“All that Trillium,” the XO said, shaking his head.
Druid looked at the other man oddly, “I’ve seen bigger.”
The other man coughed a laugh, and the Commodore allowed the faintest hint of a smile to touch his face. He then pointed to a nearby, apparently unremarkable moon.
“As soon as the network is ready, take us behind the shadow of that moon,” he instructed.
“Aye aye, sir!” replied the Helmsman and Executive Officer in unison.
Being heavily outnumbered simply meant one had to fight all the wilier. This was something the young Admiral had done quite well—and often—during his career, with several startling examples. It was also something the Commodore intended to emulate…if possible.
Chapter 30: Jovian: First to the Fray
“Status update,” I called out, my voice cutting through the chatter and confusion on the bridge like a plasma torch through pig fat, “I want to know how far the droids are behind us.”
“The Droid Destroyers and captured human Battleships are hot on our tails, Admiral, but they’re a good half hour behind us. They’ll never catch up to us in time to cut us off; we’ll be well into the Jovian and on our way to the defenses around the Forge before they’ve reengaged, sir,” Navigator Shepherd said with evident satisfaction in his voice.
I pursed my lips and then leaned back in my chair. I shifted around for a moment, trying to find a comfortable posture after several hours stuck in the chair. Finally realizing it was hopeless, I grimaced and stood up to relieve the discomfort.
Oh, how I missed my Throne; no mere Captain’s Chair could compare.
“Admiral Montagne?” Laurent asked with a certain reservation in his voice.
“Navigation, prepare to reduce our speed. I want you to ensure the droid forces enter the Jovian System no more—but also no less—than five minutes behind us,” I said, pacing back and forth to help get the blood flowing back in my posterior as I gave the orders.
There was a moment of almost shocked silence.
“On it, Admiral,” the Navigator replied with a nod. He hunched over his console, “I’ll have the solution shortly. Wait one moment.”
I looked at Mr. Shepherd skeptically, surprised at the lack of exclamations of disbelief and declarations that my crazy orders were going to get us all killed. I even looked around for my usual critics and vocal naysayers but, other than a still-silently-stewing Flag Captain, no one seemed eager to tell me I was wrong.
Was it possible they were starting to trust me? Or just as bad—maybe even worse—was the lack of pushback a sign I was about to sink the ship?
Pushing away such odious thoughts, I focused back on the screen. How you might ask did I intend to defeat four Battleships, two Heavy Cruisers, and half a dozen lighter warships using only one Strike Cruiser and a dozen lighter warships. In fairness, I would say that that would be a very good question—the answer to which even I would pay good money to hear.
“Course and speed locked in and transferred to Mr. DuPont, Admiral. All we need is your order to proceed,” relayed the Navigator.
“The order is given,” I said airily. I wasn’t as carefree as I wanted to appear, but I held firm to the maxim of ‘never let them see you sweat.’ We would weather this storm of droids and we would do it because we had to. There was no choice.
Now all that remained was letting the minutes tick down until the droids followed me at his speed right into the Jovian.
“Entering the outer limits now,” reported the Sensor Warrant.
I scanned my handheld instead of looking at the main screen. I identified where I wanted us to go and tapped out new orders which I shot over to Shepherd.
“Mr. Shepherd, I want you to adjust the course I gave you and then send it over to Mr. DuPont,” I ordered.
“Admiral,” Shepherd acknowledged.
“Mr. DuPont, take us toward the Forge but veer us off before we reach it; prepare to come about and face the traitors well outside the outer defenses. This is going to get rocky,” I said evenly.
“You can count on me, sir,” replied the Helmsman.
“The Droids know as well as us that they not only have to destroy the Grand Fleet, but they need to stop Trillium production. If they can do this they sharply cut these Sectors’ ability to mount a credible defense,” I expounded as we continued deeper into the Jovian System where the Forge was located.
“That, or take control of those resources for themselves,” Captain Laurent pointed out harshly.
