Fear God and Dread Naught

by Christopher Nuttall

  “If this fight is unwinnable, then we will die,” the captain said. “This ship was built on the planet below, and most of us have families there. We will not leave them behind. We will stand and fight, dying if we must, but we will win in the end. We have to; our families are counting on us, and we can do no lessss.” He pushed a button and the tactical plot reappeared on the front screen. “We will stand and fight.”

  Admiral's Gambit Cover Blurb (Spineward Sectors Series, Book Two of Ten)

  by Joshua Wachter

  When he set course for 'civilized space,' Jason Montagne thought he'd finally be able to take a deep breath and hand off sole responsibility for patrolling the border of known Space to the 'real' Confederation fleet. Unfortunately, things 'back home' in Sector 25 were in even more turmoil than he could have possibly imagined.

  When an old friend of the family is caught red-handed in the act of piracy at Easy Haven, and is armed with a ship that outclasses Jason’s Lucky Clover by every measure except sheer bulk and ability to absorb damage, the Little Admiral is faced with a choice that could have consequences felt throughout the Spine.

  The continuing Bug Menace hangs over the Tracto System like a genocidal plague, and piracy is on the rise as news of the Imperial withdrawal spreads like wildfire among the eight Confederate sectors which make up Admiral Montagne’s neck of the woods.

  With the border going up in flames, Jason and the crew of the Lucky Clover will have to deal with a whole host of new problems including slipping morale, ingenious pirates, backstabbing cousins, a family reunion you wouldn’t believe, and the loss of those the Little Admiral has come to rely upon most.

  Can even the infamous Montagne Magic be strong enough to keep this ship from breaking apart in an orgy of violence? With pressure mounting on every side and quickly running out of places to turn for help, it will be a miracle if he can get them out of it in one piece.

  If he does, it will be forever remembered as the Admiral’s Gambit.

  Chapter 1: Catching Up

  My name is Jason Montagne Vekna, although I’m not sure if my new wife agrees with that or thinks my new last name should be Zosime. It’s a long story. I never really cared for the 'Vekna' part, so it wouldn’t be any skin off my nose to switch it out but it might cause problems back on the home world, and we had plenty of those right now. So I was deliberately not asking her opinion.

  Anyway, I’m currently the Admiral of the ever-so-proudly named Confederation Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet, or MSP as I like to call it. Of course, I’m only an Honorary Admiral in my home world’s SDF or System Defense Force, and was forwarded to be the Acting Admiral of the MSP. But I try not to tell anyone about that little technicality.

  One week ago, the Imperial Admiral in command of the MSP resigned on orders from his Triumvir, and the Empire as a whole abandoned the eight Confederation Sectors comprising what we natives like to call 'The Spine,' or 'The Spineward Sectors.'

  Before becoming the official figurehead of the MSP nine months ago, I was a minor member of a nearly irrelevant Provincial Dynasty. The Royal Family on my home world answered to the Caprian Parliament, not the other way around, and the Parliament held our purse strings. So generally, we acted as some sort of glorified galactic butlers, wining and dining anyone Parliament needed to impress or fob off in an appropriately decedent style.

  Before leaving, Rear Admiral Arnold Janeski of the Imperial Rim fleet turned command over to me and I proceeded to…well, I picked up a pirate ship or three - again, a long story.

  I also saved a beautiful native woman from horrible space-faring Bugs. Unfortunately, I was busy ogling her half-naked neighbor and there was a cultural misunderstanding. She thought that by giving her a sword with which to cut herself and the rest of the Bug prisoners free (coincidentally, including her busty neighbor) that I was proposing some form of shotgun marriage wherein if she didn’t take my sword and accept my offer of marriage, she and everyone else would die a gruesome death.

  I, on the other hand, had no clue about this and was only trying to do the heroic thing. In other words, I had given her my only weapon and, as a result, was being slowly overwhelmed by ravenous insects. The very same ones that were trying to eat us all alive, regardless of potential or real wardrobe malfunctions.

