The Gathering Storm (The New Federation Book 4)

by Chris Hechtl

  Not that he considered three wounded ships compensation, he grumbled mentally. And Ma Deuce was so elderly it wasn't funny! He shook his head in annoyance. No, not by a long shot. But, they were all he had and now all that stood between the Federation forces it seemed. He couldn't count on the Sword of Retribution Fleet to fight its way out of a wet paper bag. Most likely that bastard Cyrano would set up shop, then wait until the enemy came in and then turn tail leaving him high and dry he thought darkly.

  He licked his lips nervously. He couldn't help but hope and pray that the enemy would be systematical and go after Nuevo Madrid first. Surely, they would want to secure the star system so it wasn't a potential threat to their rear, right?

  No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't make himself believe they would be so foolish as to be diverted however. Most likely they would want to run the Retribution Fleet down before reinforcements arrived. He cursed himself for such traitorous thoughts.

  He considered his options. Brawler had been a squadron flagship under the late Commodore Shoemaker, so he was using her as his flagship. He rubbed his sticky fingers together and grimaced. He really needed to cut down on the damn pastries he thought before he put a call in to Lieutenant Savenan.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “How far are we with the repairs? And getting the yard fully functional?”

  “Well sir, as you know we mothballed the yard and stripped some of her industry to get the industry on the planet going and keep it going,” Lieutenant Sri Savenan replied smoothly, apparently anticipating his question.

  Magnus nodded. What Sri really meant was they'd had to strip some of the industry for parts so he wouldn't have to buy them from Glennis or the empire. The old saying about robbing Peter to pay Paul played out in his head.

  “We have a skeleton crew on each of the ships and in the repair yard. That's justified keeping them on. All of the ships are fully fueled and stocked. We've even made minor repairs and restocked a few of their missile and mass driver magazines.”

  “Fat lot of good that will do if the Feds are throwing around modern hardware,” Magnus muttered.

  There was a long pause. Finally, Magnus grunted impatiently. “True, sir,” Sri replied in a strangled voice. “Ma Deuce is untouched as you know. She's just old. The run from Nuevo Madrid strained her hyperdrive and systems.”

  “How? It was what, a couple hops?”

  “They ran her hard, sir. And remember, she was sitting in Nuevo Madrid. There is no telling what Admiral Frost's people did for her maintenance wise. I haven't been aboard to pull her maintenance record and her engineer isn't all that accommodating about supplying it.”

  “I'll get on him then. What else?”

  “Really the other three ships need a proper yard to fix them.”

  “We don't have it, and I want every ship here. We can't waste the time. Obviously, the empire isn't taking the threat seriously enough given what meager reinforcements we've seen come through here.”

  Of course, Glennis could have been backstopping a lot of it without letting him know he thought silently to himself.

  “Understood, sir. We have one yard module set up. It's really geared for a destroyer though. With the light manpower do you want us to focus on the destroyer or one of the cruisers?”

  “Damn it …,” the captain scowled. “Get a draft of personnel up from the planet. Find the warm bodies to bring that yard up and fully running by the end of the week. I don't care how. Run through the docks, pull people out of retirement, shanghai them, whatever it takes.”

  “Beg, borrow, bribe, or steal them, sir?”

  “Well, borrow or steal. I'm not paying for what I don't have to and I refuse to beg. But, you get the idea,” the captain growled impatiently as he made a flicking motion with one hand.

  “Understood. And the materials we need? We're shorthanded on the repairs. I've been getting an earful from the engineers on each of the ships. A lot of what the ships need we don't have. We've had to ship parts down to the planet to machine them by hand and then ship them back up. That has slowed things down to a crawl.”

  “Get a list of what they need and get our people on the planet on that. Surely, we've got stockpiles of parts, right?” the captain demanded as his temper began to soar out of control. He didn't need or want complications. He realized he was taking some of his stress out on the lieutenant, but he didn't care at the moment.

  “General parts, sir. Not the specifics for the ships and their classes. Stuff like nuts and bolts we've got aplenty. Specific parts like frame members or hull plating, or contoured airlock components and such, no.”

  “Damn it, I want answers not more problems!” the captain roared, losing his patience. Spittle splattered on the speaker. “Get me results or I'll have you shining shoes somewhere!” he snarled.

  “Yes, sir. I'll do my best,” the lieutenant replied in a strangled voice.

  “Just get it done,” the captain snarled as he shut the channel. He realized he'd risen out of his chair only when his knees buckled and he sank back into it. He rubbed his brow and eyes with the balls of his hands. “Who would want this job,” he muttered to himself.

  :::{)(}:::

  Lieutenant Sri Savenan sat back as he stared at the intercom system. He was heartily glad that conversation had been over the intercom and not in person. He could just imagine the captain's tirade. He shivered a little.

  He hadn't been kidding about the parts they could provide the ships. Dead Drop produced basic generic parts—nuts, bolts, fittings, electrical components, plumbing, basic stuff, generic. Most of it at just barely within the navy's tolerances since the captain didn't want to scrimp on overdoing it and losing money.

