Federation Reborn 1: Battle Lines

by Chris Hechtl

  He was supposed to turn the tanker around with the freighters ASAP and get them in the jump line back to Antigua so they could resupply him. He was torn; he knew he needed to do it but didn't want to lose his missile collier or the precious tanker. And for now the converted transport was needed to be used as a command platform for the waiting troops.

  He frowned thoughtfully. If he kicked them loose, it would mean he wouldn't be able to move the missiles. They'd be floating attached to their pallets in orbit of the planet or wherever he stashed them.

  The medium and large colliers could go. They were empty. But it was better to send them back as a group, right?

  But, if he delayed their departure too long, then when the ships were en route, he might get hit. He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose while his large lips made a raspberry sound. He used to love thinking like that. Thinking out the various possibilities, gaming it all out. It had been fun as a junior officer, important as a captain, but now it purely sucked. But life was about risk.

  ---<>---<>---

  The marines were on the planet, but they had all they could do to hold their beachhead. Lieutenant Ebensher sounded exhausted and shell shocked whenever she called a report in. Reluctantly, Admiral White dispatched the courier to Kathy's World to pull in any personnel he could. Hopefully, the reinforcements had arrived there safely. And hopefully, the convoy transporting them hadn't dropped them off and ran for home.

  While his attention was rooted on the ground, the engineers had finished breaking out the ansible platform. It was a very basic affair; a transhab station set up with massive shock absorbers around a central core. The platform had been set up in the L-5 position near the planet, halfway between it and one of its moons. It was the most stable orbital position they could find.

  Transferring the ansible core to the station was a tricky maneuver. Nearly half of the surviving muons were destroyed during the transfer. Once they were set up, however, the low bandwidth was enough to serve them. The admiral immediately called Antigua with a SITREP.

  He grinned when he got a reply. One finger reached out to activate the all-hands broadcast. “To all hands in TF22. Well done. Damn fine job. We're all proud of you. Signed, Fleet Admiral Irons.” He read. He looked over to see Jojo grinning from ear to ear. She caught his look and blushed and went back to minding her duty station.

  ---<>---<>---

  “I think it's time to send in Recon and the SEALS, sir,” Jojo stated when they got the latest report. The marines were taking a pounding on the planet. Half of their mechs had been taken out and a third of the platoon had been wounded or worse. Only the on-call air support from the fighters and ships in orbit kept them from being overrun completely.

  Admiral White eyed her. He had heard about navy SEALS. He snorted at the idea. “What do they know about SEALS?”

  “They are being trained by marine recon DIs, sir,” Marshall reported.

  The admiral shook his head in disgust. “And your point? Again, no combat experience. No experience at all in special ops for that matter. They are making it up as they go along. Play acting. Well, this is real life.”

  “True, but do you think jarheads are going to go easy on naval personnel, sir?” the AI asked. He made a face as the admiral and his flag lieutenant each got a thoughtful look on their faces. “They will go out of their way to make it the hardest course they can—just out of sadistic amusement.”

  “True.”

  “And if they can pass that, then they are on their way, sir, or at least can lead and train the next group, accumulating experience and passing it on. Rebuilding the chain. They'll make mistakes, but hopefully they'll live long enough to learn from them and pass that hard earned knowledge on.”

  “Someone has to start somewhere, sir,” Jojo agreed with her own nod.

  The admiral nodded in understanding. “Good point.”

  ---<>---<>---

  Amadeus called up Admiral Irons when he realized the marines he had on hand wouldn't be enough. Not even with the help of the Guerrilla militia forces he barely trusted.

  Admiral Irons immediately dispatched orders to Agnosta and Colonel Forth to send additional forces to Protodon. “You'll have to get the initial support locally, Amadeus. But they will be in the pipeline.” He was still smarting over loosing Gustav. The marine would be missed. He wasn't sure how Ian or some of the other Bounty survivors would take the news. He regretted choosing Gustav over Myers. He knew Captain Myers was smarted over the nepotism but … he shook his head and heaved a sigh. It was done and over with now.

