The Lieutenant Commander had the ghost of a smile on her face. “The Sensor section, working in conjunction with the other departments—including Engineering—were able to identify the new tech installations as they’re generally newer don’t match the same general level of tech as the rest of the ship,” Hammer stated. “Hopefully we can verify their conclusions and get our hands on a few actual tech samples to go over.”
“Commend your departments for a job well done,” I said.
“Thank you, Admiral,” Hammer said with professional composure.
“That said, we’ll do more than just gather a few samples if I have anything to say about it,” I said, my eyes cutting back to the still-drifting battleships in our wake. One way or the other I intended to have more than samples.
There was a chime on my chair originating from the Comm. station. I looked over and cocked my eye at Lieutenant Steiner.
“The Lady’s on line 38, Sir,” she said with an uneasy smile, “she said she’d like to speak with you.”
“I’m sure she would,” I said taking a deep breath. I let it out with a hiss. “Alright. Put her through.”
My loving wife appeared on the screen—the same woman who had said nothing while my supposedly reliable Tracto-an guard began to turn against me, with one of her former suitors at its head. That faithless, murderous…ruler in her own right looked out at me and glared.
“What can I do for you, sweet pea?” I asked calmly.
“Pea?” she scoffed.
I put my fist under my chin and Akantha’s gaze turned frosty.
There was the ice maiden I’d come to know and dread; the woman I’d shown to mother and ended up married to. I sighed. Weren’t dynastic type marriages supposed to be for people who held real power?
“I have been sitting in this shuttle for hours, Jason. Where is my boarding action?” she demanded, as if it was my job to provide her with entertainment and death-defying actions.
“You left the kids alone during the middle of a battle, all so you could run off and risk your life instead?” I asked archly.
Akantha flushed. “The babes are safely under the care of the household,” she retorted. “They are safe as safe could be. You won’t divert me, Protector. When are we going to see some action?”
“Yes, I am your Protector aren’t I?” I demurred happily. “Well please allow me to do the duty of protecting you. As for the lack of battle, only someone who locked herself in a tin can in hopes of chopping someone up with her blade could think we hadn’t been in a battle. It’s been quite tense up here, my dear, and the action’s been hot and heavy. I’d recommend it to you for some time.”
“In the name of Men,” Akantha cursed.
“Fear not, my lady; I’m sure the droids will leave something for your team to sweep up after we’re done with the enemy that are running away,” I informed her.
Growling and giving an abrupt nod, Akantha’s image disappeared from the screen.
The enemy battleships were faster and had slightly longer range. The Titan, especially, had lagged behind them with the other three battleships of my squadron grouped together just outside of range. But despite the opportunity to turn and face us as a group, the three battleships had split directions and burned their engines directly away from the system primary as fast as possible.
Shortly after that, the remainder of the enemy Cruisers and Destroyers either jumped out of the system or split into wildly divergent courses leading further away from the system primary.
Unless it was some trick to buy time to regroup for a counterattack, it looked like we’d won the battle.
Now all that was left was mopping up…unless one or more of those damage battleships managed to get their engines back in working order.
So thinking, I ordered Metal Titan to return to overwatch on the crippled enemy. I then continued the pursuit, after ordering the Rage and each of the other battleships to fill their shuttles with Lancers and send them to follow along with the Metal Titan.
It appeared the Battle for Hart’s World had been won without any of the fight actually taking place at Hart. Fancy that…those lucky blighters.
Sometimes I wished I could just stand by and let other people solve my problems for me.
Chapter Twenty-four: Foreign Reinforcements
On the border of Sector 25, four squadrons of warship paused for several hours before charging their jump engines and setting course for the Wolf-9 Starbase at Easy Haven. Only a fast courier and one oversized luxury liner did not join the group. Those two vessels carried a diplomatic and trade delegation which had fully intended to split off from the main group and proceed toward the Tracto Star System.
“Ambassador Kong to the bridge, please. I say again: Ambassador Kong to the bridge,” repeated Rear Admiral Hu Bai.
Within minutes, the once again Ambassador for Harmony and also Assistant Ambassador for the MDL—which was the only body which currently attempted to concurrently represent Sectors 23 and 24—stepped onto the bridge. He didn’t allow himself to worry about the somewhat questionable legitimacy of the Mutual Defense League as an administrative body capable of making trade deals since most of the individual worlds which would be attempting to secure such trade had enthusiastically sent along trade delegates.
“Rear Admiral Hu,” Kong Pao greeted, stepping up to the Admiral of the combined military force and cupping his hands, “how may I be of service?”
“As the resident expert on this region of space, or at least our main allies within it, I wanted to speak with you one last time before giving the go-no-go order to proceed into Sector 25. After all, bringing a strong force of warships into another Sector without a formal invitation from the ruling Sector Authority could be construed as an act of war,” the Rear Admiral said clinically.
“There have been no new communications,” Kong Pao observed and, seeing that the military officer clearly wanted more, the Judge added, “as such, in whatever capacities I currently possess, I advise we continue the mission. You are the leader of the escort force and military side of the mission.”