  Somehow, he was certain that was about to turn around and bite them he thought.

  They would need to find more parts, but first, the draft. He put a call in to his section and the captain's yeoman to get the ball rolling on the paperwork and the personnel. Most likely the call had already gone out. Some of the people they needed would hide. He sent out an order to the MPs to check the usual haunts like the bars and brothels.

  They would need additional personnel for the ships he knew. Admiral De Gaulte had stripped each down to a skeleton crew before sending them back. Each had been sent with wounded that they'd passed on or allowed to convalescence on the planet. He made a note to look into them. Some might be able to return to service. Even limited work in an office would be of some use. Their experience mattered, not if they could move a cargo pallet.

  He also put in a call for Gather Fleet personnel. Even old retirees might be of some use he knew. They could always kick them out if things turned around. He made vague promises as he wrote missives for the staff to post in the job markets. Let them think there was a pot at the end of the rainbow. And let them use their own imagination on how big it would be. If they were dumb enough to believe such drivel they deserved what they got.

  Not that he intended to tell them that to their faces. They needed them after all.

  Back to the draft, he made a note to find someone to sort through the catch. They couldn't use people who had no space experience after all; it would take too much time to train them. He set up a quota system so the idiots would actually do the job, then put out a warning for quality personnel. He didn't want some overeager beaver supplying warm bodies without brains to go along with them.

  He needed to get the parts moving up so they could stop with the packets. He put a call in to the spaceport to get the packets cleared and to get ready to take up shipments of parts. He then wrote orders to the warehouses to begin clearing their docks. They'd put in for overtime of course; they always did but so be it. He inhaled and then exhaled as he settled himself and began to work the problem some more.

  A series of calls landed a couple leads for parts and even a tantalizing one of a fighter and collection of war material in a retired officer's cache. He sent off a sergeant to run that lead down. He wasn't certain how true it was; he was dubio
us but intrigued. He also freely acknowledged he was desperate enough to give anything a try, no matter how small.

  Ma Deuce needed the least repairs. He ordered the yard to focus on the other three ships. Battle of Samar had no drive issues, but she had lost half of her weapons. They had made good on some of her cosmetic repairs but not the deeper underlying ones. He reluctantly ordered an assessment of which of the three ships would be the one to focus on first, not base it on bribes or threats from the crews involved. Coup de Main seemed the best to him; however, her frame damage was an issue.

  Finally, he put a call into some of his media contacts. They needed patriotism, so he made certain to stress that. They needed people to step up to defend the empire. A reminder of who was in charge might help.

  Of course, it might come back and bite him in the ass as far as the natives were concerned. If so, well, that was what the Marines were for. They'd fracture some skulls to get people to toe the line once more. They'd done it before with less purpose.

  :::{)(}:::

  Captain Abernly wasn't quite happy, but he felt a modicum of relief when he saw things moving faster by the end of the week. Sri had pulled out all the stops to get things moving. They had a lot of rough edges, and he hated having to dish out so much funds, but things were moving as he'd wanted.

  His moves were justified when a fresh series of wounded vessels along with the sword's empty fleet train ships came in a week after the courier departed. The two wounded destroyers carried a much better report of the disastrous battle. Both of them had no weapons to speak of. Admiral De Gaulte had again stripped them of personnel, but this time he'd also stripped them of material as well.

  As tempting as it was to hang onto them, there really was no point. The repairs the two ships needed far exceeded his repair yard's limited ability. Besides, he didn't have the parts to replace their weapon mounts and tubes. No, better to part with them. Perhaps seeing the wounded ships would spur others to further action? He hoped so.

  Chapter 9

  Beta Fleet had jumped out several weeks prior to the Tau mission's final series of exercises. Captain Shelby Logan had hoped for more warships, but a squadron of tin cans and a mixed squadron of cruisers plus all the small fry she had attached like Terran Remora fish. Unfortunately, she hadn't been able to train with those ships outside of virtual sims.

  Those ships and the cargo pods on her starships would degrade their speed by several octaves she knew. Computer modeling had given her a broad range of possible outcomes though; it was clear Lieutenant Ming wasn't certain about how things would shape up until they were actually in hyper. So be it, she thought.

  Shelby was aware that they would get news updates as they moved through the Rho sector star systems leading up to the jump from Airea 3. Each stint in hyper would be capped by a download of news once they arrived on the other side. Unfortunately, once they were in the Trajin cluster and the Tau sector proper, they would be without news. At least until the ansible ships arrived sometime later.

  She wasn't certain if the cluster would make a good base. Based on some of what ONI had assembled about the cluster she doubted it. There would be time to make the final decision of course once they were in the cluster itself and she had actual eyes on the situation.

  She was soon forging into uncharted territory for the navy as well as herself. On her own for a longer period than the southern loop mission. Speaking of uncharted territory … she checked and then nodded. Janice should be on her way to Anvil tomorrow to drag some answers out of the college one way or another.

