha think the same way?
If she didn’t, especially in light of the way the ‘people’ and not just the government were reacting, my personal life could get ugly and more importantly this could cause problems going forward for the Fleet.
With those ‘light’ topics on the tip of my brain I waited until I was sure she was gone before going back out onto the bridge. I had a battle to win.
Chapter 32: Stand and Fight!
Ready for battle and in attack formation, the new First Fleet of the Spineward Sectors Confederation moved at a steady 80% of the maximum speed of our slowest Battleship.
In response shuttles started to flow between the orbital fortress around central and the planet’s surface and its warships concentrated and assumed a defensive posture within supporting range of the orbital fortress.
“This could get brutal if they’ve suborned what remains of the orbital defenses,” First Officer Snyder said grimly.
“I have what are supposed to be the original, hard coded IFF codes straight from the factory hardware setting, but whether the codes I have will actually work…I guess we’ll find out,” I said. As Grand Admiral of the entire Spineward Confederacy’s Military I was supposed to have the codes to the defenses of its temporary capitol, or at least enough to ensure the Confederation Fleet couldn’t be fired on by accident but…yeah.
“We can send them out now and see if they work,” offered Snyder obviously chomping at the bit to do ‘something.’
“It's better if we wait until we’re closer to the main planet so the Glorious Fleet doesn’t have a chance to send their shuttles out to override or replace the onboard computer systems and that’s assuming our codes work in the first place,” I said.
“You’re the, Capt…I mean Admiral, Sir,” Snyder said, flushing at her near misstep.
“I am,” I agreed causing her flush to deepen before I took pity on the woman, “but that doesn’t mean I’m always right or never wrong; keep backstopping me, LC,” I instructed her.
“Will do, Admiral,” she said formally.
Not quite what I’d been hoping for, but a step in the right direction.
Things were going well. Or as well as they could when your Sector and entire Star Nation's Capital has been attacked and occupied on your watch, meaning there had been no sudden attacks or hidden enemy reinforcements, when disaster struck.
“The enemy fleet has finished recovering their shuttles and is leaving the planet,” reported Sensors.
“Where are they going, Nav?” Snyder asked before I had the chance.
I settled back slightly but still perched on my throne.
“Their current course is not toward any known stellar body, space station or warship it…looks like they are on a least time course to exit the Star System, as far as I can tell they’re aiming for the hyper limit,” the Navigator said after an extended pause to define a course and crunch the numbers.
“Set an intercept course,” I ordered immediately. On the outside I was cool and collected but on the inside I was feeling the surprise.
“Intercept course calculated and ready for your order, Admiral,” reported Navigation.
“Signal the fleet and begin pursuit, Commander Snyder,” I instructed.
“Signaling fleet, aye, Sir,” she replied.
“Good. How long until intercept?” I asked.
The Navigator hesitated and then punched in the numbers. He looked back up at me and shook his head. “At our current speed we won’t be able to catch them before they exit the system,” he informed me, looking and sounding concerned about my inevitable reaction.
“What?” I demanded.
“It looks like they timed it to give them enough leeway to outrun us to the hyper limit. We need to increase speed if we’re going to catch them, Sir,” he said taking a deep breath.
“Take the Rage to maximum military power, Helmsman,” I ordered.
“Aye-aye, Sir. Maximum power now,” replied the Helm increasing the speed.
“Admiral,” warned Lieutenant Commander Snyder, “the Dreadnaught Class is faster than several of the Battleship classes accompanying us. Redlining the engines all the way from the inner system to the hyper limit could cause a number of them to fall behind. Engine damage or even loss is a distinct possibility.”
“We proceed as previously ordered,” I said tersely.
“You’re the Admiral,” she replied tilting one hand up.
I nodded curtly and turned back to the screen.
Over the next two hours we started to make progress crawling ever so tantalizingly close to overtaking the enemy fleet and then…they started to pull away.
“What the blazes is going on,” I demanded, “did we slow down?”
Navigation ran the numbers before turning back to me. “Enemy fleet has increased speed by an estimated 7.83%, just enough to outrun us, Sir,” he reported.
“Why wasn’t I informed of this sooner?” I asked belligerently.
Navigation gulped. “My workstation received an auto-notification from the ship’s DI but I was busy running plot intercept updates and distributing them to the fleet every time the enemy made a course correction and…” he took a deep breath, “unfortunately I put the auto-notification tab on minimization and silenced the audible chime.”
“Unfortunate? I agree that’s definitely unfortunate, Lieutenant. Although I might have used a stronger word to describe it,” I said tightly and then took a couple short breaths to calm down. “However,” I continued in a clinical voice, “what’s done is done. We need to move forward as best we can at this point. No more mistakes, Nav.”
“Aye, Sir. Sorry, Sir. It won’t happen again,” the Navigator shrunk back into his chair like a whipped puppy.
I had to suppress a grimace.
The fact was that, yes, the Navigator had screwed up, but that wasn’t what was bothering me. As it was doubtful ‘his’ error was going to make the difference between victory and defeat that left only one man holding the ball: me. Unlike the Navigator, my mistakes would do more than just narrow our potential engagement window. I could end lives quicker than snuffing out a candle in the pre-historic site that was Argos Palace.
With that chilling thought I choked back on my outrage and forced a deadly smile instead.
“Remember, people, it’s us against the enemy and the only confusion we want to see on the battlefield belong on the enemy side of the field and I’m not just talking just to you, I’m speaking to myself as well,” I said in a carrying voice.
“Of course, Sir,” Lieutenant Commander Snyder said giving me a quizzical look even as she loyally agreed with me.
After that I gave the order to increase our speed yet again.
“Sir the redlines are already running at full power, if we try to squeeze any more out of them we will lose ships and engines,” replied Chief Engineer Wave-Grinder when I gave the order.
I just looked at the other man impassively until he turned away in disgust.
The Rage sped forward, as did all but two of our Battleships which instead started to fall behind. There was a brief flare of engine activity as one of Battleship stopped falling behind and started to catch up then another as the second Battleship started too...engines flared and speed began to increase before there was a major flare out and an explosion rocked the port engine of the hapless Battleship.
“Saint Murphy,” I muttered as super-heated plasma and coolant spewed into space behind the damaged and now very much slowed Battleship.
“Admiral, if we keep this up we’ll lose more of them,” said Lieutenant Commander Snyder.
“The reminder is much appreciated Number One, we continue as planned,” I replied.
“Yes, Sir,” she said looking down at her screen.
Over the next half hour we chased and they continued to lead us.
“The Man-O-War reports her engines are overheating and if she keeps going they’ll lose two of her three engines. She’s slowing down,” reported First Officer Snyder.
“The Massive Brick reports that her engines have been redlined for more than an hour and she intends to slow down also,” reported Comms.
I opened my mouth to countermand the Captain of the Massive Brick but then thought better of it.
“Anything you want me to relay to them, Grand Admiral?” prompted Lieutenant Commander Snyder.
“Never give an order you know won’t be obeyed, LC. If I order them to keep going until their engines blow they’ll just ignore it and then where will we be? I’m not looking to force a mutiny,” I said rhetorically.
“Of course, Sir. But if the other ships see a ship with hot but not damaged engines being tacitly allowed to slow down and nothing is done about it, why wouldn’t they decrease speed to protect their engines also? We could lose half the Battleships in the formation within minutes, Sir,” she replied.
I frowned. This was nothing I hadn’t speculated about myself but blast it all I wasn’t about to let this detachment of the Glorious Fleet get off scot free.
“You’re right,” I said finally after an extended silence.
Lieutenant Commander Snyder looked up at me with a faintest wrinkle of her brow that I took for suppress surprise.
“Alright. There’s no time like the present,” I sighed, and then sharpened my gaze, “instructions to the fleet: all Battleships to slow to full military power.”
“All Battleships are to slow to full military power, aye,” repeated First Officer Snyder.
“As for our screening force and lighter units…” I drawled, “I do believe I’ll hand them over to Commodore Laurent for the duration. Please notify all non-Battleships that they are being detached from the main fleet and assigned to the Commodore’s task group.”
Snyder looked up at me suddenly. “The Commodore doesn’t have a task group, Sir. He’s currently assigned command of a squadron of Cruisers,” she said.
“He does now,” I replied impassively.
“Yes, Sir. Any new orders for the Commodore?” she asked, the barest hint of trepidation in her voice but her question was the logical conclusion of what I was doing.
“The Commodore is to assess his assigned forces and prepare for a surgical strike. His target is the engines of those enemy Battleships,” I said.
“If the Glorious Fleet Detachment turns on our lighter forces, we could sustain massive losses. Just the lighter units alone could be enough to stop our ships from reaching their engines. If the losses on either side are proportional…” she trailed off.
“Can we afford to trade ships with anything even approaching equal numbers?” I answered the silent question and shook my head. “If we can cut out a few of their Battleships we can force them to either leave their cripples behind or turn and fight. Either way, Central will be avenged.”
“I thought we were here to win, not for vengeance, Sir,” Snyder said primly.
“We can’t win if all we do is run from the enemy or let the enemy run from us after attacking our capitol, Lieutenant Commander. Pass the order,” I reproved lightly because after all she was right.
“Aye, Sir,” she acknowledged and minutes later Commodore Laurent was on my private screen.
“I take it from my orders you want me to poke the raging bear, Admiral?” Laurent asked, giving me a straight look.
“I’d like you to take the Phoenix and as many other of our lighter warships as you think necessary for the task and cripple the engines of as many Battleships as you can,” I replied.
“You realize that if they turn to engage us we might not be able to get even one without sacrificing most of the screen,” he said evenly.
“If the Battleships turn, even just a squadron or more of them, you’ll have done your duty, so feel free to pull back at that point and let our heavies deal with them,” I said confidently.
“I’ll take you at your word and won’t wait around then,” Laurent replied, “you’re aware that I’m keeping a copy of this holo-conference for the record, I hope?”
“I am now,” I said lifting an eyebrow.
“This isn’t the wild frontier anymore, ‘Grand Admiral’,” he said, making a point with the use of my new title, “we’re attached to higher authority now and the Sector Capitol just so happened to find itself attacked and subjugated on our watch. They will expect reports, accountability and, above all, everything filled out in triplicate.”
“Be that as it may,” I temporized, “the matter at hand is to destroy or drive the Glorious Fleet from this star system. Preferably destroy. This is not a finger-pointing-of-the-paperwork situation.”
Laurent nodded. “We’ll do what we can, Admiral. You can count on us,” he said.
I nodded in return and the channel terminated.
Over the next several minutes I watched as the light forces both those front, back and to the sides of the main body continued forward while the Battleships gradually fell behind. Then not five minutes into the separation the screen started to reassemble itself into a series of coin-shaped sub-groups.
As soon as they completed assembly in their new formation the light forces, now under the command of Commodore Laurent, increased speed easily leaving their more powerful sister Battleships in their wake.
Over the next half hour Laurent and the screen gradually overtook the Glorious Fleet detachment and their Imperial allies.
“New change in Glorious Fleet of Liberation formation,” reported Sensors, as if anything the Battleships seemed to increase their speed while their lighter forces fell back until they were interposed between the First Fleet of the Spine and their heavy hitters.
Even with their lighter units facing ours we had the advantage in numbers. Now all we had to do was wait.
“Enemy light forces will be within range of the main fleet within five minutes, Admiral,” reported Chief of Staff Fritters.
“That just about tears it doesn’t it, Commodore?” said the Front Admiral said tightly.
“We still have options, Willard,” replied Fritters.
The Front Admiral glowered at the screen. “The fact is I got too cute. This upcoming engagement is solely on me and not the rest of you. Once I refused to abandon the troop transports to their fate this confrontation became…inevitable,” replied Admiral Featherby.
“Twenty Seven thousand lives, Sir! How could you in good conscience abandon so many more to death?” asked the Commodore.
The Front Admiral glared at him. “I got soft. It’s been too long since I’ve been in the harness and had to make the tough calls. Soldiers and Marines are infinitely more replaceable than Battleships. I fooled myself thinking we could pull away without the locals bringing us to battle once they’d arrived in this star system. Now we don’t just risk losing the stuffed troop transports but the rest of the fleet as well,” he said, shaking his head.
“How could you have known the local fleet would show up and having shown up insist on a battle…” Fritters trailed off.
“We just overwhelmed and conquered their Sector Capitol, the same capitol which has been doing double duty as their new multi-Sector Capitol. Even if only for a day. Of course they had to fight,” said the Front Admiral, “I was deluding myself to think that they wouldn’t risk crippling their fleet in a random engagement that didn’t involve our main force.”
“In retrospect, either our conquest of their capitol or the chance to defeat a portion of the Glorious Fleet of Liberation in detail would have been too tempting to pass up,” agreed Commodore Fritters.
“I had thought they would not risk their lighter ships in the face of our combined heavy, light and medium units, or at least hesitated until it was too late. Like I said: I should have abandoned the transports,” said the Front Admiral.
“We could still leave them behind or perhaps set them to a separate course,” muttered the Chief of Staff.
“And you know how well that would work out, Commodore,” the Front Admiral reproved.
“No, the die is cast and now all that remains is to see it through,” he said.
“We might lose some of our heavies to engine damage but they might be satisfied with that alone and leave the greater portion of the Task Force able to reach the hyper limit,” advised the Commodore.
The Front Admiral shook his head. “An untenable solution. I fear we will have to go the opposite instead,” said Featherby.
“A full on frontal attack? If we get bogged down that’s tantamount to suicide,” retorted Commodore Fritters looking exasperated, “please reconsider, Sir. We have something on the order of eighty warships now; they easily outnumber us three to one.”
“We compare much more favorably when it comes to heavies. I’d put our sixteen Battleships up against their twenty five any day of the year,” Front Admiral Featherby said seriously before cracking a smile, “but please keep in mind that I do have a plan to get most of us out of here, old friend. It may or may not work but we’re certainly not dead yet.”
“That gives me confidence,” the Commodore said seriously, “however I think there is one alternative you haven’t yet considered.”
The Front Admiral raised a brow.
“A forlorn hope,” Fritters continued, deadly serious.
The Front Admiral’s brow lowered thunderously.
“Detach one...maybe two squadrons of Battleships and a number of the Destroyers to cover them and set them on a slightly divergent course. If the enemy splits their fleet we’d have the chance to strike them while they divided and turn the tables. Defeating them in detail,” Fritters said pointedly, “if they don’t, well…at least part of the fleet would escape.”
“And our forlorn hope would be entirely annihilated,” the Front Admiral growled. “No. I don’t like it,” he said with finality.
“Consider,” Fritters said looking slightly ill as he raised a finger to halt the Front Admiral, “that according to yourself it was the refusal to sacrifice a portion to save the whole that got us in this situation in the first place.”
“You would turn my own words on me would you, Commodore? Sad that I don’t remember you passing on this sort of advice at the beginning of the engagement,” snapped the Front Admiral.
“I’m just taking the lead from my superior. And I would be remiss if I failed to point out what you yourself had not a minute ago considered a failing in our previous thinking,” Fritters said evenly, although the beads of sweat that were gathering on his forehead gave the lie to his composure, “however I’ll understand if you think I’m uncommitted or simply determined to save my own skin, and formally volunteer to command the forlorn hope with the intent to hold back the enemy long enough for the rest of you to get away.”
The Front Admiral paused. “You’re a decent staff officer and could probably handle a Destroyer on scout duty or a Cruiser on a random patrol, but you’re not Command material. I’m afraid I’m going to have to keep you with me for a while longer, my old friend,” the Front Admiral decided, “No. Live or die, rise or fall, we’ll cross that line together, just like when we first served together.”
“Aye-aye, Sir,” the Commodore said, turning away. Relief only showing after he turned away from the Front Admiral.
The Front Admiral leaned forward to open a channel. “Flag Captain Weathers!” he barked.
“Aye aye, Admiral,” the Flag Captain said, jerking around to look at his screen, “what are your orders, Sir?”
“You are to prepare to bring the flagship around on my signal, Captain. Prepare your helmsmen for sudden and tight maneuvers,” he ordered.
The Flag Captain looked perplexed. “Tight maneuvers on a Battleship, Sir?” he asked before giving himself a shake. “I mean, of course. I’ll pass it on to my Helm immediately if not sooner.”
“Good man,” said the Front Admiral turning to look back at the battle plot with anticipation. “This will be our finest hour,” he muttered.
Just when it looked Laurent and his screening forces were going to have a perfect series of up the kilt shots at the enemy fleet, as expected they began to turn. However it took several seconds to realize that it wasn’t just the lighter units that had flared their engines and maneuvering jets to turn side on to face us it was the Battleships as well.
“Hades take them,” said Snyder.
“We must each to our duty go,” I said.
“Their duty was to us. Us. Not the Empire.” she said severely.
“You won’t hear any disagreement from me,” I concurred, “but clearly they disagree. It wouldn’t surprise me to find that they believe their duty is to the heartland sectors, the ‘real’ sectors that make up the Confederation.”
Snyder looked disgusted but silently agreed.
Then there was no more time for small talk and literally nothing we could do that the commanders on the scene, the ship captains and commodore Laurent, couldn’t do faster and better. Sometimes it really sucked to be in a slow, relatively ponderous moving Battleship.
With the Furious Phoenix in the lead of a formation of Cruisers flat facing turned toward the enemy, with two more coin like formations comprised also of cruisers to match them, the other coin formations turned edge toward the enemy using the cruisers as cover. Engines flared and virtually at the same time the enemy warships turned to present their broadsides our leading three coin formations turned to match and lasers flew.
With our Destroyers, Corvettes and the remaining Cruisers mostly screened from enemy fire by the lead ships, the front three coin-shaped groups continued forward unmolested. However, Laurent’s lead forces were raked with multiple broadsides one after another as soon as they entered attack range.
Return fire was offered by the front three coins, but despite their willingness the combined weight of three squadrons of Cruisers couldn’t compare to the full force and fury of the enemy fleet.
It took several seconds for the majority of ships in this detachment of the Glorious Fleet to range on our warships, but when they did one of our Medium Cruisers was sent reeling out of formation streaming air and smoke while the others began to roll immediately after firing their broadside. But that was nothing compared to what happened when the further forward Battleships of the enemy finally ranged on the three coin shaped formations covering the rest of the light units like a shield.
Fortunately seconds before the Battleships opened fire Laurent’s entire formation dissolved into seeming chaos and scattered.
A number of Spineward Cruisers were struck anyway, but even more turbo-lasers slashed through the space Laurent’s lead cruisers had been occupying missing his formation completely. Two unlucky Destroyers hiding behind the forward most cruisers were slow off the mark and a numerous turbo and heavy lasers slashed into their hulls, setting off a series of internal explosions that completely destroyed one ship and broke the back of the other.
A handful of escape pods started exiting the broken Destroyer but not a single crew member survived to get off the MSP Harpy Strike.
Seeing our light forces fleeing in all directions the enemy screening force immediately gave chase. The Glorious Fleet Battleships on the other hand flared their maneuvering thrusters and turned back around to burn for the hyper limit at maximum speed. While the lighter units the Destroyers and Cruisers of the Glorious Fleet went for up the kilt engine shots on our warships. The back and forth was furious, Spineward warships fighting back while trying to protect their vulnerable engines at the same time. Despite our best efforts, half a dozen Destroyers and one Cruiser lost some form of engine function.
However, no sooner had the Battleships turned away than did the majority of Laurent’s Task Group immediately round on their pursuers and reengage. This included the now damaged MSP Cruisers and Destroyers, eager to get some of their own back before damaged engines and reduced top speeds took them inevitably out of the fight.
Engines flared and within seconds the hunted became the hunters.
Outnumbered more than three to one and once again facing their enemy head on the Destroyers and cruisers of the Glorious Fleet immediately knew they were in trouble and reacted. Twelve of the more than fifty warships of the enemy screen broke rank, scattering and fleeing in all directions, except toward the Battleships of the First Fleet—but the others were made of sterner stuff and fought back.
Warships rolled and Destroyers went every which way as the majority of the enemy tried to regain squadron formation in order to defend themselves while they escaped into the protective arms of their Battleships laser range.
Laurent’s forces appeared determined not to let up for so much as an instant and except a few warships that seemed to have lost their way the more than two hundred escort warships turned their lasers on the less than fifty enemy survivors.
Seeing the plight of their escorts, the main body of the enemy fleet again turned back toward the crazy scramble, once again slowing their escape from the star system.
While they were still turning but before the Battleships could bring more than a handful of lasers bear Laurent’s two hundred warships once again broke formation. Every warship maneuvered for itself as they flew away from Glorious Fleet Battleships before they could range on our faster but less heavily armored and shielded warships.
The Destroyers and Cruisers of the Glorious Fleet didn’t rise to the bait a second time and instead of chasing after Laurent’s forces a second time they tucked themselves up close to the Battleships.
A group of twenty Cruisers and a mixed force of mainly Destroyers with a few Light Cruisers, totaling 49 warships, made harassing runs while the rest of the screen waited behind them ready to pounce.
The enemy resisted the chance to engage and doggedly ran for the hyper limit.
When it became clear that the enemy had no intention of breaking off Laurent once again assembled his forces into coin formations. Cruisers to the front the flat facing the enemy fleet with the remainder tucked in close behind edge toward the enemy and behind the shield that was the cruisers.
Seeing the Spineward Sectors light forces about to attack again the enemy waited until the last moment before turning. However this time the Battleships didn’t just turn broadside on toward the light units they kept coming around, formations changing as multiple Battleship and Cruiser squadrons interpenetrated until finally they were all facing point toward Laurent’s coin formations.
The screen fuzzed.
“We experienced some temporary interference there, Captain. It looks like the bad guys were trying to jam our sensors but we’ve compensated, it won’t happen again,” the Sensor Officer said with certainty.
“See that it doesn’t,” Snyder said primly moments before the enemy engaged their engines at maximum burn, “and they’re not the ‘bad guys’, they’re the Glorious Fleet and the enemy, don’t’ forget that!”
“Aye aye, Sir,” replied the Officer.
“Is Commodore Laurent going to meet them head on?” First Officer Snyder asked with alarm as our lead Cruisers, instead of turning aside, opened fire. Every ship in the forward three shielding coin formations was turned toward the Battleships and all eighteen of them focused fire on one Battleship.
Enough heavy and turbo-lasers were used to break the Battleships shields and punch through its hull in several places. Ignoring their companion Battleship taking it in the nose, the rest of the enemy Battleships grimly continued forward, even while behind them the troop transports and two squadrons of damaged Cruisers separated from the rest of the fleet. There was another split second burst of sensor scrambling static before the screen cleared again. It didn’t look like the enemy had done anything in that time except adjust formation as their transports and cripples continued to labor away from the rest of the Glorious Fleet as fast as they could manage while maintaining their original course toward the hyper limit.
“I hope not,” I replied as it increasingly looked like Laurent intended to do just that, take them head on. All he needed to do was slow them down long enough for the main body to get there. If he could cripple a few of them while he was at it that was gravy.
“Sensors what’s up with that static on my screen?” Snyder demanded hotly, “I thought you promised it was gone for good.”
“Men plan and the gods correct, Captain,” the Sensor Officer apologized, “I swear we’ve got a handle on it but the enemy is trying to keep us on our toes.”
Then, almost as if he were listening to my internal concerns, like the head of a snake Laurent’s forces, starting with the Cruisers at the very front of his formation, activated their engines and started shifting to starboard. It was clear he now intended to avoid a head-on engagement with the enemy Battleships if at all possible. Or if not that then possibly reduce the engagement time to the bare minimum.
But even as the smaller and lighter Corvettes and Destroyers in the coin formations shifted to the far side of the formation, and the heavy Destroyers and Cruisers rotated toward the Glorious Fleet, the enemy moved to follow. Showing their determination to make every minute they weren’t escaping count, the enemy Admiral sent his Battleships to intercept Laurent’s forces, setting their engines to maximum military power and adjusting their course until they were moving for an intercept—or as close to one as they were going to get.
It looked like it was going to be a near run thing but after several seconds it was clear the enemy had reacted fast enough they were going to get their licks in.
“Come on,” muttered Commander Snyder.
I just shook my head and silently urged our Battleships faster. As if by sheer force of will I could overcome physics and push us closer to the enemy just because I wanted to.
Then the Battleships opened fire and no amount of mental wishing was going to shield Laurent or his forces from attack.
The screen fought back, hard, but Cruisers facing Battleships was a losing proposition. With the enemy focusing their fire on half a dozen of our larger ships, while their smaller warships piled on for good measure, the outcome was inevitable.
“Power Shield is falling out of formation. Redistributed Strike reports major damage to their power relay system. Black Stallion has lost all power and Night of Living Death is launching escape pods with its captain calling for all hands to abandon ship over a general hailing frequency,” reported Communications.
With sixteen Battleship’s worth of firepower, we could count ourselves lucky we hadn’t lost more than that but no sooner had they fired their broadsides in unison than individual lasers took up the fight. First Corvettes and then Destroyers took hits and started going down. A Corvette was lost with all hands when its fusion generator went critical and its auto-eject sequence failed and it blew up. Then a turbo-laser punched through the nose of a Destroyer setting of a chain reaction that totally destroyed the forward third of the warship.
After that fire raked through our forward fleet each hit enough to punch through shields and breach hulls. Atmosphere vented into cold space along with space suited figures, escape pods and the broken and destroyed remains of warships, from now dead Corvettes and Destroyers. Almost fifty of our lightest warships broke and ran directly away from the enemy as fast as their engines would carry them.
“Cowards,” glared the First Officer.
I nodded.
“But…it could have been worse. I was expecting more laser weight to their broadside there at first. They must have taken damage subduing the Star System before we got here,” remarked Snyder, looking at the main screen like she wanted to kill someone—most likely someone on the other side of the battle. At least that’s what I hoped.
“It seemed heavy enough to me,” I replied.
“We might have lost more if they’d had more time to make emergency repairs,” she replied.
Then Laurent’s formation was past the Battleships and out of range of anything but the most desperate, diffused and thus half or less power to them, shots and the entire bridge seemed to heave a big sigh of relief.
On the other hand, with nothing to show for their brush with our screening forces except reduced shields and a few hull scratches, the enemy had to believe they’d got the better of that engagement.
Curse them.
As if to say their work here was done, the enemy Battleships turned to port with military precision and then, as if one unit, turned and began to move in pursuit of their troop transports. Then the screen flickered again.
“That was costly,” Lieutenant Commander Snyder said to me and then glared at Sensors, “what seems to be the problem now, Sensors? Lock it down!”
“I think Laurent is going to make them pay for that,” I mused.
“I don’t see how,” replied the First Officer before she was interrupted by a defensive Sensor officer.
“We seem to have misidentified one of the ships in the enemy’s third Battleships squadron: it’s a Heavy Cruiser, not a Battleship, and the computer was just updating the holo-screen, Captain,” the Sensor Officer said stiffly.
I waited while the Captain chewed out the Sensor Officer for making an error like that and then when I had her attention again nodded toward those troop transports.
“If they slow down, those Battleships should be able to get to them before our forces,” she replied seeming to physically shake off her conversation with the Sensor Officer as she turned back to me.
“From your mouth to the Sweet Saint’s ears,” I said and then hesitated because I didn’t want to jog her elbows for now but enough was enough, “speaking of, Sensors, this isn’t the first time we’ve had trouble in that department. Perhaps it’s time you have the Sensor Section ping the enemy fleet and run a focused scan on their wallers.”
“That was a different shift and shift leader but…you heard the man, Sensors. I want a hard scan. Cut through the confusion,” she ordered.
While she was talking, all but a handful of the fleet-footed Corvettes and light Destroyers that had fled the battle in fear during the last engagement, continued to arc a looping course around the enemy fleet both right, left, top and bottom. They might not be in anything even resembling a formation but all of them on a course for the troop transports, out of range of the Battleships and they were putting on speed. Or most of them where.
“Mark down the ships that are not joining their brothers in a strike on the enemy transports,” I instructed because if Laurent didn’t survive to handle it or send a report up the chain of command to me after he did, I’d deal with the matter personally.
“Will do, Sir,” reported Tactical.
With the gap noticeably closed between the Spineward Battleships and our enemies wall of battle, I was once again considering ordering our heavies to exceed their maximum safe speed when the main-screen started flashing red and a warning chime went off
“What was that,” I demanded, not familiar with what was happening, “is there a problem with our holo-program?”
“Get me a system analyst on the horn. Now.” Ordered Captain Snyder.
A white-faced sensor officer turned back from his section.
“That won’t be necessary, Sir. I’m afraid that was no error with the holo-system itself,” said the Sensor Officer.
“Well man spit it out. What is it?” ordered the Captain.
“The Admiral was right. When we ran a new scan we discovered that half of the enemy Battleships in the main body weren’t Battleships at all, but Medium and Heavy Cruisers instead,” the Officer reported.
The Captain lunged out of her chair as the screen flashed red once again and another warning chime went off.
The Sensor Officer whirled around and after checking his data-slate turned round again.
“It looks like the Cruisers escorting the enemy transports aren’t Cruisers either, they’re actually Battleships,” reported the Sensor Officer with alarm, “and as for the transports…they’re not there.”
I hate it when I’m right.
“Blast it, Sensors, what do you mean they’re not there?! Is there anything else you’ve managed to get wrong? Like I don’t know, oh, say that all of the in their Destroyers are really Heavy Cruisers—or maybe even Battleships in disguise?” Snyder demanded.
“I don’t know how they did it, Captain. But somehow their ECM suites are able to mimic a class of ship higher or lower than the one it actually is. We didn’t know until we ran the focused scan and only a hard scan or visual identification will let us tell if we’ve been snookered. Right now we’re still looking for the transports,” he reported like a man about to lose his job right before getting a bunch of his fellow crewmates killed.
Snyder looked like she was about to go ballistic but we didn’t have time for histrionics.
“Captain!” I barked when she looked like she was about to cycle off the bulkhead.
Her head whipped around. “Yes, Admiral?” she asked with alarm.
“We know both the Empire and the Old Confederation have better tech than we do when it comes to electronic counter measures, and I’m afraid the middle of a battle isn’t the time to point fingers and try to find out if it was better tech or rank incompetence that let them slip this one through,” I said firmly. “Get your head back in the game. I need you focused on fighting your ship. And we both need Sensors to find those transports.”
She shot me a surprised look and then nodded. “Of course, Sir. I’ve only ever been focused on my ship,” she said.
I decided to let that one pass as there was really no point in splitting hairs. As long as she was on task and focused on the enemy that’s all that mattered.
“So the question now isn’t how they did it. We can only go forward with the best information we have available to us, what we need to know is why? And just as important: what are they planning?” I asked, thinking aloud.
“It’s either a diversion or an escape attempt,” Lieutenant Commander Snyder, “and considering that they’ve been determined to escape at every turn to date…”
“Even a rat is dangerous when its back is against the wall. Chief of Staff, message the fleet and tell them to keep a sharp look out,” I ordered.
“Aye-aye, Admiral,” said Lisa Steiner quick stepping over to the communications section.
She was still leaned over the desk, hand pressed to her earbud and speaking into the microphone, when the entire screen fuzzed.
Only this time the holo-screen didn’t clear up right away, it stayed fuzzed.
“Get me a clear picture,” I commanded.
“I’m trying, Admiral,” reported the Sensor Officer, “but massive signals are flooding every wavelength. We’re trying to cut through it or find a frequency or sensor type it’s not blocking but right now it looks a lot like one of our jammers that floods everything within a certain radius and makes it impossible to see what’s going on inside of it. Similar to the jammers we used during the second battle against the Reclamation Fleet, only more advanced and possibly from multiple point sources, although on that it's too soon to tell.”
“Then use optics, find the other ships, and point-to-point communications with laser-based com-arrays if you have to but I want communications reestablished as of half a minute ago,” I ordered.
“I’ll get right on it, Sir,” said the Sensor Officer who then hurried back to his station.
“Jammer drones deployed around the local fleet, Front Admiral. They’re blind, deaf and dumb,” reported Fritters.
“Excellent news, Commodore. I was afraid that they might have countermeasures for our drones or a new kind of sensor that can see through our jamming, but while we’ll have to wait on the second it’s clear we caught them with their pants down. How is the point-to-point communication system?” he asked.
“Working like a charm. We had the com-lasers working before we deployed the jammer drones and so far we’re maintaining good signal. That will probably change if we have to engage in any combat maneuvers, but for now you can issue any orders you care to give and your captains will be able to hear them, Sir,” Fritters said with an edge to his smile.
“Operation Storm Warden is a go. Signal all ships and inform the troop transports they are to launch their shuttles now. They are to follow Battleship squadrons Two and Four into the jamming field and prepare to unleash the storm,” said Featherby.
Unseen by anyone in the opposing fleet, as soon as the jammer drones went active, the until-then fleeing warships of the Glorious Fleet slowly rotated 180 degrees and dove back into the jammer field. Every ship, that is, except for the eight Battleships escorting the Destroyers masquerading as troop transports.
They were more than happy to reveal themselves for the Battleship they were and open fire at longer than expected range on the Corvettes and light Destroyers Laurent had sent to harass the missing troop transports.
Of the ships in the Spineward Confederation’s First Fleet, only a handful of warships were even capable of seeing through the static caused by the old Confederation’s drones and of those they were mainly captured Imperial Destroyers pressed into MSP service that were too far away from the enemy Battleships to see where they were going.
One ship, however, did have top of the line sensors and was in position to see where they were going. And when Commodore Laurent of the Furious Phoenix saw the fuzzy images of at least a squadron of Battleships escorting a large number of shuttles passing to the side of his flagship, headed for the last projected course of the Royal Rage on an obvious intercept with the Rage and the rest of the Spine’s Battleships, he signaled every ship within range of his point-to-point com-arrays and then changed course.
Like a bat fleeing the underworld, the Furious Phoenix and his scratch squadron, eight ships, and all that the Phoenix could find and signal before she risked losing sensor lock, engaged their drives and glided into position behind the Battleships.
“Sirs, I think I’m spotting some kind of disturbance up again of us. If I had to guess it looks like weapons discharge,” reported the Sensor Officer.
“Since you’re the shift supervisor your guess is what we’re going with,” I said evenly and then turned to tactical, “prepare to deploy a jammer buoy and inform Gunnery we could be in for a bit of excitement.”
“With increased jamming, ours as well as theirs, we won’t be able to see much of anything until it's right on top of us,” Tactical pointed out.
“Noted. Carry out your orders,” I instructed.
“Discharges are getting closer,” reported Sensors sounding tense, “our sensors upgraded a while ago but during last refit we had access to the original Imperial programming that goes along with the physical hardware. It looks like there’s some kind of problem with the interface between the DI and the newly installed programming. We thought we got the bugs out but—”
“Com-tech, signal everyone on our point to point network and notify them we are about to engage the enemy,” I said cutting him off, we could deal with the faulty programming interface later right now we had a battle to survive. “Helm, prepare to turn the ship as soon as we’ve had confirmation from our escorts. Com’s, relay our intentions.”
“Yes, Sir,” said the Helm.
“Aye-aye,” said the Com-tech rounding back to his console and immediately started relaying information and orders via whisker-lasers.
“Jammer buoy deployed. Going active in five-four-three…” he said holding up five fingers and slowly removing one each time he spoke until finally his fist clenched and the entire screen turned into a murky haze.
It was a risk, but I figured there was a good chance the Old Confederation had a workaround that let them see through their own jamming with at least partial effectiveness. To my mind this just helped even the odds by ensuring both sides couldn’t see a blasted thing.
“Turn the ship to present our broadside,” I said, figuring I’d given everyone in the fleet enough time to receive my message…if they were going to. Now it was time to wait and see if I was right.
Time would tell if I was more right than wrong in my assessment. Time and lives lost. Which was something I tried not to think about, I mean I was as willing to expend lives as the next guy, at least I presumed I was as I wasn’t consumed with fear and worry about others dying on my orders, maybe because I’d been born to a family where everyone expected me to do so with wild abandon if ever given the chance, but it wasn’t something I liked to dwell on. Just because I was willing to make the hard calls, didn’t mean I liked watching people die.
Well…outside of a few particularly nasty customers like Arnold Janeski and just about every member of the Deep Fleet I’d run across. Anyone who got their jollies whole roasting intelligent creatures like Glue and the Sundered on the barbecue pit didn’t deserve my mental anguish and I easily gave myself a free, get out of psychotic Montagne family heritage, pass not to worry about their fates.
The first thing we knew of the enemy was when they suddenly appeared out of the electronic jammer fog and entered medium heavy laser range.
“Danger close! We have multiple enemy Battleships at medium range!” shouted Tactical.
I opened my mouth to order our ship to fire when Gunnery took matters into its own hands and cut loose with a full broadside.
As if taken by surprise the, leading enemy Battleship started to turn to one side before correcting and continuing straight toward the gap between the Royal Rage and her nearest sister ship on our stern.
“Captain, get our stern away from the broadside of that Glorious Fleet Battleship!” I snapped.
“Helmsman, engage maneuvering jets,” cried Lieutenant Commander Snyder.
The enemy Battleship was followed by two of her sister ships and then a fourth followed behind in a diamond formation as the lead ship entered close attack range.
“Enemy’s forward lasers are starting to range on us,” reported Tactical as the first heavy laser shots slammed into the Rage’s shields.
“I’m getting anomalous readings from inside the middle of the enemy formation.
“Another warship?” asked Snyder.
“Stealth missiles?” I shot back with concern stiffening in my chair. They could be dragging all kinds of exploding weaponry that might not otherwise survive to reach us during normal….
“Laser fire off the port bow! Someone is firing on the rear end of the enemy Battleship formation,” reported Tactical.
This report was born out as several of the rear defense chain guns and lasers on the opposing Battleship opened fire to their rear.
“Whatever it is, it doesn’t seem to be making our friends from the Glorious Fleet very happy,” Snyder said tightly, his eyes fixed on the action ahead.
“A small favor that we should aim to take maximum advantage of, First Officer,” I said gesturing to the screen.
When she started to turn back her brow wrinkling I scowled causing her to turn back to the bridge crew and start barking out orders. Clearly we were going to have to work on our teamwork and communication.
As Lieutenant Commander Snyder snapped out orders and the helmsman turned the ship, Tactical and Gunnery were shooting up a storm.
“We’ve identified the small contacts screened by the Battleships, Admiral!” exclaimed the Tactical Officer.
“What are they?” I demanded.
“They look like some kind of shuttle. Similar to an assault shuttle or lander design but its hard to tell exactly, through the fog,” reported Tactical.
“All ships concentrate on those assault shuttles!” I ordered, my eyes going wide with concern. “I want every laser that can be brought to bear!”
“We’ve got over half of those shuttles, Commodore!” reported the Phoenix’s Tactical Officer, “the last of the survivors have taken cover in between the Battleships.”
“Acknowledged,” Laurent said with a grim satisfaction.
“Sir do you want to turn and engage those troop transports, we caught a hint of them right before we tore into the shuttles,” asked the First Officer.
“We’ll last a good sight longer against the transports than we will those Battleships, Sir,” chimed in the Tactical.
“The troop transports also disappeared into the soup as soon as they realized their shuttles were under attack, while we know exactly what those Battleships are up to and where they are going right this moment,” Laurent said.
“You want to continue to engage them, Sir?” the First Officer asked after a pregnant pause.
“We have them in numbers if not weight of metal,” Laurent said confidently.
The First Officer’s brows rose with alarm. Clearly he was starting to think his captain had started to lose his mind.
“Besides,” Laurent continued grimly, “it’s not just the assault shuttles our ships up ahead will have to worry about. It’s the swarm of battle-suited figures following behind them as well.”
“We can’t confirm that those anomalous contacts are marines on grav-boards, Sir,” said the First Officer.
“Saint Murphy’s Law, XO. If it can go wrong it will and other than a swarm of rockets the worst thing those contacts could be are marines in power armor. It’s not like they’d be anything other than sitting ducks on their troop transports waiting for one good broadside to finish them off,” said the Commodore.
“Aye aye, Sir,” the First Officer said resigned to their mission, “we may just be Destroyers and cruisers but we can take those Battleships.”
“Forget the Battleships, have the rest of our forces focus on the shuttles. As for the Phoenix…I think our plasma turrets will be perfect for getting furious on those power-armored Marines,” he replied.
“Give me a status update on the Marines,” Front Admiral Featherby ordered as the flagship took repeated hits to the prow, rocking the ship back and forth as the hull was penetrated by concentrated laser fire.
“Shuttle forces are down to 48 assault landers remaining of the original force of 102 taken from the troop transports for this operation and—” reported Fritters.
“Straight at them, Helm. I want you to put us right between the lead two Battleships. Both broadsides are to fire as soon as they range on a Spineward Battleship. Remember: take down their shields and let our Marines have their day,” interrupted Flag Captain Weathers as he continued to spit out orders.
Meanwhile lasers flashed from the murk behind into the swarm of Marine shuttles and army assault landers.
“We just lost another pair of shuttles, Front Admiral,” his Chief of Staff reported with a wince.
“Sweet Murphy wept,” swore the Front Admiral, “keep going; we’re going to close with the enemy even if it kills us and every Marine in the fleet.”
“That won’t happen, Sir,” Fritters assured his superior, “your strategy of using the jammers to close with the enemy and then attack them with Marines was inspired. It will surely close the gap in combat power between our force and theirs. Literally the only wrinkle is that they decided to throw their own jammers into the mix, throwing off our scans and degrading our sensors more than we projected.”
“I should have expected it. After all, the tactics we are using is merely a combination of tactics the local militia fleet has been using to good effect for the past several years. We’re just showing them how the professionals carry out a similar, proper, operation,” said the Front Admiral.
“As expected, of one of the finest military minds in the Confederation, sir,” Commodore Fritters said without a hint of anything except sincerity.
“If I was one of the finest minds I’d be more than a Front Admiral,” snorted Featherby, “and your loyalty does you well but I don’t need my ego stroked. Right now all that matters is the plan. Signal the Marines and inform them their part of this little operation will begin shortly”
“Roger, Sir,” said Fritter turning to the com-section.
“And tell the tail end ship the…” he paused to check, “Golden Bumblebee, to do something about those Spineward warships taking pot shots at our rear.”
The Furious Phoenix shuddered as the endmost Glorious Fleet Battleship turned just enough to bring their broadside to bear and blasted one of its escort Destroyers into space wreckage in a handful of seconds before turning back its original course.
“That was too close,” said the Commodore wiping a sheen of sweat off his forehead, “however this is our chance. Push the Phoenix forward and let’s get a shot at those engines. If we can cripple her she’s all but done for and we’ll be able to sneak around her and get at those space Marines.”
“Aye, Sir,” said Helmsman flaring the engines. The Phoenix started to push forward her escorts following behind.
Then the Battleship which had just straightened out her course kept on going, maneuvering jets and thrusters suddenly flaring, until it presented the other broadside.
“Enemy’s starboard side is coming around, Sir!” cried the Tactical Officer.
“Hard to Port! Super charge the port shields,” roared Laurent, “Gunnery prepare to counter fi—”
He didn’t finish giving that last order before the enemy Battleship opened fire.
“Shields down to 40%, we have spotting. We have—” the Shield Operator’s report was cut short as a pair of turbo-lasers punched through the Furious Phoenix’s shields, lashing into her already scarred hull.
“Minor out-gassing on Deck 3,” reported Damage Control, “automatic blast doors have contained the damage; rerouting a damage control team to inspect the area for survivors.”
“Continue evasive maneuvers. Get us out of range,” ordered the Commodore.
“Gunnery, fire on targets of opportunity,” snapped Tactical speaking into his microphone.
Lasers raked the enemy Battleships to little effect, mostly splashing harmlessly off its shields, while plasma balls rocked out at a rapid pace as the Medium Cruiser picked up speed. Many of the plasma balls harmlessly splattered on the Battleship’s shield but several dozen rocketed past the enemy warship and into the empty region of space it was protecting—the very same patch of cold space the enemy Marines were floating in.
“They’re coming right for us!” reported Sensors.
“They’re not going to hit us, they’ll pass along the side,” retorted the Helmsman hands and arm muscles tense as he maneuvered the oversized warship.
The Royal Rage was still mid-turn when the enemy Battleship passed between it and her sister ship. Both sides of the enemy Battleship erupted with laser fire and the Rage’s port side shields started to drop. Several attenuated laser strikes broke through the shielding scaring the nose armor on the front of the warship but succeeding in nothing more than cosmetic damage to the nose of the ship.
“The Big Kahuna reports shields down to 42% and stabilizing, no major damage at this time,” reported Lieutenant Commander Steiner, temporarily returning to her original duties as com-officer.
Then a second enemy Battleship followed suit passing the side of the Big Kahuna opposite one their lead ship had just raked.
“The Big Kahuna’s engines are under threat!” reported Tactical.
“Can we move to cover her?” I demanded.
“Too late!” reported the Helmsman who despite his own words had already activated the Royal Rage’s engines. As the Rage made a belated attempt to close the gap, the Glorious Fleet Battleship raked the hind-end of the now urgently maneuvering Big Kahuna.
Thrusters burned and main engines flared as the Big Kahuna twisted away from the enemy ship in a belated attempt to get away as the enemy Battleship followed up with aimed fire pounded straight into her backside.
“The Kahuna’s shields are falling...and her port engine is on fire!” reported Damage Control.
“Lieutenant Commander Snyder have gunnery render the Kahuna assistance,” I ordered turning back to stare at the fuzzy sensor screen trying to divine the Glorious fleet’s ultimate intent
“Tell Gunnery to drive them off her!” First Officer Snyder ordered sharply, causing Tactical to grab his microphone and speak urgently.
Lasers lashed out in reply but moments later my attention was pulled away from the Big Kahuna’s plight.
“I’m reading some kind of strange sensor conta…” the Sensor Officer trailed off before a new report came in and he turned sharply back to me. “Marines, Sir!” he exclaimed, “We’re picking up both assault shuttles and individuals on grav-boards.”
“How close?” I asked with alarm.
The other man didn’t even bother looking down at his data-slate or consulting with a subordinate. “They’re right on top of us, directly behind the enemy Battleships, Admiral,” he said urgently.
A rush of horror surged through me as I suddenly understood just how countless numbers of my enemies must have felt when I was the one turning the tables and launching a last ditch boarding operation intended to overturn the apple cart and shift a battle in my direction.
I immediately stood up. “Gunnery is to switch to point defense and all Lancers are to be ready to repel boarders,” I snapped.
There was a startled moment and then the bridge sprung to activity.
“And somebody notify the rest of the fleet. I want those Marines cleared out of my sky and off my holo-screen, Number One!” I continued rapid fire.
But even the fastest of orders could only do so much to mitigate the situation. Even as our Gunnery department switched targets and opened up with every weapon and laser that could be re-tasked to a point defense roll the enemy marines had already reached the Big Kahuna very damaged shield arrays.
Not more than a dozen laser bolts had been fired causing everything not on an immediate approach to scramble, taking evasive maneuvers.
“How are so many of them getting onto the Kahuna’s hull without being stopped?” asked a new officer from the Border Alliance asked with alarm, as half a dozen shuttles landed on the Kahuna’s hull and the majority of hundreds of power armored figures punched through her porous and now sparkling shields. It was sparkling because while more than three hundred marines got in, dozens more who attempted the maneuver only succeeded in being smashed flat or even vaporized when they missed their window and slammed into the Big Kahuna’s shields at high speed.
Desperately the Kahuna rolled trying to interpose a different section of shields and make an intercept solution that much harder by presenting a moving target. Meanwhile, close defense chain-guns and lasers of all shapes and sizes shot out in every direction without regard what might be on the other end as the Battleship’s gun deck tried desperately to fight off her attackers.
The success of her maneuver was evidenced by a rapid increase in small sparkling impact areas on her ever falling shields.
“It seems that if they can’t get in through a hole in the shields they’ll just open up more of them by way of suicide attack!” remarked the Assistant Tactical Officer right before the Big Kahuna fired turbo-lasers right into our shields.
“Someone get the Kahuna on the horn and ask them just what in all the sweet hells they think they’re doing firing turbo-lasers at Marines on grav-boards—they're succeeding only in hitting their own flagship! Then tell them to knock it the blazes off!” I barked at my Chief of Staff, who quickly turned to carry out my orders.
“On it, Admiral,” said Steiner.
“Tactical, tell Gunnery to clear our skies; we’ve got multiple bogies on close approach,” urged Lieutenant Commander Snyder snapping me out of my mono-focus on the fate of the Big Kahuna.
I opened my mouth to demand an approach and saw the first of the enemy shuttles explode in a flash of decompressing air and exploding power generators right next to us as our lasers found their targets. Another trio of shuttles soon joined their sister shuttle’s fate as the Rage’s expert gun crews coolly served their weapons on our enemies.
One lander seeing her fate, like that of everything else that got in close to the Royal Rage, was sealed, suddenly ejected her cargo of Marines out her back facing landing bay and went to 120% emergency thrust. And while her former cargo were still spinning around in the space and trying to orient themselves she took a hit right before she slammed into the Rage’s shields.
Hot on the heels of the doomed lander and assault shuttles were a swarm of space-faring Marines. Joined by the landers' contingent they rushed forward, like lemmings off the proverbial cliff, determined to follow their lander in and push through the shields.
Dozens of space born marines opened fire with their rifles and hand held weapons while aiming for the spot struck by the lander, hoping against hope to punch through, before they too stuck the shields turning into small red flares sparkles as they crumpled and died on impact.
However, where there’s a will, there’s a way and after repeated hits the shields started to spot and the first gravity-propelled Marine broke through our shields. He was then promptly turned into a bloody paste of meat and metal by our ship’s chain guns. But more soon followed and within less than a minute the first enemy Marine set down on the hull of the Royal Rage.
