“Enlighten us,” the second colonial governor—a six foot tall and improbably thin woman with a long, hooked nose—said coolly.
“Commodore,” Middleton said, turning to the SLL’s Head of Security, “perhaps you could save me the trouble?”
Commodore Cartwright ground his teeth, clearly chafing at being put on the spot but Middleton knew that he couldn’t let this meeting devolve into an attack on his authority. He needed at least one other voice to corroborate what was painfully obvious to him, but judging from the looks worn by the rest of the table’s occupants—save, of course, Commodore Cartwright—none of them understood what the information before them meant.
Thankfully, the Commodore indulged him by first pointing at the colony located roughly at the mid-point of the Gorgon Sectors, “That colony wouldn’t have given up her warships without first using them in her own defense. And that it was found here,” he pointed at the colony below them, located nearly at the very end of the Gorgon Sectors, “means it can’t be there.”
“We are well aware of the fact that colonies have been wiped out in this tyrannical aggression by the Empire,” President Chow said, apparently sensing an opening without fully comprehending what the Commodore had been implying. “Each of us has suffered from their tyranny, which is precisely the sort of thing I intend to prevent at the hand of this ‘Supreme Commander’,” she pointed triumphantly at Middleton.
“You do not understand,” Chairman Lewis shook her head piteously.
“I understand perfectly!” Chow yelled. “We need to stand together or we will die alone!”
Despite her shrillness, Middleton knew there was truth in what she said so he decided to finish Cartwright’s point for him as he pulled up the image of the Corvette and put it side-by-side with that of the Gorgon Sectors’ overlay, “If this Corvette, the Emelda’s Shoe, is no longer protecting the colony which operated it, it means that colony either fell directly to Commodore Paganini or it fell to another force and the Shoe later came into Paganini’s Task Force. Just to be clear,” he pulled up a third data point and set the image of a Destroyer which had also been captured by the Void Hunters, and along with that Destroyer’s image and hull markings a third colony’s location appeared roughly halfway between the Shoe’s original colony and the Unbordered’s abandoned colony, “this Destroyer, the Angel’s Wing, was likewise assigned to colonial protective duty eleven years ago here.”
“I have heard enough of this,” Chow stood from the table, turning to leave.
“If you leave,” Chairman Lewis said pointedly, “then the three votes which move to include the AG Fleet in the MDP will overcome the only two left standing against it,” she gestured to the colonial governors.
President Chow’s face turned as red as a ripe tomato, “You have no right—“
“As Chairman, I have every right,” Lewis interrupted icily. “Now either regain your seat or concede defeat.”
Chow seemed genuinely torn for several seconds before finally—and deliberately—retaking her place at the table, “I am only participating in this debacle under formal protest.”
“Duly noted,” Lewis nodded before gesturing for Middleton to continue.
“You can verify the repairs on these two ships independently,” Middleton gestured to the images of the Corvette and Destroyer which now flanked the Gorgon Sectors’ map, “and when you do, you’ll find that the Shoe underwent significant repairs four years ago while the Wing underwent similar repairs two years ago.”
“Warships undergo repairs every few months,” the fat governor objected, “as a military man I expect you would know that.”
“I do,” Middleton ignored the pitiful barb, “and I also know that the types of repairs a ship undergoes tell the story of not only what it has done, but where it has been and, when you know how to read the data, who made the repairs.” He pulled up a pair of magnified images which showed welds made to the duralloy hulls of both ships, “These are standard welds made with a portable repair collar the likes of which most colonies utilize to maintain their ships. And these,” he pulled up a new set of welds on each ship, “are made by Imperial—military grade—variants of the same equipment. The first examples of the Imperial welds appeared on the Shoe four years ago and on the Angel nearly two years ago.”
Even to the naked eye it was apparent that there was a fundamental difference between the two examples given for each ship. The portable collar repairs tended to be jagged and angular, while the Imperial welds were much smoother and enabled better-fit plates to be installed.
By this point he had both colonial governors’ attentions, which was enough for Middleton to know he would emerge with the outcome he desired from this particular meeting.
“What this tells us, ladies and gentlemen,” he finished, “is that these ships were first pressed into Commodore Paganini’s service beginning four years ago—which happens to corroborate the Imperial records we have examined from the rest of the ships we captured in the battle with Paganini—and that he slowly, steadily, and methodically advanced through this half of the Gorgon Sectors while wrapping every ship into his Task Force that he could find.”
“There are other colonies in this region of space which were not hit by Paganini,” Chow said, either still in denial about being wrong or actively working against the proceedings—to Middleton, it didn’t matter which it was since either way she was his current opponent and he needed to hand her a defeat.
“It’s basic strategy, President Chow,” Commodore Cartwright said firmly. “An advance force only attacks the targets its commander knows he can subdue,. The whole point is to fold their assets and hardware into the advance as he goes. After he’s swept up the small fry, he either consolidates his position and waits for the main force to arrive or, if he’s confident he can double down on his efforts, he swings back around and goes after the next tier of targets. Only then does he fold them into the advance force en route to a rendezvous with the main force to which he’s attached.”
