Admiral's Fall

by Luke Sky Wachter

  The hatch slid open and a Marine jack poked his head around the corner.

  “I have the civilian intelligence officer here asking to speak with you,” said the Marine, a man assigned to the Admiral’s personal protective detail while aboard the flagship.

  Magnus Davenport frowned. “Send him in immediately,” he said.

  “Aye-aye, Sir,” said the Marine and moments later a man in a neutral grey jump suit and unadorned cape swept into the room.

  “Report!” barked the Imperial Admiral.

  “My, my, my...so impatient,” said Agent Simpers, rolling his eyes as he plopped himself down in a seat in front of the Admiral’s table.

  “We’ve been sitting out here for the better part of a month while your agents have come up with nothing. You promised me results, Agent Simpers,” Magus Davenport said, bestowing a heated look upon the Imperial agent.

  “Ask and ye shall receive, Admiral,” snarked Simpers without a single change on his smiling face, “for today I bring good tiding of great news.”

  “If you could stop with the historical epithets and get to the point please,” Admiral Magnus said, his ears pricking up.

  “But of course, sir,” Simpers said, “as promised, I always keep my bargains. I said that if you brought me with you I could provide results and now we have them.”

  “We, Agent?” Magnus asked skeptically.

  Simpers only appeared amused. “Imperial Agents, including informants in the Spineward Sectors Assembly itself, inform me that Admiral Montagne and the greater portion of his fleet have just jumped into Sector 26,” Simpers said, leaning forward intently.

  “Finally, something of value after all this wait,” said Magnus Davenport with thinly-veiled satisfaction.

  Simpers' eyes burned brightly.

  “I did say I had informants in their so called Grand Assembly of the Spine, didn’t I?” Simpers smirked and the Admiral couldn’t help freezing in place momentarily.

  “What of it?” he asked cautiously to hide the sudden surge of eagerness inside him.

  “What would you say if I told you that a number of Spineward Sectors politicians are less than totally assured of their survival once the Empire gets around to dealing with this region of space?” offered Simpers.

  “I’d say they were surprisingly realistic for a bunch of isolated politicians in a backwater region like this one,” Magnus Davenport said impatiently, “just spit it out, man.”

  “I have the current location of the mobile Spineward Sectors Government,” Simpers said, dropping a proverbial bomb into the room, “I know exactly where their monitor ship is located at this very moment—and what I’ve done once I can easily do again.”

  Admiral Magnus sucked air from between his teeth. “I may have misjudged you, Simpers. I think this might be the beginning of a beautiful friendship after all,” said Magnus Davenport.

  “I’m hurt you’re only realizing this now. I just hope you consider the information I am able to provide as worth the wait,” Simpers demurred.

  “Compile everything appropriate into a report that I can share with my officers,” Magnus said, rising in dismissal.

  “Will do, Admiral,” Simpers nodded.

  The two men shook hands and then the Admiral returned to his desk. “Prepare the fleet to jump,” he said opening a com-channel to his Chief of Staff.

  “At once, Sir,” she replied with surprise. Eagerness had just started to appear on her face when Magnus Davenport cut the channel.

  Laughing for the first time in weeks, he leaned back in his perfectly upholstered chair.

  With Montagne momentarily out of the way and the location of the Spineward Sectors Government in hand, everything was beginning to line up.

  Chapter 38: The Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet Rides Again!

  With a shimmer of reality, one moment an area of cold space on the edge of the Apostate Star System was empty and the next moment it was filled with the warships of the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet.

  “Report!” I barked as soon as our sensors started to get good returns.

  “We’re getting good feed. No sign of ships lost. The Fleet has arrived at what appears to be its target destination, Sir,” reported Navigator Shepherd.

  “There’s no sump, so I’m just waiting for orders, Admiral,” said DuPont.

  “Any signs we’ve caught up with Bluetooth and his fleet yet?” I demanded.

  “Sensors are still picking up and deciphering signals. No hits from our friend or foe identification system,” reported Lieutenant Hart.

