Admiral's Fall

by Luke Sky Wachter

  “Oh, I have,” Magnus said direly, “which is why I have decided you’re either deeper than you want me to think or you really are incompetent,” snorted the Imperial Admiral.

  “Just tell me what’s happening so I can make it right,” urged Isaak, wondering how the conversation had gone from slow-roasting Jason Montagne over a spit to defending himself from an Imperial inquest!

  “Tell me everything you know about the secret coded transmissions Admiral Manning has been receiving,” Magnus demanded.

  Isaak blinked and then blanched. “It’s Admiral Montagne! He’s trying to set me up to take the fall. He’s probably sending fake transmission to throw you off the trail. It’s a bluff,” Isaak said hesitantly, and then much more firmly as it all became clear, “yes, that’s exactly it: a bluff! He wants you to think Manning is ready to join him when nothing could be further from the truth! You’ve been played, Admiral. But there’s still time to make it right. We can nab the traitor Montagne and execute him in the name of the Empire.”

  “How easily you turn over one of your own, an officer who fought and bled for you and your government. If this is the thanks your people received for their efforts I’m suddenly less surprised at Manning’s hesitation to follow orders,” said Magnus.

  Isaak flushed. “There are many reasons we lost. I’m just glad that you realize this is all a plot. Montagne is a paper panther and there’s not a fleet in this Sector that would help him, I swear it,” Isaak said putting as much sincerity into his voice as he could.

  Magnus started to nod and then looked at him sharply. “How sly you are with words,” he said stone-faced. “Where you really unaware that Manning’s Fleet went into jump days ago? Hours after receiving Jason Montagne’s coded message!”

  “What?” Isaak gasped instantly turning white.

  “What do you know about the Fleet of warships that’s been sitting on the border of your Sector with Sector 24 for the past two months? Where is Manning’s fleet?!” asked Magnus. “And don’t lie to me or this time you really won’t like my response.”

  Isaak gaped at him. Magnus scoffed and pulled out his sidearm.

  “Speak,” Davenport ordered, “I let Montagne go because there isn’t just Manning’s un-surrendered fleet to worry about, but another Fleet with a full 200 warships. So if you have nothing to tell me you’re as good as useless and in the Empire useless mean’s dead.”

  So saying, he placed the barrel of his blaster pistol against Isaak's head.

  Isaak paled mind racing. Manning had gone off the rails at the worst possible time and there was nothing in the direction of Sector 24. Both Sectors 23 and 24 had donated all the ships they could spare to New Confederation Fleet. The only thing left was out past them into…

  He flushed with rage.

  “It must be those blighters in Sector 22! They promised me a fleet and never delivered,” cried Isaak.

  Magnus Davenport looked at him levelly and then returned his pistol to its holster.

  “Well whether they betrayed you, have cut a deal, or have been working for you all along no longer matters. I can’t trust a word out of your mouth, either out of guile or incompetence. You’ve proven yourself useless to the Empire in this region,” Magnus Davenport said, turning for the door.

  “I swear it’s the truth,” Isaak said and waited until the door closed shut before collapsing in his chair in relief.

  Furiously his mind raced and he came up with only one conclusion.

  Monsignor Raipur Rajputan had betrayed him. He’d been lead around by the nose—possibly from the very beginning!

  How sure he’d been that the incompetent Daily Speaker Norman Watts from the 22nd Sector. But who had ever so incompetently introduced his Policy Adviser to the Monsignor? A Monsignor who had then gone on to string him, Isaak, along, causing the Speaker to split his fleet at a critical juncture?!

  He’d been played.

  If he hadn’t sent Montagne away then the Aegis situation would never have developed. The Reclamation Fleet would have been quickly crushed and their forces might have even been strong enough to fight off this latest wave of attacks by the 5th Battle Fleet and their Confederation Fleet allies.

  Isaak collapsed.

  This was all his fault…

  No, wait! This was really all the fault of Manning, that Monsignor Raipur Rajputan and his stooge, Norman Watts!

  “Your time is coming,” he silently promised.

  Chapter 63: Returning Home in Exile

  Our return to Tracto was decidedly less than triumphant. Humiliated by both the Empire and our own side, this was nothing less than a return in disgrace.