“A fair point,” I said smoothly before continuing with ruthless efficiency, “but we know they will come for the Forge, and they know we must stand and defend it and for our purposes that is all that’s important. The battle will be here,” I declared, pointing right at the icon representing the Forge on the main screen.
“You’re the Admiral,” Laurent said, stepping back and turning to check on something in another section of the truncated bridge on the Phoenix.
“Indeed I am,” I said in my most entitled tone of voice, just to let him know that his little digs hadn’t gone unnoticed. Then I turned to Steiner; I had no more time for passive aggressive feuding with my right hand Officer—much as it brought back nostalgic memories of my early days on the bridge of the Clover.
My face darkened at the thought of my old ship—as well as unbidden thoughts of traitors, assassination attempts and the constant threat of a general uprising among the crew. No, those days were well past me…or so I fervently hoped.
“Admiral Montagne?” Lieutenant Steiner looked at me oddly, and I realized I’d been drifting.
I cleared my throat and regained my poise.
“General hail, Lieutenant,” I ordered promptly. “Use Grand Fleet frequencies and send out a message for every remaining warship in the area. Inform them that Admiral Jason Montagne of the Confederation Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet intends to mount a vigorous defense of the Forge, and he invites everyone within fighting range to rendezvous with him there. It’s time we gave these Droids and their traitorous human patsies a proper welcome to the Elysium System.” “Fighting range, sir?” Steiner asked blinking rapidly. She opened her mouth and then closed it firmly, “On it, Admiral.”
“Good woman,” I said, turning away. I briefly registered a look of surprise and several raised eyebrows from crew at nearby stations, but I ignored them.
“Sir, what do you want me to do with any responses?” Steiner asked a minute later in a decidedly neutral voice. “Do you want me to patch them into you?”
“You handle them, Lieutenant,” I said breezily, “I have complete confidence in your ability to get the most out of any survivors that answer the call to continued duty.”
The former com-tech gave me a very doubtful look and then womanfully returned to her duty, with the firm and certain knowledge that her Admiral had just dropped the load of securing reinforcements for the fleet upon her. If she gave me a dark look as she did this, well, I was Admiral enough to ignore it. Delegation was one of my prime duties, and I was about to be far too busy for handholding.
“Admiral the Parliamentary Power is no longer on our scans,” reported a Sensor Operator with alarm. “She’s moved behind one of the moons near the Forge but I can’t get an exact fix on her anymore.”
“Excellent. Carry on, Operator,” I replied.
“The Droid Destroyers are increasing speed and moving forward with the lighter human-built warships; they’re leaving the Battleships and Cruisers behind. It looks like they aim to close before we reach the Forge, Admiral,” reported Tactical.
“Increase our speed to compensate,” I instructed.
There was a pause.
“We’re fast for a cruiser…but we’re still a cruiser, those Destroyers can catch us if they push it, Admiral,” reported Tactical.
“All the better,” I said after a moment’s consideration. I turned to DuPont, “If and when the Destroyers come within range of their weapons, I want you to turn and let gunnery giv
e them a broadside, Helm.”
“We’re to stop for a full engagement, or continue on after the broadside, Admiral?” the Helmsman asked, looking concerned.
“This is all part of the plan,” I soothed. “But be prepared for either possibility; I’ll give the order when it’s time.”
From the uneasy looks I got to that particular statement, I could see that telling them it was all part of the plan but that I would decide exactly what to do when the time came, wasn’t going over particularly well.
I sighed. Fortunately for me—and unfortunately for them—I was in command, and this time I actually did have a master plan for winning this thing…or, at least for winning the battle around the Forge.
“Oh, and Lieutenant Steiner,” I said casually.
“What can I do for you, sir?” the little brown-skinned, Caprian woman asked looking harried.
“If you could, call down to the Lancer quarters and inform them that now might be a good time to load up a battalion in the shuttles. Then inform Armsmaster Gants that he and his team could very shortly be in charge of ship security, if you would be so kind,” I said, leaning back into my chair with a sigh.
