Spalding’s head shot around to glare furiously at the pimple-faced bearer of bad news.
Then his eyes caught on the images that began populating the main screen.
One dozen contacts.
Two dozen contacts.
More than thirty.
Now more than forty contacts appeared before him—proper warships all. It was a swarm of Cruiser-and-smaller light warships, and it was clear they had one target and one target only: the angel of death that was working the Saint of Engineers’ blessed will.
“What should we do, Sir?” the First Officer asked urgently.
“They must be here to save the Battleships that are engaging the Bug Motherships in a battle to the death. Steady on, lad; we can take them,” Spalding said, a hard glint in his eye. “Tell the gun deck to get ready to fight! No more lollygagging 'round while the main cannon does all the heavy lifting.”
“Aye aye, Sir,” the First Officer nodded and hurried over to notify the Chief Gunner.
“And someone make sure to coordinate with our escort. There’ll be a rough patch but we’ll get through this, never you fear,” Commander Spalding said, as confident in his assessment as he was in his new hairdo.
As the old engineer watched, the swarm split into two different groups as they prepared to englobe the ship. But they’d soon find the Clover to be a tougher bit of meat than they’d expected.
“We’re all gristle and bone here. There's no point in breakin' your teeth on us, boys and girls. The sooner you find that out and leave, the better,” Spalding harrumphed sourly as he assessed the enemy with a beady eye.
The Clover was built to last. Why, she was even stronger now in her latest incarnation than she’d been in her last. The new hull was entirely made of Duralloy II, much stronger than the one she’d had in the past, and D-II is nothing to sneer at. His escorts deployed in a defensive arrangement around the Super Battleship, and with each passing minute his confidence in the old lady only grew. Even that Command Carrier's big beam hadn't done much more than give her a love bite!
His attention was re-drawn to the tactical display. Behind the now sixty three light warships of the Glorious Fleet, more than two hundred fifty fighters suddenly broke away from behind the light warships that had been screening them, hiding their signature until that moment.
The old Engineer’s eyes bulged.
“Sir!” cried Tactical, pointing to the main screen and panicking.
“The Clover’s in peril,” Spalding shouted urgently. “Let loose both broadsides and send out the gunboats!”
“Aye, aye,” said the Tactical, looking relieved.
“Short-ranged plasma cannons!” cried Spalding as the two hundred and fifty Imperial Strike Fighters assumed a double arrow formation and moved to engage.
Like two waves of death incarnate, the sixty three Glorious Fleet warships moved into position on either side of the Lucky Clover. First the enemy to port opened fire, and then the enemy to starboard followed suit.
The Clover wasn’t slow to reply. A thunderous double broadside rocked out of the Super Battleship simultaneously, as every single laser on the ship spat fire.
With a throw weight in her secondary armament equal to two Battleships, by firing from both sides at the same time it was the equivalent of four Battleships tearing into the enemy fleet.
Alongside the Clover, a half dozen MSP Cruisers and MSP Destroyers, as well as two MSP Jumble Carriers, equipped with the latest in stripped-down Battleship broadside due mainly to power constraints, followed suit. Each of the Jumbles fired like a strong Medium or Heavy Cruiser.
“Full power to the shields and full power to the gun deck,” ordered Spalding.
“What do you want me to do with the main cannon?” asked Weapons. “I could switch fire to one of these Cruisers if Helm cooperates.”
The old Engineer walked up and smacked the weaponeer in the back of the head.
“Hey! What was that for?” cried the Ensign.
“Sir, please go easy on the staff,” the Clover’s First Officer hurried over urgently.
“How else are they going to learn?” Spalding snapped.
“In case you haven’t noticed, we’re in the middle of a battle,” the First Officer snapped and then took a breath, “did you want to reroute power from the main gun and focus on shield regen and broadsides?”
“Are ye daft?” Captain Spalding demanded, grimacing at the First Officer. “The problem isn’t a lack of power. We can fire everything full bore if we bring all the anti-matter generators up to 80% capacity.”