  The bitterness of defeat was thick on my tongue, but at least we were alive. I reminded myself of that little factoid several times an hour after we jumped out of the star system and rejoined the Lucky Clover II, our now no longer needed space born ground forces, and the Elder Jump Spindles.

  “So you’re saying he wants both Command Carriers as well as the Phoenix?” asked Spalding.

  “And every Imperial ship we’ve captured. 'Not a single mono-locsium hull' is how I believe he termed it,” I drooped.

  “Well, it could be worse. A lot worse,” Spalding said after ruminating for a minute.

  “What?” I said with surprise..

  “Well he could have asked for the Spindles or every ship we’d captured to date. Or even just that we turn over our Battleships,” Spalding said with a shrug, “if you’re going to lose, this isn’t a half bad way to go about things actually. I mean at least we won’t have any Imperial jackboots pressing down on the necks or our people. This is over and done in one.”

  “Forgetting the fact I’m exiled from the Sectors I fought so hard to defend?!” I protested.

  “We fought so hard to defend, and probably the only thing we’re forgetting is yer pride,” Spalding said seriously. “Get over it, Sir. I realize you’re not used to losing the big ones but we’re alive to fight another day, and that’s saying something. The Empire’s just too big and too powerful. Frankly I’m surprised we lasted as long as we did! So pull your head out and be happy. You get to go home!” Spalding declared with a smirk. “So go see the kiddos, hug the wife, and remember: it could have been a lot worse. For instance, you could be in prison.”

  “Yes. Yes I could,” I said. It didn’t help much but it did help, “thank you, Commander.”

  After speaking with Spalding on the Lucky Clover II and jumping home. Engineering secured the Command Carriers and other Imperial warships and prepared to drop them off in an uninhabited system designated by the Empire.

  Fortunately, as Spalding had said, along the way we had squirreled away the better part of a Fleet of heavy hitters. Ships that had been defeated and assumed totally destroyed in previous battles from Gambit and Black Purgatory.

  The Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet and its Little Admiral might have fallen, but we would lick our wounds, repair those ships, and bide our time…for now.

  More importantly, we would make sure those members of the crew who wanted go back to their home worlds would be able to do so and if they wanted to stay they could do that too.

  We were no longer a Confederation Fleet of any sort. We weren’t even an allied fleet any longer.

  But they'd made the mistake of leaving me alive. Both the Empire and those traitors in the Assembly would pay one day, but in the meantime life goes on.

  Chapter 64: Dropping off Our Pride

  “What are we doing out here, Commander?” Brence asked looking at his sensors.

  “Dropping off our pride, son,” Spalding said stoically.

  “Why do it then? We’ve fought worse odds,” the Lieutenant said stoically, “and we’ve won. I’m sure the Little Admiral has another trick up his sleeve. He always has another trick,” he opined loyally.

  “Sometimes you have to retreat to advance,” said the old engineer wearily. “Secure the ships and prepare the spindles to jump. As soon as the spindles are back at Tracto, se
nd a message to the Empire. Their ships are here,” said Spalding.

  “I still say we could have taken them,” grumbled Brence.

  “Then you can’t count,” Spalding growled, “and anyways we’ve been fighting for almost six years now. The crew deserves a break. A chance to go home see their kin and recuperate.”

  “I wouldn’t mind going back to see my mother,” Brence said wistfully. He paused. “Of course I’m just as likely to be arrested the moment I step foot on the tarmac and given the chance to see her, but still,” he said and then shot Spalding a sideways look. “Ever considered taking some time and going to see your son?”

  “He’s dead to me,” Spalding said fondly before gruffly clearing his throat. “Besides he’s far too busy with a real man’s work to take his attention away from his ship and spend time with a senile old man like myself,” he declared, but the twinkle in his eyes belied his words.

  “If you say so,” said Brence.

  “At any rate it’s time to beat feet and make like stardust. I won’t countenance losing these Spindles,” Spalding declared, and that was that.

  Epilogue: The Last Man Standing

  Imperial Admiral Magnus Davenport marched into the office of the Speaker for the New Regime, soon to be the Old Regime, for the last time.

  “Mr. Speaker,” he inclined his head, “has the resolution to dissolve gone through?”

