Admiral's War Part One

by Wachter, Luke Sky

  “Sir…Article Seventeen?” Bostwell asked pointedly.

  The old engineer quickly focused back on his surroundings—he needed to head this line of inquiry off at the pass.

  “Now, now; don’t you worry your head about it, son,” Spalding said hastily. “T’was just an old man’s ramblings. Why, as any fool can see, this here,” he waved toward the lamprey like nose of the currently rebuilding Lucky Clover for emphasis, “is nothing more than an oversized hyper plasma cannon. The HPC uses certain, old-style principles—like her grav-plate accelerator designed by yours truly—to make a big bang—but it’s all plasma, all the time I tell you!”

  “If you say so,” Bostwell said, looking at him strangely more than a hint of worry laced throughout the confusion evident on his face.

  “It’s the Saint’s own truth, Bostwell,” Spalding swore, placing two fingers on his chest, “and, more than that, the accelerator is completely reversible. With a little further modification, it’ll save from the need to install a separate engine. We’ll just reverse the polarity and the ship’ll shoot forward with a series of bangs from back end,” he said, trailing off into a series of guffaws at the thought of series of colorful plasma explosions trailing long behind the ship.

  “What’s the current ETA on the ship?” Bostwell asked eagerly.

  The old Engineer’s smile curdled and he stopped laughing. “We’ve got three major systems we need to finish installing. The HPC, for both movement and weaponry; the antimatter generators to power the beast; the shields; and lastly, the hyper drive,” he paused, drumming his fingers along his metal legs as he glared at the shuttle’s main screen presenting a full on rotating view of the 2.0. Then he grunted, oblivious that he had listed four items rather than three. “No help for it, I suppose. There’s no way we can finish all the major systems in time, Bostwell, my lad. That bein’ the case…it looks like we’re going to have to get creative.”

  “Get creative?” the Engineering com-operator said his brows climbing for his hair line. “Hasn’t this entire project been one hurdle after another? Seems to me you’ve been doing the impossible by trying to get it built in the first place.”

  “Her, not it!” Spalding said sharply before settling down again. He sucked on his teeth for a while before grunting, “Looks like there’s no hope for it but to just get it over and done.”

  His mind made up, he tapped on the shuttle controls to set a new course.

  “I’m sure you’ll find a way, Sir,” Bostwell said loyally.

  “I’m just a man, not some half-rate, knock-off deity you can come to like some sort of trick pony or magic eight ball that you shake until you get the answers you want! It’s impossible for me to find the way by myself; that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you!” Impossible!” he shouted, waving his arms wildly in the air, “A miracle…ha! ‘Divine intervention’ is more like it!”

  Familiar with his boss’s excitable nature, Bostwell continued to nod silently and then peered around Spalding’s shoulder.

  “Can I ask where we’re going?” he asked.

  “You can ask,” Spalding said, “but I sure as blazes won’t answer you. What do you think I’m trying to do here, form a conspiracy? This is delicate, precision work the likes of which would curl the toe hairs of lesser men—and send even strong men running for the door screaming for help. I can’t mess the likes of you up in it, Bostwell. You’re too valuable where you are.”

  “Ah,” said the other Engineer in clear confusion.

  “Don’t you bother your head with it. Old Commander Spalding can take care of things just fine without any nurse maids jogging his elbow while he’s working. You just make sure no one tries to steal those work crews while my back is turned. I swear, if I go out of com-range for more than five minutes that woman is liable to try and reassign my entire team!” He declared thunderously, “I’ll go read the sheep entrails, disassemble the flux capacitor, and consult the eight ball for answers. You just make sure things are still here when I get back!”

  “But—!” protested the engineering com-operator.

  “’But’ me no butts, lad; we’ve got to get this baby out of the dock before they decide to scrap her entirely. Oh, and tell the boys to fire up the tugs. I’m pretty sure we’re going to need them before this is over and done with,” said the old Engineer.

