by Chris Hechtl
Catherine shook her head. That brought the admiral up short. His eyes narrowed. “What?”
“We've lost two destroyers and a cruiser.”
“Damn,” Sedrick murmured.
“They might have jumped far enough out for us to miss it, but I doubt it,” Jeremy stated. All eyes turned to the navigator. “The tin cans took a lot of hits,” he warned.
“Everyone did,” Berney growled. “Fortunately, we didn't lose any of the capital ships,” he said.
“It's a mixed blessing,” Sedrick murmured.
“Oh? For my sake it's a good blessing. We're still here, right?” the chief of staff demanded. The Spook nodded.
“Get me a damage report on all the ships. Start with any recent changes from the last report. Make certain everyone is doing their best to fix it. Catherine, I want a SITREP on our logistics and an inventory on our counter missiles and parts.”
“Fighters are expended. We've got two left, both damaged, sir,” Catherine reported instantly.
“Missiles weren't fired. We've got plenty of offensive fire power. It's the counter missiles where we're hurting at,” Myron reported.
“Get me that report. Obviously we can't resupply, but we can work on the internal repairs.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
“Should we translate up an octave sir? Put on some speed? I mean if the other ships can handle it,” Jeremy said hastily.
“No. Not yet. Just get on the repairs,” the admiral ordered. “Jeremy, see me in my office in a moment,” the admiral ordered.
“Aye, sir,” the navigator replied with a frown. Catherine frowned as well as the admiral turned away from them. She glanced at the others. Berney shrugged. Myron was already head down, working on the counter missile inventory. Her frown deepened, but she too got to work.
:::{)(}:::
Chief Riker swore viciously as he worked on the damage report. Every ship had been damaged to various degrees. He'd heard about Devil's Archer, Bitchslap, and Reaper. Tough breaks for all of them. He hadn't known anyone on those ships, but he felt for their crews.
Star Mauler hadn't been close to any, so they couldn't really tell if any of the three ships had been lost for good or not. They might have broken up … or they might have crash translated back down into real space or up into another octave. There was no telling without someone near when they translated.
He glanced over to the Marines working on clearing some of the debris. The temptation to space the debris was strong, but he had learned to overrule it. It was awkward getting it out of the area and to somewhere it could be assessed and reworked, but necessary. Which was where the Marines came in. It might not seem like a job for a Prince Mason, but the young man had learned not to complain about the work.
He breathed in and out as a sweaty Mallory came over to him. She wiped at her brow and then took a drink from a sports bottle. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, wiping grease all over it. She spat, then looked at her hand and snarled something.
“Yeah, yeah. Good look for you,” Floyd said. “You have something for me?”
“Doctor Tabernaky said Bob will pull through,” she said.
“About the ship?” the chief engineer asked, not looking at her.
“Thought you'd want to know. Apparently not,” she said in an okay drawl. “Silly me. Anyway …”
“I did appreciate it. But right now keeping the ship running keeps us all alive. It's all about priorities. The good of the many outweighing the few.”
“Or the one. Boss, that is a stupid quote,” she said.
“But accurate.”
“Funny. Anyway, as I was saying, we've got the shield nodes evened out. The ventral and stern loads have been spread. No structural damage other than the minor shit you've got here. I've got the crew keeping an eye out for signs of buckling though.” She went to wipe her brow with the back of her hand, thought better of it, and then dropped her hand to her tank top to lift it up to wipe her brow. “Compartments Echo four through ten are still in vacuum. We've got dead in two of them according to DCC. The trapped crew who survived have been evaced,” she reported.
“Good,” the chief replied, making a note in his own report. He was due to give it to the captain and XO shortly.
“Damn it, boss, we just finished fixing some of this shit, we were nowhere near done, and now we've got to start all over again!” Mallory snarled, waving an impotent hand.
Mason looked up from where he was working, snorted and then went back to it.
“Yeah, I know. The good news is; practice makes perfect I suppose. And we're getting plenty of that,” the chief replied dryly.
