The Gathering Storm (The New Federation Book 4)

by Chris Hechtl

  “Thank you,” Shelby said blushing.

  :::{)(}:::

  The evening before their departure date, they had another formal dinner followed by a ball. Commander Garretaj served as president of the mess despite it being held for the Tau mission. Since she didn't have to put it on, they weren't responsible for anything except being a guest so Shelby did her best to behave herself yet enjoy the experience. She was reluctant to deal with the press and notable figures there, all ready to wish her well on her mission. But she knew her crew and the officers in the mission needed to celebrate and get to know each other. It also allowed the public to see the officers involved in the mission.

  If the dinner was any indication, they were going to get off on the right foot. Foot, claw, whatever, she thought, noting a few of the Veraxins and other species in the group as she made the rounds.

  She hadn't been kidding when she had grumped about wanting something a bit more informal. If it had been up to her, she would have arranged a barbeque or buffet so everyone in the mission could participate. Leave the lubbers, politicians, and those who weren't going but just wanted to rub elbows and share in the credit off the guest list. Since it was going to be public, she had unfortunately been overruled by State as well as Admiral Subert's office. She thought she had done her best to appear to give in gracefully.

  “The things we do to keep the peace,” she muttered softly, toying with her wine glass. She wanted to tug on her collar and felt a bit warm in the damn jacket. Some of the civilian ladies had worn rather thin gowns, so they'd complained about the temperature. Being a good host, the commander had bumped up the temperature. She hated it. She didn't envy Mister Muggs in his fur and monkey suit.

  “Come on, Skipper,” Cynthia teased from her right side. “You look good in uniform with all the shiny medals …” she paused to grin maliciously at her skipper as Shelby mock growled at her. “Well, you do. You've got more medals than most of the officers here,” she said, scanning the room.

  Shelby snorted. The dinner and ball was split almost evenly between civilians and officers and their spouses or dependents. Well, come to think of it, most of the spouses and dependents were civilians so that might explain it she thought, swirling her drink slightly.

  When the dancing began, she bowed out. The dancing was classical, and she had no interest in dancing. She was amused to see the Muggs dance however. An hour into the dancing, people began to unwind a bit, and the ties and jackets were shed to lie on the back of chairs or elsewhere.

  Vlad managed to steal Cynthia away for a dance early on and had nearly monopolized her attention for most of the evening. Shelby had played wallflower, talking with various people. She had noted that Portia had danced a faster tempo song with Abdul. Oz had also danced with her, but the Neoorangutan had been hilarious.

  She turned when Cynthia dragged Vlad over to her. Some of Cynthia's curls had escaped her bun. She was also blushing and grinning. Vlad looked a bit out of breath but still game. “Don't wait up,” Cynthia told Shelby wickedly with a roguish grin.

  “I won't,” Shelby drawled as she noted Cynthia hook Vlad by the arm and then drag him to the exit. It was clear she wasn't letting go.

  :::{)(}:::

  The following morning the launch of the mission was supposed to kick off. However, there was one last hurdle, a public event in front of the cameras. They had to sit on the stage politely while various important people went through their speeches of good luck and glory and how the mission was the first step in healing the Federation.

  Cynthia kept tabs on who had been at the party the evening before and watched them to see if they were still drunk or hungover. Much to her disappointment none flubbed their lines. She silently cursed the teleprompters and modern medicine.

  Admiral Irons had a speech planned as did the newly-appointed Secretary of State Miss Sema. Admiral Subert and even the Governor Saladin of Pyrax took their turns.

  Shelby had a heck of a time not heaving sighs of disapproval at all the stuff and nonsense. She understood the politicians had to have their day to shine and her people deserved some pomp and circumstance, but it was a deadly dull affair. She was supposed to go last. She was going to keep it short and sweet she vowed, to hell with a long speech.

  She was almost looking forward to the cocktails and social setting that was immediately scheduled after the speeches concluded.