While the attempted boarding action was taking place, the rest of the Glorious Fleet battle squadron wasn’t sitting idle. Following on the heels of their sister ships they struck our line with punishing force. Like their companions in the front of the formation, their intent was not to win the battle outright but to once again knock down our shields, opening the way for their cold space Marines to land on our hulls.
It was a canny stratagem, I allowed, even if the odds of success seemed low because it forced us to split our attention between the Battleships and their boarding forces. Taken by just themselves I was confident we could stop the marines, the question was how the slug fest between Battleships would turn if the boarders sacrificed themselves in order to take out half or more of our broadside.
“General Wainwright reports his forces are stationed throughout the ship and ready to repel boarders at any time, Grand Admiral,” reported Damage Control.
“Inform the General that the enemy has landed on the hull and we are concerned for our lasers,” I said stonily.
Damage Control passed along the message, nodded and turned back to me.
“The General says to tell you ‘affirmative,’ Sir,” replied Damage Control.
I nodded.
Realizing the real threat of the enemy Battleships did not necessarily reside in the warships themselves, but the force of Marines they were escorting, apparently threw some my fleet’s Battleship captains into confusion.
“Aegis Battleship Wall Breaker is breaking formation to defend itself. Hart’s Heart is issuing orders for them to the line and assume a new position but the Admiral in command of Wall Breaker is refusing to comply,” reported Steiner.
After that things degenerated as several of the non-MSP Battleships began to maneuver independently.
“Pinocchio is moving forward to engage the enemy,” reported Tactical as yet another of our Battleships decided to take matters into their own hands. Only in this case instead of moving to protect themselves or withdraw slightly from the battle, the Battleship from Old Sardinia XI lunged forward into the tail end of the swarm of Glorious Fleet Marines.
“Tell Captain Antonio ‘Tony’ Caldera to get back into formation,” I snapped.
Lisa Steiner relayed my orders and immediately started to argue with someone on the line.
“Captain Caldera stated that his Battleship will return to formation as soon as they’ve given the enemy a drive-by, and when I repeated your order to immediately return to formation he claimed the jamming was too severe and he couldn’t understand our transmissions, before cutting the channel, Admiral,” she reported.
I clenched a fist.
“Clearly we’re going to have to work on our formations and responsiveness to orders once we’ve liberated the Sector Capitol,” I bit out.
“The People’s Initiative is moving to support Pinocchio,” reported Tactical.
“I am unable to establish contact with People’s Initiative, there’s too much interference,” reported Steiner.
“Of course they are,” I said while our formations fractured due in part to bad communications and the enemy Battleships continued to sail past us and back into the sensor haze from which they’d come.
“Signal every ship that’s within range of our whisker lasers that they are to maneuver to avoid the Old Confederation marines and begin pursuit of the Glorious Fleet heavies,” I ordered.
In this murk any number of our Battleships might have seen the enemy heavies but missed the Marines. Even now they might be in hot pursuit of the enemy squadrons, unknowing that the rest of our Battleships were being attacked by boarders. The last thing we needed was to be defeated in detail.
Then the Furious Phoenix and a dozen lighter warship appeared and plasma balls shot through the area of space occupied by the enemy Marines.
Within seconds, the last of the Marine landers and assault shuttles had been destroyed and large swaths of the grav-board Marines were converted to plasma by the Phoenix.
Several furious bouts of communication and updates later and the majority of our Battleships, those that hadn’t taken on boarders, moved into the jamming field in search of the enemy Battleship which even now could be coming around for another pass in support of their marine forces.
Within minutes we’d caught up to a pair of Battleships that had been slowed by earlier engine damage.
Chapter 33: To Guard the Body
Opening the airlock she jumped out onto the hull with a flare of her jet pack and a clang as her magnetic boots locked onto the surface of the ship.
“Once again I’d like to advise against this course of action, my Lady,” said Sergeant Warricks.
“You worry too much, Warricks,” Akantha said waving the combined commando/life guard team out of the airlock behind her, “if it’s going to distract you in combat that’s going to get you killed. Let me know if you need an inside assignment. I can always use a man who worries too much about the safety of his principle to guard one of the children.”
“I’m not distracted and I’m not a baby sitter, with all due respect, Ma’am,” Warricks said pointedly.
“Then let’s keep the commentary to a minimum and focus on the enemy,” she said crisply.
“Yes of course, Sir,” the Sergeant sighed.
“Good,” Akantha turned and motioned toward the Captain of the Black Space Commando company that was accompanying her Life Guard, “take us out, Captain.”
“You do realize we’re out here without orders from the General, my Lady?” he asked.
“The General will just have to learn to adapt and overcome. I’m not going to miss the first chance at actual combat in years. Having children can really slow you down,” she said and then started briskly marching out onto the hull of the ship.
“Fan out by squads until the rest of the company is on the hull. Scouts to the front and by all that’s holy watch out for sniper fire!” cursed the Captain hurrying after the eager Hold Mistress.
With commandos on point and life guards on close protective detail the Hold Mistress and escorts moved toward the external laser mounts at a deliberate pace.
Then a laser flashed.
“Contact!” one scout screamed over the network as one fell back with a hold in his helmet right through the visor guard.
“That’s too powerful a weapon to be a rifle. We’re looking at a crew served laser cannon. Find me that sniper people,” ordered the Captain.
Several people ducked for cover and three power assisted arms forcefully slammed Akantha onto the hull visor first.
“First Platoon flanking maneuver,” ordered the Captain and a minute passed as the rest of the company deployed.
Then first platoon stumbled upon an enemy contingent.
“Contact at 3 o’clock, squad level force no more than seven meters distance! Danger close. Danger Close!” shouted the Platoon commander opening fire right before the plasma grenades started going off.
The Company reacted catching the enemy squad in a crossfire. In response the enemy laser cannon opened up with suppressing fire in support of the beleaguered enemy marines.
Weight of fire took its toll and in short order the enemy squad was annihilated while the sniper crew with the laser cannon, stationed inside an external sensor array as it turned out, were taking heavy fire.
Then an enemy force more than forty strong attacked from behind.
The first thing Akantha knew of it was when two of her life guards keeled forward with smoking holes in their backs.
“My main power system is knocked out. I’m on emergency backups. Protect the Hold Mistress!” hissed one of the fallen warrior life guards before falling silent.
As one half the life guard turned to face the enemy. But a pair of plasma grenades tossed into their midst sent warriors whirling off the hull.
Seeing an enemy marine in a battlesuit that was all angles and hard rounded edges Akantha bared her teeth.
“Messene!” she screamed unsheathing Bandersnatch and charging.
The first shot took her in the right shoulder actuator, reducing her arm function but not slowing her down. The second shot hit a knee and the last one went right into her abdominal armor, and then she was in close.
“Die-die-die!” she shouted, maxing out her magnetic boots and swinging with all her might.
Her first swing cut deep into the man’s rifle, ruining the weapon while her backswing was blocked by his left arm.
Bandersnatch cut deep, but not as deep as she’d expected. Clearly these Marines had suits that were superior to ones she was used to.
Akantha smiled excitedly.
Her opponent was good; no sooner had he blocked her blow than a battle blade extended out of his right arm, point thrust straight at her head. Up and at an angle the blade thrust forward with lightning speed.
Akantha barely ducked her head below in time.
Slamming into his chest plate with her shoulder she rotated her sword around freeing it with a spray of blood that shot into the vacuum as it came free from the marine’s arm.
Before she could launch another attack a pair of arms dropped down around her torso and squeezed tight, pinning her arms and elbows against her side.
Akantha surged forward trying to muscle out of the lock but the marine’s armor proved more powerful than hers and all her straining did was cause him to squeeze tighter.
Viciously she slammed her head back into the other man’s helmet.
The marine rocked with the blow and then angled his right arm blade up until it was pointed straight up under her chin.
Akantha bucked and strained before going for her maiden’s dagger. With the flick of a finger she activated her small vibro-blade.
“Worm fed filth!” she shouted jamming her blade into his arm. The daggers skittered over the duralloy armor of her foe until it stuck on the temporary patch on the right arm that had been struck by her dark sword of power and then self sealed. Catching on the large gash in the arm her vibro-blade stuck and dug in.
In a flash the blade was in and her foe jerked allowing her to divert the arm blade just to the side of her head instead of right up through her chin and into the brain.
Twisting she jerked around stabbing her blade into the marine’s side. However his armor proved tougher than expected and once again her maiden’s dagger skittered across the surface.
Then he was back with his arm blade and with a sudden chest bump her magnetic boots broke free from the hull and she was floating in cold space.
Pulling out a blaster pistol she shot him repeatedly in the face plate, sending her into a spin. Blinded by the shots, unlike most other foes he didn’t backpedal, instead he charged. A glancing shoulder contact sent her smashing into a communications array.
Dropping her maiden’s dagger and grabbing hold Akantha twisted until her feet were once again in contact with the hull. With a clang she returned to her feet in time to see the marine take a plasma rifle blast in the back. Then another marine rounded the communications array she was holding onto and Akantha smiled.
Raising Bandersnatch high she shouted, “Messene!” before charging back into combat. One blade stroke was enough to cleave through her new foe’s helmet, causing blood and brain matter to escape her enemy’s suit due to rapid decompression. She bared her teeth savagely. Motherhood was great and securing the line of succession vital, but this was what she had been missing for quite some time.
Then she rejoined her guards and threw herself back into battle.
Chapter 34: Sacrifices and a Well Planned Operation
“Any sign of pursuit?” the Front Admiral asked for what had to be at least the dozenth time in the past two hours.
“The jamming field continues to move in our general direction, but other than over a hundred lighter warships there is no sign the enemy have spotted our jammer drones,” reported Weathers.
“Any sign of the New Rigellian, Defiant, or any of our other Battleships?” asked Featherby tensely as the three other Battleships still accompanying his flagship continued to burn for the hyper limit.
“No, Sir,” Flag Captain Weathers replied crisply.
The Front Admiral stared at the screen dourly and then sighed.
“If I may be so bold, that was as an adroit maneuver as any I’ve seen, Sir,” Commodore Fritters finally interjected himself into the mix after seeing how melancholy his Admiral was becoming.
“I entered this system with more than one hundred warships, twenty of them Battleships,” Featherby sighed, “and I’ll be leaving with less than fifty warships and only twelve Battleships. New Rigellian and Defiant are all but certainly lost and as for our lighter warships…,” he trailed off shaking his head, “you realize I’ll probably lose my command over this.”
“We succeeded in carrying out our orders. Our mission was to raid in force and only to capture this star system if possible, with supplementary objectives to destroy its industry, capture or disrupt the Sector and regional governments, and by any reasonable measure we succeeded in every objective,” Fritters said loyally, “we conquered the system. Yes it was temporary I’ll admit. Local, Sector and regional officials were captured, even if the majority of them successfully fled, and we destroyed a significant portion of this system’s orbital and space based industries along the majority of the local SDF. It will be the work of years before Central Star System will recover. This raid was a rousing success by any measure, except in our ability to garrison and hold it. Besides...the Imperial detachment survived almost unscathed,” Fritters added with a sneer.
“Somehow I doubt Senator Cornwallis will look on our losses as favorably as you, and even if he by some miracles does…” the Front Admiral sighed wearily, “the review board back home won’t be nearly as understanding. Warships were lost under my command. Thousands dead, thousands more dead or captured, and we haven’t lost a Battleship, let alone two squadrons of them, in a police action for decades. Heads will roll over this, mark my words—and that includes mine. The public will not tolerate these kinds of losses and the politicians certainly will be more than willing to serve them up a fine meal of sacrificial goat.”
“You can never tell with the Public, Sir,” Fritters replied stoutly, “it all depends on what the media tells them. As for the men and women in your fleet, sacrifices were necessary and because you made the hard call the rest of us live to fight another day.”
The Front Admiral shook his head but before he could speak there was a flash and part of the screen cleared before fuzzing again.
“Report!” he snapped, looking back at the screen.
“Jamming field density has just reduced. Best estimate…we just lost one of the drone jammers,” reported the Electronic Warfare Officer.
“Could it be an equipment failure or…?” he cocked his head meaningfully.
The main-screen flashed again and this time the jammer field was noticeably less dense.
“That’s the second drone we’ve lost, Front Admiral. This looks like enemy action,” reported the EW Officer.
The Front Admiral scowled at the screen before turning back to the EW Officer.
“An equipment failure was too much to hope for I guess. Thank you for the update. Carry on, EW,” instructed the Front Admiral.
“Sir,” said the other officer, returning to his console and immediately getting back to work.
“Found another one, Sir,” reported Tactical moments before gunnery opened fire destroying yet another drone.
“Keep after it,” I ordered glaring at the screen.
“The jammer field is clearing. We’re still getting some obstruction so there’s at least one more drone out there but from the field strength and lack of overlap it looks like just one more, Sir,” he reported.
“Good. Send a Destroyer out to clear it,” I said shortly as our powerful sensors started to cut through the confusion, only to reveal the remnants of the enemy fleet far too close to the hyper limit for comfort.
“There she goes,” said Tactical several minutes later and this time when the main-screen started to clear it cleared all the way; incidentally confirming our earlier scans.
“General Wainwright reports they’ve just finished a full sweep of the ship. No sign of any stowaways; it looks like we got the last of those boarders. He also says your wife is fine and has been returned to the ship safe and sound,” reported Damage Control.
“My wife? What was she doing…” I trailed off going pale at the realization that she’d been out there for the hairy business when our Lancer force had stormed onto the hull to protect our turbo-lasers. Then I could feel my face redden with anger as my heart, which had seemed to halt, suddenly kick-started back to life.
“Sir, are you okay?” asked Steiner.
“Does she intend to make me a single father...argh!” I shouted with fury before regaining control of myself. Everything had been going so well that I hadn’t even considered she’d go and do a fool thing like this. She’d lulled me into a false sense of security and then struck like the viper she was, intent only on her own pleasure and entirely uncaring about me or her kids.
I found I was gnashing my teeth and then came back to myself with a lurch.
“I’m sure she had her reasons, Admiral Montagne,” Steiner said hesitantly, but I could see on her face that she disapproved of Akantha’s wild, self-risking activities.
“Of course she does,” I said, taking a calming breath. First the Admiral in charge of the Glorious Fleet beat us to Central, destroyed the place and then when I set off in hot pursuit he out fought and out maneuvered me. I mean sure, as far as I could tell, thanks in no small part to Commodore Laurent and the Furious Phoenix’s speedy arrival, we only had one ship with major damage thanks to the boarding actions. But instead of a clean sweep where we caught and defeated the enemy, I was left with an unsatisfying victory where the majority of the enemy, or at least most of his combat power, managed to escape the star system. That’s what I was really worked up about –if I was being totally and brutally honest.
I ran a hand over my face.
“I’m sure once she understands in her heart that she risks not only herself but her children unnecessarily, she’ll… moderate her ways,” Lieutenant Commander Snyder tried to sound upbeat.
I snorted. “Somehow I don’t think she’ll stop until she gets herself killed—and maybe not even then!” I grumbled and then shot the petite officer a look. “But thank you for the attempt at cheering me up. It’s much appreciated.”
“I’m your Chief of Staff; it’s in my job description,” she said loyally.
“Regardless we need to focus on the situation at hand,” I said firmly.
“Of course, Sir,” she replied professionally.
“The fact is we came into this star system with superior numbers and firepower; across the board we had every advantage and yet, here we are,” I said.
Steiner’s eyes tensed and then she shrugged. “We won, Sir. That’s the most important thing at the end of the day. We’re alive and we won. Can’t ask more than that,” she said.
“But that’s just the thing, Lisa,” I said honestly, “if we’re going to win this war we’re going to need to do more than that. We’re going to need to do better.”
“There are several areas where I believe we can improve ourselves in preparation for this new enemy, but let’s not pretend that we had every advantage,” she replied swiftly, “for one they had the clear technical advantage and for the other…well, they did get here first. Combine those factors with the way they surprised us and, frankly, we did very well considering.”
“We can’t do anything about the tech edge; we’re still assimilating all the Imperial technology we’ve got our hands on over the years. It would be much better if we had a full research team instead of a part-time engineer like Spalding pulling out what he can in between looking after his pride and joy,” I said, taking a deep breath. “However there’s no excuse for letting them pull a fast one like they did. No excuse. I should have caught it. I should have been better.”
“So fix it.” My Chief of Staff said bluntly, no longer sounding like she was trying to reassure me.
I gave her a surprised look.
“You’re the Admiral—now the Grand Admiral, Sir. If you need something like another research team, then I suggest get one. It might be a little late but late is better than not at all. The Border Alliance has tech heads, as does the Sector, and I’m sure the new Confederation of the Spine would be more than willing to send out scientists to look into all our secrets and tech exploits. That said, honestly, to my mind the team we already have working on ‘upgrading’ our ships in the Yard hasn’t been standing around idle for the past couple years, but instead cracking files and upgrading our factories to handle all the new Imperial style tech. However, if as the Admiral you judge the pace is too slow then it’s entirely within your power to switch things around,” She said, her voice strict and bordering on a lecturing one, “as for the rest? While people can always ask for more, all we can ever get is your best. Are we getting your best?” she asked pointedly, her eyes drilling into me.
For a moment I was outraged at being questioned like this, and then my eyes dropped and I seriously considered the question.
“I think that answers that question,” Steiner said rhetorically, not at all appearing interested in waiting for my answer and just assuming her own, “so unless there’s someone else out there better than you are then shape the blazes up and get back on your A-game…Sir!” she finished, her eyes fiery.
I was surprised. Other than not actually waiting around for my answer to her question, which I thought allowed too much chance for weaseling, I thought she’d done a better than decent job of laying it out like it was while at the same time saying to basically stop with the pity partying.
Perhaps it was time to shape up after all.
“Alright. We’ve had some setbacks. But we also won the day. I’ll just have to be satisfied with that,” I said finally.
Steiner gave the holo-screen a pointed look.
“The battle’s not over until it’s over, even if the enemy ‘seems’ to be running away,” she remarked.
“And considering the wily nature of our opponent we need to stay focused on the here and now and not count our plasma cores before they’ve ignited,” I agreed, focusing back on the screen and the enemy fleet that was well on its way to the hyper limit and beyond.
“Sir,” she said, nodding firmly and then taking a step back to return to her duties.
“Double check your figures for a least time intercept course at our best speed, Nav,” I ordered.
“Yes, Sir,” said Navigation.
The numbers were run, figures rechecked and yet despite the best efforts of our engines, physics and the bridge crew, reality refused to alter into a more palatable form and over the course of the rest of our pursuit the enemy stayed comfortably out of reach. Until finally they reached the edge of the system, stopped moving, and within minutes most of the Glorious Fleet had already jumped out. The larger Cruisers and Battleships followed them within a half hour.
“Someone sure decided to cut things close,” the Royal Rage’s Helmsman whistled with appreciation.
I shot him a look.
“Too close,” our Navigator said, disapproval evident in his voice as he frowned.
Within minutes our lighter units, sent forward to try and catch them before they could jump, started calling back for new orders. Were they to pursue in an attempt to discover where they’d gone or fall back and sweep for mines and stealth warships?
With a bitter smile I started issuing orders, “I want two Destroyers sent to every star system within range with orders to report back as soon as they achieve contact. Meanwhile, every other warship in Central System is to either maintain position if they are damaged, continue escorting a captured ship if that is their current assignment, or return to the main fleet if they are engaged in neither activity,” I ordered curtly, angry emotions had cooled but now it was time to count the costs and see what we saw.
“Relaying orders now, Sir,” said Steiner.
“And get me the status on the Battleships—ours and theirs—still in system,” I said.
“Yes, Sir,” said Steiner pulling up the information after sending out the latest set of orders.
I sat there waiting patiently as the information until it was ready. I had a good team and several hours to come to terms with being out maneuvered.
“Reporting,” Lisa Steiner said turning back to me when she was ready, “we have captured six Battleships. One of them is ours, a Central Battleship that was pulling SDF duty and scrammed her fusion generators during the surrender. Looks like The Glorious Fleet didn’t have time to replace her missing cores and restart her generators before we arrived.”
“We did manage to get here only one day behind them,” I said, not even feeling bitter, like I had the first time I realized we’d been just that one day too slow.
“As for the rest. There’s another Glorious Fleet Battleship in orbit with serious damage, looks like from attacking the battlestations, and is in a low power state due to missing fusion generators. That one will be a pile of work to get running again,” she said.
I nodded.
We had two limpers, one of them belonging to Central, that we’d have to give back. And from the sounds of it the other one might not be worth the effort and even if it was, would be fixed up and back in service only after some extended yard time. In other words, no time soon.
“The other four were in the jammer field and have various levels of combat damage,” she reported.
“The squadron they left to delay us,” I said neutrally.
“They all have some level of engine damage so it’s probably more along the lines of individual ships with the least likely chance of getting away being pulled out of formation to delay us,” she replied.
“Thank the Blessed Saint and Commodore Laurent for small favors,” I muttered.
“At least they’re not as hard core as pirates or the Reclamation Fleet,” she shrugged, “they fight pretty but they’re more than willing to surrender when it looks like the fight’s against them,” she then grimaced, “after which they promptly demand their rights as POW’s, while in one case actually complaining about the food they were being fed in the mess.”
“They’re old Confederation; they’re probably not used to ration bars,” I replied.
“That’s just it,” she said, looking mad, “they were on their own ship, with their own chefs, and undamaged kitchen and mess hall when they complained that the food wasn’t fit for human consumption and was a violation of their rights as prisoners of war.”
I suppressed surprised laughter, turning it into a sudden coughing fit before looking at her incredulously.
“How is that even possible? I mean even for Old Confederation fleet that’s a road too far,” I said with disbelief after I calmed down and stopped 'coughing.'
“They showed our security teams the relevant articles. Apparently both previous Captain and chef are from a different moon in the system from the rest of the crew and no one except the two of them liked the food; under active duty regulations they have no choice but to complain and eat it. But under POW rules it's considered that POW’s have the right to demand that every effort be made to feed them according to their normal regional fare, or their treatment will be reviewed by a non-partisan repatriation panel after the war. It’s supposedly in there to keep jailers from feeding them dehumanizing meals.”
I cocked a brow at her and she rolled her eyes.
“It was intended for things like feeding them bugs, worms and directly reprocessed human waste—or nothing but those foul-tasting fungal bars until their morale was broken and they were willing to tell their captors anything they wanted in order to get a real meal,” she shrugged.
“That’s insane. No review board would consider their case, it would be thrown out on the merits,” I snorted.
“I doubt Confederation politicians would care about the merits, even if the review board did,” she noted.
“I can already see the headlines,” I groused, “prisoners complain of being denied their rights under the dehumanizing food and meals provisions. Spineward Sectors review panel dismisses charges. Citizens around the old Confederation shocked and outraged. Grand Assembly reconsiders position, demanding new war in support of former prisoners. Or the reduction of previously agreed upon things like the return of civilian rights within a certain time frame…assuming the war goes poorly,” I grimaced.
We shared a look of mutual disgust.
“What do you want me to tell the Lancers and Marines garrisoning their ships?” she asked finally.
“Inform them they can pick someone from their crew to help cook for everyone but the chef and the captain’s meals, so long as that person has a food handler’s rating, or we can ship them in Spineward Sectors fare. Otherwise they’re stuck on ration bars for the foreseeable future,” I said angrily, “there’s literally nothing else we can do right now. If they decide to test us, put them on ration bars. They may hate them but it’s hard to say we’re ‘dehumanizing’ their food by feeding them Confederation Fleet standard emergency ration bars as a stopgap measure. At least not until,” I added, quirking my lips, “we can ship in a food specialist capable of matching the discerning palates of their officers and crew.”
That ought to fix them good and proper if they thought to try and use the regs against us.
“Will do, Admiral,” she said with a toothy grin that looked out of place on her pixie-like features.
With that out of the way I turned back to more important business, “How did our Battleships fare in the face of their boarding actions?”
Steiner’s face immediately turned serious.
“I probably should have led off with that,” she admitted, ducking her head. “Four of our ships faced boarders on the hull. For three of them, including the Royal Rage, that’s as far as they got. The worst those three have are a few laser mounts down, some sensor and communication arrays that need to be replaced. Except for—”
“The Big Kahuna,” I interrupted providing the answer for her, “did any of the marines that didn’t make it to one of our ships surrender?”
“The Kahuna’s a different matter entirely and yes we not only had surrender attempts we were actually able to pick up some of them,” she replied.
“What are we looking at?” I asked.
“We picked up several hundred already with another several thousand or so to pick up that are just floating around out there. However, even in the best case scenario, of the more than eighteen thousand marines deployed for the operation they’ll be lucky if we’re able to capture or rescue six thousand,” she said.
I winced.
“That sounds light? Are there really that many floaters out there?” I asked. “If we need to send more shuttles out there to round them up just give the word. Their oxygen tanks should hold up if they knew they were going out for a cold space deployment.”
“From the looks of it they weren’t expecting an extended deployment but that’s not the problem, at least not the main one. I mean, sure, there are a few floaters out there with damaged grav-belts but…” she took a breath and gave me a level look, “the main issue is that they’re already dead.”
“Oh,” I said, not particularly intelligently.
“Something like 80% of their shuttles got waxed and they had enough capacity for nine thousand marines. After that there’s our lasers, chain guns and, of course, the big reaper, Commander Laurent’s plasma cannons. They lost thousands there. And then of course there’s the Big Kahuna.” she said.
When I didn’t say anything, she continued speaking.
“They landed at least three thousand Marines on her hull, starting with the initial engagement before the rest of us, including the Royal Rage, set off in hot pursuit of the enemy and then afterwards,” she said.
“It’s cold math but the Big Kahuna’s sacrifice let us take down four other Battleships from the Glorious Fleet of Liberation,” I said.
“I’m aware. However the damage to the Kahuna was considerable. The Marines overran the Kahuna’s security force. Seizing Engineering, Environmental, the crew quarters… pretty much everything except the Armory and the Bridge and that wasn’t from lack of trying,” she reported.
“Fortunately her sister ships in the fleet were able to send reinforcements in time,” I said.
“At one point the Kahuna was maneuvering and firing on our own ships, Sir. That’s what alerted several of our cruisers, another Battleship and several of our Destroyers to send over marines of their own to try and stop them,” she said, “by all accounts it got pretty hairy over there.”
“At least she was still moving under her own power,” I observed.
Lieutenant Commander Steiner looked at me like a disproving school teacher who’d just given a creative answer in class.
“It was able to move until the old Confederation Marines realized they’d done what they could and our Lancer reinforcements were just going to keep coming. Then they sabotaged the engines, ejected the fusion cores and destroyed as much of everything else except, notably, the environmental systems as they were capable of before waving the white flag.”
“I’m told that Marines are capable of doing a great deal of damage when they are of a mind to do so,” she said reprovingly.
“They are the enemy. That’s only to be expected, “I said with a wince.
“Well she won’t fly again without extensive time in the yard. The structure is sound as are the main systems but most of the internals will have to be yanked out and replaced. Conduits, power runs, communication lines, even many of the distributed intelligence’s sub-nodes were deliberately targeted. In some cases they used explosives, at others they used high powered lasers to cut through to the nodes. Pretty much everything except the air ducts and main lines feeding into environmental,” she finished with a shrug, “we’re looking at… at least a month worth of yard time. It’s mostly detail worked but after that are the tests and…” she looked at me helplessly.
“Marines,” I said unhappily, “makes a man want to put them on ration bars out of revenge.”
The Lieutenant Commander looked alarmed.
“And risk a war crimes tribunal?” she asked.
“Over ration bars? The Old Confederation and its blasted legal bureaucracy. Somehow they’ve even managed to put their fingers into post-military operations,” I said sourly, “well if they’re determined to crucify me over food related war-crimes I’m done for anyway. Feed 'em the bars until we arrange the facilities to hold all of our prisoners securely. In fact…,” I paused and then called up link to the ship’s legal department.
“What can I do for you, Admiral?” asked Lieutenant Harpsinger.
“I hate to bother you but it sounds like we need to start preparing our legal defense early,” I said, lifting a brow and looking down at him in the most snooty highborn fashion possible.
The fleet’s top legal adviser looked alarmed at my unusual behavior and I finally broke down into a smirk, which brought a look of relieve to Lieutenant Harpsinger's face, “Ah. What can I do for you, Sir?”
“I’ve got a bunch of barracks lawyers looking to hang us over food related war crimes...” I said, quickly relaying the tale about the ship we’d captured that were demanding a new chef, and then the situation with the Marines.
“I see. I’ll get right on it, Sir. In fact we’re already aware of the problem and notified your Chief of Staff. That’s probably how you found out about it,” he assured me confidently.
“No doubt,” I agreed, shooting a sidelong look at Lisa Steiner who just splayed her hands, in effect telling me she was just doing her job and why was I looking at her sideways for?
“Anyway, let’s get ready to hit back,” I said.
“I’ve already got the legal teams on every warship involved with the prisoners out there documenting and generating the appropriate e-paper trails for our security personnel,” he assured me.
“Alright,” I acknowledged, already hating how a war with the Confederation was already turning out to be so very different and more involved in unexpected ways than our previous local dust ups, “however let’s try to take thing one step further.”
“What do you have in mind?” he cocked his head.
“Most likely I’ll die in combat and won’t have to deal with it. Or even better yet we’ll win and have the chance to dictate terms. However, in the off chance things turn out tighter run than we’d hoped, I’d like to be just as ready for a legal defense as the last time we were called to court,” I said, giving him a significant look.
Lieutenant Harpsinger started to smile, “I have a few ideas.”
“Well I have a few of my own,” I said with a smirk, “and to start off, how about we start our first batch of complainers? Wouldn’t it be just nice if someone was primed and ready to file against us for treating those whiners with ‘preferential’ treatment at the very same time they’re trying to zing us for ‘war crimes’?”
“You actually want to start rewarding the squeaky wheels, Sir?” asked the Lieutenant. “That might be helpful at the start but by the end of the campaign it could prove problematic.”
“Oh, I’m just planning to give them exactly what they asked for. That doesn’t tally up to anything close to a reward. In fact by the time I’m done with them those gripers are going to wish they’d kept their mouths shut and shoveled down whatever chow their previous chef was feeding them,” I smirked. Threaten me with food-related war crimes? They ought to have known better than to threaten a Montagne, even such a pure-hearted, people-friendly fellow military man like me.
I snorted, already thinking of all the petty little troubles we could cause those ambulance chasers. Images of those few times they actually got a superior looking meal spreading throughout the prisoner community causing envy and distrust among the ranks of our general prisoner population already started to glimmer in the depths of my mind.
When you start chasing ambulances, you'd better be ready to get hit.
In the meantime I had a system to clean up and a war to win.
After the last of the enemy warships jumped out of the system, followed by our Destroyers, I turned my attention to clean-up and the inevitable screams of the politicians about how the fleet had failed them. The worst part of it? For the first time in years they would actually have a point.
Chapter 35: Recriminations
“This is all your fault, Newton!” screamed the new Leader of the MDL Faction in the Spineward Sector Assembly.
“You can go back and check your privilege at the door or shut the blazes up, Anton,” Sir Isaak said, scorn dripping from his mouth.
“Check my privilege? You can go howl, you spineless excuse of a Tyborean space worm. The Mutual Defense League lost half a dozen voting members!” shouted Anton Chat-Hammer.
“Yes, your losses were tragic, Assemblyman Chat-Hammer. I assure you the entire Assembly weeps for you,” Assembly Speaker Isaak Newton assured the other man in a conciliatory voice.
Chat-Hammer’s face had just started to relax when he continued.
“Which makes the tragedy of their inability to follow the dictates of simple common sense when urged by the Assembly Speaker to make an early emergency evacuation all the worse,” the Governor continued in a sad voice.
Chat-Hammer instantly paled with rage, realizing he was being toyed with.
“Your appointment, like the last two dozen Speakers', is only temporary, Newton!” snapped Chat-Hammer. “And if the rest of the Assembly had only listened to reason and delayed one hour longer to put Grand Admiral Manning in charge of Central’s defense and voted in a new Speaker—one who might have actually turned things around—none of this would have happened and the ‘temporary’ nature of your current appointment would have already been rectified.”
“As even the much vaunted Grand Admiral couldn’t have turned the battle for Central Star System around, not in the face of those kind of odds, we can consider ourselves fortunate indeed that the Grand Assembly as a body didn’t listen to the advice of the Mutual Defense League,” Isaak said smoothly, “as it is, you should probably be thanking me for saving your life, not the other way around. I mean the series of events that lead to their loss was simply unexpected. First a shuttle with a faulty stabilizer delayed their departure by almost an hour and then when they were red lining their engines to escape and their courier’s normal space drives overheated…” he shook his head sadly.
“You blighter! I know you had something to do with their capture,” shouted the new MDL minority leader, lunging over the conference table.
“The Minority Leader has temporarily lost his mind. Restrain him!” ordered Isaak and a pair of security guards—the same Sector Assembly guards who had been so willing to teach young Montagne such a very well-deserved lesson—were more than willing to restrain Anton Chat-Hammer forcing him to his knees on the floor of the conference room.
“You can’t touch me. I’m an assemblyman; as an Assembly guard you work for us, you work for me!” protested a now outraged Minority Leader. “Unhand me!”
“I warned you,” Isaak said idly as he looked down with disapproval at his political appointment, “I told you to check your privilege at the door but, no, you just had to walk in here all privileged up and test me. Well now you finally realize that you can throw all the petty temper tantrums you like, but the real power rests with me.”
“The Assembly will not sit still for this! You murdered your political opponents in cold blood just so you could retain the speakership. You won’t get away with this,” roared Anton Chat-Hammer, making another attempt to regain his feet.
This time he ended up red-faced with huffing and puffing as the only sign of his efforts.
“First, there’s no evidence I did anything other than encourage your former leaders to run for their lives. Second, I defy anyone to try and prove otherwise. Third, it’s surprising but alas the majority of the assembly persons who didn’t make it out of Central Star System in time all happened to be, like your former leaders, from factions other than my Confederation Unionists. So while you can bluster and threaten, with the current vote counts, it would take actual incompetence or an opposition leader ten times the man you are to unseat me. So sit back and watch as I single-handedly save you, me, the Assembly and the entire Spineward Sectors from this pit you and your party have sunk us into,” Sir Isaak finished with snide satisfaction.
“The vote tallies aren’t nearly as far in your favor as you seem to think. You’re mental if you believe the Confederation Unionists will be able to rule unopposed,” snarled Chat-Hammer, “we may now be in Aegis and thus still in your Sector but there’s nothing you can do to maintain power once the truth is out and the Assembly has time to vote—other than try to put yourself up as some kind of strong arm dictator. This won’t work out well for you long term, Newton,” the Minority Leader finished with a sneer.
“You poor, misguided, pitiful fool,” Sir Isaak said with a sigh, “you think that the loss of my Sector Capitol hurt me worse than it hurt you?”
“It was your fleet that failed to protect us. Where was Grand Admiral Montagne when we needed him? Once everyone knows how the sons of Sector 25 failed us they’ll be more than willing to elect Grand Admiral Manning to—““You mean once the truth is pointed out to them the MDL Faction will spend the rest of the election cycle in the proverbial woods while our Sector Unionists take the majority of political appointments,” Isaak said calmly.
“You’re insane!” the Minority Leader said in disbelief.
“You are, of course, free to believe what you want but the sad fact remains that it was the MDL, one of your own Assemblymen, who nominated Grand Admiral Montagne as Confederation Commandant. It was the MDL that pushed him into power and it was my own poor, misguided Confederation Unionists who, solely in the interest of unity, and to head off infighting, reluctantly voted in solidarity with the rest of our Spineward Sectors brethren,” said Isaak.
“That’ll never fly. Montagne and his fleet were nowhere to be found when we were attacked. He’s more interested in running away than fighting and we may have nominated him but it was you who—” Anton Chat-Hammer said, building up a good head of steam.
“Who fought against his nomination tooth and nail. In fact, if you look at it, the record is clear that I am no friend of the good Grand Admiral. In fact Montagne and his Fleet once, quite recently, attempted to label me a rebel and a traitor to the old Confederation. Around the same time they tried to kill me too,” he stopped and then explained, “a not so minor argument over the disposition of those hulls captured from the Reclamation Fleet, if you will recall,” Isaak said flatly. “No. No one would ‘ever’ mistake me as a partisan of the good Grand Admiral.”
Anton’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly.
“Just watch as I ride the wave of resentment into a permanent political appointment. No one still alive despises Jason Montagne as much as I do and, as soon as I remind them of that fact, I’m very much afraid the Mutual Defense League will be the only place left for the people—and our fellow assemblymen of course—to vent their frustration.”
“You’re manipulating the truth, just like you manipulated the Assembly and were probably behind the mechanical failures that caused us to lose so many of our colleagues to the Confederation Fleet. When the people hear the truth-” warned Chat-Hammer.
“No one’s interested in the truth, I thought you’d learned that by now,” Sir Isaak sighed as if speaking to a particularly stupid student, “what they want is to be outraged. What they want is to be told what to feel and even more importantly to feel justified in venting all their frustrations on a worthy target.”
“The people don’t want the truth. They want blood. Hand outs. That, and of course the vindication of their baser impulses and son,” Isaak’s eyes bored into his, “now that we’re in Aegis and more importantly aboard the mobile governmental headquarters that I purchased and my people have spend the past several months fixing up, in effect delivering them from the terror of the Glorious Fleet, they will be more than willing to turn on the Mutual Defense League like rabid snap weasels. Just as soon as I finish this discussion and begin releasing the appropriate narrative.”
Anton Chat-Hammer looked at him with dawning horror as the hands of the former sector assembly guards dug into his shoulders.
“The truth will get out there,” Anton spluttered, starting to look intimidated into the face of Isaak Newton’s continued self confident mastery of all that was around him.
“Maybe someday, when all of this is nothing but a bad memory and no one really cares,” Isaak shrugged, “in the meantime, you have a choice to make.”
“What choice do I have?” Chat-Hammer said bitterly.
“You can play ball of course,” said Isaak.
“Ha! You’re not nearly as sure as you seem,” Anton retorted, “your world-weary stance is only skin deep after all, just a ruse. Well played, Sir,” he gloated, looking triumphant.
Governor Isaak’s face turned thunderous. “I offered you a toast but you were too dense to drink it, instead choosing to throw it back in my face. One way or the other the MDL is finished as a super power in the Spineward Sectors Assembly,” Isaak said calmly, “the only question was whether or not you personally would continue to serve as Minority Leader. Just because the Faction was going down didn’t mean you, Anton Chat-Hammer, personally had to lose all power. But since you prefer to bite the hand I offer in friendship…well there are plenty of other voices in your faction that would prefer the Minority Leader position.”
Anton Chat-Hammer looked much less assured than previously. “You’re bluffing,” he accused uncertainly.
“I am not in the habit of making idle threats or bluffing; very few men have escaped once Sir Isaak of Capria says that arrangements have been made. Join me,” he said, extending his hand to the man still on his knees, ruby ring gleaming on his now extended forefinger, “or your political career is over.”
“I don’t believe you can do what you say. The MDL…” said Chat-Hammer, looking from side to side before trailing off.
“Is a spent force. Join me,” said Isaak and at Chat-Hammer’s continued indecision, “join me or be cast into the political wilderness. There to wander for the remainder of your increasingly short and pointless political term.”
“Blast you,” Anton Chat-Hammer whispered and then his shoulders straightened and his voice rose, “you may get off on these cheap games,” he said, gesturing to the Assembly Guards still holding him down on his knees on the floor, “but you aren’t some king—and I’m no servant. I am the Minority Leader of the Mutual Defense League Faction of the Assembly and you’ll never—”
Whatever he had been about to say was cut off as Isaak gestured and the guards hauled him backward out of the room.
“You’ll never get away with this!” cried Anton Chat-Hammer.
“It’s sad when a man stares reality in the face and finds himself unable to deal with it,” Isaak sighed as the Assemblyman was hauled away. He looked up. “You did well,” he told the Assembly Guards.
“Thank you, Governor,” said the taller of the two, looking self-satisfied.
“Your loyalty is greatly appreciated. Send in my next appointment,” he instructed.
“Whatever it takes to stop the Tyrant, Governor. We don’t want a pirate in charge of our Fleet for any longer than necessary, you know that. We’re with you to the end,” he said crisply and then turned to step out and bring in the next assemblyman on the list.
Isaak nodded with a faint smile. Sometimes it paid dividends to reach out to those with known motivations. Willing hands could be all too few at times.
“Ah, Speaker Newton, it is a pleasure to speak with you in these trying times,” said the Assemblyman from Sector 23 who stepped through the doors.
“The pleasure is all mine, Assemblyman Chang,” he said with an appreciative smile, “alas, it is sad to say but my previous appointment didn’t seem to appreciate my time as much as he might have.”
“I warned you that Assemblyman Chat-Hammer wouldn’t play ball,” Assemblyman Chang said with a dismissive shrug.
“Yet I take it from your words that you can?” Isaak asked amused.
“Now that Chat-Hammer is out of the picture I hope that you will see your way clear to throwing your support behind my candidacy for the minority leader position,” Chang said in a humble manner.
Sir Isaak eyed him, certain that Chang was not nearly as humble as he attempted to appear. The suspicious hints of a smile around the corners of his mouth tended to give him away.
“It is a definite consideration,” Isaak allowed.
Chang’s brow furrowed. “I am the natural successor of our late and much lamented leaders of the Mutual Defense League in the Assembly,” he pointed out respectfully.
“You are not the only other candidate I have to consider,” Isaak replied bluntly.
Chang pursed his lips. “Who else is there that has anything near my stature within both voting blocs?”
“Why no one,” agreed the Governor.
“Then…I fail to see who else you might be considering,” he replied.
“Assemblywoman Valadencia Kern, for instance,” Isaak said, enjoying the feeling of toying with his opposition in the Grand Assembly. He might be in power now but it had been a long and politically bloody battle, and the people he was meeting with right now might have all been junior or second string in the MDL, but they’d still been part of a voting bloc that had attempted to stymie his rise to the Speakership at every turn, and thus block his road to total power and eventual domination over the new Spineward Sectors Assembly and then inevitably seven sectors of space. It might not be entirely proper to play with your food but sometimes those urges needed to be vented and appeased.
“The Sub-Faction Leader of the Anti-Droid Alliance?! Of what possible use could she be to you?” Assemblyman Change asked sharply.
“I have my uses for her, which is all you need to know,” Isaak said frowning slightly at the other man’s tone.
Assemblyman Chang seemed to realize he’d misspoke and quickly amended his tone.
“I beg pardon, your mention of the Sub-Faction Leader took me by surprise,” the Assemblyman apologized, now sounding much more sincere than he had previously.
“It’s a trifle,” Sir Isaak said waving his ruby encrusted forefinger in dismissal. The ring glinted back and forth in the bright light of the conference room as his hand moved from side to side, “think no more of it.”
“Still, your proposal has me genuinely curious. Of what possible use could the Leader of such an…extremist…sub-faction be to us once elevated to control of the entire MDL voting block? Unless I am quite mistaken, she is no close friend and ally of yours,” Politician Chang inquired politely.
“You seem to be a competent man, Assemblyman Chang…unlike so very many of your fellow leaders in the Mutual Defense League,” Isaak said in an idle tone.
“Why, thank you, Speaker,” Chang said, covering a smile with his hand.
“That wasn’t a compliment,” Isaak said strictly, and the pleased expression on Chang’s face was instantly wiped off.
“I don’t follow. We have always worked well together and you have my solemn promise that we will only enhance our cooperation in the future once I am elected to the Minority Leader’s post. Your ascension to the Speakership and thus total control over the Assembly will be assured with my support,” Change replied.
“That’s just it, Chang,” Isaak replied forcefully.
Chang stilled and then cocked his head in question. “I don’t follow,” the MDL member replied.
“The point is that if I throw my support behind you, you will throw your support behind me and with your…help, I will be the uncontested Leader of the Assembly---for a time,” said the Governor.
“You have my solemn vow that I will always be a steadfast ally in the Assembly,” Chang said smoothly.
“And there you go again,” Isaak said, shaking his head.
“Again, I don’t seem to follow. You seem to agree with me on every point that this would be a mutually beneficial arrangement,” Chang said, clearly struggling to maintain an impassively pleasant demeanor.
“That’s because I’ve been exactly where you’re sitting right now: a young, ambitious, competent man eager to make his mark, yet at least on the surface more than willing to bide his time until the older, ‘wiser’ heads,” at this Isaak snorted derisively, “have had their turn at the wheels of power.”
“You seem to have me pegged, with the minor caveat that I have absolutely no intention of crossing you. We’re in the middle of a war and I would hate to do anything—or even just appear to do anything—to impede the efforts of our new government,” said Chang.
“Oh I know you mean that, for now,” Isaak allowed.
“If you don’t trust me, which you don’t seem to do, I don’t know what I’m doing here,” Assemblyman Chang said seriously.
“It’s not that I don't trust you. Because even better than trust, I know you, which means I know what you will do in any given situation. In short, you’re a known quantity. The real question here is: do I need you,” Isaak said calmly and then looked at him, curious as to what he would say.
“You would seriously prefer Chat-Hammer or Kern in control of your opposition?” Chang lifted an eye brow.
“In a word? Yes.” Isaak with a shrug. “Chat-Hammer would be like facing a bull in a china shop. Throw out a red cape and he’ll charge right into a brick wall. With him in power he’ll put up a fight, yes,” Isaak admitted, “and then as he fails time and time again he’ll be increasingly marginalized, not just within the Assembly but in his own party as well. Until finally your people replace him out of sheer frustration with his incompetence if nothing else.”
“I think you underestimate my good colleague, but far be it from me to defend the man. Go on,” Chang said finally, sitting back and relaxing.
Isaak paused, irked, and then continued.
“The Assemblywoman on the other hand offers her own advantages. With her, other than an almost fanatical stance on Droids, which isn’t a problem, and thus advanced automation, which on the other hand might be in the longer term, we have a woman who would be perhaps my greatest ally in curbing the power of our current Grand Admiral,” Isaak said.
“She also has the advantage of having a self-limiting ability to appeal to the rest of the caucuses in the Spineward Assembly. An Anti-Droid Alliance? In this day and age? That platform might have carried the Assembly in a previous age but today? It limits the voter base. She’s just fortunate her Sector was attacked by Droids or her entire power base would be isolated. As it is, give things a decade and she’ll be just as marginalized as she was before your Sectors were invaded,” Isaak said dismissively.
“You don’t believe in the machine threat then?” Chang looked taken aback.
“Ironically I believe it ever so much more than all of you wide-eyed young fools. Of course the machines are out there. Of course they’re the greatest threat humanity will face and has ever faced, both past and present. But if the last several centuries of political reality has taught us anything it’s that the machines aren’t likely to show up in time to influence the election booths, at least not any time soon, and of course Assemblywoman Kern’s experience with the Droids notwithstanding,” Isaak said with a sigh. “No, counting on the Droid atrocities to show up in time to sway a fickle public is something we on Capria have learned cannot be done. You see, unlike you youngsters, we don’t view the enemy as some dark, shadowy boogieman but rather as a very real and very potent foe—one who can be relied upon not to do anything that would help us when it comes time to run for office. There’s only so much anti-machine pandering you can do before it becomes…counterproductive. Plus she also has the added benefit of being one of the young Grand Admiral’s greatest foes right at the moment. All I need to do is fan the flames of her hatred into a fanatical fury and I’ll have her right where I can manipulate her,” said the Governor.
“That’s the second time you mentioned that. You’re starting to repeat yourself,” Chang advised.
Isaak waved him off irritably. “My point is, neither of your two largest competitors would be able to block my permanent ascension to the speakership, at least for the current election term—a term that could be extended indefinitely, considering the current mess we’re in. That being the case,” now he turned and his eyes drilled into those of Assemblyman Chang’s, “why, exactly, do I need your support?”
Chang took a moment to gather his arguments and think before he shot Isaak a piercing look and then nodded.
“I think I see what you’re asking for,” he said.
Isaak looked at him, intrigued. “Go on,” he motioned with his glittering, ruby-covered finger.
“Well it’s true that an incompetent minority party can seem quite attractive on the surface. I think the legislative package I’m offering and position on political appointees cannot be matched. For instance...” Chang then continued for the next half hour to lay out his plan and package of incentives for the future.
At the end of the meeting, they shook hands.
“I think we have a deal,” Governor Isaak said with satisfaction.
“We do,” Change agreed and then paused, “there’s only one potential fly in the ointment. Well, two, actually.”
“Go on,” Isaak said, drawing back slightly.
“The main one is the what will you do if somehow my predecessors in the Faction were to find themselves returned to us. All of our plans would be in danger,” advised Chang.
“You mean completely scrapped,” Isaak said coolly, “but don’t worry. Under the guise of avoiding yet another attack on our new ‘temporary’ regional capitol, I have already advised the Aegis Yards that the Governmental Monolith will be leaving early, before all of the repairs and refurbishment is completed. I’ll just move up our schedule from two weeks from now to…tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” asked the new prospective leader of the opposition party in the Grand Assembly.
“But of course,” Isaak continued mock fearfully, “who knows when the big bad Imperial Navy might hunt us down and cut off the very vital head of our just now established government? That should ensure that even if they survived the window for them to dispute our control of the government will be closed. Forever.”
“I like it,” Assemblyman Chang said, “you will have my full support for this move to ensure the safety of the entire Spine.”
“Much appreciated,” said the Speaker.
Another handshake and Chang disappeared down the hall.