“Some would say too much,” Mallory grimaced.
“Right. So, we keep doing what we're doing. Patch what we can.”
“Aye aye, sir,” the assistant chief said wearily.
“I didn't say it'd be easy,” the chief said. “And yeah, I know, it sucks. And we may have to go through it again one or more times.”
“You heard something?” Mallory asked worriedly.
Floyd noted a few heads and ears cock in his direction. He snorted. “No, I've been down here with the grunts,” he said, indicating the work party just as a sailor started to cut away a twisted beam. The supporting brace had been hydraulically pressed into place. Tack welds held it there, but they needed a better fix soon.
Unfortunately, with the beam that had been there a mangled mess they couldn't rework it, which meant finding a replacement or piecing together something else. The expression “rob Peter to pay Paul” ran through his mind.
He couldn't just leave the temporary brace in place like some wanted to do. He had a dark feeling he'd need it again later.
“Sir?”
“Sorry,” he said, jerking as if startled. “Where was I? Oh, yeah. I think we all know the enemy's going to chase us. The shoe is on the other foot. And it's not like we can outrun them very fast,” he said, indicating the damage. “So yeah, I think we've got at least one more battle in the foreseeable future,” he said.
“Just as long as it's not tomorrow or the day after. I plan to sleep in,” Mallory said. Floyd snorted as she took off.
:::{)(}:::
Captain Red O'Shanasae nodded to Commodore Eichmann as the other man exited the officer's wardroom. “Everything all right, Captain?” the commodore asked.
“Just peachy, sir. We're still getting a handle on the damage but engineering says they are on top of it.”
“Good. Keep me posted,” the commodore ordered.
“Aye aye, sir,” the captain replied dutifully. Once the commodore was gone, he stepped through the hatch into the wardroom. He looked around the compartment and then went over to the kitchenette.
“So, we live to fight another day,” he murmured softly to himself. Something told him life would have been a lot simpler and a whole lot safer if he'd taken his father's advice and stayed in the Gather Fleet.
But then again, word was they were going to merge the two fleets eventually anyway. He mentally shrugged such concerns aside as he picked up a pastry and poured himself some juice concentrate. He'd have his coffee later. They had to ration things like that now, he thought. As captain he allowed himself two cups a day … unless stress dictated otherwise.
“Eggs, sir?” the cook asked, leaning through the pass through window.
“Scrambled,” the captain said, taking a seat at the head of the table. The chair was warm; undoubtedly the commodore had just vacated it. He turned until his eyes found a tablet. He looked up to the vid screen, but it was black and cracked. He shook his head, got up and grabbed the tablet, then sat back down again. He checked the ship's status board, fighting a yawn as his breakfast was made. “Life goes on,” he muttered under his breath as he switched to the fleet view. He scowled when he noted the three missing ships. “At least for some of us,” he growled.
:::{)(}:::
“Big flipping deal, they ran,” Dom growled as he listened to the news report. “You know they'll
be back, right?” he demanded, eyeing Jo and Caitlin.
“You really love to look at the sunny side of things, don't you?” Caitlin demanded.
He shrugged. “It pays to be honest. It's kept me alive this far. You too,” he said, nodding to her and then pointing a finger at his brat of a niece. “And her.”
“Yes, Dom, we know they can be back. I doubt it though,” Jo replied, rolling her eyes to Caitlin as she wrapped her arms around her uncle's neck and shoulders. “Now, stop being a grump and let us enjoy the moment, okay? We won, not many of our people got hurt or killed, and we've got months to …”
“To do what?” Dom demanded. “Sit here like a big target?”
“For us, yes,” Caitlin said. “For the military, they'll bust their ass to hit the enemy hard.”
“Pushaw. Them? They'll sit back on their ass and pat themselves on the back till they’re bruised,” Dom growled.
Jo just shook her head and sighed heavily. She kissed her uncle on the ear then rested her chin on his head.
