The top computer program supervisor pointed at himself and then, realizing the senior captain was speaking to him, jumped as if stung.
“We were aware of the problem as soon as it occurred, Senior Captain,” the top programmer said defensively, “we’ve been working on it from up here for the past five minutes. We can’t find anything wrong!”
“You assured me linking our weapons, by weapon type, wouldn’t trip the anti-AI protocols. You swore to me, Senior Chief Petty Officer,” Manning broke in, glaring at the supervisor.
The other man paled and started to stutter and was nearly thrown out of his chair as the enemy Heavy Cruiser, which the flagship was just now clearing, smoothly rolled and opened fire into the Battleship’s still shield-less side.
“Listen,” Manning spat as the power flickered for a moment, “keep half your people working on a solution here just in case, the space gods avert, something else pops up. In the meantime I want you to personally take a team down to the gun deck and fix this problem before we’re all dead!” Manning started out calm but ended up yelling.
“Of course, Sir. Right away, Sir,” the young Senior Chief jumped out of his chair and, after calling out a few names, went running for the door.
“In the meantime, Communications: get me the Captain of Hart’s Heart on the horn. He’s going to need to cover our withdrawal until we can fall back on the system defenses,” said Manning.
“Are you sure he’ll hold for us?” asked Rogers, worry cracking his previously steadfast exterior.
“This is his star system, he knows the price of failure as much as anyone. If this fleet can’t hold them off long enough to join up with the rest of the system defenders then the Glorious Fleet is going to do far worse to his planet than anything they could do to his ship. He has to hold for us, and if he has a single patriotic bone in his body then he knows it,” Manning said without remorse.
The breath whooshed out of Rogers and the Senior Captain fell silent. He didn’t have the face to comment any further.
True to the Grand Admiral’s prediction, upon receiving his order the ship Captain just looked at Manning stone-faced before saluting and acknowledging his orders.
“That was harsh,” his Chief of Staff commiserated.
“I will not be anyone’s second fiddle,” Manning said, by his very tone of voice rejecting his Chief of Staff’s sentiment, “prepare a coded message to Hart’s World high command. It’s time we took a page out of the Little Admiral’s playbook.”
“Aye aye, Sir,” Rogers said, straightening with respect.
“Hahaha! Look at them run, the cowards,” Vice Admiral Beecher said in a completely unbridled voice, laughing as he mocked the Spineward Sectors Fleet for running away and abandoning, not just their damaged ships, but also the great many prizes they had taken.
He conveniently ignored the fact the locals had broken through Monica’s englobement tactic in favor of watching and gloating as her detachment of Destroyers proved almost prescient.
“After them, Tactician! Don’t let them get away,” he urged, eagerly popping another full thick black grape him his mouth and chewing.
“Sir, I would advise we slow the fleet and consolidate our gains,” Monica Comet Buster said respectfully.
“Nonsense! We should just let them get away? For what reason, Fleet Tactician?” Justin Beecher slapped an open hand on the arm of his chair and demanded and then he stopped as if just considering something. “Or are you saying it's some kind of trap?”
Monica Comet Buster’s face took on a patient look of long suffering. It was an expression that instantly soured Justin Beecher’s good mood.
“No, Sir,” she said, shaking her head, “however our initial intentions as you stated them were three fold. One: defeat the local fleet, which I’d say we’ve done. Two: lay waste to this star system’s industry. Three: reclaim our lost warships and personnel to increase our reputation and fighting strength.”
“I did say that,” Beecher impatiently motioned for her to get to the point.
The Feet Tactician openly rolled her eyes. “My point is that now is the time to consolidate our gains. If we slow down and secure those derelicts with the main fleet, we’ll have the hulls and all that will be left is to secure the prisoners,” she said.
“What about Hart’s World? I want to be able to report taking another Core World out of the fight when I send in my report home,” Beecher said.