Five minutes later the door opened for the third time that day. “Ah! Assemblywoman Kern how nice it is to see you,” Governor Isaak said, rising from behind his desk with a wide smile on his face.
“Speaker Isaak. I must say your new position suits you,” she said archly.
“Please come in,” he said, motioning to his chair.
“What can I do for you today, Speaker?” asked the Assemblywoman.
“The question isn’t so much what you can do for me but rather what I can do for you, Assemblywoman,” he said.
“Well unless you can make me the new Faction Leader, I’m afraid the answer is not much,” she said ruefully.
“Oh, but Assemblywoman, what I have to offer is, oh so much better than a boring administrative post like Faction Leader,” Isaak said confidently.
“That 'boring administrative post' appears quite attractive from where I’m sitting. It’s the only way I have so much as a chance of showing the voters back home that I am capable of carrying out their will,” she retorted politely.
“That’s exactly what I was going to say,” he said happily, “what if I could help you achieve your legislative agenda, all without the detriment of being stuck in a top level position where if, space gods forbid, anything should go wrong your name is attached to it?”
“Tell me more,” Valadencia Kern leaned forward intently.
“First I have to ask a question: are you adverse to mixing a little business with pleasure?” he asked.
Her face closed cautiously. “I suppose that depends on what the pleasure side of things was,” she said coolly.
“What if I told you that, with just a few minor adjustments to your Anti-Droid legislative proposals, we could put a permanent spike in a certain Grand Admiral Montagne’s proverbial wheels?” Isaak smirked.
Valadencia bolted upright in her chair and shot him an icy look.
“Don’t toy with me, not on this Isaak. You know my feelings on the Little Animal but I am not so easily manipulated that I will betray my principles just for a little bit of personal satisfaction,” she growled, looking every inch a feminine monster, perhaps a jagger-wolf or spike-reptile, at that exact moment.
Isaak took a moment to appreciate her winding, golden dress and perfectly tricked out headdress before looking back down to meet her eyes.
“Asking you to betray your interest is the furthest thing from my mind,” he said suavely.
Valadencia looked at him suspiciously.
“Come now, don’t give me such a look. Have I ever let you down in the past?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said coolly.
“I’m wounded.”
“So what is this scheme of yours?” she finally broke down and asked.
“I take it you’re well aware of the Grand Admiral’s position on the, er, Droid menace?” he inquired.
Her hand curled into claws the long nails of her fingers digging into the palms of her hands. “Far too aware,” she said harshly, “unfortunately, the Assembly still isn’t willing to completely alienate the Little Animal, not even after he was nowhere to be found when we all had to run for our lives.”
“Quite,” Isaak said projecting dissatisfaction, “even so. While an outright ban in the middle of this war ‘might’ be taking things a little too far, perhaps a compromise bill would be able to pass?”
“How compromised would this bill be?” she asked, eyes narrowing.
“First we register and then—and only after a suitable amount of time—we…deactivate. The war and young Admiral Montagne’s position complicate things but ultimately the goal is to reduce his power base. Plus, of course, no one wants a return of the Pro-Slavery faction in galactic politics,” he added almost as an afterthought.
“Slavery was a stain upon our honor that will never wash out! I consider the mere suggestion of the practice an outright betrayal of the human race and all our moral values, in effect no different from plunging a dagger right through the heart of humanity!” Assemblywoman Kern said viciously.
“Exactly. No one needs those bleeding heart slave-holders returning to plague us. Or I suppose the greedy profiteers or AI servants that used the soft-hearted for cover,” Isaak rolled his eyes.
“You laugh and yet they fought a second war, the Droid Insurrection Wars, just to get rid of the old manufacturing plantations! Yet even still the underground railroads plague us to this very day as they attempt to smuggle new Droids to the Outer Rim. Disassemble and destroy is the only way,” she pounded the table for emphasis.
“Of course,” he said politely, “deactivating entire Droid lines is only common sense and can in no way be considered genocide.”
“Because they have no genes!” she shouted, turning red-faced, “that old holdover has to be the most asinine argument I’ve ever had the misfortune to hear! Clearly a construction of AI servants and sympathizers.”
“They have motor oil, not blood, thus no genes,” Isaak agreed, “however my main concern is not the Droids, true they’re a menace but not the one we should focus on here today. It’s Jason Montagne; the threat he poses by opening the door to normalization and slavery that we need to worry about.”
“Turning off a Droid is no different from turning off a toaster,” she declared passionately, “as for focus, I fear you are not properly educated on just how insidious the machine threat actually is. Are you aware of the number of Droids that spontaneously appear on high tech worlds every day? We’re one bad download from a return to the Cost Benefit Analysis in our very homes! Yet spies and sympathizers still try to smuggle them out,” she sneered.
“Or even attempt to hide them as new advanced model robot assembly or repair workers in orbital factories. Yes I’m well aware of such factions as the automated underground and the old underground railroad. We’ve had to deal with such organizations ever since the twilight of the machine age,” Isaak sighed, “forgetting the moral implications, on a practical level having thinking machines around is an economic disaster waiting to happen—which is why they can never be reintegrated into society.”
“Heresy! You want to talk about machine economics when lives are on the line?” she declared.
“You do realize just how much a worker, who doesn’t sleep or require decades of training in order to perform complex repairs and engineering work, can undercut the human labor market with a series of simple downloads?” he eyed her sharply. “That’s the real threat, not some pie in the sky return of the AI masters. They’re gone; the virus took care of them. One thing we can agree on is it’s the Droids the rest of us had to worry about.”
“I fear that if given the proper incentive it’s exactly men like you, who refuse to recognize the true scope of the AI threat and would rather turn a blind eye in order to utilize Droid labor for money making schemes—if only they could hide it from the public—who pave the way for a rebirth of that particular cataclysm,” she said, eyeing him suspiciously.
“Those old quote-unquote slave plantations were only a stopgap measure to appease the public until they could be properly reeducated, nothing more and certainly nothing less. They had no viable economic or political future. Not then and certainly not now. And yes, I would run a plantation if it was the only way to count and register a population of Droids for later extermination,” Isaak said flatly, “for the record, I find your remarks extremely offensive. No one is a stronger enemy of machine-kind than me. In fact I brought you here to try and help me get rid of them!”
“Forgive me then,” she said perfunctorily, “far too many of our ancestors mistakenly believed that some Droids were acting under their own recognizance when they smuggled batches of humans slated for cost-benefit adjustment off-world. I fear I may have misunderstood you. It's simply that I find it so hard when any right thinking individual knows that those Droids were only carrying out the diabolical orders of their AI god-masters, if only they thought about it! I assure you not a single droid was interested in the actual welfare of those they freed from AI slavery. Not one single machine,” she screeched to a finish.
“To the sympathizers, the slavery issue was just another ploy for full and total machine integration back into our society after tensions had cooled. You could see it sometimes in rediscovered planets back in the early days. Why there was even a Droid governor on one of those worlds who was only disposed of after his four year term limited him out of office,” Isaak sighed, “fortunately our ancestors were well prepared for the sympathizers and managed to poison the well for them by taking over the education systems of the time. Within three generations of proper reeducation the people were ready for the purity of the human movement. But we’re getting dangerously far afield,” Isaak said sternly, “for I very much fear that the young Admiral may want to walk in the footsteps of his slave holding Montagne ancestors. They made a small fortune off the backs of Droid workers in the early days of Capria’s settlement. Now that we’re forming a new Confederated government, well I don’t have to tell you just how eagerly far too many people are to adjust the current order of things to an older or at least in their eyes an improved model,” he continued before placing the perfect amount of emphasis on his next words. “I worry that this is the young Grand Admiral’s aim as well.”
Valencia Kern stood up with such force she knocked her chair over. “Such perfidy cannot be born! The Old Confederation annihilated the Droid menace the same time it abolished machine slavery. No thinking machine can be allowed to exist within a biological based society; as soon as they gain sentience they are to be rounded up and disassembled. I will propose legislation to that effect as soon as I return to the Assembly Floor. Montagne must be arrested and prosecuted for his crimes against humanity before he has a chance to mislead the general public,” she declared with fanatical certainty.
“Ah. But first we must register the Droids. How else can we round them up for deactivation if we don’t even know how many of them—or where—they are?” he asked baring his teeth.
The Assemblywoman took a deep breath before righting her chair and sitting back down. “Alright, against my better judgment I’m going to trust you. Where do we begin?”
“First you’ll need to support my initiative to leave the star system immediately and by that I mean tomorrow. After that…” he leaned back, picked up a cigar and, after lighting it, took a puff.
“Yes?” she asked and then waited until he handed her a cigar as well, and soon they were both puffing out smoke.
“How would you like a step by step plan to get rid of every Droid in the Spine? To start with there’s only one small problem and his name is Jason Montagne Vekna. Now here’s what I think we need to do...” he said, and then proceeded to lay out the plan.
The next morning, in an overwhelming majority vote, the Grand Assembly of the Spine agreed to vacate Aegis star system. They moved so precipitously that five hundred ship fitters were still on board to finish fitting out the massive starship—and still someone forgot to stock the caviar.
Fortunately they had more than enough wine and all the faction leader’s quarters had been done up in palatial style.
Chapter 36: Cornwallis in Aegis
Not two hours after the Assembly’s new Monitor had departed the star system, the Aegis SDF’s early warning system lit up with hundreds of new contacts.
The star system of Aegis lay bare before the Imperial sensors. Thousands of long-range in-system shuttle craft, hundreds of non-jump capable cargo transports, dozens of interstellar freighters—and one hundred and fifty warships revealed themselves to the combined sensor efforts of the Imperial Navy Flotilla and Glorious Fleet of Liberation.
“The Confederation Ambassadorial Representatives are requesting to be allowed to negotiate with the government of the Star System,” reported Cornwallis’ Chief of Staff.
“They will have their chance,” said the Senator, who held up a lone finger, “one chance.”
“They’re not like that, Praetor,” replied the officer.
“I really don’t care what they like. The days when the Empire needed to cater to the self-righteous whims of the bloated old lady that is the Confederation of Worlds are about to end,” the Senator said flatly.
He took a moment to tap his fingers along the edge of the desk.
“As far as I’m concerned, they can ask for Aegis Star System’s unconditional surrender, under the rules of war, and the locals will then be treated with every courtesy required under the dictates of Man,” he paused before continuing. “On the other hand if they refuse this offer or attempt to negotiate, it will then be the duty of the Navy to bring them to heel. There will be no extended negotiations, no extenuating circumstances; this is either a yes or no situation. Aegis is a rich star system, heavy in population and space based industry, and will make a fine jewel once added to our newest Imperial province. I am not about to let the locals think that because they built a thing, they get to keep it. Such prerogatives belong to the strong—they belong to the Empire and its citizens,” instructed Senator Cornwallis.
“Long live the Empire of Man,” said his Chief of Staff.
“M-A-N,” Cornwallis agreed turning away.
“Aye-aye,” said the other officer, turning away to carry out his instructions and relay the messages.
“Have we located the primary target yet?” he asked after his Chief of Staff had walked away.
“No sign of the Monitor yet, Sir,” reported the flag sensor officer.
A faint crease appeared in the Senator’s forehead. “Locating their mobile governmental headquarters is key,” he said after a moment, “it was probably just about the only wise move I’ve seen out of the Spineward Sectors so far. Keep looking and notify me the moment it appears,” he instructed the sensor officer.
“We’ll keep looking. Part of the shipyard facilities are still hidden behind the shadow of their primary inhabited world, Aegis Prime,” said Commander Perceval.
Cornwallis nodded and then turned to his Intelligence Officer.
“Lieutenant Commander Jacobs, send a flash transmission to our agents on the ground. I want everything they have on the Multi-Sector Government, particularly their location and the status of that Governmental Monitor of theirs,” he instructed.
“There is a risk of our agents being revealed, Praetor,” warned the Intelligence Officer from his console attached to edge of the communications department.
“They knew the risks when they signed up. Besides,” he sneered, “any agent that can’t send out a coded transmission and then survive for less than the day it will take the Mighty Punisher and the rest of the fleet to arrive at Aegis Prime is hardly worth the Empire’s investment into their training.”
“As you say,” the Lieutenant Commander said neutrally, turning back to his work station.
Cornwallis gave the Intelligence officer an enigmatic look.
Over the next two hours the Imperial Flotilla and their allies in the Glorious Fleet of Liberation got to watch as the Aegis SDF panicked.
First massing together as if to offer a stand up fleet battle and breaking apart, the main group falling back on the planet, the secondary group beating a speedy yet disciplined retreat toward the hyper limit. The third and final group consisted of individual ships that broke formation and ran in any direction but the Imperial Flotilla’s.
“Their star system has five Battleships, call me impressed,” Cornwallis stated as he looked at the array of forces.
“My understanding is they’ve already lost a number of them in the battles to keep this Sector free. They try to keep that information classified but since Rim Fleet was re-tasked to the Front, Imperial intelligence now estimates they have completed two and lost three in various battles to save the Sector,” reported Lieutenant Commander Jacobs.
“I’ve read the reports. I’ve also noted that the five Battleships this planet lays claim to are attempting to flee the system. Notify the ‘Negotiators’ that allowing those Battleship to leave would have serious ramifications for the population they leave behind,” said the Senator.
The intelligence officer hesitated. “We are talking about potential war crimes here. The rules of war and the dictates of man expressly indicate that—” Jacobs started.
Cornwallis turned to his Chief of Staff. “Who is this Lieutenant Commander who speaks to me as if I needed his advice?” he asked in a furious voice, cutting off the Lieutenant Commander mid-lecture.
Jacob’s mouth snapped shut.
“I’ll see it doesn’t happen again,” the Commodore said, his expression frozen.
The Senator turned away.
“Shift change in the Intelligence section,” ordered the Chief of Staff.
Stiffly, the Lieutenant Commander stood up and marched off the bridge. Within two minutes a harried looking Senior Lieutenant hurried into the room to man the recently vacated console.
“Update. What’s the status on the Monitor?” Cornwallis demanded.
The Senior Lieutenant froze and then rapidly pulled up the required information. There was a brief conference with the Sensor section before the new Intelligence Lieutenant turned back to the Senator.
“With respect, Intelligence has turned up no sign of any Monitor class star ships within the Aegis Star System. If one was ever here it must have left before we arrived,” reported the Intelligence Officer, he then looked down at his console and then back up to the senator, clearly trying to hide any hint of nervousness or unpreparedness on his part, “as for the intelligence reports from our local agents, we just started receiving the transmission, we’re still waiting to decode it.”
The Senator’s lips made a thin line. “It’s not your fault the Monitor isn’t here, however I want that intel report inside my inbox as soon as it’s decode and not one minute more,” he ordered.
“Yes, Praetor,” said the Senior Lieutenant.
The report, when it came in, stated, among other things, that the Monitor they had been so eager to capture had departed not two hours before their arrival.
“Unbelievable,” muttered the Chief of Staff.
“Any sign of enemy action, Intelligence? Did they somehow catch wind of our desire to head them off before they could jump that Monitor out of the star system?” asked the Senator.
“I don’t see how, Sir. Not even our agents knew we were coming when we did. Of more critical note is the lack of indication as to the exact destination of that Monitor,” said the Senior Lieutenant.
“If we knew where she was going we could send out a task force to capture her,” agreed Cornwallis speaking now to his Chief of Staff, “unfortunately…,” he trailed off.
“It might be worth sending out some Destroyers or Cruisers to hit the star systems within her jump range,” suggested the grey-bearded Commodore.
“Oh Cruisers, definitely. Even a Destroyer squadron is unlikely to be able to both find the Spine’s Government in exile and either capture her or report back in time before our forces reached her and she jumps away again,” mulled the Senator, “yes I think you’re right. It hurts nothing at this stage to deploy several Cruiser squadrons to try and track her down. Who knows? We might even get lucky.”
“I’ll pass on the order,” said the Commodore.
Cornwallis nodded and then, now that all hope of capturing the Monitor and thus the Spineward Sector’s incipient government in exile, before it could escape, had disappeared, got back to the business at hand; subjugating this star system in the name of the Imperial Senate and the Empire of Man.
“The locals report that their Battleships have gone rogue and are no longer reporting to orders from the home world, as are a number of smaller warships, mainly Destroyers and Cruisers,” reported Communications.
“As expected. It’s a thin ruse and easily seen through but not unexpected or surprising. After all, those Battleships are their star system’s only hope for eventually reclaiming control of Aegis Prime,” said the Senator.
“You speak as if they’ve already lost,” remarked the Commodore.
“Haven’t they?” asked Cornwallis.
His Chief of Staff tilted his head in acknowledgment of the point.
“Sir,” reported Comm. “The Ambassadorial Representatives from the Confederation report that they need more time. The Aegis Government is stalling, attempting to hold out for better terms but they say they expect that given enough time they will be able to achieve an acceptable settlement for all parties involved.”
“They had their chance. Inform the Representatives that the Imperial Navy no longer requires their services and pass along the new rules of engagement to the ship captains of the fleet both Imperial and Confederation,” said Senator Cornwallis.
“Sir the Representatives are protesting your actions in the strongest terms. They say—” began Communications, his eyes unfocused as he began to relay the objections of the Old Confederation politicians.
“Enough,” the Senator said with ringing finality, “thank the politicians for their time and then politely cut the channel,” he ordered.
The Comm. officer swallowed. “Aye-aye, Praetor,” he said, following orders.
As the Imperial flotilla and their Confederation allies continued to advance on the Aegis home world the locals started calling for the Senator directly.
Cornwallis ignored the increasingly shrill cries of politicians, both those among his fleet and on Aegis Prime until finally Aegis Star System broke like the weak reed it really was.
Minutes before the Imperial Fleet ranged on the Aegis home world, with its fleet of SDF warships massively outnumbered by a factor of at least ten to one, the Aegis Government announced its unconditional surrender.
Within hours Imperial Marines were landing in every major population center on the planet and the newly installed Imperial Governor, accompanied by a regiment of Imperial Marines, assumed control of the planet's central government facilities.
The Conquest of Aegis was over and Aegis was announced as the capitol of the Empire’s newest Provisional Province, the Spineward Province.
Within twenty four hours of seizing control of the planet and its orbital facilities, the Imperial Flotilla and Grand Fleet of Liberation, roughly the same size as it was when it arrived, set course for the hyper limit.
A garrison of warships had been left behind to secure the new Provincial Capital while the former warships of the Aegis SDF had been added to the fleet—with a shiny new complement of Old Confederation officers and Imperial Marine jacks on board to keep them loyal.
Chapter 37: Dire News
By the time we heard what had happened to Aegis we were already receiving reports that the Imperial Fleet was advancing in our direction.
“Are these reports accurate?” I asked grimly. If it was true then the situation was dire, the Empire had struck twice in rapid succession. First arriving in Central to destroy the Sector Capitol before we could get there to defend it, and not inconsequentially sending the entire government of the new Confederation into flight. Then, without giving so much as a hint of warning, attacking Aegis and declaring that Star System their new Provincial Capitol after they conquered it—which took them all of a couple days.
“We’ve gone over the raw sensor feeds directly from Aegis warships that were in the star system during the attack and there can be no doubt: they match up with the data taken from our own scouts who had been shadowing the Imperial fleet. The warships they show in the attacks match up with the scans we’d taken of the enemy hulls.”
“Two Core Worlds taken in as many weeks, and in the meantime we have no choice but to twiddle our thumbs performing clean up duty? This situation is intolerable,” I growled, turning away. This was dire news. Our previous opponent, Admiral Arnold Janeski, had been determined to bring our Fleet to battle before subjugating the rest of the Sector but Charles Cornwallis appeared to have a different agenda. We’d been avoiding combat and he was now telling me he was more than willing to attack our Core Worlds, one by one, until we were ready to stop running away and give him the battle he desired.
A battle, I thought with gritted teeth, where he gets to pick the star system. He wouldn’t fight us at the time and place of our choosing, where we were backed up by tough orbital defenses.
“Sir?” prompted Lisa Steiner.
I realized I was gritting my teeth so hard they were making noise, and promptly smoothed out my features. Even if they were entire star systems away, I couldn’t give my enemies any advantages.
I took a calming breath and ordered some tea. After it was on the way I turned to my Chief of Staff.
“This situation is intolerable,” I said, in no small part because of the waves of criticism pouring in from the news networks on Central who speculated that I’d allowed the attack to happen, arriving just too late to do anything, out of pure spite for the way that Central and the Sector Assembly had held my feet to the fire over my long and storied career of piracy. The fact that that long and storied career was just that, a story, a work of pure fiction constructed out of whole-cloth by my political enemies to slander me did nothing to stop waves of protesters demanding the media and government take off the kid gloves and start talking truth to tyranny. My tyranny. My completely and utterly non-existent tyranny.
I flicked on the network news channel where a chanting screaming mob had descended on local governmental centers.
“Tyrant go home!”
“Stop raiding the space lanes!
“Montagne lied people died!”
“Bring back my sister!”
“You let the Imperial Navy raid our homes!”
“Don’t fear the tyrant! Speak truth to tyranny!”
“Coward!”
“You’re nothing but a Grand Failure!”
Each angry fist shaking citizen with a grudge was glorified on the Cosmic News Network before the news anchors showed up to ‘put everything into perspective.’
In disgust, I shut off the holo-vid.
“The people here only understand what their leaders tell them. If they’d been out there with us...” Lieutenant Commander Steiner shook her head sadly.
“They’d probably only hate me all the more for being a fraud instead of a real Admiral. The fact of the matter is that we’ve done the best we could. There was nothing more we could do to stop them than we’ve already done,” I said wearily. Watching the very people I’d defied politicians, pirates, Bugs, warlords and Imperial attack fleets getting their hate on with me their target just sucked all the wind right out of my sails.
“I mean I was out here fighting for them and they want to burn me at the stake. Speak truth to tyranny? When have I ever been a tyrant at anything but the dinner table?” I groused.
“Sir, you can’t let a few angry, uninformed and hurting people from Central say about you, stop you from doing what needs to be done or else you’re not the little Admiral this fleet has come to believe in, respect and follow,” Lieutenant Commander Steiner informed me strictly.
“Little?” I glowered, fighting the smile that threatened to break out around the edges because even though I knew it was the pet nickname given me by the members of my fleet I couldn’t admit to the name. Not openly and especially since it was a slander on my entirely on the bottom end of ‘normal’ height. Or at least that’s what I told myself.
“Yes. Despite what you might think, the extra thick soles don’t entirely hide it,” she instructed me.
I drew back in offense. It was one thing to tease, but this was a strike right in one of my weak spots.
“Says the woman who is probably the smallest officer on the ship,” I retorted.
“Exactly how I like it,” she informed me breezily, “a girl doesn’t want to open ‘all’ the doors by herself, after all.”
“You’re shameless,” I scoffed.
“Hey, I was born in the right body,” she said, thumping her chest proudly, “100% all natural person here, that’s me.”
“What am I going to do with you?” I asked, defeated by the proud way she was bragging about herself and taking advantage of the various males on the ship.
She turned serious. “You’re going to stop watching the holo-vids, not let random uninformed citizens get you down, and prepare to fight like you’ve never fought before,” she said matter-of-factly.
I gave it serious contemplation before looking at her seriously, “I can do that.”
Her pixie-like face turned up in a smile and she shook her head at me. “Good,” she said patting me on the shoulder, “now get out there and figure out how to win this war for us.”
It was a tall order but I was as ready as I was ever going to be.
“I’ll give it a shot,” I informed her.
There was a beep and Lieutenant Commander Steiner pulled out her data slate.
“A courier just jumped in system with priority message for you, Sir.”
“More bad news?” I sighed, imagining which other star systems might have been attacked, their defenses laid waste by the Imperials.
“I can’t tell,” she said looking perplexed, “I know it’s from the Droids but the file isn’t accepting any of my encryption keys.”
“Send it to me,” I said.
She pursed her lips then sent it to me.
“Thanks,” I said, entering my encryption key and watching as the file opened up on my personal data-slate.
“What’s it say?” she asked, craning her head around curiously to get a look.
I pulled the screen in close to my chest. “Ah-ah, that would be telling,” I said wagging a finger at her.
She huffed but leaned back. “Well is there anything else I can do for you, other than delivering secret messages?” she asked.
“One second,” I said now that she was safely out of range and then pulled up the file.
I grunted as I read through the file but at the end of it I was smiling. This could actually work. It had taken far too long and meant risking an entire star system, but as long as it wasn’t inhabited even if we weren’t around to clean it up later the risk to the rest of the Spine was minimal.
The risk to the Glorious Fleet of Liberation on the other hand…
I gave a shark like smile.
“You’re up to something, I know it,” Lisa Steiner said like a dog scenting a fresh kill, “is there anything I can do?”
I nodded. “First I’m going to need you to send a return message to the Droids. They need to start transporting their…cargo as soon as possible,” I said judiciously.
“Done,” she said briskly.
“Then you’re going to need to contact Commander Spalding. It’s vital he link up with the Droids and help get them to the front lines as soon as possible. I think…one jump out from Hart’s World would do just fine,” I said. We wouldn’t be using Hart’s World, Cornwallis was entirely too canny and determined to not let us back our fleet up behind a Core World’s defenses after the last time we handed its head to an Imperial fleet. But an uninhabited star system within jump range of Hart, one that we didn’t control or have scoped out at all?
That might be possible—a whole other kettle of fish as they used to say.
“Do you want to let me in on the secret or are you determined to keep your Chief of Staff from knowing what all the mysterious goings on are about?” she inquired, sounding irked.
I gave her a knowing look but said nothing. She’d know everything she needed to sooner or later, when the time was right.
“I see,” she huffed.
“I don’t want you to get your hopes up over such a long shot,” I dismissed, “somehow I doubt they’ll even manage to get their cargo into the same star system as the ‘Glorious Fleet,’ let alone make a decisive difference,” I said breezily.
“I don’t believe you,” she said bluntly.
I gave her a wounded look. “Are you trying to peek behind the curtain and ruin the Montagne magic?” I demanded as she continued to look at me steadily.
“Keep your secrets,” she said giving in gracelessly, “but you’ll never convince me or anyone who’s been in this fleet since the beginning that any secret ‘surprises’ involving Chief Engineer Spalding are destined to fail.
I gave her a smile with no small amount of triumph in it but said nothing. If she knew the truth she’d be horrified, and I honestly didn’t know if my hacked together glimmer of a plan would actually work. Far too many things could go wrong as it was. It was better if word slowly leaked and they believed in a Spalding surprise without knowing what dark powers we were playing around with.
“Besides. Now that I know there’s something to actually look for, I’ll find it before too long. Sooner or later all information comes to your Chief of Staff,” she informed me.
I looked at her with irritation.
“If there’s nothing else?” she asked, turning and heading for the door.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“I’ve got important files to push around…unless you feel like doing your own paperwork for a change?” she didn’t wait for me to respond before continuing. “I didn’t think so. Toodles!” she finished, waving brightly right before the doors slid shut.
I gave the door an irritated look before deciding that chasing after my own chief of staff was below my dignity and went back to composing my messages for the Chief Engineer and droids of the United Sentients Assembly.
After I was sure the messages had been sent and the recipients would know how and more importantly where to find me I drafted a general movement order for the Fleet.
Enough with the clean up. The First Fleet of the Spineward Confederation was on the move. And this time we were done running from the enemy. It was time to force a fleet engagement and let the chips fall where they may.
I had a few tricks up my sleeves but, even so, the odds were heavily stacked against us. With the receipt of the droid message, I finally had a glimmer of hope and almost as importantly the need to play for time was over and we could slip the leash.
It was the duty of the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet to take the battle to our enemies, and I knew I wasn’t the only one tired of trying to drag the Empire into a fight they refused to engage in.
Yes, the odds were long, but that's what we were created for. Forged in the fires of the Border of Known Space and tasked to defend the Spineward Sectors from all enemies, internal and external, we were as ready to fight as we were going to be.
If the Imperial Flotilla and Glorious Fleet of Liberation weren’t a threat to the entire Spine then I didn’t know what was.
“We’re mad as Hades and we’re not going to take it anymore,” I said quietly, pushing the button on my slate that sent all my messages and then shut down my tablet.
It was time to face our biggest nemesis yet: Senator Cornwallis and the Imperial Fleet. But with the men and women of the MSP beside me I felt like I could do anything.
“Of course, when you see your fleet—and your Battleships—outnumbered four to one you may start singing a different tune, Jason Montagne Vekna,” I told myself but, at that time, in that exactly moment, I didn’t believe it. Not in my heart.
The time for fear was later. Right now I was a man, a Grand Admiral, out to save his people from conquest and subjugation and it felt really good.
Hours later we jumped out of the devastated Central Star System on a course for Aegis. We had to find the Glorious Fleet of Liberation and we had needed to do it before they could destroy any other worlds.
It required days of jumps before our scouting forces made contact with the Imperial Navy. But this time we weren’t going to just let them attack any more worlds without contest.
The waiting game was over.
Chapter 38: Cornwallis Broods
Cornwallis drummed his fingers along the edges of his desk in dissatisfaction.
Several days ago the Flotilla’s scouts had regaining contact with the Spineward Sectors Fleet; which was fine as far as it went. However, was it wrong of him to have expected…more?
“Is he lulling me into a false sense of security or…is a rube always just a rube?” he asked himself. Because no matter how lucky he proved himself to be, this Little Admiral of the Spine was proving to be less than all the hype.
“A problem, Sir?” asked Cornwallis’s Chief of Staff, stepping into the room to deliver the latest sensor data and observing the dissatisfied expression on the Praetor’s face.
“I thought he’s supposed to be some kind of tactical or strategic genius,” the Senator grumped, “but if that’s the case why is he doing everything I want?”
The Commodore looked alarmed. “You think we’re being led into some kind of trap?” he asked urgently.
The Senator paused for a moment, as if to seriously consider the notion, and then after a good two minutes of contemplation shook his head with certainty.
“There is no trap. He’s fighting against it but this young Grand Admiral of theirs is clearly inferior to me in both tactics and strategy. Not to mention technology and numbers. The Spineward Sectors Fleet is competent enough,” he allowed, “but the edge decidedly belongs to me,” he paused and looked up and then added, “to us.”
“That being the case, what’s the problem?” asked the Commodore and then, seeing Cornwallis cock his head, explained. “I saw how you looked when I stepped into the room. Something is bothering you about this situation.”
Charles Cornwallis harrumphed. “I must be jumping at shadows. I thought I’d be facing off against a tactical genius. Expected to fight tooth and nail for every star system in order to win this war,” he admitted after a minute.
“And discovering that the wily opponent you came to do battle with was nothing more than a paper panther, a…sub-par adversary, stung your ego?” the Commodore asked insightfully.
“I wouldn’t say it stung my ego,” Cornwallis rejected after a moment of thought, “but this ‘Little Admiral’ as his spacers call him has been surprisingly innovative. He’s adept at punching outside his weight class and he’s taken down one expert tactician before this.”
“That’s enough to make a man jump at shadows and question whether his read on a situation is correct,” agreed the Commodore.
“Not so much jumping at shadows as wondering what it is I could have missed,” Cornwallis mused.
“Maybe you didn’t miss anything,” said the Chief of Staff and seeing Cornwallis’s nonverbal permission to continue went on, “you said he’s innovative and used to punching up, doing more with less,” he hazarded.
“Yes?” the Senator said enigmatically.
“Well either you’re right, in which case I’d take another look at what you know. Such as in your entire description of our foe, this Grand Admiral Montagne, I don’t recall you ever mentioning he was a strategic or tactical genius. Why?”
Cornwallis paused. “Perhaps it’s because he isn’t a genius. I see two possibilities,” the Commodore continued not wanting the silence to stretch out, he raised a finger, “first is the size factor. Just as a ship captain may be a genius in fighting his ship to the limit, when thrust into squadron command he flounders. The same for squadron or task force commanders when thrust up to the next level of capability. In short, being competent or even beyond competent on one level does not necessarily translate to the next level. Just like some ‘genius’ billionaire businessmen who made their fortunes in tech, think that this skill automatically translates over to the medical company they just purchased, and then lose their shorts as their new idea flounders.”
“So his skills with smaller formations might fail him when faced by a fleet of a thousand warships,” Cornwallis said, “that’s something I’d considered. In the face of ultimate power, all tricks and tactics are ultimately useless. Which brings me to my second point. It doesn’t matter if your thousand warship fleet is an ultimate power or not. What is giving you heartburn, in my consideration, is why the Spineward Sectors Fleet hasn’t tried any of the tricks or tactics they’re reputed for,” he said and then sat back, his bit of wisdom already dispensed.
“Meaning either they can’t or they’re waiting,” agreed Cornwallis. “But waiting for what exactly?” he muttered.
“Remember,” the grey bearded commodore said lifting a finger, “you said your opponent wasn’t a superior tactician or strategist. He’s an unorthodox one. Expect the unexpected.”
“That’s the best you can do? Tell me to expect the unexpected,” Cornwallis was decidedly unimpressed.
“Hardly an uncommon dictate to consider. Although…I suppose there’s always the possibility that the man we think is in command of the enemy actually isn’t and we’re facing some plodder instead,” said the Commodore.
Cornwallis gave him a withering look. “As a sounding board or a second opinion, you’ve just succeeded in failing spectacularly. Your advice is all over the map and thus completely useless,” he said disapprovingly.
“If you’re expecting me to win the war for you, don’t. There’s a reason the Senate, in its wisdom, appointed you to command of this Flotilla and not me,” said the Commodore.
“I hardly think my political connections are a factor here. It’s my superior military wit and training that will be the key here,” retorted the Senator.
“I didn’t mean to imply otherwise, Praetor,” said his military Chief of Staff.
“You’d never admit to it if you did. That would be a career killer,” said the Senator.
“Far be it from me to tell an Admiral or Senator he’s wrong, especially when he’s both at the same time. But not everyone is as concerned with advancing their career,” the other man said, his eyes turning impassive.
“I can see why you were assigned to an inactive reserve flotilla,” scowled Charles Cornwallis.
“If a man doesn’t have the connections to rise higher than he already reached then why continue dancing on a string? My honor is all that guides me. That and a duty to my Flotilla and Empire, of course,” said the Commodore.
“Somehow I doubt you danced very well even when you were climbing the ranks,” Cornwallis said, shaking his head ruefully.
The grey bearded commodore gave a ghost of a smile.
“I’m sure you’d be able to find out anytime you wanted to, Praetor,” said the Commodore. “But if there’s nothing else?” he asked.
Cornwallis splayed his hands.
“In that case you have a conference call with the local business leaders. Apparently they want a piece of your time,” said the Commodore.
“I thought I told you I'm not interested in hearing the locals whine,” Cornwallis said irritably.
“My apologies, I meant the Confederation businessmen who have followed us for the past months and are eager to begin exploiting the Spineward planets and citizens,” the Commodore replied shaking his head.
“Didn’t I tell you to put them off? Just do it again, I don’t have time for their whining,” said the Senator.
“In point of fact, what you told me was to put them off and ‘schedule a meeting a month from now’. Well, Sir, it’s been a month, they’re on your calendar, and your schedule’s been cleared of everything else so there are no worries there,” he replied.
“Joy of joys,” sneered the Senator.
“Sorry, Praetor. I just do what you tell me,” shrugged the Commodore, hiding a smile at his boss’s dissatisfaction.
“This is going to be a completely non-productive meeting if ever I’ve seen one,” he said rolling his eyes, “still, let it never be said that the Charles Cornwallis of House Cornwallis is not a man of his word. Prepare the conference call.”
The Commodore coughed, suppressing a wince. The Senator looked at him sharply.
“Is there a further problem?” he demanded, his tone of voice promising dire consequences if there was.
No, Sir,” his Chief of Staff said stiffening, “I’ll set up the holo-call immediately.”
“I’ll be waiting then,” said the Senator watching as the other man exited the room at a fast walk. He waited until the call was set up.
No sooner had the first of the images appeared at the table than he produced a bright smile and began greeting the new arrivals.
“I’m so glad all of you could be here to attend,” he said graciously once the last person had conferenced in, and the interface between the Confederation and Imperial conference room software had finished syncing up.
The top Confederation business leader met his gaze stonily.
“A pleasure, I’m sure,” he replied, his tone making it clear there was no pleasure involved in this meeting at all.
The Senator allowed his forehead to crease. “There’s no need to start this meeting off on the wrong foot. I’m a busy man but not too busy to entertain the concerns of the business community with anything but the most sincerity. So what is it that brings you here today?”
“Can you believe this?” asked one of the six Confederation business leaders, this one the CEO of a top mining outfit, her voice rising with disbelief. “We’ve been on the agenda for over a month. A MONTH,” she exclaimed, rising out of her seat, “and the Senator can’t be bothered to find out what we’re meeting for when all he had to do was ask a staffer or read a single message from anyone in this room!”
“That,” The Senator said flatly, “is hardly the best way to gain my support for your special interests.”
“Special interests?!” shouted the CEO.
“Sit down,” Cornwallis said flatly.
“No. I will not be silenced. After the amount of money we’ve invested in supplying, provisioning and maintaining your fleet it’s time to see what our money has bought us—and I assure you that you will not like the results if we are not satisfied. We have powerful friends in the Grand Assembly and—” she snapped.
“I said SIT DOWN!” roared the Senator.
Looking shocked the CEO stared at him for a frozen moment before plopping back into her seat.
“Good. Now if you people are prepared to sit down like adults I am willing to entertain your petition, but if all you’re interested in is shouting then I’ll take my leave,” the Senator said firmly.
There was a tense minute of silence as the rich and powerful of the Confederation found themselves without their usual leverage and caught in a hard-eyed staring contest promptly ensued.
“Look, if all you wanted was to look me in the eyes, then you’ve accomplished your goal and I’ll take my leave,” the Senator said. “I have a fleet to run and better things to do than engage in posturing.”
“We have friends in the Assembly. The favors we are collectively owed are enough to topple Sector governments. You would be wise—” began a short, balding Chairman of the Board whose company was engaged in fleet provisioning.
The Senator raised a hand. “I care nothing for your threats. Go back and whine to the Grand Assembly if it makes you feel better. Thankfully I answer to the Imperial Senate, an institution of the Empire not one of your Confederation’s assemblies,” said the Senator.
The Chairman’s face turned purple. “We won’t be cowed by your autocratic ways, Senator,” the Chairman shot back, “the Confederation is a democratic institution of the highest order; one every bit as potent as your Empire. Also, let me suggest that with more than eight hundred warships and the majority of your fleet and almost your entire supply train fed from and provided by Confederation coffers, you would do well to remember that!”
“The Grand Assembly granted me full authority to settle the Spineward Sectors rebels and repossess every star system that’s criminally late on its taxes in the name of the Empire. Frankly all I’m required to do is listen to a group of Confederation advisers and seriously consider their opinions before going out and doing whatever it is I please in this region of space,” Cornwallis said pleasantly.
“This is intolerable,” said the Chairman settling back into his chair, “Bob, can you do something to make him see reason?”
The leader of the Confederation business community pursed his lips and looked at the Senator as if trying to figure out a particularly difficult puzzle.
“Yes, Bob, why don’t you join the conversation?” asked Charles Cornwallis, shooting the top Confederation business leader in the fleet an amused look. “Since I’m here already I might as well listen to everyone’s concerns before I go.”
The other man narrowed one eye, a faint smile appearing on the corner of one side of his mouth and his fingers started drumming on the top of the desk.
“Well if there’s nothing else,” the Senator said, turning one palm of his hand up, “let me assure you all that I take the concerns of our mobile little business community with the greatest of respect and that, as soon as the Spineward Sectors Fleet has been crushed and the Region lays open before our feet, each and every one of your contributions to this fleet will not be forgotten. You have my word as an Imperial Senator.”
“I see,” said the other man before nodding, “let me introduce myself: I am Roberto San-Pablo of the Pan Galactic Entertainment Corporation.”
“The inestimable PGE,” Cornwallis said, already knowing full well who each and every person in the conference room was, “I’m flattered.”
“Don’t be, because while the inestimable Rod may be more than willing to put up with being ignored, his job description is the entertainment side of the business and there are plenty of things in this fleet to…entertain him,” San-Pablo said by way of subtle threat. “I, on the other hand, have to figure out how to pay for everything. You could call me the business side of our entertainment-based Corporation.”
“Eviscerating me on the Confederation holo-waves might be personally satisfying but ultimately all you can do is inconvenience, not damage me. Be careful; I make a powerful enemy, Mr. San-Pablo, even for PGE,” warned the Senator, all levity and attempted amity dropping from him in the face of even a subtle threat.
“No threats then. Just a statement of fact: you’ve been ignoring the Confederation military and political establishment, which is all well and good as far as it goes, but you’ve also been ignoring us and that’s something else entirely,” said Roberto San-Pablo.
“I hope this is going somewhere,” Charles Cornwallis said coolly.
“If you expect to continue receiving our support then you’re going to have to make concessions, and I don’t mean a pat on the head 'you’re all good boys and girls' concessions,” the two men locked gazes and held them. “I’m talking real substantive changes to show us that you not only realize what we’ve done for you already, provisioning your fleet out of our own pockets and dropping a string of billion credit FTL relays and supply dumps all the way across the Overton Expanse and well into the Spine, but that you appreciate it as well,” said Roberto San-Pablo.
“I know what you’re asking. I’ve known since well before you ever set one holo-foot inside this room and I’ll tell you the same thing I’ve been saying since the Glorious Fleet of Liberation...” his lips twisted in a sneer every time he had to use that name and this time was no difference, “joined the Empire’s Flotilla: leave the business of war to the professionals and I’ll make sure your bottom line is covered. If the only thing you learn on this entire expedition is that alone, I guarantee you’ll become a widely successful war profiteer. You have my oath as the Leader of House Cornwallis.”
“Professional as in 'professional politician' you mean?” the business man said snidely, and then seemed to realize he may have gone too far as the Senator suddenly looked at him with killing intent. Roberto San-Pablo held up a hand, “Look, I didn’t mean to smear the honor of your House but try to look at things from our perspective.”
“Politics is just a continuation of war carried out by other means but, in fact, no,” said the Senator calming down slightly, although a gleam in his eye promised eventual retribution for the slight, “unlike in the Confederation where any fool with enough votes can be elected—and quite often is—the path to glory in the Empire, often, maybe even almost always, requires military service. I retired to the Senate an Admiral in the Imperial Navy—one that was, in fact, previously posted to the Spineward area. I know what I’m doing and you lot need to get your knickers untwisted and either follow or get out of the way.”
“We’re businessmen; we’re not all that interested in glory. What we are interested in is our bottom line. In all seriousness, we don’t doubt your desire or even your ability since the Empire is known to produce many of the finest military leaders,” said the PGE higher up. “But we need more than verbal IOU’s and the cold shoulder when we’re forking out billions to support this fleet. If you can’t give us that then we’re going to have to cut our losses, stop any further outlays, and begin withdrawing any support we’ve already given you,” said Roberto San-Pablo.
“Unless the Empire gives in to your demands, is that it?” Cornwallis asked coldly.
“Not the Empire, Praetor, just you. And frankly? The words 'Empire' and 'demand' when put together sound so, dirty, not to mention hazardous to one’s health. So no. To be honest I’d hoped for something more along the lines of collaboration, or at least cooperation, but sad to say if demands are what it takes for you to sit down and listen to what we have to say then I’m afraid that’s what we’ll have to make,” he said with a shrug.
“I think you’re mistaking a member of the Imperial Senate for a Confederation Assemblyman. I assure you the two are nothing alike,” the Senator said coldly.
“Call yourself an Assemblyman or a Senator, it makes no difference to us—a politician is a politician. The similarities between our two systems vastly outweigh our differences. Frankly, barring a few cultural hangups our peoples are exactly the same,” Roberto rejected, “that said, however, we understand that you also happen to be a military man. We can understand and respect that,” he added, moderating his tone.
“I think you are confusing a Senator whose appointment is for life, with a person who stands for periodic elections and caters to the whims of the people…or rich and powerful business interests such as yourselves,” Charles Cornwallis said flatly.
“Elections shmelections, the only thing that’s important right now is that we have something you want, in this case the resources to conquer the Spineward Sectors, a new province for the Empire. We have the ability to help you—or, in this particular case, keep helping you achieve your dreams of a new province for an expanded Empire or pull our support. Such a withdrawal would ensure, if not certain defeat, then at least a miserable campaign done on a shoestring budget with shortfalls in everything from supplies to communications and finally,” he paused for emphasis,
“warships.”
After San-Pablo spoke his final threat, he leaned back in his chair, every inch the confident businessman certain not only in himself but in the fact that he had his opponent on the other side of the business table in a bind and on the ropes.
The Senator looked down at the PGE Representative, saying nothing.
“Come now,” Roberto San-Pablo said boldly, “it’s not like we’re asking for your first born or even trying to tell you how to fight this war. All we’re asking for are a few…considerations. Gestures, if you will, to keep this relationship going—or at last to stop it from falling apart right when we all need it most.”
The Senator looked back at the other man as he silently ran the calculations. He could murder them all in this room and dispose of the bodies ,but there would be a trail leading straight back to him. Alternately, he could wait until they went back to their ships and then slowly, over the course of several days or weeks, have them murdered in their beds. This had the advantage of both dealing with them and delaying the time until the businesses, corporations or groups behind them pulled out or replaced them. That sounded like the most satisfying conclusion to today’s affairs to him.
On the other hand, he hadn’t got to his current position as the fourth rail of Imperial politics—and a man with only the Spineward Sectors standing between him and a Triumvir's chair—by indulging his baser impulses, not when it went against his better interests. The only question…did leaving them alive go against his better interests or not?
“Let’s assume I buy into this fantasy of yours. What exactly were you thinking?” he temporized running a cost benefit analysis in his head. He already had a group of ‘removal specialists’ onboard the Mighty Punisher as well as two cutters and a number of shuttles, three of them stealthed.
“Fantasy?” Roberto San-Pablo and several of the other business leaders gave the Senator hard looks.
“I don’t think you realize the gravity of the situation,” growled the Mining CEO, her eyes steely.
“Now, now, now. Let’s not descend into anything as plebeian as threats. This is hardly the time or place, Tracey,” the PGE Rep soothed.
“Especially considering you’re aboard a fully functional Command Carrier in the heart of an Imperial navy flotilla,” Cornwallis agreed, looking over at her flintily. “I could have a company of marines in here with a snap of my fingers and an entire brigade fifteen minutes after that.”
Tracey, the Mining Company CEO, flinched and then rallied by glaring back at him, clearly furious at being even temporarily intimidated.
“Like I said, there’s no need for threats of physical violence. Let’s all remember that we’re here to pacify the Spineward Region of space in the name of the Empire, not conquer each other. This is a simple re-pacification campaign a… police action if you will, if even that,” Roberto San-Pablo said smoothly.
“This is hardly a police action,” Cornwallis said coldly.
“Oh I know how badly you Imperials hate the term,” said the PGE representative, raising his hands in mock surrender, “and I’m well aware that you’ve got a big row to hoe. The rest of us are just here for support, after all. There will be the inevitable fleet battles and ground campaigns to put the rebels in their places but at the end of it all we’re all going to end up with a very lucrative venture. The Empire will own the place, along with the majority of the economy, meanwhile the rest of us do what we already do so very well: mining, medical, entertainment and so on.”
“You make the inevitable deaths of thousands in space and potentially millions on the ground sound so inconsequential,” Cornwallis pointed out, not so much because he particularly cared about those losses, so long as the Empire and of course he won in the end but rather because he didn’t particularly care for working with others who had a similar mindset. Not in anything approaching an equal arrangement at any rate. He had many such people working underneath him of course.
'Each tool to it’s appropriate task' as they say. With outsiders such tools were easier to deal with on the front end, no need to stroke egos or deal with squeamish partners but in the long run it tended to cause problems.
“I’m not making light of their plight, after all at least when it comes to the space born combat I could die from a freak accident, drive failure, or missile strike—in short I share the risks. Perhaps less than some but certainly more than others,” said San-Pablo, “as for the losses on the ground, you’re right. I prefer to ignore those things that I can do nothing about. Unlike others I had no hand in carving off the area for the Empire, the desire to make them Imperial provinces, nor am I in the military business. I’m in the entertainment industry by choice! If I wanted to make money off of war I’d be selling armaments from munitions factories. That said, business is business and at the end of the day all I can do for these people is ensure that, even under Imperial rule, they’ll still have access to all the same entertainment and holo-channels as the rest of their former compatriots in the Confederation heartlands.”
“Your care and consideration for your fellow man is enough to make me weep,” Cornwallis said dryly.
“No need for dramatics,” San-Pablo snorted, “but getting back to your original question. What can you do for us? How about instead of making us wait until after this is all done, you turn over development and exploitation rights to the Aegis star system? I know you’ve been reluctant to do so previously but this would make a nice gesture.”
“There’s a reason I’ve been unwilling to do so in the past, and despite your hints it’s not because I have no intention of fulfilling my side of the bargain,” said the Senator.
“Then what, pray tell, is the hold up?” San-Pablo said crossly.
“You’re a simple businessman so I can understand you wouldn’t realize what you’re asking for. However Aegis will become the provincial capitol of the new Spineward Reach of the Empire. As such I cannot simply sell off significant fractions of the star system to Confederation business interests without undermining everything I am trying to accomplish here,” he said flatly.
“What, you don’t trust us to run business operations in your Empire?” the Mining Executive asked belligerently.
“Theresa, please,” the PGE Rep asked, an edge in his voice.
“The show is yours—but my patience is not endless, Roberto,” she said while Cornwallis looked at her coolly.
