Naero snapped her head around.
“What the hell is it now?”
Surina, a fine officer and abani by now. Even she blinked.
Naero winced, lifting her fingertips to pinch the bridge between her eyebrows and above her slender nose.
“My apologies, leftenant. I did not mean to sound cross. Please speak.”
“It’s all right, sir,” she said quietly.
“No, it’s not. Again, my apologies, Rina. Report.”
Surina smiled slightly.
“Reinforcements will arrive shortly. Awaiting your orders to send our Marines out to board and pacify the enemy ships. And our recovery teams to collect and transport the enemy escape pods to the POW freighters. Thousands of them back there.”
Naero nodded. “Orders given. All ships and crews, well done. Let the recovery proceed. You know the drill by now. Collect our people first. Elements not involved in the recovery, fan out and patrol the area in defensive sphere formation Delta-Zeta-15.”
She watched her fleet go into action, tracking their coordinated movements on her holodisplays.
“Fixer cloud control, after you help put out those burning enemy ships, refit our own damaged vessels first.”
They had only lost three ships during the battle, but that was bad enough. The light cruiser The Longbow, a destroyer, The Python, and The Firehawk, a missile frigate.
The Longbow had taken several direct hits and got vaporized. All hands lost. The latter two smaller vessels would be refitted by the fixer clouds and returned to service in a matter of hours.
Naero read the damage and casualty reports on her strike fleet.
The warships could be fixed.
Three hundred and twenty three dead Alliance forces could not–including her bridge people.
And this was just one small battle against enemy fleets that suffered far greater losses. Over seventy warships captured or destroyed outright–tens of thousands dead, wounded, or captured.
With its own bloated resources, as well as illegal, mercenary fleets from the other Gigacorps, Triax would continue to hurl raw numbers at them. All done under their blood-drenched banner.
The enemy would continue to do so, in a vain attempt to wear the Alliance down or make the pull back.
Like her, the Alliance remained steadfast, committed to eliminating Triax as a threat–once and for all.
Despite the fact that the Alliance was still forced by treaty to fight only with volunteer and private fleets and forces.
Unless the Corps openly supported Triax, the elite Spacer Naval Fleets could not join in the direct battle.
But like the Corps, they could stand by and provide support in the rear areas, away from the hot war up front on the lines.
Naero felt her old sense of warning spike all at once again.
She smiled her half-smile.
Just like the old days.
“All ships. General recall. Posts and stations. Fire on these coordinates; prepare for battle!”
Fire from Strike Fleet Six tore into several enemy ships, even as they jumped into the Beleron-4 system.
Leftenant Surina Marshall turned and stared up at Naero in awe.
“Five more enemy fleets jumping in and converging on our position, sir. It’s a trap for certain. But how? How could you have possibly known the enemy would do this, sir?”
Naero directed her remaining forces, hands flashing among the holo arrays, optimizing formations and attack vectors.
She grinned like a shark.
“We took their bait, Leftenant. Now they’ve taken ours. They’ve wanted to catch us vulnerable in the recovery phase. Contact Admirals Joshua and Maeris. Tell them the strategy has worked, and to send in even more reserve fleets as planned. Adjust to these vectors.”
Without hesitation, Naero’s entire strike fleet accelerated to attack speed and swept back into battle.
Five to one odds, but help would arrive any second.
“All batteries. Open fire! Fire at will. Execute a parabolic sweep of the enemy fleets as they continue to deploy. Soften them up for our fleets en route. Put fire on them!”
4
The latest battle ended, and the remaining Triaxian forces fled. Afterwards, Naero flew her personal Ghost Dragon fighter over to confer with Alliance Fleet Admiral Sleak Maeris, her aunt, and Fleet Captain Zalvano. As well as several other strike fleet captains, Naero assumed.
Strike Fleet Six had performed brilliantly once again, and handed Triax yet another crushing defeat. Yet the strange incident also raised even more questions.
Everyone worried about those phantom enemy fleets that had appeared like a mirage, and then just up and vanished. No further sightings or any word on them. Such a large force could wreck havoc wherever it chose to strike. And now, nobody could find it.
This was a new enemy wild card that had to be taken into consideration.
From this point on, Alliance fleets would need to stick together more, and not get stretched out so far away from each other.
Naero kept walking and adjusted her high ponytail of long, blue-black, shining geisha hair behind her with an ornate golden clip that had once been her famous mother’s.
She strode quickly along the decks of the Fleet Carrier The Pearl Harbor, her aunt’s flagship. The Nytex togs of her form-fitting, plain captain’s uniform hugged her tight and comfy. She had the nanomaterial programmed to include a short, black flight jacket, complete with the blazing gold stripe, star, and halo of her strike fleet captain’s rank.
With her left gloved hand, she held her jeweled energy cutlass secured on that side. Otherwise, the weapon jostled and rattled when she walked this quickly. Her right arm swung easily, a Level-5 blaster strapped to her right hip.
An expert blade fighter, she carried numerous energized battle and throwing blades concealed in her rig, her high, programmed nanoboots, and her belts and jacket. All of this ordnance, along with several bandoliers of microgrenades, various bomblets, and other tricks. The flat tekpak on her back concealed a small, but powerful gravwing, and two more vicious Spacer battle blades of Clan Maeris design, all developed for elite, Spacer Intel strike teams.
