Admiral's Fall

by Luke Sky Wachter

  “Let’s see if he can find a way out of this mess for the Flotilla,” Bluetooth snapped storming back to his seat.

  His momentary fit of high dungeon was ruined by another triple broadside that forced him to miss his step, lean forward, and cling to the arm of his chair for support

  Chapter 40: MSP Cleaning House

  “We’re receiving a transmission from the Flotilla Commander. The Flotilla acknowledges our authority under the Unified Command provisions of our Articles of Alliance and Admiral Bluetooth is requesting instructions, Sir,” reported the Com-Tech manning the External Comm console in the Communications department designated for use with the Flotilla.

  I sneered and then acknowledged the message. “It sounds like the Rear Admiral is eager to push the blame for his situation onto us, Admiral,” suggested the Lucky Clover’s First Officer, “he still has most of his fleet, even if it's battle damaged, and by acknowledging your authority and command of the unified fleet he can legitimately say that any ships lost from this point forward are not his sole responsibility because you were in command.”

  “Or he could be genuinely interested in saving his fleet,” interjected Lisa Steiner.

  “Anything is possible but I think you’re both right,” I said with a scoff, “the Rear Admiral knows he’s just as likely to die if they’re overrun as anyone else, and if he survives he’ll need political cover to keep his job.”

  “That seems like a jaded approach to looking at things, Sir. If may be so bold,” said the former com-tech and current Chief of Staff.

  “Cynicism and paranoia are what have kept me alive up to this point. Better in my mind to be pleasantly surprised than bitterly disappointed when your high-minded ideals are betrayed. Bluetooth is a veteran of the Sector Guard and, unlike our own Commodore Druid who couldn’t stand the rampant cronyism, corruption and lack of action during the early years of the withdrawal and came to join us, the good Rear Admiral here chose to stay the course,” I said with a shrug. “As such he and I are not likely to see eye to eye, especially considering he was personally selected by our esteemed former Sector Governor to be his private boat driver.”

  There were chuckles around the room as the MSP veterans from the original Lucky Clover and most recently the Royal Rage shared some mirthful looks.

  The First Officer of the new and improved Lucky Clover, on the other hand, couldn’t resist a frown.

  “Is it wise to speak that way about a warship on our side when it’s in the middle of a battle? Calling it a boat I mean,” asked the First Officer with a hint of concern.

  I looked over at him in surprise. “We’ve had a few run-ins with the Battleship Newton in the past, Number One. This was back when the Rear Admiral was still just a Captain,” I paused a beat, “you wouldn’t happen to be a particularly superstitious man, would you Joe?”

  The First Officer, who had been nodding as he followed along, appeared taken aback by the question at the end. “I wouldn’t describe myself as any more superstitious than any other spacer who rides the winds of hyperspace to battle,” First Officer Joe Manblaster replied.

  I looked at him skeptically, wondering if I was looking at a less competent version of Commander Spalding.

  Deciding I didn’t have time to worry about the Clover’s First Officer at a time like this, I turned back to the main screen and picked up my tea cup to break the mood.

  I took a sip and almost immediately spat it back out—it was cold! I turned to the yeoman standing near an emergency seat stationed against a side wall of the bridge, near where the Lancer defense quad was located, and lifted my cup.

  Picking up a tea pot from a recessed storage closet, she hurried over. “More tea, Admiral Montagne?” she asked, lifting the pot and motioning to my cup with the spigot.

  “Mmhmm,” I nodded moving my cup closer.

  As she poured, filling the cup, I sat there looking at the updated battle plot. Besides, just with our own scans, when Bluetooth acknowledged my authority he sent along his fleet’s most recent system scan which obviously included the location of every enemy warship in the system.

  “What’s the breakdown, Tactical?” I asked as I looked at the swarm of red dots surrounding the allied blue icons of the new Confederation fleet.