  “The tugs?” Bostwell wondered with confusion. “What do we need them for…you can’t mean to pull her out of the dock like this?” he asked, looking out at the barely-clad internal frame of the giant ship still taking form inside the construction slip. Looking at the image on the screen, a person could see all the way through from one side of the ship to the other.

  “No time,” Spalding said docking the shuttle and then kicking the young engineer out the door, “the eight ball awaits its sacrifice! Be back in a tirade!” So saying, he slammed the door.

  After a quick stop to ditch his minder in the main hanger of the 2.0, the old engineer took the shuttle back out of the bay. He had a favor to ask.

  “Uh, I think you meant you’ll be back in a jiff?” Bostwell muttered back on the bay floor. Then, in a piece of irony, not five minutes later Bostwell got a call from the Yard Manager asking for a status update.

  It looked like it was going to be one of those days.

  Chapter Fifty-two: A Wild Gamble

  “E-Force 4 is hot on our heels and coming in fast,” reported Lieutenant Hart.

  “Slow down as much as you can before we hit that jammer field, Helmsman,” I instructed, and not for the first time. “Just make sure we’re in there before they’re on us.”

  “I’ll make it happen, Admiral. You can count on me,” assured my Helmsman.

  “Good man,” I said with a sharp nod, “we have to stay outside of their close range sensors if we’re to use that jammer field to our maximum advantage.”

  DuPont nodded and started working his console.

  “We have to get in there,” I muttered, glaring so hard at the distance between my forces as the enemy behind us, as well as the swirling battle now obscured by the jammer field, that it was a wonder the holo-projector didn’t burst into flames.

  This roll of the dice was for all the marbles but, unfortunately, I didn’t just have to come up sixes—I had to do it again and again. If we could get in there where the Imperials couldn’t see our every move, allowing us to mix things up a little, we’d have at least half a chance at pulling out strong enough for the next leg of our journey toward continued life, evasion and ultimately escape from this confounded star system.

  Of course, if we didn’t then it was all over but the crying—a consideration I was studiously attempting to avoid thinking on.

  “This could go badly, Admiral,” Captain Hammer said in a low voice over a private channel.

  “I know, but I really don’t see what else we can do. Either we run and get picked off one by one, or we turn at bay and attack. I prefer to come out swinging if given the choice,” I replied speaking frankly.

  “I know,” she said, sounding conflicted.

  “We’ll do the best we can, Captain, and the rest is in the hands of the space gods and benevolent Saint Murphy himself,” I said with a compassionate look. Knowing you were likely to be destroyed if you kept going was hard on a person—this I knew from bountiful personal experience. But doing it anyway took courage, something I knew well enough and something that Hammer seemed to possess. I wasn’t about to cheapen her determination by pointing out the various chink in her armor.

  Then I heard someone speaking to Captain Hammer over another com-channel—one I wasn’t keyed into at the moment—and she stiffened with surprise before turning to me with suppressed excitement.

  I looked back at her head cocking to the side with curiosity.

  “My Navigator has an idea he’d like to share, Admiral,” she said with forced formality.

  I felt my curiosity immediately start to wilt. “Alright,” I said after a moment, “let’s hear it.�
�� I couldn’t help it. Brightenbauc had failed to impress me and to date; far from raising my opinion of him during our time together, he had singlehandedly managed to do quite the opposite.

  “Bringing him in channel now, Sir,” Hammer said, and the next moment my screen split showing the Captain and ship’s Navigator side by side looking back at me.

  “What have you got, Nav?” I asked with as much professionalism as I could muster. This was not the time to be doing the enemy’s work for him. If Brightenbauc had a half-way decent idea, I planned to capitalize on it.

  “Yes Sir. Seeing the tight intercept between us and E-Con 4 that helm’s been working on, an idea came to me. I was confused as to whether it had already been considered or not so I took the idea and my question to the Captain,” explained Lieutenant Brightenbauc.

  “Entirely understandable,” I said as agreeably as I could manage, “but let’s get to the meat of this as quickly as possible. What’s your idea?”