These were gifts from Intel Admiral Klyne, along with the shield generators on her belt and the neutron detonator device still in her wristcom.
Intel could still destroy her if she was ever captured.
They did happen to be at war with one of their worst enemies. And a very nasty, interstellar war at that.
Naero’s philosophy evolved to always go everywhere heavily armed and ready for war at all times. After all that she’d been through, that was just the way she flew.
She couldn’t help noticing that her presence and superbly trim figure turned heads among the crew as she swept by. Naero took some private pleasure in that, being the child of a celebrity.
She was as vain and as human as anyone.
Although she stood short and perfectly formed and proportioned, just as her champion mother had been, it did no harm to make use of everything in one’s arsenal. That was how her hot-bodied Aunt Sleak liked to put it.
Yet, Naero’s cat walk was always more military swagger than slinky. A mastery belonging to her mother and her aunt that she herself had little interest in achieving much further. Her performance skills and showmanship only went so far.
Some just looked on and enjoyed the view. A few junior officers and crew saluted.
Naero returned their salutes and kept moving. Her slender, powerful, athletic legs flashing in skin-tight Nytex. Her aunt did not like to be kept waiting, as usual.
“The Omaria!” someone called out.
At that Naero stopped in her tracks and whirled about. Perforce.
They had called out a tribute to The Omaria, Naero’s dead parents’ ill-fated flagship of their lost exploration fleet. Triax and the Corps had had a direct hand in the destruction of that fleet, which in turn, was just one of the events that had led to the current conflict.
E
ven after many months, the pain of their loss was still jagged glass in her heart.
Naero smiled sadly and lifted her fist toward the ceiling of the launch deck.
“Remember the Omaria!” she shouted aloud in response.
Every Spacer at hand, within the sound of her voice, shot to their feet and lifted their fists and their voices in roaring answer.
“Omaria! Omaria! Omaria!”
“Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzzah!”
Naero drew her cutlass and favored them with a high salute to the honor they paid her dead. All hands present cheered even louder, simply eating it up. She swept low and bowed before them in appreciation of their high honor.
Then she sheathed her blade in one fluid motion, turned, and continued quickly on her way.
She stepped into an open mover and entered her clearance for the Admiral's conference room, adjoining the main bridge.
When she walked in, Marine guards in full battle dress snapped to attention. One of them announced her arrival.
“Sir, Strike Fleet Captain Maeris is now present.”
Her aunt and Zalvano waited for her.
The only other officers in the chamber thus far.
“Alvon, Tem,” her aunt said to the Marines. “Leave us. Take your posts outside.”
The panel sealed behind her aunt’s two Marine guards.
“Did I arrive too early?” Naero asked, looking around.
Zalvano spoke first. “We wanted you here, before the others, so that we could speak with you, personally.”
Naero started to wonder. Was she in trouble? Had she done something wrong? They had won the battle, quite decisively in fact.
Her thoughts raced even more than usual.
Her Aunt Sleak smiled, not always re-assuring, that. But at least her eyes didn’t go all steely, and her battle face snap up.
“At ease, Naero. Let’s sit. We’re family right now. We just want to talk candidly–off the record.”
Aunt Sleak being nice caught her even more off guard. Naero sat down with them at one end of the smart table. Programmed chairs melded up out of the floor for them to sit in.
She like the way Aunt Sleak made her meeting rooms smell. Floral and citrus without being sickening and cloying–pleasant even. While Naero’s ships still smelled dull and aseptic. The contrast was stark. That needed to change.
Zalvano cleared his throat and spoke first.
“You’ve done a good job with your command in the black, Naero. Superb, really, for one so young.”
At the outset of the war, before the other Forty-Nine Spacer Clans sent volunteer fleets, the fledgling alliance forces–few in number and lacking leadership–led to a number of compromises.
“Thank you, sir,” Naero said. “Just trying to do my best for the war effort, sir.”
She had been given a battlefield promotion, first to captain, and then finally to strike fleet captain–despite the fact that she was still only nineteen–still technically under the Spacer coming of age at twenty.
Zalvano waved one hand. “Relax, N. At ease. In fact, we think you’re driving yourself and your people a little too hard. Ease up a bit.”
Her savant-like gift for battle strategy and fleet tactics made her a natural born leader, at a time when the the Alliance was desperate and outnumbered. Even with the war being only in its second month, Naero had already earned the respect of many whom she served with and among. And thus, her youth was normally overlooked.
Naero knitted her brows. “What are you two trying to tell me?”
Aunt Sleak sighed. “Don’t get all defensive. You’re doing very well, but you’re still so young. You’re not used to all of the various demands of a long, drawn out command. It takes a toll on you and others, in many ways.”
“I think I understand that. I think I’m doing my best and working through any issues.”
Zalvano knitted his hands together. “We’ve had some reports that you’ve been…snapping at your crew above what is accepted from a command officer, driving them too hard, expecting too much of them. Too much training and drilling. Not giving your officers and crews enough time to stand down and get R&R. They can get worn down too in a war zone. Everyone can, including yourself.”
