Admiral's Fall

by Luke Sky Wachter

  “No, we have a real chance if we use the Montagne Maneuver,” I replied firmly.

  “Then do it,” she said with total certainty in my proposed course of action—certainty that I wished I shared.

  “Why are you so gung ho?” I asked lightly, trying for a touch of levity to reduce the tension.

  Akantha looked back at me seriously. “This is our moment. We must break them here and establish your legacy, Jason,” said Akantha.

  “What?” I asked with a blink, all the humor draining out of me.

  “It is the only way to ensure the heritage of our children and our own personal power in the days ahead,” Akantha said flatly.

  I took time to give that little statement the respect it deserved before replying. “I’m not in this for my own personal power. I mean, that’s nice and all, but if that were it I would have retired to some other corner of the galaxy a long time before now, Akantha,” I replied firmly.

  “And I love you for it. This is also one of the main attributes that makes you an infinitely superior Protector than my mother’s Nykator,” Akantha said affectionately. Then her expression cleared and she looked at me sternly, no more the loving partner but suddenly the Hold Mistress of Messene.

  “It’s nice to be appreciated,” I said, trying to break the tension but she was having none of it.

  “The truth. I supported your actions then and I still do today, but our every action has consequences. You withdrew from the New Confederation because you had to withdraw from the New Confederation, and Tracto had to go with you. But in doing so we isolated ourselves not just from their greedy grasping claws, we also isolated ourselves from our allies who we encouraged to join it,” she continued. “As such, we are now alone and without those same allies to guard us,” she finished with a grim look, “right now we are balanced on the knife’s edge. You have to win. Keep winning. And do so without major setbacks or crippling losses. Right now it’s not just this invasion we have to deal with; we have to worry about how we look. Look weak and we’re carrion for the crows. Look strong and a Stone Rhino will run away, and certainly none of our former allies in the New Confederation will dare to touch us.”

  “I appreciate the advice,” I said, and this time I really meant it.

  “You’re the father of my children and the Warlord of this fleet. It’s up to you to win this war; I’ll worry about winning the peace and, of course, I will help where I can here,” she said, flashing me what she must have thought was a supportive look.

  I tried to give back a confident expression but the reminder of just how much rested on my shoulders was humbling. That last little bit she’d tacked on the end wasn’t that inspiring either. I mean I’d been her husband for a while now, and it was obvious she hoped to get some more up close and personal combat in before all the fighting was over.

  “Then let’s do this,” I said, squeezing her arm before turning to my crew, “pass the order to the rest of the fleet. Battleships and larger are to prepare for the Montagne Maneuver while Cruiser and smaller, but including the Jumble Carriers, are to begin slowing for a least time effective intercept with the battle taking place at that planet.”

  “Relaying instructions now, Sir,” said Lisa.

  “Good,” I said. Now that the orders had been given, all that was left to do was sit back and wait.

  By the time we arrived at the site of the running battle, the Newton was a floating wreck streaming air, flames and bodies into cold space while two squadrons of Reclamation Battleships continued to pound heavy laser strikes into it.

  As I watched, an escape pod blasted away from the nearly wrecked Battleship only to cross into the path of turbo-laser aimed at its mothership. Bursting like a bubble, one moment it was an escape pod carrying the hopes and dreams of Confederation fleet survivors, the next it was a small burst of air and flame and moments later all that remained were floating debris.

  Beside me, Commander Manblaster sucked in a breath.

  “Not as easy to take at close range where you can see what’s actually happening compared to long range where you can’t, is it Joe?” I asked.

  “No, it's not, Sir,” Manblaster said, looking over at the icons depicting the Imperial fleet with hooded eyes.

  “This right here is why I couldn't care less what the Imperials think of me, Number One,” I told the other man. “My own conscience and those around me from the Patrol Fleet certainly but the Imperials can go howl. Each and every hypocritical one of them,” I ended flatly.

  “I understand,” said my First Officer.

  “Good enough,” I turned to the com-section, “tell the captains of the Battleship squadrons they are to prepare for combat and no mercy. As the Demon is my witness, they’ve taken justice into their own hands today and deserve none from us.”

  “Prepare for combat and no mercy, aye-aye, Sir,” replied the com-tech sounding slightly jittery but still game turning to his console to carry out my orders.

