Admiral Invincible (A Spineward Sectors Novel: Book 7)

by Luke Sky Wachter

  “Not to put too fine a point on it, but apparently word leaked about the Lady Akantha’s condition to the Lancers and since then we’ve received numerous requests for Tracto-an-specific foliage as use for gifts to the expecting mother,” Eastwood replied.

  “What are we talking about, flowers here?” I asked wondering how bad a few flowers could be.

  “Among other things, some of which are at least mildly poisonous,” Eastwood said to my immediate alarm. “And, as I said, we would need to dedicate at least half a hydroponics bay in order to meet all the orders and requests we’ve been having. Which, I will add, would cut quite heavily into this ship’s fresh produce if we are to implement it.”

  “Blast,” I said numbly. I gave myself a shake, “I guess I’ll talk with them and see how serious they are,” I paused and then gave the First Officer a penetrating look. “You were right to bring this to me,” I added, not entirely happily. If I let them get away with something like this once, pretty soon they’d be opening the floodgates with all sorts of strange oddball requests that would eat into my already stretched-paper-thin time. But, despite that, they were probably right to bring this to me personally—before things got out of hand.

  “Oh, I think they’re quite serious, sir,” Eastwood said certainly.

  “Well,” I shrugged, “we’ll see if they’re quite as strident after I ask them if they’re willing to go back to ration bars for two meals a day in order to get the bridal gifts.” If they were, then far be it from their Warlord to stand in their way. He—meaning I—would instead be taking copious notes on the whole thing so as to not be the only man on the ship who didn’t give the appropriate gifts.

  We spoke about a few other minor matters before reaching the bridge.

  Stepping into the room, I took a deep breath and, feeling energized and in control of my own future and destiny with my feet planted firmly on my warship, I started confidently into the room.

  The blaring of a klaxon knocked me off my stride, and the red flashing lights that burst into life around the bridge of the room quickly had my good mood turning to ashes.

  “Contact!” shouted the Sensor Warrant. “We’re reading multiple contacts in an short arc around the hyper-limit!”

  “What are we looking at, Sensors?” demanded Laurent.

  A tension-filled moment passed and then the Warrant looked up white-faced.

  “It looks like the Droid Fleet, Captain. They’re here,” Sensors replied.

  Chapter 23: Opening Maneuvers

  “The Grand Admiral is ordering the Fleet to come to Alert Condition One; take up battle stations and assume Fleet Formation One,” Steiner said with an unshakable calm.

  Not so calm were the men and women at Sensors and Tactical. It was amazing that it’d only taken a week and a half for the droids to find us and bring the battle to Elysium—with all the meetings it had felt more like a month and a half.

  “I’m reading two major machine fleet formations,” reported Tactical.

  “The first Droid formation has over 500 distinct contacts and rising, while the second has well over a thousand!” exclaimed the Sensor Warrant.

  “Enhance your calm, Sensors,” Laurent said sharply.

  I could see the sheer numbers were starting to rattle the bridge crew. “Easy people,” I said firmly into the growing chaos, “we’ve dealt with long odds before; this is just more of the same.”

  Strangely, instead of looking at me like I was a fool and a liar, things seemed to calm down slightly with several people taking deep breaths.

  Ironically, almost as soon as I saw the bridge crew begin to take ease from my comforting words, I began to worry—and my own level of concern shot further and further upward by the second.

  Grimly, I forced it back down. “Give me the fleet numbers again, Captain,” I instructed Laurent.

  “The Grand Fleet of Sectors 23 and 24, now that we can include the final stragglers and entire Elysium Self Defense Force, tally in at a current final of eight Battleships, twenty Cruisers, forty Destroyers and a combined eighty eight Corvettes, armed merchant freighters, and assorted other lighter warships. There are maybe another 150 gunboats to call on—all of that is not counting our forces, of course,” the Flag Captain said crisply, the number obviously something he was directly familiar with.