  :::{)(}:::

  Rear Admiral V'r'z'll clacked her mandibles in annoyance that the Tau mission had taken precedence over her own. The only good thing about it was that they would soon be out of the star system and therefore out of the running for resources for the time being. No doubt they would need reinforcements eventually, but without them around she could draw the lion share of support from the Pyrax shipyards.

  She was four months behind schedule. She hated it, but it was out of her hands.

  Since she couldn't launch her task force, technically a fleet in all but name, she decided to run a series of exercises using the fortresses and picket forces for the OPS force. She was dismayed to find it wasn't as easy as she'd hoped however; she had to cut movement orders and get permission to use those ships since they weren't officially detached to her command just yet.

  At the rate things were running, she wouldn't get her exercise in until around the time the Tau mission launched. When it did everything else would stall until they were gone.

  :::{)(}:::

  “There had better not be any more problems with Tau,” Admiral Subert growled as Saul came into his office with an off-handed knock on the open hatch.

  “No,” the commander drawled as he handed over a tablet and chip. “I don't think so. Captain Yu just got the last report from the college. I know there was a lot of hemming and hawing over it, but they got it and are processing it now.”

  “Good. I don't want or need any more delays. I've got enough headaches as it is.”

  “Hopefully, there isn't another sudden reverse on the war front that requires us to divert those forces,” Saul said.

  Admiral Subert gave him a sour look. He flinched slightly and then shrugged.

  “You would say that and curse us,” the admiral said sourly as he took the tablet and keyed in to access its contents. His eyebrows went up in surprise when he noted one of the files. Promotions. Apparently, the board had issued a waiver to release some of the list early, even though they were still deliberating on the rest. He scrolled through and noted several annotations to names. Suddenly it made sense. Many of the personnel were assigned to the Tau mission. Having their promotions here and now would allow them to go with a clean slate. He nodded.

  “We'll need to contact the respective commands. See if they want a ceremony.”

  “I'll check, sir,” Saul said dutifully.

  “Lieutenant Strongbirth is on this list. It's about time,” the admiral rumbled.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “How goes the preparations for the dinner?”

  “They haven't requisitioned the kitchen sink but it feels like it. Our budget is going to be stretched for a while. Some people are going to be eating ration packs with all these balls and parties,” Saul replied with a rueful shake of his head.

  “I'll just be glad when it's over—when both of them are over. Can we do anything about accelerating TF 3.2's departure date once the Tau mission is off?”

  “I can look into it. It might involve stripping them down to bare bones and sending them reinforcements later as they become available,” Saul replied cautiously.

  “I'm curious how the bug will react. Will she hold in order to get those ships knowing that if she doesn't they may never show up? Or is she impatient enough to want to get going and take what she has now?”

  “Impatient, sir? An admiral?”

  “Yes. We all know she's arrogant as sin. She's a pain in the ass. I'm curious about how she'll jump.”

  “Yes, sir. I think she's holding out for a couple Cabeiri class factory ships as well as another fleet carrier.”

  “We'll, we'll see. If sending her with an all-carrier force works with her, that's fine with me. Better than having to wait until we are prepared to release a battle cruiser squadron.”

  “Given that we're not building them here it could be a long wait,” Saul drawled.

  “Exactly,” the admiral said as he signed off on the documents, copied them to his files, and then handed the tablet back.

  :::{)(}:::

  Shelby heard through Lieutenant Prometheus that Lieutenant Strongbirth had finally received her much deserved and long overdue promotion to lieutenant commander. She decided to make time to put a call in to the elf's office and congratulate her. She was surprised when the call went straight to the elf and not to her voicemail. “Well, hello, Commander,” she said with a tight-lipped smile. “I got the news.
All I can say is it's about time!”

  “It is nice to finally receive some of the rank my responsibilities call for and to get recognition. But my plan to rotate personnel might turn around and bite me in the ass.”

  “Oh?”

  “I may be rotated out to a ship or base assignment soon. I'm even considering having someone from Bek or Antigua take my place.”

  “Oh? Well, I wouldn't mind seeing you out in Tau, Commander; you do good work.”

  “Thank you. I certainly try,” the elf replied.

  “If you don't mind my asking, why BUPERS? Why stay?”

  “I like to put the right people in the right place. There is a sense of order and completion about getting it right, About making sure all the bases and ships are covered, even if minimally.”

  “I see.”

  “Besides, it's a job and someone's got to do it. It may not be glamorous, but I think I contribute as much to the war effort as those who I send to the front lines,” the elf said darkly.

  “Point. Valid point, Commander. Thank you for your service.”

  “Thank you, Captain. If I do get reassigned, I'll look into Tau. Do me a favor and don't get killed. You are a good officer. I mean that. Not just as a leader, but you can teach. That's rare. You also have strategic sense as well as caution. Your engineering skills also do you well.”