  She fervently wished she didn't get into trouble as she worked on paperwork through her implants and sat on her XO virtually. Cynthia should know better, but the woman was a fellow engineer. Sitting still for long periods while someone droned on and on was hard on her. Hell, it was hard on both of them to look properly attentive.

  She felt for the crew too. Many had spent a lot of time and effort getting everything shipshape under the bosun and ship A.I.'s watchful eyes she knew. Those that weren't there in the office were putting up with camera crews who were going around poking their noses into the ship and asking stupid questions just for a sound bite.

  “Can't we get on with this?” Cynthia demanded in a text. “They aren't seriously going to make us listen to these windbags all day, right?” Shelby's lips puckered and she stepped on her XO's toes.

  “Oww,” Cynthia protested over the virtual chat as she sidled her foot away.

  “Serve's you right. Behave,” Shelby scolded softly.

  “Okay, okay,” Cynthia sighed, forcing herself not to roll her eyes as Admiral Subert's chief of staff glanced their way.

  When it was Shelby's turn, she rose to polite applause and took the podium. She nodded politely to the admiral.

  “I'll try to keep my speech short. I don't know about some of you but I'm getting galls in places I'd rather not have,” Shelby said. That earned a chuckle of startled appreciation from her audience and a glare from Admiral Subert and Commander Garretaj as she went off script.

  “This mission, well, you by now have been talked to death about what it is going to achieve. What we hope to achieve. I personally am looking forward to it and not just to help our brothers and sisters who are in the dark, laboring under the threat of death from the Horathian pirates,” she said sternly. That quieted the room.

  “Some would say this mission is a distraction. That our mission, however well intentioned, is poorly timed given our current problems with Horath. That we are dangerously drawing down resources away from the front where they need to be. That some people deserve their shot at glory, at getting it stuck in and getting their combat ticket punched.”

  She waited a beat. It turned into a long pause as she surveyed the room.

  “And they would be right … and wrong. We are the Federation Navy, we go where we are told, we do our duty. A part of that is to root out the pirates wherever they are. Our mission is to secure one flank of the sector and of the growing Federation. We are going to get in, make allies, scout, gain resources, and rid the sector of the pirate vermin that infest it once and hopefully for all. We're going to find their bases and take them. We're going to free the slaves if possible. We're going to protect the people there and show them that civilization has returned.”

  She looked around the room with a stern expression. “Doing this will protect the federation flank as I mentioned, but also shipping and planets in the area. By doing this we are sowing new seeds of the Federation rebirth. But mark my words, this mission will not go quick or easy. But it must be done. It damn well will get done.”

  She nodded once. “Thank you all for coming,” she said, conceding the podium to the public affairs officer as the room broke into applause.

  Shelby blinked, then felt her vision dim as her implants tried to filter out the glitter of popping flash pods. It was like confetti, leaving stars in her eyes. “Nice speech, Skipper. I guess they are glad to see us go,” Cynthia quipped as she leaned over to her.

  Shelby looked over to Cynthia and snorted.

  :::{)(}:::

  Rear Admiral V'z'r'll was grateful that she had received permission to
take Collective Destiny and half of her forces out to do some working-up exercises. She made certain her people were on board despite the antics going on with the Tau mission. To her pleasure they were in space first, leaving port a full six hours before the Tau mission. She did make a note to call up the captain and let her know there were no hard feelings while also wishing her luck.

  She knew she didn't need to do so, but it was proper etiquette. Besides, the woman might be of use later. Resolving their conflict in a positive way would make it more of a competition and defang any lingering resentment. It would go a ways towards future plans should they prove viable.

  Besides, something told her the young woman would need Lady Luck's blessings as much as she would.

  :::{)(}:::

  That evening all parties were reported aboard. The ships completed their refueling, topping off their tanks and then kicked their mooring lines, cables, and fuel hoses clear. One by one they were moved away from the docks, sometimes under their own power, some under the guiding hand of the tugs. They formed up as directed and then headed out.