  “The enemy has a total of 21 Battleships, 45 Cruisers split evenly between heavies and lights, as well as 39 Destroyers. They also have a large dungeon ship that may have been retrofitted as a troop transport, another dedicated transport, and a dozen freighters. The transports and freighters are stationed inside the gravity will, starward of the hyper limit, and orbiting a gas giant with seventeen moons, moonlets and an additional number of large asteroids trapped inside its orbit. They also have what appear to be a screen of Corvettes assigned to their defense. Best estimates are 13 Corvettes,” said the Tactical Officer.

  “A decent sized fleet,” I opined, “do they seem a little light in the Destroyers to you, Lieutenant?”

  “We have reports of numerous engagements between the New Confederation Flotilla and Reclamation Fleet lighter units,” Hart said after a beat, “it makes sense that they would have lesser light units if they were husbanding their heavies for a big push.”

  “You mean if the Rear Admiral fell into their trap,” I corrected.

  “It’s possible the Imperial partisans lost a number of Destroyers when they tried to take this system,” pointed out the Tactical Officer.

  I decided to allow the caveat since my own view of the Sector Guardsmen could very well have tainted my perception of the situation.

  “As for our own side,” continued the Tactical Lieutenant after it was clear I wasn’t going to continue speaking, “it looks like the Flotilla started out with eight Battleships but are now down to six. In addition there are three Heavy Cruisers, fourteen Light Cruisers, and an even mix of heavy and light Destroyers. In total there are still nineteen Destroyers.”

  I looked at the running total of critically damaged or destroyed warships and saw the count had risen to 33 warships lost in action. This ship count included both New Confederation Fleet and Imperials our computers had tallied so far.

  “It sounds like the boys and girls over in the New Confederation’s Fleet are in trouble,” I said, brow wrinkling as I ran the numbers.

  “Sir, we only brought eight Battleships and they have more than twenty,” pointed out Lisa Steiner, “I’m concerned that we’re going to be heavily outnumbered, the Reclamation Fleet is 105 warships strong right now and that’s not even counting their corvettes. We brought only 59 warships total, minus our eight Battleships; that still leaves too many for us to handle. If they take out the Flotilla’s remaining ships or even just most of them we’ll be so heavily outnumbered that this could be rough.”

  I looked at the Lieutenant Commander with surprise. Steiner wasn’t command or a line officer, she’d been on the Communications track before receiving her bump. I’m sure she’d been studying in the meantime but she very rarely interjected an opinion on battle tactics. Probably because she wasn’t qualified to give an informed opinion; I wondered what was different or if something changed.

  “Those Corvettes are out of the equation for the moment,” I observed and paused before deciding to allay her fears instead of shutting her down. Lisa Steiner was one of my veterans and she’d gone above and beyond on several occasions. Since we weren’t engaged in active combat I could afford to take a little time with her right this moment. “Just counting totals, our 59 plus Bluetooth’s 36 puts us at 95. Easily within striking distance of their 105,” I said with assurance, “as for their heavier units, it's true we’re punching up hulls-wise but I think once you include the Clover and our gunboat carriers, things even out. If we stand them off, we win. Their only hope is to get into knife range and overwhelm us. But between our main gun, double Battleship level broadsides and Duralloy II armor, I think we’ll manage,” I finished, deliberately speaking just loud enough that others around the bridge could hear us.

/>   “Thank you, Sir,” my Chief of Staff said, stepping back.

  I nodded and deliberately failed to mention the two squadrons I was leaving behind with the Spindles and trillium tanker brought us down to just over fifty warships engaged with the enemy.

  “Mr. Dupont, full speed ahead,” I ordered.

  “On it, Admiral,” the Helmsman nodded seriously.

  “I have a course laid and ready to go. With your permission, Sir?” said Navigator Shepherd.

  “Granted, Lieutenant,” I said.

  The ship began to take off, with the rest of the fleet taking up formation behind, except as already mentioned for those ships escorting the tanker and Spindles out into the deep dark.

  I had just started to relax for the long haul, and was humming a popular music tune under my breath, when my Chief of Staff politely cleared her throat.