Now all that was left to do was wait. Wait until the enemy came within attack range or we reached the Forge and turned at bay. One way or another everything was about to go into the pot.
“Aye aye, Admiral,” Lisa Steiner said, sounding subdued.
This one was for all the marbles…but then again, when wasn’t it? I reminded myself that I’d faced worse, and faced it often, but I still had to take a deep calming breath. And when that didn’t work to calm my pre-battle jitters, I drew a second—and a third.
Chapter 31: the Eye of the Storm
“Destroyers are closing to attack range. They’re using targeting sensors!” said the Tactical Officer.
“Now, Mr. DuPont!” I barked.
“Turning the ship,” the Helmsman reported.
On the screen, the Phoenix started to turn.
“Fire as she bears!” shouted Eastwood, emphasizing his order by slamming his microphone onto the table.
“I see why they sent him to us,” I said with a shake of my head.
“What, Admiral?” Laurent asked, looking at me crosswise.
“Mr. Eastwood,” I replied.
“Of course, sir,” Laurent said, giving a short shake of the head and then refocusing on the screen.
I rolled my eyes as the First Officer’s enthusiasm got the better of him, and then I too was locked in on the action.
“Destroyers are continuing with their evasive covering pattern,” Tactical reported as the Destroyers continued to elegantly move around, always seeming to present a fully-charged shield facing.
“A hit!” roared Eastwood as a pair of turbo-lasers lanced out at the same time, piercing the shields of the Destroyer they targeted. That Destroyer momentarily lost engine power before stuttering back to life and jerking around.
“Harmony Destroyers are scattering…they’re breaking formation, sir!” howled the Tactical Officer, and I saw more turbo-lasers lash out, striking the wounded Destroyer. Moments later, the wounded Destroyer exploded. I could grudgingly understand his enthusiasm at putting one of the enemy warships down, but there were still eleven more where it came from.
“What about the light human warships?” demanded Captain Laurent.
“Still coming right for us, sir,” reported Sensors, “but with none of that fancy Droid maneuvering.”
“Thank Murphy for small favors,” Laurent muttered.
I almost said ‘so now we’re thanking Murphy, after the way he supposedly turned his back on you?’ but I bit my tongue.
“Roll the ship, Helmsman,” I ordered.
“Rolling ship, aye aye,” exclaimed DuPont.
“Droid Destroyers are all turning to face us; they’re going to hard burn,” yelped the Tactical Officer.
It took me a split second to see the Droids intended to catch us in a cross-fire, with the Harmony Squadrons on one side and the human-built warships on the other.
“New orders to the Fleet,” I yelled, “initiate full burn toward the human light warships.”
“Enemy Fighters are accelerating out from behind the Harmony Destroyers. They’ll be here shortly,” reported Tactical in an elevated voice.
“Deploy the gun—,” I stopped, cutting myself short, “gun-boats to the starboard side of the Phoenix away from the Fighters. Tell Gunnery to man their plasma cannons and get ready to give some Droids a really bad day.”
“Boats to the starboard side; on it, sir,” said Steiner.
“Get ready for some fighters,” shouted Eastwood into his microphone.
“Fighters continuing their attack run; they’re aiming for us, the Flagship, sir,” reported Tactical.
“Steady as she goes. I want one firing pass on the traitors, then bring us back towards the Forge,” I shouted.
“Separation! I have multiple missile separations…location the Harmony Fighters,” reported Tactical, “eta fifteen seconds!”
“Point defense!” cried Laurent.
“I’m reading over three hundred individual missiles,” exclaimed Tactical, while in the background Eastwood was yelling into—or, perhaps, at—his microphone.
“Jammer missiles, sir—it’s the only way. They must have spoofed our sensors with fake missiles,” said the Tactical Officer as multiple balls of roaring plasma from the cannons covering the flanks of our ship went to rapid fire, targeting the incoming weapons.
Then they were on us.
“Supercharging the port shields,” reported Lieutenant Longbottom.
“There’s no time to get a full charge—” the Flag Captain started but was cut off when the ship was rocked by missile impacts.