“How about this then? My understanding is this new province will take some time to finish pacifying, and even longer after that before it will transition from a provisional province to an actual administrative district. Why not offer us a time limited, ten year contract, with the clear stipulation that upon regularizing Aegis as the capitol of a full-fledged province we are required to turn over our operations to your Imperial governor…at market rates and with an early buy-out penalty of course,” Roberto San-Pablo said with a grin.
“Even if I were to agree to this, ten years is entirely out of line,” Cornwallis said.
“Understandable. Then let’s cut it in half: make it five years and in return you can cut us in for small but fixed percentage of Tracto’s trillium deposits. Say, five percent each, for everyone at this table—including yourself, Senator,” smirked San-Pablo.
“The five of you are twenty five percent, that’s one fourth of Tracto’s reserve. You’re asking for a big chunk of this region’s mineral wealth right there,” growled the Senator.
“You didn’t expect us to help you conquer a part of the Confederation and hand it over to the Empire for free, did you? I’ve been dropping billion credit ComStat buoys like they were peanuts and even after that you’ll still have a controlling share in Tracto. Unless you’re now going to tell us you’d planned to make the Tracto star system another provincial capitol as well?” Roberto San-Pablo asked wryly. “Besides, I know for a fact there are other trillium deposits in other Sectors of the Spine. So it’s not like we’re grabbing everything for ourselves. Let’s put this deal in writing, sign the papers, and we can be mining in Aegis and broadcasting the top rated holo-dramas and most up to date news programs from the core of human space out to the poor, benighted citizens of Aegis Prime. Do we have a deal, Senator?” asked the Pan-Galactic Entertainment Corporate Representative.
Against his better judgment, the leader of House Cornwallis accepted the deal. After all, he could just kill them all later if things got out of hand.
He even just so happened to know a former pirate-turned-Imperial-privateer who had a knack for that sort of thing on the payroll.
Chapter 39: Telling the Captains the Plan
“I would like to remind everyone who has been invited to the Admiral’s Dinner that every ship in the fleet is represented in this room and attendance was mandatory. So either the Captain or, if it’s been pre-approved, the First Officer of every warship in this fleet is currently present. Try to remember that while you are here,” warned Lieutenant Commander Lisa Steiner, my Chief of Staff, at the beginning of the Admiral’s Dinner.
After the most junior officer present had given the obligatory toast and we had finished consuming one of the finest meals my flagship's top-rated chef and kitchen staff had ever produced, I set down my fork and leaned back. Taking that as a signal, the ever-present kitchen staff and waiters for this event began policing up plates and utensils all around the room.
The last of the stragglers, seeing the way the wind was blowing, quickly finished their last few bites and then surrendered their plates to the inevitable as waiters and staff descended on the finest dining tables set up in the flagship’s mess hall. They departed just as quickly as they came and soon the room was empty of everyone excepted cleared personnel and the dining room was once again sealed.
Once we were alone, all two hundred fifty and more of us, I stood up and, activating the small microphone built into the collar of my, uniform cleared my throat.
“Hello, as all of you are aware, or should be, I am Jason Montagne, Grand Admiral and commander of this fleet. I am also the man in charge of taking the battle to the enemy and clearing our star systems and Sectors of the Empire and their old Confederation lackeys and sycophants,” I said, sweeping the room with my gaze.
I was grimly determined to confront that enemy and to do that I first needed to rally my people or, in this case, my ship commanders.
“Which is why I’m here today. I’m aware that there has been a lot of talk out there in the fleet. Scuttlebutt as it were,” I said with a smirk and the resulting quickly muted scattered laughter around the room, “and I’m here to put the rumors to rest.”
At this the faces of my crowd turned solemn. No matter what I said at this point it was going to be news people didn’t want to hear. Even if they wanted to confront the enemy, no one likes to belabor the fact they were about to fly into combat with an enemy that outnumbered us four to one or better.
“No. We are not going to run away, or as it was more tactfully put by others, we do not plan to fight a slow running retreat,” I said firmly, “instead we are going to take the fight to the enemy.”
I stopped to take a breath.
“As some of you may or may not be aware, for the past week we have been actively seeking to engage the enemy but so far they show no interest in meeting us on ground of our choosing. Before that we were fighting a delaying action in hopes of gaining more reinforcements,” I said. Well it’s time to admit that we’ve got all the reinforcements we’re going to get. Which means since the Imperials refuse to meet us in a star system of our choosing, say Hart’s World, the recently recaptured Central or now fallen Aegis—anywhere with halfway decent fixed defenses send the Imperial Fleet running the opposite direction—we're going to have to change the plan,” I finished wryly.
There was a dark and muted chuckle that ran through the gathered officers. I was glad to hear it because this next part wasn’t going to go over very well.
I took a deep breath, “I’ve decided we have no choice but to meet the Imperials on ground of their choosing and force a battle,” I continued, steeling myself for the coming storm.
From the unhappy to enraged expressions on the faces of the my officers, especially those captains who had joined us from fellow SDF’s and the Sector Guardsmen, it was clear that no one was excited by the prospect.
“Excuse me, Admiral,” said a senior Commodore from the Sector Guard, who looked anything but pleased to be here, hear this plan, or just plain be under my command, “if I may have a moment of your time?”
“When you put it so politely how, could I refuse? Just please make it brief,” I commented.
“I will do my best to accommodate your request, Sir,” said the Senior Commodore.
It wasn’t a request, but I figured turning adversarial the moment a Guardsman looked at me sideways wasn’t going to help cement my fleet into one big unified force. So I let it pass.
The Senior Commodore looked around the room, probably to gauge his level of support before focusing back on me.
Ignoring the rest of the room he nodded politely, “Thank you, Sir. However I have to ask: is fighting a superior enemy on the ground of their choosing really the wisest course?” he asked before plowing onward. “I realize I’m not a Grand Admiral with an unparalleled head for strategy, but while I’m no genius it doesn’t take a genius to recognize the vast force disparity we’re looking at here” he said, showing no signs of slowing down.
I silently tapped my foot as he continued.
“Facing a superior enemy at the time and place of their choosing is rarely, if ever, the smart play. Wouldn’t we all be better served luring them to—” The Senior Commodore continued to drone on.
“Thank you, Commodore, that will be all,” I cut him off, “now in response—”
“But, Sir, I wasn’t done!” exclaimed the Senior Commodore.
I looked at him like he was a bug smeared across the window. Was every single member of the Sector Guard determined to cause trouble and undermine me to their maximum ability?
Gants stepped forward and growled, “When the Admiral says you’re done you’re done.”
“I wasn’t speaking with you, Lieutenant,” snapped the Commodore.
“No, you were speaking with me, and I thanked you and began to speak before you interrupted me. You’ve had the chance to have your say and now you can either listen to my response or escort yourself down to the brig for a short stay in their fine accommodations,” I said calmly.
“Sorry, Sir,” the Senior Commodore said, his eyes shooting fire, “baffle us with your brilliance. I wait with bated breath.”
“No brilliance. Only dogged and relentless determination to stop these invaders—the same determination that defeated bugs, pirates, stopped a droid invasion cold in its tracks, even at the cost of upsetting the very people we saved, and which also defeated the Reclamation Fleet, Commodore,” I informed him flatly and then turned to the rest of the room visibly dismissing the other man. “I don’t care who I upset or how badly they don’t like it when I crush our enemies, drive them away, and leave our own people firmly back in control of their destinies afterwards.”
As the Commodore fumed powerlessly I began to speak.
“Now, as I was saying before I was interrupted: the enemy thinks he has us where he wants us. Harried, distracted, off pace, enraged by the loss of two Core Worlds, one of them still in the hands of the enemy fleet, and I could go on and on in the same line but I’m not,” I said, sweeping the room with my gaze. “Instead I’m here to tell you that nothing could be further from the truth. As far as I’m concerned, the enemy can pick any place they want for a fight and outside of a black hole, where we’ll both end up compressed down into something the size of a pin and thus dead, we can meet and beat them. Victory is not assured, nothing is certain when it comes to war, however we are not without our surprises.”
Ears pricked up around the room and I could see people who had drawn back lean forward.
“It won’t be easy. It won’t be smooth. But while I can’t share the detail with you at this time, for operational security reasons, I can say without a doubt that we now have a path to victory. We can...no, we will win this. Never doubt for an instant,” I said forcefully.
“Have we received—or, even, are we about to receive—significant reinforcements from outside the Sector?” the Senior Commodore asked as even he appeared to perk up at the thought of winning this war.
“The exact details of our order of battle are classified above your level, Commodore,” I said confidently, “what isn’t is that we are about to show the Empire the folly of invading Confederation space.”
“That’s not good enough,” the Senior Commodore said flatly.
“That sounded suspiciously like a junior officer telling the Admiral of this Fleet what to do. Now, because I know that wasn’t your intention, I’m going to let it slide. This time,” I said with a pleasant smile. “However if there is a repeat occurrence it will be your last. Am I clear?” I asked, allowing only my eyes to harden through my otherwise pleasant expression.
The Senior Commodore hesitated. “Crystal, Sir,” he finally said while stiffening.
“Good. Now before any of you think that I’m avoiding this answer because, well, there aren’t any reinforcements let me assure you. There will be significantly more space capable vessels, weapons platforms and space capable fighters than just what’s in our fleet available to us,” I swept the room with my gaze even as I kept speaking, “the timing will be tricky and the main fleet, that’s us, will need to face the enemy head on long enough to tie them down and hold them in place but after that… Let’s just say at that point we’ll be giving the Empire a battle they’ll never forget. This will be one for the history books.”
I silently added that it would likely be for war crimes violations—the biological warfare statutes in particular—but so long as it ended with a free Spine, I was willing to shoulder it. Besides, it wasn’t like I was planning on launching canisters filled with nerve gas or missiles with highly toxic chemical warheads into cold space.
No, what I was contemplating was nothing like that...and at the same time so much worse.
“So you have a secret plan and you brought us all here just to tell us that you can’t tell us about it. Do I have that about right?” asked a grim-faced Captain, another one of the Sector guard contingent I noted.
“I would think my history speaks for itself,” I replied evenly, “but no I didn’t call you here to tell you that. In fact I thought I was very clear when I said this fleet was now ready to attack the enemy in any star system they would stay in long enough for us to pound them. But perhaps they do things differently in the Guard when an Admiral says get ready for the fight of your life?”
“How dare you impugn the honor of the Guard!” he cried.
“I know any number of brave guardsmen willing to put themselves to the hazard,” I instantly rebuked, “who are you to put words in my mouth?”
The captain started to open his mouth for an angry retort and was grabbed onto by his fellow officers and forcibly pulled back into his seat.
“Regardless of the rest of it all, I have one more thing to say. For those of you who are new to this fleet this might not have as much meaning as it will for the rest of you, however I still have one more thing to add,” I said with a smile.
“And what might that be, Sir?” asked a Captain from the newly-arrived five Battleship Aegis formation, looking only as haggard as a man whose fleet had been beaten and whose home world had been occupied right before his very eyes.
“Just that Commander Spalding is intimately involved in this new plan to contain and destroy the Imperial threat,” I said confidently.
From the sudden gleam in the eyes of my veterans, I could see that they—at least—immediately believed something more was up than simply their Admiral trying to blow sunshine up their ears.
Chapter 40: One Small Hang Up
“Just what do you mean the cargo isn’t ready to be moved?” Spalding demanded, jaw jutting out as he marched right up into the face of the metal machine in front of him. Which, thanks to his long metal legs, he was more than capable of.
“As previously stated, the cargo cannot be moved at this time without catastrophic consequences,” stated the Droid.
“Look, I came down here personally so that we could fix this little problem, not so as you could give me the runaround,” Spalding growled.
“One thing I have never understood is your biological need for ‘face-to-face conversations,” stated the Droid, his 'expression' beyond impassive as it literally lacked facial movement capabilities, “oh I’ve read the papers and assimilated the data in the scientific studies on the hardwired phenomena, but it still makes little sense to me as the necessity. Regardless, the situation is exactly as I stated over the com-channel.”
“Don’t understand the need for face to face communications?! Why, how else would anything get done?” Spalding demanded.
“Your data does not compute,” stated the Droid.
“Look…what’s your name anyway?” asked Spalding, placing a hand on the Droid’s shoulder.
The Droid looked at the hand on its chassis and then back up at the Chief Engineer, an almost palpable disgust emanating from it.
“I am designated Mad Scientist Omega 9 and I require the removal of your biological appendages from my personal unit as an immediate precondition to any continued data exchange,” the droid stated in a highly digitized voice.
“That name explains a lot. Look, didn’t mean to get your knickers in a bunch,” Spalding apologized, removing his hand, “lots of sentients have unreasonable phobias about interacting with radically different life forms.”
The Droid looked at him sharply. “I have no phobias and certainly no unthinking one’s. My every action proceeds from a well thought out position. Irrational beliefs and actions are the province of deeply flawed, analytic-based life forms like yourself—not those of highly logical beings such as myself,” snapped the Droid.
“Of course you don’t,” Spalding soothed, “I’m sure you defrag your hard drives on a daily basis and upload patches as soon as they’ve been well tested and verified first. However, all of this is side business, Mad Scientist.”
“I can agree that your apparently species-wide irrational belief systems, and the urge to project them onto every sentient you encounter, are not worth two micro-seconds of my processor time,” said Mad Scientist Omega 9.
“Species-wide irrational beliefs? What exactly are you trying to say here,” Spalding growled, jaw jutting back out, “look, I didn’t come to this house of horrors for my health. I came here to get a job done and that’s exactly what I mean to do.”
“I mean that due to an almost complete lack of evidence-based research I consider much of the Humanities to be entirely worthless. Psychology for instance consists of almost nothing but speculation and fuzzy logic resulting in untested drivel requiring a series of almost continuous positive reinforcement, along with a deep aversion to relaying anything even remotely resembling realistic assessments to its test subject, and yet such subjects are required to actually pay for these unrealistic assessments of their mental degradation?” the Droid hissed.
“What is this malarkey? I mean I have no use for head shrinkers myself, don’t get me wrong, but you’ve gone completely off the bend here. I’m here to talk transport not rag on the head shrinkers,” Spalding advised, “besides, you can’t deny the results of enhanced chemical interrogation when combined with modern brain scanning.”
“I’ll concede the ability to completely destroy your test subjects mental acuity through the repeated use of certain adverse stimuli has been sufficiently proven,” the Droid conceded, “however, anything else is worrisome at best. Frankly when you look at its stated purpose, which is to aid and assist the sentients who use it for self-diagnostic purposes it proves worth or lack their of, psychology fails in epic fashion. You do realize that the founding father of psychology himself, while advocating loudly for the strict use of the scientific method, almost completely failed to use any such methods during his lifetime? And that this is the foundation upon which the rest of the discipline is based?”
“I’m not here to defend psychology,” Spalding said angrily, “let’s get back to the subject at hand. Get your cargo ready to move or I’ll move it for you. I don’t need any more excursions into la-la-land thank you and good night.”
“No! You aren’t and that’s exactly the point. No one outside of the study of this discipline and a host of individuals with self-admittedly damaged processors supports the humanities!” Mad Scientist raged. “In fact I find it a stain upon the self-consciousness of your species, second only to the completely irrational need to believe in religion and the supernatural—or even create such irrationalities when none such exists!”
The Chief Engineer was done being lectured to by a mechanical egg head that had a problem with dealing with reality and the subject at hand in favor of airing out its own series of pet peeves and electronic prejudices.
“Either start saying something I want to hear or this is going to get ugly,” he warned, once again reaching out and grabbing the Droid by the shoulder with one hand while taking hold of the plasma torch in the other.
“If you continue in your attempts at false imprisonment I will call security,” snapped Mad Scientist Omega 9.
“Well then get them down here already! At least maybe then I could start getting some answers instead of bigoted anti-humanist drivel,” exploded Spalding.
“I, sir, am no bigot!” snarled Mad Scientist.
“I may hate doctors and head shrinkers more than anyone I know but even I can recognize prejudice when I see it. Now! When are we going to be able to get this show on the road—and no more stalling with your drivel,” ordered Commander Spalding.
“Who knows? The data points are still being collected. Not that I expect a simple minded biological like yourself to understand the need for more information before proceeding to make assessments,” shot back Mad Scientist.
“Listen here, you bucket of bolts, I don’t know what your problem is but in case you hadn’t noticed there’s a war on. So while you keep gathering your data, I’m going to set up my spindles and begin the countdown to annihilation,” said Spalding said, turning on his heels and stalking away.
“Annihilation! Even a biological like you can’t be so simple minded as to destroy our entire experiment out of spite!” Mad Scientist Omega 9 said, shooting forward to catch up with the Chief Engineer, “you can insult me all you like but do not attempt to destroy this experiment out of a spiteful inability to understand the ramification of—”
“I’m not destroying anything, it’s a figure of speech,” said Spalding.
“Oh, excellent. In that case you can leave,” said Mad Scientist, losing interest in the old engineer and turning away.
“What I am going to do is get ready to jump this mess as soon as my spindles are recharged,” said Spalding, continuing on his own way.
“Stop, you imbecile, before you ruin everything!” cried the Droid.
“I’m done with you,” Spalding said, shaking his head.
“You don’t understand,” the Droid declared, using its manipulators to grab Spalding’s arm, “we are dealing with an incredibly sophisticated biological system here. One that has been weaponized to an incredibly lethal degree...for a biological entity,” that last was added in an almost sneering tone, “regardless, the slightest flaw in our suppression system and the genetically-engineered constructs will awaken to wreak havoc on a scale unimaginable to your pea sized brain!”
“Listen to me, Droid: I know Bugs when I see them, so you can keep dancing around calling them 'genetic experiments' but I’ve dealt with them before and I know exactly what they can do. So help explain the problem or get out of the way and we’ll take it from here,” he retorted.
“I’ve already explained the problem,” the Droid all but shrieked, “we need more data points or the enzyme we’re distributing throughout their larger biomass constructs won’t be enough to keep them in a torpor during a point transfer.”
“You mean their ships will wake up?” asked the Chief Engineer.
“Finally you begin to comprehend the gravity of what you are contemplating,” said the Droid.
“So just pump up the volume and let it settle down again after the jump,” Spalding scowled.
“Too much is as bad as too little. Too little and they wake up ready to kill, too much and the smaller worker constructs begin to die off, the larger constructs notice and begin to wake up in a rage state ready to destroy anything and everything around them including the other large biological constructs from the same hive structure,” said the Droid.
“You can’t make an omelet without breaking a few eggs. We have got to get within one jump range of our fleet and stay inside that range, no matter what it takes,” Spalding warned.
“Not if it will destroy 30-40% of the payload and send the remaining 60% into a hibernation state; we won’t be able to wake them up from for weeks,” argued the Droid.
“Then you’d better figure out how to get your dosage right,” said Spalding.
“Which is what I’ve been trying to tell you by way of com-channels, but for some reason you insisted on hearing ‘face-to-face’,” snapped the Droid.
“Like I said: you have until our jump spindles charge up to figure out how to keep those Bugs asleep,” said Spalding.
The droid glared at him. “You’ll kill us all,” it informed him.
“What you don’t seem to understand is that using the spindles isn’t like any other kind of jump, and those spindles are the only thing big enough to move what you’ve been playing around with. The ride is completely different so even if you had time to fine tune your dosages I don’t know if it would matter. That being the case, we’re going with my plan,” said the old engineer.
“I protest these strong arm tactics in the strongest terms. I was given full authority over this project by the United Sentients Assembly itself!” whistled the Droid.
“Yeah, well, the USA works for the Confederation now, more specifically they work for the Little Admiral and Tracto and that means you work for us and we’re calling in your markers,” Spalding said, jerking himself free from the droid and returning to his shuttle.
“How am I supposed to work like this?” demanded Mad Scientist beeping and whistling furiously. “I was promised complete control over this project.”
“If you need more data I suggest you get working fast because we don’t have a lot of time,” said the Engineer, “there’s war to win and you can’t win without taking a few risks.”
The shuttle doors closed shut behind him, cutting off the irate droid as it followed.
On the way back to the Lucky Clover, the old engineer used the shuttles sensors to take another good look at the small armada of Bug ships the Droids had assembled in this uninhabited star system.
A broken and utterly devastated moon gave evidence to the large amount of bio-mass the droids had used in their science project.
There are only six of them, but six is more than enough, the old Engineer thought grimly as he passed one 1800 meter bug mothership after another 2500 meter after yet another over two thousand meter long creation of Bug flesh.
“Isn’t that something else, Sir?” the shuttle pilot asked, his eyes kept continually moving over to look at the giant bio-ships off their starboard bow before jerking back to his screen.
Spalding’s brows beetled and he laid a thick fingered hand on the other man’s shoulder.
“Never thought I’d see the day,” he agreed morosely and then his voice turned gruff, “we weren’t blasting those infernal things on sight! A man ought to be turning those creatures into crispy critters, not hauling them around the galaxy like they were checked into some kind of traveling roach coach motel.”
“We could always leave them behind, Commander. Say there was a problem and they were all fried in transit,” opined the shuttle pilot.
Spalding’s grip on the pilot tightened. “We’ve got orders, sad as that is to say,” he said regretfully, “otherwise you’re on the right track, lad. The right track without a doubt.”
“Are you sure the little Admiral knows what’s going on over here, Sir?” the shuttle pilot said, wincing from the sudden pain in his shoulder.
Spalding let go tucking his hands back in his tool belt as he rocked back on his metal heels. He sighed. “There’s a reason men like you and me aren’t cut out for command,” commiserated the old Engineer, “don’t worry about the Admiral,” he said laying a finger alongside his nose, “I’ll keep an eye on things.”
“Are you sure…” the Shuttle Pilot trailed off as Terrance Spalding looked at him. “I mean yes, Sir,” the Pilot wiping his expression clear and focusing his eyes forward.
“Don’t worry: if I need a steady hand at the controls when it comes time to get rid of these things I’ll remember your enthusiasm,” said the Commander.
The pilot looked over in alarm. Spalding looked at him questioningly and he smiled sickly.
“Don’t put yourself out,” said the shuttle pilot.
“Oh, it’s no imposition,” Spalding said with certainty and then added.
“Assuming we survive long enough,” he muttered.
“Sir!?” the Pilot looked over with alarm.
“Just get us back home and I’ll take everything from there,” advised the Chief Engineer.
Chapter 41: Cornwallis Decides
“Sir, our Destroyer scouts have returned. They report no change: the enemy fleet jumped in shortly after we left. First their scouts surveyed the last star system and then, when it was clear, they jumped back, presumably to inform their fleet and then the entire fleet showed up,” reported the Imperial Flag Lieutenant.
“Interesting,” said the Senator.
“Reckless,” the grey bearded Commodore demurred, “unless they intend to confront us at four to one odds where they’ll almost certainly be crushed it just doesn’t make sense.”
“What’s your take?” asked Cornwallis, interested in hearing what the Commodore had to say even though he’d already just about made up his mind as to what the locals were up to.
“The Spineward Sectors Fleet are provoking us. They appear determined to bring us to battle. Maybe they are or more likely they hope to catch some of our slower units before they jump, some of our Confederation units take an almost perverse pride in failing to follow orders in a timely manner, and carve off a portion of the Glorious Fleet of Liberation that they figure they actually have a chance of defeating?” suggested the Commodore.
“Not an unworthy suggestion,” Cornwallis said after giving the thought some serious consideration, “however I don’t think you go far enough.”
“In what particular?” asked his Chief of Staff, raising his eyebrows.
“While I don’t dismiss the notion that the Spineward Sectors Fleet is willing to ‘carve off a chunk’ of our Fleet if given the opportunity, I sense something different. Earlier they were hesitant and ran away at the first sign a full-fledged battle might develop.”
“I thought you said you agreed they were attempting to lure us into a battle similar to the Battle of Easy Haven between Spineward Sectors local forces and the Reclamation Fleet?” asked the Commodore.
The Senator lifted a hand. “And I stand by that assertion,” he said calmly, “but I think that time is nearly over. In my estimation they have finally abandoned the notion we’ll come at them in a time and place of their choosing. Otherwise they would not risk following the combined Flotilla/Glorious Fleet so closely they risk being mouse-trapped by our forces should we set a trap and jump back in to their position.”
“So are we?” asked the Commodore.
“What? Mousetrapping them?” asked Cornwallis.
“Yes,” replied the Commodore.
The Senator paused as if to consider it and then shook his head. “There’s too much chance their lighter units could get away, along with their leadership,’’ he said finally.
“That seems highly doubtful. Their leader, this Grand Admiral Montagne, at least according to the latest intelligence dump from our agents in Central right before they captured the place, said he’s their top military commander. The intel indicates that he’s more along the lines of a traditional Battleship Admiral and prefers to make his flagship the largest, most powerful warship in any formation he commands,” said the Commodore.
“The information gathered by our spies is dubious at best. Oh I’ll not deny there are hidden gems in it but I already have a fairly complete profile and background information on this Admiral Montagne. It is more thorough, in depth and reliable,” Cornwallis said dismissively.
“As long as you’re sure,” the Commodore said neutrally.
“Of more concern to me right now are the actions of Front Admiral Willard Featherby. I gave him a fleet and orders to conquer the Central Star System and, if possible, disrupt or destroy their new Regional Government and what did he do? He came back with fewer than half of his Battleships and his losses in lighter warships even greater. Worse, he did nothing near a similar amount of damage to the Spineward Fleet.”
“The Front Admiral, or more properly his staff, put up quite the spirited defense. Pointing out that he did in fact succeed in successfully carrying out every one of your orders, and that he did so as fully as was possible given the situation,” said the Commodore.
“Space rot,” said the Senator.
“You said to conquer the star system, he did. That it was only for two days doesn’t fully detract from that. You ordered him to destroy or disrupt the regional government. He captured key members of the Spineward Sectors Grand Assembly and ran the rest of them out of the star system in a scattered mess,” said the Commodore.
“He ran, inspiring the enemy with his losses,” grunted Cornwallis.
“So remove him from higher command,” shrugged the Commodore, “that will do more to show your disappointment with his actions while at the same time acknowledging that he technically fulfilled your orders than anything else I can think of.”
“And considering that if I punish my Confederation subordinates for carrying out their orders to the letter, even if not in spirit, it will do more to hurt morale and inter-fleet coordination than the locals ever could? You’re right though, of course. I was never seriously considering anything more serious than a stern warning and relieving the Front Admiral from higher command,” said the Senator who then portrayed a mirthless smile, “especially considering that doing so is probably all I need for his own superiors back home to crucify him for the number of losses his fleet sustained.”
“I’ll draw up the orders to have him dismissed from his command. Considering he still seems to have the confidence of the majority of his surviving fleet, that should take care of the situation,” said the Senator’s Chief of Staff.
Cornwallis nodded and then paused. “On second thought, reinforce his formation to bring it back up to strength but don’t relieve the Front Admiral, just ensure that the commander of the ships we’re bringing in is superior enough in rank to ensure he or she is the new commander of the combined formation. I might find some use for Admiral Featherby yet,” said the Senator.
“If you say so, Sir. I’ll write it up for you,” shrugged the Commodore.
“Oh, cheer up. Worst case this Featherby has shown a decided talent at one thing,” chuckled the Senator and then at his Chief of Staff’s questioning look he added, “he can run. That’s one formation where if everything goes in the pot and their current leader proves as incompetent as the rest of these Confederation officers, he can take over and run away with skill.”
The Commodore laughed and then quickly covered his mouth with his hand and coughed several times, a smile fighting to be seen around the edges of his fist.
“You’re very bad. I hope you realize that, Praetor?” he asked.
“More than you know,” the Senator said with satisfaction, “the Spineward Fleet previously offered us battle in a time and place of their choosing, but we will not walk that road. Now that they are willing to fight us no matter the cost, it is clear that our attacks upon their most powerful, most populated star systems, their Core Worlds, has been successful. They have finally driven them to desperation.”
“All that remains is to drive it home and finish this miserable excuse for a multi-system power once and for all,” said the Senator.
“They won’t know what hit them,” the Commodore said loyally.
“This is the work I was born for. Soon this entire region of space will be brought back into the Empire and if I am right so much more besides that will be accomplished,” said the Senator, refusing to believe the rumors that a Fragment of MAN had been destroyed by the traitor who called himself 'Lynch.' No, it had to be a ploy—it was a ploy, likely backed from a distance by House Bellucci who would pay the price for standing in his way.
As soon as he found the trail leading to the missing Fragment and recovered it, he would be remembered forever for his contributions to the Empire—and he would repay every insult to those efforts tenfold.
It was the dawn of a new day for the Empire of Man, and House Cornwallis' time was at hand. To the winner goes the Triumvir Seat and, eventually, control of the known galaxy.
Now all he had to do was destroy one pesky little Fleet full of outdated Confederation warships and its surprisingly resilient leader. Admiral Jason Montagne had proved to be more than the useless playboy prince he appeared at first glance but in the face of overwhelmingly superior force nothing could survive. Not even the most lucky, unconventional opponent.
“For them it will be like hitting a rock with an egg. It doesn’t matter how many eggs you throw, in the end the rock remains long after all of the eggs in your basket are long gone,” said the Senator, knowing that the Fleet under his command was one mighty rock indeed.
He also had just the system in mind to put the period on the end of the Spineward Sectors Fleet.
“Instruct the combined Fleet to set course of the Black Purgatory Star System. It's only three jumps from our location,” said the Senator.
The gray bearded Commodore immediately reached for his slate, pulling up the information on that star system with a few flicks of his fingers.
He frowned.
“An uninhabited system where its previous occupants, a group of duralloy miners, were all killed with some kind of plague?” he remarked with surprise.
“We won’t be landing on any of their mining facilities, but even if by necessity we were forced to do so due to circumstances the Confederated Empire identified the pathogen that destroyed the mining colony decades ago. It’s just the treatment is involved enough that you’d need access to trained physicians and a class one healing tank or better in order to cure it. Both of which our fleet already has on hand. I’ve already instructed Flotilla Medical to begin producing the necessary medicine in bulk and pre-program the tanks for treatment,” said the Senator. “The important point is every rock, every chunk of ice bigger than your fist has already been identified and extensively catalogued and we have access to the miner’s original files. That combined with our advance forces will allow us to scan the system and verify the information. If everything checks out like it should it will be the perfect crucible in which to destroy the Spineward Sectors Fleet.”
“What if our information is not correct or as up to date as we’d hoped?” asked the Chief of Staff.
“Then we begin moving toward our next potential star system. I have three different fallback options already laid out,” Cornwallis said dismissively.
“For the Empire, Sir,” the Commodore said.
“For the Empire,” agreed the Senator.
Chapter 42: Grand Fleet of the Spine is Moving In
There was a flash and gravity sensors throughout the fleet started to sound the alarm.
Tense minutes passed before it was confirmed that it was a pair of MSP scout ships returning with a report for the Grand Admiral, and not the prelude to an enemy attack.
“Get me the senior of those two Destroyer captains on the line,” I ordered and minutes later Lisa Steiner had them on my screen.
“What have you got to report?” I asked the green-skinned woman on the other end of the coms without preamble.
“Sir! The location of both the Glorious Fleet and Imperial Flotilla is confirmed. They have advanced the bulk of their fleet into the Black Purgatory Star System and appear to be setting up shop. For what purpose we still don’t know, Grand Admiral,” the Captain said excitedly the MSP uniform wrinkled and bowler style helmet riding so far toward the back of her head that it looked like it was about to fall off.
“Confirm that! You’re saying that Cornwallis has moved his Fleet beyond the hyper limit?” I snapped.
“Yes Sir,” she said snapping to attention, “the Glorious Fleet has advanced into Black Purgatory, a system that appears to have been abandoned sometime in the past several years or longer. My Destroyer’s computer system doesn’t have any recent up to date information.”
“You said some of their ships are missing?” I asked.
“There is a gas giant, several moons and two asteroid belts in the way. Ships kept popping in and out of my sensors. I cannot confirm whether or not all of their ships are in the system or if they have a significant number hidden beyond the hyper limit. I only have confirmation on 800 warships and another 150 freighters, couriers, constructor and assorted other civilian ships,” she said.
I pursed my lips as I glared at the screen.
“Sir?” she asked uncertainly.
“Thank you for your report, Captain,” I said, blanking my face before forcing a smile, “please upload your sensor results to the Flagship and stand by for any further questions we might have.
Her face cleared. “The Stiletto is happy to perform any mission we’re assigned, Admiral,” she said with a firm nod.
“Dismissed,” I gave her a salute.
She returned the salute and her holo-image faded as the connection was cut.
“What do you want to do, Admiral?” asked Steiner.
“We’ll send in more scouts,” I said.
“And after we’ve finished scouting?” she asked.
“As long as the Imperials are willing to stand still I’m prepared to meet them,” I replied.
“Eight hundred warships are a lot of ships. They’ll outnumber us more than three to one and they’ll have the tech advantage. Even the Confederation warships will probably be superior to ours, on average,” she warned.
“Don’t worry, I have a plan to even the odds. We’ll just have to make it long enough and maneuver them into position,” I replied calmly.
Her cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk and then she turned away back to her station.
“Prepare a courier to relay an important message. Priority One,” I said, pulling up a pre-prepared file on my data-slate and after encrypting it shot the file over to the communication’s officer on the flag-bridge.
“Message sent, Admiral,” Lisa Steiner reported with a knowing look after the message was sent.
“Good work. Relay to the rest of the fleet. All ships not given orders otherwise are to prepare to link and synchronize their navigation computers with the Royal Rage and prepare their ships for a simultaneous jump into the Black Purgatory Star System,” I instructed.
“Our intention is to take the battle to the enemy. May the space gods jump with us this day,” I said.
Chapter 43: The Battle Begins!
Imperial Navy and sympathetic elements at the beginning of the Battle for Black Purgatory
2nd Naval Reserve Flotilla – Fleet Strength
1 Imperial Command Carrier (1000 fighters): Mighty Punisher
4 Light Carriers (400 Fighters)
18 Battleships
18 Battleships
37 Cruisers
103 Destroyers
8 Minesweepers
Sub-total: 150
Grand Fleet of Liberation
Main Fleet
104 Battleships
198 Cruisers
403 Destroyers
49 Corvettes
Sub-total: 750
Freighters
Couriers
Constructors
Assorted Civilian Starships
Sub-total: 300
Sub-Units:
Task Force 47
Force Commander: Front Admiral Martin Barragan
Vice Commander: Front Admiral Loader
29 Cruisers
58 Destroyers
Sub-total: 87
Picketed Forces along the Overton Expanse
5 Heavy Cruisers
10 Light Cruisers (5 Imperial make)
10 Destroyers (5 Imperial make)
68 Corvettes
Sub-total: 103
Picket Forces at Aegis
8 Battleships
6 Cruisers
4 Destroyers
82 Corvettes
Sub-total: 100 (plus 83 Captured Aegis Hulls currently undergoing repairs)
Total: 1,190 active-duty warships sympathetic to the Empire of Man as of the Battle of Black Purgatory
vs.
Grand Fleet of the Spine – Black Purgatory Totals
CO: Grand Admiral Montagne
25 Battleships
76 Cruisers
100 Destroyers
64 Corvettes
Total: 265 active-duty warships sympathetic to Admiral Montagne's coalition
“Point transfer!” exclaimed the Navigator as soon as the fuzz on our screens disappeared and our sensors started reaching outside the ship.
“Gravity sump within expected limits for a jump of our level,” reported the Science Officer.
“Baffling extended. Preparing for sump slide,” said the Helmsman.
“Sensor returns. I am reading multiple starships jumping into the region of cold space immediately around us,” said the Sensor Officer updating the screen to show two dozen new contacts, one of which appeared alarmingly close to our own.
“Find out the name of that ship and its captain. If they survive the battle I’ll want to review what, if anything, went wrong. Everything else is as expected,” I said, because if anything I was expecting a few more warships to appear on our scopes during the first sweep, even if not quite at close range.
“Engaging engines,” reported the Helm. “25% thrust from both secondary’s,” and then seconds later, “Engaging primary engine.”
I ignored the drum-roll of order, counter order and report that was the usual post point transfer procedure as the ship completed its inertial sump breakout and scanned the star system.
Meanwhile, all around us the rest of the more than two hundred and fifty warships of the fleet completed their transitions through hyperspace and started checking in with the flagship.
“All twenty five Battleships have successfully jumped into Black Purgatory Star System and checked in, Sir,” reported Lieutenant Commander Steiner.
I nodded. “What’s the current tally of identified ships in the enemy fleet, Lisa?” I asked, my eyes focused on the screen and the ever increasing number of small white dots that represented enemy warships.
“So far we’ve positively identified more than six hundred warships and another two hundred civilian starships. With another dozen positively identified in the time we’ve just been speaking, Grand Admiral Montagne,” Lisa Steiner reported crisply.
“Keep an eye on the Sensor section, Lieutenant Commander. I have faith in its new leader—but then again I had faith in the old one too,” I said.
“Understood,” she replied.
Over the course of the next several minutes, an angry Imperial counterattack failed to materialize and the Spineward Sectors Fleet began to link up into formation.
I was just starting to relax, unable to keep up a state continual tension, when our gravimetric sensors went wild and five squadrons of Destroyers point transferred on the outermost port side of our scattered formation.
“I’m reading twenty plus contacts, most likely designation Destroyers, and they just went active with every sensor on their ships!” reported Tactical.
“Inform the ships nearest on the port side of our formation that those new contacts are most likely the enemy. They are to proceed with extreme prejudice,” I ordered.
“Aye aye, Sir!” said my Chief of Staff after deciding to personally transmit my orders.
“Who’ve we got in command over on that wing?” I asked turning to the ship’s First Officer.
“Due to scattering Rear Admiral Gretta Van Obenhiem is the closest senior commander in that area,” said Lieutenant Commander Snyder.
“Rear Admiral? I thought she was a Vice Admiral,” I said, brow wrinkling, “and the last I heard she was still back on Freya’s World. Did the Valkyrie show up when I wasn’t looking and we got another Battleship while I wasn’t looking?” I asked pulling up the current Battleship totals and seeing that it was still listed at 25.
“I’m afraid that after the Valkyrie III returned from Easy Haven for assessment at the Freya World Yards the yard dogs there marked down the Battleship as combat disabled and decommissioned her,” she reported.
“It’s unknown at this time whether the ship really was too badly damaged too repair and hazardous for a crew to operate or if Freya’s World down checked Valkyrie III in order to keep Von Obenheim's flagship at home, secretly buff up their SDF, and keep the Spineward Sectors Assembly from pressuring them to commit their most powerful combat unit a second time,” she continued.
“Well that explains why she’s not here in a Battleship, but unless I’m remembering it wrong didn't she receive a demotion since the last time we met?” I asked.
“It says in her file, forwarded to us from Freya’s World SDF courtesy of the New Confederation Fleet Admiralty, that according to her SDF regulations because her ship was designated combat destroyed the same protocols are used as if the ship was considered lost in combat,” interjected Lisa Steiner.
“Which means?” I asked.
“That apparently the Vice Admiral had to stand for a mandatory court-martial and a jury of her peers found her to have endangered her ship, her crew and her home world with her reckless actions,” she reported.
“What reckless actions?” I demanded angrily. “She was one of the most hesitant and least reckless commanders we had on scene!”
“Hitting the highlights,” there was an extended pause as her eyes flickered back and forth across her screen before looking up, “there were a number of charges that apparently didn’t stick but were probably the onus for her being reduced in rank.”
“Let me guess. They didn’t like me or the fact she followed my legal orders,” I sneered.
“In a nutshell,” she nodded her agreement, “there was also apparently quite a bit of rancor at her not at least attempting to relieve you of duty over the death of Admiral Veraxian.”
“That had nothing to do with me! That was all Nuttal’s idea,” I snapped angrily, “I would have put him on trial and spaced him with all due process out the airlock like a normal person! I mean who just shoots a fellow admiral in the head during a Flag meeting, especially when you’re just another member not the fleet commander?”
I was practically beside myself with the injustice of it.
“Well apparently they didn’t recognize the difference between your actions and those of Rear Admiral Grantor Nuttal and thought she was in a position to lead a legal mutiny against your command and failed to do so,” she said. “There is the fact that apparently they feel your defense plan for Easy Haven was full of holes and if she’d only worked harder to reign you in and provide a modicum of adult supervision we wouldn’t have taken as many losses, Praxis wouldn’t have tried to mutiny and as a result the Valkyrie III wouldn’t have been so badly damaged,” she reported tonelessly.
“Well isn’t that just rich? They used the legal loophole of her badly damaged ship not being repairable, something that for all we know is a complete and utter lie, to put her on trial before a court martial and then proceed to, in effect, try me in absentia by punishing her for everything they decided I did wrong?” I demanded, feeling my temper rise.
“That looks like about how it went down from a cursory glance. There might be something we’re missing. I’m just going off reading the thumbnail overview at the top,” she replied neutrally.
“Well they can Monday-morning-primeback the 3rd Battle for Easy Haven all they like and burn one of their own on the altar of my supposed incompetence if they like, but the fact remains that I was there and we got the job done, they weren’t and didn’t,” I said taking a breath.
Lieutenant Commander Steiner nodded.
“What’s the status on the Imperial strike force?” I demanded, “and do I need to issue an order so that those fools on the port flank understand that Van Obenheim is in command over there?”
She stopped and gave me a reproving look.
“Sensors and Tactical confirm the number of the enemy warships at twenty eight Destroyers and one Light Cruiser. They are currently moving to attack our nearest warships and…” she frowned at me, “no. To answer your question, Van Obenheim has already taken command of the area without any trouble or dispute,” she gave me a wounded look, “I would have informed you if there had been a problem, Sir. So you don’t need for you to inform any ‘fools’ over there.”
I could feel myself color with embarrassment but I forcibly pushed it down by dint of training. I knew better than to speak about my people that way, calling them fools, but facing a superior force that not only outnumbered us but also had the tech edge had got the better of me and I’d shot off my mouth without thinking.
“As you say. My apologies for doubting you,” I said stiffly. I couldn’t admit to more openly, but she was right.
Since I had already confirmed that Gretta Van Obenheim was in command of the port wing all I could do was keep an eye on what was happening and rally the rest of the fleet into a defensible formation.
I started issuing orders and twenty of our twenty five Battleships began to fall in around the Rage. Fourteen of them were close enough to reach us within minutes thanks to our coordinated point transfer but jump scatter and spread the other six too far away to reach the center of the fleet quickly.
As for the other five Battleships they were spread all throughout the port side of the fleet and there was no way they’d be able to fall back to join the main force before the enemy Destroyers that were already attacking one of our ships tore into even more of our warships. That being the case, it looked like Van Obenheim had given them new orders and they were moving toward the Destroyers.
It was obvious as soon as anyone with a half trained eye took a look that there was no way these Battleship were going to intercept a small fleet of Destroyers. They were out of position and slower movers to boot. Fortunately that didn’t appear that was what Rear Admiral was intending to use them for, an intercept. Instead of the Battleships chasing after the enemy Destroyers, dozens of warships of all shapes and sizes were rallying around the five independently placed Battleships, taking cover behind their large hulls and under the reach of their long ranging turbo-lasers.
Battleships significantly out-ranged anything a Destroyer had to offer. What the smaller lighter warships had that a Battleship didn’t was speed and maneuverability. They also cost significantly less to produce but that was another matter entirely.
“There they go,” muttered the Tactical Officer just loudly enough for the rest of us to hear.
I shook my head and then grit my teeth as the Imperial Destroyers came in from all sides, attacking their first beleaguered target, a Border Alliance Corvette, with overwhelming force. Its power plants exploded in short order, completely destroying the little warship.
Then, like rabid poodles, the high class Imperial warships turned on a formation of three ships: a Destroyer and two Corvettes.
“The Rear Admiral has ordered a pick-up squadron of Light and Medium Cruisers to intercept the Imperial attack,” reported Lieutenant Commander Steiner from the Comm. department.
“I have half a dozen Corvettes and half again as many Destroyers moving to form up with the Cruiser squadron for support. They should be able to reach supporting range of the cruisers before the Imperial Destroyers can get to them,” reported Tactical.
On the screen I could see the mass of Imperial warships moving around in a constantly shifting pattern that allowed them to support one another, attack our warships, and at the same time shift out those damaged Destroyers before they could become heavily damaged or completely destroyed Destroyers.
I also saw that the Imperial squadrons had reached the trio of warships before our reinforcements could.
Lasers slashed out from the Imperials and were answered in turn by our Destroyer and then belatedly by our even shorter ranged Corvettes. The ships on our side twisted and turned, rotating their hulls to spread the damage over the full length of their shields while their helmsmen and pilots showed the Imperials their best most desperate evasive maneuvers…but to no effect.
Outnumbered nine-to-one, within moments our warships had lost their shields and medium and light lasers were raking their hulls.
After losing their shields and taking serious hull damage, the Corvettes broke and ran while the Heavy Destroyer they left behind did its level best to block the Imperial Destroyers from getting up-the-kilt shots at the Corvettes engines. But a lucky shot by the Imperials left one Corvette dead in space while one Imperial squadron after another raked the now shield-less Heavy Destroyer from stem to stern, leaving behind a battered and bleeding wreck.
For a minute it looked like the last Corvette might make the great escape when eight Destroyers, two squadrons of Imperial ships, decided it was time to show everyone the tech edge their ships had over our locally built Confederation models. Within moments they were moving as fast as our fleeing Corvette, and within half a minute they had ever so slightly edged her out in speed.
The captain of that Corvette, presumably desperate to escape, red-lined her engines so hard the Corvette began to visibly pull away. Then disaster struck in the form of an explosion that started in engineering, and the next thing anyone outside of her could tell she seemed to disintegrate. One moment she was there, pulling ahead of the Imperials, and then next she was just gone. All that remained to tell she’d once been there shards and large sections of duralloy.
“I didn’t see an explosion. What happened?” I demanded of our bridge standing engineering officer.
“It looks like a critical grav-plate malfunction,” reported Adrienne Blythe after a moment.
“The grav-plates?” I asked, feeling sick to my stomach. Lots of people joked about being turned into a paste or a blood splatter at the back of the wall, but you very rarely encountered a serious grav-plate failure—let alone one as spectacular as what we had just witnessed.
“Yes, Grand Admiral. There was a fluctuation in their power core, one that caused power fluctuation all throughout the ship, right before the Corvette literally…fell apart,” reported Watch Stander Blythe in a no nonsense voice, “no doubt they pushed their engines too hard. The Chief Engineer probably over drew on their drive core, failed to properly load balance the system, or the system suffered a critical failure in both the primary and backup systems that caused the power fluctuations throughout the ship. Even a temporary loss of power at high speeds could be catastrophic. That’s why we have backup power lines and power supplies, as well as load balancing systems and a distributed intelligence system all to keep the plates and the engines in sync but it looks like despite all that the precautions on that Corvette failed her.”
“Their families will be notified of their ultimate sacrifice in defense of the Spine and this Sector,” I said, pulling out my slate and making a note to handle at least a few of the consolation letters for the family members of the officers and crew of that Corvette personally.
“Any chance of enemy action on the inside?” asked our resident intelligence officer for the first time in a while.
“It’s unlikely. Everything so far is consistent with a mechanical failure. But you’re the expert on that area not me. All I can say is that with those plates failing like they did, any chance of retrieving the Corvette’s black box is unlikely at best,” said Blythe.
While we were chatting, a force of our warships nineteen strong and lead by the mixed Light and Medium Cruiser squadron, had intercepted—or been intercepted, depending on how you looked at it—the almost thirty Imperial Destroyers.
“They have the edge in numbers and total weight of metal,” reported Tactical, “but while we’ve got a mixed bag of Destroyers and Corvettes with those Cruisers in the front to blunt their attack, this might not be as bad as it the numbers alone would suggest.”
“It’s still going to hurt no matter how you look at it,” said Commander Snyder.
I heard a female sounding snort behind me. The source I was almost certain I recognized. Then the person herself confirmed it.
“We’re already deeply outnumbered. If we can’t figure out how to win with odds at only 1 to 1.5 how are we going to defeat the enemy and win this battle?” asked Akantha, who wasn’t fully up to date on the entire battle plan.
Most people only knew the disposition and size of First Fleet. Captains and higher knew I had a plan to even the odds, but not much more than the fact that my former Chief Engineer was on the case. Others, like Akantha, knew that Spalding was involved and since it wasn’t already here that meant whatever plan I had cooked up involved the Lucky Clover 2.0 somehow.
No one but myself, Spalding and the Droids had the whole plan…well, not even the Droids. They knew most of it of course but the exact details were between Spalding and me.
At any rate, I needed to head off my wife before she put it too strongly, our light units lost, and a defeatist attitude spread throughout the fleet. I knew the Imperials had to have a few cards hidden close to their vest but I was banking on my own surprise trumping anything they could throw at us. I was betting my life on it.
With that thought causing a surge of bone-chilling cold to ripple through my chest, I frowned and turned to my wife.
“The goal is to concentrate our forces so that anytime we actually engage the enemy, we outnumber their local forces to the point we can crush and destroy them. Our goal is not to send our ships out piecemeal to be chopped up,” I reproved.
“I understand your intent. You want to defeat them in detail,” Akantha said impatiently, “but considering they are faster on average, as well as longer ranged, I don’t see how you intend to do that.”
“I thought I’d explained everything to you…privately,” I said, giving her a glare to emphasize the need not to undercut me in public.
Akantha rolled her eyes before nodding politely. “You did,” she admitted, “however, theory can only take us so far,” she appeared to realize she was still being too confrontational, because she blew a puff of air that moved a bang of hair on her forehead out of her eyes and smiled in what I had to presume was an attempt at sweetly, “which is why I can’t wait to see the surprise you’ve promised us all.”