  I looked over at her and cocked my head, causing her to color slightly. “Forgive me if I’m stepping out of line here and feel free to ignore the question. But didn’t the Rear Admiral request instructions?” she asked quietly.

  I blinked, wondering at just how quickly it had slipped my mind and gave an upward head toss of agreement.

  “You’re right,” I sighed, because I didn’t have a quick and ready answer, “Bluetooth put himself straight into the grinder and I’m not quite sure exactly how we’re going to pull his chestnuts out of the fire. Give me a moment to think,” I said with a smile and after she nodded with relief and started to pull back I added, “and thank you for the timely reminder, Lieutenant Commander. Keep it up.”

  “Sure thing, Sir,” she said with a pleased, expression.

  Turning back to the screen, I rubbed my chin as I thought through my potential courses of action. We were too far to get there quickly but not slow enough that there was no hope whatsoever. We were about a fifth of a rotation around the edge of the hyper limit from the closest approach to Bluetooth and his besieged fleet, which presented a few difficulties.

  Ultimately I decided not to leave Bluetooth and his Fleet of Sector Guardsmen swinging in the wind. Which left me with two options: I could either try for a high speed pass with the whole fleet and hope to get there before the battle was all over and done with, or we could split up…

  Given the time differential, there was no point in splitting off the Cruisers and I just didn’t see the point in sending the lighter units out by themselves.

  “Instruct our lighter units to take up position to the rear of our formation. It’s going to be Cruisers and Battleships to the front for a high speed pass on that running space battle—and we’re not slowing for anything,” I finally instructed.

  “What do you want our Corvettes and Destroyers to do during the attack?” asked Lisa Steiner.

  “They are to hang back behind the heavies and look for targets of opportunity. They can also pull a turnaround a lot faster than our big battlewagons. If I see the chance, I’ll empty the Jumbles and unload a swarm of gunboats to accompany them,” I said.

  “I’ll have a tech relay the orders at once,” said Steiner.

  “As for the Rear Admiral, tell him he is to go ballistic and hang on until he reaches,” I took a look; there were two planetary bodies in front of him, the nearest one had a large asteroid that didn’t rotate masquerading as its moon. It would have to do, “Tell him he needs to get to the nearest planet and stay there. After that he’s free to maneuver locally to try and avoid them as best he can, but ultimately there’s no way his ships are running away from the Imperials,” I paused in consideration. “He is also free to allow any of his Captains, or any ship for that matter which are about to be destroyed, to surrender. Assuming he hasn’t poisoned that well as thoroughly as I fear, of course.”

  As much as I disliked the Sector Guardsmen, the Imperial partisans of the Reclamation Fleet had done far more to earn my ire. The Guardsmen just wanted to kill me on the orders of the corrupt politician they helped exploit our Sector of space. The Reclamation Fleet, on the other hand, was determined to put the Imperial jackboot on every star system they could reach. At least the people had a fighting chance of changing things, assuming they ever got tired of local corruption, but the Empire was another story entirely.

  As they say, 'better a tyrant two miles away than one two parsecs.' At least with the local bully you stood a fighting chance.

  “I’ll relay the message,” she said.

  Several minutes after the time it would have taken for a message to reach Bluetooth and a response to reach us we received a hail.

  “Grand Admiral Montagne,” Bluetooth said as soon as he appeared on the screen. He paused for a moment, his mouth working as if he wanted to spit, “The Flotilla has received your orders and will carry them out to the best of our abilities. However I would like to seek clarification as to your intentions because it will be a cold day in the Demon’s Pit before we surrender to these jacks. If we are going to die around those moons—on your orders, I’ll add—then you could at least have the courtesy to tell us in person rather than through some enlisted intermediary.”

  I stilled and then glowered at the still image of the man that was all that was left at the end of the message.

  “Open a channel and prepare a return message for the intrepid Mr. Bluetooth,” I said coldly.

  “Sir?” asked Lieutenant Commander Steiner.

  “Just do it,” I instructed.

  A minute later, Comm. indicated they were ready to send back an encrypted video message.

