by Chris Hechtl
“I was going to send the worst of our damaged ships on ahead and try to hang on to the star system. I don't know if that is possible anymore. We may have reinforcements in hyperspace on the way. Then again, we may not. Or, we may not have enough. Politics and war,” the admiral mused with a shake of his head.
Catherine bit her lip slightly but didn't say anything.
“Lose them or lose the fleet. A tough decision, sir,” Captain Couglin murmured.
“I know. We'll try to delay it as long as we can. But, I want the engineers to know we might have to drop everything and make a run for it at any time. So make sure they don't tear into anything they shouldn't.”
“Aye aye, sir. Several of the ships have major frame damage. If we want to squeeze more speed in hyper or subspace, we're going to need to deal with it and other repairs. And they've made it clear it has to be done when we're not underway,” Catherine warned.
“We've got frame damage as well,” Captain Couglin stated. “Our sublight drive has only lost about ten percent. We've patched the fuel leaks.”
“Understood,” the admiral rumbled. “Tell your people to do their best internally and externally.”
“We've got a lot of shuttles on SAR duty. It's putting a lot of time on their clocks,” Berney stated.
“It can't be helped. I want everything we've got on a courier. Keep a running update and put the courier ahead of us with the screen.”
Berney grimaced but then nodded. They had already sent a courier off ahead of them the moment they'd exited hyperspace. The little ship had departed the star system a bare day before their uninvited guests had appeared in an explosion of energy astern of the fleet.
“I don't know what sort of reinforcements White will get. We have to be ready for anything. I want you to process as much as we have while we can on top of everything else,” the admiral said, turning to his staff. They nodded.
:::{)(}:::
Crown Princess Catherine Ramichov took a moment to take stock of her changed situation once things had begun to wind down in the fleet. She had a few moments before she needed to sleep. She had put off a lot of thought of the future to deal with the crisis of the moment, but it was beginning to nag at her hind brain and had finally bubbled out of her subconsciousness to make her face it at last.
She was there, the new crown princess. There, she had thought it, she thought in amusement at herself. It had come to her when she had realized her brothers were most likely dead or captured. Either way, they were out of the running to succeed their father now, which firmly thrust herself into the spotlight.
She wasn't certain she liked it. The spotlight was a dangerous place to be. It drew all the attention, she couldn't make a mistake, and everyone had their knives sharpened and ready in the shadows for her. A single mistake could mean her life.
She should know; up until their jump, she had been one of those people waiting for her twin Adam to stumble. She'd even been ready to give him a handy push should he need it. But she'd been content to wait, to bide her time until their father fell.
Now though, now it was a whole new game—a dangerous one. She was well aware that her younger siblings and their supporters, most notably her stepmother Irazabeth, would be eyeing her like sharks smelling blood in the water.
And she would be eyeing them too, for she was the slightly larger shark and self-preservation was drilled into her.
Marina might be a source of aide. Might she thought as she cataloged the woman in the maybe column. Marina's place and plans had been abruptly shaken by Adam's death. She would know she was on the way out so might grasp at any offer of token support she could get.
As next in line, Joseph would be eyeing to replace her. But if he was smart, he'd hold his place in line and back her against Irazabeth, Kevin, and Khali.
She shivered. She had shifted an unwanted betrothal to Khali, the youngest of their brood. She was certain her young half-sister despised her for it. There would be no help there, far from it.
Her grandmother Jezebel, the dowager empress, would be of some help … unless she cut a deal with Irazabeth. She wouldn't put it past the bitch she thought with a curled lip.
But, all that would be moot if she herself didn't survive to see the homeworld again. She grimaced as another realization came to her. She not only had to survive, to get there, but also survive the gauntlet of recriminations for the failure of Cyrano and the Retribution Fleet in its mission to crush the Federation. As the admiral's chief of staff, she was in the crosshairs right alongside him. Given her newfound and somewhat ironically unwanted position as crown princess, those who would see her fall would most likely do something to tarnish her while she was vulnerable.
Her lips thinned. That was okay, many would identify themselves in the process. She would find allies as well, but she would need to be careful. The old saying, keep your friends close but your enemies closer, ran through her head. An enemy would cozen up to her, get her to lower her guard … she would have to be careful indeed.
:::{)(}:::
Captain Couglin set a tablet down as he read the latest situation report from his XO. His XO had his hands full dealing with Executioner's damage, but that didn't stop the captain from helping out here and there. After all, they needed everyone since they were shorthanded.
He was bitterly unhappy but more or less resigned to seeing the damage and hasty repairs on his ship. He would never had accepted such repairs before leaving the home star system. No, they had no choice. He had never had a wounded ship to deal with before; it was a new and very unwanted experience to have to endure. Battle Fleet had never been in a proper battle after all, just endless simulations that never quite got it right it seemed. He snorted softly to himself. There was no reset, no slipped plans to read, no scripted battle to perform. Not only had they been in a real battle, but several, and they'd gotten their asses thoroughly chewed in the last one. All the while retreating, which was a humiliation all in itself.