“Our records show that Paganini had twelve Imperial-built warships at the outset of his mission,” Middleton explained, “and when we broke his fleet he had seventy two total ships, with only a few losses from his original force.”
“The standard colony has between two and six warships assigned to it,” Chairman Lewis said grimly.
Middleton nodded, “And you have to assume Paganini couldn’t press anything approaching a hundred percent of the warships he encountered. A good starting guess is half, so if each colony provided one and a half warships…” he trailed off pointedly.
“Forty colonies…?” the spindly governor sounded stunned.
“Not all of the captures were from start-ups,” Cartwright interjected, “so I’d put the number between twenty five and thirty.”
“I’d bet on twenty five,” Middleton agreed, “since we’ve found evidence of a few shipyards secretly operating out here. Most of the locally-built warships are extremely limited tactically, but as part of a fleet they can still serve a vital role. Thankfully, Commodore Paganini didn’t know how to best deploy these disparate platforms. If he had, it’s entirely possible we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.”
“What does this tell us about the Imperial advance?” Chairman Lewis asked, and even Chow seemed guardedly interested in hearing the answer to her query at this point.
“It tells us,” Middleton tapped the console, causing the images to be replaced with a tactical model of the Gorgon Sectors which he had devised after incorporating all of the aforementioned information—and much, much more, “that the Imperial advance likely began in earnest less than a decade ago.”
The yellow, banana-shaped Gorgon Sectors flashed yellow on the hologram before them and slowly, inch by inch, the end nearest the Empire saw a wave of red begin to wash through it. The wave continued to bathe the proximal end, replacing the former yellow with its crimson hue until fully half of the Gorgon Sectors were red and half were yellow.
“This is where my projections place them,” Middleton explained, “but this is largely based on information that’s a year old. It’s possible, though unlikely, that the Imperial Fleet could have advanced further than these projections suggest.” He met each of their gazes individually as he continued, “A standard Imperial Fleet is composed of between a hundred fifty and two hundred warships, and I have it on good authority that two years ago the Empire withdrew the vast majority of its forces from the Old Confederation—on the other side of the galaxy—specifically to re-deploy those assets here.”
Silence came over the assemblage, and even President Chow seemed surprised by Middleton’s understandably chilling report.
“Why?” Cartwright asked as the barest hint of challenge mixed with the concern in his voice. “Even at the 90th percentile projections, the Empire can’t think there are more than five hundred warships out here. Our own projections put the numbers closer to three hundred,” he said with a deferential nod to Chairman Lewis, who inclined her head in assent. “With the tech gap between Imperial military hardware and the stuff we’ve got out here, one Imperial Fleet would be more than enough to do the job of bringing compliance to the entire region—if the political will was there to support such an undertaking, which is a big ‘if’.”
Middleton leaned back in his chair, surveying the expressions of the attendees in turn. Chow had regained her previously surly and uncooperative demeanor, but the rest seemed genuinely interested and concerned by what this information might mean.
That meant he had won this particular round of diplomacy, which was likely more surprising to him than to anyone else in the room.
“The Alliance Gorgonus has come into some information which could shed some light onto that particular issue,” he said measuredly. “But I’m afraid that, due to the sensitive nature of this information, we can only share it under the auspices of a formal arrangement,” he continued, deactivating the holographic projector before pointing to the data slate in the center of the table, “an arrangement which you provided and I, on behalf of the Alliance Gorgonus, have already signed. It awaits your ratification, ladies and gentlemen, and I feel compelled to urge you in the strongest possible terms to do so in order for us to combine our resources against the forces arrayed against us.”
Sixty seconds later, the delegates exited the conference room and returned to the shuttle which would take them back to their respective ships.
The vote’s results were five to one in favor of including the AG Fleet in the Secular Liberation League’s MDP, with the lone voice of dissent predictably belonging to President Rosalind Chow.
Chapter XVII: The Advance—and Drills, Drills, Drills…
Two days later, the fleet was ready to move.
“All ships have received point transfer coordinates and report ready to depart, Captain,” Hephaestion relayed. The Tracto-an had taken up the dual duties of Sensors and Comm. for the time being, given the dearth of skilled crew remaining aboard the Prejudice.
“They’re even in a reasonable enough formation,” Middleton muttered, knowing that the next several weeks would provide ample opportunity to hone the fleet’s tactical formations. “All right, put me on the fleet-wide: all ships, this is Supreme Commander Middleton. The first batch of jump coordinates has been disseminated throughout the fleet. Each designated subgroup will coordinate its movements via the designated chain of command. The first rendezvous is scheduled for twenty hours from now, when the next batch of coordinates will be released. Middleton out.”
Hephaestion cut the line and reported, “Message received and acknowledged throughout the fleet.”
“Good,” Middleton nodded, “spin up the hyper drive—let’s move out.”