  Funny, that, I thought quirking a smile. I was just as familiar with the class and numbers as the Captain, having obsessively gone over them time and again. Still, emphasizing the size of our fleet to the rest of the bridge couldn’t hurt. “Of course not,” I murmured to myself.

  “And the enemy fleets?” I inquired with forced calm.

  Laurent took a deep breath and studied his pad looking strained. “Harmony Through Specialization has an estimated Fleet size of three Cruisers, thirty six Destroyers, and something around three hundred fighters; it’s hard to tell with all the ECM and numerous contacts running around,” he said releasing a breath.

  I looked at him steadily. “A powerful force, given their superior tactics and maneuverability,” I hissed with respect, but already dismissing them as a potentially manageable threat—if we had faced them alone, that is. Two squadrons of Battleships would make short work of a force that size if it attacked directly—something the smarter Harmony Droids didn’t seem likely to do. However, our smaller forces could have caught up to them and forced a battle. It would have been brutal, but I was willing to wager on our Fleet.

  No, it was the Conformity droids and their AI-stupid insistence on overkill that I was really worried about.

  “Then, of course, there is Victory Through Conformity,” Laurent looked as if someone had socked him in the gut.

  I motioned for him to get on with it.

  “Best estimate or worst case?” he asked.

  “Get on with it, man,” I said irritably, “give me your worst.”

  “Sixty Motherships and 6000 Gunboats, with something like 72,000 Droid marines to deal with if they get in close,” Laurent said harshly.

  I couldn’t keep myself from wincing. Talk about overkill, I thought bitterly.

  “A tough nut to crack,” I said, much less steadily than I had hoped.

  Laurent snorted fatalistically.

  “Give me options,” I said, struggling for firmness and somehow finding it.

  “Make sure to stay out of range of their marine contingent?” Laurent said, looking at me like I was out of my mind.

  “I realize the correlation of forces is somewhat adverse,” I replied patiently, answered by an immediate snort of derision from the Laurent. My eyes lanced him at that, “What I need is constructive ideas on just what, exactly, we can do to help even things up.”

  “Adverse correlation of forces; you can say that again, sir. Our little force is outnumbered beyond all reason…retreat might legitimately be our best option. We might as well be spitting in the wind for all we can do; this isn’t just two or three times our combat power—it’s another order of magnitude entirely. And the Grand Fleet’s not much better off, not with that many gunboats flying around on the other side,” Laurent spoke quietly. “Six thousand of anything fitted with naval weaponry is more than we can handle.”

  Not liking his ‘can’t do’ attitude, my voice hardened. “We dealt with the better part of twenty Motherships and their gunboats at Aqua Nova, with little more than our Fleet and the Battleship Poseidon,” I said tightly. “So I have to believe that the eight battleships and an entire fleet of support ships, in addition to our own fleet—which, while smaller in numbers, is to be underestimated at great peril—means we can handle a mere three times the enemy ships.”

  “I would like to point out that we weren’t also dealing with a Harmony Fleet. The Grand Fleet is not under your command, and when we encountered the last Conformity Fleet they were spread out. You dragged them past a series of planetary based defensive systems to soften them up,” Laurent reminded me.

  “Where is my Flag Captain, and what have you done to replace
that fighting spacer with the officer I see before me?” I asked coldly.

  “We’ve never faced a Fleet this size before,” Laurent said, looking offended by my words.

  “And we’ve never had so many allies before,” I countered.

  “Yes, well, they’re not under your command are they? Who is this Manning? I’ve never heard of him before; what’s he done to make us risk all of our lives under his command?” Laurent protested with heat.

  I started to respond hotly and then I smiled at the backhanded compliment.

  “So it’s the new commander, as much as anything else, that’s taken a bite out of your nerve, eh?” I asked, feeling almost pleased that one of his protests about facing such a large fleet was that I was no longer in supreme command.

