“Be careful, William. You don’t want word to get around that you’re doubting the bravery of the Imperial Praetor, our top Fleet Commander. If you do, bad things are bound happen.” Front Admiral Featherby warned jokingly.
“You mean like like being assigned to the front lines in a Light or Medium Cruiser?” Fritters asked facetiously.
“Hey now. I like this Cruiser,” chuckled Featherby.
“I’m not saying anything against the ship,” Fritters said fervently, eyes shooting sideways to make sure none of the ship’s regular crew had heard his comments and taken offense, “it’s just that since we’re clearly in the doghouse already I don’t see much point in playing kiss up.”
“That’s probably the reason you never made Admiral,” said Front Admiral Featherby with a smirk.
“I didn’t kiss enough rears to make Rear Admiral?” Fritters mused, looking mostly serious.
“You!” said Featherby, glowering at his Chief of Staff.
“I mean, clearly our supreme commander, the Praetor, was unable to tell good from bad when he assigned us here, Front Admiral. No doubt because of a conspiracy among his top aids to keep you down,” Fritter joked. “I just hope that in his wisdom the Praetor discovers the uncut gem that is you, my superior officer, and—”
By this time the Front Admiral had snuck off his chair and was in position to give his Chief of Staff a good kick in the rear.
“Yeow!” Commodore Fritters said, jumping in the air and then turning around rubbing his backside furiously. “What did you do that for?” he demanded.
“Stop kissing my backside—and more importantly stop insulting our fleet commander,” Front Admiral Featherby said, shaking his head firmly before returning to his chair.
“That’s not fair,” complained the Chief of Staff.
“Life’s not fair; get with the program,” Featherby said seriously. “Wow what’s the status on our Task Force?”
“Right now we’re smack in the rear with Magenta Squadron and our glorious leader, Front Admiral Barragan, is leading the charge but as soon as we reach the Spineward Sectors Fleet that’s scheduled to flip around. Supposedly it's because the warships in the front will need time to cool down their engines while those in the rear, being slower, will be in a better condition,” Fritters reported.
Front Admiral Featherby rolled his eyes. “Not only is that complete bunk—we’re all moving at the same speed—but engines don’t need to ‘cool down’ like that in the first place,” Willard Featherby sighed.
The two men shared looks of mutual resignation. Sadly, appearances had not been deceiving. Their new leader was exactly as advertised: a political officer and part time armchair Admiral at best.
“I’m not sure if he qualifies as a weekend warrior even,” sighed Fritters.
Featherby looked at him strictly. “How long until we reach the enemy?” he changed the subject.
“I’m sure you can look it up just as easily as me it’s on the main screen,” Fritters pointed to the main-plot.
The Front Admiral’s frown deepened and his brows furrowed in anger.
“Alright. Alright! We’re twenty two minutes out. We should reach the local fleet at any time,” said the Chief of Staff.
“Keep an eye on the things and notify me as soon as anything doesn’t look right,” said the Front Admiral.
“I can tell you right now that this whole thing doesn’t look right. The Spineward Sectors have to know they’re going to lose this fleet if they fight. Front Admiral Barragan and Praetor Cornwallis have to realize that sending us out here is likely to get us killed and on top of that—” started the Commodore happily.
“Alright enough. Hold fast, Commodore,” said the Front Admiral.
Fritters drew in a breath visibly expanding and then deflated. “Of course, Sir,” he sighed.
The two superior officers fell silent.
Into this growing silence, the Admiral’s Flag Lieutenant finally interjected with a question in the form of a statement, “Given the size of our Glorious Fleet of Liberation, I would think we’d be large enough to take on the Spineward Sector Fleet all by ourselves.”
“Was there a point in there somewhere, Lieutenant?” Front Admiral Featherby asked finally when the Lieutenant failed to continue.
The Flag Lieutenant flushed. “I was just wondering why the Imperial fleet hesitated like it did. Either come or don’t come. The Glorious Fleet of Liberation is seven hundred fifty warships strong,” he said pridefully, “we don’t even need their help to crush a force one third our size.”
