Admiral's Fall

by Luke Sky Wachter

  “If he’s doing that already the Captain must not be very confident of his chances,” advised the First Officer.

  I eyed him and then decided he was just trying to be helpful.

  “If there’s one thing Captain Eastwood lacks, it’s not confidence. But I take your meaning, Joe. Things must be rough over there if he’s already shipping out the crew,” I said seriously and then shot a look over at the weapon’s console, wondering what was taking so long.

  “An engine-down ship, no idea when exactly they’ll get it back into operation, and now taking major damage from two squadrons of other Battleships all at the same time? You’re darned skippy he’s in it tough,” said Manblaster also eyeing the weaponeer..

  There was a thrum as the main gun fired again.

  A round shot from the front of the Super Battleship, and in a streak of light, the formerly solid slug turned into a stream of plasma.

  Once again the enemy Battleships attempted to maneuver, but we were too close and this time a Battleship right in the middle of the enemy formation took a shot right up the stern.

  “That’ll show them,” Hart said with savage triumph.

  “Sweet Murphy avert,” swore Manblaster as the back end of the Reclamation Battleship spewed one long line of plasma and fire as multiple explosions rocked the ship. Then, in one gigantic blast, the front half of the Battleship was sent flying toward the planetoid while the back end disintegrated. Only a few ragged pieces of duralloy remained to show it had once existed.

  I winced as the six remaining Battleships continued to burn away from us as fast as they possibly could while the front half of the wrecked ship started its fall into orbit.

  “Well hopefully any survivors can make it to an escape pod in time,” I said.

  “After a hit like that? I doubt anyone who's still alive over there is conscious,” Joe Manblaster said looking over at me with disbelief. “Except for maybe a few Marines in power armor, I suppose. After a hit like that…” he shook his head.

  I suppressed a wince. It was far too easy imagining what had happened to the crew of that ship happening to the Royal Rage. I was in a Super Battleship now but I’d been a Battleship Admiral for too long.

  The MSP Battleships went full power to their engines but still weren’t able to catch up before the Reclamation Battleships rounded the curvature of the planet.

  “Do you want to pursue the enemy, Admiral?” asked DuPont.

  I looked at him like he was stupid and DuPont flushed.

  “We can still move at 5% our normal speed just using the gravity-plate system; we can get up to 10% if we use the maneuvering thrusters as well,” the Helmsman protested.

  I kept looking at him causing the Helmsman to flush.

  “Oh, alright,” he said shoulders slumping.

  DuPont turned back to his console muttering about making a very big mistake when he accepted a transfer to the Lucky Clover and proceeded to sulk.

  “Reverse course and turn the flagship away from the direction those Battleships retreated to and prepare for anything,” I instructed, issuing coordinates via my slate, “in the meantime we’re going to assume battle formation and make a nice, easy orbit.”

  “You think they’re going to come at us from another direction?” asked Manblaster.

  “Oh, they’re coming all right. From where exactly is anyone’s guess,” I said, unable to calculate when or where they would come, “the Reclamation Fleet is involved in some larger campaign that doesn’t include turning away without a fight. Plus I’m pretty sure they’ve got blood in their eye for Bluetooth’s Flotilla. They’re not going to stop until we make them or every single warship involved in the ‘atrocity’ they’re accusing the New Confederation of is hunted down and destroyed.”

  “Revenge,” Manblaster agreed heavily.

  “You know what they say back on Capria?” I asked.

  “No. What?” asked the First Officer.

  “Well they say a lot of things actually. The most common is 'never go up against a Montagne when death is on the line',” I started with a smirk only to be interrupted by a loud snort.

  “Pull the other leg,” said Manblaster.

  “Alright, but slightly less well known,” I admitted with a flip of the fingers, “is 'if you go out to kill someone for revenge, prepare to dig two graves: one for the person you’re killing and one for yourself'.”

  “Are you saying you’ve never gone out for revenge?” asked Manblaster.

