Admiral's Throne

by Luke Sky Wachter

  “Admiral Montagne,” Captain Starborn said gravely.

  “Come to any new decisions, Captain?” I asked politely.

  Starborn took a calming breath.

  “I’m not going to lie. We need you,” he said staring at me.

  I waited patiently but he seemed to want a response of some kind so I decided to give him what he expected.

  “If you’re expecting me to ‘do the right thing’, capitulate, take one for the team or ‘get over myself’, I advise you to prepare yourself for a longer wait,” I said meeting his eyes.

  Starborn’s jaw bunched.

  “I heard that about you,” he said.

  I cocked an eyebrow. I was curious.

  “You’ve got a barbed tongue and are not afraid to use it,” Starborn explained.

  I splayed my hands.

  “Guilty as charged I guess,” I shrugged. In this business, you had to laugh, cry or get the lead out. I wasn’t going to apologize for doing what I had to, “they also say kingship has gone to my head but considering I can still fit through the doors, my head can’t have swelled that much.”

  “Flippant too, I see,” the Captain said, eyes flinty.

  Now it was my turn to wait with an expectant expression.

  The Captain gave a frustrated sigh.

  “I understand why you won’t agree to serve under my command,” he said.

  “Do you?” I asked.

  “You don’t want your ships sacrificed by an uncaring or even simply an untested commander,” Starborn gestured toward himself.

  “Close enough,” I shrugged. There was really no need to get any deeper into the subject, saying I didn’t trust a government that felt it could sell the Spineward Sectors. If they could do it once, they could do it again, despite what a few die-hard patriots like Charles Thomas might like to believe.

  When put to the hazard, even those so-called patriots were willing to sacrifice people along the way, bad enough, if understandable, except the ones they always wanted to sacrifice were never their own people.

  “I feel like you’re still treating this whole thing too lightly. Despite what you like to think, this is not some game, Your Majesty,” said Confederation Flag Captain Starborn.

  “I think we covered this ground already, Flag Captain. Let us agree to disagree and move on,” he looked doubtful or at least like he wanted to feel doubtful, “I can assure you I take the lives of my people very seriously.”

  The Captain ran a hand through his hair.

  “While I respect your decision to maintain the independence of your fleet, you have to realize that very independence makes it almost impossible for you to unify all separate organizations in this star system,” said the Captain.

  “I don’t see any such thing. At two-hundred-odd warships strong, I have the largest fleet in the star system. The rest of the warships combined only match my forces. True, that doesn’t factor in things like orbital defenses but considering I’m the only person with the ability to deploy such assets in a tactically meaningful timeframe, I think it safe to say I’d have the advantage in securing leadership of a unified command if yourself and the local Confederation Flotilla weren’t here as a convenient rallying point,” I replied.

  “I’m not sure I agree with that but the point is moot. I am here, my orders require me to be here and quite frankly, in this case, I completely agree with them. Regardless, I’m not leaving. These bugs need to be stopped and I’m going to stop them,” said the Flag Captain.

  “Then we’re in agreement. The bugs need to be stopped and a unified command is the best way to make that happen,” I said as if the logic was blindingly obvious, which it was to anyone who put any serious thought into it.

  “Very well. What are your orders, Sir?” said the Flag Captain neutrally.

  I blinked in surprise.

  “Just like that?” I asked. I’d been expecting more resistance. Not just a flat declaration, or in this case implication, I was in command.

  “Like you said, we need a unified command. Someone has to be the better man. Apparently, that’s me,” he said.

  Ouch.

  “Glad to have you on the team, Captain,” I said, ignoring his outburst like a good superior should.

  “I’ll be issuing a few preliminary orders shortly and plan to actively consult as many of the top admirals and fleet commanders I can manage before rolling out the final plan and appreciate in advance your full support,” I continued easily.

  “Final plan?” he asked.

  “As they say, it doesn’t matter if you have a perfect plan tomorrow; what’s important is a good enough plan today,” I said.