Once again the two senior officers shared a look of mutual understanding, but this time it was mixed with amusement.
“Probably because he realizes that, without the Imperial Flotilla backing us up, no one in the Glorious Fleet would be willing to fight,” the Front Admiral finally explained.
The Flag Lieutenant looked shocked.
“B-b-b-but, we’re the Confederation Fleet!” he burst out indignantly, “we’re part of the biggest government in the galaxy!”
The two senior officers laughed, but while their faces looked merry their eyes looked old and weighed down with time and years.
“Lieutenant, it’s sad to say but the Confederation Fleet you’re thinking of doesn’t exist. It was almost totally disbanded around fifty years ago,” Commodore Fritters said compassionately.
“What are you saying! This is the Confederation fleet, we’re the Confederation fleet,” the Senior Lieutenant said passionately, eyes gleaming with something like pride as he rebuked his superior.
“This isn’t really the Confederation fleet. What we have here is a group of randomly assembled and self-volunteered SDF forces, with a leavening of former and reserve officers, like the Front Admiral and myself from the times back when the Confederation Fleet used to mean something.”
The Senior Lieutenant gaped at them.
“Sorry to burst your bubble, but the military industrial complex was disassembled several decades ago and the fleet stood down. All that are left are a few increasingly decrepit hold outs like us who have dual status in both the fleet reserve and our home world’s SDF,” said the Chief of Staff.
“I-I don’t believe you. E-even if you believe that, you’re wrong. The Confederation Fleet was founded on at-will organizations and volunteer forces from the Sectors and provincial star systems,” the Lieutenant argued firmly, “maybe we lost some of our polish when the Grand Assembly decided it was doing more harm than good when it stood down most of the standing fleet, but I mean...just look at us!” he exclaimed, gesturing towards the fleet. “More than seven hundred and fifty warships, one hundred Battleships alongside countless Cruisers and Destroyers, this is a force that cannot be denied!”
“The provincial SDF’s were always intended to form up around a solid core of professionals before going into battle. In this case it’s not the pride of the Confederation Fleet, but an Imperial Flotilla,” Front Admiral Featherby said, unable to keep his dissatisfaction and scorn from leaking into his voice, “but regardless, the last time an expeditionary force was sent outside the Confederation to fight without that cadre to stiffen it, the fleet fell apart. The other professionals in this fleet know that. Which is why they won’t fight without the Empire’s professionals with us.”
“But we’re not fighting outside the Confederation. This isn’t a war or an expeditionary force; this is a police action inside one of our own Sectors,” argued the Senior Lieutenant. “We do this all the time, admittedly not on this scale but everyone knows the locals will fold as soon as we show them we have the will to fight and their cause is hopeless,” he finished with complete certainty.
The two senior officers looked at each other and shook their heads.
“Right?” asked the Flag Lieutenant, looking at his senior officers with surprise.
“I feel old,” muttered the Front Admiral.
“Me too,” admitted Fritters.
Chapter 51: Confederation Frustrat
ion
“Thank you for speaking with us, Admiral Montagne,” said Gretta VanObenheim, her blond hair in a tight braid running down the back of her head where it wouldn’t get in the way.
“Yes, many thanks, Grand Admiral,” Admiral Dark Matter agreed wryly.
“I am grateful as always for the support of the Freya’s World and Hart’s World contingent,” I replied perfunctorily, hating every minute that I had to play the political game—in the middle of a combat situation to boot.
“What’s the plan, Sir?” asked Gretta Van Obenheim, cutting right to the heart of the matter.
“Plan?” I asked leaning back and crossing my arms and offering a challenging look.
The Rear Admiral flushed with anger and Admiral Dark Matter rushed to put himself into the breach, “I think what my comrade means to say is that frustration in the fleet is growing high. The Imperials are definitely taking the upper hand and, other than a few fighters on their side, we’re the only ones who have been taking damage,” Dark Matter said.