  I swiped a finger around the side of my mouth before setting aside my tea. After wiping my hand clean on the pants of my uniform I frowned.

  “This is the third jump,” I said with censure in my voice.

  Navigator Shepherd stiffened. “Navigation can only go off of the information we’re given, Admiral,” he said defensively.

  I bestowed a flinty look on my bridge officer. “I’m well aware of that, Nav,” I said with censure.

  “Of course, Sir,” said Shepherd.

  I looked up as the main plot flashed and the space immediately around us populated.

  “Patrol Fleet has once again jumped in formation. No drift experienced. Previous positioning confirmed,” stated Officer Hart.

  “I could get used to this new jump drive,” DuPont said happily.

  Lieutenant Shepherd’s upper lip curled. “Sir, I’ve got Commander Spalding on the line,” reported Lisa Steiner.

  “Put him through,” I said.

  A moment later the Chief Engineer was on my screen.

  “What’s cooking, Spalding?” I asked as our fleet sensor operators slowly pushed scans out away from our immediate location and started scanning deeper in the star system.

  He gave me a scowl to end all scowls. “If you keep pushing these Spindles like this, something going to give! I promise you’re not going to like it not one little bit. These things are funny that way,” he said eyeing the walls of the ship, presumably in the direction of at least one of the Spindles outside, “you’ve got to watch them like a hawk. I recommend we cut down on all the usage and let the Spindles' self-repair capabilities get back to work.”

  My brows furrowed.

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible, Spalding, and you know that,” I said with a frown, “is there anything more than gut feelings of concern?”

  “The power consumption’s gone up yet again and a few of the sensors I had put on the outer hull of those Spindles have disappeared. Poof! Vanished. As in 'no sign they ever existed.' One moment they were transmitting and the next they were just plain gone,” warned the old Engineer.

  “It’s not like you to get superstitious…I mean overly concerned like this, Commander,” I said, quickly changing my tune when I remembered just who I was talking to.

  The Chief Engineer’s mouth made a firm line as he glared at me.

  “It’s like they absorbed those sensors directly into the hull. That’s some freaky nonsense going on over there, Sir. So when things go belly up, don’t say I didn’t warn you and come crying to me over spilt milk, asking old Spalding to make everything all better. Because old Spalding plum doesn’t know how. Hear me?” he barked, cutting the channel.

  “I hear you,” I sighed at the blank screen where the Chief Engineer had been a moment earlier.

  I looked up, a sudden flashing on the main screen capturing my attention and holding it.

  “Enemy warships identified! I have positive ID on three Reclamation Fleet ships,” reported a sensor operator thrusting a hand in the air and motioning toward her supervisor.

  “Warships. Multiple warships, Sir!” reported another sensor operator.

  “The com-system is showing we have recognized friendlies in system, Admiral,” reported Lieutenant-Commander Steiner, “they’re using the same New Confederation encryption we just downloaded from the New Grand Assembly.”

  “Tactical is now getting IFF hits. It looks like positive returns for Blue
tooth’s Flotilla, Admiral,” reported Lieutenant Hart after running the sensor and com returns through his station.

  I smiled. “It looks like we came to the right place after all,” I said.

  Sighs of relief sounded throughout the room.

  “I’m not sure if I would begin celebrating just yet, Sir,” Hart continued in a grim tone.

  I gave him a sharp look.

  “The flotilla is surrounded on three side and looks to be engaged in a fighting retreat toward the hyper limit,” he explained, “it looks like we’ve found the enemy’s main fleet, Sir.”

  As I watched, more and more enemy contacts began to appear on the screen until it was exactly as he said: Bluetooth was surrounded and he was outnumbered by almost three to one.

  I opened my mouth, ready to start spitting orders, and then paused with eyes lingering on the trillium tanker before landing on the Elder Spindles.