It was a harsh experience to have to deal with. Dealing with the damage was almost as bad as the logistics and morale issues. He couldn't bear to visit the wounded, though he'd seen it his duty to do so at least once. He'd kept his stomach strong as he walked through the rows, but by the end, even his resolution had wavered a bit. It was one thing to see such things on the VID screen or hear about them through second or third hand, quite another to see it in person. He'd seen sadism, sat through a couple of arena games, but it was quite appalling to see your own people hurt—people you served with, people who you needed. To see the shock and horror on their faces, the missing limbs, the lost looks … it was harsh.
The smells alone clogged his sinuses enough to make him want to gag. The heart-tearing looks and soft sounds haunted him for days and nights afterward, making an already difficult task of sleeping almost impossible. Fortunately, the admiral had authorized all of their critically injured personnel to be shipped out in the worst of the crippled ships.
Getting them out of the line of fire also got them out of sight and therefore, temporarily out of mind. There was too much to do, too many things to fix and not a lot of time, personnel, or resources to do it with.
But, it had to be done. Another defeat was not an option in his book he vowed grimly.
:::{)(}:::
Commander Berney Yashanaka shook his head as he took stock. He was tired beyond belief, but there was some progress made. How much good it would do he wasn't certain.
There were twelve warships left: six tin cans, two heavy cruisers, the two battle cruisers Demeantor and Unconquered, the carriers Nimitz, and Executioner. And every one of them had been damaged to varying degrees. They had two couriers, two tankers, two empty munitions ships, and two Marine transports in the fleet train, plus the resupply convoy of two freighter colliers and two escorting tin cans.
Admiral De Gaulte had detached one courier to race ahead with the news of the disastrous battle. Berney had to admit, he wasn't certain he would have slavishly upheld his
duty with that sort of news. But, he had to admit the empire needed to know and every moment was now precious. The fleet train had confirmed the little ship had passed through and jumped onward a week prior to their arrival.
So, that was something at least. He knew his career was most likely toast, but for the moment, he didn't care.
With the two fresh tin cans, their warship numbers had increased slightly. Their speed remained the same; they were moving at their best speed for the jump point while also simultaneously trying to make what repairs they could. Needless to say, things were a bit rushed in the heat of the moment.
One of the two colliers had offloaded a single squadron of fighters onto Nimitz. That was it. They barely had enough pilots to man all of the planes. He had just finished polling the fleet for any additional fighters or pilots. None had been found.
They had dealt with the dead in hyperspace, so he had one less chore to handle. He yawned and then stretched. He needed to get some sack time. He was punch drunk with fatigue, and he knew it. The admiral himself had ordered him to get a minimum of four hours rack time. Most of the staff were in the same boat he was in. Stress was taking its toll on everyone, and nerves and tempers were frayed.
They were just about done cleaning out the fleet train, which was none too soon since they were a day away from jumping out. As soon as the ships were empty, he knew the admiral would detach them to race on ahead. There was no point keeping them with the fleet, and the sooner they got to where they could get fresh supplies, the sooner they could haul them back to the fleet. He fought the itch to check the fleet status. Instead he pulled his stinking shirt off and tossed it in the general vicinity of his hamper and then climbed into his rack with a groan. His thumb reached out blindly behind his head until it found the switch and then the lights blissfully went off. He sighed softly and then did his best to close his eyes and rest.
:::{)(}:::
Lieutenant Commander Sedrick Lovato had never been more tired in his life, nor unsure of the future, both for himself and his career as well as for the Empire. That bothered him a lot more than he was usually willing to admit or show.
Berney, Catherine, and the admiral put on a good show for everyone else. But, as staff intelligence officer he knew just how big a crack they were in. If he didn't his last skull session with Lieutenant Myron Chekov, the staff tactical officer had confirmed it. They'd spent hours going over all of the sensor data that had been pulled from every ship in the fleet. They had poured over every byte to squeeze out as much as they could for the admiral. They hit the usual points he wanted to know, but he'd come up with more questions for them to answer.
Hopefully, they'd answered some of them. Some he was fretfully aware he couldn't answer. Like how quickly the enemy could reinforce. Nor how fast they could repair the damaged ships. The Sword of Retribution Fleet, and wasn't that a laughable title now! He shook his head as a fresh wave of bitterness threatened to overwhelm him. He couldn't afford the luxury of wallowing in self-pity and anger. No, not when he had a job to do.
The only member of the staff who was dithering as much as he and Myron were was Lieutenant Jeremy Herod, the staff navigator. He was focused on trying to squeeze as much efficiency out of the fleet as they could for their next trip in hyper, but he was well aware of the damage. Privately, Sedrick was certain they'd only pick up an octave at best. Some ships might even lose an octave as some of their engineers scared themselves with their damage assessments. He'd heard the stories of some of the jury rigging going on throughout the tattered fleet. He shuddered every time he wondered if such things were happening on Executioner.
Hopefully not, his personal survival was riding on the safety of the ship in hyperspace.
The battle had been a slaughter. Weeks had passed since it, and he had been over it many times. He had yet to find any fault in the decisions Cyrano had made. Oh, the man had made a few mistakes, as had the staff, but none critical. Nothing he could say they had overlooked or screwed up. They'd been caught in the works. Not that he expected the brass back home to care. They'd hang them all for failing anyway.