“Other than the Destroyers my force took down at the beginning of the battle, we’re getting killed out here, Sir,” Rear Admiral Van Obenheim. “Our crews need to know we’re not leading them to their deaths.”
“It’s any officer’s job to lead his or her crew into combat. Death is always a possibility,” I said.
“Grand—” he paused, “Admiral Montagne. Please. We are not your enemy here. Help us to help you,” said Admiral Dark Matter.
I looked at them through narrowed eyes.
“We don’t mind dying. Well, we do, but it’s not our top concern, Admiral. Making that sacrifice count and, if possible, achieving victory definitely is,” said Rear Admiral Obenheim.
I took a breath.
“We can’t just stand here and absorb punishment. I know we’re moving, but it's a snail's pace. Abandon the Royal Rage if you have to and move to another ship. But we’re already down five Battleships. Towing them with bucking cables works for now but when, not if, the Empire sends in more of those fighter strikes, backed up by that massive fleet off our port bows…” Gretta Van Obenheim shook her head.
I uncrossed my arms and leaned forward. “I need you to trust me on this. There is a plan and it involved us moving at this slow pace, but it can’t leak to the Empire before it's time. And even though we’re on an encrypted channel, encryptions aren’t magic. They can be broken, which is why I can’t go over it any further over a com-channel,” I said and then unveiled a deadly smile, “but rest assured: the Empire will never know what hit them when I’m done with them.”
I then leaned back in my chair.
Dark Matter looked torn and then shook his head. “You’re the boss. But the crew, even my own bridge crew, aren’t going to understand,” he warned.
“I don’t understand. Your actions could just as easily be those of someone determined to get this war over quickly and hand us over to the Empire, lock stock and two smoking barrels,” she said harshly, “staying still or 'running' at a snail's pace, either way is still suicide.”
“You’ve seen me in action. You know better than this. You are better than this, Rear Admiral,” I told her, feeling offended at the accusation but refusing to show it. All she would see was the determined fleet commander harried by the enemy and abandoned by his allies, but still standing strong in the face of all of it.
Gretta Van Obenheim flushed, this time with shame but she quickly rallied and glared back at me. “The Admiral I knew had trick after trick, followed by traps and gunboats, and when everything else failed he took his Battleships and rammed them down a Command Carrier’s throat. But I don't recognize the man I see today. The man I knew would never have abandoned his principles to join the Spineward Confederation, let alone let his fleet fall apart with sectarian strife, internal division and outright mutiny,” she said harshly, “where is the man I came here to follow?”
I took several deep breaths. “You, madam, don’t know the half of what I’ve done for Freya’s World—or one tenth of what surprises I have in store for the Empire. Yet here you sit, accusing me of being a turncoat who moves to sell out to the Empire on the one hand while declaring me an incompetent on the other. What a fine picture you’ve pained of me, Missus Van Obenheim,” I said quietly.
“Insult me by taking away the courtesy of my rank…fine. Maybe I deserved that. But the rest of it stands. He must think we are fools,” she said, turning to Rear Admiral Dark Matter who looked angry and pained and then turned back to me, “as for not even knowing a tenth of your plans, do you take us for fools?”
“Not until this very conversation,” I replied.
“You won’t get a rise out of me. Because you’re seriously misjudging us. You think your plan is a surprise for the enemy and you can’t risk leaking it? Well let me tell you what half the fleet is speculating about right now,” she snapped.
“Do tell,” I sneered.
“Greta,” warned Dark Matter.
“No, it doesn’t matter if I’m giving away his secret plans because everyone and her sister in this fleet is already aware of it and it needs to be said. He needs to hear it,” she said. She looked at me with pity. “Your 'surprise' wouldn’t happen to involve those miraculous jump towers would it, Admiral?” she asked dismissively. “Or the missing Lucky Clover II. Or the missing Battleships—oh yes, everyone knows that we’re missing at least four Battleships that you should have been able to repair and put into combat condition after that last battle at Easy Haven. What about those gunboats I mentioned and their carriers? Maybe, for that matter, you’ve even picked up a few other surprises along the way—like some additional Cruisers and Destroyers. A potent force if leveraged at the right time, yes?”