  Okay, I admit it, I wasn’t ‘almost’ anything; I was, in truth, both pleased and very flattered. But that still didn’t change the fact that we had to stand tall in this fight, and I very much needed my top officer behind feeling one hundred percent the same.

  Laurent looked taken aback and then flushed, shaking his head at me. But I quietly noted he didn’t deny the charge.

  “Look, we both know we’re not leaving before the battle has even begun. So what’s your main concern here?” I said, calming down and speaking in a more pragmatic voice.

  Captain Laurent swelled up and then deflated. “We’re strangers here. No one, including the Grand Admiral, knows us from Adam—except to that we are a ‘supposed Confederation Fleet’,” he hastily held up a hand to stay my angry retort, “their words, not mine.”

  After a hot moment, I irritably indicated for him to go on. But I was still angry. They didn’t want me co-opting their fleet, so I made sure to jump through all their little hoops, joining the Mutual Defense League of 23 and 24’s Grand Fleet as the Tracto-an Defense Force instead of the Confederation Fleet we really were—and this is the thanks I get?!

  “Anyway,” Laurent coughed before continuing, “they don’t know us here, except to think we’re a Confederation Fleet and, as such, it must be our duty to show up for a fight like this. What they’re not saying, but I’m afraid they’re all thinking, is that it’s also our duty to take the hits if it comes down to a choice between us and a local SDF outfit.” “The Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet is no one’s punching bag or sacrificial lamb,” I growled, not liking this postulating in the least but finding myself in more of an understanding mood where it came to my Flag Captain’s concerns. “We came here to fight for them, not lay down our lives so that some puffed-up blowhard like Preceptor or Admiral Irradiated can swoop down later and claim the credit!”

  “It’s not so much credit I’m worried about, Admiral. So much as, well…” he said.

  “I completely understand,” I said sharply, “and let me assure you I have no intention of allowing something like that to take place.”

  “A lot of things can happen in the confusion of battle,” Laurent reminded me.

  I smiled, and it wasn’t a nice or gentle smile. “It certainly can,” I agreed, although I was pretty sure that what I was agreeing to and what Laurent feared were very much two separate things. “Fear not, Captain. While I am here to help, I can do nothing if the MSP gets shot to pieces.”

  “I’m going to hold you to that, sir,” Laurent said.

  “Not a problem, Captain,” I assured him before switching my gaze to the screen.

  “What’s the estimated time for intercept between us and the two Droid fleets?” I asked, pointing at the two groups of enemy ships.

  “I can find out,” Laurent said and with a quick salute he hurried off. Several minutes later, he reported, “Current best time estimates have the Harmony Fleet coalescing into a cohesive unit and arriving a good half hour before the Conformity Droids get their act together, Admiral Montagne.”

  “That closely together?” I remarked with narrowing eyes. I paused in consideration. “Let’s get the Grand Admiral on the line for me, Comm.,” I said, turning to Lieutenant Steiner—who, I noted, was wearing a shiny new Officer’s insignia on her uniform.

  “Right on it, sir,” the former com-tech said crisply and then, activating her communication console, “please note that there’s a lot of communication flying between the Grand Flag and the rest of the fleet, especially the other flagships, Admiral. This could take a while.”

  I suppressed a frown and, courtesy of a lifetime spent doing so, projected a knowing smile in its place.

  “I suspect the Grand Admiral is finding he has to do a lot of hand holding right about now,” I said with a mocking grin. It was nice that someone else had to be in the hottest hot seat for once.

  “Are we any different, trying to get his attention right now?” Laurent asked with a hint of mockery in his voice.

  I stiffened. “I’m attempting to provide valuable insights into the enemy’s mindset,” I protested, feeling my dander starting to rise once again.

  “I’m sure every other person calling the Grand Admiral feels similarly, even if their valuable insights are into the best use of the fleet or the best way to keep their own commands following the orders of the Grand Admiral,” Laurent pointed out.

  I flushed, I couldn’t help it. “This is different. I’m not trying to get the best position for my command or cut last minute deals,” I said, feeling stung.

