The Gathering Storm (The New Federation Book 4)

by Chris Hechtl

  :::{)(}:::

  WO1 Hurranna flicked her ears and wiggled her whiskers as she heard the griping about their fresh orders. She wasn't one to complain. How she'd managed to stay on the Kitty was anyone's guess. She had been temporary CAG briefly before a pilot officer had been reassigned to them.

  The rank and file might grumble about being left out, pissing and moaning about it, but she had other ideas. She didn't mind flying support for her fellow Marines. She'd had a lot of combat, enough to give her a healthy appreciation of it. Her glory days had worn down to a nub in her estimation. That was probably why some of the younger set looked at her with a mix of awe and disdain.

  When the griping got into threats of requesting a transfer she shook her head. She couldn't help herself; she had to intervene before someone did or said anything more foolish than she'd already heard. “You lot do realize you can do something everyone else in the fleet can’t, right?” she asked, pitching her voice when there was a lull in the griping.

  Heads and eyestalks swiveled in her direction.

  “Oh?” Ensign Caper asked. “What's that?”

  “We,” she said as she rose from her seat to come over to them, “get to fly combat OPS in atmo, not bad. But, we also get to have some shore leave once the planet is secure.”

  “I think I'd rather get killed flying in space than shot down by an idiot with a shoulder-launched rocket or worse, die in a stupid bar fight,” the ensign grumbled.

  “Point,” Hurranna agreed with another ear flick. “Personally, I'd rather not die at all. But, we all have to pay the ferryman sometime, best not to dwell on it.”

  “Okay, there is that. But, admit it, you just like the idea of supporting your Marine friends,” a lieutenant grunted.

  “Of course,” Hurranna said as she spread her hands apart. “That's part of the job,” she said scathingly. “But, it's more than that too. We're going to get down there, do the job, and once they don't need our services anymore, we'll head out. I give it a month tops.”

  “Yeah, but we'll be missing out on the main event!” another pilot complained.

  “Will we? We've sat here how long, remember?” she asked. A few heads nodded. “We get in, get the job done, then we get out while the rest of them integrate and learn which end a round comes out of the funny thing sticking out of the nose of their fighter,” she said. That earned a few snorts. “Argus is here now, but if she's anything like Illustrious, we all know her people are green as a cucumber!” She shook her head. “There is no way, no way in hell the admiral will send that lot into the furnace if he doesn't have to. We've got time and firepower on our side for once. He's going to fight smart. So, while they settle in, we'll get some real firing practice in and then play catch-up. My money is on catching up with the fleet before they hit Dead Drop. Any takers?” she asked, looking around the compartment challengingly.

  “I think we should start a pool on that,” a Veraxin pilot said slowly. “When we return and if we're going to get to Dead Drop before the main attack …,” she suggested as she pulled a tablet out and started to make notes.

  Hurranna snorted as she watched the group go from griping to bidding on the timing of their return. A few of the smarter ones were doing their homework before they made a bid. She crossed her arms and let them have at it.

  :::{)(}:::

  Lieutenant Colonel Valenko Kodiak flicked his ears as he noted the inclusion of Kittyhawk in his force. He was looking forward to checking in with Hurranna when he got the chance. Fresh orders were cut and uploaded to his implants. He nodded as he scanned the boilerplate. Most of it was just that, boilerplate. He automatically picked out what he needed to know about the command structure. It was pretty simple; as senior officer he was in charge of everything in the star system, including the navy ships. Good to know. He filed that away for future reference.

  He sat back with a satisfied sigh. He hadn't been certain his Fourth Division would have been picked for the OP. Colonel Pendeckle's Second was closer, but they had been pulling out of Protodon as the army took over. They were, therefore, in no position to take on Nuevo Madrid. He had thought his forces would have been sitting on Protodon as they staged there waiting for the order to go in to the next planet to attack, but it hadn't been that way. His division had loaded up on the ships after the battle of B-95a3 had gone down and they'd received fresh orders through the ansible network to continue on to the captured system for the Nuevo Madrid invasion.

