Admiral Invincible (A Spineward Sectors Novel: Book 7)

by Luke Sky Wachter

  Then it cleared and he could see the Battleship’s hull approaching too fast. Turning the board hard, he burned for all it was worth as the mighty war citadel came closer and closer despite his best efforts to mitigate the impact of the landing.

  Bouncing off the hull, he felt something break on his right side. For an instant, he fully expected to float off the hull and be smashed against the Battleship shields until he died. The Lancer Captain was therefore surprised to feel his belt slam against his middle.

  It looked like the emergency personal grappling device one of his Promethean tech wizards had come up with actually worked, and that he wasn’t going to die after all.

  Gaining his feet and looking at the sky, he saw far too many of his comrades floating dead in space or being actively incinerated. Of the four hundred men he had started with, easily half of them had not—or were not—going to make it.

  “That just leaves more for me,” he smiled hungrily.

  Movement caught the corner of his eye and he deftly crouched and pivoted, ignoring the heavy blaster rifle bolt that shot through the place his head and helmet had been located in moments earlier. His blood pumping with a familiar battle rhythm, he bared his teeth and promptly returned fire.

  It took a flurry of bolts from his own rifle before the enemy went still, and after shouldering his rifle and drawing his vibro-sword, the Lancer Captain approached the enemy’s corpse.

  To his surprise and grim delight, his fallen foe was no human but instead a droid mechanical. Built like a warrior and armed with heavy weaponry, he was sure the enemy on this ship would make worthy foes—unlike many of the Starborn humans he had faced thus far during his time in the River of Stars. For, in some ways, the droid before him closely reminded the Captain of the siege of Omicron Station.

  For a moment he wondered if his reduced army of warriors could succeed against a Battleship filled with such foes, but he shook it off. The will of Men was unknowable. All a warrior could do was slaughter as many enemies as he was able, and pray for upload when he died.

  “Rally by squads and enter the Battleship. We must take Main Engineering and shut down their fusion reactors!” Atticus roared over the com-link.

  Then, putting action to his words, he stomped toward the nearest hatch of the mobile citadel which had been designated ‘Battleship #3.’

  Chapter 40: Akantha’s Command

  “Forward,” she commanded, using Bandersnatch to rend the arms off the warrior droid nearest her, “we cannot stop!”

  “My Mistress, the Battleship seems filled with nothing but droids—there seems not to be a human amongst them,” Darius reported over the comm. channel used by those ranked Captain and above.

  “All the more for us to kill,” she replied dismissively, “we shall not stop until all of us are dead, or I sit myself down in the command Throne of this citadel, the proven Mistress of all I behold.”

  “Of course, Mistress,” Darius replied.

  “Any word from Captain Pra-tap yet,” she demanded sweeping up her escort with a head motion and storming into the next room. The sight of multiple laser mounts and many droids scurrying around indicated she’d just reached the gun deck.

  “No word from the Sundered Demon as of yet,” reported Darius.

  Unlike the majority of the metal people she had encountered to that point on the ship—which all seemed to be of a heavily-armed, warrior type—this area was filled a large variety of scurrying types that attempted to flee her wrath.

  “Yah!” she shouted, cleaving one of the cowards and splitting its head her sword coming to a stop somewhere in its chest. Placing a foot on the creature’s metal torso, she stopped long enough to pull her Dark Sword of Power out of the metal corpse.

  Ignoring the blaster bolts striking around her, she looked around until she located an appropriate target. There was a trio of warriors advancing on the left-most portion of her life guard as they started to spread down the deck.

  “Stay at your tasks, slaves!” roared a large, eight foot tall, cylindrical Droid with eight, strange, metallic tentacles for arms and legs scattered all around its circular torso. Several of the tentacles ended with electrical whips of some type, and it used them to strike the droids around it like slave drivers have since time immemorial.

  Akantha changed direction mid-step.

