Admiral's War Part Two (A Spineward Sectors Novel: Book 10)

by Luke Sky Wachter

  “This Glue fights now to remove the shadow cast over his heart. So that this Glue can go home and tell all people release your anger too. That if you cannot cleanse your heart in Tracto System surrounded by family then don’t stay home full of the red poison,” he thumped his chest with one hand, “follow this Glue and vent your anger too. Fight the humans who killed your family alongside this Glue. If you cannot see anything but red anger because of the past then close your eyes tightly shut and trust this Glue to see for you. You can place your body between our people and alongside this Glue fight Imperial family-killers too, so that someday maybe you can leave behind the shadows of your dead, your heart can shine brightly again and you can home a Sundered empty of anger and full of love.”

  There was a silence as the whole bridge paused to digest his words. Then there was a bang and the grav-plates fluctuated, throwing Sundered against their straps and throwing one large male who had disdained his safety harness to the floor.

  “Shields down on port side,” reported Shields.

  “Damage to shuttle bay,” reported one of the females at Damage Control.

  “Imperial Destroyers x2 locked onto this Corvette!” reported the Sensor male. “Four more Imperial Destroyers using point defense on missile wave. Effectiveness against our missiles is high!”

  Glue turned to glare at the screen with slowly reddening eyes. He hadn’t been speaking falsely before: it was Imperial humans like the very ones inside these Destroyers that had killed his own family on the way to Sector 25.

  When he spoke about shadows and anger and a growing rage inside, he spoke from personal experience. As a Primarch, a male, and one of the ever-diminishing adult Sundered, it had been necessary to set aside his own pain and anger for the good of the whole. And so he had. For the children, he was able to fight for his people with eyes that saw clearly, uphold the moral code to defend and guard without giving into his inner demons, and even negotiate with a heart that was worthy of listening to when dealing with humans that as a race stood against his people’s very existence. In short, he had been able to be what his people were supposed to be: intelligent, forthright, caring and moral.

  But that time was almost over. His people were safe. So now he had no choice but to look to the future while remembering just how much he had lost in the darkness of the past.

  Almost over…but not quite, he thought, silently waiting until the Imperials reached the exact point he’d been waiting for.

  “Send out the gunboats!” he roared.

  The male with the cybernetics in his head beat his chest like a drum and roared a battle cry as, on the screen, the eighteen gunboats that had been hidden behind the Corvettes surged forward.

  Seeing the enemy’s surprise at the way they belatedly shifted in response, Glue once again bared his teeth. His people as whole didn’t need him the way they had before. Others could step forward in the council—and many had done precisely that. They had done what he could do, only faster and better—much better in some cases than the angry, suspicious male he had become in the last few years.

  As the boats closed on the Destroyers and unloaded their payload at close range, Glue knew that it was his new wife that had saved him from himself—and that she could still save him in the future.

  An Imperial Destroyer shuddered under the attacks of multiple boats as the Corvette’s weapons fired, and fired, and fired again, punching light laser strikes into its weakened shields and hull.

  The time had come to test out the new combat system. Pulling down the new Thundera cybernetic system, he placed the helmet on his head—but not before giving his wife one last look. He didn’t just fight for his people any longer. Now, he fought for her.

  As his cybernetics made their handshake connections, he gave the verbal command code.

  “Sword of Omens, give me sight beyond sight,” he commanded, locking the helmet in place. Suddenly, his mind expanded and he was connected to the entire ship. It was like piloting a gunboat, only more intense.

  Casting a last look at his life-partner while the automatic checklist was run by his onboard implants, he was once again grateful they had met. Without her, he would still be lost. When he had first looked at her—truly looked at what was inside—he had seen a female facing the same demons he had been dealing with. But whereas he had been unable to find a path out of the darkness for himself, for her he had found a way. All that was left to do was hold tightly to her hand and drag them and their entire people out of the abyss into which they had nearly disappeared—and he would drag them kicking and screaming if necessary.

  If he could help even a fraction of that small but growing segment of his war-torn people that had lost, or were losing, their way then it would all be worth it.

  And then every connection was made, he was the ship, and every other concern in his head fell away as his mind exploded with sensation. He could only sustain this sort of synergy for just under ten minutes or his mind would burn out, but during that time he would make the Sword of Omens dance like she had never danced before.

  A trio of Imperial Destroyers came up behind him, and like a wraith the Sword of Omens drifted through the firestorm of three much more powerful ships taking little more than a scratch. And then, using his lasers to make a small hole, neat as could be, Primarch Glue/Sword of Omens dropped a missile right through that small spot in the shields he’d just opened.

  Twirling away like a fish in the sea behind the merged Glue/Sword of Omens an explosion rocked the outer hull of the Destroyer as the missile slammed home. Following along behind him, the other Sundered warships moved to exploit the opening he’d just created.

  Chapter Forty-eight: Moving in for the Kill

  “The enemy screen has temporarily stalled our Destroyer advance. They have quite the command team over there on that lead Corvette. The execution between their pilot and their weapons department is flawless,” First Lieutenant Sands reported.