  “Yes I’m familiar with the saying. Are you planning for a conference including only flag officers and above, because if so, you’ll need to consider what you’re going to do with those contingents whose commanders are captains or commanders. If you don’t include them, their formations won’t have a chance for input. If you exclude them, you risk insulting their entire formation. Or are you planning to host every captain in the fleet? Keeping in mind there’s over five hundred warships in this star system,” he said.

  “Neither,” I said bluntly.

  “In my experience, Fleet Conferences involving more than one organization generally end very badly,” I said, vividly recalling the time Admiral Nuttal shot that Praxis Admiral, “everyone wants to have their say and when they don’t get their way but feel like they have broad support, they tend hold a grudge.”

  “Far better to my mind to simply deal with the top officers on a one-to-one basis and proceed from there. If they absolutely need to speak with me, they can make the trek out to my flagship and I can give them the centi-credit tour of the most powerful warship in the Spine,” I said.

  “And refusing to face their critiques and criticism so you can hopefully incorporate them into your plans seems unnecessary to you?” the Flag Captain asked in a deliberately neutral voice, “not to mention the detriments to fleet command coordination and control from a potentially disunited group of officers?”

  “No.” I said sternly.

  “As previously mentioned, I will be consulting directly with my top officers on a one-to-one basis, where we can hopefully keep the politicking, grand standing and histrionics to a minimum. You might not be aware of this, Captain, but I can say with complete sincerity, as a veteran of many unified fleets, that the Spineward Sectors has a history of such hijinks and antics. Better by far we reduce my countrymen’s tendencies in these directions,” I said bluntly.

  “You have a unique command style, Admiral,” Captain Starborn said, making clear his feeling on the subject.

  “Don’t worry, I intend to keep the various ‘formations’ too busy dealing with the enemy to consider playing games with their new Fleet Commander,” I said with a shark-like smile, already envisioning the wolf-pack tactics I was going to be using.

  I could see the Captain wasn’t sold on the idea but either desperation or my reputation preceded me, because he must have decided to give me the benefit of the doubt.

  And just like that, I was the new undisputed Commander of the Capital Defense Fleet.

  Chapter 48

  Bug Campaigns – Wolf Pack Tactics

  True to my word, I consulted with the top Admirals, Commodores, Komodors, Com-caps, Captains, Kapitans, Commanders and basically anyone else in a position of authority over multiple units inside the new Capital Fleet.

  At the same time, I went ahead with my original plan, roving packs of hunter killer groups, two to three squadrons strong. I promised to listen to them, not give in to their every demand.

  I didn’t like it when I ran into stealth bugships in Hot Cross and I liked it even less when I heard an even more virulent strain was seen here in the Sector 26 Capital. I might give in on other points but not this one.

  I wanted those bugs found and wanted it done yesterday. Stealth bugs landing on worlds full of people was th
e last thing I wanted or needed.

  “Your ships will find them, mark their positions and then you will kill them. If that’s impossible, call for help and withdraw to a safe distance. That is your mission brief in a nutshell. My navigator is sending you each a file with your designated patrol routes in it. Please relay this information to your various subordinate ship captains. I leave the particulars up to the discretion of each patrol leader. Just make sure I’m not receiving complaints from you about each other,” I instructed a group of wolf-pack commanders assembled for a short holo-conference.

  “Yes, Admiral,” said a group of serious-looking Squadron Commanders. There was not a single complaint.

  While I liked to think it was the inspiring speech and clear-cut reasonable orders that got me their full cooperation, I suspected the bounty I put out for each stealth bug, their ships confirmed destroyed, had something to do with it.

  Within an hour, a dozen hunter-killer groups were on the prowl, moving toward the outer system.

  Now it was time to sit back and wait.

  Over the course of the next day, the main waves of the bug Swarm pushed ever deeper into the star system and the wolf-packs swarmed through cold space, hunters seeking prey.