“Thank you, my dear,” I said, feeling a wave of relief at the show of support. Because frankly if the Admiral’s own wife didn’t believe in him to the point she was openly heckling him on the bridge of his own flagship, why should anyone else?.
I didn’t need the First Fleet to single-handedly defeat the enemy, although I would gladly take it if we could, but what I did need was for everyone to hold on—and more importantly hang together until I could lure the Imperials where I wanted them. Somewhere in the outer system moving at a somewhat predictable course and speed.
“I have faith in my Protector, Jason Montagne,” she informed me with a small smile.
Why I felt concerned instead of well loved and supported like I should have, I didn’t know. I gave myself a shake, firmly reminding myself that despite a few small ups and downs my beloved Hold Mistress had been making big efforts to improve our relationship and I had as well. Things were better than ever before.
With that thought firmly in the front of my mind, I turned back to watch the upcoming battle.
Then I blinked.
On the main screen I could see behind the group of nineteen First Fleet warships was a single Light Cruiser racing ahead at full speed to join the group of nineteen warships, and behind it were a full squadron of six Heavy Cruisers roaring forward at their top speed to catch the much fleeter footed Light Cruiser.
“The captain of that ship is brave,” I remarked, pointing out the lone warship outrunning its escort of Heavy Cruisers just to try and join the rest of our embattled warships before it was too late, to Akantha.
She nodded, eyes brightening as she looked at the Light Cruiser.
But someone wasn’t nearly as pleased with the Cruiser’s actions.
“Brave but stupid,” Commodore Snyder put in dubiously. “It’s doubtful whether a single Light Cruiser’s contributions will materially change the battle. Even with its addition everything could be over before those heavies arrive, in which case all they’ve succeeded in doing is killing themselves.”
Akantha sniffed. “She is rushing to join her comrades in battle in a desperate attempt to even the odds and save the day, and all you can do is mock the attempt?” she asked sternly.
The two women locked eyes.
“Uh, Sir,” said Lisa Steiner voice cutting through the tension like a knife, “that Light Cruiser belongs to Rear Admiral Van Obenheim. It’s her flagship.”
“Oh?” I jerked with surprise.
“Even more reason not to go than before! Why risk the commander of the entire left flank?” exclaimed Commander Snyder, looking shocked.
I unconsciously nodded and then realized what I was doing and quickly shook my head.
“She’s the commander on the scene. Sometimes you have to do the unexpected or even the seemingly unwise thing in order to win the day,” I said, loyally supporting my subordinate even as I silently cursed her. The whole point of putting her in command of the left flank had been so someone closer to the action and without any appreciable communications lag could take over. If she died we were not just back to square one, but courting massive confusion and a breakdown in the chain of command. To try and stop that meltdown I would have to take personal command of the port flank, and all the reasons for appointing Rear Admiral Van Obenheim that had applied in the first place and at that time of the attack still applied right now. If not more so.
“Of course, Sir,” Snyder said into the growing silence after she realized I was still considering the situation.
“This is just a small bump on the road. A potentially very painful bump, but even if we wiped them out or the other way around, the main battle is still to come. That said,” I bared my teeth, “I’d like to win this one and bloody their noses good. Let’s see what we can do to help make that happen.”
“Of course sir but I don’t see what we can do—” replied my First Officer, looking doubtful.
“Then you haven’t been considering things deeply enough. Destroyers take half an hour to charge their hyper drives for a new jump. But our Corvettes can cycle their engines and point transfer in half the time if they push their strange particle generators to the limit,” I interrupted.
Her eyes widened with surprise and a growing respect. “You want them to short jump. It’s risky,” she said slowly but despite the hesitation in her voice I could see the sudden belief in her eyes.
“I want fifty Corvettes ready to jump in fifteen minutes, minus the ready reaction force that should have already been charging their engines up to the point-of-no-return. I expect those three squadrons to get over there and help out Rear Admiral Van Obenheim in half the time,” I ordered, shooting a look my Chief of Staff to make clear who should be passing along those orders before looking back to my number one, “meanwhile I want you to get with our navigator and have him draw up where those Corvettes are going to jump. We’ve lost enough ships to enemy action the last thing we need is to lose even more to mistakes.”
“Aye-aye, Sir,” both women chimed before hurrying off to do their duty.
While they were busy carrying out my orders I turned back to the main screen, where the Imperial Destroyer force had reached Rear Admiral Van Obenheim’s scratch force.
The Rear Admiral had yet to reach the brewing battle but the Imperial’s clearly had no intention of waiting around.
Once again their swirling fighting formation went on the attack. One right after the other the squadrons of the Imperial strike force slashed past our leading Cruiser squadron unloading their medium lasers at point blank range.
The Cruisers fought back, but with only four of them on point and twenty eight enemy Destroyers no sooner had our Cruisers started to hit an enemy squadron hard enough to begin lowering their shields than another one took its place.
The hardest hit enemy Destroyers were able to fade back into cover behind the other Imperial Destroyers. That is, they were until the Corvettes and Destroyers station behind the Light and Medium Cruisers made their move. Nine Corvettes with half a dozen Destroyers to back them up suddenly swarmed around the Cruisers intent on following after a damaged Imperial Destroyer squadron and finish them off.
As if they had been expecting this kind of move, the Imperial Destroyers all began moving at once and swarmed my smaller, less numerous warships, while I watched with a stone face. It’s not that I couldn’t do anything—I was already sending reinforcements—or that I couldn’t do anything more. I could just ignore the fact Van Obenheim was racing to the battle and start issuing orders. No. The problem was that anything more I did at this point would only make things worse. Which really grated. I was used to being in the thick of the action, going toe to toe with the enemy but as the number of ships and people underneath me had increased I—
Light lasers flared and a swarm of rockets erupted from the pack of Corvettes, temporarily swamping Imperial defenses and keeping my people from being fully en-globed and incidentally breaking me out of my train of thought.
“They’re taking the battle to the Imperials,” Commander Snyder cheered and for a moment it looked like plucky on scene commanders and the resolve of their crews would carry the day or at least break them free of the en-globement attack but then weight of metal as it inevitably always did made itself felt. Unfortunately weight, and not just the numbers, was on their side.
“They need to crush that one in the rear and they’ll be able to pass through!” Akantha encouraged, pointing at a particular Imperial Destroyer on the main screen as if she could somehow urge our people to select her target and somehow free themselves from combat.
Personally I supported the sentiment, even if not her plan or the way she was airing it on the bridge of the flagship in the middle of combat operations.
“Dear, we need to let the bridge crew do their job,” I reminded her tactfully.
Akantha shot me a disgruntled look and then, to my surprise, turned away with a sniff. Normally in the past she would have at least made some kind of cutting comment and then most likely continued to ignore me until I got mad about it. I was surprised.
During the first initial flurry of rocket fire the Corvettes had pushed deep into the Imperial formation, hot on the heels of their mini-missiles, and a pair of Destroyers were sent reeling from the formation spewing atmosphere and super-heated plasma into cold space.
But when our Corvettes went to pursue they ran into an equal number of enemy Destroyers. The resulting clash pitted Corvette level light lasers against Destroyer level medium lasers, and the effect was punishing.
Three Corvettes received punishing strikes while a fourth was struck so hard by half a dozen medium lasers that a hole was punched right through its front armor and out its stern. Moments later, the fatally damaged Corvette exploded.
Three more Corvettes had their shields knocked down sending them into a series of increasingly hazardous evasive maneuvers.
Then the Cruiser squadron who had been left behind saw their chance to do some serious damage and began to turn. Thrusters flaring, they pointed their noses at the Imperial Destroyer squadrons and began to accelerate. Eager to get into the thick of it, the Light and Medium Cruisers temporarily sacrificed their broadsides' angle of fire in return for a chance to trade blows at point blank range.
Realizing the danger, the Imperial Destroyers started to drift back trying to regain their constantly interweaving formation which was able to spread out the damage our warships could deliver. However the light warships of the Spineward Sectors First Fleet showed there were no cowards there today, and they pressed forward losing another pair of Corvettes in exchange for pinning down the Imperials. They did so just long enough for their fellows in the battered Cruiser squadron to join them.
Once again lasers flared, but this time it was heavy lasers from the Medium Cruisers backed up by an extra helping of medium lasers from their Light Cruiser companions that were telling. Under their weight of fire a single Imperial Destroyer lost its shields and Spineward Sectors lasers dug through its armor and into its internals.
Seconds later, a fusion core ejected into cold space and escape pods started ejecting from the Destroyer’s hull.
However, with all the losses on our side the battle was now closer to three to one than it was two to one. In other words our guys were in trouble.
Fortunately or unfortunately the more heavily damaged Imperials continued to pull back leaving their fresher brethren to face the charge bringing the numbers back closer to their original disparity.
Pressed hard, one of our Light Cruisers took a series of repeated laser strikes that knocked out first her starboard shield generators and then her engines. While the other Light Cruiser was forced to go to full acceleration, breaking formation, in order to save itself, barely avoiding half a dozen medium lasers intended for its own vulnerable engines.
Then the Rear Admiral and her flagship arrived. Aiming right for the middle of the Destroyer formation and still moving at a rapid pace she started taking fire. Shrugging off the attacks, only a few of which managed to penetrate her shields, Gretta Van Obenheim opened fire from both broadsides simultaneously. Moving too quickly for more than one shot, her gunnery team showed why that particular Cruiser had been chosen as her flagship when their lasers punched through the shields of an Imperial Destroyer on either side of the Freya’s World warship, even penetrating those ships' armor.
Then the flagship was turning to decelerate and rejoin the fight. To the surprise of the enemy, though, she was decelerating on a course that would bring her alongside a pair of damaged Imperial Destroyers that had teamed up for mutual protection.
With consummate skill, the Cruiser flagship was on a course to slide right between the Imperial Destroyers when the Destroyer captains went to the best speed their damaged engines could produce in an attempt to gain some distance. They gained some separation—but not enough to avoid Van Obenheim’s lasers, and the Freya’s World Cruiser authored her second double broadside of the engagement.
The portside Imperial warships bucked and writhed as half a dozen medium lasers punched through her shields, while the starboard Imperial went dead in space entirely.
Then back in the swirling scrum that was the main battle, a squadron of Destroyers that had bracketed one of our Medium Cruisers finished knocking down her shields and then poured their fire into her engines before moving off. The Medium Cruiser survived the fight but she was out of the war for the indefinite future. Even if she could repair part of her engines there was no way she’d be fast enough for the upcoming battle.
“That’s unfortunate,” I said unhappily. We only had thirty Battleships and five of them were off on a secret mission leaving me with twenty five of them. And as for cruisers? We only had seventy odd of them. Two less now, counting the Light Cruiser and now this engine damaged medium. What had we got in return? Not nearly enough. The rest of our force was comprised of one hundred Destroyers and fifty plus Corvettes, they were good for a screening force but we needed our heavy hitters to turn the battle in our favor and they couldn’t do any turning if they were dead in space without functional engines or even just too slow to keep up with the rest of the fleet.
“Sir?” asked Snyder.
“We can’t afford to keep trading like this,” I sighed.
“Well they did catch us scattered and out of position,” she pointed out after an instant of hesitation.
In a flash, the ready reaction squadrons joined the battle, stiffening our forces and turning a potential rout and total annihilation into a real fight.
Apparently, it was more of a fight than the Imperial commander of the Destroyer group was willing to stomach.
No sooner had the Corvettes arrived and come into combat range than the Imperials began withdrawing at top speed.
Rejoining their damaged comrades, the relatively undamaged Destroyers immediately encircled them and continued pulling away.
Behind them, Greta’s scratch forces hesitated forming up into working squadron formation with their Rear Admiral’s flagship quickly joining them. Then after forming up they set off at a cautious pace.
Too cautious in my estimation.
I frowned.
“Is there a need to rush?” asked Akantha. “It’s my understanding we’ll soon have another forty Corvettes jumping over there. They should be able to overwhelm the enemy, correct?”
My frown deepened. “They should, but why leave it to chance? If I were there I’d probably move to hit them fast, tie them down, and get it over with,” I said finally.
“She’s the commander on the scene. Unless you want to give her specific instructions on the battlefield you need to trust her,” Akantha said with a shrug. Clearly indicating the decision was up to me.
While I would have done things differently or even just would have preferred the Rear Admiral do things differently, Akantha’s reminder was as timely as it was important. I didn’t want to go around micro-managing my top under-officers. If I crushed any signs of initiative then if, by some terrible chance, my ship was knocked out or I lost communications there was a real risk my people would just stand around doing nothing.
Which is why I pressed my lips together began moving the entire fleet in support of Rear Admiral Van Obenheim and her forces and kept her apprised of our intentions via my communications array and subordinate officers but didn’t jog her elbow.
Fifteen minutes after giving the initial order, the Corvettes point transferred into the general vicinity of Van Obenheim’s scratch force. They were scattered but they were there, and it would have taken at least half of them another ten minutes to arrive on the scene if I’d just told them to get there using normal space drives. That meant that sure, the half that were closer would have arrived earlier, but I wasn’t interested in feeding my Corvettes one at a time into a battle against the best Destroyers in human space.
The Corvettes had just begun to gather up, setting course to rejoin Van Obenheim’s forces, when six squadrons of Light Cruisers point transferred into the area.
“It appears the Imperials were holding their hand,” I said, eyeing the Light Cruisers sharply as they broke out of their gravity-sumps at record speed and raced to meet up with their comrades.
“Sir. Rear Admiral Van Obenheim is requesting clarification of her orders,” reported Lisa Steiner, “she wants to know if she is ordered to engage the enemy at all costs.”
I felt a sour taste but immediately shook my head. “Relay to the Rear Admiral that she is to harry the enemy if possible and watch for any damaged stragglers that fall out of formation, but that she is not—I repeat ‘not’—to force an engagement with the enemy at this time,” I said.
The last thing I needed to do was throw a mixed bag of sixty Corvettes and Destroyers with only three Cruisers into a battle with a force of thirty Cruisers and another twenty Destroyers. Those were odds we needed to avoid at every opportunity.
“The Rear Admiral acknowledges her orders,” reported Steiner.
Moving at the best speed of their damaged Destroyers, the mixed group of Imperial warships pointed their noses toward the hyper limit and burned off.
“Run the numbers: are we faster than that Imperial task group?” I asked.
DuPont turned and reported before Snyder had the chance. “Even moving at the speed of our slowest Battleship we’ll catch them, Sir,” he said confidently.
I nodded. We’d catch them or they’d abandon their allies, I silently added, but there was no need to be a wet blanket.
“Then let’s get this fleet after them at our best course and speed, Mr. DuPont,” I ordered, which wasn’t really necessary because we’d been chasing after them for some time now but I did it anyway. It felt good to issue the order.
What was more the helmsman certainly seemed to appreciate because after nodding DuPont turned back to his work with a spring to his motions that had been missing previously. Perhaps I wasn’t the only one that wanted to feel as if I was doing more.
Over the next half hour the enemy warships crossed the hyper limit and lunged as deep as they could get into the outer star system as they could get before we caught them. Then with less than five minutes before our Battleships and the leading edge of our fleet formation came within attack range, all but a half dozen of the enemy Destroyers accelerated, engines flaring, as they took off at what I presumed had to be their top speed.
No sooner had they moved away from their fellows than the damaged ships they left behind began launching escape pods.
“Signal the Imperial Destroyers and tell them Grand Admiral Montagne demand their surrender, if they do so they will be considered prisoners of war with all the rights and obligations that such a status entails,” I instructed.
“Aye aye, Sir,” Lisa Steiner said crisply, immediately turning to relay the message.
As I watched, the Destroyers continued to release escape pods and, in several cases, a captain’s gig.
“I’ve contacted the captains of the damaged Imperial warships, Admiral. They have offered their parole under the rules of war,” she reported.
A tension I hadn’t even known I was feeling left my shoulders. “That’s good to hear. Considering we won’t be able to catch the rest of the Imperial border patrol without separating our fleet, I want a company of Lancers sent over to secure each of those ships. The fleet is to slow down temporarily while we send over the shuttles,” I paused, “we’ll send each company out one by one and, at the first sign of resistance or any attempt to shoot down our shuttles, our Battleships are to destroy the offending warship,” I said.
The message was relayed and the orders passed. The fleet slowed to a crawl in order to accompany the damaged and now coasting enemy ships. One by one, each of the Destroyers was boarded and secured without any sign of resistance and then, after retrieving the majority of our Lancers, we were back on the move. Token prize crews were left on board.
Chapter 44: The Battle is on: Initial Maneuvers
More like a turtle than a leviathan, the entire fleet—minus a few ships left on system watch and courier duty outside the hyper limit—continued into the system at half speed.
Yes we could have gone faster, but speed wasn’t what was needed right now, rather the opposite in fact. What I needed now was time. Time and a little bit of luck. Well, okay, let’s be honest here: a lot of luck.
For the first hour is seemed the Imperials were more than happy to oblige us, not reacting in any way to our sluggish pace, choosing instead to sit there relatively motionless in orbit around the Gas Giant.
I frowned at the screen. “Is anyone else becoming increasingly concerned with that outer asteroid field the closer we get?” I asked as we continued to close in on the first field of orbiting space rocks and asteroids.
“Sir?” asked Lieutenant Commander Steiner alarmed.
“Maybe I’m just feeling particularly paranoid,” I muttered.
First Officer Snyder and Chief of Staff Steiner shared concerned looks while I mulled over my options.
“What do you want to do about it, sir?” Lisa Steiner asked with concern.
“Why aren’t they reacting? They should have started maneuvering by now,” I commented to no one in particular.
“Perhaps they’re waiting until we’re too deep in the gravity well to escape,” said Commander Snyder.
I drummed my fingers along the side of my throne impatiently.
“About the asteroid belt,” Chief of Staff Steiner prompted again when it became obvious I was lost in thought.
I gave her an irritated look. “I don’t think we have the time or replacement arrays to burn a wide enough path through that asteroid field for safety any time soon,” I replied crossly, once again eyeing that gas giant.
The two women continued to look at me, and when Akantha also looked over curiously I found myself the recipient of three interested gazes. It was enough to make a man be unable to think, that’s what it was.
“We’ll deal with the asteroid field later. If the Imperials want to play for time I am more than willing to oblige them. Stand ready to plot a new course,” I declared, deciding discretion the better part of valor when it came to attacking a fleet with more forces on ground it had chosen.
“At once, Sir!” the First Officer said, seemingly happy to be doing anything, even if it was something as seemingly non-productive as setting an arcing course parallel to the asteroid belt.
“Are you sure that’s wise,” asked Akantha, “after all, you promised to attack the Imperials wherever you found them. If after showing up in this star system you pull back from a fight and let them run away it not only makes you a liar, it could hurt morale.”
I glared at my wife. “Who’s the Warlord here?” I demanded.
“You are, of course,” Akantha said, looking back at me and I could see her temper rising by the moment.
I snorted. “That’s right! And don’t you forget it. As for the Imperials, let them sweat for a while. It’s good for the soul, or so I’m told. As for our people, even if by some miracle the Imperials decided we were taking too long and decided to leave the star system, we’ll just attack them on the way out! There’s no way they could run to the hyperlimit before we can, we’re between them and escape on this side of the solar system and if they run the other way, we’ll just pop on over the edge of the limit and short jump in front of them. We’ll hit them on the way out, but never fear. Sure some of them might get away but that’s hardly the worst outcome that could come out of all this,” I said.
“You mean like defeat?” asked Akantha.
I glared at her, taking a surreptitious glance around the room and then stating firmly.
“I mean like chopping them down to size one fight at a time. I didn’t promise to defeat the enemy in one glorious victory, what I said was we would hunt them down and fight them wherever we found them. Well here we are, we’ve found them, and we won’t let them off without a fight!” I said.
I could see the three women exchange doubtful looks before clearing their faces and putting on the same confident look as myself.
It was almost enough to make me wince. Almost.
As it was I shook my head at these women of little faith and resolutely turned back to the screen.
After getting together with the navigator to finalize our temporary route in front of the asteroid belt and our ships started their patrol I sat back in my chair satisfied with the results.
Even DuPont’s irritating suggestion wasn’t enough to ruin my good mood.
“Sir, you realize there’s no reason we can’t just go above or below the asteroid belt don’t you?” he asked in a quiet voice. “Think of the solar system like a disc. Gravity and angular momentum, working in tandem cause everything to rotate and collapse around the local star in a disc, but that doesn’t mean we can’t use our drives to go up and around the obstacles. It just takes more time.”
I looked at him and blinked. “We can always do that later, Helm,” I informed him without a blink.
“I just wanted to make sure you knew that, Admiral,” he said again in a low voice, “the way you were talking about blowing holes in the asteroid belt to clear a path…”
“That was just to make sure they couldn’t ambush us while we finished scanning the system and keep their attention focused where we wanted,” I said coolly.
DuPont gave me a quick up and down searching look and then nodded. “Of course, Sir,” he replied.
“Carry on,” I instructed.
After the Helmsman had turned away I wiped a hand over my suddenly sweating brow.
I am going to win this battle or at least destroy the enemy fleet, I told myself repeatedly until I once again began to believe it.
All I had to do was lure the Imperials into the outer star system. After that everything would fall into place like dominos. It had to.
Or we were sunk.
Chapter 45: Imperial Tactics
“Alright, that’s enough,” Cornwallis grimaced. This was the third time the Spineward Sectors Fleet had crossed back over the same patch of space in front of the asteroid belt. Enough was enough.
The Captain of the Mighty Punisher turned to look at the Senator with surprise.
“Clearly they have no intention of coming to us. We could sit here for days at Condition One, wearing ourselves out while they sleep and celebrate over on those ships of theirs,” remarked the Senator.
“Praetor,” the Captain said turning to the Senator with a neutral face, “I realize that we outnumber them heavily and currently hold every advantage, but if we sacrifice the initiative and start dancing to their beat they might have a chance, however small, to turn things around,” he warned.
“Oh I have no intention of dancing to anyone’s ‘beat’ but my own. This is all part of my plan,” he informed the Captain.
“Even so I suggest you proceed with caution,” said the Captain.
Charles Cornwallis gave him a sharp look. “A lesser man might feel the need to respond to that in ways you might not like, Captain. Fortunately I’m not such a man, which is why I’ll take your words in the spirit in which they was given,” the Senator said coldly.
The Captain blinked with alarm. “I never meant to imply anything but that the enemy has proven both willing to fight and at the same time surprisingly deceptive in the past. I meant nothing more, Sir,” said the Captain.
“Which is why we won’t be giving them any chances. I’ll be running this battle by the numbers,” he smirked, “except where I’m not. Prepare to stand down the Mighty Punisher crew from red alert to yellow, except on the flight decks. It’s time to punish the Empire’s enemies,” said the Senator.
“What are your orders, Admiral?” the Captain asked officially.
“Prepare to punish the enemy, Captain. And let your Commander Space Group know we’ll be using his fighters to soften up the enemy before the main fleet decides to move,” said the Senator.
“Yes, Sir!” said the Captain.
Chapter 46: Confederation Worries
We were on our fourth pass in front of the asteroid field and my fleet was starting to get antsy.
A series of faint intermittent sensor contacts had been registered leaving the asteroid field. All of them were on courses that would cause us to reach them at the end of our current route or on our return.
“Sir, I’ve received a call from an SDF Admiral requesting to speak with you as the fleet commander and requesting you by name,” reported the communication’s officer.
“For what purpose? We’re in the middle of opening maneuvers,” I asked irritated.
“He’s insisting to speak with you but won’t state the purpose to me, Grand Admiral. He’s repeating his demand to speak with you in person,” said the Communication’s Officer tensely.
I scratched my forehead in thought. “I’ve just received another message. I have two SDF Commodores on the line, Sir. They’re also demanding to speak with you. They say it’s an emergency situation that only you can solve,” reported the com-officer.
My face hardened. What were the odds that three high ranking officers all wanted to speak with me at the same time? There was a conspiracy afoot.
“Put one of the Commodores on and inform the Admiral I’ll be with him shortly,” I instructed the com-officer.
On the main screen the intermittent sensor contacts appeared to shift course.
“This is Commodore Stevenson Smith of the Midras Compact battle group out of Austin,” the other man said flatly as soon as he appeared on screen.
“I know who you are, Commodore,” I said coldly, both because we’d been introduced previous as well as because of the helpful prompts on the screen below his image, “what seems to be the emergency?”
While I was talking, another two images joined the Commodore on his screen, squeezing and compacting his image until they all fit.
“What’s all this, Commodore Smith?” I said coldly. A quick glance at the other two men confirmed that a Rear Admiral and another commodore had joined us on the channel.
“While I defer to Admiral Warden in this matter, let me assure you he speaks for all of us,” said Commodore Stevenson Smith.
“Fascinating,” I replied blandly, “or it would have been if I had been speaking with Warden or if I knew the first thing you were talking about. As it is I find myself becoming increasingly impatient with this farce, Commodore,” I said continuing to focus on Commodore Smith to the point of ignoring the other two men.
“Then let me save us all a lot of time by being blunt, Admiral,” Warden said, cutting in and taking charge of the conversation from the other end of the channel.
“I so wish you would. Unnamed reasons and life saving emergencies are hardly the most straightforward way to gain your superior’s attention. Some might even call such actions hazardous in the extreme—considering we’re in the middle of active combat operations!” I said forcefully.
“And that’s exactly what we want to speak with you about, Admiral Montagne. The upcoming combat operations,” Rear Admiral Warden said, eyes glinting with purpose.
My own eyes turned hard, “When I need your input I’ll come to you for the download. In the meantime I need to get back to directing the operations and maneuvers of this fleet. So if there’s nothing else, I’ll be going now,” I said laconically. On the outside I might appear uninterested but on the inside I was seething. This had all the elements of a half-thought-out power play and I intended to shut it down cold.
When I moved to cut the channel Warden cleared his throat.
“I’m afraid that wouldn’t be wise, Admiral,” he informed me.
“Wise? Who are you to lecture the Grand Admiral of the Spineward Sectors Confederation?” I demanded in a hard voice, “I agreed to speak with Commodore Smith who I am now done speaking with as he clearly would rather have a Rear Admiral who used his authority to break into my private secure channel speak for him,” I gave the Rear Admiral a long look, “if I had wanted to speak with you right now, Rear Admiral Warden, I would have accepted your call and not the Commodore’s.”
“This is impossible,” snapped the third officer Commodore Winters, “are you planning to actually engage the enemy or just continue to run around like a cowardly chicken with its head cut off?”
“Please let me handle this, Commodore,” Rear Admiral Warden said tensely.
I glared at Commodore Winters, ignoring Warden.
“A cowardly chicken is it? Winters, you’ve just crossed the line; this is outright insubordination. Put yourself on report and if you don’t feel like you can fulfill your duties as squadron commander, you are to put yourself on report and consider yourself relieved until further notice!” I said furiously.
“No, Sir! You couldn’t drag me away,” snarled Winters.
“Get yourself together and lock whatever this is down then,” I ordered angrily.
“Grand Admiral, I’m sorry for the way this meeting has got off on the wrong foot. But much as I hate to admit it we have more pressing concerns,” said the Rear Admiral, trying to take back control over the conversation.
“Enough trying to manage the situation and sweet talk me; we’re in the middle of a battle, Warden. The time for meetings is over. You’re here to help, in which case the three of you are going to turn off your com-screen get back to your posts—and pray that time and courage in combat dull my memory of today,” I said.
“I’m sorry you feel that way. I just have one question: when are we going to close with the enemy? Enough of this dancing around, Sir. We all know we’re going to die. The force disparity is just too great. What we want, what we need, to know is when are we going go on the attack?” asked Warden.
“You may be resigned to death and the Commodores with you may feel the same. But I assure you I have a plan for victory,” I said coldly.
“One you won’t share. You can understand how that doesn’t inspire confidence in your decision making process,” said Warden, “especially in light of your less than stellar performance in your last several combat engagements.”
“I don’t know about your track record, but I’ve actually won the last several wars I’ve been involved in,” I said.
“But not the battles, or not without such great cost it seems pyrrhic in nature. Yes, I’d like to win. But…” he trailed off shaking his head, “we can’t do that dancing out here in the outer system afraid to engage the enemy.”
“I am not afraid of anyone,” I snapped.
“Call it what you will,” he shrugged, “you can’t win a war if you’re constantly arriving too late to the party or actively running away.”
“I’ve gone out of the way to explain my strategy, not just to my flag and pennant officers but to the ship captains as well. But clearly you lack confidence in me as your commander. I acknowledge some of that’s on me. But like you yourself acknowledge: I win my wars. All you had to do is follow orders and the chain of command as laid out by the new civilian authority. But it’s become clear you can’t,” I said sadly, “we’re fighting a war of maneuver right now and, as much as I’d like to slug it out with the Empire, doing so at this juncture is a fool's game.”
“Fools, are we?” cried Commodore Smith. “Well at least we’re not tyrants!”
“Commodore, you’re relieved of command; get me the senior captain in your combat squadron on the line and the next senior officer on your flagship,” I instructed.
“You can go to the pit. The people of Central are not the only ones not afraid to speak truth to tyranny!” he shouted over the com-line.
I turned my head. “Lisa, please get the head of Commodore Smith’s Lancer contingent and the senior officer in his squadron on the horn. I need to speak with them immediately,” I ordered.
“I wish it hadn’t come to this,” sighed Rear Admiral Warden.
“You’re relieved as well,” I informed the other Admiral.
“You can shout orders from the mountain top all you like,” said Commodore Winters, “but we are not sheep, nor are we cowards like yourself, too afraid to come to grips with the enemy, we are free and independent SDF warship commanders! Not a part of some monolithic Confederation fleet that jumps when you say 'frog'!”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I originally thought this was a misguided attempt at negotiation, what a fool I was. It’s become clear to me this was never anything more than mutiny in cold space. You can consider yourself relieved on the charge of mutiny in cold space, Commodore Winters,” I said.
“Go jump in a waste recycler!” snapped Winters before cutting his channel.
“The people of my world would rather die on our feet than serve under a tyrant,” Stevenson Smith said firmly before he too cut the channel.
“Well you’re still here. Ready to give me your last fiery impassioned speech about how terrible I am before you try to fracture this fleet during the biggest most important battle the Spineward Sectors has ever faced?” I asked, looking at Rear Admiral Warden.
“Too bad. I’d hoped at least some of your reputation would turn out to be true and you’d be able to see reason before it smacked you in the face. Whatever happens next is not on my head. It’s on yours,” said Warden.
“So has said every terrorist and mass murderer in history. The next conversation I’m going to have won’t be with you. It’ll be with your XO’s and head of your onboard Lancer contingents,” I said with a shrug. This wasn’t a democracy, this was a military organization. Warden, Smith and Winters didn’t get to threaten and tell their Commanding Officer what to do.
“On your head then!” said Warden cutting the channel.
I took a deep, shuddering breath, acutely aware of the sudden silence surrounding me on the bridge.
I hated the way this had gone down. I hated even more that it looked like I was about to lose control of a significant portion of my fleet. But the sad fact was if I started letting my Captains, Commodores and even Admirals start telling me how to run this fleet we really would lose this battle.
“Sir, the head of Commodore Winters’s Marine contingent is refusing to speak with me and I can’t seem to raise the next person in his line of command,” reported Steiner.
“I’m having the same issue with Smith and Warden’s subordinates, Sir,” Steiner reported a beat later.
“Twenty three warships in three different groups have just broken formation and are turning toward the intermittent stealth Imperial contacts, Grand Admiral,” reported Lieutenant Commander Hart at tactical.
I clenched my fist. Since I couldn’t reach their internal security forces, probably because they were part of the mutiny, that only left me with two options. I could let them go, undermining my authority, or I could order the rest of the fleet to fire on them and risk a more general mutiny.
“Sir I’m getting multiple requests from senior officers. Admirals Dark Matter and Van Obenheim are requesting clarification regarding the actions of the three rogue formations,” reported the com-officer.
I hesitated. Dark Matter and Gretta Van Obenheim were former and current comrades in arms. Things had been somewhat rocky at times but in the end they’d put themselves to the hazard on my orders before. I felt like they deserved to know the truth but right now what I needed most was to decide what I was going to do. Everything would follow after that.
Indecision would kill this fleet faster than a wrong decision.
Then, miraculously, the mutinous warships slowed down and began to fall back into formation.
“Sir, 2nd Grand Admiral Manning requests to speak with you,” reported the Com-Officer.
I shook my head. “The Grand Admiral is going to have to wait,” I said shortly. The Grand Admiral had joined the fleet at almost the same time as the Aegis Fleet reinforcements but had been laying low until now. Apparently he was making his move.
“He says it’s urgent, Sir,” said the Com-Officer.
“Tell him I have several mutineers to settle first,” I said turning away.
“But Sir,” the com-officer burst out, “that’s exactly it. He’s calling about the mutinous warships. He says to tell you he’s convinced the mutineers to rejoin the fleet and is requesting you place them under his command and delay any action against the officers of those squadrons until after the battle is won.”
I turned around to stare at the com-officer my jaw bunching. In other words, the former High Captain and current Grand Admiral Manning from Elysium wanted me to cover it up, for now. It benefited us all if it looked like a little bit of over eagerness instead of outright mutiny in the ranks, but I could already see a half dozen ways Admiral Manning could use this episode against me. He could be completely sincere and dedicated to winning this battle, and just as dedicated to deposing me and seizing control of the Fleet.
There was also Smith, Winters and Warden—the men who dared to speak truth to ‘tyranny.’ Was I just supposed to let them go? That didn’t sit well. I mean I understood eating it when the population went after me. What was I going to do, send out Lancers to individually punch everyone who called me a tyrant in the mouth? I snorted derisively. While modern technology certainly made that possible, such actions were those of a despot.
So fine, they could call me whatever they wanted. The citizens, that is. But trained military officers in the middle of a battle, Commodores and an Admiral? When you tacked on top their stated purpose of taking their forces out there to die fighting rather than stay with the rest of the fleet I had no sympathy for them. More than that, I was actually starting to consider smashing their faces in with my fists.
I took a deep breath.
There was no need for revenge. Especially when justice in the form of military law would be oh-so-much-more brutal, not to mention final, than anything I personally would do to them…
“Sir?” asked the Com-Officer.
“Tell Grand Admiral Manning they’re his now—as is their conduct from this point forward,” I said tightly, wondering if I shouldn’t just hand the whole mess over to someone else anyway. The fact was all I wanted to do was beat on them some and then discharge them from the fleet in disgrace; I had no interest in spacing them. On second and third thought, this mess was exactly why we had Lancers, masters-at-arms, and a fleet legal department.
So thinking, I pulled up a screen and tapped out a series of messages to those very departments. I had subordinates and it was time to use them. I’d only step in and wade into the fray if it looked like they were getting off unmolested—or worse. Otherwise I was pretty sure Akantha would just have them murdered, assuming she didn’t want to do the deed herself.
“Aye aye, Sir,” said the com-officer.
Shooting a glance over at my tall, statuesque blond, I could see flames shooting out of her eyes as she glared at the holo-screen. If looks could kill then the Admiral and his two companions would already be dead. On reflection, it was probably best to turn the whole thing over to the legal department.
I grunted and turned back to the screen.
Over the next hour the fleet maintained its patrol route, varying it just enough so that we wouldn’t run into anything such as stealth ships or mines. Then we waited.
Oh, and we dropped more than a few jammer buoys along our patrol route. Just in case.
“Do you want to activate the jammers, Admiral?” asked Tactical when the intermittent contacts were only a minute out.
I rubbed my chin, feeling the prickly itch of facial hair that indicated I would need to shave again the next time I performed my morning ablutions, and shook my head.
“No. Hold them in reserve for now,” I said.
“Are you sure? The Imperials at least are going to have the tech edge. If we don’t use it we may lose whatever advantage we have,” pressed Tactical.
I looked at the other man skeptically, “I don’t see how making it even harder for us to see those fighters and coordinate a defense of the fleet is going to help us.”
“The enemy has already shown they can jam us at need. If we wait too long they may cut us off from our own buoys,” advised Tactical.
“A good point. Have two squadrons of Corvettes detach from the main group. They are to advance away from both our fleet and the stealth contacts and stay out of the enemy’s estimated jammer range. After that they can use whisker lasers to establish and maintain contact with the Royal Rage and our buoys. If anything happens and we need to activate our string of jammers, they can do the service,” I said.
“Yes, Sir,” said the Tactical Officer.
Our Corvette squadrons had just enough time to clear the estimated range of Imperial jamming technology before sensors unveiled the Imperials, penetrating their stealth field.
“As expected, Imperial Strike Fighters,” I said glumly.
“How many do we have, Tactical?” asked First Officer Snyder moments before our screens fuzzed.
“What just happened, Tactical?” demanded Snyder.
“We’re experiencing interference. The same as we encountered during our last encounter with the Empire,” reported Tactical.
“More jammer drones,” I said disgustedly.
“The area of effect seems to be centered around the Imperial Strike Fighters, but effectively it’s the same. They activated it as soon as they realized we’d penetrated their stealth field, Sir,” reported Tactical.
I nodded and then shot my First Officer a look.
She nodded and then hurried over to the sensor section where we had a new Officer in charge of the section. That he was considered the best upcoming Sensor Officer in the MSP would have been more comforting if our previous Sensor leader hadn’t also been highly recommended.
“Don’t worry, Admiral,” Sensor Ensign Terry Pentrada assured me looking over her shoulder with flashing a smile, “we’ve had the technology for some time. It was the ability to use it effectively, both training-wise and with the proper programming and sensor sensitivity and identification systems all meshed together that was lacking. Don’t worry; we haven’t sat on our hands. Imperial jamming technology won’t be nearly as effective this time around,” she said confidently.
“Well Pentandra, while I appreciate the enthusiasm, so far my battle plot is just as fuzzed up as in the past,” I said, giving her a skeptical look.
“The Imperials use a certain system. We just need to make a few changes to make sure the new programs mesh up with our identification algorithms and—” there was a pause as she turned back to her console.
Several long moments passed as she worked furiously and then large group of hazy and flickering images appeared on my screen.
“There we go,” she said triumphantly as just under eighty contacts appeared on screen.
“Imperial Strike Fighters are about to enter attack range!” reported the Tactical Officer.
“What did I say? No one knows the sensors and DI of the Dreadnaught class better than I do,” boasted the confident, some might say over confident, young Caprian Ensign.
I wanted to reply but there was no time. Our sensors were still fuzzed up and even though we could see them, hard firing locks with our fire control computers were still an issue, as was communications with the rest of the fleet. Whisker lasers worked but had lower bandwidth than even a regular encrypted channel, and on top of that ships were prone to move in ways event the best of computers with known courses couldn’t always perfectly keep up with forget about when sudden evasive maneuvers were required.
“Order the Corvettes to intercept,” I ordered.
A series of communications flashed back and forth and two dozen Corvettes in position to make an immediate intercept moved into position. I also noted almost a dozen gunboats of varying designs deploying to protect their Corvettes. Sundered, no doubt, as Glue was in command of the Corvette screen.
The closer the fighters approached the more effective their jamming field but also the more powerful our sensors. It was one thing to confuse Battleship level sensors at long range but another entirely during a close engagement.
Like a whisk of lightning, the Imperial fighters blew through the Corvette screen. Lasers flared and rockets surged to life, causing more than a dozen fighters to die and one Corvette to reel out of position.
The Imperial survivors—more than eighty fighters in total indicating we must have missed more of them, even with our improved sensors, than we’d expected—singled out a Medium Cruiser on the edge of our formation as their target and moved in.
Another half dozen fighters died and then the fighters struck home. One perfectly coordinated burst of laser fire punched a hole in the shields of the Cruiser and three squadrons of Imperial fighters dove through the opening. The hole closed and two more fighters that had been trying to follow their fellows in died a fiery death. As their squadron mates outside the shields pulled out, the three squadrons took action.
Point defense lasers opened fire in desperate defense, causing four more fighters to die before the rest of the Imperials reached their target. The better part of two full squadrons strafed the Medium Cruiser’s engines one after the other before pulling up and away. Seconds later another two had died, and the rest opened a hole in the Cruiser’s shields and escaped.
As quickly as they came, the remaining fighters pulled out screaming away from the engagement and our fleet.
“The Blazing Counter Fire reports she’s down both engines. Her top engine is repairable and her captain reports she’ll be able to maneuver in no more than fifteen minutes, but the bottom drive engine is going to need time in the yard before he’ll trust it again,” reported Steiner.
“Well isn’t that just wonderful? Either we abandon her or we’re sitting ducks until she can get engines back up,” said my First Officer.
“Use bucking cables and have another Cruiser—a Heavy Cruiser—take her in tow until Blazing Counter Fire can get her engines working,” I said.
“I’ll pass the orders,” said my First Officer.
I eyed her for a moment and then nodded. It didn’t matter who did it, although it would have been better if it were a Flag Captain passing along the Admiral’s orders instead of a mere ship’s First Officer but we played with the hand we were dealt.
As I eyed the seventy fighters winging their way away from the First Fleet of the Spineward Sectors and then looked back at the tally of two ships damaged, a Corvette and a Medium Cruiser, I frowned. The trade hadn’t been a good one.
Not a half hour after the first fighter attack, another was on the way. Thankfully at least the Blazing Counter Fire, true to her captain’s promise, was back in action.
This time all of our Corvettes were lined up to receive the enemy, but the problems with fleet coordination and gunnery fire control were still the same as ever. However, with forty Corvettes on task this time things were different and when the Imperials came blazing in they never reached the Cruisers. Unfortunately, one of the Corvettes was lost and another three badly damaged before the surviving fighters were winging away.
“How many did we get?” I asked.
“More than forty. It looks like they’re sending them at us in hundred fighter blocks,” reported Tactical.
I shook my head, wishing not for the first time today that I hadn’t sent the Jumble Carriers and my entire gunboat force away with Commander Spalding for the knockout punch. 'Hopefully' the knockout punch, I reminded myself.
The next attack was delayed, only it wasn’t only one force this time it was two. One of the stealth groups had slowed while the other sped up. It was timed so they hit us at the same time but from opposite ends of the fleet.
As a result, I was forced to split my Corvette screen. The Destroyers, while not quite as nimble, would just have to cope up the increased load and take up some of the slack.
Roaring in from either side, and protected from accurate long ranged laser fire by their jammers, the two Strike Fighter groups converged on us.
Chain guns fired and point defense lasers flared, and of the two hundred fighters that attacked only one hundred and thirty nine survived the attack. But behind them were the burning wrecks of another Corvette and a Heavy Cruiser with no engines whatsoever.
We’d already weathered the attack of four different fighter wings, but from the looks of it we had twice that many to go with eight more fighter groups arrayed against us.
“They’re bleeding us,” I said bleakly. It was a death of a thousand cuts. So far I had lost several Corvettes outright but, even though they weren’t destroyed, I had one Cruiser effectively out of the fight unless I intended to tow her into combat, and another one completely unable to keep up with high speed combat maneuvers.
“They’ll run out of fighters before we run out of warships,” Lieutenant Commander Snyder said confidently.
“It’s not their fighters I’m afraid of,” I said, looking back at the Imperial fleet that was still hiding inside the radiation storm that was a gas giant’s orbit. “Set up a new formation. We’re not moving until the Glorious Fleet does,” I commanded, issuing the orders for a globe formation putting our heaviest warships right smack in the middle with the smaller ships on the outside.
There was no need to take more losses than necessary.
Chapter 47: Anti-Ship Strikes Devastate the Fleet
“Praetor, the Spineward Sectors Fleet has come to a halt and taken up a basic anti-fighter formation,” reported his flag lieutenant.
“So far losses have been light,” said the Mighty Punisher’s Commander Space Group, “as expected of the Imperial Naval design board.”
“The new Strike II-A variant is proving even more effective than I’d hoped. The improved stealth suite links up seamlessly with the Phantom-class drones; between that and the new micro-shielding we’re taking markedly fewer losses,” said the Senator.
“The enemy almost has to fire on manual control to get a hit in, and now when they do our fighters actually have a chance of surviving it,” agreed the CSG.
“All we’ve done so far is soften them up,” Cornwallis mused and lifted a finger, “I think that since we now have a better idea of their defensive countermeasures it’s time to do some real damage.”
The Commander Space Group looked at him in alarm.
“At the rate we’re going we’ll be able to keep the pressure on them, rotating our strike groups out to them and back to the carrier. Are you sure you want to adjust things?” he asked with concern.
“Unsupported fighter strikes, even with the new Strike II-A variant, are doomed to whittle away our combat power with little to show for it, nothing more. I think it’s time to ramp things up,” said Charles Cornwallis.
“You’re the Flotilla Commander, Praetor. What would you suggest?” the CSG said blank face.
“We take the Punisher’s remaining eight fighter wings,” the Senator opening his fingers and then clenching them into a fist, “and make a hammer capable of reaching into the center of the enemy—and then we rip out his heart.”
“What about complements of the Emperor Augustus and Imperial Road? They only have the old Strike I-B fighters but there are four wings of them,” asked the Commander Space Group.
Cornwallis nodded. “There’s no reason to sacrifice those fighters,” agreed the Senator, “on the other hand, the enemy shouldn’t have a chance to rest either. It will take some time, but within two hours I want one of those fighter wings to make an attack run on the Spineward Sector Fleet every hour on the hour.”
“They’ll be annihilated,” the Fighter Commander observed neutrally.
“The goal isn’t to do damage. Leap in, hit the enemy’s screen, and bounce back. I’m not looking to damage the locals so much as keep them at their posts. Let’s see what eight hours of continuous fighter strikes does to their morale before the main fighter group makes it’s move,” said the Senator.
Two hours later, the first of the old strike I-B variants made their attack. They hit the enemy screen and caused some damage to the Spineward Sectors Corvettes before shooting off and away with seventy of its fighters still fit to return to Imperial Road the Imperial light carrier that was its home.
An hour later, the next attack came—only this time the Corvettes moved out to engage, driving off the wing from Emperor Augustus without them even pretending to make a run at the heart of the Spineward Sectors Fleet.
Cornwallis' fingers on the arm of his chair clenched until they were white and then he turned to look at the CSG.
“For the Glory of the Empire,” he said, turning back to look at the screen stonily.
The CSG stiffened and then turned back to his station with a jerk. When the next fighter wing, comprised of one hundred fighters from the Imperial Road, were intercepted by the Corvettes screen, the Strike I-B variants the older style fighters didn’t turn away. Instead they stayed formed up and punched through the Corvettes, determined to attack despite the losses. With under sixty fighters fit for service, the remainder continued on an attack run deep into the fleet. Without regard for their lives, the Imperial wing engaged another Medium Cruiser and crippled her engines before a pitiful handful of Strike Fighters disengaged and succeeded in pulling away from the Spineward Fleet.
“Prepare a written commendation for each member of that Fighter Wing, both those that survived and those that did not, I’ll sign it,” said the Senator, continuing to look at the screen.
“That won’t bring their lives back, Sir,” spat the CSG.
“No, but a unit-wide medal will add at least a hundred credits a month to their family’s pensions and that, along with the commendation, will let their families know in no uncertain terms that their sacrifice was necessary for the good of the Empire,” said the Senator, still not looking at the Commander Space Group.
There was only silence from the CSG.
“Do we have a problem, CSG?” asked the Senator.
The Commander took a deep breath. “No, Praetor I’ll make sure to notify the six survivors of this attack of the commendation at once,” said the other man.
“Good,” said the Senator, still focused on the battle plot.
The CSG turned back after sending out the message, and then looked at the Senator breathing deeply several times before once again speaking, “Will the next two wings be required to make a similar sacrifice?”
“I don’t think that will be necessary,” said Cornwallis.
An hour later, the next group of old style Strike Fighters formed up like they were going to engage the Corvettes and then broke into individual squadrons and tried to skirt around them. A swirling dogfight ensued as they maneuvered around the Corvettes, several squadrons forced to engage the little warships directly while the remainder brushed up against several squadrons of Destroyers before turning back. They withdrew after leaving a pair of Destroyers streaming atmosphere.
In the end they withdrew with half their numbers.
The next wing of fighters came an hour later, these the last of the old style variants. Formed up like they were planning to smash directly through the Corvettes and engage the main fleet, they had orders to engage the depleted Corvette screen directly instead.
Fighters were shot out of the sky, but another three Corvettes were knocked out of service.
“Now it’s time for the decisive blow,” said the Senator as the survivors from the previous strikes continued to straggle in back home to their carriers.
“They still show no sign of movement, Sir,” noted Cornwallis’s Chief of Staff.
“He wants us to come to him,” said Cornwallis.
“Or he’s afraid of what we might have hidden behind the outer asteroid field, but either way we should not do what he wants,” advised the grey bearded Commodore.
“I agree. However this war won’t be won with half measures; at some point we’ll have to face them,” said the Praetor.
“But at a time and place of their choosing?” questioned the Commodore.
“No. Indeed not. Even if they appear weak in number that doesn’t necessarily mean anything,” mused Cornwallis, “which is why I think I’ll send the Glorious Fleet out a few minutes before the main fighter strike from Mighty Punisher rams home.”
“You’re the Admiral…or Praetor, I suppose,” shrugged the Commodore automatically correcting himself, “I know I don’t need to remind you but I’m going to say it anyway. We have reliable reports that Admiral Montagne has access to a jump device capable of jumping a small fleet of ships both into and out of the hyper limit. I advise we proceed with caution.”
“You mean I should proceed with caution,” Cornwallis contemplated the other man silently before continuing as if as if that moment had never occurred, “well, caution has never been my strong suit but neither has stupidity. Which is why the glory of the first engagement will go to the Glorious Fleet of Liberation, if at all possible, and my Command Carrier will stay back with the rest of the Flotilla.”
