For a moment I was outraged at being questioned like this, and then my eyes dropped and I seriously considered the question.
“I think that answers that question,” Steiner said rhetorically, not at all appearing interested in waiting for my answer and just assuming her own, “so unless there’s someone else out there better than you are then shape the blazes up and get back on your A-game…Sir!” she finished, her eyes fiery.
I was surprised. Other than not actually waiting around for my answer to her question, which I thought allowed too much chance for weaseling, I thought she’d done a better than decent job of laying it out like it was while at the same time saying to basically stop with the pity partying.
Perhaps it was time to shape up after all.
“Alright. We’ve had some setbacks. But we also won the day. I’ll just have to be satisfied with that,” I said finally.
Steiner gave the holo-screen a pointed look.
“The battle’s not over until it’s over, even if the enemy ‘seems’ to be running away,” she remarked.
“And considering the wily nature of our opponent we need to stay focused on the here and now and not count our plasma cores before they’ve ignited,” I agreed, focusing back on the screen and the enemy fleet that was well on its way to the hyper limit and beyond.
“Sir,” she said, nodding firmly and then taking a step back to return to her duties.
“Double check your figures for a least time intercept course at our best speed, Nav,” I ordered.
“Yes, Sir,” said Navigation.
The numbers were run, figures rechecked and yet despite the best efforts of our engines, physics and the bridge crew, reality refused to alter into a more palatable form and over the course of the rest of our pursuit the enemy stayed comfortably out of reach. Until finally they reached the edge of the system, stopped moving, and within minutes most of the Glorious Fleet had already jumped out. The larger Cruisers and Battleships followed them within a half hour.
“Someone sure decided to cut things close,” the Royal Rage’s Helmsman whistled with appreciation.
I shot him a look.
“Too close,” our Navigator said, disapproval evident in his voice as he frowned.
Within minutes our lighter units, sent forward to try and catch them before they could jump, started calling back for new orders. Were they to pursue in an attempt to discover where they’d gone or fall back and sweep for mines and stealth warships?
With a bitter smile I started issuing orders, “I want two Destroyers sent to every star system within range with orders to report back as soon as they achieve contact. Meanwhile, every other warship in Central System is to either maintain position if they are damaged, continue escorting a captured ship if that is their current assignment, or return to the main fleet if they are engaged in neither activity,” I ordered curtly, angry emotions had cooled but now it was time to count the costs and see what we saw.
“Relaying orders now, Sir,” said Steiner.
“And get me the status on the Battleships—ours and theirs—still in system,” I said.
“Yes, Sir,” said Steiner pulling up the information after sending out the latest set of orders.
I sat there waiting patiently as the information until it was ready. I had a good team and several hours to come to terms with being out maneuvered.
“Reporting,” Lisa Steiner said turning back to me when she was ready, “we have captured six Battleships. One of them is ours, a Central Battleship that was pulling SDF duty and scrammed her fusion generators during the surrender. Looks like The Glorious Fleet didn’t have time to replace her missing cores and restart her generators before we arrived.”
“We did manage to get here only one day behind them,” I said, not even feeling bitter, like I had the first time I realized we’d been just that one day too slow.
“As for the rest. There’s another Glorious Fleet Battleship in orbit with serious damage, looks like from attacking the battlestations, and is in a low power state due to missing fusion generators. That one will be a pile of work to get running again,” she said.
I nodded.
We had two limpers, one of them belonging to Central, that we’d have to give back. And from the sounds of it the other one might not be worth the effort and even if it was, would be fixed up and back in service only after some extended yard time. In other words, no time soon.
“The other four were in the jammer field and have various levels of combat damage,” she reported.
“The squadron they left to delay us,” I said neutrally.
“They all have some level of engine damage so it’s probably more along the lines of individual ships with the least likely chance of getting away being pulled out of formation to delay us,” she replied.
“Thank the Blessed Saint and Commodore Laurent for small favors,” I muttered.
“At least they’re not as hard core as pirates or the Reclamation Fleet,” she shrugged, “they fight pretty but they’re more than willing to surrender when it looks like the fight’s against them,” she then grimaced, “after which they promptly demand their rights as POW’s, while in one case actually complaining about the food they were being fed in the mess.”
“They’re old Confederation; they’re probably not used to ration bars,” I replied.
“That’s just it,” she said, looking mad, “they were on their own ship, with their own chefs, and undamaged kitchen and mess hall when they complained that the food wasn’t fit for human consumption and was a violation of their rights as prisoners of war.”
I suppressed surprised laughter, turning it into a sudden coughing fit before looking at her incredulously.
“How is that even possible? I mean even for Old Confederation fleet that’s a road too far,” I said with disbelief after I calmed down and stopped 'coughing.'
“They showed our security teams the relevant articles. Apparently both previous Captain and chef are from a different moon in the system from the rest of the crew and no one except the two of them liked the food; under active duty regulations they have no choice but to complain and eat it. But under POW rules it's considered that POW’s have the right to demand that every effort be made to feed them according to their normal regional fare, or their treatment will be reviewed by a non-partisan repatriation panel after the war. It’s supposedly in there to keep jailers from feeding them dehumanizing meals.”