“Easy. We simply detach the three squadrons of Destroyers currently harassing their fleet and reinforce them with the majority of our lighter warships. They can make harrying attacks, destroying shuttles and other sub-light space transport and space trade as well as make an attack on their repair depots and shipyards. It will keep their main fleet occupied and we’ll threaten to continue to fully reduce this star system, not just their military capacity and civilian carrying trade, unless they hand us back our people,” the Fleet Tactician said confidently.
Beecher looked unconvinced. “The carrying trade? And leave a battered but still functional enemy fleet behind me? I don’t want to destroy the blasted carrying trade. I want to finish this fleet!” he snapped.
Monica Comet Buster took a steadying breath. “If you want to change our fleet goals, I can’t stop you. However, with increased gains comes increased risk. As it is, after we destroy this star system’s repair capability where can they go? There are very few star systems with the industrial capacity to repair this fleet. They’ll be helpless and at our mercy,” here she paused and allowed a faint smile to appear on her face, it gave her features and almost enchanting cast before she once again ruined it by speaking, “And it will allow for the possibility of many potential future merits.”
She pulled up a map of the sector.
“Where are they going to go? Blackwood? It doesn’t have large enough facilities. Capria? Maybe. But after they leave the star system we can hound them. Defeating them in battle after battle and allowing for our heroic Vice Admiral to report home to the Grand Assembly any number of hard fought, yet victorious engagements,” she said with a gleam in her eye.
Vice Admiral Beecher stopped mouth hanging open for a second as he honestly considered it and then he finally shook his head with admiration. “I underestimated you, I can see that now. I’m also man enough to admit you have a decided point. However, there is one thing you’re forgetting. That there,” he thrust out a finger, “is only half of the Spineward Rebel Fleet. No. Your idea is sound but it’s not what I want. I want total victory. We’ll place our Marines on Hart’s World and defeat this fleet. Maybe according to your plan we can let a handful of survivors go for a running tally of victories. But when the politicians back home see that I have matched Cornwallis’s achievements in every detail and succeeded where he failed, they’ll have no choice but to turn to Cornwallis’s natural successor: me.”
Monica Comet Buster looked at him coldly.
“With increased glory comes increased risk. I am certain we can get our people and our ships back. We’ll be two hundred ships strong instead of a hundred and twenty. Assuming you can find a place to repair them at, like for instance Aegis. But if you insist on a clean sweep…we’ll have to face down Hart’s defenses, not just her orbital industry and relatively unguarded carrying trade. Our losses will be greater and the risk of defeat goes up,” she warned.
“Details and blather. Who was it that said 'without risk there is no reward?' Well, I’m doubling your base fee,” he said, reaching down and opening his pad before accessing his banking information, “there. I am not a man of empty promises. I pay top credits for what I want. But make no mistake: I want this star system in my hands and the enemy destroyed.”
“You can give me all the credits in the world, Sir, and it wouldn’t matter. I can deliver what I initially promised. Anything more and it’s a roll of the dice,” she said.
“I have confidence in you,” Beecher said and then his eyes turned malicious, “conquer my enemies, Fleet Tacticia
n.”
“Yes, Sir,” she said tightly.
By sacrificing itself, Hart’s Heart and a rear guard of cruisers managed to delay the main force of Beecher’s task force long enough for the Spineward Sectors Fleet to break contact.
Over the course of the next several hours it was a race as the task force of the Glorious Fleet under Vice Admiral Beecher continued to hound the retreating warships of First Fleet.
Finally, despite the best efforts of Beecher’s Fleet Tactician, more than two dozen warships of the system defense force arrived to reinforce the Grand Admiral.
And with them came a nasty surprise.
Attached to bucking cables towed behind them were half a dozen orbital guns and turrets—per ship.
“Now.” Grand Admiral Manning commanded with grim satisfaction.
A signal went out to the fleet at large and the SDF reinforcements from Hart, as well as the Marine and Engineering teams aboard the derelict warships, took action.
“It’s time to take a page from the Little Admiral and stand this thing on its head,” Manning declared, eyes like black holes as his ships spread wide, half moving to either side of the SDF reinforcements, and then turned to engage their now hated foes in the Glorious Fleet.
