“You’re relieved as well,” I informed the other Admiral.
“You can shout orders from the mountain top all you like,” said Commodore Winters, “but we are not sheep, nor are we cowards like yourself, too afraid to come to grips with the enemy, we are free and independent SDF warship commanders! Not a part of some monolithic Confederation fleet that jumps when you say 'frog'!”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I originally thought this was a misguided attempt at negotiation, what a fool I was. It’s become clear to me this was never anything more than mutiny in cold space. You can consider yourself relieved on the charge of mutiny in cold space, Commodore Winters,” I said.
“Go jump in a waste recycler!” snapped Winters before cutting his channel.
“The people of my world would rather die on our feet than serve under a tyrant,” Stevenson Smith said firmly before he too cut the channel.
“Well you’re still here. Ready to give me your last fiery impassioned speech about how terrible I am before you try to fracture this fleet during the biggest most important battle the Spineward Sectors has ever faced?” I asked, looking at Rear Admiral Warden.
“Too bad. I’d hoped at least some of your reputation would turn out to be true and you’d be able to see reason before it smacked you in the face. Whatever happens next is not on my head. It’s on yours,” said Warden.
“So has said every terrorist and mass murderer in history. The next conversation I’m going to have won’t be with you. It’ll be with your XO’s and head of your onboard Lancer contingents,” I said with a shrug. This wasn’t a democracy, this was a military organization. Warden, Smith and Winters didn’t get to threaten and tell their Commanding Officer what to do.
“On your head then!” said Warden cutting the channel.
I took a deep, shuddering breath, actutely aware of the sudden silence surrounding me on the bridge.
I hated the way this had gone down. I hated even more that it looked like I was about to lose control of a significant portion of my fleet. But the sad fact was if I started letting my Captains, Commodores and even Admirals start telling me how to run this fleet we really would lose this battle.
“Sir, the head of Commodore Winters’s Marine contingent is refusing to speak with me and I can’t seem to raise the next person in his line of command,” reported Steiner.
“I’m having the same issue with Smith and Warden’s subordinates, Sir,” Steiner reported a beat later.
“Twenty three warships in three different groups have just broken formation and are turning toward the intermittent stealth Imperial contacts, Grand Admiral,” reported Lieutenant Commander Hart at tactical.
I clenched my fist. Since I couldn’t reach their internal security forces, probably because they were part of the mutiny, that only left me with two options. I could let them go, undermining my authority, or I could order the rest of the fleet to fire on them and risk a more general mutiny.
“Sir I’m getting multiple requests from senior officers. Admirals Dark Matter and Van Obenheim are requesting clarification regarding the actions of the three rogue formations,” reported the com-officer.
I hesitated. Dark Matter and Gretta Van Obenheim were former and current comrades in arms. Things had been somewhat rocky at times but in the end they’d put themselves to the hazard on my orders before. I felt like they deserved to know the truth but right now what I needed most was to decide what I was going to do. Everything would follow after that.
Indecision would kill this fleet faster than a wrong decision.
Then, miraculously, the mutinous warships slowed down and began to fall back into formation.
“Sir, 2nd Grand Admiral Manning requests to speak with you,” reported the Com-Officer.
I shook my head. “The Grand Admiral is going to have to wait,” I said shortly. The Grand Admiral had joined the fleet at almost the same time as the Aegis Fleet reinforcements but had been laying low until now. Apparently he was making his move.
“He says it’s urgent, Sir,” said the Com-Officer.
“Tell him I have several mutineers to settle first,” I said turning away.
“But Sir,” the com-officer burst out, “that’s exactly it. He’s calling about the mutinous warships. He says to tell you he’s convinced the mutineers to rejoin the fleet and is requesting you place them under his command and delay any action against the officers of those squadrons until after the battle is won.”
I turned around to stare at the com-officer my jaw bunching. In other words, the former High Captain and current Grand Admiral Manning from Elysium wanted me to cover it up, for now. It benefited us all if it looked like a little bit of over eagerness instead of outright mutiny in the ranks, but I could already see a half dozen ways Admiral Manning could use this episode against me. He could be completely sincere and dedicated to winning this battle, and just as dedicated to deposing me and seizing control of the Fleet.
There was also Smith, Winters and Warden—the men who dared to speak truth to ‘tyranny.’ Was I just supposed to let them go? That didn’t sit well. I mean I understood eating it when the population went after me. What was I going to do, send out Lancers to individually punch everyone who called me a tyrant in the mouth? I snorted derisively. While modern technology certainly made that possible, such actions were those of a despot.
So fine, they could call me whatever they wanted. The citizens, that is. But trained military officers in the middle of a battle, Commodores and an Admiral? When you tacked on top their stated purpose of taking their forces out there to die fighting rather than stay with the rest of the fleet I had no sympathy for them. More than that, I was actually starting to consider smashing their faces in with my fists.
I took a deep breath.
There was no need for revenge. Especially when justice in the form of military law would be oh-so-much-more brutal, not to mention final, than anything I personally would do to them…
“Sir?” asked the Com-Officer.
