“It’s always nice when the locals will do half the work for you. You said ‘current’?” asked the Senator looking over with a lifted brow.
“Apparently they’re planning to shift over to a mobile headquarters. A former emergency Sector Government transport. A Monitor of some kind that’s been extensively overhauled and rebuilt,” reported the Staffer.
“I presume they had the intelligence to send along the location of that Monitor and a breakdown of their current fleet forces?” the Senator said mildly.
“The report states that the Monitor’s location is a closely held state secret,” sniffed the Spy Master.
“No doubt they don’t want to risk their bolt hole, in case we change our minds,” Cornwallis sneered, “the fleet status?”
“We’ve got the number of hulls and a relatively decent list of Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet warships but as far as the rest of their ship, this ‘Grand Fleet of the Spine,” the Staffer rolled his eyes, “all we have is a basic number of hulls. Apparently the MSP fleet breakdown is easily obtainable information but they had to use a telescope to count the Grand Fleets numbers.”
“Complete and utter space rot. Who’s our agent on the ground? Is it possible he went native?” the Senator scowled.
The Spymaster grimaced. “It’s an old contact from the Reclamation Initiative,” he admitted, “the son is currently serving in the Rim Fleet on the Gorgon Front so the contact was considered low risk. But it’s possible he was turned by one of the former Initiative Investors or has simply placed the best interests of the rest of the family over that of the son’s now that the invasion is actually taking place.”
The Senator’s mouth twisted and he shook his head.
“What’s the background on this contact?” he asked.
“He runs a starship repair dock in their home system, so he’s a spacer, civilian background, except for the son of course. Some ties to smuggling and the grey market, which we’ve made use of in the past. A brother-in-law is a provisional member of the new Assembly,” said the Staffer.
“And the son?” prompted the Senator.
“He’s currently a Warrant Officer in Engineering, it looks like he signed up in a fit of patriotic fervor. Apparently he wanted to stay close to home and fight pirates, which was Rim Fleet’s job at the time,” the Spymaster didn’t look up from his tablet as he rolled his eyes and continued to dictate details, “looks like a usual provincial worlder determined to keep the local spaceways clear for the sort of freighter traffic his family depends on to survive.”
“And then that Fleet was sent down to the Gorgon Front for a war and stopped patrolling the region for pirates,” observed the Senator.
“We have been feeding him information on his son’s status in the Imperial Navy, along with the exchange of occasional holo-taped messages,” said the Spymaster.
The Senator shrugged, “It’s not unusual for this sort of source to dry up at a time like this. When we were far away, doing everything you can for a wayward son makes sense, but now that we’re here in force and the rest of the family is potentially in the cross-hairs the calculation changes. I’m not surprised he’s been hedging his bets or at the very least not pushed for the information we need as aggressively as possible,” said the Senator.
“We know where he lives,” said the Staffer, “and it’s my understanding we’ll soon have naval special action teams inserted into a number of the local star systems…”
“Let’s not go down that route for now. How long until we have one of our own or at least a Naval Intelligence officer in position to directly interface with the locals on central?” asked the Senator.
“According to our estimates, if nothing went wrong, the Navy has an pair of agents en route and we already have a team on the surface by now but unfortunately they haven’t had time to get the lay of the land or meet up with the contact and provide us with a direct feed of information yet,” said the Staffer.
“These things take time,” Cornwallis said shaking his head with irritation, “that will be all,” he ended in clear dismissal.
As soon as the spymaster had left the Senator summoned his naval chief of staff and then turned and immersed himself in the latest naval intelligence reports.
Initial reports had been excellent, even exceeding expectation but lately there had been a recent string of failures. The warships lost in action against the enemy were Imperial Destroyers with the latest stealth and weapons technology. Ships that shouldn’t have been lost.
The locals and their new patrols were proving surprisingly effective now that they were getting their act together. Which boded poorly for the future.
The Chief of Staff stepped into the room and saluted clicking his heels together for emphasis.
“Reporting for duty, Praetor,” said the Commodore.
“Are you familiar with the latest reports from our advanced forces, Commodore?” the Senator asked the middle aged reservist.
“I am apprised. As your Chief of Staff I have access to the reports from every ship in the fleet… well every Imperial ship at any rate,” the Commodore corrected himself, “but I do stay on top of everything,” he cocked his head, “how else am I supposed to know what information to pass on to you and what your staff needs to handle for you?”
The Senator looked at the other man coolly and then turned around and activated the holo-plot in the middle of the room. An accelerated timetable, showing every reported maneuver of the advanced main forces as well as the main fleet along with the currently projected actions, began to appear one by one until they reached their current situation in time.
“As you can see things went almost entirely our way in the beginning, with the locals unable to even spot us—at least that was the situation until their newest reinforcements began to arrive,” he said pointing to several systems that started flashing red. “These new patrols of theirs have proven…troublesome.”
“Losses are only to be expected in wars, and we are only talking about two ‘Destroyers’ here, Sir,” said the Commodore.