  My gaze hardened. “First Officer, detail one squadron of Cruisers to the Spindles and another of corvettes for overwatch. They are to tow the Spindles into the deep dark and then go dark on a ballistic course as soon as they can confirm they’re not being actively pinged by the enemy. Have them take that tanker with them,” I added, “in the meantime, the rest of the fleet will follow the Lucky Clover and rendezvous with Bluetooth’s Fleet. It’s time to rain some pain,” I said fiercely.

  “Aye, Sir,” said the ship’s First Officer, seemingly happy to have something to do as he turned and began to snap out orders.

  There was a major battle currently underway and it was time we got into the action.

  “Let’s make it snappy, Helm,” I barked leaning forward in my chair, “this right here is why the New Confederation is paying us the big bucks.”

  “Aye aye, Admiral,” DuPont said fiercely.

  All around me I could see the veterans, transferred over to the Lucky Clover II when I took her as my new flagship, stiffen their gazes as they readied themselves for battle.

  The original greenies assigned to the Lucky Clover seemed steady enough if not quite as eager for combat as my battle hardened veterans. That said, while they looked very young to me they didn’t seem nearly as unsettled as I would have expected from a truly green bridge crew.

  I probably wasn’t giving them enough credit. This wasn’t the first major battle for most of them and some had been there with Spalding at Black Purgatory and 4th Easy Haven both.

  They would do.

  “Oh, and Coms,” I said dryly causing the Com-Tech beside Lisa Steiner to look at me in surprise.

  “What, Sir?” he asked.

  “I think it’s time we let the New Confederation forces in this system know we’re here—and here to help,” I said.

  Chapter 39: Bluetooth on the Rocks

  Bluetooth coughed, covering his mouth with the sleeve of his uniform.

  “Has someone got that fire out yet?” he demanded roughly before breaking out into another coughing fit.

  “Damage Control reports a fried circuit in the flag bridge’s isolated environmental systems, Rear Admiral. They say it’s going to take them at least fifteen minutes to cut into the secure systems and get to the problem and that’s with them knowing exactly how to access the environmental systems,” reported his Flag Lieutenant.

  “Maybe we should consider moving to the CIC, Sir?” suggested his Chief of Staff.

  Just then a junior petty officer came running in with an armful of rebreather masks.

  The ship suddenly shook and swayed, causing her to stumble spilling head bags all over the floor.

  “Sorry, Sir,” she muttered, scrambling around on the floor.

  Deftly, the Rear Admiral bent down and snatched one up. “We’ll maintain our position here until it gets so thick we can’t see to work or engineering gets the issue under control,” growled Bluetooth, “we don’t have time to waste moving over to the CIC and trying to set everything back up.”

  As he was busy speaking, the flagship rolled and presented its broadside to the enemy and opened fire.

  A pair of enemy Destroyers that had been creeping up on a wounded member of the flotilla were sent reeling away.

  In response, three enemy Battleships pivoted to present their broadsides to the flagship and returned fire.

  “Blast!” Bluetooth swore as one of the ship’s engines was hit and the flagship was sent into an uncontrolled spin.

  “We’ve got a runaway engine. Engineering reports it’s not responding to computer commands; they’re attempting to manually shut down the engine feed,” said the staffer managing the flag bridge’s engineering station.

  “Double blast,” snapped Bluetooth.

  “Do you want me to coordinate with Damage Control and Engineering?” asked the same flag bridge officer.

  “The last thing we need right now is a mix-up in the chain of command. Let the ship’s captain and bridge team run his ship, Johnson,” Bluetooth said shortly.

  “Admiral Norfolk is once again calling upon us to surrender. He’s repeating his claims that we’ll never make it to the hyper limit, much less jump out of this star system, Sir,” said the com-tech manning flag bridge communications.

  “What are your orders, Sir?” asked his Chief of Staff.

  “This is our last major fleet base before New Tau Ceti. If we give it up we’ve given up the entire Sector,” Bluetooth said clenching his jaw.

  “But, sir!” exclaimed his subordinate.

  Bluetooth raised a hand, silencing him.