That was not a thought conductive to sleep he knew.
Nor had he found anything in monitoring the staff's discussions. He couldn't do it personally, not while he was swamped, but a cursory look at the word pattern search had yielded little to bring to his true lord and master's attention.
He was also aware of political implications of the loss of Archangel with Crown Prince Adam Ramichov, the battle cruiser's XO, as well as the loss of Star Mauler with Prince Mason Ramichov on board. Suddenly, the succession had changed drastically.
Sedrick grimaced internally at the internal calculus that was entered into his own plans for the future. He was supposed to be watching Catherine for any signs of trouble or disloyalty. He had a healthy respect for the woman but hadn't seen much sign of her scheming. Now, he wasn't certain what to do or where his loyalties should ultimately lie. He realized he should put such considerations aside. After all, they had a wounded fleet to deal with and a victorious enemy bearing down on them.
:::{)(}:::
Cyrano realized he was in a tenuous situation. His losses in his fighters and bombers were telling. One measly squadron of fighters wasn't enough, not nearly enough for any sort of defense. The enemy had a knack for using their own fighters and bombers to harass and chew up his forces. He needed more of them, but there was no way he was going to get any.
He didn't like the odds of fighting another battle. He privately doubted the enemy would court battle so soon after the last one, but he realized dismally that he'd been wrong before. They had taken damage, but that might not matter to them.
The Federation wasn't timid anymore; they were courting battle. Where the devil did they get that other dreadnought? Lieutenant Commander Sedrick Lovato, his staff intelligence officer, had confirmed that one of the dreadnoughts had been built off an ancient Tauren hull. That meant she was most likely the Bismark … unless they had picked up another Tauren hull somewhere and salvaged it? After all, Tau sector was right there, and there had been several battles fought in Rho during the First Terran Interstellar War ages ago.
He shook his head as he tried to think of anything and made a note for Sedrick to do further digging to find out. He wouldn't put a lot past Irons at this point he mused internally.
The more he thought about it, the safer it seemed to fall back on Dead Drop and the facilities there. He'd have to leave a rear guard to try to intercept any forced already en route to him … he scowled blackly as he considered his narrowing list of options.
He was going to have to give ground he realized grudgingly. Buy some time, make them come to him. Fall back on the defenses in Dead Drop. Scramble to build as much as they could as quickly as they could while also whistling up help. Dead Drop had Garth right next door after all. And beyond that were a couple jumps to the home star system. It wouldn't look good to fall back that far, not at all for his political career, but for the moment he could care less about appearances. Shortening the logistics tail was the thing to do.
He nodded as he came to the decision. It just remained to explain it to the staff in a way that didn't sound like he was running scared.
:::{)(}:::
The crews of the two Federation light cruisers noted the departure with something akin to a sense of glee despite their professionalism. They finished their scans anyway and then one ship jumped back to B95a3 with the news while the other waited and watched under stealth. It was a short hop from B-97a to B-97c, just 5.9 light years between the component star systems. Most likely, the pirate fleet would leave a rear guard and fall back further along the jump chain.
Whether they did so or not didn't matter at the time for the Federation scout. They were content with chasing the pirates out of the star system.
Chapter 5
Horath
Countess Newberry considered what the progress was with the Tau mission given what they now knew about the Federati
on. She tried to calculate the odds of the mission's success but failed due to lack of data. That bothered her. She shook her head again as Ahab came into her office.
“You wanted to see me? Your memo said something about Tau so I pulled up the players,” he offered, taking a seat across from her desk and waving a tablet.
“Yeah, I was going over the Fourth Fleet mission. One part of it was to send a small resupply mission to Tau and to begin cleansing the sector as a test case,” she said slowly as he settled himself. Instinctively, she glanced at the readouts on the screen nearby. They drew data from the sensors in the chair and in the room and discretely showed her his vital signs.
“I don't like it. It's one thing to commit I admit, but doing that is … wrong,” he said with a grimace. “I don't like killing the goose.”
“In a way, I agree. It is—messy I admit,” she said with a nod. “I also wonder how effective it can be. I don't like the Purity and Enlightenment Ministry's insistence in taking the rosiest of numbers to use as their baseline. They didn't even account for failure, which bothers the hell out of me.”
“It does me too now that I know about it,” Ahab grumbled. “I too wonder if it will work and how well. And I don't like the idea of people panicking and running.”
“The spread isn't the problem,” she said. “We want panic and for it to spread.”
“But, not at the loss of shipping and goods!” Ahab retorted.
She snorted. “Once a pirate always a pirate,” she murmured.
“Why not?” he demanded. “Better for us to get the ships than for the ships to wander off and get lost forever, right?” he growled.
“Well, there is that,” she conceded. “I am concerned about it, but I admit it is better to test it there than say, closer to home.”
“Why there?” he asked.
“Because the system of viruses the Bioscience Ministry cooked up for Purity and Enlightenment can easily leap to our species if we're not careful,” the countess replied. “If necessary we can blockade that sector and the neighboring one. Let them die on the vine and then go in and clean up or leave them to rot.”