Twenty two hours later, the last subgroup finally arrived. In truth, Middleton had anticipated a greater delay than that given the fact that it was the first time most of the fleet’s one hundred and twenty three various commanders had executed a split-group series of point transfers. Predictably, the group which had brought up the rear had been the combined Battleship and Cruisers crewed by the Stalwart.
“Reports coming in,” Hephaestion said, “minor power plant failure occurred on the Battleship, Stalwart Duty, while the Heavy Cruiser, Crimson Fist, reports suffering an unexpected breakdown of their strange particle generators.”
“Two hours’ delay over four jumps isn’t good,” Middleton said measuredly, “but it’s not terrible, either, considering it’s our first attempt. Transmit the next batch of coordinates to the fleet, along with the order to jump as soon as each ship is able to do so. We’ll stand by and observe before jumping last.”
The message went out, and twenty minutes later ships started winking out of existence. Subgroup One, comprised of the Cutters and Corvettes, jumped out first. Then the Destroyers of Subgroup Two, followed by the various Cruisers and civilian heavies—the bulk freighters, gas harvesters, settler ships and Constructor—which made up Subgroup Three, and finally by Subgroup Four, the Battleships, the last of which point transferred six hours and thirty one minutes after the order had been given.
“We’ve got some work to do,” Middleton said, having expected almost exactly what he had gotten in terms of results. “But it’s actually a good starting point. Let’s check Subgroup Four’s zone-clearing discipline by jumping into their path and laying a little surprise for them.”
Hephaestion grinned and, even though Toto’s back was turned to them, Middleton seemed to feel the approval rolling off the Sundered’s silver-backed body.
“They still have not detected us, Captain,” Hephaestion reported in a mixture of dismay and irritation. “We have been within range of their passive sensors for six minutes.”
“We don’t even have the stealth suite cranked up to maximum,” Middleton growled. “They should have pinged us at least three times by now.”
“No pings detected, Captain,” Hephaestion said with equal displeasure.
“Fine,” Middleton declared as the clock expired for this particular exercise, “paint the Stalwart Duty with a p2p beam as soon as Toto initiates low-speed maneuvers, then cut it out and re-establish the link at random intervals between two and six seconds apart. Don’t overdrive the stealth suite, Toto,” Middleton added, remembering the truly outrageous combat maneuvers the Sundered had put the Prejudice into during the battle with Paganini.
“Engines firing,” Toto reported, and the Prejudice began to move at an oblique angle to the well-formed capital ship formation.
“First p2p link established,” Hephaestion reported as the Prejudice juked to port and increasing acceleration. “Second link established,” Hephaestion reported, then a few seconds later, “third link established.”
“Have they reciprocated?” Middleton asked.
“No, sir,” Hephaestion said grimly. “Fourth and fifth links established—incoming beam detected but no link established.”
“Too slow, Commander,” Middleton muttered absently, referring to the Stalwart Commander who sat in command of the Duty. “We could have launched a dozen torpedoes or twice as many missiles by now.”
“Sixth and seventh links established,” Hephaestion continued to report, “eighth…ninth…the Duty has established a counter-link, Captain. The Stalwart Commander is demanding to speak with you.”
Middleton deactivated the stealth suite, “Put me on the line.”
The Stalwart Commander’s broad, dark features filled the main viewer, “What is the meaning of this, Captain Middleton?”
“Drills, Commander,” Middleton replied flatly, “which it seems your people need in greater abundance.”
The Commander’s eyebrows lowered, “We are lifelong warriors—not children. These games are a waste of time!”
“I could have caused serious damage to your ship, Commander,” Middleton said grimly, “and, if I had wanted to remain undetected, you still wouldn’t be able to see me.”
“Your ship is unique,” the Commander grow
led.
“Are you sure about that?” Middleton countered only half-rhetorically. “I’m not.”
It was clear from the brief look of realization on the Commander’s face that Middleton’s point had been made, so he decided to drop the matter.
“Fleet protocol dictates that all subgroups are to initiate active sensor sweeps immediately upon arrival at each stopover point,” Middleton reminded the Commander. “I’m willing to overlook the fact—this time—that even without the active sweeps your passive sensors still should have seen me several minutes before I announced my presence. Do it again—and this time get it right,” Middleton said before making a slashing gesture which prompted Hephaestion to sever the connection. “Spin up the hyper drive,” he instructed, “let’s keep doing this until they get it right. If our capital ships don’t follow protocol, we might as well pack it in right here and now.”
Chapter XVIII: The Mysterious Fate of Magmid One
“Sump cleared; point transfer complete,” the Stalwart youth, Hammer, reported after the Unthreadable Needle arrived at the first POI.
Kongming, who had been granted the responsibility of operating the dual Sensors/Comm. station on the Needle’s bridge, cycled through the emission bands associated with Magmid technology. But even after ten minutes of constant surveillance he was unable to locate any Magmid EM signatures.
The Middle Road (Spineward Sectors: Middleton's Pride Book 7) Page 15