“Eighty Percent, Sir?” protested the Engineer on duty on the bridge. “Are you sure we’ll be able to load balance everything without a catastrophic event? The safety protocols clearly state that—”
“I wrote the safety protocols on the anti-matter generators; I know what they say. Of course I’m sure,” Spalding gruffed.
“You’re the Captain, Sir, but—” said the First Officer.
“Then it’s settled. We all know Captains are all unreasonable tyrants, so just do it already and enough with the chit-chat,” Spalding said, giving the other engineer a penetrating look before turning away.
There was a stunned silence behind him. And then the ship began to whine all around them as all six anti-matter generators were stepped up.
The enemy fighters began to close, and as they did the Clover opened up with her short-range plasma turrets.
“Now these are some sweet fire control stations,” Lesner nodded with satisfaction as his turbo-laser lined up on the nearest Old Confederation warships, a Light Cruiser. “Much smoother than the old systems,” he said pulling the trigger.
They also fired faster thanks to a few upgrades to the guns themselves. The guns mounts and the fire control stations looked the same as the originals, in fact in many cases they were the originals taken from the old Lucky Clover and transferred over here. But they’d also been updated and upgraded with the best technology the Gambit Factories and Yards could produce and install.
His console beeped. The Chief Gunner looked down at his console and bared his teeth.
“We’re in a target rich environment, people!” he screamed into the microphone built into the fire control station. Then, tapping on the display, he assigned individual targets to each battery before turning back to look at the gunners in his area before meeting the eyes of the battery leader, “Battery A: take down that Cruiser!”
“Battery! Fire at will,” ordered the team leader.
Grinning Lesner lined up his target reticule on the target and, as soon as he had a good lock, he fired.
Within moments, half a dozen turbo lasers struck the shields of the Light Cruiser. The focused attack knocked down her shields and scored a deep gouge on the duralloy of her hull.
Hundreds of plasma balls shot out of Lucky Clover’s plasma turrets in several rapid salvos, and the Imperial Fighters immediately went into a series of evasive maneuvers.
Dozens of fighters were knocked out of commission and destroyed, but hundreds more dodged and wove through the anti-fighter fire.
Fire and fury smote out both sides of the Super Battleship in a continuous barrage, even as he shields shrugged off multiple broadsides.
Three Destroyers and a Cruiser were knocked out of action before the first pair of medium lasers broke through the Clover’s shields. Shrugging off the scratches in her armor, the Clover fired another HPC round that tore through the nearspace battlefield en route to the Imperial Battleships attacking the Bug Moon.
As the plasma cannon round struck the Battleship, dozens of Imperial Strike Fighters opened fire on the Clover’s weakening shields.
“Fire the point defense lasers and the chain guns; tell the plasma turrets to improve their aim and send out the boats,” ordered Spalding.
“The boats?” asked a harried assistant tactical officer.
“The gunboats! Put them on anti-fighter duty,” ordered Spalding.
“But I thought gu
nboats weren’t as effective against fighters as they are against outright warships?” asked the assistant Tactical Officer.
“Just do it, Henry,” snapped the main shift Tactical Officer.
“Aye aye, Sir,” said the assistant.
Just over two hundred strike fighters attacked the Super Battleship, and under the weight of fire from the other warships two dozen or so snuck in through the Clover’s powerful but overburdened shields.
Then more than three hundred gunboats poured around from the Clover's stern and engaged.
Space became a swirling mess of fighters, boats, lasers and warships as hundreds of weapons from each side opened fire.
More than half of the Strike Fighters that penetrated the Lucky Clover’s shields were rapidly taken out by her over powered point defense system. Several, those with more skill or just plain luckier pilots, came close enough to the hull to start knocking out sensor nodes, communication arrays or, in one case, damage a port-side shield generator before being destroyed.