  It's safe to say that as far as romantic meetings go, it was hate at first sight. She wanted me dead, and as far as I was concerned, she had let other people die and even tried to kill me by deliberately not lifting a finger to help anyone, all after I gave her my only sword.

  A series of further misunderstandings followed, but when I found out that a quarter of a million settlers I had rescued couldn’t land on her planet without local permission, and couldn’t stay in orbit without dying of suffocation…well, let's just say I decided to go through with the marriage anyway.

  By this point, we were both generally aware of the situation, and still feeling things (if not each other) out. She was no longer trying to kill me, at least. Instead, she was now determined that I survive long enough to ‘fulfill my obligations,’ which I took to mean I needed to save the entire population of her world from being eaten by semi-intelligent (and officially non-sentient, according to the Empire's propaganda machine) space-faring Bugs in slow-drive ships.

  After that, I assumed she planned to dump me like a bad habit. I was just hoping it happened before she met my mother so I could sweep the whole thing under the rug. As it was, she had recruited around eighteen hundred super-sized native warriors to my 'banner,’ although they sure seemed to listen to her a lot more than me, and she was determined to stick to my side like glue at this point.

  In the meantime, I had a Fleet consisting of one ship because, as far as I knew, in the two weeks since everything else had fallen apart, the fleet had fallen apart too and returned home, each ship determined to protect its own home world rather than uphold its obligations to the Confederacy's charter of mutual defense. This mass egress left no one to prevent piracy, or protect merchants and other civilian ships. Like the ones carrying the quarter of a million settlers we had rescued from pirates.

  Chapter 5: Into the Fray!

  Soon our plan was in motion and the pirate cruiser separated from our hull. Behind it was a small swarm of shuttles filled with newly minted Lancers; barely trained to walk in their power armor without falling down, hiding in its shadow and thirsty for blood. Who said putting a man that Parliament considered a Royalist Fanatic (like the Lancer Colonel) in command of a bunch of clueless but bloodthirsty natives was a bad idea?

  As for myself, I was starting to have second thoughts. Particularly when word reached me that Akantha was on one of those shuttles.

  I heard it was a feeding frenzy down there as Lancers argued over who should have the first chance at action. She must have gone down and gotten caught up in all the excitement. The longer I knew her, the more savage she seemed to become.

  But there was no way to recall the shuttles without tipping our hand, so I was left with nothing but worry. I told myself it was only for the Settlers back on Tracto VI, the people who might lose their homes if she died. I even believed myself for once. But all of my rationalizations didn’t get rid of the small aching pit in my stomach at the sight of her going into a battle I would be helpless to join. Not unless things went very wrong and I finished with the Imperials first.

  We’d actually timed things so that even though we had the farthest to go, the Lucky Clover would get within range of the Imperial Cruiser first. Hopefully, the whole system would be focused on the little drama playing out around the fleet of Constructor ships, buying crucial seconds for the small fleet of shuttles carrying my wife and nearly six hundred armed and angry (did I mention power-armored?) Lancers.

  Because there had been so many volunteers, the Lancer Colonel had stationed another group of six hundred Lancers on the hull of the pirate ship, just in case reinforcements were needed somewhere along the way. In total, about half my Lancer force of twenty four hundred
was deployed on this little side mission.

  I still had about twelve hundred untrained Lancers, many of them former Promethean settlers who weren’t as enthusiastic about attacking their former countrymen. Even if those same countrymen had left their settler brothers and sisters to die in cold space.

  I wouldn’t say the new Promethean Lancers were particularly forgiving about the situation, but I think the thought of facing a cousin, friend or someone you knew, just because they happened to serve under an awful captain, probably made them less eager to get out there and mix it up than they otherwise might have been.

  Now there was nothing to do but wait. Did I mention that I hate waiting? Watching our ship creep closer and closer to the Imperial, and switching back and forth to watch the same thing happen with the Promethean Medium Cruisers, was maddening.

  “We’re getting close enough to the Imperial that they are bound to notice-” Officer Tremblay started.