  The Navigator hunched his shoulders, looking down and away before forcing himself to look back up at me. “Well, Admiral, I was wondering why we couldn’t just drop our own jammers behind us and use the buoys to hide our maneuvers…or at least let us extend out the jamming field and extend the separation between Sub-Formation’s 1 and 3. If we drop the jammers at the right time, we could extend the jammer field and then make a radical course change before the enemy could notice us, Sir,” Brightenbauc said.

  “Extend the jamming field by dropping our own buoys early…” I muttered wanting to smack myself on the head. The thought hadn’t even occurred to me, “Now, why didn’t I think of that? Good work, Mr. Brightenbauc. I’ll definitely take your suggestions under advisement—meaning I’ll use them at the earliest opportunity.”

  “Glad I could be of assistance, Sir,” Brightenbauc said, starting out moderately excited before seeming to remember something and ending more neutrally—he was probably remembering our relatively rocky history.

  “You’ve done well,” I said, dismissing the young man with a curt nod.

  “We’ll still need to be careful where and when we drop those buoys,” Hammer warned, “if we just launch them willy-nilly and they don’t overlap with the jamming fields of our people from Sub-2, then as soon as E-Con 4 runs through the field put out by our jammers they’ll immediately see us again.”

  “Good thought,” I turned back to the Navigator, “this was your idea, so why don’t you run the numbers, check with the other ships on the status and range of their jammers, and then figure out the best time to launch those buoys? After you have that all plotted out, shoot me over the file; assuming it works with what I have planned, we’ll run with it,” I assured him with a clenched fist. With this we might actually have a fighting chance!

  “I appreciate your confidence in me, Admiral,” Brightenbauc said before cutting the channel.

  “Of course,” I replied to the dead air of his now closed channel. However, with Hammer still on the line, it wasn’t an entirely wasted effort. I turned to look at the Captain, “Good work on informing me of the Lieutenant’s little notion. This could give us precious seconds to break free from our pursuers and hit E-Con’s 1 and 3 before they’re ready for us!” I said, feeling no small measure of relief for the potential breathing room—however small it might have been.

  “Happy to be of service, Sir,” Hammer said professionally with the hint of satisfaction at the edges of her eyes.

  “Alright, let’s get this show on the road!” I said excitedly, and when the Nav Lieutenant’s file with the jammer plan hit my inbox I didn’t see anything out of order. With this we would gain another good half minute lead on our pursuers in E-Con 4.

  ****************************************************

  “Drop the buoys across the fleet!” I barked.

  “Dropping buoys now, Sir,” called back Lieutenant Brightenbauc, who I had assigned the job of coordinating the drop with the rest of the fleet.

  I figured since it was his plan, he might as well be given the chance to mess it up. That way he’d have no one but himself to blame if things fell in the pot.

  “Buoys deployed and jamming going into effect,” called back the Lieutenant.

  “Sensor readings are becoming difficult. We’re down to close range scans only, Sir,” reported Sensors.

  “Bring us around now, Mr. DuPont!” I barked as the minutes, and then finally the seconds counted down and it was time. We were about to pull a Wicked Willy and slip away from the Reclamationists hot on our heels so that we could then go in there and hit one of the other two enemy forces by surprise.

  “Eleven degrees to port, down bubble eighteen degrees!” called out DuPont as the distance between both formations tightened when our allies took their cue from us.

  I hadn’t wanted to risk transmitting the information of our sudden course change over a com-channel, not even over one of our supposedly heavily-encrypted ones. Instead, I had informed the rest of the fleet to take their cue from the flagship and to remain in close formation with us.

  After we were in the fog, we would use point to point lasers to transmit information. Even if the enemy had penetrated our com systems—or if we had spies—if they couldn’t hear us or receive word from one of their spies they were the Demon out of luck.

  “Maintaining course and heading while slowing the Fleet back down to half speed,” reported DuPont.

  “What have you got for me, Sensors?” I demanded.

  “No sign of enemy pursuit. Either they guessed wrong or they’re still too far back for us to pick up,” he reported.