“Minor hull damage,” reported Damage Control.
“Shields down to 64%,” reported Longbottom, “the missile attack was staggered but all aimed at one relatively small area of the port shields. One of the missiles slipped in through an area weakened by the coordinated strike.”
“Pinpoint targeting,” the Captain swore, “who are these Droids?”
“Fighters peeling off,” Sensors reported with concern as the fighters sped away.
“Enemy human-built warships approaching fast, sir,” reported Tactical.
“Signal the Fleet: prepare to come to and present broadside on my mark,” I instructed the com-section.
“Aye, sir,” replied Steiner.
I waited, my eyes flicking across the readouts on the main screen…I waited, feeling my heartbeat inside my ears and doing my best to ignore…still, I waited for the optimal moment…
“Mark!” I shouted, clenching my fist as soon as that moment arrived.
“All ships: come about and present broadsides,” Steiner said into her com-link.
“Here we go,” DuPont cried, going to manual control and heeling the ship hard over.
“All ships, fire as she bears,” I ordered, “I want that enemy light cruiser in the lead taken out!”
“Fire!” shouted Eastwood as all twelve warships, including the Phoenix, in my truncated fleet presented their broadsides.
Turbo- and heavy lasers spewed from the Phoenix, with the Admiral’s Gift and our nine accompanying corvettes—which sported shorter weapons range—held their fire. In response to our barrage, two of the enemy’s human-built warships—a Light Cruiser and a Destroyer—returned fire. With the long-range punch of our Strike Cruiser, we had them seriously outgunned at the longer ranges, and it showed. Their laser fire was absorbed by the doughty shields of the Phoenix, while our weapons caused their lead ship’s shields to flare before a pair of heavy laser strikes punched through.
A hailstorm of lasers shot out from our ship, and before the Light Cruiser could turn to present a different facing, those heavy laser strikes had been followed up by a series of turbo-lasers.
“Enemy cruiser is venting atmosphere,” reported Sensors.
“The enemy h
uman-built squadron has just begun evasive maneuvers,” reported Tactical and then he jerked in his chair, “they are matching the Harmony Squadron’s standard maneuvers and moving to rotate ships with intact shields between our lasers and their squadron.”
“What? Impossible,” Laurent protested. But, as we watched, the traitor ships went about doing exactly that.
“Harmony Destroyer Squadrons are on fast approach. We’re about to be put in a cross-fire,” reported Tactical.
“Fleet to full burn; get us back to the Forge, Mr. DuPont,” I ordered rapidly, fumbling for my data-slate before pulling up a file on it. “And transmit this file on standard MSP frequency Alpha, Lieutenant Steiner,” I finished, shooting over the file.
“Yes, Admiral,” DuPont said, putting words to action.
“Aye, sir,” said Steiner as he did so.
Moments later the entire area around the Forge—or at least that part along the path we’d taken, and not coincidentally the same path the Parliamentary Power had taken to reach the trillium mines—was filled with an overwhelming amount of sensor static as the jammer system I’d ordered the Commodore to deploy went active.
“Active jamming!” cried Sensors and Tactical at the same time.
“Long range sensors are blind and medium sensors unreliable,” the Sensor Warrant said, a hint of panic in his voice.
“Change course by fifteen degrees and reduce our speed by 5%, Mr. DuPont,” I instructed. “Let’s try to get while the getting’s good.”
“We won’t be able to see the enemy until they’re right on top of us, Admiral,” reported Tactical. “Our longer-range weaponry is practically useless.”
“Excellent news, Tactical,” I said, leaning back in my chair and trying to project an aura of confidence.
“Using Fleet sensors, we can isolate the origin point for the jammer signals. We can start destroying jammers on your orders, Admiral,” reported Tactical.
“Why would I want to destroy my own hardware, Tactical?” I asked rhetorically.
“This is ours, sir?” Tactical said his face flickering with surprise and then sudden dawning understanding, “the Power…”
Admiral Invincible (A Spineward Sectors Novel: Book 7) Page 27