  “We’re being hailed by the Imperial Strike Cruiser,” exclaimed the Ex-Com Tech. “They’re demanding we back off or they’ll blow the Constructors.”

  “Put the Imperials on screen,” I instructed, ready for battle.

  “You’re live, Admiral,” said the Ex-Com tech.

  I straightened myself in the Throne. “Unidentified vessel, this is MSP Lucky Clover, Admiral Jason Montagne commanding. Identify yourself or be destroyed,” I said in my most imperious tone.

  The First Officer’s head whipped around. “This isn’t part of the script,” he whispered hoarsely.

  I smiled grimly, maintaining focus on the main screen's pickup point.

  A tall, white-skinned man with well-bred Imperial features appeared on the screen. “Move that filthy old space bucket away from my ship or the Constructors get it,” said the man, “Imperial Commander Marcus Cornwallis, out.”

  “Marcus Cornwallis, of the same Cornwallis’s as Rear Admiral Charles Cornwallis,” I demanded, deliberately hardening my face.

  “I won’t warn you again,” said the Imperial Officer with cool professionalism.

  “A man of the same family who bombarded my home world fifty years ago,” I continued, deliberately raising my voice, “in the process, killing my father and most of my extended family? That Cornwallis,” by this time, I was shouting at the screen.

  The first crack appeared in the Imperial Commander’s features. “I don’t know what you are referring to but, let me assure you, familias inside the Empire do not direct the actions of its naval vessels.”

  “So you admit it,” I exclaimed, finding myself dangerously close to the line between playing a character and becoming actually enraged. I suppose coming face-to-face with a member of the family directly responsible for my own's near-complete destruction was enough to blur certain lines.

  The Imperial Commander looked nonplused, “Don’t you understand? Back off, or I’ll blow the Constructors to kingdom come,” he said smugly, as though speaking to a child.

  “To Hades with the Constructors!” I was absolutely livid, and leapt out of my chair. “Helmsman,” I barked, turning to that section of the bridge, “set a course to put us between the Imperial Cruiser and the Constructor.” I then turned toward the tactical section. “First Officer, instruct gunnery to fire as she bears. I want one broadside firing at the Imperials and another into the Constructors,” I roared, feeling the veins in my neck and forehead bulging. Turning back to the Imperial Commander, who was looking at me like one would a crazy person, I sneered, “I’d rather see them destroyed than fall into the hands of a Cornwallis!”

  “You’re insane,” exclaimed the Imperial Commander, turning to someone outside the main pick up. “Communications, get me System Command and tell that moron LeGodat to warn off this crazy person before I’m forced to destroy his ship,” said the Imperial Commander, speaking quickly and looking suddenly red-faced.

  “LeGodat and his simplistic, we-all-have-to-go-along-to-get-along protestations,” I scoffed, thinking this was the perfect time to throw some more wood on the fire. “I outrank the man and have taken control of all mobile Confederation Forces in Easy Haven, for the duration.”

  “Demon Murphy take you for a fool,” snarled the Imperial Command, “I won’t let you ruin everything.” The Imperial Commander turned to his bridge crew, “Light the engines and put us between the Constructors and this rogue warship.”

  The Ex-Com on my bridge chimed in, “Sir! System Command and the Imperials are both requesting we accept a conference call with LeGodat.”

  “Oh, whatever,” I said, waving my hand in our patented royal dismissive way. “Put him on. I’m curious to know if he’s scrounged up any more vessels for my fleet yet.”

  “You’re going to get us all killed,” said Tremblay, looking both pale and furious. Oh, how I love to see that man squirm.

  “Death in the pursuit of Honor is no death all,” I said, trying for my most pompous. Hanging around these bloodthirsty natives with their strange honor code was giving me some truly wild inspiration.

  “Sir!” exclaimed Tremblay and LeGodat at the same time.

  Seeing another person to carry the torch of reason, Tremblay stepped back they all looked at LeGodat.