  “Good. But I need them now, not later,” Amadeus stated.

  “All I can tell you is that they are on their way.”

  “Sir, it was a bit of a snafu not to have them ready,” Amadeus stated lightly.

  Irons grunted. He knew it but knew they didn't have the shipping to get them in—not at the moment. By ordering the reinforcement, he was essentially losing a convoy group. They would have to be pulled out of their regular run, outfitted to carry the troops and their gear … his scowl deepened. And they'd need escorts all the way to Kathy's World he realized. Possibly into Protodon. And anything that went in Amadeus would most likely keep.

  “I heard you have Force Recon and SEALS?” Amadeus asked dubiously. “Sending the locals in against this would be throwing them away, sir. No offense but this tight assed bitch has set up a meat grinder, sir. Even a veteran unit would get its ass chewed.”

  “Understood. Soften her up the best you can. Map what she's got too.”

  “Understood.”

  “I'll send in recon and the SEALS,” Admiral Irons said with a trace of hesitation. He cut the orders immediately, flicking his hands to pull up the memo to Sprite who was otherwise occupied at the time. “Try not to get them … hell.” He inhaled and then exhaled slowly.

  “I know, sir. You don't want to throw away the experience they've gained for little return.”

  “Exactly. This is going to be a long campaign.”

  “Protodon, sir?”

  “No, I'm talking the galaxy. Protodon is just a tiny stepping stone. A valuable one I admit, both locally and as a training ground to blood our troops. But it's a crucible; it is as you said, liable to chew them up and spit them out if they and you aren't careful.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “But they need the experience and they are the best ground forces we've got. Hopefully enough of them will survive to pass on what they've learned to the next generation.”

  “Yes, sir. Most definitely.”

  ACT 2

  Chapter 13

  Moldy Crow and Charlatan’s Prayer crossed the 6.9 light years to the empty nexus system of B-95a3 in the mid octaves of Gamma band despite Charlatan's Prayer's injuries. It took a long six weeks to get to the star system and safety however. The two ships exited hyperspace within a day of each other in the empty system. Moldy Crow wasted no time getting off the jump point and headed deeper into the system.

  The Charlatan's Prayer had survived to get to B-95a3 which surprised the crew of the Clydesdale when she showed up in their wake twenty-three hours later. She had given the jumpy sensor watch a fright until they'd gotten an ID on the ship. They did a consult over the laser communication's line. The medium freighter had the most damage and least amount of fuel, however.

  “Well, they'd damn well better get it sorted out,” Captain Gumel snarled, flexing his arm. He'd spent the first two weeks with his busted right arm in a sling. It frustrated him as did the head wound. But it had been necessary to keep the bandages on and limit his mobility despite his boiling rage.

  Dutch Lefou had gotten the injured Gaston off on the last shuttle with many of the other senior officers and noncoms as well as a copy of their tactical recordings.

  Lieutenant Shanty had taken Jean Bart back in to attack the Federation ships and covered their escape. She hadn't been happy about the order but she'd done her duty.

  That bothered the captain none at all. Oh, he h
eard the occasional whisper about how a captain was supposed to go down with the ship. It simmered in the back of his own mind as well. But he was alive … alive, and in time he would have his revenge. Revenge on those who had taken his ship from him and on any who dared question his survival.

  “We can't … we shouldn't wait on her,” Dutch said, eyes darting about nervously. He was obviously worried about the enemy following them Gaston thought. He was too but he wasn't as concerned and lily livered as his former XO seemed to be. Losing the battle had obviously taken the heart out of the Lieutenant Commander. He wasn't certain if the man would get his fire back. He wasn't sure if he wanted him around if he didn't or even if he did.

  “They are asking for help to patch the ship up,” Captain Media stated. He looked at the senior surviving officers assembled. “I'm asking for volunteers to go over and get her patched up.”

  “Why didn't they do that en route? They had six weeks,” Gaston demanded.