  “I’m sure that’s what they all say, sir,” Laurent said looking and sounding entirely too smug at having gotten under my skin as easily as he had.

  I glared at him until I realized that others on the bridge were starting to give me strange looks. “Oh, just get me the Grand Admiral,” I said, waving my hand in the air in the direction of Lieutenant Steiner before shutting up and gathering the remnants of my tattered dignity.

  I wasn’t just some ham-handed underling trying to bend the ear of his ‘current’ and ‘immediate’ superior…was I?

  For closer to a half hour than fifteen minutes, I was left to stew in my own juices and contemplate that unhappy possibility. The only conclusion I came to was that I either needed to become more understanding of a subordinate’s request for my time on the eve of battle, or reconcile myself to certain level of hypocrisy and move on.

  Unfortunately, this was the kind of hypocrisy I was unable to easily reconcile myself with, leaving me with the unpalatable fact that I needed to consider being more charitable to excitable underlings going into the future.

  With that unhappy notion sitting on my brain, I was eventually notified that Grand Admiral Manning was on the line and available to speak with me.

  “Put him through, Lieutenant,” I instructed my Comm. Officer.

  Moments later, Archibald Manning’s face appeared on my main screen. “What is it, Admiral Montagne? I hope it can be brief.” the Grand Admiral said, sounding a little bit harried and with a touch of a growing thundercloud on his forehead.

  I nodded in understanding; I could well understand where he was coming from. “I have a concern regarding the two Droid fleets racing towards us,” I replied quickly, yet evenly.

  Manning barked a harsh laugh. “You and every other ship commander in the fleet,” he said, shaking his head. “Let me assure you that everything is well in hand and we will be continuing with attack plan Alpha. So, if that is all, I would really like to get back to directing the Grand Fleet—all this handholding is beginning to wear.” I stiffened, feeling insulted—as well as concerned. Attack plan Alpha called for a spoiling attack to wear down their number before retreating back into the area around the Forge, and combining our fleet strength with the defenses around the trillium mines—a prime droid target. If the spoiling attack was very successful, then we would continue to pound the droid fleet into pieces at the command of the Grand Admiral.

  “No, that is not all,” I said sharply—and just before the Grand Admiral cut the transmission.

  “Of course it wasn’t,” Manning sighed and then actually seemed to look at me for the first time. “Well, you haven’t been as much of a whiner as the o
ther Admirals and have taken your demotion from hopeful Fleet Commander to task force subordinate like a man and an officer. So I’m willing to listen. Tell me, Admiral Montagne: what, exactly, are your concerns?”

  Producing a smile to hide my grinding teeth, I was forced to wonder if I came off half as condescending as the former High Captain of Elysium before gaining control of my jaw and speaking again.

  “I think I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again in light of the close arrival time of both droid fleets—each arriving to face us within a half hour of each other,” I said with remarkable calm after being lumped in with the likes of Admirals Preceptor, Block, and most likely dozens of panicky destroyer and cruiser commanders. “I worry that, instead of facing two enemy fleets,—each as intent on attacking each other as they are on attacking us—that we could be looking at a coordinated Droid offensive. They may choose to attack us in unison—machine against man, you could say—and save whatever falling out between them, assuming they haven’t simply divided these Sectors between themselves already, for later.”

  “Something we’ve talked about before,” Manning said patiently. “And, although my staff gives it a less than 30% chance of happening due to the Droid Tribes’ well-known animosity, it is still something we have contingency plans for. I will point out, again, that several human worlds have been saved by this very inability to join forces and fight as a united front against humanity.”

  “Still, I find the arrival of both fleets at virtually the same time to be more than coincidence,” I said, feeling the argument going against me.

  “We spy on them, they spy on us. In point of fact, Elysium Intelligence has been actively working to get both major Droid fleets concentrated and into Elysium Star System at the same time for the better part of a month,” Manning said coolly.