I cocked a brow at her and she rolled her eyes.
“It was intended for things like feeding them bugs, worms and directly reprocessed human waste—or nothing but those foul-tasting fungal bars until their morale was broken and they were willing to tell their captors anything they wanted in order to get a real meal,” she shrugged.
“That’s insane. No review board would consider their case, it would be thrown out on the merits,” I snorted.
“I doubt Confederation politicians would care about the merits, even if the review board did,” she noted.
“I can already see the headlines,” I groused, “prisoners complain of being denied their rights under the dehumanizing food and meals provisions. Spineward Sectors review panel dismisses charges. Citizens around the old Confederation shocked and outraged. Grand Assembly reconsiders position, demanding new war in support of former prisoners. Or the reduction of previously agreed upon things like the return of civilian rights within a certain time frame…assuming the war goes poorly,” I grimaced.
We shared a look of mutual disgust.
“What do you want me to tell the Lancers and Marines garrisoning their ships?” she asked finally.
“Inform them they can pick someone from their crew to help cook for everyone but the chef and the captain’s meals, so long as that person has a food handler’s rating, or we can ship them in Spineward Sectors fare. Otherwise they’re stuck on ration bars for the foreseeable future,” I said angrily, “there’s literally nothing else we can do right now. If they decide to test us, put them on ratio
n bars. They may hate them but it’s hard to say we’re ‘dehumanizing’ their food by feeding them Confederation Fleet standard emergency ration bars as a stopgap measure. At least not until,” I added, quirking my lips, “we can ship in a food specialist capable of matching the discerning palates of their officers and crew.”
That ought to fix them good and proper if they thought to try and use the regs against us.
“Will do, Admiral,” she said with a toothy grin that looked out of place on her pixie-like features.
With that out of the way I turned back to more important business, “How did our Battleships fare in the face of their boarding actions?”
Steiner’s face immediately turned serious.
“I probably should have led off with that,” she admitted, ducking her head. “Four of our ships faced boarders on the hull. For three of them, including the Royal Rage, that’s as far as they got. The worst those three have are a few laser mounts down, some sensor and communication arrays that need to be replaced. Except for—”
“The Big Kahuna,” I interrupted providing the answer for her, “did any of the marines that didn’t make it to one of our ships surrender?”
“The Kahuna’s a different matter entirely and yes we not only had surrender attempts we were actually able to pick up some of them,” she replied.
“What are we looking at?” I asked.
“We picked up several hundred already with another several thousand or so to pick up that are just floating around out there. However, even in the best case scenario, of the more than eighteen thousand marines deployed for the operation they’ll be lucky if we’re able to capture or rescue six thousand,” she said.
I winced.
“That sounds light? Are there really that many floaters out there?” I asked. “If we need to send more shuttles out there to round them up just give the word. Their oxygen tanks should hold up if they knew they were going out for a cold space deployment.”
“From the looks of it they weren’t expecting an extended deployment but that’s not the problem, at least not the main one. I mean, sure, there are a few floaters out there with damaged grav-belts but…” she took a breath and gave me a level look, “the main issue is that they’re already dead.”
“Oh,” I said, not particularly intelligently.
“Something like 80% of their shuttles got waxed and they had enough capacity for nine thousand marines. After that there’s our lasers, chain guns and, of course, the big reaper, Commander Laurent’s plasma cannons. They lost thousands there. And then of course there’s the Big Kahuna.” she said.
When I didn’t say anything, she continued speaking.
“They landed at least three thousand Marines on her hull, starting with the initial engagement before the rest of us, including the Royal Rage, set off in hot pursuit of the enemy and then afterwards,” she said.
“It’s cold math but the Big Kahuna’s sacrifice let us take down four other Battleships from the Glorious Fleet of Liberation,” I said.
“I’m aware. However the damage to the Kahuna was considerable. The Marines overran the Kahuna’s security force. Seizing Engineering, Environmental, the crew quarters… pretty much everything except the Armory and the Bridge and that wasn’t from lack of trying,” she reported.
“Fortunately her sister ships in the fleet were able to send reinforcements in time,” I said.
“At one point the Kahuna was maneuvering and firing on our own ships, Sir. That’s what alerted several of our cruisers, another Battleship and several of our Destroyers to send over marines of their own to try and stop them,” she said, “by all accounts it got pretty hairy over there.”
“At least she was still moving under her own power,” I observed.
Lieutenant Commander Steiner looked at me like a disproving school teacher who’d just given a creative answer in class.
“It was able to move until the old Confederation Marines realized they’d done what they could and our Lancer reinforcements were just going to keep coming. Then they sabotaged the engines, ejected the fusion cores and destroyed as much of everything else except, notably, the environmental systems as they were capable of before waving the white flag.”
“I’m told that Marines are capable of doing a great deal of damage when they are of a mind to do so,” she said reprovingly.