  He was pretty certain a few people were steamed over it. But Archie had no real cause for complaint if he took the long view. While Valenko was tied up on Nuevo Madrid and Dana on Destria, he would be up for grabs for action along the Eastern Front or more likely Dead Drop.

  That was fine; there were plenty of Horathian planets to invade. They'd each have their chance, and most likely, they'd all have to work together for the invasion of Horath itself. He turned his attention to the download from the tin can that had recently returned from scouting the target.

  Based on what he was seeing, Nuevo Madrid wasn't going to be a simple mission. After what he'd heard from Dana, he wasn't willing to go in expecting a cake walk anyway.

  There wasn't a whole hell of a lot of fresh intel for his staff to sift through; there was only so much the ship could see and listen in on from orbit after all. They had made contact; he had the recorded exchanges to look at and analyze but just hit the synopses.

  The good news was that there was no enemy picket or signs of enemy ships remaining in the star system. Since Second Fleet had lingered so long in B-95a3, the odds were good that there was nothing in hyper between Nuevo Madrid and that system either. If there had been a ship, it would have come out by now.

  No, that was the good news. The bad was what he focused on next. The tin can had returned with news of a Horathian colonel's brutal regime on half of the main continent. The people the ship had managed to get in contact with had requested relief obviously.

  Unfortunately, the tin can hadn't asked the right questions and had kept the conversations with the natives brief in order to allow them to hide from the colonel's forces. That meant what sort of TOE he had was missing. That sucked. He lacked enemy force concentrations, weapon mix, all of it. Obviously, some of their units had been expended, and they had to have locally raised help. Militia, his lip curled. He couldn't discount the threat. It meant he couldn't trust the natives fully either.

  He scratched at the side of his head where his fur had grown back. His staff were busy dusting off the plan for the invasion and plugging in the new material. He knew that, which was why he wasn't breathing down their necks and supervising their efforts. They had enough resources to prepare and with Kittyhawk's forces along for the ride, they had plenty of air support. Were they going to need heavy armor? He hoped not.

  One thing was for certain, he wasn't going to get hit like Dana had. No, sir. He planned to set up redoubts and fire bases and move cautiously. Until he knew what he was up against, he had no intention of spreading his people thin. The natives would just have to cope with random patrols. He knew it wouldn't help gut the enemy and route them out, but he couldn't help it. He had no idea when or if any reinforcements would come his way.

  He played his claws on his lips as he considered the problem from the native's perspective. They would have to deal with the devil they knew while also dealing with the Federation. His forces weren't around much so he was certain they would be reluctant at best to cooperate with his forces. They would be caught between the two forces, but his people wouldn't be around to protect them.

  Should he work on arming them? That was ultimately the long-term goal, to reestablish civilization and a police force made up of natives. Winning the hearts and minds of the natives and reeducating them away from the Horathian's sick playbook was going to be tough. Just handing them equipment to rebuild would make them a target. Could he use that though? His hand dropped slowly as he considered the problem carefully.

  It was definitely goi
ng to be a challenge, he decided.

  :::{)(}:::

  Commodore Trajan Vargess shook his head as he looked on to his carrier forces. He could see the wisdom in lumping them together, but he couldn't coordinate them well if they were split up. Losing Kittyhawk to the Nuevo Madrid mission sucked. But, he'd gained a fleet carrier, so that was more than enough compensation.

  He made a soft puttering sound of exasperation. Sure it was. Kittyhawk had been blooded. Argus was green, worse than Illustrious had been.

  If he'd thought he was busy with his job on Illustrious working up the squadrons and making sure the reassembled groups on each of the carriers were functioning smoothly, that all changed when the reinforcements arrived. Not only did they have to integrate replacement flight teams, but they also had to bring entire carrier wings up to speed.

  Along with integrating Argus into the carrier group, he had been forced to transfer his flag to the fleet carrier since it was the largest carrier. He hadn't cared for the ceremony, but it had been nice to see Junior Valdez again. Seeing the kid as a ship's captain though, it didn't seem right.

