“We’re being hailed by the Imperial Strike Cruiser,” exclaimed the Ex-Com Tech. “They’re demanding we back off or they’ll blow the Constructors.”
“Put the Imperials on screen,” I instructed, ready for battle.
“You’re live, Admiral,” said the Ex-Com tech.
I straightened myself in the Throne. “Unidentified vessel, this is MPF Lucky Clover, Admiral Jason Montagne commanding. Identify yourself or be destroyed,” I said in my most imperious tone.
The First Officer’s head whipped around. “This isn’t part of the script,” he whispered hoarsely.
I smiled grimly, maintaining focus on the main screen's pickup point.
A tall, white-skinned man with well-bred Imperial features appeared on the screen. “Move that filthy old space bucket away from my ship or the Constructors get it,” said the Imperial, “Imperial Commander Marcus Cornwallis, out.”
“Marcus Cornwallis, of the same Cornwallis’s as Rear Admiral Charles Cornwallis,” I demanded, deliberately hardening my face.
“I won’t warn you again,” said the Imperial Officer with cool professionalism.
“A man of the same family who bombarded my home world fifty years ago,” I continued, deliberately raising my voice, “in the process, killing my father and most of my extended family? That Cornwallis,” by this time, I was shouting at the screen.
The first crack appeared in the Imperial Commander’s features. “I don’t know what you are referring to, but let me assure you, familias inside the Empire do not direct the actions of its naval vessels.”
“So you admit it,” I exclaimed, finding myself dangerously close to the line between playing a character and becoming actually enraged. I suppose coming face-to-face with a member of the family directly responsible for my own's near-complete destruction was enough to blur certain lines.
The Imperial Commander looked nonplused, “Don’t you understand? Back off, or I’ll blow the Constructors to kingdom come,” he said smugly, as though speaking to a child.
“To Hades with the Constructors!” I was absolutely livid, and leapt out of my chair. “Helmsman,” I barked, turning to that section of the bridge, “set a course to put us between the Imperial Cruiser and the Constructor.” I then turned toward the tactical section.
“First Officer, instruct gunnery to fire as she bears. I want one broadside firing at the Imperials and another into the Constructors,” I roared, feeling the veins in my neck and forehead bulging.
Turning back to the Imperial Commander, who was looking at me like one would a crazy person, I sneered, “I’d rather see them destroyed than fall into the hands of a Cornwallis!”
“You’re insane,” exclaimed the Imperial Commander, turning to someone outside the main pick up. “Communications, get me System Command and tell that moron LeGodat to warn off this crazy person before I’m forced to destroy his ship,” said the Imperial Commander, speaking quickly and looking suddenly red faced.
“LeGodat and his simplistic, we-all-have-to-go-along-to-get-along protestations,” I scoffed, thinking this was the perfect time to throw some more wood on the fire. “I outrank the man and have taken control of all mobile Confederation Forces in Easy Haven, for the duration.”
“Demon Murphy take you for a fool,” snarled the Imperial Command, “I won’t let you ruin everything,” he said viciously.
The Imperial Commander turned to his bridge crew, “Light the engines and put us between the Constructors and this Rogue Warship,” he instructed.
The Ex-Com on the Lucky Clover chimed in, “Sir! System Command and the Imperials are both requesting we accept a conference call with Le-Godat.”
“Oh, whatever,” I said, waving my hand in our patented royal dismissive way. “Put him on. I’m curious to know if he’s scrounged up any more vessels for my fleet yet.”
“You’re going to get us all killed,” said Tremblay, looking both pale and furious. Oh, how I love to see that man squirm.
“Death in the pursuit of Honor, is no death all,” I said, trying for my most pompous. Hanging around these bloodthirsty natives with their strange honor code was giving me some truly wild inspiration.
“Sir!” exclaimed Tremblay and Le-Godat at the same time.
Seeing another person to carry the torch of reason, Tremblay stepped back they all looked at Le-Godat.
Then the Imperial cut in. “Who is this stooge I see on my view screen, System Commander,” demanded the Imperial Commander. “Instruct him to vacate this area of space at once, or I will destroy more than just these Constructor ship’s,” threatened the young Cornwallis.
“A moment Commander, please,” begged the System Commander, turning away from the Imperial and toward myself. “What is this, Admiral," Le-Godat demanded desperately, “you told me you would be restrained and when I questioned you after hearing the name of the Imperial Commander, you told me there was only some old, outdated family business from before you were born between you! You can’t do this!” The System Commander looked like a man powerless to stop a train wreck, yet desperate to try anyway.
I drew myself up into my most Princely and regal pose, “Commodore Le-Godat, let me assure you, I have been the height of reason,” I said looking down my nose at the System Commander.
“It’s just Lieutenant Commander, not Commodore,” said the Fleet Officer in charge of system command and the corvette squadron, “and I’m sorry to have to say you’ve been anything but, Admiral.” LeGodat looked like a man caught between a rock and hard place, a slight sheen of sweat growing on his forehead.