  “They did everything they could in hyper. But they couldn't fix the damage to her hull or sublight drive of course,” the captain said with a trace of reproach in his voice.

  Gaston simmered at the lack of a “sir” from the man and the man's tone. But he had to admit that Moldy Crow was Media's lawful command.

  “What's her status?”

  “Low on fuel. Captain Kail wants me to heave to and send a line over. But if we do that, we won't have enough fuel to get to Dead Drop, either of us,” Captain Media stated flatly. He crossed his beefy arms, clearly unhappy about the idea.

  “Kail … I don't remember him being the captain,” Lefou mused.

  “She's not,” Captain Media replied, glancing at the XO. “Captain Eddings was critically injured and succumbed to his injuries.”

  “So she needs a new captain,” Gaston mused, rubbing his jaw. He didn't want the job, not of a tramp freighter on its last legs. There was no guarantee she'd get home.

  “I'll take her,” Dutch said quietly. The other officers stared at him. He shrugged. “We need to get her patched up though. And refueled.”

  “We still can't get both ships to ….”

  Dutch held up a hand. “Just to get her to Nuevo Madrid. Moldy Crow can continue on inward to warn the empire proper.”

  Captain Media opened his mouth and closed it, then looked from Dutch to Gaston. Gaston had no intention of stepping forward. He wasn't happy that his XO … former XO had stepped up. He rubbed his arm. It wasn't healing right. The stupid nurse on the ship had set it, but it still ached.

  “Fine. Whatever. Just get it done and us out of here,” Gaston finally growled, keeping his arm pinned to his chest. He didn't like the idea of returning to the empire in disgrace, but he had no other alternative.

  ---<>---<>---

  “What do we do about the bodies?”

  “Bodies?” the earl asked.

  “The bodies of the dead. We've also got people on board, more people than we can deal with, sir. The life support won't keep up for the entire trip.”

  “Space the damn bodies. Suck every drop of water out of them and then get rid of them. Do you have a molecular furnace on board?” the earl demanded.

  Captain Media grimaced and shook his head no.

  “Then get what you can out of them and then space them. Make sure you log who they are of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “You may want to get some of the survivors to go through your cargo. Pick through anything that has energy, even batteries might help. Charlatan's Prayer can do the same. Suck all the water out obviously, the same for air.”

  “I was debating dumping some of the excess mass. But we're still overloaded.”

  “Then we'll have to lighten the load. Anyone not pulling their weight can be spaced.”

  The ship's captain carefully didn't look at the earl. “You're talking about the prisoners?”

  “I didn't know you still had some on board.”

  “A few.”

  “Space them. Slaves as well. They are of no consequence. Suck them dry, then get rid of the dregs.”

  “A pity,” Captain Media murmured.

  “Save your pity for the living; the dead doesn’t need it.”

  “They aren't dead yet, Commander.”

  “Yet. See to it now. The longer they are here the more they are wasting resources. If you had a choice, them or you, which would you chose?”

  “Me of course. I'll get on it,” the captain replied with a sigh.

  ---<>---<>---

  As the two ships drifted under 10 percent power, Charlatan's Prayer was hurriedly patched up. Two shuttles danced around her, doing a survey and moving personnel back and forth. Fuel was precious, so only three shuttle flights had been allowed. One did a spiral around the ship and then returned to the boat bay on slight puffs of fuel.

  Commander Lefou and a few of the displaced engineers went over to the Charlatan's Prayer, but Lefou found out that Lieutenant Commander Kail had him by date of rank. She insisted on retaining command. Their argument spilled over to Gaston who when he heard it threatened to come over and space the both of them.

  “Enough of your squabbling. Kail, Lefou is in charge. He is the military line, don't you ever forget it.”

  “But sir ….”

  “The next protest out of either of you and I'll come over there myself,” the earl threatened. He wasn't willing to back up his threat; he had no intention of going to Nuevo Madrid.

  “We're almost finished with repairs. What we can repair,” Kail said. She looked at Dutch. She had ways of dealing with interfering men. If he wanted to survive to get to Nuevo Madrid, he'd learn to keep his trap shut and toe the line.