  “It's like old home week. You, me, Renee, Harris,” Junior said with a shake of his head when they were finally alone later that afternoon. It had taken all day to get through the tour of the vessel. His crew were bright, efficient, and eager to please. Argus herself was massive. He was glad he had her deck plans loaded in his implant memory. The ship was like a vast maze, and it was very easy to get lost in her. He would most likely stick to the flag areas for most of his stay on the ship, but he still intended to learn about the ship and interact with her crew.

  “Something like that,” Trajan murmured as he checked in with his staff. They were settling in fine. “I think we can dock a destroyer in here,” he said in admiration.

  “I know. I hate the idea of having all of our eggs in one basket but it makes sense. All those escort and light carriers eat up manpower. Sure, you get flexibility with them, but …,” he shrugged.

  “I know the feeling,” Trajan replied. “So, we've got a dinner in …,” he checked his HUD chrono and then grimaced, “twenty minutes.”

  “I better check in and change then. With your permission, sir?” the captain asked.

  “Go on. I'll see you in a bit,” Trajan said with a wave as he followed the captain out.

  “Your quarters are that way, sir,” Junior murmured helpfully, pointing in the opposite direction he was going. The commodore grunted, about-faced, and then headed off to his quarters with only a slight hint of embarrassment. What good were deck plans if you didn't use them he thought in annoyance to himself.

  :::{)(}:::

  Commodore Harris rolled his shoulders as he worked on his exercise regime under the steady gaze of the SBA turned physical therapist. “Two more reps,” she said, watching him for signs of strain or pain.

  He easily pulled them off, pushing his feet against the plate. The resistance was set low, but it wasn't too low. “Okay, you are good for today. Any problems?”

  “No, I'm good,” he said. Before, he would have gingerly gotten off the exercise machine. It felt good to be back to, well, not quite normal, but close. “Sir, you've got a call from Maine,” the ship's A.I. reported through his HUD.

  “Understood. Put it through.”

  “Commodore,” the face of Captain Naomi Samuels appeared on his HUD.

  “Captain. Getting ready to jump?” he asked.

  “I was hoping to talk the powers that be out of that to be honest. We're back to 50 percent. With a bit more work, we can push it to 60. And since we know there is a mobile shipyard on the way,” her voice dropped to a wheedling tone.

  He snorted. There was a bit of distance involved between them, enough for him to get cleaned up. “Not going to happen, Naomi, you know that.” He had managed to delay her return for several weeks as they got more done, but now that the reinforcements had arrived, there was no point hanging onto them anymore.

  “Darn.”

  “Cute.”

  “It seems like we spend a lot more time in the repair slips than I'd like,” she said with a shake of her head.

  “Agreed. I'm the one seeing the inside of that slip a lot more than the rest of you,” Lobsterman, the ship's A.I. interjected.

  “That's all par for the course when you man a warship,” Commodore Harris said with a shrug as he wrapped a towel over the back of his neck and tugged on the ends. “Or when you are the warship I suppose,” he said with a nod to the image of the ship's A.I. on his HUD that appeared. He got some odd looks in passing, but everyone knew when someone was talking through their implants. “Just be glad you've got the time to be there, instead of oh, I dunno, headed to the breakers or complete scrap floating around here,” he said.

  Naomi grimaced as she shot the A.I. a guilty look. “You would remind us how close we all came.”

  “I know. I don't know why I keep reminding myself as well,” he said, running a hand over his repaired leg. His muscles trembled ever so slightly. There was barely a hint of a scar. He'd asked that they leave it as a reminder. “I guess it's psychosomatic. Or a reminder to do better?”

  “Or not to bite off more than we can chew? That DN nearly had us for brunch.”

  “You mean breakfast. Oh,” Dwight frowned. “You mean it had Justice for breakfast and us for brunch,” he said.

  The A.I.'s avatar nodded grimly.