Naero paused for a moment. “I just want my people to be the best. To have the best chance to win, to defeat the enemy.”
Aunt Sleak held her eye. “Admirable, and I would expect no less, but your focus is misguided and frankly…unsustainable. Listen to us. Learn from our experience. In the long run, it will make you a better leader, and help your people perform better for you over the course of a long campaign.”
Naero choked down her gall and kept herself from shouting back at them–like a defensive, spoiled brat. But she was in a war and needed to grow up fast.
Most likely…they were right.
She sighed again.
“Thank you. I am willing to listen. I would be fortunate and glad to have your advice. You know I respect you both. Greatly.”
Zalvano chuckled even, breathing his own sigh of relief. “Glad to hear that, and here we thought this was going to turn into some kind of battle or shouting match. Ow! Why did the Admiral kick me?”
“Keep playing the fool to disarm things, and I’ll kick you harder next time. We’re past that point now, Zal. So let’s cut through the crap. Very good, Naero. You’re not acting and thinking like a headstrong kid anymore. And even though you’re not technically of age yet, at least we can begin to talk to you like an adult, finally. Your tactical prowess is off the charts, as I knew it would be. You’ve grown up living and breathing fleet strategy and tactics all your life, but you are still inexperienced in many other ways.”
Naero nodded.
“Just give it to me straight, sir.”
“Very well, then. You’ve refused to take your strike fleet off the line on several occasions. You’ve kept advancing and attacking, even when given orders to pull back. There are several very good reasons that you cannot continue to do these things.”
“In my defense, sir. Half of those occasions, my instincts proved both correct and decisive in achieving our goals, and completing our missions. And on two precise occasions, my timely action prevented our forces from suffering heavy losses, and even brought us victories we might not have had.”
Zalvano held his hands up and shook his head. “But you’re acting like you and your people have to spearhead everything. They don’t. What are you trying to prove? You can’t win this war by yourself. We have many other units and commanders who are more than capable of–”
“I’m just doing all that I can to end this terrible war as soon as possible.” She thought of her people, dead in those body bags. More every day.
“Again,” Aunt Sleak said. “Admirable, but you aren’t thinking clearly. Most of the Intel projections say that, barring any further surprises, we should be able to defeat Triax’s forces within about three to four months. Sooner, if we can somehow convince the other Corps to pull their illegal fleets out of the mix.”
“Well, that’s great then. In a handful of months, Triax will be gone for good, their worlds will be set free, and we can all get back to our lives.”
“But Naero, it is far from that simple. From the law of averages alone, by that time, you and your crews will all be dead–three times over.”
Naero felt the blood drain from her face.
“What?”
Aunt Sleak pulled up a holo screen in front of them and displayed reports and projections for Naero to see the facts.
“Just in the last few weeks, you’ve lost twelve ships out of fifty. A dozen warships, destroyed outright. That’s more than twenty percent casualties alone. All of your vessels have been refitted three hundred percent more than the other strike fleets, and your KIA and wounded rates are also two hundred percent higher.”
“The rotations are there for many good reasons, Naero,” Zalvano told her. “One of them is so that all units get their chance to shine, and learn f
rom their mistakes, and be an equal part of the war effort. Every unit deserves their share of time on the front line. And that way, we’re always hitting the foe with fresh forces.”
“And conversely,” Aunt Sleak added. “All units also earn their time off the line. So that no one unit is constantly enduring all of the direct and indirect losses by itself. There are always going to be casualties in every action and engagement. We know that for a fact. But keeping one unit on point constantly will wear down and eventually destroy everyone in that unit. It simply isn’t fair to anyone.”
Naero took a moment and swallowed hard. A terrible realization came over her.
“So, you’re saying that more of my people have been dying because I’ve been been reckless and stupid. I’ve been driving them forward too hard, and too much. Taking too many risks. When other units like ours, could do the same job more or less just as well, and spread around the random casualties that naturally occur more equitably.”
“Yes,” her aunt and Zalvano said in unison.
Naero stared for a moment and dealt with those facts, and their searing ramifications.
Naero rose to her feet, ready to resign. “Perhaps I should not even be in command, if this is the case.”
“Now, don’t overreact the other way,” Aunt Sleak warned. “Sit back down. It’s a common mistake among young, driven commanders. They think they have to do it all. And if they can’t–if they make mistakes–then they don’t deserve to lead. You’ve been doing very well. You’re a tactical genius in a dogfight. Don’t lose sight of that major fact.”
“Why do you think we met with you in private to explain all of this?” Zalvano said. “If the war drags on three or four months or longer, we all just have to pace ourselves. When it’s your turn on the line, then you and your people can give it your all.”
“And when it’s your time off the line, get you and your people what you need. Enough rest and relaxation to get back up to speed and maintain your edge, ready for the next mission.”
Naero slowly sat down again. “I think, I’m beginning to understand,” Naero said. “I’ll strive to take a more balanced approach from here on out. Thanks for the kick in the head.”
Citation Series 1: Naero's War: The Annexation War Page 3