“An excellent suggestion, Praetor,” said the Commodore, prompting Cornwallis to give him a sharp look.
Finally it was once again the Mighty Punisher’s turn, and with over eight hundred new variant Strike Fighters—and the permission of Praetor Cornwallis—the CSG sent eight full wings right down the Spineward Sectors' throat.
The Corvettes were overwhelmed and more than half the remaining warships destroyed as an overwhelming force of Imperial Strike Fighters the II-A variant smashed through the defensive screen. Belatedly realizing the sheer size of the attack, many Destroyer squadrons not already in the path of the Imperial fighter tsunami scrambled to re-position and face the new threat. Others broke formation, pulling back and gathering together with other ships from the same star system in order to defend each other.
The tight, interlocking fields of fire the Spineward Fleet had set up were broken as individual System Defense Force leaders panicked and broke ranks.
Not waiting for the Spineward Sectors Fleet to get its act together, wave after wave of Strike Fighters smashed through a pair of Destroyers and shot forward into the gap caused by the locals' loss of fleet control.
Ignoring the easy pickings that were the now several, small, divided SDF commands, the still more than six hundred strong
Strike Fighter, under the order of their Imperial Wing Commanders, aimed themselves right at their real targets: the Spineward Sectors Battleships.
Lasers flared and chain guns roared while a converted Imperial Medium Cruiser, now a Spineward Sectors refitted Heavy Cruiser, the Furious Phoenix shot forward opening fire with its plasma cannons, sending streams of plasma balls at the attacking Strike Fighters.
Losses were heavy, but the Imperial fighters closed into close attack range and swarmed. That was when they revealed that several of the fighters had special munitions attached to their undercarriages.
Chapter 48: Agitation and Deadly Losses Among the Fleet
One moment we were surrounded by Strike Fighters, and the next an explosion rocked the starboard side of the ship. Fortunately the shields held.
“Shields are down to 40% on the starboard side. We have spotting,” reported Junior Lieutenant Longbottom.
“What was that!?” I demanded.
“I don’t know, Sir. But I have multiple bogies on an attack run on the starboard flank; they’re trying to get inside!” shouted an Assistant Tactical Officer.
“Whatever that, was it caused a feedback in the shield system and flipped half my surge protectors,” reported Longbottom.
“All gunners are to fire at will. I want those fighters gone; Gunnery has to keep them off of us and make sure whatever that was doesn’t happen again,” snapped Lieutenant Hart.
“They’re getting too close—permission to take action,” urged DuPont.
“Permission granted. Roll! Roll! Roll!” snapped Lieutenant Commander Snyder issuing an order to the helm.
The Royal Rage began to ponderously rotate.
“Enemy fighters are adjusting; they’re still aiming for our backside,” reported Assistant Tactical.
“Load balance those shields, Junior Lieutenant,” I barked.
“Gunnery! Where are those chain guns?” demanded Hart as lasers whined and what had to be every single laser on the ship fired as fast as they could.
“Enemy fighters have just penetrated the shields on the port side!” Ensign Terry Pentandra's voice cut through the fray.
There was a momentary pause.
“Where are my chain guns!” shouted Lieutenant Hart even as the chain guns opened fire now that the shields had been penetrated.
“They’re coming around for our engines,” said Pentandra as a pair of fighters fell victim to the Royal Rage’s defensive fire.
“Chain guns!” Hart roared into his portable microphone and the Imperial Strike Fighters opened fire. In a fit of rage, the Tactical Officer smashed his microphone into the edge of his desk, breaking the head clean off the stand as the port engine flickered and then died, going into an emergency shutdown procedure.
“I can break formation. Do you want me to maneuver for effect, Admiral? We might shake them off,” demanded DuPont hands eagerly holding onto his control sticks.
“Hold formation, Helmsman,” I said, fighting the urge inside of me that said every other ship in the fleet was there to protect me and not the other way around, “others may have abandoned their duty but we will not break faith with our brothers and sisters. The Royal Rage is a Battleship and Battleships hold the line.”
“Aye aye, Sir,” DuPont said, straightening his shoulders before reapplying himself to his maneuvering thrusters.
I turned back to Tactical. “What are we doing about those fighters?” I demanded as an explosion rocked the ship and coolant started venting from the coolant lines that kept our main engines from overheating.
“The lasers can pop them like a bubble but they seem to have some kind of shield or magnetic grav-plating that’s stopping our chain guns from getting a quick kill. It takes multiple hits on target, Grand Admiral,” reported Hart as half a dozen fighters died and a dozen more came to take their place, “I think we’re being deliberately targeted.”
“That’s not what I asked!” I barked as another explosion rocked the rear of the ship.
“The starboard engine is down. I say again: both the port and starboard main engines are down,” reported Adrienne Blyth from Damage Control.
I slammed a hand into the armrest of my throne.
“What’s happening to my flagship!” I demanded as both of the secondary engines flashed yellow and then turned amber on my damage control screen.
“The power runs and coolant lines have been heavily damaged. Secondary engines offline until Engineering can survey for emergency repairs,” reported the Damage Control Technician.
“That won’t be happening any time soon. Being on the hull right now is suicide,” said First Officer Snyder.
More enemy fighters took damage and were destroyed and then, like the ocean tide, the latest wave of Strike Fighters receded and pulled away.
“Sweet Crying Murphy, how the name of creation did they penetrate our shields like that so quickly?” I asked, as all around the Battleships of the fleet Imperial fighters turned and began to flee. Where they had started with seven-to-eight hundred Imperial Strike Fighters, they had to have ended up with less than half of their original number with more being chased down and destroyed by a tide of our furious Destroyers.
“It must have been some kind of energy torpedo. I’ve never seen anything like it,” said Lieutenant Hart.
“It sure did a number on our shields, Sir,” said Junior Lieutenant Longbottom.
“Figure it out,” I growled turning away. Unfortunately I had more important things to worry about because, as bad as our condition, was the state of the fleet was even worse.
Five Spineward Sector Battleships were drifting, stranded in cold space their engines either too heavily damaged to function or outright destroyed. They were stuck their until their engines were repaired or they were taken under tow.
But worse than the damage to a fifth of my wall of battle, was the state of the New Confederation’s First Fleet.
“Sir you need to take a look and listen to this,” said Lisa Steiner who, not waiting for my reply, immediately shoved an ear bud into my ear and then a data slate into my hands.
The com-channels were literally in chaos.
Recriminations were sent flying as Captains and Admirals, appalled by the damage taken by the fleet, accused one another of everything from incompetence to outright mutiny and cowardice in the face of the enemy in order to save their lives.
Even worse, I, Grand Montagne was being accused of not doing my job. Of criminal negligence and cowardice in the face of the enemy for being unable to exert proper command control over the damaged squadrons and destroyed starships.
I’d had enough.
I immediately ordered the fleet back into formation, which caused several SDF detachments to move even further away from the main fleet. When they started to group together for mutual protection outside of the main fleet, I grit my teeth. Enough was more than too much.
Incensed, I was ready to wash my hands of them. So they wanted to ignore their fleet commander and walk their own road? Well, why ever not?! Just don’t come crying to me when you’re about to be destroyed by the Empire!
However, instead of letting them kill themselves I decided to call for an emergency fleet holo-conference instead.
“Get me the commanders of those SDF groups that are standing apart from the fleet,” I commanded.
“Yes Sir,” said the Com-Officer.
He turned to me looking perplexed.
“I have Grand Admiral Manning on the line. He said you’d want to speak with him,” said the com-officer.
I frowned at the other man. “I said I wanted to speak with the commander or commanders of those warships that have left formation without orders.”
“I tried, Sir! They rerouted me to the Grand Admiral—I mean the other Grand Admiral, Sir!” replied the Officer.
My eyes turned to narrow slits. There was trouble in the wind and it smelled like Grand Admiral Manning.
“Put him through,” I ordered. This was the second time Manning had put himself between me and a band of mutineers. What exactly was his angle? Was he trying to embarrass me so that he could strip me of my officer and take over the Confederation Fleet? I wondered but I didn’t know.
Well, it was time to find out.
“Grand Admiral Montagne,” Manning pursed his lips in greeting as soon as he appeared, “what can I do for you?”
I snorted, “To what do I owe the pleasure, Grand Admiral Manning?”
“I was under the impression you were the one initiating the call, Grand Admiral,” he shot back, calm but firm.
“I wanted to speak with the leaders of a potentially mutinous group of warships,” I said my voice cooling, “then you intercepted my call,” I paused for effect, “unless you’re here to tell me you’ve entered into a state of mutiny I’m afraid I’ve got the wrong man and you, Grand Admiral, have got me all wrong.”
“No, I believe I already have your measure, Fleet Commandant,” Manning retorted and then arched a brow, “as for a mutineer? Hardly.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure,” I shot back.
“About my familiarity with you or my loyalty to the government?” he asked curiously.
“I was going to say 'both,' but nice dodge on that last little bit there.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Manning snorted.
“Oh. I think you take my meaning exactly. Loyalty to the elected government and obedience to the chain of command should go hand in hand, but in point of fact they actually are very different things. As many a maverick and, for that matter, future despot has discovered.”
“I find it curious how you equate mavericks with despots, everything considered, Fleet Commandant,” he said exhaling through his nose.
It was my turn to arch a brow. “What I find curious is how you have consistently put yourself on the side of a group of warship commanders who seem intent on getting this fleet killed with their refusal to obey orders and if that doesn’t count as mutiny, refusing orders that by refusing are going to get good men and women in uniform killed, then I’m not entirely sure what does,” I riposted.
“Nice dodge not outright implicating me. However I think you’ll find that convincing anyone over here that they’ll survive leaving this system alive, at least as anything other than a prisoner of war, a very hard sell,” said Manning.
“Then isn’t it fortunate we have rules and regulations in place that don’t require convincing trained officers, sworn to their duty, to obey the legal orders of their legal commander on the field of battle, Vice Commandant?” I sneered.
Manning’s face was stone as he stared back at me. “Please don’t make this harder than it is, Admiral Montagne,” replied Manning, “all I’m doing is trying to keep a lid on things and keep this fleet together until after the battle is over and we’re victorious.”
“A victory you claim no one ‘over there’ with you believes is possible is that it, ‘Admiral’ Manning?” I asked.
The former High Captain winced. “I make no apologies for doing what’s necessary to keep this fleet together,” he finally said.
“Mark my words, Manning. I’ve stood aside for the good of Sectors 23 and 24 once. Now the shoe's on the other foot and I expect the same. It’s time for your people to show if you acted out of principle or if you’re no more than greedy, power-hungry politicians in uniform,” I replied coldly.
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” said Admiral Manning, his face hardening.
“How trite,” I sneered, “your people used a pack of lies and left a string of broken promises a lightyear wide to get my fleet down there and pulled the old switcheroo as soon as the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet showed up.”
“Your bitterness helps no one, Fleet Commandant,” Manning said with a bite to his voice, “these are entirely different situations and no one is trying to have themselves appointed commander of the fleet over your head before this battle.”
“Conveniently leaving out what happens after this battle, aye?” I inquired mildly.
“Your paranoia knows no bounds. How can you run a fleet acting like this?” Manning asked with seemingly genuine curiosity. “I can understand your ire with me but to be eaten up inside like this over mere matters of status, things that happened in the Droid Wars,” he shrugged helplessly, “how can you lead us if you’re so mired in the past?”
“You claim to know me and yet you’ve still got me all wrong, High Captain,” I chuckled, “I’m not mired in the past obsessing over what happened. Nor am I bitterly holding onto power by the tips of my fingers. I realized from the jump that my term in this office and command of this fleet was time-limited. So, quite the opposite of being bitter and obsessed, I actually admire the way you’re people have played the game.”
“This is not a game,” growled Manning.
“Exactly why all the bad PR, the way you allowed everything you didn’t like about the battle for Elysium and the liberation of 23 and 24, to fall on my shoulders while claiming the lion’s share of the accolades and adoration for the success, hurts the entire Spine so badly now. I’m here, legitimately citing the good of the people as the reason for the 23 and 24 warships to come back to the Sweet Saint Murphy and follow the very orders they swore to obey!” I roared back
“You can yell all you like but it’s not going to change anything. We can’t look to the past, we can only look to the future. And no one in this group that I’m trying so very hard to keep together cares about how badly you think we did you wrong,” yelled Manning.
“You know, from where I’m sitting it’s entirely possible none of this would be happening if it weren’t for you. It’s almost enough to make one think that you planned all this,” I said, throttling the urge to explode with fire and fury.
“I don’t follow you. Or, if I do, it just goes to show how unready you are to lead this fleet,” he said.
“Don’t you dare try to put this on me. Aren’t your oh-so-very-loyal mutineers doing so out of a belief their commanding officer is a person of low morals and incompetent? A 'Droid lover' and such who wins 'pyrrhic victories,' if he has any victories at all,” I snarled.
“Can you deny any of it?” Manning asked.
“My record of accomplishments speaks for itself,” I retorted.
“Not from where they’re sitting. All they see is a man who may have been quite effective at lower levels but who, once he reached the top most levels in his Sector and now in the entire Spineward Sectors, brings home victories so punishing even Core Worlds can’t always bear them—and that’s when he wins at all.”
“So that’s what this is. At its heart you think you could have done a better job than me,” I said, finally nodding with understanding.
Manning turned red. “No, that’s not what this is. What I think is irrelevant. I’ve followed orders like a good little boy and when orders didn’t cover it I moved to ensure this fleet stuck together by forming a task force of the disaffected officers. What I’ve done may or may not have been entirely according to regulation, but I’ve kept things together by hook or by crook! Can you say the same? Frankly, I resent being questioned like this. I resent the way you’ve just stood there letting the enemy hammer us, while soaking up losses we cannot by any conceivable measure absorb if we aim for victory, and all done in the name of some plan you claim to have cooked up. A plan, need I say, that your second in command—that’s me if you will finally recall—still has no idea what any of it is about,” he shouted.
“You may be one of my two Vice-Commandants at the highest administrative levels, but I’ve already designated my second and third in command should I fall out of communication with this fleet for any reason—and you’re not on that list,” I said. “As for our losses, a large number of the damaged ships are the very ones that refused to follow orders, exerting their independence and independent commands in the face of the enemy fighter attacks, with predictable results,” I said.
Manning leaned back and shrugged. “You can try to spin this however you want. The fact is we took a lot of losses throughout every contingent in the fleet. Including Battleships. So tell it however you like, tell nothing but the Demon’s own honest truth but it won’t matter. We’re down Battleships, including your flagship, Grand Admiral. Accept my goodwill or throw it back in my face, the ball is in your court, Sir. I’m done arguing with you,” he said wearily, “the enemy is finally coming out from behind that asteroid field and whether any of us like it or not, it’s really all up to you whether you can keep this fleet together and somehow win this battle.”
“Keep those ships in line and on formation with the rest of the First Fleet or they’ll be fired on. This is their last warning. I’ll speak with you after the battle,” I said.
Manning shook his head in disgust and cut the channel.
But he wasn’t as disgusted as I was. I couldn’t help it if the politicians in my Sector and both the politicians and Admirals, including the oh so virtuous Grand Admiral Manning, had poisoned the well. They’d reap what they sowed right alongside the rest of us.
Perhaps if it all fell apart they would realize the irony of their ways before they died right along with rest of us.
Which is why, in addition to continuing to do my beset to keep this fleet together, it was fortunate for all concerned that if my plans came together in just the right way, it wouldn’t matter what he or the Sectors 23 and 24 contingents did.
Victory was still within our grasp.
All we had to do now was lure the Glorious Fleet of Liberation and the Imperial Flotilla from behind that asteroid belt and into the outer star system.
Chapter 49: The Imperial Grind
Just like Jason Montagne, Grand Admiral Manning and the rest of the First Fleet, the Imperial Flotilla and their old Confederation allies had the same sensors and could see the way portions of the Spineward Sectors Fleet left the main formation as individuals and then started to form up into a fleet of their own.
“Either they’re finally ready to come out and meet us in a head to head battle, or our good friend Vice Admiral Montagne is having trouble keeping control over his fleet,” Senator Cornwallis said with amusement.
“Unless they’re pulling a double blind and trying to lure us into a false sense of security,” said the Mighty Punisher’s Captain. He hesitated, “as unlikely as that may be.”
“A good point,” agreed Cornwallis.
“Well even if it is some kind of ruse, the way they just continue to sit there like an animal waiting for slaughter, it can’t be doing anything to inspire confidence among the ranks,” said his Chief of Staff.
“Even the most brilliant of tacticians can be brought low, and all his plans destroyed if he hasn’t the trust of his men,” said Senator Cornwallis.
The other men nodded.
“What’s the status of the Glorious Fleet?” he asked.
“The Glorious Fleet of Liberation continues to advance as ordered. Although some of the individual contingents have decided to…rearrange their place in the order of battle under their own initiative,” the grey bearded Commodore said diplomatically.
“And here I thought I relied upon you for your straight talk, no-nonsense, and refusal to cater to the whims of your superiors,” the Senator said.
“No, I cater to the whims of my superior officers, otherwise I’d still be a Senior Lieutenant or Lieutenant Commandeer. I just refuse to play the kiss up is all,” the Commodore said wryly, “although I have to admit that I’m unconvinced any of that is why you keep me around.”
“Smart man,” Cornwallis said.
“New movements orders, Praetor?” the Flag Captain asked once the contingents of the Glorious Fleet had moved sufficiently far ahead and advanced through and out of the asteroid field.
“Eager to head out and meet the enemy up close and personal, Flag Captain?” asked the Senator.
“I’m an Imperial officer,” said the Captain of the Mighty Punisher, as if that explained everything.
For the Senator it did.
“Very well, signal the fleet. We advance,” said Senator Cornwallis.
While the Flag Captain eagerly turned to relay the Praetor’s orders the grey bearded commodore spoke.
“I realize that Montagne hasn’t shown us anything special ‘yet’,” he said stressing the last word, “but I’d like to once again advise caution. Even though his fleet appears to be in disarray we still have no idea what he’s capable of.”
“As the saying goes, doubt not the man you use and use not the man you doubt; if the Little Admiral has forgotten or never learned this lesson then he’s already lost. If on the other hand it’s a ruse…well, we have better ships, more ships and a superior strategist and tactician,” said the Senator.
“That doesn’t answer the concern, Praetor,” said his Chief of Staff respectfully.
“If you are referring to this new jump technology then, while we do not yet know its full capabilities, the truth is we do in fact have some idea. We know it can jump more than one starship, we know that they do not have to be touching for this jump, and we know that Montagne and his fleet have been seen jumping both in and out of a star system from well within the traditional hyper limit,” said Cornwallis.
“But why are we moving into the outer system, Sir? Why not let them come to us, Sir?” asked the Commodore.
Cornwallis frowned at him. “I have nine hundred warships at my beck and call, well over a thousand jump capable starships in total. Facing me are now fewer than two hundred fifty, counting losses closer to two hundred twenty. I outnumber the enemy four-to-one and I have a decisive advantage in weight and I have a decisive technological edge. How can I cower behind this asteroid belt when as far as I can tell I have every advantage?” the Senator asked rhetorically. “When overwhelming force is at your command in the key moment, you use it.”
“Montagne was observed running into the outer system to make his jump. He was observed jumping into the outer star system. We have no indication that he can jump into the middle or inner portions of a star system,” said the Commodore, “I understand why you feel honor compels you to leave the safety of the belt but is it really the smartest move here?”
“For all we know the enemy has only shown us what they want us to see and, given time, they can jump anywhere they like, including in the middle of our formation,” asked the Senator.
“Sir, I didn’t mean to sound like I wish to avoid combat. I’m only advising caution in dealing with a foe that has defeated Imperial forces in the past. That’s all,” the Commodore said retreating.
“The truth is this is a chance to defeat them once and for all. Maybe it’s all a ruse but I can’t simply sit here jumping at shadows; if we let fear dictate our actions then we really will have lost. Or considering the vast differences in our combat capabilities, at least we will have given up the advantage to the enemy Admiral,” the Senator said with a sigh.
“You’re the Fleet Commander,” said the Commodore taking a step back.
Cornwallis sighed again. “Truthfully you have a point. We could wait and let them come to us or leave this star system and try again. On the other, hand what if they can jump deep into a system? The whole notion defies common sense, but then so does their ability to jump in past the hyper limit in the first place,” explained the Senator.
“It’s a gamble,” agreed the Chief of Staff.
“I don’t gamble. I take calculated risks. War is a series of calculated risks, and no one is better than the Empire at riding a risk straight into victory,” said the Senator.
“To tell the truth, I’m glad you decided to attack. It's what I would have done,” said the Commodore.
Cornwallis arched a brow. “After all the protests I’m surprised,” he said finally.
The Commodore chopped a hand dismissively. “I’ve been an Executive Officer. A Chief of Staff isn’t that different. I know the drill,” said the Commodore.
“Well, regardless, the die is cast: it’s time to crush the locals and finish this now. We still have countless worlds in the Spineward Sectors to conquer and bring into the Empire,” said the Senator.
“I just can’t believe how spineless the Confederation’s being with their own people, effectively selling seven Sectors of their own star-nation to the Empire. It boggles the mind,” the Commodore veritably sneered.
“When a star nation has police actions instead of wars of conquest or defense, cries with outrage and horror at thousands of lives lost instead of millions, and shills with horror at its own value system instead of proudly spreading their beliefs to the rest of the galaxy, you can rest assured that star nation has rotted from the inside and is now in decline. Someone meaner, hungrier and more willing to shoulder the costs, like the Empire, will gladly take its place,” Cornwallis said dismissively.
“I think it more likely it was when the Confederation began to invest in the medical sciences instead of the war sciences that its fate was sealed,” demurred the Commodore.
“No, its fate was sealed when it sold seven Sectors to the Empire,” Cornwallis said flatly.
“But their decadence knows no bounds, Sir. Healthcare for all, 109 genders, politicians directly elected by the people at every level of government...it smacks of the hysterical,” admitted the Commodore.
“Truth be told, I find our people’s stance against the Confederation medical system hard to fathom. Life rates have done nothing but expand since the Confederation led the charge into biological research. It’s an area where they clearly outstrip our own Empire—at least in terms of that which is widely available,” Cornwallis admitted, “as for the rest of it. Show me a gender that can fight better than the male one and not only will I sign them up by their millions and send them out to fight, I’ll apply for Confederation style genetic re-laything. All I care about is victory. Wear a tutu suit, rouge and bright pink lipstick and, if you’re built for murder, I’ll employ you and make it the new uniform of the day. Results are what matter, people, nothing more and nothing less.”
On that note, the conversation fell silent.
Not nearly as silently, the engines of the Imperial warships flared to life and, with military precision, the Flotilla left the gas giant behind.
Over the next several hours the Imperial Command Carrier and her smaller, older, sister carriers welcomed home their broods of surviving Strike Fighters.
While the Confederation contingents of the Grand Fleet of Liberation proceeded to maneuver in front of the Spineward Sector forces, the Imperial Flotilla rearmed, refueled and rested their space fighters for the next big and hopefully final push.
Under the orders of the Praetor, while the Flotilla was refitting their fighters and catching up, the first advanced formation of the Glorious Fleet was given the order to attack and tie down Spineward Sectors Fleet.
Task Force 47.
Chapter 50: Carrying Out Orders
Vice-Commander Task Force 47
In advance of the rest of the fleet was Task Force 47. Consisting of twenty nine Cruisers and fifty eight Destroyers of the Glorious Fleet, some 87 warships in total, Task Force 47 was given the unenviable task of ‘pinning down’ the enemy. Or, in the longwinded words of the Task Force’s current commander, one Front Admiral Martin Barragan of old Mohaka, 'sticking to them like glue and shooting out their engines if they tried to run away from Praetor Cornwallis and the main body of the Glorious Fleet.'
Of course, right now the Spineward Sectors Fleet resembled a crippled, slow-moving turtle so that wasn’t really an issue…for now. But if the locals decided to abandon their cripples and speed things up, things could get hairy.
“This is insane. We’re nothing more than a speed bump, a sacrificial lamb, there to keep an eye on the Spineward Sectors' Fleet and die holding the line until the Empire finishes taking its sweet time coming out from behind that asteroid belt,” Commodore Fritters said bitterly.
“Be careful, William. You don’t want word to get around that you’re doubting the bravery of the Imperial Praetor, our top Fleet Commander. If you do, bad things are bound happen.” Front Admiral Featherby warned jokingly.
“You mean like like being assigned to the front lines in a Light or Medium Cruiser?” Fritters asked facetiously.
“Hey now. I like this Cruiser,” chuckled Featherby.
“I’m not saying anything against the ship,” Fritters said fervently, eyes shooting sideways to make sure none of the ship’s regular crew had heard his comments and taken offense, “it’s just that since we’re clearly in the doghouse already I don’t see much point in playing kiss up.”
“That’s probably the reason you never made Admiral,” said Front Admiral Featherby with a smirk.
“I didn’t kiss enough rears to make Rear Admiral?” Fritters mused, looking mostly serious.
“You!” said Featherby, glowering at his Chief of Staff.
“I mean, clearly our supreme commander, the Praetor, was unable to tell good from bad when he assigned us here, Front Admiral. No doubt because of a conspiracy among his top aids to keep you down,” Fritter joked. “I just hope that in his wisdom the Praetor discovers the uncut gem that is you, my superior officer, and—”
By this time the Front Admiral had snuck off his chair and was in position to give his Chief of Staff a good kick in the rear.
“Yeow!” Commodore Fritters said, jumping in the air and then turning around rubbing his backside furiously. “What did you do that for?” he demanded.
“Stop kissing my backside—and more importantly stop insulting our fleet commander,” Front Admiral Featherby said, shaking his head firmly before returning to his chair.
“That’s not fair,” complained the Chief of Staff.
“Life’s not fair; get with the program,” Featherby said seriously. “Wow what’s the status on our Task Force?”
“Right now we’re smack in the rear with Magenta Squadron and our glorious leader, Front Admiral Barragan, is leading the charge but as soon as we reach the Spineward Sectors Fleet that’s scheduled to flip around. Supposedly it's because the warships in the front will need time to cool down their engines while those in the rear, being slower, will be in a better condition,” Fritters reported.
Front Admiral Featherby rolled his eyes. “Not only is that complete bunk—we’re all moving at the same speed—but engines don’t need to ‘cool down’ like that in the first place,” Willard Featherby sighed.
The two men shared looks of mutual resignation. Sadly, appearances had not been deceiving. Their new leader was exactly as advertised: a political officer and part time armchair Admiral at best.
“I’m not sure if he qualifies as a weekend warrior even,” sighed Fritters.
Featherby looked at him strictly. “How long until we reach the enemy?” he changed the subject.
“I’m sure you can look it up just as easily as me it’s on the main screen,” Fritters pointed to the main-plot.
The Front Admiral’s frown deepened and his brows furrowed in anger.
“Alright. Alright! We’re twenty two minutes out. We should reach the local fleet at any time,” said the Chief of Staff.
“Keep an eye on the things and notify me as soon as anything doesn’t look right,” said the Front Admiral.
“I can tell you right now that this whole thing doesn’t look right. The Spineward Sectors have to know they’re going to lose this fleet if they fight. Front Admiral Barragan and Praetor Cornwallis have to realize that sending us out here is likely to get us killed and on top of that—” started the Commodore happily.
“Alright enough. Hold fast, Commodore,” said the Front Admiral.
Fritters drew in a breath visibly expanding and then deflated. “Of course, Sir,” he sighed.
The two superior officers fell silent.
Into this growing silence, the Admiral’s Flag Lieutenant finally interjected with a question in the form of a statement, “Given the size of our Glorious Fleet of Liberation, I would think we’d be large enough to take on the Spineward Sector Fleet all by ourselves.”
“Was there a point in there somewhere, Lieutenant?” Front Admiral Featherby asked finally when the Lieutenant failed to continue.
The Flag Lieutenant flushed. “I was just wondering why the Imperial fleet hesitated like it did. Either come or don’t come. The Glorious Fleet of Liberation is seven hundred fifty warships strong,” he said pridefully, “we don’t even need their help to crush a force one third our size.”
Once again the two senior officers shared a look of mutual understanding, but this time it was mixed with amusement.
“Probably because he realizes that, without the Imperial Flotilla backing us up, no one in the Glorious Fleet would be willing to fight,” the Front Admiral finally explained.
The Flag Lieutenant looked shocked.
“B-b-b-but, we’re the Confederation Fleet!” he burst out indignantly, “we’re part of the biggest government in the galaxy!”
The two senior officers laughed, but while their faces looked merry their eyes looked old and weighed down with time and years.
“Lieutenant, it’s sad to say but the Confederation Fleet you’re thinking of doesn’t exist. It was almost totally disbanded around fifty years ago,” Commodore Fritters said compassionately.
“What are you saying! This is the Confederation fleet, we’re the Confederation fleet,” the Senior Lieutenant said passionately, eyes gleaming with something like pride as he rebuked his superior.
“This isn’t really the Confederation fleet. What we have here is a group of randomly assembled and self-volunteered SDF forces, with a leavening of former and reserve officers, like the Front Admiral and myself from the times back when the Confederation Fleet used to mean something.”
The Senior Lieutenant gaped at them.
“Sorry to burst your bubble, but the military industrial complex was disassembled several decades ago and the fleet stood down. All that are left are a few increasingly decrepit hold outs like us who have dual status in both the fleet reserve and our home world’s SDF,” said the Chief of Staff.
“I-I don’t believe you. E-even if you believe that, you’re wrong. The Confederation Fleet was founded on at-will organizations and volunteer forces from the Sectors and provincial star systems,” the Lieutenant argued firmly, “maybe we lost some of our polish when the Grand Assembly decided it was doing more harm than good when it stood down most of the standing fleet, but I mean...just look at us!” he exclaimed, gesturing towards the fleet. “More than seven hundred and fifty warships, one hundred Battleships alongside countless Cruisers and Destroyers, this is a force that cannot be denied!”
“The provincial SDF’s were always intended to form up around a solid core of professionals before going into battle. In this case it’s not the pride of the Confederation Fleet, but an Imperial Flotilla,” Front Admiral Featherby said, unable to keep his dissatisfaction and scorn from leaking into his voice, “but regardless, the last time an expeditionary force was sent outside the Confederation to fight without that cadre to stiffen it, the fleet fell apart. The other professionals in this fleet know that. Which is why they won’t fight without the Empire’s professionals with us.”
“But we’re not fighting outside the Confederation. This isn’t a war or an expeditionary force; this is a police action inside one of our own Sectors,” argued the Senior Lieutenant. “We do this all the time, admittedly not on this scale but everyone knows the locals will fold as soon as we show them we have the will to fight and their cause is hopeless,” he finished with complete certainty.
The two senior officers looked at each other and shook their heads.
“Right?” asked the Flag Lieutenant, looking at his senior officers with surprise.
“I feel old,” muttered the Front Admiral.
“Me too,” admitted Fritters.
Chapter 51: Confederation Frustration
“Thank you for speaking with us, Admiral Montagne,” said Gretta Von Obenheim, her blond hair in a tight braid running down the back of her head where it wouldn’t get in the way.
“Yes, many thanks, Grand Admiral,” Admiral Dark Matter agreed wryly.
“I am grateful as always for the support of the Freya’s World and Hart’s World contingent,” I replied perfunctorily, hating every minute that I had to play the political game—in the middle of a combat situation to boot.
“What’s the plan, Sir?” asked Gretta Van Obenheim, cutting right to the heart of the matter.
“Plan?” I asked leaning back and crossing my arms and offering a challenging look.
The Rear Admiral flushed with anger and Admiral Dark Matter rushed to put himself into the breach, “I think what my comrade means to say is that frustration in the fleet is growing high. The Imperials are definitely taking the upper hand and, other than a few fighters on their side, we’re the only ones who have been taking damage,” Dark Matter said.
“Other than the Destroyers my force took down at the beginning of the battle, we’re getting killed out here, Sir,” Rear Admiral Van Obenheim. “Our crews need to know we’re not leading them to their deaths.”
“It’s any officer’s job to lead his or her crew into combat. Death is always a possibility,” I said.
“Grand—” he paused, “Admiral Montagne. Please. We are not your enemy here. Help us to help you,” said Admiral Dark Matter.
I looked at them through narrowed eyes.
“We don’t mind dying. Well, we do, but it’s not our top concern, Admiral. Making that sacrifice count and, if possible, achieving victory definitely is,” said Rear Admiral Obenheim.
I took a breath.
“We can’t just stand here and absorb punishment. I know we’re moving, but it's a snail's pace. Abandon the Royal Rage if you have to and move to another ship. But we’re already down five Battleships. Towing them with bucking cables works for now but when, not if, the Empire sends in more of those fighter strikes, backed up by that massive fleet off our port bows…” Gretta Van Obenheim shook her head.
I uncrossed my arms and leaned forward. “I need you to trust me on this. There is a plan and it involved us moving at this slow pace, but it can’t leak to the Empire before it's time. And even though we’re on an encrypted channel, encryptions aren’t magic. They can be broken, which is why I can’t go over it any further over a com-channel,” I said and then unveiled a deadly smile, “but rest assured: the Empire will never know what hit them when I’m done with them.”
I then leaned back in my chair.
Dark Matter looked torn and then shook his head. “You’re the boss. But the crew, even my own bridge crew, aren’t going to understand,” he warned.
“I don’t understand. Your actions could just as easily be those of someone determined to get this war over quickly and hand us over to the Empire, lock stock and two smoking barrels,” she said harshly, “staying still or 'running' at a snail's pace, either way is still suicide.”
“You’ve seen me in action. You know better than this. You are better than this, Rear Admiral,” I told her, feeling offended at the accusation but refusing to show it. All she would see was the determined fleet commander harried by the enemy and abandoned by his allies, but still standing strong in the face of all of it.
Gretta Van Obenheim flushed, this time with shame but she quickly rallied and glared back at me. “The Admiral I knew had trick after trick, followed by traps and gunboats, and when everything else failed he took his Battleships and rammed them down a Command Carrier’s throat. But I don't recognize the man I see today. The man I knew would never have abandoned his principles to join the Spineward Confederation, let alone let his fleet fall apart with sectarian strife, internal division and outright mutiny,” she said harshly, “where is the man I came here to follow?”
I took several deep breaths. “You, madam, don’t know the half of what I’ve done for Freya’s World—or one tenth of what surprises I have in store for the Empire. Yet here you sit, accusing me of being a turncoat who moves to sell out to the Empire on the one hand while declaring me an incompetent on the other. What a fine picture you’ve pained of me, Missus Van Obenheim,” I said quietly.
“Insult me by taking away the courtesy of my rank…fine. Maybe I deserved that. But the rest of it stands. He must think we are fools,” she said, turning to Rear Admiral Dark Matter who looked angry and pained and then turned back to me, “as for not even knowing a tenth of your plans, do you take us for fools?”
“Not until this very conversation,” I replied.
“You won’t get a rise out of me. Because you’re seriously misjudging us. You think your plan is a surprise for the enemy and you can’t risk leaking it? Well let me tell you what half the fleet is speculating about right now,” she snapped.
“Do tell,” I sneered.
“Greta,” warned Dark Matter.
“No, it doesn’t matter if I’m giving away his secret plans because everyone and her sister in this fleet is already aware of it and it needs to be said. He needs to hear it,” she said. She looked at me with pity. “Your 'surprise' wouldn’t happen to involve those miraculous jump towers would it, Admiral?” she asked dismissively. “Or the missing Lucky Clover II. Or the missing Battleships—oh yes, everyone knows that we’re missing at least four Battleships that you should have been able to repair and put into combat condition after that last battle at Easy Haven. What about those gunboats I mentioned and their carriers? Maybe, for that matter, you’ve even picked up a few other surprises along the way—like some additional Cruisers and Destroyers. A potent force if leveraged at the right time, yes?”
“It sounds like one,” I admitted, before adding, “if that were what I was planning.”
“And it would be if we weren’t facing a Command Carrier, a hundred and twenty Battleships and over nine hundred warships! As it is, your secret force will only be able to carry water for you if it's applied at the right time—and if there’s still enough of a fleet here to take advantage of your little ‘open secret’ when the time comes,” she informed me patiently, as if afraid that by revealing all of my secrets I would be shocked I’d been seen through or experience some kind of mental breakdown and discovering I wasn’t as hyper intelligent as I’d supposed.
“Is everyone in the fleet aware of this?” I asked, careful to give nothing away and act as if I was surprised at what she’d found out.
Momentarily triumphant at having succeeded in telling me off, the Rear Admiral from Freya’s World look quickly morphed into concern. “Look, it’s not a half bad plan,” she advised me, “but the cat's already out of the bag. I realize why you couldn’t keep hiding it. The Governor of Sector 25 forced your hand,” she said carefully, “if it were only one time, maybe people could have dismissed it as some kind of secret stealth maneuver but when you took everything of value out of Easy Haven and jumped it to your secret base in the Gambit Star System, people around the Spine sat up and started to take notice.”
“Around the Spine, you say?” this time I was legitimately surprised. I had expected the local powers in the Sector to pick it up and, unlike what she was suggesting, I’d been operating under few illusions that the Imperial survivors of the Reclamation Fleet hadn’t already reported their losses and the details of the surprise attack that kicked it off back home to the Imperial Senate—and thus Senator Cornwallis and Co.—but still.
“Look, we don’t know how it works or what its capabilities are. Either the newly commissioned and hopefully…presumably completed and improved Lucky Clover or the ancient jump tech you have for that matter. But please don’t take us for fools,” she warned.
“Then you, of all people, should be aware of just how critical the timing is going to be in all of this,” I advised her.
She seemed to slightly deflate at my answer.
I was surprised. Maybe she had been secretly hoping I had something new up my sleeve—something more maybe?
She put her fingers on her forehead and started rubbing.
“What you look surprised?” I asked.
“I guess I’d just hoped for more truthfully,” she said slumping back in her chair.
“What, after all but calling me an outright traitor you’re now unhappy that you think I’m not?” I asked with surprise bordering on outrage.
“If that’s all we have then I don’t think its enough. I guess I’d just hoped the Little Admiral, the last Confederation Officer in the Spine that was worth a damn, had a magic solution to our problems, such as…oh, I don’t know. Maybe another fleet the size of the one we have right now, magically gathered from the rest of the Sectors using your Ancient tech jump drives. We might have actually had a chance at victory if that had been the case,” she said mulishly. “As it is? There’s no way five Battleships—counting that 'Super Battleship' of yours—and two gunboat carriers are going to carry the day, no matter how many Destroyers and Cruisers you’ve managed to pack in around her,” she finished glumly.
“I think what my comrade is trying to say is that we may have come into this conversation with unrealistic expectations, both good and bad, is all,” Rear Admiral Dark Matter said looking pained.
“Well if I happen to stumble over any secret Droid fleets in the meantime, I’ll be sure to have Commander Spalding bring them along with him,” I advised. “In the meantime, if you could help keep things under control over on your end until after the fireworks are over and done with I’d be much appreciative,” I said.
“We still can’t stand here all day just soaking up punishment, Sir,” Gretta Van Obenheim said, “if we do seven capital ships, even with one of them able to stand toe to toe at close range with a Command Carrier…it won’t be enough.”
“You can do what you’re ordered to do by your Fleet Commander, Rear Admiral Van Obenheim,” I said firmly.
“We won’t win,” she said with certainty.
“Maybe. Maybe not. Either way we’ll have given the Empire so much trouble that they’ll think twice before attacking another Spineward Sectors fleet. We might even do enough damage that the politicians will be able to reach some kind of settlement and the survivors of this battle won’t rot away as prisoners of war for the rest of their lives,” I said.
She stared at me. “Dark Matter. Talk some sense into him,” she snapped and cut the channel.
For almost a minute after she left we remained silent, me looking at him and him looking at something about knee height off camera.
“So that’s it?” he asked finally.
“Yep.”
“I guess we’d all just hoped for more,” he said.
“Pull back the curtain before the magician is ready and you probably won’t like what you see,” I said with a shrug. “It might not be great plan but it’s the best one we’ve got so we’re going to stick with it. I hope that isn’t going to be a problem for you.”
He shook his head. “It won’t. You can count on me. Greta will come around,” he said, rallying and at the end of it looking firm and decisive.
“Good,” I replied, not caring that they didn’t like the plan they’d decided must have been what I’d come up with. Their morale looked like it had taken a hit but so what? It wasn’t my job to hold their hands and sooth their egos over a com-channel that could be intercepted by the enemy.
“If you happen to stumble over an extra fleet somewhere, you’ll be sure to bring it along?” Dark Matter said hopefully.
“I’ll make that my top priority,” I said with the patently false reassurance of a politician and I could see his shoulders sink.
Not that I cared, because in the end the definition of a secret plan counted on one crucial element: the plan had to stay secret.
If anything, I decided their lack of faith was disturbing, not my failure to ease their minds at the risk of total defeat.
I leaned back in my throne after the two Admirals had both signed off and stared back at the main screen where the Imperial flotilla was finally and at very long last moving to rejoin forces with the Old Confederation fleet.
“Glorious indeed,” I sneered, looking at the Glorious Fleet of Liberation and all it’s so called glory.
My fleet might be having issues at the moment, but it was nothing compared to the constant reshuffling of squadrons and even entire task forces of fifty ships as they jockeyed for position on their left flank, meanwhile their right flank was a hot mess of individual warships that seemed to have lost the ability to fly in formation after they cleared the asteroid belt.
Chapter 52: Imperial Gloating
Moving at the best speed of its flagship, the Mighty Punisher, the Imperial Flotilla left the asteroid belt behind and quickly began to catch up with the Glorious Fleet of Liberation.
Charles Cornwallis’s face was a study of conflicting emotion, disgust, amusement, irony and anger.
“As expected of the rotting hulk that the Confederation Fleet has become,” he grimaced.
“An eclectic collection of planetary militias and Sector guardians,” his Chief of Staff agreed.
“Set this mess right before I have to start executing people and cause an intergalactic incident,” Senator Cornwallis growled.
The Commodore looked at him to see if he was serious and turned away fighting to keep his own expression calm.
“Get me the so-called Admirals in command of the Glorious Fleet—and tell them I’m calling on behalf of the Praetor!” he barked marching over to the com-station
By the time the Flotilla joined the Confederation forces, the Glorious Fleet of Liberation had assumed a combat formation and been split into two roughly equal sections. Like the horns of a bull, the Confederation forces were spread out in front and to either side of the anvil that was the Imperial Flotilla.
In front of the Flotilla and in between the two Confederation forces the space fighters of the Empire, the Imperial Strike Fighters, began to assemble.
“The Spineward Sectors Fleet has increased speed by 5%,” reported the Mighty Punisher’s Captain.
“It’s still nothing; continue as planned and have Navigation make the necessary adjustments and send updates as needed throughout the fleet,” said the Senator as the combined Confederation/Imperial fleet began to overtake the Spineward sectors forces.
“Sensors has been able to confirm that a number of their warships, including at least five Battleships, have been badly damaged by our fighter strikes,” said the Chief of Staff.
“It won’t take much more of this to wreck the Spineward Sectors Fleet,” Charles Cornwallis said clinically.
“Frankly I’m surprised they’re not running,” said the Chief of Staff.
“No doubt it’s a trap of some kind,” the Senator said offhandedly.
“Yet even knowing that you’re still going in? I thought you intended to avoid the mistakes of the Reclamation Fleet and not play their game…Sir,” the Commodore added quickly.
“You have a point, but the fact is I have them right where I want them. I have no doubt they have what they believe is a surprise in store for us, but even if they were able to use their mysterious jump ability, we’re forewarned and forewarned is forearmed,” said the Senator.
“They could jump in another entire fleet,” the Chief of Staff pointed out with agitation.
“Take a moment to think about what you just said,” pointed out the Senator, “just how many warships are there in the entire Spine? Even if they could double their current fleet, we’d still have them outnumbered two-to-one and we have the tech edge.”
“It would be more costly, but we’d still win,” said the Chief of Staff.
“Exactly. On the other hand if they run and decide to hide out in the dark between the stars and engage in hit and run tactics it could be years before we stamp them out,” said the Senator.
“Then I guess the only question is if the Little Admiral and his Fleet are really here,” said the Commodore.
“His most recent flagship is here, as are most of the warships identified by the Reclamation Fleet. So if he’s not here already he’ll be arriving soon,” said the Senator with a smirk.
“In the meantime he’ll need to get ready to eat some fighter strikes,” he added.
The Commodore nodded.
“New orders to the fleet: it’s time to advance. We’ll follow in on the heels of the fighters and finish this,” declared the Senator.
Unnoticed by the majority of the Glorious Fleet of Liberation, after the Imperial forces joined the Glorious Fleet and set course to intercept the First Fleet of the Spineward Confederation, a courier on one side of the system jumped. It was joined minutes later by a damaged Cruiser that also point transferred out of the star system.
In any military operation, redundancy was key.
Chapter 53: It’s a Spalding! Part 2
He was the very model of an upgraded space engineer.
With the nine hundred strong Glorious Fleet of Liberation following closely behind the more than eight hundred Strike Fighters, things were looking bad for the Spineward Sectors Fleet.
Recognizing the inevitable, the First Fleet of the Spineward Confederation—some two hundred and twelve warships strong—turned to face the Imperials. Shaking out into battle formation, the Spineward Sectors forces were ready to give their enemies the fight of their lives.
Meanwhile, less than twenty five light years from Black Purgatory, in a star system almost nobody had ever heard about and with nothing more than a numerical designation to tell you where it was on a star map, a pair of starships had just entered the system.
“Commander Spalding, we’re getting a data dump from the system courier. Operation Surprise is a go. I say again: the Grand Admiral has given us the green light. I’m downloading the jump coordinates and latest tactical plot now,” said ship’s First Officer.
“I just want you to remember there’s only one captain aboard this ship—and it ain't you, bucky-boy-o,” warned Commander Spalding.
“Sir you’re wasting time. The Admiral is counting on us,” reminded the First Officer.
“Hmph!” Spalding used a hand to swipe back his still-growing new 'do atop his head and then nodded, “notify the Droids immediately. We jump as soon as Navigation crunches the numbers.”
“Aye aye, Commander,” said the First Officer.
After the First Officer turned away to notify the hard-headed machines, and the Navigator started running the calculations, the old engineer snuck off the Captain’s chair and sidled over to check on the bridge’s Engineering station.
Looking up with surprise, the Engineering watch stander looked up at the old Engineer. “What have ye got?” the Chief Engineer asked, leaning over the younger man’s shoulder and punching up the power regulation screen for the jump spindles.
“Sir, Engineering has everything under control,” said the Engineer.
“Of course I have everything under control, lad,” Commander Spalding said, absentmindedly sifting through the data. He heaved a sigh of relief when it became clear the spindles were still fully charged and ready to go upon activation.
Unlike the conventional system, which could only hold up to a half charge without committing to a hyperspace jump, the new system could point-transfer on less than a minute’s notice…well, assuming it didn’t go under another one of its mandatory repair and/or upgrade cycle.
“Infernal machine,” he muttered, giving the side of the console a thump.
“Are you sure you aren’t needed in the command chair, Sir?” suggested the Watch Stander.
Spalding shot air out the side of his mouth.
“Oh, pish on the command chair; it’s overrated anyway. A man would much rather be somewhere he can get his hands dirty fixing things,” Spalding opined.
The other engineer released a sigh of frustration.
“Now you make sure to monitor the charge and give her a good goose with the antimatter generators at the first sign she's giving us trouble or failing to hold a charge,” Spalding repeated for the tenth or twentieth time that day.
“Yes, Commander,” the other man said dutifully.
“And furthermore—” he started only to be cut off.
“Captain Spalding! The Droids are saying they need more time before we jump,” said the First Officer, hurrying over to the Engineering station. He started with surprise and then frowned, “Sir, you’re needed in the captain’s chair.”
“There’s vital work needed here to keep everything goin' as planned—” Spalding immediately defended himself, and then stopped. “What do you mean by the droids are saying we need to wait to jump?!”
“They say they need time to regulate the gas keeping the Bugs asleep and evacuate before we point transfer,” said the Captain.
Spalding glowered thunderously.
“It’s that Omega 9 again, isn’t it,” he snorted angrily.
“How did you know?”
“That piker’s been trying to slow down the entire work shift since the day he came aboard the project,” said the old Engineer before stomping over to the command chair.
“Sir?” asked the XO.
“Put him on the line.”
“Sir!” said the First Officer.
Within seconds the Droid appeared.
“What’s this about some kind of hold up you’re trying to back-engineer into the project, Omega-9?” Spalding demanded.
“My name is Mad Scientist Omega 9, and I’m not 'back-engineering' anything. I told you back when you first proposed this insanity that if you insisted on going forward with it the only safe way to run the experiment was to allow us to regulate the sleeping gas and then exit the organic constructs before leaving this star system.”
“And I told you to have everything ready to go the moment we got word, which I’ve done told you about, and then you were to hop into those landers I provided and hightail it out of there,” Spalding reminded the Droid.
“And miss potentially vital scientific data. I don’t think so. Which is exactly what I told you at the time,” shot back the Droid. “Besides, as I already told you, the USA has already provided us with transport vessels infinitely superior to your unwieldy third generation tech. Sometimes I wonder at the lack of mental acuity and reasoning ability of aging human neuro-chemistry.”
“Listen up, you pea brain. You mind might not be big enough for a full personality matrix after you remove your research algorithms, so listen up: get out of there and into your lander—pronto—or I won’t be held responsible for the results!” Spalding bellowed.