  My eyes hooded as I recalled the past.

  “Family brings out the worst in a person,” I said in a quiet voice as I recalled my Uncle Jean Luc Montagne.

  “Let’s just say I prefer justice over vengeance and vengeance over revenge whenever I could get it,” I said looking back up and giving him a penetrating glance, “whenever possible I prefer to practice mercy.”

  “You are aware of your reputation among the spaceways, Sir?” asked Manblaster.

  “I didn’t say I was very good at it or that I’m not even worse at winning the PR front. Fool that I was I believed that actions spoke louder than words. But as they say, if a pirate is killed in the spaceways and no one was around to see a Montagne do it, that’s almost the same as if it didn’t happen,” I admitted with a pained expression.

  “That’s bunk. Your crew’s been with you for a while now and they’ve been there since the beginning. At least some of them,” Manblaster corrected himself, “a few of us joined up later. But my point stands: you’re not the only one out here.”

  “No, but other than in Tracto and the Border Alliance worlds no one in Sector 25 sees what we do. That’s been partly my fault but,” I trailed off sourly, “anyway, I’ve put my Chief of Staff on an awareness and PR improvement campaign. Time will only tell if it’s too little too late, though.”

  “The people will know the truth. You just have to get it out there for them to see,” advised Manblaster.

  “Good advice, Joe,” I said, dismissing him.

  As soon as he’d turned back to his other duties I motioned Lisa Steiner over for. “Sir?” she asked.

  “Your PR videos are a good start but I think we need to expand on it. As you can, pull those members of your PR team that aren’t busy fighting the ship and have them start editing footage from our arrival in system to Bluetooth’s maneuvers and my conversation with Norfolk. If the media aren’t interested in doing the job for us, and since we’re no longer members of the Confederation Fleet with all the security restrictions that entails…” I trailed off suggestively.

  Lieutenant Commander Steiner got a considering look on her face. “I can at least have tech start pulling the relevant data feeds and audio-video files for consumption. We can edit later,” she said, “but if we have it all in one place to start that’ll make it easier later on.”

  “I’ll want to go over anything you release for public consumption, but I think this is a great start. In fact,” I said with narrowed eyes, “now that I’m thinking about it, we might want to start making and releasing a highlights reel of our top battles. We can start with Black Purgatory as the most recent and thus relevant and work our way back. First Officer Manblaster has a point. The public will support us but we have to do our job first and I can’t see anything better to start off with than making these press releases and dropping them off at every inhabited star system we enter.”

  “Will do, Sir,” she said happily.

  When I looked back up I could see DuPont had re-positioned the Lucky Clover and our accompanying Battleships had taken up position around us. All except for the hapless Messene’s Shield.

  Curious about the rest of the fleet, I zoomed out minimizing local space until our Corvettes, Cruisers and Destroyers were once again visible on my screen.

  Unfortunately they were still a good hour out. Which meant we were going to have to weather the storm ourselves first.

  Projecting total confidence, no matter my private concerns, I assumed what I thought of as the confident Admi
ral’s expression and demeanor the bridge crew had come to expect from me and waited.

  Over the course of the next half hour as we sat there and basically waited, in a stable orbit around the planetoid, ships started trickling in.

  First a battered Destroyer, then a pair of Cruisers and two more Destroyers appeared over the horizon and, like little lost lambs seeing a shepherd, they ran for cover.

  After that a small flood of ships saw us on sensors and came to the space-based equivalent of a screeching halt, rushing over to join us as fast as they could.

  Occasionally a warship we couldn’t identify would round the horizon and then, just as quickly, it would turn away before we could get a good read on them.

  When the remains of Rear Admiral Bluetooth’s Flotilla, including three surviving Battleships, finally limped into range of the Clover I figured we were close to getting most of the survivors. Less than twenty ships had survived the pitched battle, flight to the moon, and sprawling melee around the planetoid and not one of them was undamaged. Most of the survivors had functional engines but that’s only because those that didn’t had already been run to ground.