  The Imperial cut in. “Who is this stooge I see on my view screen, System Commander?” demanded the Imperial Commander. “Instruct him to vacate this area of space at once, or I will destroy more than just these Constructor ships,” threatened the young Cornwallis.

  “A moment, Commander, please,” begged the System Commander, turning away from the Imperial and toward myself. “What is this, Admiral?" LeGodat demanded desperately. “You told me you would be restrained and when I questioned you after hearing the name of the Imperial Commander, you told me there was only some old, outdated family business from before you were born between you! You can’t do this!” The System Commander looked like a man powerless to stop a train wreck, yet desperate to try anyway.

  I drew myself up into my most Princely and regal pose, “Commodore LeGodat, let me assure you, I have been the height of reason,” I said looking down my nose at the System Commander.

  “It's just ‘Lieutenant Commander,’ not Commodore,” said the Fleet Officer in charge of system command and the Corvette squadron, “and I’m sorry to have to say you’ve been anything but, Admiral.” LeGodat looked like a man caught between a rock and hard place, a slight sheen of sweat growing on his forehead.

  “Listen, Commodore,” I repeated the title purposely.

  “It's Commander,” exclaimed the Fleet Officer.

  I shook my head, trying for my most condescending bearing. “It’s simply not proper for a ‘Lieutenant Commander’ to command a Star Base of this size and tactical importance. Commodore has a much nicer ring to it, wouldn’t you say? So I’ve promoted you,” I said grandly, accompanying this statement with a regal tilt of the head.

  I then snapped my head around to face the Imperial Commander's image. “But neither is it proper for a member of the Caprian Blood Royal to let a Cornwallis slip through his fingers, not when the Imperial Commander has been caught red-handed in the act of piracy against the Confederacy!”

  “I regret to have to inform you, Admiral,” said the System Commander, looking grey-faced, “that if you engage the Imperial Strike Cruiser in combat, I will have no choice but to fulfill my mandate to protect this system and its inhabitants by firing on your vessel.”

  The Imperial Commander looked like a man who’d just swallowed something bitter.

  “You’ll do as you feel you have to, Commodore,” I said in a sympathetic voice. “In the meantime, every Imperial vessel that hasn’t pointed its nose to the hyper-limit and started a maximum burn will feel a taste of my wrath! Ex-Com, cut the transmission and redirect us to the Promethean Cruisers. Continue on the open frequency,” I instructed.

  The entire bridge staff sat rigidly in their chairs, fingers and hands clenched tight.

  “What was that, Admiral?” Tremblay began in despair. “You’ve not
only cast us as the aggressors in this conflict, but you’ve implicated the home world, not to mention potentially the entire Confederacy as well!”

  I ignored him and turned to the tactical section instead. I caught the eye of the grey-haired individual manning the main console.

  “If we actually pass between the Imperials and the Constructors, and we’re within range of our weapons, instruct Gunnery to aim for non-critical areas and most importantly of all, they are instructed to miss their targets,” I said firmly.

  The Tactical Officer pursed his lips and then nodded.

  Officer Tremblay looked angry and surprised, “Was this whole thing a ruse then,” he demanded. “What’s the big plan now? Bluff them until it's time for us to turn around and run away with our tail firmly between our legs, having made ourselves the laughing stock of civilized space?” I could imagine him envisioning his career's former projected trajectory, now watching it go down in flames, and had to stifle a smile.

  I shook my head. “You and your insistence that everything I do is a bluff, up until I actually go and do it,” I said warningly. "When will you learn, Mr. Tremblay? Now, on the other hand, threatening to fire on unarmed civilians? Unarmed Confederation Civilians? That was a legitimate ruse of warfare, not a bluff. Threatening to fire on and destroy an Imperial ship caught in the act of pirating Confederation vessels,” I slammed my good fist into the bent side of the Throne. "No. That was no bluff, Mr. Tremblay, that was a stated fact. If they don’t high-tail it out of here faster than we can catch them, that Strike Cruiser will soon know that they’ve been in a fight.”