  “It’s ‘Helmsman’ and “Tactical department’,” Benson corrected her. “What’s your recommendation?” he asked, already knowing full well what he wanted to do but taking this chance at a teachable moment.

  Besides, he wanted to know what she had to say.

  “We need to press them. They don’t have the numbers or firepower to stop us, not indefinitely. A couple good pushes and they’ll fall apart,” she recommended.

  “And the enemy’s Starbase?” he asked.

  “We’re still far enough out from their main defenses that they aren’t a risk,” she said confidently, “there’s always a chance something unexpected will pop up but they’re slow, weak and wounded. I’m confident our Cruisers can handle anything they try to throw our way short of those Battleships.”

  “I agree. If it’s the Battleships we’ll just turn around, but otherwise we’re going in,” said Benson. “I’m sending in the rest of the Cruisers along with the flagship. It’s time to finish them.”

  Chapter Forty-nine: Jason Swings his squadron of Battleships around Wolf-9

  Round and round and round we go, where we stop nobody knows. Well, except for me, but only depending on what Janeski did. I mean, I knew where we’d stop and come out but it all depended on several factors outside of my control.

  “The Battleship squadron is continuing to pick up speed, Admiral,” reported Captain Hammer, “it’s only going to get harder and harder to keep our arc within the jammer field as we circle around the Starbase. Not to mention the chance that we’ll randomly hit a piece of floating space junk or one of our well-hidden popup defenses. Recommend we either slow down or start deactivating the jammer field in front of us to keep from having an accident we cannot afford at this juncture.”

  “I’m afraid we can’t do that, Leonora,” I said frankly, “LeGodat’s going to have them right where he wants them pretty soon. And, after that, all the blue blazes is going to break out over on the other side. We need to be ready for anything which means keeping our speed up. A Battleship is slow enough anywa
y; I can’t risk being caught flat footed when the enemy makes their move.”

  “If LeGodat’s force makes it into the kill zone…which of course it will,” she said quickly, apparently a little superstitious when it came to jinxing our own side, “but nothing’s certain in war, Sir.”

  “I’m well aware of that, Captain,” I said with a light rebuke, “but this is all part of the plan.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” she said wryly.

  There was a stir in the sensor pit. “Two new enemy fighter forces have been identified leaving the Command Carrier. Both of them appear to be targeted at the Starbase,” reported Sensors.

  I frowned. First Janeski sent out a probing attack toward the Starbase which did little damage and took even less. Then he sent out a second force which left five of LeGodat’s Cruisers permanently knocked out of the fight and another three desperately trying to repair engine damage before they fell out of the safety of the Cruiser formation.

  Now he was sending in two more groups of fighters, after learning the lesson of the first batch, to hit the Starbase’s outer defensive network? It couldn’t be anything good.

  I wasn’t liking this new development at all, but there wasn’t anything I could do about it without tipping my hand before I was ready. Probably that was exactly what he was waiting for. Poke-poke-poke while he slowly wore us down.

  Well, two could play at that game—only I wasn’t in for a little poking. I was down for a hammer-fist to the nose; LeGodat just had to drag them in a little farther.

  Once again, I patted myself on the back for setting up the kill-zone outside, and slightly below, the main defensive network.

  Chapter Fifty: Grinding them down

  “Both fighter wings have reached the designated waypoints and are preparing to break into squadrons. Upon entry to the enemy jammer field the individual squadrons will further split into pairs and proceed as ordered, Admiral,” reported the Fighter Operations Officer.

  “Notify me the moment the enemy jammer field starts to go down,” Admiral Janeski said brusquely.

  The Fighter Operations Officer gave a sharp nod and turned back to monitoring the situation. “There they go, Sir. Our fighters have entered the jammer field,” reported the Fighter Officer.

  “What do you look like without your skirt on?” Janeski asked, wondering at the disposition of the enemy forces behind their jammer field. He had all the previous records and long range sensor scans taken by his warships, but nothing beat a real-time sensor feed, “It’s time to pull away your curtain and see just what exactly you’re hiding in there.”

  “The enemy will no doubt attempt to interdict our efforts,” commented Goddard as the various Imperial fighters disappeared into the sensor morass that was protecting the enemy base.

  Janeski waved a hand dismissively. “We might take a few losses, but the jammer technology is so ancient it’s practically prehistoric. Not that it’s ineffective. All those things do is try to block scans by flooding every frequency across the spectrum it can reach. But the fact that the signals get louder and louder the closer you get to them makes it relatively easy for our fighter pilots to find. Slow down so you don’t run into them and move in toward the source of all that noise. One manual shot later and scratch one jammer,” Janeski said with satisfaction.

  Goddard nodded. “Hopefully the enemy didn’t realize the same thing and put some sort of defenses next to those jammers. A Cutter or Corvette at the very least,” he said.

  “They won’t be able to see anything parked close enough to ‘defend’ the jammers,” Janeski said dismissively.

  “I was thinking more along the lines of standing off and then taking out our slow-moving fighters the moment the jamming dies off,” Goddard explained, “they might lose their field, but our fighters would be uniquely vulnerable.