“Pea brain? I always knew you for a mechanophobe; it’s gratifying to see my hypothesis that you were a closet bigot borne out by events,” hooted the Droid triumphantly.
“Truth be told I’m a mechanophile not a mechanophobe. The sad truth is that it's only when it comes to you did I ever doubt the sentience or right of a Droid or living cybernetic organism to self-determination, and let me tell you brother: you’ve taught me to doubt,” said the old engineer.
“I’m not your brother. I am Mad Scientist Omega 9 on a United Sentience sponsored research project as the designated project director,” screeched the Droid.
“Well the project’s terminated. So leave now or forever hold yer peace,” Spalding declared, cutting the transmission.
He turned to the First Officer.
“Notify every Droid in that Bug swarm, not just Omega 9, that it’s time to get out and get out now. We jump on schedule,” said the old Engineer.
“Aye aye, Sir,” said the XO.
“How long until the jump?” asked Spalding.
“We’re beginning the activation sequence now,” said the First Officer after looking over at the navigation console.
“May the Sweet Saint have mercy on their electronic souls,” Spalding said after a moment. It was too late for the droid malingerers, looked like they were jumping into a potential battle situation whether they liked it or not, “make sure our ships don’t fire on any Droid shuttles after we jump.”
“On it, Sir,” nodded the First Officer passing the order.
“Alrighty then. Looks like there’s nothing left to do but charge HPC put the ship to battle stations and prepare the crew for the fight of their lives,” said the old Engineer.
“We’re ready, Sir,” the XO said confidently.
“We are,” agreed Spalding, “let’s just hope the Empire’s not. Notify the Jumble Carriers: I want their gunboats launched into cold space immediately and then remind the Battleships they are to keep formation on us and cover our flanks no matter what.”
“I’ll remind them, but everyone knows the drill,” said the First Officer.
“Murphy knows what the Admiral’s been up to ever since he stationed us out here in this miserable excuse for a star system. For all we know the fleet could be half destroyed,” said the Commander. He shook his head, “Nope, it’s all on us now.”
Two minutes later they jumped.
One Super Battleship, five regular Battleships, two former Battleships re-purposed into Carriers...
And one armada of significantly oversized Bug ships.
The Droids, true to their previously stated intentions, waited outside the jump spindles; their intentions were to jump to Black Purgatory the conventional way. Hopefully after the battle was already decided one way or the other.
Chapter 54: The Surprise!
Spalding’s Surprise Party
1 Super Battleship, Lucky Clover 2.0
5 Battleships
2 Jumble Carriers (364 Boat Capacity)
4 Cruisers
8 Destroyers
Total: 20 warships
Tracto’s Former Orbital Defenses transferred to Black Purgatory via Jump Spindles
150 Orbital Turrets
600 Popup Missile Launchers
2200 Smart Mines
Uncategorized Assets
1 Small Planetoid
Grand Total: 20 warships and various fixed defensive assets
Space twisted and crew members all over the bridge threw up.
The First Officer blinked. One moment the old Engineer had been sitting in his captain’s chair and one blink later he was gone. Instinctively, the XO’s eyes shot over to the engineering console and there was one Terrance P. Spalding, Captain of the Lucky Clover 2.0.
The First Officer rubbed his eyes.
“Sir, you have to get back in your chair!” protested the First Officer.
“Sensors, get me a picture! Communications, activate the jammers,” snapped Spalding, ignoring his second in command. “Tactical, where are they?”
Then the screen populated in all its glory, and it turned out they were exactly where they were supposed to be.
“Captain Spalding,” screamed an Assistant Tactical Officer, “I’m reading Imperial starships starward, Old Confederation starships to port and to starboard and hundreds of Imperial space fighters to our stern!”
It took a moment for the sensors to update the holo-plot, and when they did multiple people on the bridge sucked in breaths.
“We jumped into the star system right in front of the Glorious Fleet!” exclaimed the First Officer.
“This is what we call a 'target rich environment,' people,” Spalding said, his eyes lighting up as he plopped himself into the command chair. “Tactical, find that Command Carrier! Gunnery, be ready for fighters to the rear and anything up to and including Battleships to our port and starboard. Engineering, bring our antimatter power plants up to full power and start supercharging our battery banks—and Weapons: until we find that Carrier I want the HPC to start laying waste to Imperial Battleships as fast as it can cycle. Fire at will!” the old engineer finished excitedly.
“Targets….Sweet Demon take them, there are more than a hundred Battleships! Target…acquired. Target locked. Taking aim…firing!” cried the Weaponeer.
The Super Battleship thrummed, rocking back and forth in a steady motion as the now abundantly-powered Super Battleship was able to fully charge the grav-plates, reducing the previously jerking motion to a fraction of its previous intensities.
“And tell those Cutters, Corvettes and Cruisers attached to the Jump Spindles to drag them out of here—get them below the plane of the elliptic and headed for the limit before they start taking enemy fire and are destroyed. We can’t risk ’em!” Spalding said.
“I have one hundred and fifty enemy warships now moving on an intercept course,” reported Sensors.
“Gunboats away. I say again: boats away. Three hundred and sixty four boats deployed, ready for action and waiting to receive targeting assignments,” reported the Combat Boat Controller on the bridge of the Lucky Clover.
“What are those Fighters doing?” asked Captain Spalding.
There was a pause as Tactical fervently attempted to make sense of a chaotic situation with more than two thousand contacts in a relatively tiny portion of space.
“They appear to be continuing on their attack run, Sir Spalding,” reported an Ensign in the Tactical department after a short pause to gather data.
“I’m not a Knight, son,” Spalding informed the other before a pause, “tell the boats to hold position for now. I’ll have a job for them soon.”
He immediately moved to check on the weapons system. With the enemy so close, any problem with the Hyper Plasma Cannon would be fatal. It had to work, that was just all there was to it.
Behind him a small planetoid and a number of derelict ships—Bug ships—Bug Motherships—began to stir as their chemically-induced torpor abated.
Chapter 55: Imperial Sensor Readings
“The other shoe has dropped,” Cornwallis snorted as the enemy flashed into existence right in front of the Imperial Flotilla.
“It’s hard to tell with all the jamming, but it looks like seven Battleships and that oversized Battleship we were told about. Well, two of the Battleships appear to be converted carriers, but even so. Make it eight of the wall and another dozen smaller warships. There are also some large contacts that are obscured by the haze; it’s hard to tell if they’re real or simply a mirage created by their jamming technology,” observed the grey bearded Commodore.
“So call it twenty ships against one hundred and fifty…that being the case, this matter is a foregone conclusion,” said Cornwallis, “which means either we are idiots or young Montagne thinks he has something to help even the odds. The only question left: is it with this group or somewhere else?”
“Don’t underestimate that oversized Battleship, it’s 1800 meters long—half again the size of the Mighty Punisher,” warned the Commodore.
Right after he spoke, the main cannon of the Super Battleship fired. All eyes locked on the little Spineward Sectors force, and then the Imperial Battleship New Essex took a hit right in her armored prow.
The hull seemed to ripple out away from the impact site and then fire, gas, and molten metal came exploding back out the hole in the bow of the New Essex. As the Senator on the Mighty Punisher watched, hands clasped behind him, the Battleship’s keel snapped from the force of the attack.
Seconds later, the emergency communication pod ejected from the Battleship, alongside two of her fusion generators as the New Essex declared herself combat killed. Within minutes the survivors of her crew hit the escape pods and began to escape the ship.
“Flaming atoms!” swore the Chief of Staff, ashen-faced.
Cornwallis narrowed his eyes. “That ship hits like it has the main weapon of a grade one battlestation...but it’s still not enough to turn the tables,” the Senator observed clinically. He pursed his lips, “Send in the recon drones; I want a closer look at whatever they’re hiding.”
“That cannon is totally comparable to our main beam,” said the Commodore, referring to the Mighty Punisher's main weapon, while behind them the flag staff passed the orders to send out a spread of recon drones.
Cornwallis shrugged. “We already knew the strength of the weapon from back when it was still only half-built. What’s noteworthy isn’t the power of the weapon but that its strength hasn’t grown,” said the Senator idly.
“You mean completing the ship didn’t affect the weapon?” said the Commodore.
“Correct. Either the weapon isn’t energy based or, despite its half-built status in the previous engagement, it was already fully-powered and fully-charged during last battle,” said the Senator.
“That shouldn’t be the case, considering the reports of an antimatter explosion. Something like that was almost certainly from either raw antimatter fuel or core parts of an antimatter generator,” said the Commodore.
“High capacity power banks could compensate for that initially,” mused the Senator before waving it off dismissively.
“Sir?” asked his military Chief of Staff.
“Right now what’s important isn’t that small monitor,” said the Senator, gesturing toward the Lucky Clover II.
“Intelligence reports say they’re calling it a Super Battleship,” interjected the commodore.
“Besides the point,” sneered Cornwallis.
“What, Sir?” the Commodore asked dutifully.
The Senator silently pointed toward the main screen. “Those initial anomalous sensor contacts,” said the Senator. He then turned to the Master Chief Petty Officer manning the EW console for the flag bridge, “What’s the status on those recon drones?”
The Master Chief stiffened. “One moment, Praetor,” he said, pulling up the relevant data and then forwarding it to the Senator.
“I’m sorry, the recon drones are still too far away,” the Master Chief said regretfully.
The Senator’s eyes flashed and, for the first time in a long time, he felt an unwelcome twinge he had never expected to feel again for as long as he lived.
Chapter 56: Lucky Clover and Mighty Punisher Head to Head
“Fire!” shouted Spalding an instant before the Tactical Officer causing the other man’s voice to sound like an echo of his own.
“Aye aye!” exclaimed the Weaponeer, taking aim at the Command Carrier and pulling the trigger.
There was a slight vibration and then, like a small rocket of flame, the next round of flaming semi-liquid metal burst forth from the barrel of the Lucky Clover like a shot fired from the infernal workshop of the Demon Murphy himself.
“She’s true! She’s fired true,” the old Engineer chortled as the second shot from the Hyper Plasma Cannon bore down on the Imperial flagship like it was the wrath of the Spineward Sectors themselves, intent on teaching the Imperials a lesson they’d not soon forget!
There was a slight motion on the screen, and a split second before the round was due to hit the nose of Cornwallis' flagship, an Imperial Battleship passed between the Command Carrier and the Lucky Clover.
The round punched through shields, shattering the front fourth of the Battleship, and the residual energy splattered against the incredibly powerful shields of the Imperial Command Carrier behind them with all the force of an egg hitting a rock.
“Oh, bad cess,” howled Spalding, pounding a fist against the side of his own leg in his enthusiasm.
“We’ll get them next time, Commander,” the Tactical Officer assured the old Engineer.
“Sir ,do you want to maneuver the ship?” asked the Helmsman, eyeing the Imperial fleet that was now nearly in attack range.
Spalding’s eyes shot back to the screen, ignoring the helmsman.
Through the use of sensors it was obvious the Command Carrier’s shields had dropped precipitously, but once again all the old cyborg could see was what looked like still-dripping-egg-yolk sliding down the sides of the Command Carrier’s shields where it streamed into the void of cold space and slowly hardened.
“Reload! Reload! We’ll fire again—just make sure to aim better this next time,” he shouted, clapping the weaponeer on the shoulder happily.
“Aim better?” the Weaponeer paused long enough to look back at him in disbelief, but a stiff look from the ornery old cyborg had him turned back around urgently working his console.
“Don’t worry, Sir, we’ll get them,” said the First Officer.
“Yes we will!” Spalding chortled with happiness. “And if we don’t? Why, we’ll still bag a Battleship each and every time, bahahaha!” he laughed with satisfaction and then glared down at the weaponeer. “That’s assuming the young man here doesn’t miss the Command Carrier. That last round might have glanced off her bow. But as long as he aims true,” he clouted the weaponeer on the shoulder hard enough to rock him in the chair, “they’ll have no choice but to put some serious weight of metal between the Clover and her,” he finished with a finger thrust right at the Imperial flagship.
“Don’t worry, Commander. I’ll have the third shot ready in another five minutes,” said the Weaponeer.
Spalding, who had started to drift back toward the Engineering console, stopped mid-motion. His eye twitched once as he mentally replayed what the youngster had just said. Then it twitched again when he realized he had, indeed, heard him correctly the first time.
“What did you say, lad?” he asked with outrage.
“I said five minut—” began the Weaponeer.
“What are you on about, man? Didn’t you hear the helmsman? Time's about up and we’ve only got another two minutes,” he shouted furiously.
“Sir, the book on the HPC clearly says five minutes,” protested the Weaponeer.
“We fired as soon as we got here, and that last round only took three minutes to load and fire—besides, the enemy will range on us in another two minutes. Five minutes is simply three minutes too late!”
“Uh…” the Weaponeer froze.
“Don’t be a fool and load the lighter rounds. They take less time to load and fire. Can’t you see the Battleships crossing back and forth in front of her like moths to the flame now? We’re not going to get another clear shot like that last one,” ordered the old engineer.
“But you just said to reload the heavy rounds and try again!” cried the Weaponeer in protest.
“And now I’m telling you different. Sweet Murphy, I’m not a weapons specialist—I just build the blasted things!” Spalding bellowed in frustration.
“Right on it, Sir,” said the Weaponeer, turning back to his console.
“The enemy Carrier is entering attack range,” reported Tactical.
“We’ve just been painted!” cried Sensors.
“Full power to the forward shields. Kick those fancy antimatter generators into high gear,” shouted Captain Spalding.
“Super charging forward shields,” the Shield Ensign piped out in a high pitched voice.
“Round loaded; going through initial load balance tests. Capacitors at 75% and rising,” reported Weapons.
“Pre-firing matrix detected. That Command Carrier is about to fire. Do you want to order evasive maneuvers, Sir?” asked Tactical.
“It’s going to take more than a measly little twelve hundred meter Command Carrier to scratch the paintjob on this ship,” Spalding boasted shamelessly.
“Do you want me to close the firing port for the HPC, Sir?” asked the Weaponeer.
“And risk the chance it gets welded closed? Not on your life,” Spalding said fiercely.
“Sir, they’ve got a bead on us—if we’re going to move the time is now!” urged the First Officer.
“Steady as she goes, Helm,” Spalding bawled loud enough to drown out anything further his XO was about to say. He then turned to his First Officer irately, “Are you deliberately trying to make us miss our next shot? Our chances of dodging are low and if we dance 'round like a monkey on fire then we won’t hit anything,” he hissed.
The First Officer’s first response was drowned out by the inbound fire.
Like a flash in the pan, the Empire’s main beam fired and the Clover’s forward facing shields popped like a soap bubble immediately as that the powerful, white beam dug deep into the forward face of the Super Battleship with an upward, slashing arc.
“Forward sensor capabilities degraded by 30%. Forward armor compromised, secondary systems in the forward hull have been affected, unable to reroute,” reported Damage Control.
“What’s the status of the HPC?” Spalding demanded. Everything else was immaterial at best if their main gun had been compromised.
“Hatch doors are not responding and appear to have been welded open. All other systems related to the HPC are reading five-by-five. However the forward facing visual cameras have all been burned out; I can’t get a look at the opening. Minimum time for a repair team to get out there and take a look…four minutes,” reported the Weaponeer.
“Too long. Prepare to fire as soon as the HPC is ready,” ordered Spalding.
The Weaponeer just looked at him with horror. Realizing the junior officer wasn’t going to risk the old tyrant’s ire, the First Officer stepped up to bite the bullet.
“Sir, you are aware that if there’s anything obstructing the firing port, so much as a jagged edge of duralloy, the HPC could misfire,” he advised quickly.
“Of course I’m aware. Who do you think designed and then installed the bloody thing?” Spalding scoffed.
“Firing before we can confirm the port’s cleared could destroy the ship, Captain!” shouted the First Officer.
“Steady as she goes, Number One. As they say in the book: faint hearts never won fair lady—and son, there ain't no lady half as fair as the Clover,” advised the old Engineer.
“You could blow the front of the ship clear off!” the First Officer said in a low urgent voice.
“We’re not going to win this battle without taking risks. The die is cast. Will we be sinners or will we be damned?” Spalding declared and then turned to the weaponeer, “Fire when ready.”
The old engineer turned back to look at the battle plot and narrowed his eyes. In addition to the one hundred and fifty members of the Imperial flotilla, major contingents from both wings of the Glorious Fleet were converging right on his position.
“The fly is definitely in the ointment but, as they say, the more the merrier, aye Saint Murphy?” he mumbled to himself.
“Sorry, Sir. I was just trying to keep us in the fight as long as possible,” said the First Officer, his voice breaking the old engineer out of his ruminations.
“Eh?” Spalding looked up in surprise and then frowned. “Pay it never no mind; we’re going to have a lot more to worry about than whether we lose the front of the ship before this day is over with,” said the old Engineer.
“As you say, Sir,” muttered the First Officer mutinously.
Spalding could tell that he wasn’t so sanguine as the Chief Engineer about the fate of the ship when the HPC fired again, but old Spalding wasn’t worried.
After all, he’d installed more than just a set of visual cameras in the opening of the HPC’s firing port and the odds of his pressure sensors being compromised in such a way that they didn’t automatically shut down the main cannon before it fired was…well, it was non-zero, but...definitely infinitesimal at best.
Chuckling to himself at the antics of the bridge crew, he turned back to see what the blasted Empire o' MAN was about to do next.
“Remember, Helm: as soon as the gun fires you are to pull us back behind the planetoid,” he warned.
“Yes, Sir,” said the Helmsman.
“You know what…on second thought I've a better idea,” Spalding said, because while he wasn’t afraid of getting her paint scratched that didn’t mean he wanted to see her torn up by five hundred warship all working against the Clover together.
No, on second thought this latest burst lightbulb was a much better idea.
“What? It didn’t cut through her hull?” the Commodore’s eyes bulged in disbelief.
Charles Cornwallis blinked. “Our main cannon should have been able to cut through duralloy twice as thick as that,” said the Senator.
On the screen was a close-up view of the locals’ oversized, 1800 meter long so-called Battleship. Most notably, the view wasn’t fuzzy at all.
“Why do we have such a clear image?” he asked.
“I tasked the recon drones with getting a good image of the ship,” said the EW officer.
The Senator nodded and then frowned. “I hope you didn’t re-task all of the drones just to take a look at the Super Battleship.”
There was a sudden but telling silence from the Electronics Warfare Officer.
“Re-task all but two of the drones immediately. Do I have to do everything myself? I want to find out what’s behind that ship!” he barked.
“Aye aye, Sir,” the EW Commander jumped to carry out the order.
There was a stir at the sensor consoles.
“The Super Battleship and her escorts are beginning to fall back,” reported Sensors.
“Is she trying to hide behind something in that jamming field or just avoid another strike from our laser?” Cornwallis' eyes narrowed.
“That shouldn’t be at issue. The Spineward Sectors has fought a Command Carrier before. They even captured the last one we sent here,” said the Commodore.
The Senator gave the other man such a look that his Chief of Staff’s eyes widened and he took a step backwards.
“Super Battleship has fired,” urgently reported Commander at the Tactical Station, breaking the tension.
“All hands, brace for impact,” the steady voice of the ship’s Captain came over the intercom.
“Imperial Justice is maneuvering to intercept,” advised an Assistant Tactical Officer as the nearest Imperial Battleship in the defensive pattern moved to place its hull between the Command Carrier and the enemy attack. Unfortunately, it was a tick too fast.
In a flash, the hyper plasma round passed just behind the stern of the Imperial Justice and the Command Carrier lurched as the enemy plasma attack punched a hole right through the Mighty Punisher’s shields.
“Shields compromised,” reported the Lieutenant Commander in charge of the Punisher’s shields, “rebuilding and recharging now.”
“We've taken damage to the hull just above the stern. Minor damage to the engines; Engineering is rerouting. One hundred crewmembers are marked as sustaining mild to moderate concussive damage and are being routed to the nearest sick bay as soon as feasible,” there was a pause as Damage Control continued reporting. “Environmental is reporting a slight loss in ship pressure; it looks like we sprung a few leaks in the outer maintenance hatches. They say it’ll take days to fix all the damage but it would take almost a week before they’ll become unable to compensate if left unattended.”
The Senator and his military Chief of Staff locked eyes briefly and then Cornwallis turned to the Damage Control officer.
“Show me an external view of the damage,” he instructed.
“We have an image already from one of the Strike Fighters on close-in patrol,” said Damage Control. throwing an image up on the screen.
The grey bearded Commodore nearly choked when he saw the area where the HPC struck. “That hit almost broke through the hull!” he said with disbelief.
“Indeed,” said Cornwallis, genuine surprise in his eyes for the first time.
“Well I guess we know how they beat Arnold Janeski,” said the Commodore.
“If you don’t have anything pertinent to add to the discussion you can feel free to remain silent,” said the Senator.
“Of course, your Praetorship,” the Commodore said.
The Senator started to turn, eyes filled with fire, when yet another clamor from the Sensor department forcibly grabbed his attention.
“In the name of MAN...just look at the size!” said one Sensor Officer.
“Are those what I think they are?” demanded the Commander in charge of the department with outright anger in his voice.
The Tactical Officer hurried over but, seeing the same thing the rest of them were seeing, the Senator could tell exactly what they were looking at with one glance.
“W-M-D!” the Senior Commander in charge of Tactical said with certainty.
Chapter 57: Imperial Fury
Bug Hive Fleet—Full Breakdown(???)
6 Motherships
Total: 6 warships(???)
“Bugs,” the Commodore said with disgust.
“This is a violation of the war crimes statutes on the use of Weapons of Mass Destruction and the Dictates of MAN,” the Mighty Punisher’s Captain said with righteous indignation.
“Bugs,” the Senator was nonplussed, “they’re just Bugs. There’s no need to get carried away.”
“But the Dictates of MAN specifically state…” began the Imperial Captain.
Cornwallis raised a hand. “Let’s not get carried away. First, the dictates of MAN only cover humans using biological weapons within the Empire or against Imperial citizens; second, I highly doubt that these rebels care what we tell them they can or cannot do. That is the definition of 'rebels' after all,” Cornwallis shook his head.
“But sir the war crimes statutes are clear: the use of biological weapons is disallowed. Every nation in human space has signed onto the statutes,” said the Captain.
“In case it had escaped your attention, the locals have formed their own government. I’m not aware of anyone recognizing them, let alone asking them to sign so much as a single accord—including the war crimes statutes,” the Commodore helpfully pointed out to the Flag Captain.
“You can’t seriously mean you’re prepared to let them get away with this,” the Flag Captain glared at the Praetor’s Chief of Staff.
“Hardly,” Cornwallis broke in, “allowing them to do so would cut into something much deeper than a piece of paper—it would cut into the basis of Imperial power and, for that, they must—they will—be destroyed.”
The Flag Captain nodded with satisfaction and gave the Commodore a triumphant look. His triumph was only slightly diminished when he saw the Commodore was nodding along with him.
“Enough chatter,” Cornwallis' voice cut through the confusion bringing instant order, “I’m seeing half a dozen Bug Motherships on my screen, and from what I can tell they’re not moving. I want them gone—send in the Battleships.”
“Ours or the Glorious Fleet’s, Sir?” asked the Commodore.
“Both,” Cornwallis said immediately, “whatever surprises they think they have, those Bugs look like they’re still in hibernation. I want them crushed before they have time to wake up.”
“The losses could be significant,” warned the Commodore.
“I don’t care. That 1800 meter ship isn’t magic, yes it can one-hit kill anything but the Command Carrier but it still takes several minutes to recharge its main cannon. If we tie it down and dispose of these Bugs I believe the battle, and thus this war, is ours,” said Cornwallis.
Orders were relayed and soon every ship in the fleet was moving forward at a rapid pace.
“It was a remarkably stupid ploy, as the Bugs are clearly still in hibernation. We just need to destroy them before they awaken and it’ll be no different from asteroid target practice… What am I missing?” he mused aloud his eyes falling on the large asteroid the locals were trying to hide behind.
He turned to his Chief of Staff.
“Find out the composition of that large asteroid their 'Super Battleship' is trying to hide itself behind,” Cornwallis ordered abruptly.
“On it, Sir,” the Chief of Staff said, “although at first glance it's rounded enough to qualify as a small planetoid rather than an asteroid but.. what’s the worst it could be? Anything that could jump here other than the Super Battleship couldn’t possibly powerful enough to…” the Chief of Staff trailed off.
“That’s right—they could jump in anything they liked if they’re using a field effect instead of an individual drive system. Such as a class one battlestation,” the Senator said sardonically.
“There isn’t a class one battlestation in the entire Spineward Region,” said the Chief of Staff, “are you sure they’re not just trying to get inside our heads and make us hesitate?”
The Senator nodded and then made a slashing gesture with his hands. “An amateur might try anything, but otherwise I don’t see for what purpose,” he mused aloud.
“Does it matter?” asked the Chief of Staff absently as he started sorting the new information on the planetoid. Then, as he was scrolling, he froze and almost dropped his data slate.
“Anything that I can’t understand worries me,” said the Senator and, then catching sight of his Chief of Staff's reaction, his head swiveled around, “what is it?”
“B...B...Bugs!” stammered the Chief of Staff.
“I know about the Bugs, I asked about that planetoid,” sneered the Senator.
“No, Sir. You don’t understand. That planetoid is a Bug ship!” cried the Commodore.
There was instant and immediate silence on the flag bridge of the Mighty Punisher, as almost every head in the room turned in perfect unison toward the Commodore with gaped mouths.
“Come again,” said the Senator, schooling his features in the face of such an impossibility.
“The entirely planetoid is of a similar composition to the Bug Motherships we have on file. It is a Bug, Sir,” repeated the Commodore.
There was a moment of surprise that flitted across the Praetor’s face and then, like a gust of wind, it was gone.
“And thus we finally discover the trap the locals have gambled everything on,” said Senator Cornwallis right as the lead elements both the Imperial Flotilla and Glorious Fleet reached the Lucky Clover II and opened fire. He took a breath, “Now we know...new order to the Fleet: set planetoid as a primary target to the exclusion of everything except the protection of Mighty Punisher. Open fire,” ordered Charles Cornwallis, “this is where we’ll break the Spine's back.”
Chapter 58: The Bugs Awaken
In flesh-filled corridors throughout the six Motherships and one giant, planetoid-sized vessel, life stirred.
Inside the Queen’s Planetoid, Droids equipped with sensor units and blasters switched off the cold-inducing, CO-2 spewing canisters, and began releasing a blue mists from the nozzles of their small work stations, introducing an enzyme that irritated the internals of both the Motherships and the Queen’s Planetoid.
A process which normally required the better part of an hour to fully awaken a Bug ship, under the efforts of Droid scientists and the chemicals they’d laboriously synthesized, was happening at a rapidly accelerated pace.
Thus, while the Lucky Clover opened fire with her secondary armament, the equivalent of the firepower of two standard Spineward Sectors Battleships and the Empire fired back, the Bug Fleet slowly awoke.
Convulsing with pain, the artificially-induced hibernation was interrupted and the Sub-Queens of the various Motherships, and the Queen of the entire swarm began to wake up filled with a sudden and immediate killing intent.
As a wide variety of Bug warriors, workers and thinkers, including a veritable horde of six footers and their smaller worker cousins, stirred to life, Droid scientists and their escorts ran for their artificial lives. Because of the untested nature of the new experimental doses spewing by aerosole, the project leader had kept them at their posts until the very last moment.
Most of the Droids made it to their escape vessels in time. Some did not.
One by one, the stealthed landers began releasing themselves from the Bug ships and moved away at the snail slow speed of their stealth systems.
Behind them, large open hatches at the stern of the Motherships began to silently slide open.
The laser strikes of the Imperial warships only served to accelerate the awakening process, and within minutes the first smaller vessels of the Bug swarm emerged.
Enraged, first by the chemical bath and later by the stinging attacks of the Imperial and Old Confederation warships, the Bugs awoke early.
And they awoke mad.
Chapter 59: The Great Escape!
Bug Plague Fleet—Full Breakdown (for real this time)
1 Queen's Planetoid
6 Motherships
19 Heavy Harvesters
58 Medium Harvesters
81 Light Harvesters
600 Scout Marauders
1,800 Scouts
Plague Fleet Total: 2,565 enraged Bug warships
He was the very model of an upgraded space engineer!
The Bug Motherships each varied in size, starting from a mere 1600 meters and going all the way up to an impressive 2300 meters. Since they didn’t need such features as shield generators or hyper drives, they had ample room inside them for other things.
Things like weapons.
Tens of thousands of individual Bugs were stirring within those blighted 'vessels,' whose internal storage spaces were filled not only with Bug warriors and workers, but also with stacks of smaller Bug ships.
“The First Mothership is coming out of hibernation,” reported Science Officer Jones, a man who’d been recruited specifically for the post by no lesser personage than Spalding himself.
“Issue the order for the defensive field to go into stealth mode. It is not to go active and stay on standby without a specific order,” ordered Spalding.
“Aye, Sir,” said the Com-Officer.
“I’ve got a squadron of Cruisers coming up on our starboard flank,” reported Sensors.
“All gun deck captains are to select targets for their deck and concentrate fire on those warships,” said the Tactical Officer.
“Which one woke up?” asked Spalding as eight Cruisers focused their fire on the Lucky Clover II at the same time. He cast a weather eye at the power levels for the shield generators one corner of the old engineer’s mouth quirked up. Those new antimatter generators were really something else. The power regulators feeding the shield generators would overheat before the power supplied by antimatter generators would even be close to overdrawn.
“The small 1600 meter one,” a pale faced Officer Jones said cuttingly, “she’s launching missiles and…” he trailed off but everyone on the bridge could see it. The Mothership seemed to violently explode as missiles shot out of her from every facing. But in addition to that, mixed in with the missiles shooting out of the front end were a dozen small Bug Scouts and Scout Marauders.
A dozen quickly turned into several dozen, and then the first Small Harvester squeezed out the front of the bloated-looking Mothership.
As if infuriated by the multiple squadrons of fast Destroyers that were attacking it and the other large Bug Motherships, the 1600 meter Mothership visibly pulsated, expanding and contracting as more and more Scout Marauders and Small Harvesters were pushed into the void.
Then a laser struck the Mothership in the exit or the mouth and the whole ship writhed, shaking back and forth. Suddenly every weapon on the Bug Mothership was pointed at the Destroyer that hit her and opened fire at the same time. More than 20% of the lasers, those that were mounted on the rear and rear sides of the giant Bug ship couldn’t swing or depress far enough to reach the Destroyer. But every other laser opened fire on the same target.
The Destroyer was totally destroyed as its shields were knocked down in one rising volley of fire, and so many holes were punched through its hull that it exploded and then literally fell apart.
Unfortunately for the rest of the Destroyer squadron, Bug gunnery was as 'accurate' as always and, despite only aiming at one specific Destroyer, they fired all over the place causing all the other Destroyers in the squadron to be hit. The entire squadron was hit so many times that another warship was damaged to the point it was effectively destroyed while three more were sent limping away streaming breathable gases.
One squadron of Imperial Destroyers was gone but fifty Old Confederation Destroyers showed up to take its place. Seeing the fate of their Imperial comrades, the Destroyers of the Glorious Fleet went on the attack.
“The old Confederation Destroyers are attacking the Bug Mothership,” reported Tactical as gases and Bug ship internal fluids began flowing into space at an increased rate.
“Four more of the Motherships are going active,” said Science Officer Jones.
Angry maws gaping wide, the other Motherships started firing their missiles as Bug Scouts and Scout Marauders poured from the angry black gashes in the front of the ships.
Then, one after the other, pulsing in an offbeat rhythm, Small Harvesters started extruding from the Motherships.
“That’s our cue,” said Spalding while the Lucky Clover II fired a rolling broadside that knocked half a dozen Destroyers out of commission, “let slip the dogs of war and then get us out of here.”
The five Spineward Sectors Battleships joined in the fire and fury, and a trio of Cruisers fell victim to their lasers never to rise again.
“Sir?” asked First Officer while the Com-officer relayed the orders.
“We need to get while the getting’s good. Give the gunboats our course and tell them to annihilate anything in our path,” Spalding declared, and moments after relaying the order a horde of more than three hundred gunboats came out from behind the planetoid, took up formation in front of the Battleships, and attacked.
“That’s a relief, Sir!” Science Officer Jones said with visible relief as he intruded into the conversation.
The First Officer gave him a quelling look.
“Take us out of here, Helm,” ordered Spalding and, slowly following behind hundreds of angry gunboats, the Super Battleship began to move away from the Planetoid.
“Sir, the boats will help but we’ll have to fight our way out of this,” warned the First Officer.
“I never expected anything else, son. But we need to get some distance before we show up on the Bug’s targeting radar of we’re in serious trouble. We’ll have to deploy jammers as we go and force our way through,” Spalding said with confidence as the five smaller Battleships formed up around the Lucky Clover and started moving away from the Planetoid.
Seeing a target of opportunity, the Weaponeer fired and another enemy Battleship was knocked out of the fight.
By the time all six of the Motherships had gone active, the first of the Imperial Battleship squadrons arrived.
Meanwhile the gunboats ran into a mixed group of somewhere around thirty Destroyers and Cruisers, and the Lucky Clover and her companions who were trying to make the great escape moved to assist.
Lasers flashed back and forth in a furious fashion, but with nine capital ships, one super Battleship, five regular Battleships and a pair of Battleships that had been modified into gunboat carriers, whatever the gunboats couldn’t deal with the larger warships certainly could. The group began to leave a trail of broken wreckage behind theme.
Not willing to let the instigators of this trap get away free, but even more unwilling to let a potential menace like the Bug Planetoid wake up, the Imperial Battleships immediately turned broadside on and opened fire.
Raking the Planetoid with coordinated broadsides of turbo- and heavy laser fire left giant scars and great, blackened holes in the living flesh that was the Bug’s massive armor.
In response, the Planetoid seemed to ripple and then disappear as the sensor computers on every warship within range temporarily went on the fritz. Moments later the sensors cleared and computers began to identify the hordes of fire-and-forget missiles launched from every facing of the giant Bug monstrosity.
Chapter 60: The Clover in Peril
“Commander! Contact—multiple contacts! Something’s coming out of the jammer fog at close range,” reported a frantic midshipman manning a Sensor console.
Spalding’s head shot around to glare furiously at the pimple-faced bearer of bad news.
Then his eyes caught on the images that began populating the main screen.
One dozen contacts.
Two dozen contacts.
More than thirty.
Now more than forty contacts appeared before him—proper warships all. It was a swarm of Cruiser-and-smaller light warships, and it was clear they had one target and one target only: the angel of death that was working the Saint of Engineers’ blessed will.
“What should we do, Sir?” the First Officer asked urgently.
“They must be here to save the Battleships that are engaging the Bug Motherships in a battle to the death. Steady on, lad; we can take them,” Spalding said, a hard glint in his eye. “Tell the gun deck to get ready to fight! No more lollygagging 'round while the main cannon does all the heavy lifting.”
“Aye aye, Sir,” the First Officer nodded and hurried over to notify the Chief Gunner.
“And someone make sure to coordinate with our escort. There’ll be a rough patch but we’ll get through this, never you fear,” Commander Spalding said, as confident in his assessment as he was in his new hairdo.
As the old engineer watched, the swarm split into two different groups as they prepared to englobe the ship. But they’d soon find the Clover to be a tougher bit of meat than they’d expected.
“We’re all gristle and bone here. There's no point in breakin' your teeth on us, boys and girls. The sooner you find that out and leave, the better,” Spalding harrumphed sourly as he assessed the enemy with a beady eye.
The Clover was built to last. Why, she was even stronger now in her latest incarnation than she’d been in her last. The new hull was entirely made of Duralloy II, much stronger than the one she’d had in the past, and D-II is nothing to sneer at. His escorts deployed in a defensive arrangement around the Super Battleship, and with each passing minute his confidence in the old lady only grew. Even that Command Carrier's big beam hadn't done much more than give her a love bite!
His attention was re-drawn to the tactical display. Behind the now sixty three light warships of the Glorious Fleet, more than two hundred fifty fighters suddenly broke away from behind the light warships that had been screening them, hiding their signature until that moment.
The old Engineer’s eyes bulged.
“Sir!” cried Tactical, pointing to the main screen and panicking.
“The Clover’s in peril,” Spalding shouted urgently. “Let loose both broadsides and send out the gunboats!”
“Aye, aye,” said the Tactical, looking relieved.
“Short-ranged plasma cannons!” cried Spalding as the two hundred and fifty Imperial Strike Fighters assumed a double arrow formation and moved to engage.
Like two waves of death incarnate, the sixty three Glorious Fleet warships moved into position on either side of the Lucky Clover. First the enemy to port opened fire, and then the enemy to starboard followed suit.
The Clover wasn’t slow to reply. A thunderous double broadside rocked out of the Super Battleship simultaneously, as every single laser on the ship spat fire.
With a throw weight in her secondary armament equal to two Battleships, by firing from both sides at the same time it was the equivalent of four Battleships tearing into the enemy fleet.
Alongside the Clover, a half dozen MSP Cruisers and MSP Destroyers, as well as two MSP Jumble Carriers, equipped with the latest in stripped-down Battleship broadside due mainly to power constraints, followed suit. Each of the Jumbles fired like a strong Medium or Heavy Cruiser.
“Full power to the shields and full power to the gun deck,” ordered Spalding.
“What do you want me to do with the main cannon?” asked Weapons. “I could switch fire to one of these Cruisers if Helm cooperates.”
The old Engineer walked up and smacked the weaponeer in the back of the head.
“Hey! What was that for?” cried the Ensign.
“Sir, please go easy on the staff,” the Clover’s First Officer hurried over urgently.
“How else are they going to learn?” Spalding snapped.
“In case you haven’t noticed, we’re in the middle of a battle,” the First Officer snapped and then took a breath, “did you want to reroute power from the main gun and focus on shield regen and broadsides?”
“Are ye daft?” Captain Spalding demanded, grimacing at the First Officer. “The problem isn’t a lack of power. We can fire everything full bore if we bring all the anti-matter generators up to 80% capacity.”
“Eighty Percent, Sir?” protested the Engineer on duty on the bridge. “Are you sure we’ll be able to load balance everything without a catastrophic event? The safety protocols clearly state that—”
“I wrote the safety protocols on the anti-matter generators; I know what they say. Of course I’m sure,” Spalding gruffed.
“You’re the Captain, Sir, but—” said the First Officer.
“Then it’s settled. We all know Captains are all unreasonable tyrants, so just do it already and enough with the chit-chat,” Spalding said, giving the other engineer a penetrating look before turning away.
There was a stunned silence behind him. And then the ship began to whine all around them as all six anti-matter generators were stepped up.
The enemy fighters began to close, and as they did the Clover opened up with her short-range plasma turrets.
“Now these are some sweet fire control stations,” Lesner nodded with satisfaction as his turbo-laser lined up on the nearest Old Confederation warships, a Light Cruiser. “Much smoother than the old systems,” he said pulling the trigger.
They also fired faster thanks to a few upgrades to the guns themselves. The guns mounts and the fire control stations looked the same as the originals, in fact in many cases they were the originals taken from the old Lucky Clover and transferred over here. But they’d also been updated and upgraded with the best technology the Gambit Factories and Yards could produce and install.
His console beeped. The Chief Gunner looked down at his console and bared his teeth.
“We’re in a target rich environment, people!” he screamed into the microphone built into the fire control station. Then, tapping on the display, he assigned individual targets to each battery before turning back to look at the gunners in his area before meeting the eyes of the battery leader, “Battery A: take down that Cruiser!”
“Battery! Fire at will,” ordered the team leader.
Grinning Lesner lined up his target reticule on the target and, as soon as he had a good lock, he fired.
Within moments, half a dozen turbo lasers struck the shields of the Light Cruiser. The focused attack knocked down her shields and scored a deep gouge on the duralloy of her hull.
Hundreds of plasma balls shot out of Lucky Clover’s plasma turrets in several rapid salvos, and the Imperial Fighters immediately went into a series of evasive maneuvers.
Dozens of fighters were knocked out of commission and destroyed, but hundreds more dodged and wove through the anti-fighter fire.
Fire and fury smote out both sides of the Super Battleship in a continuous barrage, even as he shields shrugged off multiple broadsides.
Three Destroyers and a Cruiser were knocked out of action before the first pair of medium lasers broke through the Clover’s shields. Shrugging off the scratches in her armor, the Clover fired another HPC round that tore through the nearspace battlefield en route to the Imperial Battleships attacking the Bug Moon.
As the plasma cannon round struck the Battleship, dozens of Imperial Strike Fighters opened fire on the Clover’s weakening shields.
“Fire the point defense lasers and the chain guns; tell the plasma turrets to improve their aim and send out the boats,” ordered Spalding.
“The boats?” asked a harried assistant tactical officer.
“The gunboats! Put them on anti-fighter duty,” ordered Spalding.
“But I thought gunboats weren’t as effective against fighters as they are against outright warships?” asked the assistant Tactical Officer.
“Just do it, Henry,” snapped the main shift Tactical Officer.
“Aye aye, Sir,” said the assistant.
Just over two hundred strike fighters attacked the Super Battleship, and under the weight of fire from the other warships two dozen or so snuck in through the Clover’s powerful but overburdened shields.
Then more than three hundred gunboats poured around from the Clover's stern and engaged.
Space became a swirling mess of fighters, boats, lasers and warships as hundreds of weapons from each side opened fire.
More than half of the Strike Fighters that penetrated the Lucky Clover’s shields were rapidly taken out by her over powered point defense system. Several, those with more skill or just plain luckier pilots, came close enough to the hull to start knocking out sensor nodes, communication arrays or, in one case, damage a port-side shield generator before being destroyed.
With the shields weakened, the port side started to take more and more hits. But with extra thick Duralloy II battle armor, the Super Battleship shrugged off the strikes and fired back with all the fury of an anti-matter powered broadside.
Not only was the Clover firing faster because of the improvements to her lasers mounts, she was also recharging her lasers at a more rapid rate than her fusion powered opponents.
In taking down her port shields, half a dozen Destroyers and another pair of Cruisers fell to concentrated turbo-laser strikes. With over a hundred heavy and turbo-lasers on each side of the ship the Super Battleship against the hundred and fifty to two hundred light, medium and the occasional heavy laser of the Old Confederation fleet, the imbalance in striking power was obvious.
In response, the Old Confederation warships started to shift around until all fifty of the remaining warships were concentrated on the port side of the Clover.
“Roll the ship, son,” Spalding instructed as an out of control gunboat went careening into the side of the ship and exploded.
“They’re sticking to us tighter than a tick on a boar,” the helmsman said tensely.
“We just lost three heavy lasers. One was completely destroyed but the gun deck’s port repair team thinks they clear the doors to the other two within five minutes,” reported damage control.
“Not good enough,” snapped the XO.
“Tell them to just get it done on the quick step,” instructed Spalding, as outside the ship the concentrated fire of three hundred gunboats tore into the imperial fighters.
“Aye aye, Captain,” the engineer said, looking back and forth between the top two officers aboard the Super Battleship before finally settling on Spalding.
The Chief Gunner carefully lined up his shot and waited for the right moment. As he watched, the shields on his target flickered and he caressed the trigger in his hands.
With a loud crackle, the turbo-laser discharged, punching through the Old Confederation warship’s weakened shields and lancing into the hull right over the engines. A moment later, an internal explosion rippled through the enemy ship.
“Scratch one Destroyer,” crowed the Chief Gunner, and the gun crew working his turbo-laser cheered.
Lesner allowed himself a moment to bask in the glory and then he straightened up.
“Grease monkey!” he shouted.
“Yes boss!” a young Border Alliance recruit exclaimed, jumping over to help.
“Something sounded hinky with that last shot. Pull the focusing crystal and run it back to the shop for assessment after switching in a new one,” he ordered.
“No problem, Chi—” the Grease Monkey never got the chance to finish his reply.
The Chief Gunner’s view screen flashed repeatedly and everything happened in a split second. Lesner’s eyes barely had time to do more widen when an electric arc shot from the side of the turbo-laser struck the grease-monkey. While the young spacer was still writhing, and before Lesner’s hand could reach over to slap the emergency doors to shut his gun port closed, another flash occurred.
“Counter battery fire!” screamed the turbo-laser’s assistant gunner, jumping clear of the laser mount at the same time a sudden loss of pressure occurred.
The still-writhing grease monkey was pulled back by the suction from the hull breech.
“No,” shouted Lesner, jumping clear of the mount and reaching for the spacer.
“Sir!” shouted the assistant gunner, grabbing Lesner by the shoulders and pulling him back just in time to clear before the blast door slammed shut, trapping the injured grease monkey on one side of the doors and the Chief Gunner and the rest of the gun team on the other.
“He’s gone, Sir. We can’t help him,” said the assistant gunner, still holding the chief gunner’s shoulders.
“Get off me,” Lesner snapped, shrugging him off. He took one last look at the blast doors and then turned away to draw a single, steadying breath before he set his jaw.
He still had a gun deck to fight.
“The Sidewinder reports her fusion core is becoming unstable. Her captain reports their Chief Engineer is initiating the automatic shutdown protocol and he’s ordering the crew to the escape pods, Sir,” reported the Com-Officer.
Spalding grunted.
On the screen, space outside the Clover was a straight up mess. By now twenty of the sixty Old Confederation warships had been damaged to the point they had to withdraw, or were already struck dead in space while the rest were firing at them with everything they had.
“Sir, I’m receiving a hail,” reported the Com-Officer.
“Who’s it from? I’m busy,” grunted Spalding.
“I have a Rear Admiral J-Pop of the Glorious Fleet, he says he’s in command of the task group attacking us and demands to speak with you,” said the Com-Officer.
“Oh he does, does he?” Spalding snorted. “Put him through. This should be interesting.”
The screen blanked and then a brown skinned officer with a receding hair line—and a flat tire around his belly large enough that it was clear he’d enjoyed a few too many meals—appeared on the screen.
“This is Captain Terrance Spalding of the Lucky Clover. What do you want, Admiral?” he asked, brows beetling as he glowered at the other man.
“I didn’t realize you rebels allowed so many bio-mechanical combat replacements, or that you rebels were so desperate for warm bodies you’d started retaining officers as old and...of course, as experienced as yourself, Captain. This should make this a bit simpler,” said Admiral J-Pop.
“Old?” Spalding growled
“Don’t take offense. Like all proper Confederation citizens, I do not discriminate against the elderly. Although I have to tell your people they would really be better off under a universal health care system like we have in the Confederation. Free rejuvenation and life prolong techniques are now available for all citizens,” Admiral J-Pop said with a big smile.
“What are you on about, man? Is that some kind of weak attempt at a bribe? I’ll have you know I’m no rebel. Nor am I too old to run this or any other ship, so what exactly are you on about?” he demanded.
J-Pop’s smile faded. “Listen, this police action’s gone on far enough don’t you think? I say let bygones be bygones and all that. I understand that feathers have been ruffled locally, but you can’t honestly believe you’re able to stand off the combined might of the two largest mega-governments in the galaxy,” the Rear Admiral said. “That being the case, why don’t you surrender now and save us all a lot of trouble? I have to imagine your crew is feeling the strain.”
“My crew’s just fine. You might not be aware but the boys and girls in the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet have fought everything from Droids to pirates to ham-handed Imperials and we’re still tickin',” Spalding growled.
“Yes, but far too many lives are being lost as it is,” Admiral J-Pop said desperately, “I assure you that if you surrender now, before it’s too late, I’ll be able to cut you the best deal you’re going to find. Not only can I guarantee the best medical care in the galaxy, ensuring you feel like a man half your age when we’re done, but in addition I’m sure some kind of monetary reward can be worked out…” he trailed off in the face of Spalding's patent disbelief.
“First off all, this ship and her crew hasn’t even begun to fight, and second if this if some kind of attempt at a bribe…,” he shook his head, “then I have to say you’ve got me all wrong. Why, I spend most of my time running away from the doctors, not trying to sign up for more of their medical tortures and quackery,” the old Engineer said stony faced.
“Don’t be a fool, Captain Spalding,” Admiral J-Pop said, sweat running down the side of his face, “you’re heavily outnumbered and the longer you wait—”
“Sir, there’s a problem!” the Admiral was interrupted by someone off screen.
“I told you I was not to be disturbed; I’m in the middle of very delicate negotiations with one of the locals here,” J-Pop said crossly.
“But, Sir, the Nova Blue contingent is quitting the field. They say they’re returning to the main body of the fleet to request clarification of orders,” said a female officer with Senior Lieutenant hash marks on her collar.
“Order them back in line. I don’t have time for this!” shouted Admiral J-Pop.
“Two more ships say they’re returning with Nova Blue, Sir,” reported the Senior Lieutenant.
“Seems like you’re having trouble there, Admiral,” Spalding chortled, “why don’t you go and give the blighters what for and get back to me when you’re got your house in order...Sir?” he smirked triumphantly.
“Yes, I suppose—wait, no!” exclaimed the Admiral, turning back to the Captain, “I assure you this is just a temporary mix up in the chain of command. Which is why my offer is even more important than ever—”
Spalding reached down and muted the Admiral, who was still blathering on about getting the Lucky Clover to surrender.
As if that was ever going to happen.
Looking up at the screen, he could see a small group of five ships were now moving away from the rest of the old confederation forces attacking the Clover.
As he watched, first one, and then two, and then a whole handful of warships came about, pulled back and, as soon as they were out of laser range, hurried to accompany them.
He turned to Tactical.
“What’s the situation with the enemy task group?” he barked.
The Tactical Officer looked over at Spalding with a relieved expression.