  “Officer Bluetooth, in case you failed to notice you’ve already done a pretty good job of getting your flotilla killed all by yourself. If you’re determined to fight to the bitter end, feel free, but please refrain from blaming the rescue force on its way to save your arrogant backside. These are the fortunes of war we find ourselves in, not the malicious actions of people you should recognize are on your own side,” I said flatly and then straightened my back and erased the anger from my posture, “that said, if you think you can do better for your fleet than trying for those moons, feel free to exercise your judgment. You’re the commander on the scene and we’ll just adjust our course and rendezvous with you as quickly as possible, either way. Also, in case you didn’t notice, I’m no longer a Grand Admiral with the New Confederation Fleet; a simple 'Admiral' will do fine. Montagne out.”

  The message raced out and then back again while the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet burned toward the action as fast as we were able, and I didn’t fail to note that the remains of the New Confederation Fleet adjusted course to make for the moons.

  “I expected nothing less than this sort of scorn from a man who had an officer like Admiral Yagar killed. Beheaded like a dog on one of your space docks,” Bluetooth said tightly, fury evident on every line of his body, “you might like to blame me so that you can keep your conscience clear, but I would like to point out everything that’s happening in this star system is a direct result of your actions! If you hadn’t cut Tracto’s trillium sales to the Confederation, none of this would be happening. Instead, like a child angry at being scolded by the adults, all you could do was lash out in hatred and in anger and as a result this Flotilla couldn’t maneuver properly—so here we are!” Bluetooth bellowed. “I hope you can find it in your tyrannical heart to forgive me for the oh-so-grave injustice of getting your current blasted rank wrong! The Sweet Saint knows it seems to jump up and down without any rhyme or reason.”

  “Officer Bluetooth, anytime you feel that you can’t work with me feel free to raise your voice and keep yelling at me and I will gladly stop risking the lives of my fleet for yours on a high speed pass,” I said stiffly. “If, however, you still want our assistance you would do very well to remember that I was, am, and do remain your commanding officer—and even if I wasn’t, the men and women of the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet deserve your respect for risking their lives for you here today. I’ll be honest: I expect a great deal more courtesy from my subordinate officers than you have shown here. But, as they say
on the border of Sector 25: perhaps being a former member of the Sector Guard, such minutia as decency and common courtesy escape you,” I took a breath and then gave the holo-pickup a hard look. “Regardless of the cheap shots and theatrics I remain your commanding officer, Admiral Jason Montagne. Hold on; we’re coming to get you,” I said, cutting the channel with an abrupt motion.

  I looked up only to realize that all around me the bridge had fallen into silence. Most of the bridge crew were looking my way and hanging on my every word.

  I cocked a brow. “I’m not a Confederation officer anymore,” I remarked with considerable aplomb, “as such, I don’t have to eat it any more when a bigoted individual like the Rear Admiral decides to vent his spleen.”

  I waited a beat.

  “Is there some reason you all are looking at me instead of attending to your tasks?” I asked mildly.

  Heads jerked around back to their screens and people quickly turned back to their tasks.

  After a minute or two, my First Officer approached.

  “Yes?” I asked neutrally.

  Joe Manblaster gave me a serious look. “Good on you, Sir,” he said with a sharp nod and I looked back at him with surprise. “No one in this fleet wants to leave that Flotilla out there to die because their Admiral’s a tool, but it was high time you gave one of those mutinous dogs what for…if you don’t mind my saying so,” he added when my lack of response seemed to drag on too long for him.

  Over the course of the next hour, we burned toward the Imperial Fleet and were forced to watch as Bluetooth’s warships were blasted out of formation one by one until the Rear Admiral’s fleet finally reached the planetary body and its moon like asteroid. A little less than half of the original warships he entered the star system with survived to reach orbit.

  That would have been all well and good if that were all that happened. The fortunes of war meant that sometimes you won and sometimes you were on the losing side, but the way the Imperials were refusing to accept surrender... More than half the time, and without any rhyme or reason that we could suss out, they seemed determined to blow certain warships to bits, and that caused me to set my jaw.