  Janeski paused. “That does sound far too much like the petty, lowdown, and vindictive style of the Governor,” he agreed with a frown. “For our fighters’ sake we’ll just have to hope he’s not as smart as you, because even if he has that jammer field goes.”

  “Aye, Admiral,” the Flag Captain said neutrally.

  Several minutes passed and the first of the jammer field blinked out of existence.

  “Sir we’re starting to see the first results now,” reported the officer at Sensors as a second and third jammer went down.

  The Imperial flag bridge watched intently as one by one the enemy jammers started to go off line slowly exposing the Wolf-9 defensive network.

  “Excellent work, Commander,” Janeski said to the head of fighter operations onboard the carrier.

  “Thank you, Sir,” said the other officer.

  “Now let’s see what the emperor looks like with no clothes,” he said, sitting back in his chair and looking at the screen with narrowed eyes.

  Several minutes passed as those fighters which had already completed their mission either dived back into the sensor morass or kicked up their heels and turned back for the Carrier.

  “Sir, I hate to interrupt but the reserve force reports via whisker laser relayed transmission through com-satellites posted at the edge of the star system that they are continuing into the system under sensor reduction protocols, and that they are still behind that small enemy force still on a rendezvous course with Wolf-9,” said the head of the Communications Department.

  “Good work, a Battleship is never to be taken lightly,” said the Imperial Admiral said, sweeping the battle plot one more time before checking the old-fashioned chronometer on his wrist.

  “No, Sir,” said the other officer.

  “Still we have received no word of any other forces hidden in the outer system. I think it’s time to flush them out, assuming they exist. And in any case if the Reserve Task Force wants to make it in time for the party now’s the time to get moving. New orders for the Reserve Force: they are to continue after the stragglers and make full speed toward Wolf-9. If the enemy force diverts from the Starbase, they are to continue pursuit until instructed otherwise.”

  “Aye aye, Sir,” acknowledged the Comm. Officer.

  “Sir, the enemy’s main Cruiser force appears to be slowing down due to battle damage, and there are only twenty one enemy Cruisers still in formation,” reported Tactical, “the rest have fallen to the wayside or were destroyed. The survivors are being dealt with by Vice Admiral Benson using a mix of Destroyers and the occasional Cruiser for more powerful fire support where it seems required.”

  “Remind Benson to steer well clear of the enemy’s base defenses and keep a weather eye on those Battleships. But he is otherwise to proceed as he sees best,” said Admiral Janeski, “I want them crushed and that Cruiser force annihilated.”

  “Will do, Sir,” said Com Officer.

  “Once we strip their Battleships of both their Cruisers and lighter ships, it’ll be all over but the crying,” mused Janeski. He then nodded as he came to a decision, “Begin final approach to the enemy Starbase.”

  The Navigator nodded and relayed the order to the ship’s captain and helm.

  Two minutes, later the officer in charge of the Sensor Department walked over.

  “What can I do for you this time, Stenson?” asked Janeski.

  “The enemy Battleship force is currently being pursued by the Reserve Task Force. They just destroyed the scouting force you sent out. And, while it might be nothing, we’ve been getting some strange readings from the troop transport in the middle of their three ship formation. I was hoping for a clearer reading from the scouts before bringing it to your attention but…” he swiveled a data slate in his hand to show him an image of the three ships.

  “What’s this?” Janeski asked, his brows rising as what looked like a large plasma plume shot out the back end of the oversized colonizer, settlement ship, or whatever it used to be before it was pressed into service as a presumed troop transport. Then the ship seemed to lurch forward in space, rocketing past its escorts before once again being overtaken by the
m.

  “While the Battleship and the Cruiser seem to be utilizing traditional propulsion systems, the converted transport appears to be using some kind of non-standard plasma plume drive as best we can figure it. It’s preceded by an energy surge and they only seem to be able to fire a main engine once every five minutes but…” Commander Stenson trailed off.

  “Yes, it’s definitely odd,” the Imperial Admiral said, frowning as he looked at the power curve on the engine plume, “and I’d hate to be on that ship every time it fired its engines, but unless they can get into close range and turn their engines on us I think we’re safe for the moment. Keep an eye on them and notify the other units to keep a weather eye out but, for now, I’m going to leave them to the Reserve Force unless they interfere.”

  “They will get here before the Reserve Force, Sir,” Commander Stenson pointed out.

  “I will not take the bait and divide my force in the face of the enemy. We will deal with Wolf-9 and the local Battleship squadrons first. If they come to us before then they will be dealt with accordingly, thank you Sensors,” he said with a clear dismissal.

  “Yes, Sir,” said Stenson backing away.

  Janeski turned back to watch the final minutes of the enemy Cruiser force.

  Chapter Fifty-one: Serge’s Strike

  “Have you isolated their coms yet?” Commodore Serge demanded.

  “We still can’t crack their Cruiser command encryption but we’ve clearly identified the sub-formation commander in charge of their light ships,” reported his Comm. Officer.

  “Anyone we know?” Serge demanded.

  The Comm. Officer in charge of breaking the enemy’s encryption nodded and forwarded him the information. Commodore Serge bared his teeth as soon as he saw the profile. “Do mine eyes deceive me, Coms?”