“Tell Grand Admiral Manning they’re his now—as is their conduct from this point forward,” I said tightly, wondering if I shouldn’t just hand the whole mess over to someone else anyway. The fact was all I wanted to do was beat on them some and then discharge them from the fleet in disgrace; I had no interest in spacing them. On second and third thought, this mess was exactly why we had Lancers, masters-at-arms, and a fleet legal department.
So thinking, I pulled up a screen and tapped out a series of messages to those very departments. I had subordinates and it was time to use them. I’d only step in and wade into the fray if it looked like they were getting off unmolested—or worse. Otherwise I was pretty sure Akantha would just have them murdered, assuming she didn’t want to do the deed herself.
“Aye aye, Sir,” said the com-officer.
Shooting a glance over at my tall, statuesque blond, I could see flames shooting out of her eyes as she glared at the holo-screen. If looks could kill then the Admiral and his two companions would already be dead. On reflection, it was probably best to turn the whole thing over to the legal department.
I grunted and turned back to the screen.
Over the next hour the fleet maintained its patrol route, varying it just enough so that we wouldn’t run into anything such as stealth ships or mines. Then we waited.
Oh, and we dropped more than a few jammer buoys along our patrol route. Just in case.
“Do you want to activate the jammers, Admiral?” asked Tactical when the intermittent contacts were only a minute out.
I rubbed my chin, feeling the prickly itch of facial hair that indicated I would need to shave again the next time I performed my morning ablutions, and shook my head.
“No. Hold them in reserve for now,” I said.
“Are you sure? The Imperials at least are going to have the tech edge. If we don’t use it we may lose whatever advantage we have,” pressed Tactical.
I looked at the other man skeptically, “I don’t see how making
it even harder for us to see those fighters and coordinate a defense of the fleet is going to help us.”
“The enemy has already shown they can jam us at need. If we wait too long they may cut us off from our own buoys,” advised Tactical.
“A good point. Have two squadrons of Corvettes detach from the main group. They are to advance away from both our fleet and the stealth contacts and stay out of the enemy’s estimated jammer range. After that they can use whisker lasers to establish and maintain contact with the Royal Rage and our buoys. If anything happens and we need to activate our string of jammers, they can do the service,” I said.
“Yes, Sir,” said the Tactical Officer.
Our Corvette squadrons had just enough time to clear the estimated range of Imperial jamming technology before sensors unveiled the Imperials, penetrating their stealth field.
“As expected, Imperial Strike Fighters,” I said glumly.
“How many do we have, Tactical?” asked First Officer Snyder moments before our screens fuzzed.
“What just happened, Tactical?” demanded Snyder.
“We’re experiencing interference. The same as we encountered during our last encounter with the Empire,” reported Tactical.
“More jammer drones,” I said disgustedly.
“The area of effect seems to be centered around the Imperial Strike Fighters, but effectively it’s the same. They activated it as soon as they realized we’d penetrated their stealth field, Sir,” reported Tactical.
I nodded and then shot my First Officer a look.
She nodded and then hurried over to the sensor section where we had a new Officer in charge of the section. That he was considered the best upcoming Sensor Officer in the MSP would have been more comforting if our previous Sensor leader hadn’t also been highly recommended.
“Don’t worry, Admiral,” Sensor Ensign Terry Pentrada assured me looking over her shoulder with flashing a smile, “we’ve had the technology for some time. It was the ability to use it effectively, both training-wise and with the proper programming and sensor sensitivity and identification systems all meshed together that was lacking. Don’t worry; we haven’t sat on our hands. Imperial jamming technology won’t be nearly as effective this time around,” she said confidently.
“Well Pentandra, while I appreciate the enthusiasm, so far my battle plot is just as fuzzed up as in the past,” I said, giving her a skeptical look.
“The Imperials use a certain system. We just need to make a few changes to make sure the new programs mesh up with our identification algorithms and—” there was a pause as she turned back to her console.
Several long moments passed as she worked furiously and then large group of hazy and flickering images appeared on my screen.
“There we go,” she said triumphantly as just under eighty contacts appeared on screen.
“Imperial Strike Fighters are about to enter attack range!” reported the Tactical Officer.
“What did I say? No one knows the sensors and DI of the Dreadnaught class better than I do,” boasted the confident, some might say over confident, young Caprian Ensign.
I wanted to reply but there was no time. Our sensors were still fuzzed up and even though we could see them, hard firing locks with our fire control computers were still an issue, as was communications with the rest of the fleet. Whisker lasers worked but had lower bandwidth than even a regular encrypted channel, and on top of that ships were prone to move in ways event the best of computers with known courses couldn’t always perfectly keep up with forget about when sudden evasive maneuvers were required.
“Order the Corvettes to intercept,” I ordered.
A series of communications flashed back and forth and two dozen Corvettes in position to make an immediate intercept moved into position. I also noted almost a dozen gunboats of varying designs deploying to protect their Corvettes. Sundered, no doubt, as Glue was in command of the Corvette screen.
The closer the fighters approached the more effective their jamming field but also the more powerful our sensors. It was one thing to confuse Battleship level sensors at long range but another entirely during a close engagement.