  “Smooth us out and point us back toward lower left center of the jamming field. We don’t need to run the ragged lower edge of the jamming field anymore, Helm,” I instructed the other man.

  “Aye-aye, Admiral,” said DuPont.

  “Keep it steady ship,” called out Captain Hammer from the command bridge, “and remember that this is what we do. We are the ones on the border. We are the men and women who stand between the darkness and the light. Down with all Tyrants and up with the Confederation!”

  The other bridge broke out in cheers and I unconsciously stiffened. After all, I was the media darling’s much vaunted Tyrant of Cold Space.

  “Uh, Sir?” DuPont looked over at me uneasily, and I could see others on the flag bridge tensing up and looking back at me for orders. This wasn’t the look of a crew that was uncertain, unsteady, or about to turn on me. It was a series of looks that told me they were ready to repel boarders and mutineers.

  I quickly looked back at the Helmsman and then deliberately rolled my eyes.

  “Down with all Tyrants indeed, Mr. DuPont,” I said, to show I was serious and not at all considering myself lumped in with the ‘Down all Tyrant’s’ tag line. “I believe it’s an old Confederation motto; a holdover from the time of troubles during and after the AI Wars.”

  I was blowing smoke out my rear but the rest of the bridge seemed to take my words at face value and started nodding and turning back to their duties.

  “If you say so, Sir,” DuPont said noncommittally.

  I looked over at my bridge and couldn’t help feel a thrill of pride. All of my old hands, the ones who’d been with me over the course of several missions and more than one campaign had been ready to leap to my defense. This was a crew that had faced traitors, mutinies and boarding actions all alongside me and the fact that so many of them were ready to pick up a blaster pistol in my defense was heartwarming.

  “I do,” I said and then turned back to the main screen, “now let’s all stay focused. We still have a lot of work to do.” A lot of work, I added silently.

  Chapter Fifty-three: Imperial Frustration

  “There they go,” said Goddard.

  “Any word from Task Force 4?” Janeski asked, not that he expected a positive reply but because it was expected of him. And there was always a chance that they got lucky. He watched as the Task Force disappeared into the jammer-induced sensor haze, hot on
the heels of the so-called Grand Fleet.

  “No, Sir,” the Flag Captain replied with a frown, “their last transmission said they’d lost the enemy and were maneuvering to reacquire.”

  “While I wish them well, luck is a chancy thing at the best of times. That is why it’s not something we’ll be relying upon ourselves,” said the High Admiral.

  “Sir?” asked Goddard.

  “Point us right at the middle of the jamming field and order our ships to hit all jammers, and anything else that moves without a positive IFF response. It’s time we went in and cleaned house,” he said.

  “We’re still more than fifteen minutes out,” reported Captain Goddard.

  “Invictus Rising also has the most powerful sensors in the fleet with three times the range of any other ship. We’ll find them, Captain, and when we do we’ll tear their guts out,” assured High Admiral Janeski.

  Chapter Fifty-four: Hitting Hard

  “Sensors has positively identified a trio of enemy Cruisers attacking two of our Destroyers, Admiral,” cried the Lieutenant in charge of the sensor pit. “Our ships look like they’re taking a beating, sir!”

  “Take us through those Cruisers and then immediately pivot the ship and change course for the rendezvous coordinates I sent to Admiral Silverback, Helmsman. And forward our destination to the rest of the ship, Comm.,” I snapped out the orders briskly as I looked between the two officers.

  “Aye, Sir,” came their mutual reply.

  “You can also make any minor diversions necessary to help relieve any of our ships we run across as long as such diversions don’t slow us down and cause us to overshoot those coordinates,” I added. “Let’s hit as many of these enemy singles, duos and trios as we can. Heck, I’d be happy if we bagged a couple stray squadrons,” I finished a grin.

  “Death and destruction to the enemy,” DuPont said savagely as we cut through those Cruisers like a hot knife through butter, leaving a pair of atmosphere-streaming hulks behind us even as the third survivor desperately tried to accelerate away from the royally-raging titan they had stumbled upon.