The Rear Admiral grimaced, obviously hoping for more before shaking his head. “Then we continue as planned,” he said and turned to his communication section, “relay the order. We are not delaying for another hour. All units are authorized to finish charging hyper engines and prepare to point transfer.”
With a muted flurry, the bridge crew relayed orders and prepared the flagship for the final leg of its journey.
As Kong Pao stepped back and moved over to an auxiliary jump seat, vessels all around the flagship began to transfer as their engines finally charged to maximum. Two Battleships, four Heavy Cruisers, six Light Cruisers, twelve Heavy Destroyers and eight bulk freighters belonging to the hopeful member worlds of the trade delegation finally transited faster than light toward their final destination.
Chapter Twenty-five: Tallying the Cost
“Initial interrogation reports indicate that at least the original founding forces of the Reclamation Fleet are secret Imperials, your Highness,” Duncan informed me. He had taken over some of the fleet’s intelligence duties—mainly those involving the interrogation of prisoners—and since I’d had no one better for the job, I’d given it to him after he had asked.
The new team of Armsmen was still being worked into things, and Duncan was overseeing the transition period as well as I could have asked. But for now he was still serving in several capacities on my behalf.
“Why am I not surprised?” I said, feeling the back of my neck tighten. “And knock off the ‘Highness’ bit. Out here I’m the Admiral, not a Prince.”
“Admiral,” Duncan corrected himself, “sorry; old habits die hard—especially now that I’m back in my old role as an armsman. Fortunately those lay-a-bouts managed to catch up with the fleet, but I want to ensure as smooth of a handover as possible.”
“No problem. Frankly, I wouldn’t care if you—or they—called me Jason. I just have a bit of an ave
rsion to the royal moniker at the moment,” I said.
Duncan nodded before continuing the report. “It also seems you were right in your suspicions: the prisoners were quite put out at your insult to their leader, High Admiral Janeski, and they easily verified his existence,” Duncan said, one side of his mouth drawing up.
“That rotter,” I growled clenching my fist. “I wish he had been the leader of this fleet and ran away with his tail between his legs, although I know that’s too much to hope for.”
“He wasn’t here,” Duncan said, his lower jaw jutting out as he sucked in air over his teeth, “and it gets worse. These Imperial so-called Reclamationists seem to be quite powerful. The officers said little, but a significant number of the crew were recent converts who joined the winning side after their home Star Systems and Sectors had been conquered.”
“Sectors?” I asked, sitting up with a start. I should have known better than to entertain so much as a fleeting thought that he might have been among the ships we’d routed. The absence of his Command Carrier should have made that obvious from the beginning. I’d just been too full of hope and unvented spleen to accept it.
“Sector 26 and 27 have already fallen, with the 28th Provisional reputed to be their home base. This is all from secondhand reports from common crew members that seem to have more loyalty to whoever wins, so that they can survive to live another day, than they do to whatever Imperial ideology they’re required to follow,” Duncan reported.
My heart sank even as my stomach plummeted. Three Sectors under his belt!? It strained belief. Regardless of how little I wanted to accept it, it was clear that Janeski had certainly been busy.
“It seems the Rear Admiral has been a busy boy,” I grumbled, forcing myself to relax, let out my previous breath and attempt to appear unaffected by this news.
“There’s more,” Duncan said, looking at me levelly.
“Oh? Joy…” I said wondering just how bad it could get.
“This is just one fourth of their strength—or possibly not even that. Apparently, in addition to the garrison forces they left scattered throughout the Sectors, they already control the main fleet they’ve sent to conquer Sector 25 was initially split up into four task forces…” he paused for a beat, “after they took Prometheus. The ‘Fleet’ we just fought identifies itself as Task Force 3 of the 1st Reclamation Fleet.”
“I want that verified,” I snapped, “I don’t want the random rumblings of some disgruntled crewmembers—I want hard evidence. Crack their computer cores, find some unsecured files on a handheld, something—anything. But I need to know the true size of this enemy fleet.”
“Yes, Sire,” Duncan said formally.
I gave him a sharp look. I was no ‘Sire’ and didn’t want to draw too much attention to my princely title right at the moment, so despite my former instructor’s less than subtle nudges in that direction, I ignored it and moved on.
“Any other bombshells I should know about?” I asked.
“Not as such,” Duncan replied, and the report soon turned back to the aftermath of the battle and the latest numbers and repair times needed to get everything we were taking out of this system minimally functional.
It had taken the better part of two days—and more than a thousand losses among our Lancers after we slowly but surely destroyed their shields and weapon systems—but in the end, we’d taken the battleships.
Four of them could potentially be added to our fleet at some point. I’d have to see what Spalding said after he saw them to know the details, but the fifth was a total loss. Oh, sure, we could maybe salvage something from it if we could get it back to Gambit, but the rear third of the ship had been completely destroyed by its Captain during the boarding action.