:::{)(}:::
Admiral Irons grinned when he read the report. “They were routed. It would have been nice if Amadeus could have arranged a knockout though,” he said.
“I know. Did you finish reading the report though, sir?” Sprite asked carefully.
“Obviously not but you have,” the admiral replied as his smile fell. “So … what am I missing?” he asked, eyes scanning the file.
“Check their heading and Admiral White's misgivings,” she said helpfully. A section of the report was underlined and highlighted to attract his attention. He scanned it and grunted, sitting back. “Is he right?”
“I'm not a navigational expert. I don't know for certain, but he could be. They could very well change course in hyper though.”
“But he doubts it. His gut says something else is up. Okay,” the admiral said with a nod.
“Do we say that when the press asks why he's not in pursuit?” Sprite asked.
Admiral Irons snorted. “Hardly. We tell them he's consolidating his forces and finishing his resupply before he goes after them,” he said.
“Ah, okay,” Sprite replied with a nod. “The news is hitting Protodon now. We're getting the first reports from Lieutenant Locke on the planet.”
“Keep me posted,” the admiral replied with a nod. “And brief Liobat so she's not caught flat footed.”
“Aye aye, sir,” the A.I. replied as he turned back to his scheduled briefing.
:::{)(}:::
The Retribution Fleet sailed for a day in hyperspace, transiting only a few octaves up through Alpha band as the various ships got their damage control sorted out. Then once they'd received a SITREP relayed from all ships, the admiral ordered them to halt their flight translate back down. Once back in the first octave, he ordered that they wait in hyperspace.
“We're not going further, sir?” Sedrick asked, now thoroughly confused by the change of orders.
Catherine wasn't certain either. Did the admiral have second thoughts?
“No. We have a limited time in hyper. We're going to wait some time, then drop a scout and see if they took the bait,” the admiral said simply.
Catherine froze. She glanced at the gaping intelligence officer and then nodded once. Her full attention turned to the admiral, studying him with new intent interest. “I see, sir. It was all a ruse.”
“Yes. One of the contingency plans I wrote. You didn't see it?” the admiral asked mildly, looking at her and then to the INTEL officer.
The INTEL officer looked down and away and then tugged on his collar.
“I guess I missed it or it was kept under wraps, sir,” Catherine replied, equally mild. “I don't remember it being brought up in a meeting so we could all be on board, nor any requests to disseminate it or drill on it,” she said pointedly.
“I'll make certain you get a copy,” the admiral said soothingly, “since you are my Operations officer after all.”
“Thank you, sir, that would be nice to be kept in the loop,” the princess replied in a slightly aggrieved tone of voice.
The admiral waved a gnarled hand. “Don't pout. I knew what I was doing.”
“Yes, sir. But it's my job to make sure you don't shoot yourself in the foot and that everyone is on the same page. Too many operations have been blown because someone assumed everyone else knew what he was thinking or intended. You, sir, taught me that,” she reminded him gently.
The admiral nodded and signaled a touché in the salle. The princess smiled a bit.
Chapter 36
Admiral White was initially tempted to turn the tables and run the enemy fleet down. Now that they were on the run and worse, damaged, he could foresee his taking them down. His training said to run them down before they did more damage elsewhere. But then there was that thing about chasing a wounded animal … cornering them could inflict damage on his own forces … that thought lingered in his mind. Timing was also of issue. His ships were faster than the enemy ships; he knew that based on rough calculations on how long it had taken them to get to Protodon. But how faster was he? Did he want to find out? He'd love to jump in to B-95a3 ahead of the fleet and set up a second ambush, but there was no guarantee it would work. They might jump short or not at all. They could turn around … that was an ominous thought.
He rubbed his jaw pensively, and then stroked his neck fur as he gamed out the various possibilities.
His staff worked on settling prioritizing the repairs once the fighters and bombers were recovered. Once things were under control, he called a meeting.
