“Problem?” I inquired.
The Hart Commodore shook his head. “My world doesn’t have the information network that Aegis does, but we trade with all the other Core Worlds, as well as deal with them in the Sector Assembly,” he explained.
“Good to know,” I said neutrally, uncertain where he was going with this.
“Look, a lot of worlds are running scared,” the Commodore continued, “I’m sure we’ll get a few minor reinforcements…a handful of Destroyers, a single Cruiser, or maybe even a couple squadrons of hastily-reactivated Corvettes. But until they see that their worlds are safe from immediate attack they’re not going to kick loose a large force of powerful warships—no matter what Sector Central says.”
“Shortsighted but hardly unsurprising,” I said unhappily, “we’ll have to send couriers to remind them of the danger to this Sector, as well as their duty to defend it.”
“Look,” Silverback said, injecting himself back into the conversation, “if you want reinforcements then we can show that this Grand Fleet is good for something other than sitting around making repairs. We have to concentrate the enemy and keep them focused on us and not conquering everything in sight. Otherwise…” he trailed off suggestively, “until they see results, they’re not going to commit anything more than the bare minimum.”
“You’re here,” I pointed out.
“Aegis takes the long view,” Admiral Silverback noted and then his smile turned sinister, “besides, we’re one of the strongest worlds in this Sector and we have powerful defenses.”
Shaking my head, I reluctantly conceded that they were probably right. Without a series of victories, or at least our demonstrating that we could keep the Core Worlds of this Sector from falling over like a line of dominos, more ships were going to be hard to come by.
“I believe I have a better understanding of the current situation than I did before we spoke,” I said with a smile. If that smile failed to reach my eyes I didn’t know, mainly because I didn’t check. “Now, about our supply train,” I said, swiftly changing the subject, “I realize many of you want to go out and fight immediately but what about..” I continued, driving the conversation away from controversial subjects like ‘who was going to be my second in command’ or ‘which worlds were going to hold out until the bitter end and only send help once victory was assured.’
It was going to be a long day—even I could tell that already.
Chapter Thirty: Word of the Governor and the Grand Fleet
“Intelligence sources indicate that Sector resistance is forming up around this Grand Fleet of theirs, High Admiral,” said the blank faced man standing to the side of the desk.
“Verification level, Major?” he asked, turning to meet and hold the blank-faced man’s gaze.
“Sources within the Sector Assembly, as well as low-level sources on several key worlds, Sir,” replied the other man. “Fleet Intelligence places the certainty at Level 2.”
“Location and current force estimate?” asked the High Admiral, looking down at the star map.
“Easy Haven, the old Wolf-9 Starbase, and no more than two Battleship squadrons with accompanying lighter warships,” said the Major.
“That’s the best we can do?” High Admiral Janeski frowned at the blank-faced man.
“The warship contributions are independently decided by the worlds that send them; our local planetary assets are all in low-level position and our sources in the local Assembly can only report what they know when they know it,” the Major replied with a shrug.
“The idea was to keep them weak and divided, dispersed throughout the Sector without the ability to unify, so as to more easily defeat them in detail. I understand that plans go wrong. However, what exactly were you ‘sources’ doing that allowed this situation to arise?” asked Admiral Janeski dangerously.
“They can only pressure and urge, Sir. Unfortunately, the Provisional Governor rammed through the legislation enabling the creation of a volunteer force. In a closed session of the Security Council, he relied on blackmail and personal favors to get it approved—even successfully leveraging one of our sources,” the blank-faced man said with a hint of appreciation. “After that, it immediately went to the floor for an up or down vote, no amendments allowed. By the time our people were able to report back and receive instructions it was already too late.”
“I assume the Provisional Governor was dealt with?” asked Janeski.
Now, for the first time, the Major started to look embarrassed. “Shortly after the bill’s passage, the Governor departed on a goodwill tour, ostensibly to pull up sagging poll numbers. But, in retrospect, it was clearly to drum up support on a world by world basis and lay the groundwork for this Grand Fleet to appear as a viable solution if and when we came onto the scene,” said the Major.
Janeski drummed his fingers along the top of his conference table and then looked over to give the Major a penetrating look. “In other words: he’s still alive and has not been brought over to our side,” he said coldly.
“We sabotaged the Governor’s personal yacht during its stay on Areas and it suffered a catastrophic hyper drive failure which exploded upon attempting to leave the star system. However, either he became suspicious and all we got was a body double or else he was never on it in the first place. Right now he’s in the wind, showing up at random locations to meet and greet the people on less-developed worlds where we don’t have eyes, and giving interviews to CNN from undisclosed locations.”
The High Admiral drew in a breath and released it. “Enough on that particular subject; back to this Grand Fleet,” he said, tacitly approving—or at least forgiving—the course of action and its results. “We built in contingencies for just these sort of occurrences. It’s time we followed through.”
“Of course,” said the other man, “how can the Intelligence Services help you, High Admiral?”
“The Sector Governor…” he glanced over at the Major.
“Governor Isaak,” supplied the other man.