The other Captains, or their surviving officers, had been more reasonable.
“Of note, the Lancers managed to capture several relatively intact battlesuits of a superior tech than ours,” reported Duncan.
“Yes I saw,” I nodded, “however we had samples of these type of suits from back when we originally captured the Furious Phoenix. The problem so far hasn’t been lack of samples to study but production facilities. As for the R&D angle, I have a man working on that,” I said with a faint smile as I recalled my new Devastator suit—the very same one I used to defeat Nikomedes and the rest of the traitors.
My face hardened without my noticing as my thoughts once again circled back to that dark day when my loyal Tracto-an lancers revealed their true colors. My face then softened as I reminded myself that they were barbarian savages from a low-tech world, born of a culture where strength was everything.
Well, I was done hiding my strength: the next rebel was going straight out the airlock and no more of this ‘dancing around the challenge circle’ business. Not on my ships.
“Commander Spalding?” inquired Duncan.
“The man’s been one of my strongest supporters—unwavering since day one. If you told me he was half-mad, I couldn’t easily dispute you but when it comes to fixing starships there’s no better man. Mark my words: he’s pure genius when it comes to machines and last-minute saves,” I said with a sly smile.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Duncan said looking at me under lowered brow.
We shared a look and then I straightened in my seat, and the moment with my old teacher and current bodyguard was over.
“A third of the Fleet we just defeated in detail. This ‘Task Force 3’ got away,” I said, pursing my lips and not at all liking the decision I was about to make. Every bone in my body cried out to pursue the enemy and run them down wherever they were, despite my earlier word and in fact orders to Leonora Hammer.
The truth was I had been more concerned with a knife in the back from my current allies than anything else. It seemed I needed to adjust my thinking.
“What are your intentions, my Prince?” said Duncan.
I manfully resisted the urge to scowl at him and then clenched my fist until it hurt.
“If your information is correct then we are heavily outnumbered,” I turned my piercing brown eyes on him, “we have to fall back on our strongest fortifications and get more SDF allies if we’re going to have any chance of survival. We’ll set course for Easy Haven and send back those captured ships to Gambit,” I said with steely resolve.
Yes, I’d just done it: I had called for a retreat in the face of the enemy. Part of me still wanted to throw caution to the wind and run down the remainder of Task Force 3—exactly like I was still being urged by the Lieutenant Commander to do—but that was a luxury I couldn’t afford.
“Understood,” said Duncan.
“We’ll also send a warning to Hart’s World with the record of this battle via corvette the same day we leave this Star System. That should give us enough time to take what we’re going to take and move off whatever we’ll save for later,” I said.
Blast it all, I was Admiral Montagne—the Little Admiral. I was Master and Commander of the only Confederation fleet in the Spine: the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet. I had battleships and Cruisers at my beck and call; an entire fleet of warships to do my bidding. But that would have been buying into the myth of my own legend and, unlike my heart—which burned for action—my gut was telling me the same thing it had been during the battle. I had to withdraw, hold back, and conserve my energy.
Sometimes it was really painful being the Admiral. It really was a job for the dogs.
Unfortunately, there was no one else who could do it.
Chapter Twenty-six: Imperial Survivors
“Admiral we can still turn and fight!” urged the Captain on the screen.
“No. We must withdraw! If I can salvage a third of this fleet from this debacle I must,” Admiral Wessex said flatly, “the High Admiral must know of this threat to our plans.”
“You coward! We can still win,” swore the other man and on the screen his ship started to turn.
“Consider yourself confined to quarters until after we leave this system, Captain
Nemo,” Admiral Wessex ordered, “and be glad that I will allow you to return to command of your ship after we regroup at New Marinas for disobeying orders in the middle of a battle is cowardice in the face of the enemy and punishable by spacing!”
The other man purpled, but his ship soon returned to its original course.
He then turned to…
****************************************************
The weight of a man’s hand on his shoulder caused Wessex to practically jump out of his chair.
“Don’t do that!” he swore, still half-asleep and dreaming that the Captain in his dream had reached through the screen to throttle him. “Who gave you leave to touch me, Lieutenant?” he demanded after settling down.
“I’m sorry, Sir,” the other officer said, his face carefully neutral. “I tried to rouse you several times but I have Commodore Bruneswitch on the line and…you were snoring.”
Wessex paled and then his face contorted with anger. Falling asleep on the bridge while on duty was an unforgivable sin, but right then it was the least of his worries. On the other hand, that thrice-blasted Bruneswitch had just broken his very last nerve.
“Put the man on,” he said and abruptly dismissed the Lieutenant.
“Admiral Wessex, congratulations on preserving a third of the fleet,” Bruneswitch said, his voice flat and his compliment no compliment at all.
“Think what you wish of me, Commodore,” Wessex said brusquely, “I acted as my conscience dictated.”
“I’m sure you did,” the Bruneswitch said, raking the Admiral with a scathing look.
Admiral's War Part One Page 18