But he'd waited a little too long. As Jojo arranged the meeting, fresh missives came in from the planet as well as from Congress. They praised him and the fleet, but made it clear they didn't want him to abandon his post to go off in pursuit.
“As all of you know and some of you have pestered me about, I've considered chasing the enemy. We have the time to easily get ahead of them if they stick to their known pace. The question is, should we? That got complicated when I received this,” he said, waving his tablet. He set it down on the council table and then flicked a finger onto the icon to the main view screen. The files were transferred, including those he highlighted.
“Amadeus, I'm receiving a lot of political pressure for you to remain …,” Commodore Vargess read out loud only to be interrupted by a gasp and some protests. Admiral White waved them down. Slowly the room quieted.
Commodore Harris shook his head. “I can't believe this. It's not like Admiral Irons to armchair quarterback …”
“He's right. We could jump out, and they could jump right back in. They'd tear everything apart, and we'd be nowhere around to stop them, sir,” Captain Mayweather stated, looking at the admiral.
The Neochimp admiral eyed her, gauging her response against her personal history. She saw those wheels turning and flushed.
“I agree, sir,” Commodore Vargess stated. The admiral's brown eyes cut to him. “It is prudent to be cautious … to a degree. If we stay we let them get away to lick their wounds and fight another day. Well, we know where they will eventually end up.”
Amadeus nodded. “They will have to fall back to Dead Drop.”
“Yes, sir. If we split our forces to cover Protodon, we may not have enough to do the job right and also invite defeat in detail. If we follow with everything we can muster, we invite them to double back and possibly attack here. If we don't follow, we invite political backlash anyway,” the commodore said.
“Catch twenty-two,” Commodore Harris said with a grimace. “Damn, I'm not thrilled about the political calculus and hoops you have to jump through, sir,” he said, shaking his head.
“Welcome to flag rank. Glad you could join and get the same headaches I've got,” Admiral White said sarcastically. “Any ideas on how to untie this Gordian knot?”
“Cutting the knot would be nice. I think that's how Alexander handled it if I remember my history right,” Trajan replied. Harris snorted. “I'd say send one or more scout
s to see if they did fall back sir. Drop everyone into stealth here that can manage it. Maybe toss some decoys to the cruisers and let them play cat and mouse in B-95a3,” he said with a shrug. “Your call, sir,” he reminded the Neochimp.
“I see,” the Neochimp said slowly, rubbing his jaw. “And I know it's on my head.”
:::{)(}:::
Admiral Irons grimaced as he read the report from Second Fleet. Amadeus had countersigned Trajan's suggestion. He had placed his forces back into stealth and then dispatched a pair of light cruisers to B-95a3 to check on the star system. They had orders to return if the enemy fleet showed up there but not until the fleet was halfway across the star system and therefore out of range. Until then they would work with the two pickets that had remained there to watch over the star system.
Which reminded him. He made a note to commend the picket force and to jot a reminder note out to Amadeus to get him a list of names of people who deserved awards. The fleet needed heroes and to celebrate them.
He was no longer willing to draw down First Fleet with Bismark and the First BC Squadron away. Argus was en route. Junior Valdez would get to Protodon in another seven weeks at the pace he was currently setting … barring any unforeseen break downs of course,” he reminded himself with a grimace. But Phil was balking at sending additional reinforcements for the moment too.
He scratched the side of his nose. And, truth be told, with the plans to send Prometheus to Tau sector, the eastern attack force entering its final stages to jump, the commitments in B101a1, and Bek, he couldn't blame the man.
He sighed heavily.
“Worried about turtling, sir?” Sprite asked him.
“Something like that,” the admiral responded. “We've given the enemy a look, a taste of what we've got. I'm just afraid he's going to run all the way home and sortie the entire Horathian Home Fleet.”
“Yeah, not something pleasant to consider. If they did, would you have Admiral White fight forward of Protodon?”
“He'd have to then. A fighting withdrawal all the way while we sent everything we could to him. Let's hope it doesn't come to that though,” he said.