With the shields weakened, the port side started to take more and more hits. But with extra thick Duralloy II battle armor, the Super Battleship shrugged off the strikes and fired back with all the fury of an anti-matter powered broadside.
Not only was the Clover firing faster because of the improvements to her lasers mounts, she was also recharging her lasers at a more rapid rate than her fusion powered opponents.
In taking down her port shields, half a dozen Destroyers and another pair of Cruisers fell to concentrated turbo-laser strikes. With over a hundred heavy and turbo-lasers on each side of the ship the Super Battleship against the hundred and fifty to two hundred light, medium and the occasional heavy laser of the Old Confederation fleet, the imbalance in striking power was obvious.
In response, the Old Confederation warships started to shift around until all fifty of the remaining warships were concentrated on the port side of the Clover.
“Roll the ship, son,” Spalding instructed as an out of control gunboat went careening into the side of the ship and exploded.
“They’re sticking to us tighter than a tick on a boar,” the helmsman said tensely.
“We just lost three heavy lasers. One was completely destroyed but the gun deck’s port repair team thinks they clear the doors to the other two within five minutes,” reported damage control.
“Not good enough,” snapped the XO.
“Tell them to just get it done on the quick step,” instructed Spalding, as outside the ship the concentrated fire of three hundred gunboats tore into the imperial fighters.
“Aye aye, Captain,” the engineer said, looking back and forth between the top two officers aboard the Super Battleship before finally settling on Spalding.
The Chief Gunner carefully lined up his shot and waited for the right moment. As he watched, the shields on his target flickered and he caressed the trigger in his hands.
With a loud crackle, the turbo-laser discharged, punching through the Old Confederation warship’s weakened shields and lancing into the hull right over the engines. A moment later, an internal explosion rippled through the enemy ship.
“Scratch one Destroyer,” crowed the Chief Gunner, and the gun crew working his turbo-laser cheered.
Lesner allowed himself a moment to bask in the glory and then he straightened up.
“Grease monkey!” he shouted.
“Yes boss!” a young Border Alliance recruit exclaimed, jumping over to help.
“Something sounded hinky with that last shot. Pull the focusing crystal and run it back to the shop for assessment after switching in a new one,” he ordered.
“No problem, Chi—” the Grease Monkey never got the chance to finish his reply.
The Chief Gunner’s view screen flashed repeatedly and everything happened in a split second. Lesner’s eyes barely had time to do more widen when an electric arc shot from the side of the turbo-laser struck the grease-monkey. While the young spacer was still writhing, and before Lesner’s hand could reach over to slap the emergency doors to shut his gun port closed, another flash occurred.
“Counter battery fire!” screamed the turbo-laser’s assistant gunner, jumping clear of the laser mount at the same time a sudden loss of pressure occurred.
The still-writhing grease monkey was pulled back by the suction from the hull breech.
“No,” shouted Lesner, jumping clear of the mount and reaching for the spacer.
“Sir!” shouted the assistant gunner, grabbing Lesner by the shoulders and pulling him back just in time to clear before the blast door slammed shut, trapping the injured grease monkey on one side of the doors and the Chief Gunner and the rest of the gun team on the other.
“He’s gone, Sir. We can’t help him,” said the assistant gunner, still holding the chief gunner’s shoulders.
“Get off me,” Lesner snapped, shrugging him off. He took one last look at the blast doors and then turned away to draw a single, steadying breath before he set his jaw.
He still had a gun deck to fight.
“The Sidewinder reports her fusion core is becoming unstable. Her captain reports their Chief Engineer is initiating the automatic shutdown protocol and he’s ordering the crew to the escape pods, Sir,” reported the Com-Officer.
Spalding grunted.
On the screen, space outside the Clover was a straight up mess. By now twenty of the sixty Old Confederation warships had been damaged to the point they had to withdraw, or were already struck dead in space while the rest were firing at them with everything they had.
“Sir, I’m receiving a hail,” reported the Com-Officer.