  Prometheus led the way as the mission flagship. The eight Arboth class destroyers formed a ball around the fleet, protecting it on all axis. The four North Hampton class light cruisers took up point in a diamond formation. The four Resolution II class heavy cruisers were in a diamond formation bringing up the rear.

  In the pocket were seven Liberty class freighters; the most that Shelby had managed to get out of the Admiralty. Two of the Liberty class ships had been refitted as personnel transports. One had been refitted as an ammunition collier. The remaining four were freighters.

  The hospital ship Mary Eliza Mahoney was near the center of the formation. Behind her were arrayed the other Dora class ships, two factory ships, four freighters and two tankers.

  They had received two civilian grade tankers instead of purpose-built Liberty class ships Shelby had tried to get. Both ships were actually larger, so she had no call to complain. Shelby had made certain each of the ships had been completely refitted from stem to stern with military grade components.

  Sixteen gunboats and gunships were docked to the exterior of the freighters. The same number of tugs were also docked; there were even more tucked away inside some of the boat bays. There were four Manta class frigates and four Apollo class corvettes docked to the hulls along their spines as well.

  Near the back of the group was the one ship Shelby hadn't honestly expected to get her hands on, a Kittyhawk II class CEV, the Admiral Clifton Sprague. Her Crusher classmate, Commander V'll'no, was her new skipper. She also had the eight courier vessels, four of them Paul Revere class, the other four the newer Sojourner class, each with antimatter engines.

  She hadn't received any of the prowlers she'd wanted, nor the extra squadron of destroyers, nor the additional support vessels. She had just the three ammunition colliers, of which two were Doras. They would make do, she thought, vowing to build a stockpile and cache when she got the first opportunity.

  Every ship had been refitted and was as close to 4.0 across the board as she could have wanted. A few of their personnel might be a bit on the green side, but that was okay. They'd earn their rank as the convoy moved through the Rho sector. By the time they were halfway to Airea 3, the greenhorns should be veterans she knew.

  She'd heard there were a few so green that they had yet to be declared hyper-dogs. Cynthia had been a bit put out that none had been on Prometheus. Shelby had only shaken her head at the XO's hints to get one transferred into her clutches. She had no intention of letting her XO maim and embarrass some poor besotted kid for life.

  Even the middies were hyper-dogs she noted. Not that they had many, most of the middies were on the cruisers. She had orders to promote them to ensign once they were in Tau. She'd also received authority to make promotions and demotions within reason by BUPERS and Admiral Irons. She obviously couldn't make anyone a captain or admiral, but she could at least give someone the rank they needed to do the job if necessary.

  Three days later they'd finished their initial shakedown and lined up on the Gaston jump point. The picket ships and orbital fortresses wished them safe sailing and a safe journey. Shelby ordered a return of the salute.

  “Good hunting,” Commodore Samese transmitted from the Gaston jump point command fortress.

  “Thank you, sir,” Shelby replied. He nodded and severed the circuit.

  “Ma'am, we're getting a tachyon burst from Collective Destiny,” Lieutenant Jardin said, looking up and then over his shoulder to her.

  “Now what?” Shelby asked in exasperation. Collective Destiny was the flagship of TF3.2 and was halfway to the B101a1 jump point.

  “It is a text message from Rear Admiral V'r'z'll, ma'am. She's also wishing us safe sailing and good hunting,” Lieutenant Jardin reported a moment later.

  Shelby nodded. “Comm, reply in kind. Safe sailing and good hunting.”

  “Aye aye, ma’am.”

  “We're ready to jump, ma'am,” Portia reported.

  “Then by all means, commence the countdown before we get delayed any further, Lieutenant,” Shelby said. Portia smiled and then turned to begin issuing orders to her staff and the helm team.

  “Comm, black out,” Lieutenant Jardin reported a few minutes later.

  “Hyperdrive at 100 percent. All hands, brace for jump,” Lieutenant Prometheus said over the overhead speaker. “Countdown from ten,” he said.