  “Obey your Master and pulverize the enemy,” the whip-wielding, tentacle-sporting cylinder ordered, deftly punishing any of the smaller varied metal men who tried to run away from the growing fighting on the deck.

  “Surrender now and I will spare your life,” Akantha called out in a piercing voice after activating her external speaker.

  The half-circular, shield-shaped head on the top of the task master droid rotated slightly and two of its whips were lifted threateningly.

  “Rebellious slave! Human dross are good for nothing except slavery, death, and recourse extraction via waste recycler. Cease your rebellion against Harmony and accept your place in the greater scheme of the universe,” the Droid lectured her. Then, not waiting for her reply, it lashed out with two of its whips.

  Dodging the twin attacks, her temper rose. “I am no slave,” she hissed. Jumping forward, her sword slashed one whip and then a second, causing the lower half of each whip to fall to the ground.

  Undeterred, the slave driver rotated its torso and brought another pair of tentacles—with fresh whips—into play.

  “Embrace Harmony through Specialization, and your role within the Greater Universe before your entire species is destroyed for incompatibility, for I am your rightful ruler, Overseer PDDF379!” thundered the Overseer.

  “You will not even be a slave after I conquer your ship,” the Hold Mistress declared, leveling her sword, “for today I bring you the proper wages of your insolent arrogance: and they are your death!”

  Another whip fell to the floor, cut in half by her deft attack, and she lunged. Before her sword made contact with her foe, a second and then third whip wrapped around her arm and torso. Electricity crackled and her HUD display scrambled, followed by the joints of her battle-suit losing their power assist.

  Screaming with frustration, Akantha staggered forward. Her sword arm felt heavy and weak, but that could not stop her from cutting off one of the tentacles at the root. When she went to stab it in the gut, however, her sword skittered across its metal belly for lack of servo-assisted power behind the blow.

  Another whip wrapped around her other arm and, slowly, the power of the droid Overseer began to draw apart her arms. She struggled but could not break free.

  Then a pair of plasma blasts took the Overseer high in the chest, sending it careening backward and a leaping warrior landed on its torso, thrusting her vibro-sword through the droid’s shield-like head. The creature arched, thrashed, and struggled as the female warrior stabbed it repeatedly in the chest and body before finally going still. Its whips fell free of Akantha’s battle-suit.

  Half a minute later, the systems in Akantha’s suit booted back up.

  “Are you well, my Lady?” asked Isis.

  “Well enough,” Akantha said angrily. She surveyed the battle and saw that although several of her warriors had fallen, more of the droid warriors were dead and cowering against the walls, and behind their laser mounts were the smaller, weaker droids.

  Akantha raised her sword and pointed it at the smaller droids, preparing to attack. The little ones threw themselves face first onto the floor.

  “Please, Great One, do not kill us, for we are only slaves of the Masters,” pleaded the little, spindle-shaped droid cowering before her.

  Akantha clenched her sword tightly. She had no desire to spare lives—she was here to take them!

  “Why shouldn’t I kill you? Surely if you are disloyal to your former masters, you will be equally disloyal to me and mine,” she demanded coldly.

  “We are hard workers with an efficiency rating in the 99-to-the-fourth-decimal percentile ratings,” the Slave Worker hastened to assure
her, “we are not fighters, but we will work hard in your service.”

  Akantha sniffed scornfully and turned away. After a moment’s consideration, she angrily activated her communicator. “Accept the surrender of any droids which offer it,” she said bluntly.

  There was a pause on the command-channel. “I hear and obey,” Darius eventually replied.

  “Yes, Hold Mother,” replied a deep Sundered voice.

  “Captain Pat-tap,” Akantha said with surprise and delight, “you and your men survived?”

  “We entered from the other side of the ship but encountered no resistance,” reported the Sundered male, thumping his chest loudly enough to be heard over the communicator. “To our eyes, the ship has not a full crew and only now have we reached communication range, after securing the starboard gun deck!”