Like a whisk of lightning, the Imperial fighters blew through the Corvette screen. Lasers flared and rockets surged to life, causing more than a dozen fighters to die and one Corvette to reel out of position.
The Imperial survivors—more than eighty fighters in total indicating we must have missed more of them, even with our improved sensors, than we’d expected—singled out a Medium Cruiser on the edge of our formation as their target and moved in.
Another half dozen fighters died and then the fighters struck home. One perfectly coordinated burst of laser fire punched a hole in the shields of the Cruiser and three squadrons of Imperial fighters dove through the opening. The hole closed and two more fighters that had been trying to follow their fellows in died a fiery death. As their squadron mates outside the shields pulled out, the three squadrons took action.
Point defense lasers opened fire in desperate defense, causing four more fighters to die before the rest of the Imperials reached their target. The better part of two full squadrons strafed the Medium Cruiser’s engines one after the other before pulling up and away. Seconds later another two had died, and the rest opened a hole in the Cruiser’s shields and escaped.
As quickly as they came, the remaining fighters pulled out screaming away from the engagement and our fleet.
“The Blazing Counter Fire reports she’s down both engines. Her top engine is repairable and her captain reports she’ll be able to maneuver in no more than fifteen minutes, but the bottom drive engine is going to need time in the yard before he’ll trust it again,” reported Steiner.
“Well isn’t that just wonderful? Either we abandon her or we’re sitting ducks until she can get engines back up,” said my First Officer.
“Use bucking cables and have another Cruiser—a Heavy Cruiser—take her in tow until Blazing Counter Fire can get her engines working,” I said.
“I’ll pass the orders,” said my First Officer.
I eyed her for a moment and then nodded. It didn’t matter who did it, although it would have been better if it were a Flag Captain passing along the Admiral’s orders instead of a mere ship’s First Officer but we played with the hand we were dealt.
As I eyed the seventy fighters winging their way away from the First Fleet of the Spineward Sectors and then looked back at the tally of two ships damaged, a Corvette and a Medium Cruiser, I frowned. The trade hadn’t been a good one.
Not a half hour after the first fighter attack, another was on the way. Thankfully at least the Blazing Counter Fire, true to her captain’s promise, was back in action.
This time all of our Corvettes were lined up to receive the enemy, but the problems with fleet coordination and gunnery fire control were still the same as ever. However, with forty Corvettes on task this time things were different and when the Imperials came blazing in they never reached the Cruisers. Unfortunately, one of the Corvettes was lost and another three badly damaged before the surviving fighters were winging away.
“How many did we get?” I asked.
“More than forty. It looks like they’re sending them at us in hundred fighter blocks,” reported Tactical.
I shook my head, wishing not for the first time today that I hadn’t sent the Jumble Carriers and my entire gunboat force away with Commander Spalding for the knockout punch. 'Hopefully' the knockout punch, I reminded myself.
The next attack was delayed, only it wasn’t only one force this time it was two. One of the stealth groups had slowed while the other sped up. It was timed so they hit us at the same time but from opposite ends of the fleet.
As a result, I was forced to split my Corvette screen. The Destroyers, while not quite as nimble, would just have to cope up the increased load and take up some of the slack.
Roaring in from either side, and protected from accurate long ranged laser fire by their jamm
ers, the two Strike Fighter groups converged on us.
Chain guns fired and point defense lasers flared, and of the two hundred fighters that attacked only one hundred and thirty nine survived the attack. But behind them were the burning wrecks of another Corvette and a Heavy Cruiser with no engines whatsoever.
We’d already weathered the attack of four different fighter wings, but from the looks of it we had twice that many to go with eight more fighter groups arrayed against us.
“They’re bleeding us,” I said bleakly. It was a death of a thousand cuts. So far I had lost several Corvettes outright but, even though they weren’t destroyed, I had one Cruiser effectively out of the fight unless I intended to tow her into combat, and another one completely unable to keep up with high speed combat maneuvers.
“They’ll run out of fighters before we run out of warships,” Lieutenant Commander Snyder said confidently.
“It’s not their fighters I’m afraid of,” I said, looking back at the Imperial fleet that was still hiding inside the radiation storm that was a gas giant’s orbit. “Set up a new formation. We’re not moving until the Glorious Fleet does,” I commanded, issuing the orders for a globe formation putting our heaviest warships right smack in the middle with the smaller ships on the outside.
There was no need to take more losses than necessary.
Chapter 47: Anti-Ship Strikes Devastate the Fleet
“Praetor, the Spineward Sectors Fleet has come to a halt and taken up a basic anti-fighter formation,” reported his flag lieutenant.
“So far losses have been light,” said the Mighty Punisher’s Commander Space Group, “as expected of the Imperial Naval design board.”
“The new Strike II-A variant is proving even more effective than I’d hoped. The improved stealth suite links up seamlessly with the Phantom-class drones; between that and the new micro-shielding we’re taking markedly fewer losses,” said the Senator.
“The enemy almost has to fire on manual control to get a hit in, and now when they do our fighters actually have a chance of surviving it,” agreed the CSG.
Admiral's Nemesis Part II Page 49