  Shelby waited, doing her best to settle herself as the final ten seconds counted down. When they hit zero she nodded once to Portia. “Engage.”

  “Jumping into a new adventure!” Portia said excitedly as she engaged the hyperdrive.

  Chapter 10

  Antigua

  Admiral Irons sat back as he contemplated the latest Destria report. The Marines there were getting hammered by the Death's Head platoon on the planet. The Marines had only a handful of powered armor units left, they were stuck covering the spaceport. That raid the Horathians had engineered had been brilliant; it had taken out a lot of the colonel's heavy forces early and tied down the rest.

  That was why he had already ordered the cadre in when the first reports of trouble had surfaced, he reflected. He was glad the colonel had called for the reinforcements then and had not waited. The Roy Boehm should be entering the Destria orbit soon he thought. He expected the cadre unit to take out the enemy within a few weeks with the resources they had, despite the odds.

  But, that caused another complication. It put the crimp in the plan for them to go to Nuevo Madrid with the Marines; only one over-sized squad was currently rated as combat effective. They had no junior officers in the cadre, so Warrant McClintock had taken the reins. He made a note to look into that.

  If they had such heavy weapons on an out-of-the way agro world, he was fairly certain resistance would be stiff on Nuevo Madrid. He was reluctant to send the Marines in. They needed intel to assess the situation he thought bleakly. He rubbed his temples for a moment then checked General Forth's missives. Yes, he had put in requests for more intelligence in the star system. He countersigned the requests and tagged the Destria report. He jotted out a quick memo, to all parties to remind them of what Colonel Harley was experiencing.

  “I don't want this to happen again and again. Let's get it right. Resistance is only going to stiffen as we get in deeper into enemy territory,” he finished.

  When he was finished with the memo, he cocked his head as Protector silently played spell-check and cleaned it up. “Good?”

  “It looks good, Admiral. You realize your suggestion will be taken as an order, correct?” the A.I. asked.

  “That' usually how it happens,” he said as he clicked the send button.

  “Understood. You are going to run late for your two thirty if you don't hustle. Major Burrows and your team are ready when you are.”

  “Understood,” the admiral said as he rose from behind his desk. The A.I. logged him out of the network computer with a flick through the
wireless network as he grabbed his jacket.

  :::{)(}:::

  Captain Sprite noted the admiral was back on schedule and moving out. Protector was doing well as her replacement. She felt a pang from her emotional subroutines and modulator from that thought, but it was true. She knew how hard it was to keep the admiral on task from time to time. He was an organic after all, easily distracted.

  Speaking of which, she noted a report from ONI. She ran a check on the other subject's schedule and then signed off on the request for additional surveillance. Monty knew what he was doing she knew. They'd monitor the subject and her handler and remain discrete.

  What surprised her was that the woman hadn't realized she was being monitored. By now she should, after all, she was the admiral's girlfriend! Was she blind to the possibility? There was no way the admiral would have left her unguarded even if he didn't know what she truly was.

  If it was an act, it was a good one. If it wasn't, then the woman was stupid to blithely not realize that she was being monitored and followed. And those who kept in contact with her were as well.

  The first rule of surveillance was to monitor a pipeline but not to interfere with it. At least Monty's people were doing that quite well. She wasn't certain what sort of reaction they would have if something untoward happened to the woman. If she was kidnapped … she checked their orders but they were vague. She made a note for Monty to work on clarifying that. Should they witness an altercation such as that they should intervene. A cover story could be spun later to cover the action.

  Once she was finished writing the classified memo, she encrypted it and then passed it through the network to Monty's office. Then she turned her attention to other matters.

  :::{)(}:::

  April was glad she had implants to lock down her nervousness. She was aware that she was being watched, but she was also aware that the meeting couldn't be avoided. Meetings with her handlers were always dangerous; she never knew if she'd walk away from one of them. Eventually, she doubted it. She was a loose end, one they would have to tie up permanently.