“It sounds like one,” I admitted, before adding, “if that were what I was planning.”
“And it would be if we weren’t facing a Command Carrier, a hundred and twenty Battleships and over nine hundred warships! As it is, your secret force will only be able to carry water for you if it's applied at the right time—and if there’s still enough of a fleet here to take advantage of your little ‘open secret’ when the time comes,” she informed me patiently, as if afraid that by revealing all of my secrets I would be shocked I’d been seen through or experience some kind of mental breakdown and discovering I wasn’t as hyper intelligent as I’d supposed.
“Is everyone in the fleet aware of this?” I asked, careful to give nothing away and act as if I was surprised at what she’d found out.
Momentarily triumphant at having succeeded in telling me off, the Rear Admiral from Freya’s World look quickly morphed into concern. “Look, it’s not a half bad plan,” she advised me, “but the cat's already out of the bag. I realize why you couldn’t keep hiding it. The Governor of Sector 25 forced your hand,” she said carefully, “if it were only one time, maybe people could have dismissed it as some kind of secret stealth maneuver but when you took everything of value out of Easy Haven and jumped it to your secret base in the Gambit Star System, people around the Spine sat up and started to take notice.”
“Around the Spine, you say?” this time I was legitimately surprised. I had expected the local powers in the Sector to pick it up and, unlike what she was suggesting, I’d been operating under few illusions that the Imperial survivors of the Reclamation Fleet hadn’t already reported their losses and the details of the surprise attack that kicked it off back home to the Imperial Senate—and thus Senator Cornwallis and Co.—but still.
“Look, we don’t know how it works or what its capabilities are. Either the newly commissioned and hopefully…presumably completed and improved Lucky Clover or the ancient jump tech you have for that matter. But please don’t take us for fools,” she warned.
“Then you, of all people, should be aware of just how critical the timing is going to be in all of this,” I advised her.
She seemed to slightly deflate at my answer.
I was surprised. Maybe she had been secretly hoping I had someth
ing new up my sleeve—something more maybe?
She put her fingers on her forehead and started rubbing.
“What you look surprised?” I asked.
“I guess I’d just hoped for more truthfully,” she said slumping back in her chair.
“What, after all but calling me an outright traitor you’re now unhappy that you think I’m not?” I asked with surprise bordering on outrage.
“If that’s all we have then I don’t think its enough. I guess I’d just hoped the Little Admiral, the last Confederation Officer in the Spine that was worth a damn, had a magic solution to our problems, such as…oh, I don’t know. Maybe another fleet the size of the one we have right now, magically gathered from the rest of the Sectors using your Ancient tech jump drives. We might have actually had a chance at victory if that had been the case,” she said mulishly. “As it is? There’s no way five Battleships—counting that 'Super Battleship' of yours—and two gunboat carriers are going to carry the day, no matter how many Destroyers and Cruisers you’ve managed to pack in around her,” she finished glumly.
“I think what my comrade is trying to say is that we may have come into this conversation with unrealistic expectations, both good and bad, is all,” Rear Admiral Dark Matter said looking pained.
“Well if I happen to stumble over any secret Droid fleets in the meantime, I’ll be sure to have Commander Spalding bring them along with him,” I advised. “In the meantime, if you could help keep things under control over on your end until after the fireworks are over and done with I’d be much appreciative,” I said.
“We still can’t stand here all day just soaking up punishment, Sir,” Gretta Van Obenheim said, “if we do seven capital ships, even with one of them able to stand toe to toe at close range with a Command Carrier…it won’t be enough.”
“You can do what you’re ordered to do by your Fleet Commander, Rear Admiral Van Obenheim,” I said firmly.
Admiral's Nemesis Part II Page 52