“Listen, Commodore,” I repeated the title purposely.
“It's Commander,” exclaimed the Fleet Officer.
I shook my head, trying for my most condescending bearing. “It’s simply not proper for a ‘Lieutenant Commander’ to command a Star Base of this size and tactical importance. Commodore has a much nicer ring to it, wouldn’t you say? So I’ve promoted you,” I said grandly, accompanied this statement with a regal tilt of the head.
I then snapped my head around to face the Imperial Commander's image. “But neither is it proper for a member of the Caprian Blood Royal to let a Cornwallis slip through his fingers, not when the Imperial Commander has been caught red handed in the act of piracy against the Confederacy!”
“I regret to have to inform you, Admiral,” said the System Commander, looking grey faced, “That if you engage the Imperial Strike Cruiser in combat, I will have no choice but to fulfill my mandate to protect this system and its inhabitants by firing on your vessel.”
The Imperial Commander looked like a man who’d just swallowed something bitter.
“You’ll do as you feel you have to, Commodore,” I said in a sympathetic voice. “In the meantime, every Imperial vessel that hasn’t pointed its nose to the hyper-limit and started a maximum burn will feel a taste of my wrath! Ex-Com, cut the transmission and redirect us to the Promethean Cruisers. Continue on the open frequency,” I instructed.
The entire bridge sat rigidly in their chairs, fingers and hands clenched tight.
“What was that, Admiral,” Tremblay began in despair. “You’ve not only cast us as the aggressors in this conflict, but you’ve implicated the home world, not to mention potentially the entire Confederacy as well!”
I ignored him and turned to the tactical section instead. I caught the eye of the grey-haired individual manning the main console.
“If we actually pass between the Imperials and the Constructors, and we’re within range of our weapons, instruct Gunnery to aim for non-critical areas and most importantly of all, they are instructed to miss their targets,” I said firmly.
The Tactical Officer pursed his lips and then nodded.
Officer Tremblay looked angry and surprised, “Was this whole thing a ruse then,” he demanded. “What’s the big plan now? Bluff them until it's time for us to turn around and run away with our tail firmly between our legs, having made ourselves the laughing stock of civilized space
?” I could imagine him envisioning his career's former projected trajectory, now watching it go down in flames, and had to stifle a smile.
I shook my head. “You and your insistence that everything I do is a bluff, up until I actually go and do it,” I said warningly. "When will you learn, Mr. Tremblay? Now, on the other hand, threatening to fire on unarmed civilians? Unarmed Confederation Civilians? That was a legitimate ruse of warfare, not a bluff. Threatening to fire on and destroy an Imperial ship caught in the act of pirating Confederation vessels,” I slammed my good fist into the bent side of the Throne. "No. That was no bluff, Mr. Tremblay. That was a stated fact. If they don’t high-tail it out of here faster than we can catch them, that Strike Cruiser will soon know that they’ve been in a fight.”
I deliberately turned my face away from the First Officer back to the main screen. “Ex-Com, the Prometheans please,” I said harshly.
The tech jumped, “Yes, Sir,” said the person manning the Ex-Com section. “You’re live now, Admiral.”
“Members of Confederation Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet, Pride of Prometheus and Prometheus Fire, you are immediately instructed to heave to and prepare yourselves for inspection teams from the Confederation Flagship, MPF Lucky Clover,” I said harshly. “Resistance will be met with overwhelming force. Put your power generators into shutdown mode and do not attempt to spin up your hyper drive systems. You are being detained on the suspicion of mutiny and piracy.” I glared unmoving at the screen for several moments, making sure they had the opportunity to see my ruined face in all its terrifying glory.
“Ex-Com, cut transmission,” I said when I felt an appropriate dose had been administered. I was really going now.
A saw a yeoman out of the corner of my eye. I leaned back in my chair and said "Yeoman, a spot of tea, if you'd be so kind. All of this reasonable communicating makes for an awfully dry throat." I couldn't help myself.
After the Tech indicated they were off the air, I leaned back and heaved a sigh of relief.
The signal, when it came back, was twofold.
A swarthy, medium-sized man neither fat nor slim, middle aged and a haggard look to him appeared on the screen first. “The Medium Cruiser, Prometheus Fire, regrets to inform you that she has been voluntarily withdrawn from the Patrol Fleet, as per agreed upon protocol. The Fire stipulates that it has, and continues to be, in compliance with all applicable Confederation and Confederated Empire statutes and ordinances. Costel Iorghu of Prometheus Fire out,” said what must have been the captain of the ship.
Then the transmission from Captain Stood came in. Grey hair slicked back and still as fat as ever, the older man jiggled as he slammed his hands down on the arms of his chair and leaned forward. “The Empire’s all but gone and the Confederation dead and buried. I think you have more pressing worries than us and what happened to your fancy little prize ship, right this moment,” he sneered before cutting the transmission.
I paused, uncertain for a moment. It was a good opportunity to take a sip of tea the yeoman had just delivered. “That went well,” I commented in an off-handed fashion.