  Sadly, at least to my mind the architect of the current disaster, Rear Admiral Bluetooth had survived. Transferring his flag twice after his flagship had been taken out, he’d escaped in the captain’s cutter, eventually taking up residence on a nearby Destroyer.

  “Admiral Montagne,” started one of the com-tech, “I have a Rear Admiral Bluetooth for you. He’s calling from the sickbay of a Destroyer, the New Confederation Blaster, Sir,” he reported.

  “Inform the Rear Admiral I have things well in hand, and unless he has mission-critical information about the enemy he should look after his own health first and foremost,” I said, having less than no interest in hearing from the irate Sector Guardsman.

  The com-tech relayed my instructions and then winced as he proceeded to reply in one and two word syllables.

  For a moment I considered taking over the conversation and sparing the spacer from the situation, but ultimately decided I really and truly didn’t have time to bandy words around with a man bad enough off that he needed to be in sickbay. Silently making a note to do something nice for the com-tech, I turned back to the main screen.

  When they finally came it was only after a rapid series of half a dozen flickering contacts over a two minute period. But after those tentative scouting contacts, when they came it was clear Admiral Norfolk was here in force.

  “I read nineteen Battleships broken up into two forces, one of nine and the other consisting of ten Battleships,” reported Lieutenant Hart as sensor operators continued to call out new contacts as they arrived.

  As the Tactical Officer had said, the enemy split their Battleships into two groups. And although they were spread out in a slightly staggered line so that one shot from the HPC couldn’t possibly hit more than one of them, even if it punched right through a hull, what was more interesting to my mind was the screen they’d put out front.

  Contrary to normal logic, while the Battleships were spread out in a line facing away from us and on either side of their fleet, the Cruisers and Destroyers were bunched up in two groups and each group was positioned to block our line of fire.

  Now that I watched, although they were close together, Norfolk had clearly split his fleet into two groups and put his lighter ships out front to soak up fire.

  “He’s a wily one,” I said grimly.

  “What do you want us to do, Sir? Should we hold our fire?” asked Manblaster.

  “Don’t wait for orders; line up your best shot and fire,” I instructed.

  “Aye aye, Sir,” said the First Officer.

  With a rumble, the main cannon fired and we all watched with eager anticipation as the high speed projectile turned to plasma, slammed into a Destroyer, turning it into two separate pieces, and then splattered all over the shields of the Battleship behind it.

  “Reclamation Battleship is falling out of formation with heavy damage,” Hart reported in a rising voice.

  There was a momentary pause, and then when a flashing red circle appeared around the Battleship on the main screen the bridge broke out into cheers.

  “They can hide but it won’t do them any good, right, Weapons?” I asked with a tight smile.

  “Aye aye, Admiral!” the Weaponeer said smiling with relief and a rising elation of his own.

  “Don’t celebrate yet,” warned Manblaster and as we watched either a medium or Light Cruiser moved directly in front of each of the 18 remaining enemy Battleships.

  “Enemy is advancing,” warned Sensors.

  The Weaponeer checked his console.

  “Don’t worry; we’ll get another shot in for sure, Sirs,” he said confidently.

  Manblaster gave him a strict look for speaking out of turn, but I motioned with my hand for the First Officer to let it go.

  Things were about to get tight and we were going to need all the enthusiasm we could muster up.

  “Any orders, Sir?” asked DuPont eagerly.

  “We’re going to let them come to us, Helm,” I said confidently as the main capacitor for the HPC continued to build up a full charge.

  “Enemy is closing to firing range. They’re still not turning,” advised Hart.

  I turned my head. “Tell our Battleship captains they can fire at will,” I said.

  “Aye aye!” the tech said eagerly.

  For a moment, watching the hustle and bustle on the bridge, I was taken by nostalgia all the way back to my first days running the original Lucky Clover.