Janeski nodded. “He is not the only person determined to throw a wrench in our long-laid plans, but on his own he is powerless. The court of public opinion has no hold over me. The only real impediment to the reclamation of these long-abandoned Confederation Sectors is this so-called Grand Fleet,” said the Admiral, and the blank-faced Major nodded.
“I have a plan to deal with the Grand Fleet and the…imposter to Confederation Officership who leads it, and you’re going to help me carry it out,” he said.
“What would you have me do?” asked the Major.
“I am not used to dealing with squeak ants. It’s time we dealt with the Governor of Planetary Body Harpoon once and for all,” Janeski said, and his smile when it came was as cold as interstellar ice. “I’ve read the reports on other worlds in this Sector—the ones most likely to donate ships to the ‘Grand Fleet’ our little friend is lashing together. So here is what I want you to do...” he leaned forward and, speaking in a low voice, explained exactly what he wanted the Intelligence Services to do.
Leaning back at the conclusion of his instructions, the Major nodded. “That should be easily within our capabilities, Sir,” said the other man. “In addition to the benefits it will provide the R-Fleet, if done the right way it should also present several benefits for our operatives on the ground.”
“However it needs to be done, just make sure it happens,” the High Admiral said, reaching into his desk and then handing over a data storage device. “I’ve prepared a file with the necessary information. Feel free to edit it at need so long as the broad strokes are followed.”
“I’ll get on this right away,” said the Major taking the device and stepping back, “you should see results within one to two weeks.”
“Then you are free to be about it,” said Janeski, knowing that should give just enough time for the last of the Task Forces to reach his position and the 1st Reclamation Fleet—minus the losses from Task Force 3—should be fully assembled.
<
br /> The Major nodded and left the room.
Making a note, Janeski composed a message for the reserve fleet station in Sector 26 to assemble all available forces at the forward operating base stationed on the border of 25 and 26, at the New Tau Ceti star system.
From there, it would easily be in a position to reinforce 1st Fleet or cut off any retreat by the shattered remnants of the local forces.
Now all that was left was to draw out this Grand Fleet—far too conceited a name for the pitiful compilation of forces it represented, in his opinion. All that was needed was to get it away from the fortifications at Wolf-9 and then, in one swift stroke, to crush it forever.
He in no way accepted as possible that the Reclamation Fleet might fail to destroy the combined might of the Grand Fleet and the Starbase, but the only unnecessary casualties he was prepared to allow were all on the enemy’s side.
Wolf-9 used to be a serious defensive fortification with Battlestations, floating gun turrets, and a whole slew of other deadly gifts for any invader. After three years of repairs and reactivation of the Starbase, who knew what was active over there?
Given the choice, he would much rather defeat his opponent—any enemy—one bite size piece at a time. First the Fleet, then any reinforcements, and finally the fortifications—if possible, nicely stripped of all mobile assets before they were atomized.
Of course, if he had to do it the hard way then he would. But in the end there was nothing a backwater Sector like this one could do in the face of the powerful military machine he’d spent the last several years forging.
Nothing at all, he thought with icy disdain, other than scream and die after the few feeble blows they could land are easily absorbed by my forces.
It was time to end this and return home in triumph. Not only as the man who successfully expanded the Empire’s borders to larger than they’d ever been, but if the information that kept coming out of Sector 24 and the small taskforce he’d sent there was correct, possibly even as the person who finally took the first concrete step in restoring a fully-functioning MAN to the galaxy.
It was a heady thought. But, for now, he needed to stay focused and do this by the numbers. He still had a campaign to win, after all.
Chapter Thirty-one: Shaking things up
“Lisa,” I said, activating my com system early in the day.
“What can I do for you, Sir?” asked the Com-Officer.
“I’d like you to set up a meeting for me with my wife at eleven o’clock,” I said.
“Me? I mean, of course, Sir,” Lisa Steiner said professionally.
“Oh, and Lisa, pass the word over to the Armor Prince. I’d like to speak with Wainwright in my office an hour before that at ten,” I instructed.
“Or course, Sir,” said the former com-tech before closing the channel.
Flipping the com-panel shut, I switched over to start a general information search.
“D’Argent,” I said, pausing and turning my head in the midst of my data query.
“My Lord?” he asked, smoothly stepping around so I could see him.
“It’s time to make a few changes around here, and I’d like us to put our heads together first in order to see just what we can do with the armsmen. I want to make sure things transition as smoothly as possible,” I explained calmly.
“That’s our job,” said the head of my new personal guard—which, by the way, was taking a little getting used to on my part.
“Before we get started, has there been any trouble from my former Lancer detail?” I asked.
“They’re a little disgruntled to have been shifted from your close-in protective detail to your outer guard. Some of them…apprised us of their displeasure face-to-face, but they all survived the experience—this time,” he replied matter-of-factly.
“Excellent,” I nodded, having seen a short-but-intense series of incident reports with attached medical exam findings for nearly a dozen Lancers just a day earlier. I’d already put two and two together as to the cause, but it was good to see D’Argent’s professional mood and affect as he reported on the occasion. To my knowledge, none of the Armsmen had been injured—which was good news as far as I was concerned. “Now, about those changes; here’s what I’m thinking. So feel free to correct me wherever you see obvious holes…” I said as I started to lay out my current plan to take back control of my fleet, my flagship and my family.