Almost as if sensing a trap, the Glorious Fleet turned, attempting to disengage or at least escape the combat range of the orbital guns behind Hart’s SDF reinforcements. But it was too little too late.
“Montagne, you yellow blighter,” Manning cursed under his breath, even as he thrust a finger toward the largest most powerful ships of the enemy fleet and directed the orbital turrets to concentrate their fire. “I stand second to no man,” he declared as multiple short-ranged kinetic rounds impacted against the Glorious Fleet's hulls. Who said they needed droids or Bugs to win a battle? Plain old deception and ingenuity were all that was required.
“All ships…attack!” he ordered, and like a wounded bear, hounded to within an inch of its life by a wolf pack, the remains of First Fleet dug deep, turned and reengaged the enemy.
Chapter 10: Beecher Bounces
“Blast it. Those kinetic weapons are tearing us apart!” exclaimed Lieutenant Commander Comet Buster.
She turned to look at the Comm. section.
“New movement order: the Fleet is to disengage. Nav, run a quick calculation using this course and give it to the rest of the fleet,” she said, using her finger to hastily scrawl a new course on her slate. “We must get out of the range of those orbital turrets!” she ordered, hastily forwarding it to the navigator.
“Withdraw? You mean retreat? No! Never!” cried Vice Admiral Beecher, first looking stunned before his face contorted with rage.
“Pass the order quickly,” the Fleet Tactician reiterated.
“Belay that, Technician. We stay the course,” barked the Vice Admiral.
“Sir!” shouted Monica Comet Buster. “We don’t have time to argue about this. You agreed when you gave me this post that my orders would be paramount during combat. I’m invoking our agreement.”
Vice Admiral Beecher glared at her and then a pair of enemy Battleships turned to take aim and fired their broadsides, interrupting him.
The flagship shuddered slightly and Damage Control reported out-gassing on the portside. Meanwhile, right beside them, one of their sister Battleships took the concerted broadside of seventy two kinetic rounds from the turrets. The resulting explosion knocked the other Battleship off course and it started listing toward the flagship.
“E-e-evasive maneuvers. Right blasted now!” shrieked Captain Pretorious
Justin Beecher froze, the whites of his eyes showing as he looked around the bridge wildly.
“Course calculated, Sir,” the Navigator said, shoulders hunched as he turned to look first at the Admiral and then to the Fleet Tactician.
“The Admiral froze,” Monica Comet Buster spoke rapidly, “while he’s still considering things, immediately relay my general movement order to the fleet.”
“Aye aye, Sir!” the com-tech said happily and turned to issue the instructions.
“Stop!” shouted Vice Admiral Beecher, causing the entire rest of the bridge to freeze.
“But, Sir—” started Monica Comet Buster a hint of panic on her face.
“I said: belay that order, Technician. We are not going to withdraw. Now is the time to attack. We must crush our enemies and drive them before us,” Beecher ordered, his face now pale as a sheet.
“There is no shame in withdrawing,” the Fleet Tactician said urgently, her voice rising, “we can still reclaim our captured ships and send spoiling raids against Hart’s World now that they’ve stripped away their defenses.”
“You promised me victory. You promised I could win. I’ve already paid you to make me win! Are you trying to take my money and run!” shouted Beecher.
“Do I look insane to you? Where exactly do you expect me to run on a starship? You transferred those credits to my account, not me, and if you want them back I’m more than willing—,” the ship shuddered again as it took another hit. “If you will just for the love of the Beloved Space Saint turn this fleet around!”
“You don’t want my money?” Beecher said, looking like a cornered animal as he stared at her wild eyed. “You claim not to want it. But the only reason you’re here is because I recruited you… unless,” his feverish gaze suddenly focused like he was looking at prey.
“Curse you, not everything is about money!” Monica Comet Buster recoiled. “But we can still win. We can still have a victory if you will just do what you promised and let me dictate the maneuvers of this fleet.”