“Who’s it from? I’m busy,” grunted Spalding.
“I have a Rear Admiral J-Pop of the Glorious Fleet, he says he’s in command of the task group attacking us and demands to speak with you,” said the Com-Officer.
“Oh he does, does he?” Spalding snorted. “Put him through. This should be interesting.”
The screen blanked and then a brown skinned officer with a receding hair line—and a flat tire around his belly large enough that it was clear he’d enjoyed a few too many meals—appeared on the screen.
“This is Captain Terrance Spalding of the Lucky Clover. What do you want, Admiral?” he asked, brows beetling as he glowered at the other man.
“I didn’t realize you rebels allowed so many bio-mechanical combat replacements, or that you rebels were so desperate for warm bodies you’d started retaining officers as old and...of course, as experienced as yourself, Captain. This should make this a bit simpler,” said Admiral J-Pop.
“Old?” Spalding growled
“Don’t take offense. Like all proper Confederation citizens, I do not discriminate against the elderly. Although I have to tell your people they would really be better off under a universal health care system like we have in the Confederation. Free rejuvenation and life prolong techniques are now available for all citizens,” Admiral J-Pop said with a big smile.
“What are you on about, man? Is that some kind of weak attempt at a bribe? I’ll have you know I’m no rebel. Nor am I too old to run this or any other ship, so what exactly are you on about?” he demanded.
J-Pop’s smile faded. “Listen, this police action’s gone on far enough don’t you think? I say let bygones be bygones and all that. I understand that feathers have been ruffled locally, but you can’t honestly believe you’re able to stand off the combined might of the two largest mega-governments in the galaxy,” the Rear Admiral said. “That being the case, why don’t you surrender now and save us all a lot of trouble? I have to imagine your crew is feeling the strain.”
“My crew’s just fine. You might not be aware but the boys and girls in the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet have fought everything from Droids to pirates to ham-handed Imperials and we’re still tickin',” Spalding growled.
“Yes, but far too many lives are being lost as it is,” Admiral J-Pop said desperately, “I assure you that if you surrender now, before it’s too late, I’ll
be able to cut you the best deal you’re going to find. Not only can I guarantee the best medical care in the galaxy, ensuring you feel like a man half your age when we’re done, but in addition I’m sure some kind of monetary reward can be worked out…” he trailed off in the face of Spalding's patent disbelief.
“First off all, this ship and her crew hasn’t even begun to fight, and second if this if some kind of attempt at a bribe…,” he shook his head, “then I have to say you’ve got me all wrong. Why, I spend most of my time running away from the doctors, not trying to sign up for more of their medical tortures and quackery,” the old Engineer said stony faced.
“Don’t be a fool, Captain Spalding,” Admiral J-Pop said, sweat running down the side of his face, “you’re heavily outnumbered and the longer you wait—”
“Sir, there’s a problem!” the Admiral was interrupted by someone off screen.
“I told you I was not to be disturbed; I’m in the middle of very delicate negotiations with one of the locals here,” J-Pop said crossly.
“But, Sir, the Nova Blue contingent is quitting the field. They say they’re returning to the main body of the fleet to request clarification of orders,” said a female officer with Senior Lieutenant hash marks on her collar.
“Order them back in line. I don’t have time for this!” shouted Admiral J-Pop.
“Two more ships say they’re returning with Nova Blue, Sir,” reported the Senior Lieutenant.
“Seems like you’re having trouble there, Admiral,” Spalding chortled, “why don’t you go and give the blighters what for and get back to me when you’re got your house in order...Sir?” he smirked triumphantly.
“Yes, I suppose—wait, no!” exclaimed the Admiral, turning back to the Captain, “I assure you this is just a temporary mix up in the chain of command. Which is why my offer is even more important than ever—”
Spalding reached down and muted the Admiral, who was still blathering on about getting the Lucky Clover to surrender.
Admiral's Nemesis Part II Page 56