  “And the Dutchman?” Two hours ago a sailor had been kicked off the hull by a miscommunication. The ship had maneuvered, and he'd been in the way of an RCS thruster. He'd been stupid enough to use a safety line. They had listened to his pleas for rescue for some time.

  “We can't afford to stop or the fuel to send a shuttle to pick him up,” Gaston said coldly. “Remind your people to be more careful,” he growled, eyes glittering. One dead man meant one less mouth to feed air, water, and food to he thought.

  “We have just enough fuel to get to Nuevo Madrid. With … a 3 percent reserve,” Captain Kail reported.

  “Three?” Gaston demanded. He had set the bar at 1 percent. They needed all the fuel to get to Dead Drop safely.

  “Three is pushing it, sir,” Dutch said smoothly. He knew Kail was fudging the numbers slightly in their favor but wasn't going to call her on it.

  “Sir! A ship has emerged from hyper at the jump point behind us!” a rating said on the bridge.

  Gaston turned. Had one of his ships survived he wondered?

  “We're still waiting to get a good reading. And since we've got crappy civilian grade sensors …,” the rating said. He shrugged helplessly.

  “Is it Barnabe?” another rating asked hopefully.

  “The drive signature doesn't match,” Captain Kail said slowly, voice cooling. Gaston didn't like the sinking sensation that cool voice was evoking. He suddenly remembered they were inside unarmed lumbering ships. Wounded ships.

  “She's moving out! On our course … crap there is no way she's one of ours! She's moving way too fast!”

  “What is she?” Captain Media demanded. “Give me a reading, damn it!”

  “Does it matter? She's a warship! We're unarmed!” Dutch yelped. “And she's picking up speed!” His voice quavered.

  “Settle down, Lefou; we've got the lead on them by several KPS,” Captain Kail said.

  “They just sent the one ship?” Gaston asked. He felt a slight sense of relief. He'd been concerned that the enemy would have followed with his full force. They could have rolled through the empty system and hammered Nuevo Madrid and then came back to picket the empty system. Obviously the damn chimp had decided to play conservative.

  Either that or his orders said to stay in Protodon. He frowned thoughtfully to himself and then
nodded. Yes, that could be it. The chimp could have orders to “rescue” the people on the planet. His boss was probably a bleeding heart. Well, he'd make sure it bled the proper way. Eventually, he thought with a hint of a feral smile. Just give him another ship. This time a good one, and he'd carve his name in the bastard's chest and turn that monkey into a carpet.

  “What is that furball playing at?” he growled.

  “Count your blessings, sir,” Captain Media said, striding onto the bridge. “I have the bridge,” he said formally. He looked expectantly to the earl. After a moment of inactivity, he cleared his throat meaningfully. Gaston looked up to him and then slowly rose out of the hot seat.

  “I didn't want it anyway,” he muttered, moving aside to let the other man sit.

  “At least you kept it warm,” the captain replied. “Charlatan, we're splitting up on schedule. You head to Nuevo Madrid as planned.”

  “You're abandoning us?” Lefou sputtered.

  “One of us has to get to home to give them word,” Captain Kail replied, sounding disgusted. Gaston couldn't blame her. It bothered him that he sympathized with a woman about anything.

  ---<>---<>---

  “Think we can catch them?” Lieutenant Riot asked eagerly, looking at the neochimp navigator. She felt his eyes on her and looked up. She turned back to her console and frowned.

  “If we pick up speed, we can. But we'll burn through a lot of fuel doing it. That will shorten our stay here by weeks,” Ensign Ham stated after a moment of number crunching.

  “Just chasing them is going to do that in the first place,” Captain Gruber stated. His secondary orders had been plain; if they could, they were to engage the fleeing ships and destroy or capture them. Of course he hadn't expected to actually need to follow those orders now, had he? He shook his head at the thought. Now he was in for it. There was no way his tiny crew could man three ships. No way.

  “What do you think they'll do? Stay together?”