On the main screen, a swarm of shuttles leapt from behind the drifting cruiser that was scheduled to be turned over to Wolf 9 and the 209th Light Squadron.
Turbo laser fire lashed out from the Pride of Prometheus, striking the still drifting wreck. The Pride raked the wreck with two volleys before realizing the threat wasn’t coming from drifting prize ship.
“Both medium cruisers have started charging their hyper drives,” said a female sensor operator.
The Pride refocused her weapons and turned them on the shuttles, but she only got a few good hits in, destroying one shuttle and damaging two more before they were in close and landing on the hull.
For her part, The Fire maneuvered to escape the shuttles sent against her, but refrained from firing. Unfortunately for the Fire and her sister ship the Pride, she was an old Hammerhead design, a rugged vessel that had seen service as far back as the AI Wars and perhaps longer. Its rugged durability came with a serious trade-off in the engine department, making her slower than a modern ship her size and less maneuverable, too.
If you came at her head on, she was still an aged yet formidable foe, but when she didn’t fire and even turned away so that most of her heavy weapons couldn’t even bear on the shuttles, it was the same as tacitly admitting you were caught, without actually giving up. Such a maneuver would be gambling on the chance that your opponent would choose to focus on someone else, like your sister ship instead.
The Pride was still maneuvering for her best firing arc when the surviving shuttles landed on her hull. It took a little longer for the six craft sent after the Fire to catch up, but eventually they landed as well.
“Fire of Prometheus has cut power to her engines, and her hyper emissions are fading,” grinned one of the Sensor Operators. “She’s as good as surrendered, Sir.”
“Excellent, Sensor Tech,” I said, loosening the tight grip I had on the arms of the Admiral's Throne. I hadn't even noticed grabbing it so tightly.
There was a stir in part of the sensor section. “Admiral! The Imperial Strike Cruiser is coming about. She’s heading straight for us,” said one of the sensor techs.
“Poke the bear with a stick and watch what happens next,” the First Officer muttered darkly, his voice low enough that no one but myself was likely to hear him.
“Exactly,” I said with a false sense of relish. If you're going to play a part, you might as well go all-in. The First Officer looked at me like he thought I was a crazed man. Apparently, I was doing well.
“We’re the bear and that Imperial is just an over-aggressive little mountain lion who doesn’t know what it’s messing with,” I said, trying to project confidence for the rest of the Flag Bridge.
“If they continue on this course, the Imperials will meet us before we range on the Constructors,” reported Tactical.
“The man just blinked,” I said happily.
“Huh,” said the First Officer, clearly finding the idea that an untrained Royal could see something a trained officer like himself had missed to be preposterous.
“He doesn’t want to risk us firing on those Constructors. For a man who acts so very willing to blow those ships up to keep them out of our hands, he sure is going to a lot of trouble see to it ‘we’ don’t get a chance to destroy them,” I said with smug satisfaction. That satisfaction soon turned to a creeping feeling of dread as the Strike Cruiser came closer and closer.
I had considered the possibility of actually fighting the Strike Cruiser to be about 50/50. Looks like I had been unconsciously betting on the wrong 50. Either that, or I was pretty bad at figuring the odds.
“Wait for it,” the Tactical Officer said from his console.
For a second, I was confused. The icons on the screen hadn’t yet met. I was about to make a comment but didn’t get the chance.
“Wait for it,” yelled the Tactical Officer. “Gunnery, now,” he roared. “Port broadside fire as she bears. Forward gunners give it to her with both barrels.”
I watched entranced as the main screen was filled with streaks of light. I was surprised I wasn’t actually feeling anything. With the ramming maneuver, and obviously during the trip in the little cutter, the evidence of combat could be felt through deck plating. Here, there was nothing. No recoil, no massive 'thwumps' or those other high-pitch weapon sounds I was so used to hearing in the holo-vids.
“Her turbolasers are ranging on us, Admiral,” exclaimed one of the sensor operators. “Ours are replying in turn. We’re still outside the range of our heavy laser cannons,” the man said excitedly.
“Shields are falling,” reported the Shield Operator. “We’re down to 50% on our forward shields.”
“She’s rotating,” roared the grey haired Tactical Officer. “Recommend we do the same, Sir.”
It took me a moment to realize the Tactical Officer was speaking to me.
“The batteries are getting kind
of hot. Recommend we rotate to give the port broadside a chance to cool down,” the man at tactical said urgently.
“Do it, Helmsman,” I ordered, working hard to keep my tone steady.
Then the Imperials brought their other broadside to bear and continued coming in at an angle such that their main weaponry all found a target. I felt a small shudder and a series of automated warning sirens started going off.
“Shield penetration,” yelped the shield Operator. “We’re down to 20% on the shields. Spotting is occurring and some of their fire is getting through.”
Damage Control sounded off, “Hull compromised on deck five. The leakage has been stopped by the automated pressure sensors on the blast doors,” reported a man at damage control. “Dispatching a work party now.”
Admiral Who? (A Spineward Sectors Novel:) Page 45