****************************************************
The door slid open and the first person on my agenda for the day stomped into my office like the hardened Marine he was.
“Colonel Wainwright, Caprian Marines, reporting for duty, Admiral,” said the Marine officer with a firm, no-nonsense look on his face.
“Good to see you, General,” I said giving the other man a nod, “please have a seat this could take a while.”
“Don’t mind if I do. And it’s ‘Colonel,’ Admiral,” he said, choosing one of the two chairs in front of my desk and pulling it out a few inches before sitting down.
“Not any more,” I said with a smirk, “Colonel Wainwright, by virtue of the authority vested in me by the Confederation Assembly as a Vice Admiral, I hereby promote you to the brevet rank of Brigadier General for meritorious service in battle. Congratulations, General.”
Wainwright blinked and then looked taken aback.
“Thank you, Admiral. I guess…” he said, his features closing.
“Frankly, this bump—even if it’s only temporary—is long overdue. You deserve the rank. Thankfully, you’ve been with us long enough that I can get away with the field promotion,” I said, spinning out enough bologna right alongside the space gods honest truth to baffle any man, at least that’s what I hoped. “Of course, whether the rank sticks will depend on the Confederation Assembly.”
Wainwright rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I never wanted anything more than to be a Caprian Marine. This Confederation business came like a slider out of left field. But I’ll happily take the rank—and the pay increase—while it’s there. I’ll then happily go back to being a Colonel if and when that time comes.”
“Let’s all pray that time comes sooner rather than later,” I agreed easily enough. Personally, I didn’t see him or his unit being recalled back to Capria in the foreseeable future. He and his men had been stuck out here for a number of years already with no recall order in sight. I think they thought back home that his brigade had been hopelessly contaminated with the Montagne taint.
“Thank you,” said the former Colonel.
“Almost forgot,” I added, leaning forward and pushing a pair of recently fabricated Confederation General insignias.
Wainwright started to reach for them and then paused before grabbing them. He instead tapped them with an index finger as a grimace crossed his face.
“These are Lancer insignia,” he said, using that same index finger to tap the rank insignia meaningfully while giving me a stern look.
“They are; this is a Confederation outfit after all,” I said simply.
“I think I’ll stay a Colonel if it’s all the same to you. Once a Marine, always a Marine,” he said pushing the tabs toward me.
“I think I’m going to have to insist,” I said, reaching out and pushing the rank tabs back to him. “If it makes you feel any better, the Confederation has a marine corps and a long tradition of integrating local armed forces into its ranks. I just don’t happen to have the ability to offer rank within it and right now I need a general.”
“Of all the infernal ancestors…why?” Wainwright grunted.
“It’s time to clarify the lines of authority running inside this fleet. To be honest, I haven’t been doing the best job of that with the Lancer divisions lately. We started out with one ship and a shoestring, fly-by-night operation headed first by Colonel Suffic and then a strange combination of Akantha and Captain Atticus, with each Battleship operating pretty much independently. Oh, they know they have to take orders from me and are pretty good about fol
lowing the orders of their ship commanders, but that’s no longer good enough. The good Colonel’s been gone for a while and Atticus is dead. Like I said: it’s time to clarify the situation.”
“And having to suppress a near mutiny not more than two months ago has nothing to do with this sudden urge to reorganize, does it?” Wainwright cut straight to the heart of the matter—just like any trained killer would do.
“About that,” I said, my eyes boring into the Marine commander’s, “as the senior commander of this Fleet’s Lancer division, I’d expect you to begin exerting a command influence immediately.”
Wainwright looked at me dourly for several seconds. “What did you have in mind?” he asked cautiously.
“I thought we’d start with the flagship. You and, say, a regiment of your Marines would transfer over here to set up shop. Get everything under one roof, so to speak,” I said.
“And the Tracto-ans? There are an awful lot of Lancers onboard this ship,” remarked Wainwright neutrally.
I waved my hand in the air. “I made sure we received a number of the Border Alliance recruits, these ones trained Marines or land forces back on their home worlds. It was only the replacements, of course, so in addition to our remaining Caprian and Promethean recruits from Messene, we’re not entirely a Tracto-an outfit over here. My thought was we’d move an equal number of companies out as you have coming in from the Armor Prince. I even happen to have a list of the companies I was thinking to send back to the Prince,” I said, giving the other man a significant look.
“So not a purge then,” Wainwright said forthrightly.
My brows lifted. “Hardly,” I said rolling my eyes. “This is more along the lines of transferring out low-functioning personnel and slotting them back in where they’ll do the most good. The Tracto-ans can continue to do everything they agreed to do when they signed on, and they’ll do so from a location that will not encourage their less desirable cultural tendencies. In other words: somewhere I won’t have to slaughter them in job lots because they thought it’d be a really sweet idea to try and usurp the chain of command via mutiny.”
Admiral's War Part One Page 21