  “Without a hitch,” Isaak said with relief, “by this time tomorrow every Representative on the Monitor will be going home via courier, freighter or passenger liner.”

  “Excellent work; it’s a shame it has to end this way,” said Magnus Davenport.

  Isaak scratched the back of his head. “We worked well together,” he said with careful enthusiasm, “but I have to admit I’ll be happy when I get to go back home to Capria. My welcome might not be the best back home, but it beats the alternative and, as they say, there’s always the next election. Now that we’re back under the Old Confederation, the Sector government will have to be reconstituted.”

  “About that,” Magnus Davenport said.

  The Former Speaker for the Grand Assembly froze.

  “Well even if I’m not allowed to stand for elections, a nice retirement sounds wonderful,” he said, breathing quickly.

  “Isaak Newton, former Governor of Sector 25, Former Speaker for the Rebel Regime of the Spine, you are hereby under arrest for crimes against the Empire,” Magnus Davenport said, putting an official paper scroll on his desk.

  “What’s the charge?! This is Confederation territory, you can’t just—” he stopped as a pair of Marine Jacks went around behind the table taking him by either arm.

  “The Confederation has agreed to extradition,” Magnus Davenport said evenly.

  Isaak slumped. “But why? I gave you everything you wanted on a silver platter,” Isaak Newton said, drawing himself up with dignity.

  Magnus Davenport looked down his nose at the former Speaker. “I had orders to get back our Command Carriers, remove the stain on the Empire from Cornwallis’s defeat, and above all do it in time for the 5th Battle Fleet to return to the Gorgon Front in time to resume our rotation in something resembling a reasonable timetable. Significant losses in my fleet were to be avoided if possible,” explained the Admiral.

  “You’ve succeeded! Go home, there’s no need to take me,” urged Isaak, sweat breaking out on his forehead.

  “You remember how I mentioned the stain on the Empire’s honor? Well someone has to be held accountable, and you’re the last man standing,” smirked Davenport.

  “Montagne’s the one you want. It’s Jason Montagne that’s done this! Take him—it’s all him. I’ll even tell you where to get him,” cried Isaak.

  “You know that, and I know that, but the way my government looks at things is quite different in some ways from the Confederation. To them the man who gave the orders is just as guilty, or even more so than the man who carried them out,” Davenport said, his face hardening.

  “But I didn’t order the Tyrant to unleash the Bugs on Cornwallis. I fired him as soon as I found out!” shouted Isaak.

  “Control yourself. If I had been certain I wouldn’t take major losses defeating Montagne, or if you’d had control of your fleets…but you didn’t,” Davenport said sympathetically. “It doesn’t matter anymore. You were the man at the top. It was your job to know what your people were doing and have control of your fleets…all your fleets,” the Imperial Admiral said with a hard look, “as it is, Montagne got away and you’re the last man standing. The Empire needs its red meat.”

  Isaak nodded and kept nodding before suddenly lunging toward his desk.

  For one brief moment he thought he’d broke free of the grip the Jacks had on his arms as he reached for his hold-out pistol strapped to the underside of his desk, and then he was slammed face first into the desk.

  “Rebel Isaak Newton, you are under arrest for authorizing the use of biological weapons of mass destruction. You will be held until such a time as you can be taken before an Imperial tribunal to stand trial in front of a magistrate. Because you are being held on Section 7 terrorism charges you do not have the right to remain silent, you must tell us everything we need to know, and provide us all the passwords to your private devices. Do you understand your rights as they have been presented to you?” asked an Imperial Officer

  “You just told me I don’t have any! Let me go. I’m just a politician. You can’t do this. I didn’t kill anyone. It’s all that traitor Jason Montagne fault—he’s the one you want!” Isaak screamed.

  “We are doing this,” grunted Davenport. “In the Empire just following orders is a valid defense; it doesn’t always save you from execution but what it means is that the man giving the orders is just as responsible for the execution of them even if he’s unaware of the results—as you were when you ordered Montagne to stop the 2nd Reserve Flotilla 'by any means necessary.' Bailiff, take him away,” ordered Admiral Magnus Davenport.

  Isaak Newton screamed like a stuck pig, kicking, bucking and writhing as they took him away.

  “I want an attorney! I’m being framed. I demand justice,” he shrieked as they hauled him off.

  The End