  They went searching for stealth bugs and they found them. The first sighting was from a group of slow-moving cruisers who first noticed the bug ship when it latched onto the light cruiser’s nose. With the help of the other cruisers in its squadron, they managed to perforate the bug’s hull venting the interior out into space. The damaged cruiser was detached from the squadron and sent back to the capital world for repairs.

  Next, a group of destroyers using two corvettes outfitted with powerful sensors as beaters stumbled upon a small Swarm of two dozen stealth ships, all of them scout-marauder-sized, and a melee erupted that left one of the corvettes derelict and the bugs destroyed.

  Every hour, it seemed like a new report came in of stealth bugs found and destroyed.

  Then twelve hours later, the first serious setback since I initially dispatched them struck the wolf-packs.

  An alarm sounded in my quarters, waking me up.

  “What is it?” asked Akantha reaching for Bandersnatch.

  “I’m sure it’s nothing, honey,” I said fumbling around until I reached for the portable communicator beside the bed.

  “Montagne here. What is it?” I asked.

  “Wolf-Pack 9 is reporting an emergency situation and requesting back up, Sire,” the Com-Officer reported.

  “Dispatch reinforcements. Why are you waking me up for? Rear Admiral Laurent is in command,” I said irritably. The Rear Admiral had been retrieved after his latest mission by the jump spindles and I’d taken the chance to hand off responsibility so I could get some well-deserved rest in my own bed, instead of continuing to haunt the Admiral’s ready room.

  If this was something less than a full-fledged attack on the fleet, world or major space station I was going to be more than peeved.

  “The Rear Admiral said you’d wanted to be informed,” said the Com-Officer.

  “Spit it out, man,” I instructed.

  “Pack-9 encountered a fully-stealthed harvester, Admiral,” said the officer.

  “I’ll be right up,” I said rolling out of bed.

  Akantha also stood up and started moving toward the closet.

  “You can go back to sleep. I’m sure I can handle it and there’s no point in both of us losing sleep,” I advised.

  “I’m sure you can, Jason,” she said, pulling out a new set of clothing, “it’ll just take me a minute. Please don’t wake little Larry,” she added, gesturing to the little boy still sleeping in the middle of the bed.

  I waited a beat and looked fondly down at the little guy. Having an Admiral’s suite, one large enough for a queen-size bed despite being onboard a ship, really was a luxury.

  “Of course,” I said, too wise in the ways of marriage after the better part of five years to continue pressing that particular line of attack. I also didn’t want to wake up the boy.

  I gratefully accepted the new uniform she pulled off the rack and dressed as stealthily as possible.

  “Mitera?” asked Larry picking his head up.

  A burst of Tractoan spewed out of my wife’s mouth and my son nodded putting his head back down.

  “Okay, mama,” he said closing his eyes and going back to sleep. We tried to rotate turns sleeping in bed with Mom and Dad, and tomorrow night was little Sapphira’s turn. Or mana and papakis as she’d tried to teach them to say. However, I stuck to my guns. She could have them call her whatever she wanted but I was a dad.

  In no time, we were suited up, the lights were back off and we were on our way to the bridge.

  I stepped onto it, all thoughts of family time falling away.

  “Report,” I barked, sliding into my throne.

  “Receiving an emergency transmission,” said the Com-Officer as he waited a beat, “Nilefire’s emergency beacon just sounded.”

  On the screen, the flashing red icon of the Nilefire went dark.

  I glared at the screen.

  “What got her?” I demanded.

  “It’s that blasted stealth harvester,” cursed the off-shift tactical officer, a man I wasn’t used to seeing considering he manned the night shift.

  I frowned in his direction.

  “Sorry, Sir,” the officer said, stiffening to attention, “but that harvester seems to not only have its stealth features but a superior hull as well. One that’s resistant to our traditional lasers.”

  My eyebrows climbed for the ceiling. This was just getting better and better.

  “Just the one harvester?” I asked.

  “For now,” said the Tactical Officer.

  I pursed my lips.

  “How many reinforcements?” I asked.

  “Two nearby wolf-packs are on the way and Rear Admiral Laurent also dispatched a contingent of eight destroyers and four light cruisers from his battle group,” he reported.