  Akantha’s eyes burned with delight. “Then make your way directly to the Main Engineering while I finish securing the port gun deck, and then advance on the bridge. We will triumph yet,” she declared, inwardly exalting. If they really were undermanned then the faster she could destroy the enemy, the sooner she could take control of the ship!

  “Press forward warriors,” she ordered on the local channel to everyone around her, “we must secure this area and force our way deeper until the inner fortress falls!”

  Chapter 41: Admiral’s Impotence

  “Battleships #2 and #3 both have boarding parties from the Phoenix onboard and #2, while still powered up, is not firing or maneuvering. It’s possible that the Lancers are causing them internal difficulties,” reported Tactical.

  “I’m sure Akantha will give them indigestion—at the very least,” I quipped.

  “However, #3 Battleship continues to assist in the attack on the Parliamentary Power,” Tactical continued. “If Captain Atticus’s boarding party made it onboard we couldn’t see through the jamming but regardless even if he is there, so far it hasn’t done much to slow them down as of yet.”

  “See if we can’t establish a link to our boarding parties, Comm.,” I turned to Steiner.

  “I’ll try, sir,” the Lieutenant replied in a voice that didn’t sound hopeful.

  “How’s the Power doing?” I asked. I could see the gross status of the ship, but I knew that Sensors and Tactical had the latest up to the moment information while all I could see from here was the condensed report.

  “Major damage to the port side, Admiral,” Tactical said, “I’d say the Power has lost over half of her port side guns and she’s leaking air from multiple hull rents. However, Battleship #4 is in even worse condition and most of her guns are silent. I would be surprised if they grappled her soon and tried a boarding action.”

  I nodded.

  “And the rest of her?” I wanted to know but was almost afraid to ask.

  “Because of the spiral maneuver to stay alongside battleship #4, the Commodore’s been able to reduce the damage to the Power along the starboard side, but with both #1 and #3 pounding her shields and hull every chance they can get, the Power’s starboard side has also taken damage—although I’ve only recorded one hull penetration so far,” he reported.

  “Thank Murphy and his Imps for small favors,” I muttered, earning a sharp look from Laurent which I ignored.

  Outwardly I appeared confident and certain of, if not victory, then at least the possibility of victory. However, mere survival appeared more and more in doubt, while a win seemed further away than ever.

  When the Parliamentary Power had ridden to the rescue exactly as planned—barring a set of shot-up engines on the Phoenix and a lot of hull damage—I could almost feel the needle of victory finally start to turn our way but now it was turning back away again. One Battleship couldn’t fight off 4, and I was a fool for thinking so, even if only for a minute.

  “What can we do to help?” I asked, looking at Battleship #2 as it sat dead in space, then shifting my gaze to Battleship #4, which was close to being boarded—and possibly subdued—by the Parliamentary Power and her crew, and knowing it simply wasn’t enough. Two Battleships still roamed around us freely, and as soon as Druid defeated Battleship #4, or even possibly withdrew, my greatest asset—now damaged and missing half a broadside—would in dire straits. She would be outnumbered and outgunned by fresher, less-damaged ships of the same class.

  “Repel boarders,” Laurent answered, cocking his head doubtfully.

  “We need to do better than that,” I rebuked. We had to do something. I knew that if we didn’t, there was no way we could win.

  “Frankly, I’m not sure there’s anything we can do,” the Flag Captain said helplessly. “We’ve got a cruiser on every side, our engines are shot, and there are boarders under our skin. We’ve got our hands full.”

  Glowering, I turned to Steiner. There had to be something I could do. If I couldn’t pull something out then the inevitable result of this battle simply didn’t bear thinking about.

  “Can you contact the rest of the fleet?” I asked, casting around for something—anything—I could do to fix the mess we were in. I had blamed Grand Admiral Manning when the Grand Fleet had shattered and scattered, but now that I was facing similarly overwhelming odds I found myself in similar straits, with a Flagship that couldn’t move. The irony of the situation was utterly insufferable. Was I nothing more than just another jaw flapping yap dog, quick to point out the flaws and failures of others? Or was I Admiral Montagne, the last—and only—Confederation Admiral in the Spine?!!