“They are the enemy. That’s only to be expected, “I said with a wince.
“Well she won’t fly again without extensive time in the yard. The structure is sound as are the main systems but most of the internals will have to be yanked out and replaced. Conduits, power runs, communication lines, even many of the distributed intelligence’s sub-nodes were deliberately targeted. In some cases they used explosives, at others they used high powered lasers to cut through to the nodes. Pretty much everything except the air ducts and main lines feeding into environmental,” she finished with a shrug, “we’re looking at… at least a month worth of yard time. It’s mostly detail worked but after that are the tests and…” she looked at me helplessly.
“Marines,” I said unhappily, “makes a man want to put them on ration bars out of revenge.”
The Lieutenant Commander looked alarmed.
“And risk a war crimes tribunal?” she asked.
“Over ration bars? The Old Confederation and its blasted legal bureaucracy. Somehow they’ve even managed to put their fingers into post-military operations,” I said sourly, “well if they’re determined to crucify me over food related war-crimes I’m done for anyway. Feed’em the bars until we arrange the facilities to hold all of our prisoners securely. In fact…,” I paused and then called up link to the ship’s legal department.
“What can I do for you, Admiral?” asked Lieutenant Harpsinger.
“I hate to bother you but it sounds like we need to start preparing our legal defense early,” I said, lifting a brow and looking down at him in the most snooty highborn fashion possible.
The fleet’s top legal adviser looked alarmed at my unusual behavior and I finally broke down into a smirk, which brought a look of relieve to Lieutenant Harpsinger's face, “Ah. What can I do for you, Sir?”
“I’ve got a bunch of barracks lawyers looking to hang us over food related war crimes...” I said, quickly relaying the tale about the ship we’d captured that were demanding a new chef, and then the situation with the Marines.
“I see. I’ll get right on it, Sir. In fact we’re already aware of the problem and notified your Chief of Staff. That’s probably how you found out about it,” he assured me confidently.
“No doubt,” I agreed, shooting a sidelong look at Lisa Steiner who just splayed her hands, in effect telling me she was just doing her job and why was I looking at her sideways for?
“Anyway, let’s get ready to hit back,” I said.
“I’ve already got the legal teams on every warship involved with the prisoners out there documenting and generating the appropriate e-paper trails for our security personnel,” he assured me.
“Alright,” I acknowledged, already hating how a war with the Confederation was already turning out to be so very different and more involved in unexpected ways than our previous local dust ups, “however let’s try to take thing one step further.”
“What do you have in mind?” he cocked his head.
“Most likely I’ll die in combat and won’t have to deal with it. Or even better yet we’ll win and have the chance to dictate terms. However, in the off chance things turn out tighter run than we’d hoped, I’d like to be just as ready for a legal defense as the last time we were called to court,” I said, giving him a significant look.
Lieutenant Harpsinger started to smile, “I have a few ideas.”
“Well I have a few of my own,” I said with a smirk, “and to start off, how about we start our first batch of complainers? Wouldn’t it be just nice if someone was primed and ready to file against us for treating those whiners with ‘preferential’ treatment at the very same time they�
�re trying to zing us for ‘war crimes’?”
“You actually want to start rewarding the squeaky wheels, Sir?” asked the Lieutenant. “That might be helpful at the start but by the end of the campaign it could prove problematic.”
“Oh, I’m just planning to give them exactly what they asked for. That doesn’t tally up to anything close to a reward. In fact by the time I’m done with them those gripers are going to wish they’d kept their mouths shut and shoveled down whatever chow their previous chef was feeding them,” I smirked. Threaten me with food-related war crimes? They ought to have known better than to threaten a Montagne, even such a pure-hearted, people-friendly fellow military man like me.
I snorted, already thinking of all the petty little troubles we could cause those ambulance chasers. Images of those few times they actually got a superior looking meal spreading throughout the prisoner community causing envy and distrust among the ranks of our general prisoner population already started to glimmer in the depths of my mind.
When you start chasing ambulances, you'd better be ready to get hit.
In the meantime I had a system to clean up and a war to win.
After the last of the enemy warships jumped out of the system, followed by our Destroyers, I turned my attention to clean-up and the inevitable screams of the politicians about how the fleet had failed them. The worst part of it? For the first time in years they would actually have a point.
Chapter 35: Recriminations
“This is all your fault, Newton!” screamed the new Leader of the MDL Faction in the Spineward Sector Assembly.
“You can go back and check your privilege at the door or shut the blazes up, Anton,” Sir Isaak said, scorn dripping from his mouth.
“Check my privilege? You can go howl, you spineless excuse of a Tyborean space worm. The Mutual Defense League lost half a dozen voting members!” shouted Anton Chat-Hammer.
“Yes, your losses were tragic, Assemblyman Chat-Hammer. I assure you the entire Assembly weeps for you,” Assembly Speaker Isaak Newton assured the other man in a conciliatory voice.
Admiral's Nemesis Part II Page 38