  Admiral Norfolk appeared to have every intention of coming straight at us. It was almost as if we’d returned to the days of infantry attacks before man had achieved star flight and, just like one of Napoleon’s columns facing a line formation, the Reclamation Fleet pressed the attack.

  “If this keeps up they won’t be crossing our T, they’ll interpenetrate our lines and make an actual T-shaped battle,” warned Hart, “and then we’ll really be in it.”

  “Approaching this Super Battleship is suicide,” scoffed Manblaster.

  “Not if you get in close and stay there,” I said grimly.

  “Your orders, Sir?” asked the First Officer.

  “Stay where we are and make our next shot count,” I replied, and at the surreptitiously uncertain looks flying around the bridge exchanged by the younger crew, I added, “we’ve got twice the armor of a traditional Battleship and Duralloy II is almost twice as strong. We can shrug of the same sort of damage that would put any two Battleships out of action and continue offensive operations.”

  Eyes brightened with relief.

  “Don’t forget,” Lieutenant Hart reminded, “we’ve also got the laser mounts of any two Battleships…” he paused a beat, “anything other than a Caprian Battleship, that is.”

  This time there were chuckles all around the bridge. If the senior crew sounded hearty and the green add-on’s who’d been on this ship from the beginning more high pitched and irregular, no one made anything of it.

  Like a sledgehammer, the Reclamation Fleet under Admiral Norfolk barreled forward. Unlike the SDF Fleets of the Spine, the Imperials eschewed any of the older and much slower forward facing models like the Hammerhead class Cruisers and right now it cost them.

  Other than a handful of Heavy Destroyers with a bank of forward-facing medium lasers, the best the Reclaimers could do was respond with a few light lasers originally intended for point defense.

  Broadside after broadside shot out from our Battleship squadrons smashing into the Imperial screen with the sort of force that only turbo-lasers and full banks of heavy lasers could do. Destroyers were shot to pieces. Cruisers were left drifting in space and still they advanced.

  The light forces—originally intended as screening force used to escort freighters, hunt down pirates and for use in fleet battles as scouting elements—were torn to pieces.

  Showing the measure of their resolve, when a Light Cruiser was
left drifting powerless, blocking the advance of the main body, the Battleships of the opposite column opened fire on their own Cruiser. The force of the attack and multiple hull ruptures that resulted proved just enough to push the beleaguered Cruiser out of the way.

  “And so we see the measure of their resolve,” I said, my face deliberately blank. For the first time today the Reclamation Fleet was getting a taste of its own medicine, and it left a sour taste in my mouth.

  “It was their choice to come at you like this, putting their weakest and most defenseless ship right in the path of your strongest warships,” Akantha placed a hand on my shoulder and reminded me.

  “This is going to get interesting,” I said, looking over my shoulder and giving her a tight smile.

  “It's enemies like these that give you battles you’ll never forget,” Akantha said with a glow in her eyes.

  I pinched the bridge of my nose for strength and then looked back up at her. “You’re right,” I said, even though I was pretty sure we were talking about two not quite but almost separate things right now.

  “Main gun is ready for action, Admiral!” reported Weapons.

  “If you and the Helmsman are confident in your solution, feel free to take the shot,” I said.

  “Aye, Sir,” the Weaponeer said holding a hand to his ear and speaking to someone, probably DuPont before nodding sharply. After several seconds leaning over his console the Lucky Clover the specialist thrust a finger onto his console with sudden force and once again the Super Battleship began to thrum.

  There was a faint vibration and then a ball of death shot out the nose of the Lucky Clover, at first it had an angry red color and then it struck a Light Cruiser and flared into a expanding ball of fiery death.

  Superheated metal shot out the side of the Cruiser and the back of the ship broke as the remainder of the plasma ball splattered against the shields of the Battleship hidden behind it. At first it looked like nothing had happened, and then as the sensors cleared I could make out more than a few places where hyper-velocity duralloy shards from the Cruiser had peppered the hull of the Battleship. I could tell because they were still sticking out of broken sections of the other ship’s armor.