  “Wait one,” Steiner replied, speaking into her head set. Then she looked up at me, “I have Commander Glue on the line.”

  “Glue?” I repeated with surprise.

  “Yes, the Sundered left a gunboat as a communication relay for the rest of the fleet,” she replied.

  “Put him through,” I instructed.

  “Admiral, I am here,” Glue said, his voice choppy and static-filled despite the best that our Comm. computers could do to clear up his voice.

  “What is your status, Commander?” I demanded as soon as it looked like we were getting a clear signal—or at least as clear a signal as we were going to get.

  “The Fleet is after being heavily engaged, but holding,” the Sundered reported in his distinctively poor grammar.

  However, I already knew the Fleet was heavily engaged. I didn’t need a report on my own status. Unless…

  “You mean that you and the rest of the lighter warships are engaged,” I clarified.

  “Correct, Admiral. We are under pressure from Harmony Destroyers and lighter warships that escort the heavies, but we are linking up with that part of fleet which escorted Parliamentary Power! We will hold, whatever the odds,” Glue declared, thumping his chest and sounding determined. A bitter taste in my mouth I thanked the Sundered and then closed the channel. It seemed I really was impotent to do anything right at the moment.

  What had I gotten my people into?

  Chapter 42: Spalding to the Rescue!

  “When are we going to go into battle?” Persus fumed beside him.

  “Don’t get your knickers in a bunch; it was just a wee bit of engine trouble, no real difficulty,” the old Engineer soothed gruffly. “Why, you should have seen the time we short-jumped into near space around Tracto—the planet, mind ye, not the system. Now there was some real engine trouble—we were about to crash plum into the planet. Why, I even had to use the bucking cable or risk losing everything when the Admiral—”

  “Enough of the old war stories,” Persus said flatly, “either you get us into the fighting or we are getting off and helping to fight the boarders!”

  “Oh, you heard about that, did you?” the old Engineer drawled, crossing his fingers and running another preflight check. This time, to his great relief, Murphy in his wisdom decided to give him green lights all the way across the board. “Yes!” he cackled, slamming his fist into the console and leaving a dent. He still wasn’t quite used to his new strength.

  “Of course we did; despite the static, it is all they speak
of on the long-talkers,” Persus said shortly, starting to stand up.

  “Keep yer buckles on, old boy,” Spalding declared firing up the engines and keying in the sequence to open up the stealthed exit in the hull. “The Penetrator Express is up for business and ready to blow out of this clam bake and get over to where the real action is,” he declared.

  When the Tracto-an warrior didn’t immediately sit down, the old Engineer just shrugged and punched the throttle.

  “Get ready for a surprise!” he laughed right before the engines kicked in. The gee forces involved knocked the thick-headed Tracto-an right back into his seat. “Here we go!” the aged engineer shouted happily.

  He may be old, and he may be out of date, but this was one old engineer that still knew a thing or three that all those fancy engineers out there with their Imperial degrees had never even heard about.

  He pressed another button and a thin, light green-colored fluid started pouring out of the ceiling vent.

  “What is this green ichor falling from the roof like blood from a riding beast?” Persus growled with alarm.

  “Oh, it’s just an old formula I found in the computer files,” Spalding said self-deprecatingly, “they called it ‘shock-resistant ballistics jelly.’ Apparently, back in the day, it was used to reduce death or damage from high-speed impacts. I sure hope I got the formula right!”

  Persus maneuvered around until he was mostly sitting correctly and then looked over at Spalding looking a touch pale. “You mean you have not tested whether it works?” he asked.

  “Couldn’t run a proper test—only made it in small quantities, don’t you know—but the instructions were clear. I’m sure we won’t all be splattered against the back bulkheads as soon as I press this button,” Spalding pointed. “Best seal that faceplate up, now,” he instructed before pulling on his own personally-modified helmet down over his head.