“Now take a look at the latest projected movements of this Grand Fleet of the Spine,” said Cornwallis, causing a large mass of enemy warships to appear. A significant number of them were red but an even larger contingent were yellow with red circles indicating that their information and number count was spotty.
“At least that’s a better name than the Glorious Fleet of Liberation,” the Chief of Staff said derisively.
“How accurate is this?” the Commodore asked with a frown.
“The count should be accurate but this is only an initial report from a questionable source. The number of hulls should be accurate as of the moment as for types and weight of metal…that’s still anyone’s guess at this point,” the Senator shrugged.
“And the jump estimates?” the grey haired officer asked.
The Senator lifted a hand splayed his fingers wide and then shrugged. “They’re as accurate as we can make them. We’ve spotted a large number of escort warships screening something that appears to be their main body. We should have a number of Destroyer squadrons shadowing their main force soon. MAN knows they’ve been moving slowly enough, one would almost think they were up to something” the Senator said with amusement.
The Commodore shot him a penetrating look. “A trap, you think?” he asked.
“Clearly they want us to know where they are and hope for us to follow them,” the Senator said with a slight smile.
“Away from their seat of government,” observed the Commodore.
Cornwallis looked back implacably. “It’s obvious the game they’re playing: they hope to grab out attention and hold it there but there’s no reason we can’t go after two targets at once,” he said.
“Unless that’s a trap also, Sir,” warned the other man, “remember we only have so many ‘reliable’ units. Is it wise to divide our strength in the face of the enemy?”
“I see no reason that a significant portion of the Glorious F
leet of Liberation, commanded by an experienced Imperial officer and backed up by two squadrons of cruisers, can’t take the fight to the enemy with severe alacrity,” Cornwallis said with a hard edged expression.
“The question is will The Glorious Fleet fight?” observed the Commodore.
“We’ll send enough ships and a man of sufficient rank to ensure that they don’t have a choice. Oh, they can talk all they like, right up to the point our squadrons enter attack range and open fire,” said the Senator.
“That should work but there’s still a chance that we’ll be risking our supply of new com-stat buoys if we sufficiently enrage the Confederation reinforcements,” the Commodore said cautiously.
Cornwallis’s face hardened.
“The method and manner of this conquest will not be dictated by a Confederation wide Entertainment Channel,” he said with utter negation.
“With respect they’re more than just a channel but I understand the sentiment, Praetor,” said the Commodore, “just expect Pan-Galactic Entertainment to come knocking if you split the fleet like you’re planning.”
“PGE and Ruby Rod can be imprisoned in a trillium mine for all I care. As far as I’m concerned we’ve already bridged the gap, the Overton Expanse now has a faster than light com-link back to the rest of known space, and while having them follow us trailing their string of faster than light breadcrumbs behind would be nice it’s no longer strictly necessary,” he said flatly, “in a few ways it would even be preferable.”
“In some ways even preferable, Praetor?” asked the Commodore.
“Why, Chief of Staff, are you saying that our Confederation allies are less than totally reliable and stalwart in the face of adversity? For shame!” Cornwallis rolled his eyes.
“You would know them better than me. But if their actions, letting this region go to the dogs and any two bit warlord that fancied it and then turning around and ‘assisting us’ in reconquering it for the Empire, are any measure then…yes. I believe that’s exactly what I’m saying, Sir,” said the Commodore.
“I like the way you think. That will be all, Commodore,” the Senator said, an approving tone in his voice that was at odds with the semi-harshness of the words of the dismissal itself.
The Commodore drew himself up, saluted, clicked his heels and then turned and exited the room.
Once he was gone, the Senator leaned back in his chair, pulled out a cigar and lit it up.
He could see the game Montagne was trying to play: concentrate his forces, lead the Empire into a confrontation of his choosing—probably a star system with formidable fortifications—and then roll the dice with all the odds he could control in his favor.
Unfortunately for the new minted 'Grand Admiral,' the Senator wasn’t interested in catering to his every whim. Janeski had proven that allowing this particular opponent to dictate the place of his choosing was a losing proposition and despite his advantage in firepower, some would say overwhelming advantage, this was a mistake he had no intention of replicating.
In fact, he thought letting out a puff of smoke and then stubbing the cigar in his ash tray, I plan to do the exact opposite of this local’s plan. I'll use my superior Imperial scouting forces to lead the locals toward a system of my choosing: an uninhabited star system where the rubes have no chance of laying out any sort of ambush.
If this Jason Montagne disagrees, he leaned back in his chair and laced his hands behind his head, I’ll just burn down worlds until there is nothing left in this Sector before moving move on to the next.
The forces he sent to Central to attack their burgeoning Central Government ought to provide just the spur the Imperial Fleet needed to force the locals into a confrontation at a place and time of their Imperial Choosing.
Then they would be crushed once and for all, with only a few scattered remnants to be swept up.
The Senator unveiled a deadly smile and then walked over to the side bar to pour himself a drink. Everything was coming together nicely. The opponent just needed enough time to realize that he had no other option but to dance to the Empire’s tune.
Chapter 29: Jason’s Scheme
In the new war strategy room aboard the new Lucky Clover were gathered all or at least most of the top officers in the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet.