  For a split second, the idea of dispatching the Furious Phoenix crossed my mind before the almost immediate recollection that the Phoenix was no longer a part of my fleet squished it like a bug.

  Like a sore tooth that needed the dentist, the thought of everything the Empire had taken from me, including the Furious Phoenix, caused me to grimace.

  “I’m sure he chose the proper ships,” I said, choosing to trust Laurent knew what he was doing rather than continue to give into the temptation to micro-manage and in the process stir up old memories better set aside, at least… for now.

  I very carefully didn’t think about how someday the Empire’s time was coming for it too because that was a dangerous thought. A deadly thought. Something that couldn’t even be whispered at, not until we were ready, if we ever were. But when the time came to seize the day….

  On the screen, the light harvester was surrounded by two squadrons of destroyers and firing back with a host of light lasers and the usual dumb fire-and-forget bombs.

  There was a streak on the screen and an explosion rocked one of the destroyers; okay, maybe not so usual after all.

  “What was that, Tactical?” I asked.

  “Those are newly-identified streak missiles, Sire. They’re just as unguided as traditional bug missiles but are able to move at a much faster rate. This speed, combined with a presumably larger warhead, is strong enough to punch through most weakened destroyer shields. A full shield can still stop a streak missile but several hits in a row have proven… problematic,” replied the Lieutenant.

  “This just gets better and better,” I said, mentally adding another mark on the tally the Empire owed the Spine. As I watched, the harvester continued to fire even as her stealthed scouts and scout marauders were being wiped out by aimed and accurate fire from the wolf-pack.

  The harvester had those streak missiles and she wasn’t afraid to use them. Her fire was also more coordinated than the usual
harvester with a lower percentage of seemingly random fire than was the norm, but not more than one in ten of her broadside consisted of the new missiles.

  The wolf-pack surrounding it finished off the smaller bug spaceships and turned the full weight of their fire on the light harvester. Within minutes, and well before the nearest wolf-pack reinforcements could reach them, the light harvester was destroyed.

  “I’m no expert but that light harvester looked significantly stronger than the unmodified versions,” I commented.

  “Tactical is giving them an initial force rating three times that of the standard model but the computer is still crunching the numbers and my ensigns aren’t yet done gathering new data. I’ll let you know as soon as we’ve had a chance to revise our estimations if you want,” said the Night Shift Tactical Officer.

  I nodded.

  The main screen zoomed back out to display the whole of the star system and for the next half hour I watched our ships patrol the star system. I even personally watched Wolf-Pack 1 destroy another small group of stealth scouts and boarding bugs before deciding to call it.

  The bugs had new upgrades and yes they were a worrisome threat but it was the middle of the night and the Swarm had yet to make a major move. If I had anything to do with it—I decided, finishing the cup of tea my bridge yeoman handed me earlier—they would never get that chance.

  Decision made, I stood up.

  “Starting tomorrow, we’re going to sally the fleet out to deal with that first bug wave. Pass the word to the rest of the fleet and our allies now, and prepare the orders. I’ll give the official notification to our allies after I wake up,” I said.

  “Aye-aye, Sir,” said my scar-faced Intelligence Officer.

  ***

  The next morning, I looked at the assembled Capital Defense Fleet. With the arrival of Rear Admiral Laurent’s contingent, my fleet was up to two hundred and sixty-five hulls strong, thirty-two of them battleships.

  On top of that, the Capital System Defense Fleet was, I pulled up a screen with the latest tallies compiled by my chief of staff, seventy-nine hulls strong, three of them battleships. The Sector guard on the other hand had another fifty-eight hulls strong, six of them battleships and the Confederation Flotilla had sent a group thirty-eight hulls strong. Counting the odds and sods mainly sent from nearby worlds hoping to curry favor with either the Capital System, Sector Assembly or its Sector Governor, the total ship count of non-MSP warships to… I pulled up the master list and frowned. It was only one hundred and eighty-three strong.