“Unless you were paid by somebody else…someone close to me, someone I would never expect,” Beecher’s eyes lit up, “it’s my brother, isn’t it?! He paid you to silently sabotage my every effort. No wonder I haven’t been able to win. It’s you! The problem has been you all along!”
Monica Comet Buster recoiled with revulsion.
“This is crazy talk. This is the talk of a crazy man,” she shouted, turning to speak as much to the rest of the bridge as she was the Vice Admiral, “it was you who brought me on board and you who isolated me on the flag deck. Then when I start to win this battle it is you again who countermanded my instructions, pushing us into this suicidal attack. One where you won’t even let me us maneuver out of to regain the initiative and suddenly I’m the one sabotaging this fleet at every turn?” she straightened, and this time turned to directly appeal to the ship’s captain and the Marines guarding the blast doors.
“Liar! Silence ,you paid traitor,” Beecher shrieked, pulling out a blaster pistol from his pocket and waving it in the air, “I knew there was no way Cornwallis could be defeated by a bunch of rubes. But your deception with the Bug attack nearly had me fooled. You nearly convinced me that mere Bugs were enough to defeat one of the greatest political minds of this century! Well ha! 'Ha,' I say! Now we know the truth. Even using Bugs wouldn’t have been enough for the Spineward Sectors locals to defeat the Praetor. No, it took something much more insidious. It took you, Lieutenant Commander,” cried Beecher, thrusting a finger directly at the Fleet Tactician.
“Captain, it's clear the Admiral has come completely unhinged. I recommend an urgent medical evaluation by the ship’s doctor before we proceed any further,” she said urgently.
“Uh…” Captain Luke Pretorious said stupidly, his eyes bugging out as he looked frantically between the unhinged Admiral and his bought and paid for tactician, “I’m not sure I’m qualified to interfere in this sort of situation.
“What!? You’re the ship’s captain, by very definition you’re qualified,” yelled Monica Comet Buster, backing up as Beecher brought his weapon to bear. “Marines!” she cried.
“How long have you worked as a spy for the Spineward Sectors rebellion?” demanded Beecher finger tightening on the trigger. “How long have you betrayed this fleet, Mrs. Comet Buster!”
“Insanity,” shouted Monica Comet Buster, stepping away until he
r back hit a console. Her back against the wall, she seemed to regain control of herself and she straightened.
“I am innocent. Again I call upon you to fulfill your duty, Captain,” she said, raising her chin and staring down her nose at Vice Admiral Beecher.
Captain Pretorious stared at her wide eyed. Glancing back at his Marines, he opened his mouth.
Beecher pulled the trigger and the whine of a blaster bolt was shortly accompanied by a female cry of pain.
Monica Comet Buster crumpled to the floor with a hole burnt in her uniform pants and the meat of her thigh still smoking.
“Hmm...I missed, I was actually aiming for her head,” Beecher mused sounding surprised.
“You actually shot me, you blighter!” she screamed, her hands reaching down to hold her leg.
“Sir?” Luke Pretorious asked uncertainly, looking down at Monica Comet Buster and then back up at the Vice Admiral in horror.
Beecher sneered. “Mutiny in cold space never pays, Pretorious,” he gloated, looking down at the fallen tactician, “but don’t worry, thanks to my expert marksmanship the prisoner is still alive to be squeezed. Take this piece of filth away, Captain.”
“Aye aye, Sir,” the Captain said, appearing visibly relieved as he turned to the Marines. The armed bridge guards looked at him steadily.
Captain Pretorious stiffened as if struck.
“Well, you heard the Vice Admiral,” he said irritably, “take the Fleet Tactician to the brig.”
“Aye aye, Captain,” said the Marine Corporal, bracing to attention along with his quad before marching over to the fallen Tactician.
“You’ll kill us all, Justin!” the Fleet Tactician cursed as her arms were twisted behind her back and magnetic cuffs applied. “Ow! You Neanderthals!” she said tears in her eyes.
“This way, LC,” said the Corporal while frog-marching her across the room.
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