“So what’s our next move, Admiral?” Captain Far-Bright, the new and possibly temporary captain of the Lucky Clover asked respectfully as soon as the meeting had officially started. Spalding hadn’t been excited by the move but I was the head of the organization and the old engineer recognized that.
In response, I eyed my new Flag-Captain with reserve and then turned back to the main plot. Seeking to settle my stomach, I reached out with well practiced precision for my tea cup. Only after I’d completed the ritual of stirring, smelling, sipping and finally returning the little cup back to its saucer did I turn to considering the question.
Sometimes presentation is just gilding the lily but at others—like now, for instance—it was everything.
Reaching out, I touched the holo-plot tracing a line following the Imperial Invasion of our Sector.
“The combined Imperial/Confederation Fleet left the Overton Expanse two weeks ago and have proceeded to jump eight systems deep into our Sector…well, eight systems so far,” I pointed out, tracing the estimated line and current location of the Cornwallis Conquest Fleet.
“We’ve lured them deep into the Sector, well away from any targets,” Far-Bright observed with a satisfied nod.
I looked at the other man in disbelief.
“They crossed the border almost two weeks ago and it took our fleet the better part of a week just to catch up to them. They’re practically crawling, keeping everything except their screening elements together and jumping all at the same time. Thus limiting them to their shortest Corvettes jump range and longest Battleship’s recharge time. They could have gone literally anywhere in the same amount of time, hit any number of Core Worlds, yet there they are right smack dab in the middle of nowhere,” I glared at the screen.
The former Confederation reservist immediately stilled and looked taken aback. “I thought that was what we wanted, Admiral,” he said stiffly.
“Rather that’s what we wanted them to think we were trying to do, Captain,” I said with exaggerated patience, “which all by itself ought to have been a major clue that something was very wrong!”
“Whenever the enemy appears to be doing exactly what you want them to do, something is wrong,” intoned the Captain obviously repeating something he’d heard multiple times before; probably starting back in his academy days.
“Exactly. Which is even worse for us, considering that our actual intentions were to lead them to Hart’s World so we could fall back on their defensive fortifications and negate at least some of their numerical advantage,” I said flatly.
“They were too wiley to take the bait,” Spalding spoke up from his seat on the other side of the table.
“Not surprising considering who’s in overall command over there,” said Chief Gunner Lesner.
“Any idiot can see that plain as the nose on your face. Are you sure your head’s fully recovered from that big crack those louts gave you?” Spalding asked with exaggerated patience and concern.
“Go stuff yourself, Spalding,” the Chief Gunner growled.
“Ate a full dinner—dessert too! This is as full as it gets, I’m afraid. Too bad you missed it transferring over here from the Rage. We had a nice turkey dinner with all the fixings,” the old Engineer said patting his belly contentedly.
“You can go howl outside if you keep that up you overgrown wrench turner,” the Chief Gunner growled half rising from his chair.
“Better a wrench turner than a man who points and clicks for a living. And I’d like to see the man what could put me outside a hull because he certainly isn’t a crusty old gunner!” Spalding sneered.
“That’s it!” Lesner tossed his cigar onto the table, his other hand going for his belt.
“Gentlemen,” growled the Captain, glaring at the two old reprobates until they settled back down into their seats rebelliously, “that will be enough of that.”
“Sorry, Sir,” muttered the Chief.
“Harumph,” the Chief Engineer frowned, but under Far-Bright’s continued withering glare crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair.
“Now that sort of divergent behavior is, hopefully, behind us,” I said bestowing my own frigid look upon the unruly pair before moving on, “as I was saying, they failed to take the bait and follow us to Hart’s World, and worse they’re threatening to cut us off from Central.”
That caused ears to perk up and people to shift uncomfortably around the holo-plot.
“Technically we’re still between the Imperial Fleet and the new seat of government, Admiral Montagne,” a Battleship captain sitting next to Captain Eastwood finally observed.
“And they’ve shown no sign of making a move on Central, Sir,” agreed another one of the new Battleship captains, this one a former First Officer under Quentin ‘Rampage’ Jackson. I easily recognized him.
“You mean so far,” Commodore Druid weighed in causing a number of former Confederation officers, all captains now, to nod in agreement; including among their number a certain former Flag-Captain who was still in command of the Furious Phoenix.
“I think we might be jumping at shadows that aren’t even there. This is war, we can’t be risk averse,” snorted the former XO of the Metal Titan.
“Risk averse!” Druid exclaimed, a vein on the top of his forehead throbbing. “I’ve been to more wars than you can count on the fingers of one hand. Any man who thinks I’ve lost my nerve can just come right out and say it. I lost a Battleship not my will to fight or my good judgment. I think the fifth battle for Easy Haven would have proven that!”
“No one’s calling anyone here faint of heart or uncommitted,” I cut in, taking back control of the strategy meeting, “not unless they think the line for such people starts with me,” I finished with a quelling look as I met and held the eyes of everyone in this room one by one, challenging them to disagree.
Admiral's Nemesis Part II Page 29