  “I feel for that crew. You are right though, we, I, got in too close,” Dwight admitted darkly. His over-aggression would haunt him he knew. He shook himself, trying to get rid of the maudlin feelings before they threatened to overwhelm him. “I can't change what happened. All I can do is learn from it.” He had already sympathized with Renee. Now he wondered briefly if he was going to lose his star over his aggression and stupidity. No, the board had already sat once on the battle he reminded himself.

  “Unfortunately, I'm drawing new staff from existing personnel. That's making some holes, at least until a new draft of personnel come in with the next resupply convoy. But I do have another bit of news. Admiral White has officially bounced me out of Maine.”

  “We're being sent back,” Naomi said with a sigh.

  “You are being sent back, yes,” he replied with a nod. “Your hyperdrive is repaired, and I understand you passed the required tests to go home. We're headed in the other direction, and obviously, I can't be in a wounded ship.” He saw Naomi bite her lip briefly.

  “Understood, sir. We wouldn't be able to keep up anyway. Not for a while,” Naomi replied with a nod of understanding.

  “Get back into fighting trim. Make sure your crew gets some downtime while they can too.”

  “Will do, sir. Good hunting.”

  “I look forward to serving with you both in the future. For now, safe sailing.”

  “Aye aye, sir,” the captain replied as she disconnected the channel.

  He grunted and then took a selfie sniff before he decided he had better take a quick shower before he hit his rounds.

  :::{)(}:::

  Vice Admiral White grimaced when he noted an email. Replacement of chief of staff. His lips thinned as his eyes flicked up to the sender bar. It was from BUPERS. Apparently, they'd finally caught up with Jojo. He knew he couldn't hold onto her forever. Breaking in a new chief of staff sucked though, especially before they were going to move out. She would have to go back on the next available ship. Since Maine was too far out, it meant he'd have to delay again for the next resupply mission.

  So, not a total loss. It meant she would have time to get her replacement up to speed and broken in while he adjusted to the idea. And, if he didn't like Commander Ch'v'tt, well, he could send the bug packing instead.

  :::{)(}:::

  “So, you are the new guy?” Jojo asked as she cocked her head to the Veraxin.

  “I am.”

  “Okay, we've got some time to get you up to speed. I'm dumping you my files plus my notes. I'll get you up to speed on what is going on. It will
take a few days for you to get the hang of it.”

  “I think I can handle it. I am actually surprised you are still here.”

  “I didn't get the memo until it was too late,” Jojo drawled. “I wouldn't have gone right off anyway.”

  “Oh?”

  “I don't like to drop the ball. Part of my duty is to make sure this fleet runs smoothly as does the admiral's schedule.”

  “Excuse me. That is my job.”

  “It will be as soon as I pass the baton. For the moment, humor me. I'm trying to make your life easier.”

  “I am not certain that is necessary.”

  “Oh, boy. You are going to be a fun one,” she sighed with a shake of her head.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You have a lot to learn. Having an attitude that you know everything is going to rub a lot of people the wrong way, Commander,” she stated.

  “Perhaps, but confidence is required.”

  “As is getting the intelligence before you go in headfirst. There is an old saying, knowing is half the battle. You don't want to go off halfcocked, trust me, we've been through that. So …,” she raised her hands and accessed her virtual keyboard and then typed out a quick email. “I'm attaching the first packet of information now. That is the basic schedule. We can go over it and then move on from there.”

  “Understood.”

  “I've got notes on the various people. Nothing in their personal jackets so please keep it confidential. This is stuff to help you understand the players involved so you can better interact with them.”

  The Veraxin's eyestalks swiveled as he froze. His antenna twitched as he considered the idea for a moment. Finally, he signaled first-degree assent and gratitude.

  “Okay then, sending … now,” she said.

  :::{)(}:::

  Captain Renee Mayweather watched Maine's icon disappear from the star system HUD. A brief update attached itself to the icon indicating the ship had made a successful jump into hyperspace.