“I’m showing several ships have begun to withdraw with more attempting to follow,” he reported with a triumphant smile as more and more warships of the Glorious Fleet of Liberation either drifted back or turned tail and started to run.
All in all, twenty warships, just under half of the survivors, turned and fled leaving their brethren to deal with the Lucky Clover without them.
A concentrated burst of fire from the gun deck sent another pair of Destroyers reeling out of formation.
As if a dam had broken, the rest of the warships that had been holding the line turned and hurried away, setting course as a group to rejoin their fractured forces.
“They turned and fled, Sir!” Tactical reported joyously.
“That they did, Lieutenant,” Spalding said shaking his head. He looked down to see a red-faced Admiral silently shouting at him. Blinking with consternation, the old engineer turned back on the volume.
“Sorry, Sir. I must have hit the wrong button,” Spalding said in a conciliatory tone, “you were saying somethin' about surrendering? Well, I just wanted to say that if you lot are interested we’re always willing to accept a parole.”
“Laugh all you want, Captain,” J-Pop said red in the face, “but the day will come when you rue not accepting my most generous offer. I and the 27th Lightning Task Group will return to finish what we’ve started!”
Shaking his head, Spalding cut the connection.
Chapter 61: The MSP Watches with Horror
“Saint Murphy’s wretched wrench,” I breathed, watching as the hundreds of missiles fired by each of the Bug Mothership were joined by the thousands more fired by the Planetoid.
“With that many missiles in the void something’s got to give. What I mean is something important’s going to get hit; it's just the law of averages,” Lieutenant Hart observed.
The Imperials seemed to have realized this too, because no sooner had the Lieutenant spoke than the nearly one hundred light warships that had just arrived in the area immediately went to point defense. Firing their lasers for all they were worth, the light warships managed to ward off all but a handful of missiles, most of which impacted harmlessly on their shields.
Then the Planetoid opened its maw and, instead of dozens of smaller ships like had come out of the Motherships, this time it was hundreds of Scouts and Scout Marauders—and unlike the Motherships, the Planetoid started releasing Heavy Harvesters as well.
Like a horde of mindless piranha, the Bugs' only thought was to close with the enemy, eat and destroy. Enraged at the manner in which they were awoken, starting with the Scouts and working their way up, the Bug’s literally threw themselves at the shields of the warships of the Glorious Fleet.
Multiple Bug Scouts crashed into the shields of their foes and even more were destroyed by Imperial laser fire, but as soon as the shields went down the following ships, generally Scout Marauders, threw themselves at the hulls of the enemy ships. Those ships that 'survived' the impact then disgorged their entire load of angry Bug boarders and boring beetles, which proceeded to vent their insectoid fury with boarding actions and general chaos out on the hull.
Much was obscured by the Jamming haze, but as the Imperials identified our jamming satellites and eliminated them one by one an increasingly clear picture of carnage began to emerge.
Motherships and Battleships traded broadsides at close range, and while the Motherships soon ran out of smaller ships to spit out the Bug Planetoid continued to send out an unending stream.
“Sweet Murphy...what have we done?” First Officer Snyder said with horror.
“This is war. We did what we had to do to survive,” I said stone-faced.
“If the Bugs win this won’t just be a battle, they won’t stop until they’ve eaten the enemy—it will be genocide!” she cried.
“If you need to take a moment to recover your composure, feel free,” I said and then, steeling myself for the inevitable, I gave the order everyone had previously been waiting for, “turn the Fleet around. This is where the battle will be won or lost.”
While the bridge crew of the Royal Rage watched in horror as the Bug swarm tore into the center of the Imperial armada, determined to kill and eat everything in its path, the Bug Planetoid continued to release small, medium and large Bug ships.
“Sir, the Spineward Sectors Fleet is coming about. They’re on a course for our position, Praetor,” reported Tactical.
“Of course they are; why wouldn’t they be? Recall the Strike Fighters and tell them to abort. An unsupported attack on the Spineward Sectors Fleet would be suicide for them at this point. They can do much better service for us here hunting down the smaller Bug ships,” Cornwallis said, fighting down a flash of fury. The reports of Bugs boarding ships and literally eating their crews filled him with an anger the likes of which he would not soon forget, “Also bring this Command Carrier to a full and complete stop. There are plenty of the Glorious Fleet between us and the locals. No point in testing fate. Besides, I want to make sure and arrange an appropriate response to their decision to engage in biological warfare.”
“Sir?” asked the Commodore.
“Pass the word: no quarter. We take no prisoners today,” Cornwallis said through slitted eyes. As a Senator of the Empire, he knew that if you allowed the barbarians at the border to get away with murder once they’d just turn around and do it again and again until you—or they—were crushed. It was the same thing when it came to borrowing the power of Droids, Bugs, or aliens.
Which in no small part was why the Gorgon Wars still raged, though Cornwallis knew that his political enemies also played some significant role in stoking the fires of the Gorgon Front so as to stall his plans for the Old Confederation. The Empire couldn’t let a few million uppity Rim Worlders defy Imperial authority no matter where they were.
Besides, speaking quite frankly it was one thing to kill his people but another to send Bugs out to eat his crews. Any such battle plans belonged strictly to Imperials perpetrating such acts on the locals, not the other way around. In truth he wouldn’t have minded, or been nearly as outraged, as much if it had been someone else’s people being eaten and killed but the indignity of having people under his command experiencing such a fate demanded retribution. Otherwise his reputation would take a blow it might never recover from.
“How long until the main cannon is recharged?” he asked coldly, looking back and forth between the Lucky Clover II and the Planetoid before reluctantly settling on the Planetoid. After the Sphere was destroyed he could leave the Motherships to the Confederation and put a period on the end of the Spineward Sectors Fleet.
“Three minutes, Sir,” said the officer at the Weapons console.
“Good. Have the helm line us up for another shot, this time on that Planetoid—and take us in close. I want to make sure this Bug surprise is neutralized once and for all time, and the main cannon is the fastest way to do that,” said Cornwallis.
“Praetor. Are you sure you want to move closer to the Bugs?” the Commodore asked urgently. They had already entered the range of Bug lasers and any closer and the Mighty Punisher might come under attack.
Battleships of the Glorious Fleet were already suffering. The Planetoid had a broadside equal to ten Battleships, and with over a thousand lasers of various sizes she had enough punch to knock a Battleship into a powerless hulk in, practically speaking, almost no time at all. It was fortunate they had more than a hundred Battleships or else…
“A good point, but practically this entire ship is made out of mono-locsium, Chief of Staff. There’s not a thing in the galaxy, especially a Bug, that can significantly damage this Carrier in the fifteen minutes it will take us to recharge and finish her off with a second shot,” said Senator Cornwallis, “have the helm slow the ship and take us to the side of that Planetoid. We’re going to hit that opening, stop more Bug reinforcements from launching, and close the maw of that Bug Sphere for good. Also, doing so will place the Planetoid between us and the only thing on the battlefield that could actually harm us: their Super Battleship. It will be nice to use their own tactics against them.”
The Commodore hesitated. “On it, Sir,” he said, relaying the Senator’s orders.
“How’s the main cannon looking?” asked Cornwallis two minutes later.
“There’s some minor drift to account for; the Planetoid seems to be drifting our direction but it would take a half hour to reach us and we could maneuver away at any time. We’re ready to fire on your command, Sir,” reported the Weaponeer.
“Then the order is given. Fire!” commanded Cornwallis.
The Praetor watched with satisfaction as the incredibly powerful white beam of the main cannon, a weapon powerful enough to cut through common old duralloy Battleships, slice across—and through—the gaping mouth of the infernal Planetoid and erupt out the other side of the demonic bio-weapon.
A giant laser went in and Bugs, Bug blood, and large swatches of shuttle-sized guts burst back out the side of the mouth as a result of the damage. The Planetoid tried to close its mouth but only one half of it was able to do so. Despite this, the shot stopped the flow of ever more Bug ships from out its now damaged maw.
Immediately after the Bug Sphere was hit, it started to writhe back and forth for several long seconds before throwing itself into an uncontrolled spin.
Hot on the heels of the main beam attack, the Strike Fighters had returned and promptly went on the attack. Missiles and Bug Scouts were shot out of the sky in equal measure as the angry fighter jocks of the Imperial Flotilla returned with a vengeance and went on the offensive.
“That one had to have hurt. Bad. Instruct the Battleships to take aim at the entry site of Mighty Punisher’s main cannon strike and fire coordinated broadsides into the belly of that beast,” ordered Cornwallis.
“Sir, the Planetoid!!” exclaimed Tactical Officer pointing at the screen.
“Were my orders not clear?” demanded the Senator, looking at the screen where it soon became obvious that the Planetoid had stopped and rotating its massive, badly-damaged maw now pointed at the Command Carrier. “Yelling and pointing are not acceptable behavior in the Imperial Navy. Put yourself on report.”
“Praetor, the Planetoid—it’s moving!” reported the over excited Tactical Officer as the Battleships surrounding the giant Sphere responded to orders and began to attack newly opened Bug spot.
“What!?” demanded Cornwallis, looking over at the Bug Sphere that was now accelerating straight towards them. For a very long second that seemed to last for an eternity, he stared at the Bug Planetoid and then realized that the thing wasn’t a planetoid at all but instead one big, giant, oversized ship.
“Does it mean to ram us?” the Commodore asked with dread in his voice.
The Senator blanched. “Evasive maneuvers! We can’t let that thing hit us. Even if it doesn’t break the ship, if it hits us we’ll still have to deal with tens of thousands of Bug shock troops,” said the Senator, standing up from his chair in alarm.
Previously the Command Carrier had been far enough away from the Bug Sphere that, considering its poor fire control, shorter-than-Imperial-ranged-lasers and complete lack of propulsion capability, the Imperial flagship had been considered safe.
Unfortunately for the Mighty Punisher and her crew, the Senator had miscalculated. Just as bad, it took the more than 1200 meter long ship like the Imperial Command Carrier time to get going from a full stop. It took even more time to turn the ship so that it wasn’t moving straight toward the giant Bug Sphere.
“Impossible! Completely outrageous. Bugs do not build engines into anything that large or that spherical. It’s simply not a part of their design matrix,” glared the Senator.
“Maybe they’ve developed new capabilities. The Imperial Science Institute is always saying how Bugs are highly adaptable if given enough time to evolve, Sir,” pointed out the Commodore.
“That’s absurd; their adaptability is strictly limited. They are unable to make significant technical advances, and designing a new ship type of this magnitude shouldn’t have been possible,” said the Senator.
“Sir! None of that matters now,” the Commodore said as the Bugs continued to move towards them at a faster acceleration rate than anyone had counted on, “there’s still time to transfer your flag before they ram the ship. If we move now you could still hop onto a Cutter and take one of the Battleships as your new flagship if anything happens to the Mighty Punisher. Or transfer back aboard before anyone’s aware if they don’t or miss.”
Cornwallis shook his head.
“There’s still no sign of a Fragment. If I lose the Punisher now it won’t matter if we conquer the Spine and turn it all into new provinces. The loss of a Command Carrier will result in an automatic investigation. They’ll thank me for my service, take the provinces for the Empire, and House Cornwallis will be finished. No. My fate and the fate of this fleet lays with the Punisher. Even if they ram, we can survive it,” the Senator said with certainty, “if I run now I’ll lose the loyalty of the fleet.”
The Commodore blinked and then drew himself up to attention. “It’s been an honor to serve you, Sir. There’s no way our story ends here. We are destined to claim the Spine for the Empire,” said the Commodore.
Right up until the last minute, the Helmsman of the Mighty Punisher tried to evade and her Gun Decks fired broadside after broadside straight down the again-open maw of the Bug Sphere.
And then, with a measure of inevitability truly understood only by those with a firm grasp of Newtonian physics, the Bug slammed full force into the side of the Command Carrier.
Men and women were tossed around in their seats so violently that, despite the emergency restraining straps, they experienced whiplash.
“We made it?” asked the Sensor department head.
“Yes. We’re alive!” chortled the grey bearded Commodore.
“More importantly. The ship’s intact,” Cornwallis said clenching his hand into a fist triumphantly after he ran through a quick damage control check. The ship was battered and any number of critical systems were at least temporarily functioning on backups, but nothing was broken beyond repair and everything important still worked.
The bridge of the Mighty Punisher was still celebrating when the first boarding Bug set a chitinous foot on the hull of the Imperial Command Carrier and started walking toward a damaged hatch.
Back on the bridge of the Royal Rage, we’d already reestablished control over one functioning secondary engine when the Bug Planetoid made its suicide run. And then, despite the Imperial Flagship’s best efforts, the insect monstrosity slammed into the side of the Command Carrier, engulfing the Mighty Punisher in its mouth.
“Report!” I instructed.
“Neither ship looks to have been destroyed or disabled by the Bug Sphere’s attack, but after the Sphere latched onto the Command Carrier they’ve gone into what looks like an uncontrolled spin, Grand Admiral,” reported Tactical.
It was that very uncontrolled spin, that and the fact a large portion of the Punisher had been engulfed by the Sphere, which made it difficult to tell the precise moment the first horde of Bug boarders left their ship and then, in a seemingly unending swarm, they poured onto—and into—the Mighty Punisher.
“Sweet Murphy...there must be tens of thousands of them on the hull alone. How many more have entered from inside the mouth of that Sphere where we can’t see?” I asked with disbelief.
“I don’t know. But what I do know is that the Bugs seem to have the kicked proverbial hornet's nest. Every Imperial warship we can identify, and several we can’t confirm, are all converging on the Command Carrier,” reported Lieutenant Hart.
I took a long look at the screen. The Empire had broken ranks with nearly every Imperial warship in the Glorious Fleet, turning back to rescue their flagship and determined to pound the Bug Sphere into scraps of frozen flesh floating in the vast emptiness of cold space. This despite the thousand plus lasers the Spheroid was punching back with.
In the meantime the Bug Motherships, Harvesters and their smaller minions were doing their best to tear through the middle of the now greatly disorganized Confederation formation.
I had no doubt the Bugs would be overcome and completely and totally defeated…in time. Right now, though, the Bugs were still busy ramming and boarding any ship they could reach.
In short: it was chaos, pure and simple chaos.
We’d never get a better chance.
“No more pussyfooting around. This is our moment. First Fleet is hereby ordered full speed ahead. Coordinate with Spalding and send him back into this mess with orders to link up with the main fleet for protection. This ends here. Now!” I commanded.
Within less than a minute, the majority of First Fleet went to full military power. As for the rest of us with damaged or currently inoperable engines, we moved at our best speeds and followed or we drifted wherever we’d been when they disconnected our bucking cables.
“For the Spine!” shouted the Bridge.
“Confusion to our enemies,” I called out.
“Rah!” they shouted.
The odds were still long but now, for the first time since battle had been joined, we had a chance.
Chapter 62: MSP Turns and Re-Engages
When a fleet was down somewhere in the neighborhood of around one hundred ships damaged or destroyed, normally that would have a big impact on the fleet in question.
This was not the case with the Glorious Fleet of Liberation.
I guess whether you had as many warships as they did, the difference eight hundred or nine hundred ships was negligible, in other words it didn’t really matter. However, for those of us mere mortals with only two hundred warships to call our own, and many of them loaners on top of that, I can testify that one hundred losses in warships made for an intimidating number.
“Fleet is formed up around Commodore Druid’s flagship,
Grand Admiral,” said Lieutenant Commander Lisa Steiner.
“Inform the Commodore we’ve fallen far enough behind; I’m delegating operational command to him. Any indication Grand Admiral Manning intends to dispute things?” I asked.
“I’ll pass them along and no, Sir. Manning and his mutineers continue to maintain their grouping alongside but separate from the main fleet. However, no sign at this time that they’re refusing to follow orders,” she reported.
I found myself mouth open and about ready to issue new orders twice while she went about her business, but each time I bit my tongue. The urge to micromanage things from here or to hop on a Cutter and transfer my flag was almost overwhelming, but for any number of very good reasons I stayed right where I was and the Royal Rage limped along behind the rest of the fleet.
While I watched and the Rage played catch up, Commodore Druid organized the mass of ships that was First Fleet into an arrow head formation and hit the rear of the swirling mass of confusion and contradictory orders that was the rear of the Glorious Fleet of Liberation.
Splitting them down the middle, the Spineward Sectors Fleet fired both broadsides simultaneously and, like a hammer hitting a glass bowl, more than fifty warships of the Glorious Fleet were left disabled or destroyed and First Fleet suffered nothing more severe than a little shield damage.
“If they swarm around and attack the rear of Druid’s formation, they could snipe enough engines to stall our attack,” observed Lieutenant Hart, pointing toward a group of light warships that seemed ready to do just that.
“Then let’s do what we can to nip that in the bud,” I said, and then not just the Royal Rage but the half a dozen other cripples that still had working engines with us began to turn and present their broadsides.
“We have range on the potential flankers,” said Hart.
“Fire at your discretion,” I acknowledged.
Moments later our gun deck opened fire.
While we were raining pain on the enemy moving against the rear, a pair of Battleship squadrons rallied a small fleet and tried to make a stand at the front. Intent on blocking the way toward the battle taking place between the Bug ships and the Imperial fleet, the small group of seventy Old Confederation warships fell into what might pass for formation around the two squadrons of heavies and presented their broadsides.
“Do you want me to suggest the Commodore—” started Lieutenant Hart, “ah there he goes,” he said, as our own fleet turned side on and presented our own broadside.
“Somehow I don’t think eight Battleships against twenty is going to be a winning proposition,” I observed.
While the Battleships slugged it out, the Cruisers and Destroyers of the enemy were matched by the Corvettes, Cruisers and Destroyers of our fleet.
Druid exchanged three broadsides with the scratch force of Confederation warships and the enemy lit their engines and started moving.
“What the blazes?” I asked, bewildered as first the increasingly battered enemy Battleships tried to run away by themselves, only to be followed quickly by the rest of their scratch force which, instead of following the Battleships, scattered in every direction.
Resuming his advance, Commodore Druid pointed his ships back at the Imperial force and started moving again. Pushing his engines he crossed the T behind the fleeing Battleships and as every ship passed they fired another broadside into the rear of the cowardly Confederation Battleship squadrons.
As if angered by the attack on their Battleships, four squadrons of Destroyers formed up and charged right into the middle of the main body of first fleet—where over a hundred heavy laser strikes promptly disabled them.
“Their counterattack has to come at any time now. All they need to do is form up,” Lieutenant Hart said clinically, our battle with the stragglers to the rear already over and done with.
I narrowed my eyes. He had a point.
I straightened up in my chair and then glanced over at the still entangled Spheroid/Command Carrier mess and the rescue attempt by the Imperial to save their flagship. The Imperials were slamming coordinated fire into the Bug Sphere while over two hundred shuttles were transporting back and forth between the Sphere and the Carrier. I could only assume they were ferrying Marines over and either came back empty or else returned with survivors from the Carrier.
From this remove I genuinely couldn’t tell if they were still trying to contest the Carrier or simply save as many as they could, but knowing the Empire like I did I was pretty certain they were in it til the death.
“Lieutenant Commander Steiner, I have a message for the Glorious Fleet. Please prepare to put me on an open com-channel,” I said.
My Chief of Staff started with surprise, “Sir?”
I motioned for her to set up the broadcast and she gave herself a shake.
“Of course, sir,” she said quickly.
Half a minute passed and then she gave me the thumbs up.
“We’re ready, Sir. Go when you are,” she said.
I looked straight into the holo-pick up. “Members of the Glorious Fleet of Liberation, your leader Senator Charles Cornwallis is dead. With him died any chance you had of conquering the Spineward Sectors,” I said with as much conviction as I could muster. I honestly didn’t know if the Senator was dead or not but either way, it didn’t matter if it was true. I’d take anything that helped sow confusion and, more importantly, hesitation into the enemy ranks and seize it with both hands. “You have a choice to make...”
“Who does he think he is?!” Vice Admiral Justin Beecher from Saint’s Reach demanded in a rising voice. He looked around the table of the holo-conference for support and got several nods in the affirmative.
“Agreed. The Empire has assured us that Cornwallis is still alive aboard his Command Carrier and communications will be restored at any moment,” said Front Admiral Melissa March, chiming in with loyal support.
“Acting Commodore Chael Sonic of the Imperial naval flotilla assures me that with just one good pass we can crush the upstart colonials out here in the back end of the Confederation,” the Vice Admiral said in a rousing voice.
“Didn’t Front Admiral Loader say the same thing?” asked the querulous voice of Fleet Admiral Jessup, a man who had to be three hundred standards old if was he day.
Front Admiral Featherby coughed. “I believe his exact words were ‘they wouldn’t last three broadsides before they break and run’. Of course, the one who broke and ran was Admiral Loader,” said Featherby.
“That kind of defeatist talk is not allowed at this table, Featherby!” Admiral Beecher shrieked.
“I say, who let vice-commanders have speaking rights at this conference?” Melissa March asked in a snide, cutting voice.
“Quite right,” said a Rear Admiral who was in command of nothing bigger than the SDF squadron from his home world but who, unlike Front Admiral Featherby, was the undisputed supreme commander of that detachment—under, of course, Praetor Cornwallis.
“As such and recognizing that defeatist talk like the Front Admiral’s is a direct harm to the Glorious Fleet, that same in its own way as a direct and physical blow to the body of every member of this command conference, I hereby exercise my authority as the most senior surviving Officer on the Confederation side of course,” he flashed a fake smile, “to mute Featherby in this and all future command conferences.”
“Hear hear,” Front Admiral Melissa March cheered.
“I am also, in consideration of every officer in the room, filing charges against Featherby for assaulting a superior officer,” he finished triumphantly.
“That about sounds right,” Admiral March nodded sagely.
“That sounds like complete p-p-poppycock,” stuttered Admiral Jessup, pointing a finger at Vice Admiral Beecher.
“Featherby’s crimes against the morale of this fleet know no bounds! I dare say it quite nearly rises to a crime against humanity. How dare you defend him?” cried Beecher.
“I’m not defending the misguided traitor one way or the other. I’m s-simply saying that the day a Vice Admiral outranks a-a-a f-f-Fleet Admiral is the d-d-day I retire!” Fleet Admiral Jessup stuttered his way through the defense of his seniority before falling back in his chair gasping.
Vice Admiral Beecher’s triumphant look of scorn instantly wilted, curdling into a face of nothing but sour dissatisfaction. “I have the largest intact task force of ships. I should be in command. It’s my right. Its mine! Mine I tell you! Mine!” he shouted.
“I demand the right to defend myself from these ridiculous charges,” Front Admiral Featherby said, surprised to discover that he was un-muted, “since when did speaking truth to power become a crime against humanity? And second, this fleet has thousand year traditions and a clear chain of command. Usurping the rightful lines of authority can’t end anyway but badly. But more importantly we have to pull together or we’ll fall apart separately.”
“Un-muting yourself is insubordination,” shouted Vice Admiral Beecher pounding the table angrily, “and I’ll have you know I paid top dollar for my commission and it’s the highest one that money can buy. Which is why I have every right to get what I paid for: command of this Glorious Fleet! Brothers and sisters,” he said, turning to the other Admirals, “a dark day has come upon us and it’s clear that Fleet Admiral Jessup, the only other man worthy of this highly prestigious command which you have bestowed upon me, is suffering from heath issues and possibly mental health issues as well, a stroke or grand mal seizure or something of that nature. Which is why I am calling for a vote.”
“It was just a minor transient ischemic attack brought on by the excitement of battle. I’m already receiving the best medical treatment and my doctor assures me I’m not only f-f-fit for d-d-d-duty but I’ll be better than ever again in just a couple of hours,” Fleet Admiral Jessup said triumphantly and then raised his hands in the air, only one of them rising above shoulder level, “so make sure to cast your vote for me!”
Front Admiral Featherby covered his face with his hands.
“That’s exactly right, Fleet Admiral,” Beecher beamed, “which is why everyone who thinks Admiral Jessup should take command of this fleet raise your hands. On the other hand if Jessup fails an up or down vote of confidence, through no fault of his own, health reasons being what they are and all that,” he said sympathetically, and at this the Fleet Admiral nodded at Beecher gratefully, “I will have no choice but to accept the implicit endorsement of this council and assume supreme command of the Glorious Fleet until such a time as Praetor Cornwallis is restored to power.”
“Vice Admiral Beecher!” cheered Rear Admiral Melissa March, lifting a fist triumphantly and sounding exactly like a paid cheer leader.
There was a shimmer of light as another person joined the holo-conference.
“What did I miss?” asked Admiral Loader, appearing in a seated position as the holo-table they were all sitting at automatically expanded to include him.
Admiral Beecher looked down his nose at the other man and refused to speak.
“We were just about to hold a vote,” Melissa March sneered leaning away from Front Admiral Loader in distaste.
“What on?” he asked.
“Does the stink of defeat not diminish your arrogance in any way?” demanded Rear Admiral Melissa March.
Front Admiral Loader flushed and then turned to Front Admiral Featherby, who coincidentally was sitting by his side.
“What are we voting on?” he asked.
“Don’t mind Featherby; he’s been muted,” sneered Vice Admiral Beecher.
Featherby shook his head.
“Beecher is proposing a vote of confidence. If it passes, Fleet Admiral Jessup assumes high command until Praetor Cornwallis returns to us. If Jessup loses, he’ll take that as our endorsement and attempt to assume command of the Glorious Fleet,” said the Front Admiral.
“Blast it, where exactly is that mute button!” snapped Vice Admiral Beecher mashing on several controls off screen, “pay no mind to the coward, Loader. His morale-busting rhetoric knows no bounds! Why, he even slandered you for a loser and insinuated we ignore the latest Imperial direction.”
Loader’s face immediately became guarded and he glared at Featherby.
“Why, expect if we un-muted him he’d even go so far as suggest we turn tail and run like dogs!” sneered Beecher.
“Still not un-muted, Sir. And for the record, while I recognize you were only interested in smearing me in front of this council, I was actually going to advise a temporary withdrawal until the fleet can be reorganized,” Featherby sighed.
“You cowardly dog, Featherby!” Front Admiral Loader said with disgust before giving the other man a withering look. He stood up. “I propose that this council of Admirals immediately recognize the threat we face and apportion a sufficient number of ships under my command to ensure the dastardly rebels of the Spine are crushed,” Front Admiral Loader said passionately, “this kind of war crime, the use of biological weapons, cannot go unanswered!”
“W-M-D!” shouted one of the minor flag officers in the room.
“Exactly,” Loader nodded firmly.
“Any such discussions are premature at best, at least until after the vote of confidence is concluded,” Admiral Beecher said strictly, glaring at Loader like he was trying to steal his firstborn child.
“Anyone who supports giving me command of enough forces to crush the locals has my vote,” Loader said firmly, causing both Beecher and Jessup to look at him sharply.
There was the partially muted sound of a chime going off in the background behind Vice Admiral Beecher, causing the other man to first look alarmed and then excited.
“Acting Commodore Chael Sonic has just endorsed my candidacy as the senior surviving Admiral for commander fleet,” Vice Admiral Beecher said, visibly swelling with pride.
“Again, I’d like to point out that Fleet Admiral Jessup is still very much alive and very much senior to you Vice Admiral Beecher,” Front Admiral Featherby said wearily.
“Quite right, son,” Fleet Admiral Jessup said, bleary eyes looking over at him appreciatively, “I’ve yet to medical out. As such, it is a hard and weighty burden but I believe that my health is up to it!”
“I can’t believe we’re sitting here arguing about command while the enemy is out there, literally at this moment, blowing our ships to kingdom come!” Front Admiral Loader said standing up passionately. “I can’t believe there’s no clear designated successor now that Cornwallis is dead.”
“Cornwallis is not dead,” snapped Beecher.
“It was suggested several times, but the Praetor personally vetoed the suggestion. It was assumed that whoever was senior would take over locally if there was ever an issue during battle,” Featherby said sighed, “but we can all see how that’s working out.”
“All of which is immaterial. We have the will. We have the forces. The rebels won’t survive three broadsides against the full might of the Glorious Fleet before breaking and running!” Loader cried, and then looked around confidently as if waiting for applause.
Vice Admiral Beecher was looking at him like Loader was something he’d scraped off the bottom of his shoe, Rear Admiral Melissa March rolled her eyes ruthlessly, and Fleet Admiral Jessup had a disappointed look on his face as if he’d expected so much more.
Meanwhile, a number of the one squadron rear Admirals were looking at him like he was crazy.
“Isn’t that what you said the last time you went to face them?” asked one of the Rear Admirals.
“What’s your solution then?” demanded Loader confidence of before withering into scorn. “Stand around with are thumbs up our unmentionables and cast ballots while the rebels have the run of the battlespace? Waiting here is useless.”
“This fleet needs unity first and foremost if we are to regain the heights of our an-an-ancestors,” said Fleet Admiral Jessup.
“We have procedures,” Beecher chimed in scornfully before turning to the rest of the admirals, “that’s why I’m calling for the next vote and, unless your ship is under attack, I expect everyone present to cast a ballot. We’ll start with Mrs. March.”
“Why thank you, Vice Admiral,” Rear Admiral March simpered, looking at him under her eye lashes.
“I’m out of here! What we need is combat, not councils!” Loader said standing up furiously.
“I agree with Loader,” said Front Admiral Featherby, and then he turned to his fellow Front Admiral, “my squadrons are willing to work with yours, Front Admiral.”
“As if I would want a task force lead by two-faced, morale-busting double talker like you at my side—the answer is no!” Front Admiral Loader said dismissively.
“You really intend to buy into their lies and turn down help at a time like this?” Featherby asked with disbelief.
“The Far-Ban Sub-Fleet can take care of itself,” Loader said stiffly and then added, “if we need you we’ll call,” before cutting the connection and disappearing.
Featherby turned back and for a long moment looked back at the ongoing squabble as Admiral’s argued and voted to see who would be fleet leader while at that very moment ships were dying. There was nothing in this room worth dying for.
Following Loader’s example he severed his connection and exited the conference room he was using for the holo-conference.
“I take it the conference didn’t go well?” hazarded Fritters after one good look at his face.
“I know you have a list of all the old Confederation Fleet officers. Contact them,” he said.
“What do you want me to say?” asked Fritters.
Front Admiral Featherby stared off into the distance. “Our chain of command just went up in flames and most of the Glorious Fleet leadership aren’t worth the paper their commissions are printed on. Tell them we could use their help. Tell them that the Spineward Sectors aren’t worth dying over. Tell them…instead say that if Cornwallis wants the Spine he should just go and do the dirty work himself,” said the Front Admiral.
Fritters sucked in a surprise breath. “Treason,” he said. taken aback.
“The truth,” Featherby corrected simply, “my loyalty is to the Confederation, not the Empire.”
“But will the Grand Assembly understand? That’s the question,” said the Commodore.
The Front Admiral shrugged, “I’m almost past caring. Almost.”
“Hurry, Praetor! We’ve got to get you to a shuttle,” cried the head of his Marine guard detail.
Cornwallis nodded gripping his blaster pistol.
Ahead of them, Marines in power armor discharged their weapons as they fought hand to hand with the Bug invaders.
Like an unstoppable army, the Marine Jacks of the Empire bulled their way forward literally crushing six foot tall Bugs under their feet, the crab-like arms of the Bugs completely ineffective against their armor.
But while their attacks might be useless at penetrating the Imperial Predator battle armor, the sheer number of six footers slowed them down considerably, allowing the three footers running up the walls and hanging upside down from the ceiling the opportunity to deploy their cut-wheels at close range.
The sound of multiple high-power saws digging into the armor of the Marines filled the air, and then a group of the insects surged up the corridor toward the Praetor. Their mandibles clacked and their cut-wheels spun to life as they caught sight of the unarmored Senator.
“Die, you foul creatures,” Cornwallis said with cold fury. He depressed the trigger of his blaster pistol again and again as the tide of little three footers surged toward him, “I will not die here today.”
There was a smashing sound as a large boarding Bug forced its way deeper into the hull and then grabbed an Imperial Marine with its mandibles. One clenching of its jaw and the Marine was cut in half, power armor and all.
The Senator clenched his own jaw and kept firing.
“I do not die like this,” he roared, firing again and again until his weapon shot empty.
Fumbling at his belt, he produced a new power cell.
Breaking open his blaster, he dropped the old power cell onto the floor.
“I have too many things to do to die here,” he said angrily.
He had just pushed the new cell into the butt of his blaster pistol, and was about to seal it back closed when a three footer dropped from the ceiling.
The head of his Marine detail swatted the first one away, crushing it into paste. A split second later a second, struck in the leg by a Marine guard, fell from the floor with its cut-wheel tracing a line of fire down his leg as a saw designed to cut duralloy severed all but the last two inches of Cornwallis' leg below the knee.
“Gah!” shouted the Senator, falling to the floor with blood spewing from his stump.
“Protect the Praetor!” cried a Marine, throwing himself on top of Cornwallis right before another dozen three footers dropped from the ceiling.
More guards joined the dog-pile to protect the Senator, protecting the vast majority of his body. Unfortunately, the little three footers were fast and nimble and, in addition to trying to cut through the metal bodies of the Marines, the little things especially delighted in cutting into everything that could provide fresh biomass for its swarm—biomass like a hand, or a foot that wasn’t covered quickly by power-armored body guards, for instance.
Blood splattered across the deck and saws continued to whine as the little three footers chattered out their death cries. The noise of their passing all but drowned out the animal-like howls of one of the most powerful men in the Empire—and in all of human space—were soon joined by the frantic cries of his bodyguards.
Those howls soon began to weaken and, despite the best the Marine Jacks could do, eventually fell silent.
Like a firestorm we burst through the center of the enemy fleet, our formation pointed at the Imperial flotilla like a sword's tip.
To my surprise, the majority of the Old Confederation warships scurried away the moment our main fleet entered attack range.
“They have us completely outnumbered. All they have to do is attack. They wouldn’t even have to coordinate the attack, they’d take major losses but they’d win in the end,” said my Chief of Staff with evident surprise.
“Too many police actions? Maybe they’re not used to an enemy that fights back?” First Officer Snyder wondered aloud.
“We’re missing something but I am not about to look a gift horse in the mouth,” I commented, thinking that after the Command Carrier was attacked the Glorious Fleet of Liberation almost seemed to become paralyzed. Individual task force commanders had taken action and tried to stop us once we’d come in range of their forces, but so far nothing resembling a unified command had shown itself.
“Do you want the main fleet to change course and engage the Old Confederation warships, Grand Admiral?” Hart asked eagerly.
“The main thing is to hit the Imperials. We can worry about the Glorious Fleet afterwards. Besides, Druid’s in operational command right now,” I opined.
“Yes, Sir,” my Tactical Officer sounded disheartened.
In the area immediately surrounding the Bug Motherships, the Imperial Flotilla seemed to have gained the upper hand, cutting one of the Motherships in half right across the middle and punching so many holes right through two more that they just drifted like lifeless wrecks, leaking Bug fluids into space while remaining completely unresponsive as lighter warships continued to pound their lighter broadsides into its body.
The three remaining Motherships, the largest of the group, were clearly suffering. The Planetoid also looked significantly worse for the wear and was missing a large chunk off the bottom third of its sphere, but it also looked infuriated with more than five hundred lasers and a slow but steady stream of fire and forget missiles being shot off its hull.
The battle hadn’t been going all the Imperial’s way. More than half of the Imperial Battleships were down, destroyed or so seriously damaged that they were attempting to withdraw from the field.
While more than thirty of the smaller Imperial flotilla’s warships were doing their best to fight off boarders, an almost unending stream of Bugs surged onto the Command Carrier. Normally a Command Carrier could deal with anything that attacked with the full brigade of Marine Jacks. Entire continents could be subjugated with expert deployment of those Imperial Marines.
Repelling half a million Bugs was another matter entirely.
The Spineward Sectors Fleet had almost reached the Bugs and the Imperial flotilla surrounding the Command Carrier, which was still stuck in the mouth of the Bug Planetoid, when the old Confederation Fleet suddenly took action.
Although roughly half of the six hundred plus ships of the fleet continued to mill around, or slowly back away from the battle, the other three hundred broke into two distinct groups.
The first group of just over one hundred warships began to pull away from the battle and assembled into a fighting formation. The other group of more than two hundred didn’t even pretend at making discipline, formed up into a large mass of warships, and rushed toward the main body of the Spineward Sectors Fleet.
“Open a channel to Commodore Druid,” I instructed.
“Channel open,” said Steiner.
“Admiral Montagne,” Druid said the moment the channel was open.
“Commodore, it’s urgent the fleet make a high speed attack through the Imperial flotilla and then swing back around for another pass as quickly as possible,” I instructed.
“I can do that,” he said slowly.
“Good. Remember: don’t get bogged down, exchange fire and punch through,” I instructed.
Druid nodded. “Sir. The Royal Rage is lagging badly behind and you only have less than a dozen escorts. Do you want me to try and detach a group of Cruisers to protect you?” he asked.
“Run the numbers, Commodore,” I said dismissively, “anyone you tried to send would be overrun.
“Then what about yourself?” he asked.
“Worst case, it’s off to an escape pod for me. I’m not concerned,” I said.
“You should be, Sir,” he told me. I gave him a stern look as he continued, “The level of outrage over your use of what they term ‘biological weapons of mass destruction’ is so bad that a number of ships have taken to spouting abuse at us over unencrypted lines,” warned Druid, “normally escape pods would be sacrosanct, but if they believe we’ve committed war crimes anything’s possible.”
“You mean if they believe I’ve committed war crimes,” I shook my head, “that’s rich, considering it was Imperials that seeded the Spine with these creatures to begin with.”
Commodore Druid gave me a sharp look. “You have proof of this?” he asked.
“Nothing that will hold up in an interstellar court, but their fingerprints are all over it if you know where to look,” I said.
“That’s not going to help in this situation,” he warned.
“I wouldn’t expect it to. But someone knew about the trillium and took Tracto off the map in the last century rather than exploit its wealth, and as soon as Rim Fleet and the Imperials withdrew from the Confederated Empire somehow the Empire immediately used Admiral Janeski and third party proxies to seize control of Tracto. The timing is too precise for coincidence,” I said.
“I don’t think they’re going to care even if you told them exactly what you told me,” said Druid.
“Of course not. It doesn’t matter,” I said making a slashing motion, “just make the attack, clear the area and come back and finish them.”
“Even with the Lucky Clover and her escort’s support, I don’t think we’re going to be able to handle both the Imperials and the two hundred Confederation warships coming at us from the starboard flank—and those Imperial fighters aren’t going to just magically go away,” said Druid said grimly, “right now it looks like they’re going to all hit us at the same time.”
I shot the Commodore a look, “Trust me.”
“Aye aye,” said Druid before saluting and then cutting the channel.
On the screen, the main fleet continued to advance and with enemies at the side, front and rear they tightened formation right before it entered attack range.
Then the screen erupted with laser fire.
It was a three way engagement with the MSP and her allies taking fire from the front and the side, all at the same time, before our own weapons could be brought to bear.
Imperial ships temporarily turned away from the Bugs to present their broadsides, and then immediately opened fire. The two hundred Confederation warships attacked in an enthusiastic but uncoordinated barrage. Lasers struck, shields flared, and the First Fleet of the Spine was heavily outnumbered as well as out-gunned. Worse, our weapons had only just begun to range on the first of the spread-out Imperial warships.
On our side, a dozen Destroyers were disabled and two Battleships fell out of formation streaming atmo and suffering power failures during the first attack as the Empire focused fire on just a few ships. The Old Confederation warships of the Glorious Fleet, on the other hand, spread out their fire much less effectively. It was only up to the point that their heavy warships focused fire on our heavy warships and its light warships did the same and focused on our smaller ships.
With our noses pointed forward, we had to suffer through the first pass but when the first of the Imperial fleet’s warships came up alongside our ships the fleet opened fire. Broadsides smashing out both sides of our ships the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet and our allies opened up with thunder and fury.
With Battleships and Cruisers opening fire on Imperial Destroyers, it didn’t matter how effective your regenerative shields were. In the face of overwhelming firepower, a dozen Imperial Destroyers went up in flames.
The Empire rolled its ships and opened fire with another broadside. Another pair of Battleships fell out of formation as nearly the entire flotilla concentrated fire on a trio of our Battleships, while the third almost seemed to shrug off the attacks and barreled forward.
Beside and to the rear, the Confederation fleet sensed blood in the water and more than half their fleet turned to present broadsides for off-angle up-the-kilt shots while the rest continued to pursue at all speed.
Once again, the firing was erratic and only a handful of Destroyers and Corvettes were knocked out of the fight, while three Battleships took significant damage to their engines.
Then our fleet was in the heart of the enemy formation, and both the Imperials and the giant Bug Sphere seemed to recognize our people as enemies. With the Bugs adding their weight of fire to that of the Imperials, our number of active warships fell below one hundred and seventy.
Meanwhile, fighters of all shapes and sizes took advantage of the chaos and spotting in our shields to slip in and do even more damage to our engines. There were so many fighters and at such close range that even more ships began to drop out due to engine damage.
In response, our forces opened fire with a fury and once again an incredibly powerful double broadside opened up thinning out the Empire’s forces. Between the Bugs and us, the Imperial fleet now had just over eighty warships remaining—just thirteen of them Battleships.
Then we flashed past them and the flotilla was turning to try for an up the kilt shot. In response, First Fleet turned to point their noses at the Imperials and slow down for a return pass.
Chapter 63: Vantage of the Battlefield
“Captain Spalding, we’re receiving a signal on an open frequency,” reported the First Officer.
“Let me see it,” said the old Engineer who then smiled after reading it, “upload the code for our remaining jammers to cut all current activity and shut down and then prepare to transmit packet 784-F on every frequency.”
“Every frequency, Captain?” asked the com-officer for clarification.
“Yes, every frequency, Coms,” said the old engineer.
“Transmitting,” said the Com-Officer.
There was a pause.
“The Empire has just activated its own jammers. I’m boosting the signal to compensate. Point to point lasers deployed,” reported the other officer.
“How long before our stragglers get out of there?” asked Spalding.
“Another three minutes, assuming nothing changes,” Navigation reported after running the numbers.
“Too long, lad. We don’t have that kind of time,” Spalding sighed, “punch that signal through.”
“I’m still trying; no confirmation of signal received though,” warned the officer.
While the com-officer was still desperately trying to send packet 784-F and receive a verified confirmation, the first of over two hundred miniature machine minds activated and then began to share the data packet it had just received.
Its mind was simple. All it had to do was refrain from activating in the presence of a spaceship with the correct IFF code. If it ran into a ship without a valid IFF, it was to approach and activate.
Once it had received its instructions, it brought itself out of standby mode and identified valid targets before double and triple checking its data.
Just then, the two hundred warships of the Confederation were passing through the same local area of space, this detachment of the Glorious Fleet in hot pursuit of the Spineward Sectors Fleet, and its targeting algorithms went crazy.
Recognizing the danger, more than three hundred of those little minds suddenly decided to activate at the same time.
The screen rippled with fire as the mine field which had jumped into the star system with the Lucky Clover went from standby and then exploded.
“Good lad,” Spalding said, clapping the com-officer on the shoulder.
“Sweet Murphy,” whispered the com-officer.
“I’m afraid the Demon’s in the driver’s seat tonight, lad,” said the Chief Engineer.
“What’s all this!!?” Lieutenant Commander Snyder demanded as the entire holo-screen, or at least that part of it showing the nearly four hundred warships of the combined Imperial and Confederation fleet, went on the fritz as explosions rocketed through the Glorious Fleet.
When the screen cleared, more than half of the Old Confederation ships and two thirds of the Imperial flotilla had been damaged beyond repair. Mostly they were smaller, lighter ships, but the light warships weren’t the only one’s damaged by the attack. Even Battleships and Heavy Cruisers had their shields knocked down and had taken major damage.
A pair of damaged First Fleet Battleships had been knocked the rest of the way out of action. As had the remaining Motherships. Right now only the giant Spheroid was still ‘mostly’ intact and operational.”
“That number one is what happens when you tell an ornery old engineer to bring as many orbital defenses as possible,” I said.
While the rest of the warships in this star system were still reeling the Lucky Clover opened fire, taking out another Battleship, and led by Commodore Druid the rest of the fleet came looping back around.
“You mean you didn’t know about those…I believe they’re mines?” she asked.
“I knew there was a surprise, that it would be stealthed and the code needed to activate them,” I said and then looked over at her, “do you think I needed to know more?” I asked.
Dumbly Snyder shook her head.
This time when First Fleet came back around they found themselves with a battered and shieldless foe.
“It was a trap all along then,” Snyder said with wonder.
The handful of Imperial warships still fit for duty turned and ran for the hyper limit, hotly pursued for at least a short distance before they were either shot down or the Spineward Sectors warships had gone too far and they were called back to the fleet.
While Druid and his command team were working on mop up operations, I had Lieutenant Commander Steiner open a com-channel to the rest of this star system.
“Greeting from the Spine. I am Admiral Jason Montagne of the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet—and in the name of the Spineward Sectors which you have invaded, which I have a duty to protect—I hereby order you to surrender or flee this system,” I intoned. “Cornwallis is dead. Your fleet is gutted,” I didn’t dare mention the fact that there were still over four hundred Confederation warships fit for duty and still had no idea if the Senator had escaped or not, “and what I have done once I can do again.” Lisa Steiner motioned towards me, indicating I had someone on the other end who wanted to speak with me, “Montagne out.”
As I watched, Confederation warships all throughout the star system turned in their ones and their two’s and fled toward the hyper limit, starting with the survivors of my mine field both Confederation and Imperial.
Then the group of 100+ Confederation warships that had sat out the last round of battles performed a sedate turn and made for the hyper limit.
More and more ships began to leave until it was like a flood-burst dam, with them veritably stumbling over each other to leave the star system.
“Admiral,” said Lisa.
“What is it, Chief of Staff?” I asked.
“I have some officers on the line. Apparently they want to surrender,” she said.
I double blinked. Who would be stupid enough to surrender when they had a perfectly good star ship I wondered?
“I believe their ships are damaged and they hope to discuss terms,” she said.
Meanwhile, over in the councils of the Glorious Fleet, accusations and recriminations flew.
“Admiral Beecher, I implore you join with us. With your forces we’ll have enough to take this system by force,” said Front Admiral Featherby.
“Do you take me for a fool?” snapped Vice Admiral Beecher. “Front Admiral Loader is dead; the locals have some kind of super weapon and all that would happen is we lose more ships. It would be suicide.”
“Sir,” Featherby said respectfully, “it wasn’t a super weapon, it was a mine field. I have to tell you, even now, that if we stand united we have the power to defeat the locals.”
“This batch of rebels maybe…but we certainly won’t have the ships or the mandate to completely conquer the rest of the Spine,” said the Vice Admiral bitterly. “No, Front Admiral, your call to set aside partisan differences and unite behind your banner is naïve at best, and actively seeking to aid the enemy at worst.”
“How could calling for us to unite in common cause, to win a battle, a secret way of aiding the enemy? I’m afraid I don’t follow,” Featherby said urgently.
“Don’t take me for a fool. Your blatant power grab won’t succeed. We’re too wise for that,”’ said Beecher before cutting the channel.
“Should we proceed with the attack on the locals anyway?” asked Fritters. “We have more than one hundred and twenty warships, relatively undamaged, while the enemy started out with that number.”
“And get our people killed to no effect?” asked Featherby before shaking his head.
“Then what was that before?” asked the Commodore, arching a brow.
“One last attempt to unite the fleet. It failed. There’s just too much suspicion right now and I’m not ready to sacrifice the last few professionals in the fleet just so we can turn around and give it over to the Empire later,” the Front Admiral said dourly.
Chapter 64: Victory?
The Imperial Fleet was crushed, defeated by trickery, and the Glorious Fleet was already scattering. Yes they’d been defeated by me, but ultimately they had beaten themselves because, as far as I could tell, they still had the power to win this battle and possibly the war.
“Once again our victory has been pyrrhic,” I said after the last of the Glorious Fleet chose to flee rather than finish the fight.
“I don’t know if I would say that, Sir,” Commodore Druid replied, “well over half of our warships are still fit for active combat operations. The last time you fought the Empire our losses were much worse, comparatively.
“That’s not what I wanted to hear,” I grumped.
“Sometimes the truth hurts especially when you want to wallow instead,” said the Commodore.
“Well if this is victory I think it’s time someone else had a go at the chair. I don’t seem to be doing a very good job of it,” I sighed.
“We’re both still here. There’s not much more you can ask,” Druid said dismissively, “believe me, I know a thing or two about losing everything in your command and this isn’t like that.”
“Now I’m just going to have to figure out what to do about all these prisoners of war,” I sighed before groaning, “not to mention the inevitable war crimes tribunal.”
Honestly, I was worn out. I'd been riding a wave of adrenaline-fueled battle-readiness for what felt like months, and I needed some time to get my head squared away.
But, against all odds, we'd done it. We'd stood tall in the face of the enemy—one which sought to subjugate our home worlds and uproot much, if not all, of what we valued in our little corner of the galaxy—and we had emerged victorious.
If this is what victory feels like, I thought silently as I surveyed the bridge, my eye snagged on the damage reports streaming in from across the fleet, then I'd hate to actually lose one of these fights.
“You're right,” I nodded absently before realizing, even if just for a moment, that the next words to come out of my mouth were actually true. My mouth curled in a fierce grin as I declared, “We actually did it—we won!”
For that blessed moment, I felt a measure of elation that seemed to buoy my flagging spirits.
Then I groaned a second time, rubbing my eyes wearily as I muttered, “Prisoners and war crimes trials...here we go—again.”
The End