  He had eyes that could see just as well as anyone else; the flotilla was done. There was still a lot of fight in it, but they were battered and now trapped against their last major fleet base in the Sector.

  They could fight to the death—and make no mistake because that’s what it would be to stay and fight: death. Or the Rear Admiral could order the Flotilla to break formation and it would be every ship for itself as they tried to make it to the hyper limit.

  The only problem with that scenario was that more than three quarters of his lighter units were running on proverbial fumes. They had enough trillium for maybe one jump, two point transfers if they were short-ranged, and that was it.

  It made no sense to have them flee, only to die in cold space their ships trapped in whatever star system they ran out of fuel. Yet on the other hand there was almost no chance his heavier units could disengage.

  He was trying to decide if he had to abandon his lighter units, ordering them to attack in some kind of forlorn hope delaying action, when the hyper footprint of the newly-arriving MSP warships reached his flag ship.

  “Hyper footprint. It’s big. Like nothing I’ve ever seen before,” said Junior Lieutenant Chelsea Manning from her perch at the normally useless navigation station on the flag bridge right before she broke into a loud coughing fit.

  “Put on one of the head bags, Manning,” snapped Bluetooth.

  “I’m receiving a transmission,” reported a com-tech, head cocked to the side in a listening posture.

  His eyes brightened with a sudden surge of hope.

  “Sir, I have Grand Admiral Montagne on the line. He is offering his assistance if we need it. He says the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet is here to help,” reported the Tech.

  There was a moment of stunned, almost appalled silence among the senior members of the bridge crew, and then the junior members of the flag bridge broke out into a spontaneous cheer.

  “Look at those ships. There has to be at least two squadrons of Battleships and that big bruiser in the middle there has to be the Lucky Clover!” exclaimed a Sensor Tech.

  “We’re saved!” cheered one of the Damage Control team who had been operating a portable air scrubber to try and keep the smoke levels from rising above their ability to continue operating from the flag bridge.

  Bluetooth glared at the screen heedless of the rising levels of relief around him.

  “Montagne!” he roared, heedless of the rising moral of the bridge crew and the veins on Bluetooth’s neck bulge
like giant red worms.

  There was a stunned silence on the bridge, and knowing looks were exchanged by the senior staff.

  His Chief of Staff hurried over to him. “Shall we join forces, Sir?” the other officer asked urgently. “I realize it’s a hard pill to swallow but if the only alternatives are surrender or death…” he trailed off only to be interrupted by the same Com-Tech who’d reported the initial contact.

  “I’m receiving a verified transmission using the latest encryption from the Grand Assembly, Admiral,” the Tech exclaimed and then reared back in surprise, “but it looks like it needs your encryption key.”

  “Stand aside,” Bluetooth said abruptly, stepping over to the console and pushing the tech out of his chair.

  “Of course, Sir,” stammered the tech as he hurried out of the way.

  The Rear Admiral input his personal encryption key, causing the screen to flash twice before displaying the files.

  He started reading and then reared back.

  “What is it?” asked his Chief of Staff.

  “Take a look,” Bluetooth said grimly.

  The other man started to read and then he looked over at the Rear Admiral with concern, “This can’t be real.”

  “What is it, sir?” asked the Fleet Operations Officer.

  “They have orders from the Grand Assembly placing our entire force under ‘his’ command,” he said in disbelief before continuing, “Grand Admiral Montagne is supposed to take command of the liberation operation, except he’s no longer Grand Admiral but supposedly the commander of an allied force!”

  “What is this?” asked the Operations Officer with dismay.

  Bluetooth looked ready to chew duralloy. “Do it,” glared Bluetooth.

  “Sir?” his Chief of Staff asked carefully.

  “It’s not like there’ll be much of us left by the time they get here anyway, even if we decide to join forces. But if we tell the Tyrant to go and pound sand we’ll all die anyway,” Bluetooth said bitterly. “Blast those week-kneed politicians,” Bluetooth said, turning away with a curse. “Tell the Tyrant we will acknowledge his authority and await his instructions for future combat operations.”