  “Do you want to initiate the Maneuver, Sir?” prompted Navigator Shepherd.

  “Not yet, Nav...let’s wait,” I said, once again happy to have the man returned to us after his sting in medical post 5th Battle for Easy Haven.

  “Yes, Sir,” replied Shepherd.

  Wait for it…

  Waiting for it….

  And finally we had line of sight on the Reclamation warships.

  “Now, Mr. Shepherd!” I barked, and in the background I could hear the com-tech relaying my orders to the rest of the battle captains.

  “Hold onto your butts,” warned Shepherd, and I had a long enough moment to frown at him before a shudder very similar to the one we normally experienced while firing the main cannon shook the ship. This time it seemed to come from all around us rather than from the keel-mounted main gun.

  Like the vengeance of angels, the Multi-Sector Patrol fleet swung around the planetoid’s asteroid like moon and, just like that, ranged on the two squadrons that still swarmed around the Newton.

  For several seconds it looked like we were about to slam into the planet and then we slowed to an abrupt stop. Our ships had come out all over the place and in no particular formation, but we were here.

  Half the ships with us stopped behind or beside us while the other half continued to advance past the enemy before coming to a relative stop with their engines facing the Reclamation Battleships.

  I suppressed a wince when I saw that.

  “Good. We made it,” I said even at the same time First Officer Manblaster demanded a report.

  Looking at the Battleships still pummeling the helpless Newton, I began to issue orders.

  “All heavies except the Clover are to present broadsides and fire as they bear. I want those two squadrons taken out of my sky,” I instructed before prompting, “Joe.”

  “Main gun!” barked the First Officer.

  “I’ve got red lights on my panel,” reported the engineering watch-stander, Adrienne Blythe in a tense voice, “one of the grav-panels have failed in Engineering and the 1st backup is fluctuating.”

  “What’s—” started Manblaster.

  “Selecting target now,” the Weaponeer said crisply.

  “You heard the Admiral. Fire as she bears,” said Manblaster before turning back to the Engineering console on the bridge.

  “It’s the anti-matter generators! The Chief Engineer is declaring an emergency,” reported Blythe in a tense voice.

  I instantly felt a chill. “Belay the main gun!” I said, jumping out of my chair.

  “Too late,” the Weaponeer said with regret. There was the vibration and deep thrum that signaled the hyper plasma cannon was back in action, and it reverberated through the warship right before we fired.

  “Movement! Enemy Battleships are breaking formation,” reported Hart.

  I frowned. I didn’t have time to focus on the bigger picture but I had to. Someone had to pay attention, through force of will I lifted my eyes to take in the main battle plot.

  Are we
all about to die? I couldn't help thinking that as the warning of dire emergency kept coming.

  “It’s Anti-matter 5! They had to shut down that faulty grave-plate and with only one plate operational means the bottle is becoming unstable. The tolerances are too fine for this,” Blythe said in a rising voice.

  “Warn the other ships to steer clear: we’re having a reactor emergency,” barked the First Officer, not waiting around for my permission.

  “Good catch,” I said, even as the officers and crew around the bridge sprang into action.

  “What the blazes is going on?” demanded DuPont. “I thought they had backups for this. We were all told using anti-matter generators was safe!”

  “We have three backup systems and one of them is still working, or we’d all be dead by now. As far as I know no one ever said flying around with those generators was safe!” Adrienne Blythe snapped, furiously working her console.

  “Belay that nonsense, Helmsman,” I snapped.

  DuPont gave a mutinous look before rounding back on his console with a rebellious cast to his shoulders.

  “Enemy Battleships are attempting evasive maneuvers,” Lieutenant Hart said in a tense voice, and I didn’t have time for any more bridge crew dramatics.

  “They must have moved as soon as they spotted us coming around the moon,” Manblaster muttered, tearing his eyes away from the ongoing engineering emergency long enough to take in the action.

  “Norfolk did advise us he was attempting countermeasures,” I said, wishing I had time to care.

  “Engineering is preparing to flush the bottle out the side of the ship,” warned Blythe.

  I started to turn by eyes but the shield operator jumped into before I could say a word.

  “Modulating shields now,” reported the Operator, “I’m preparing to drop shields on that side of the ship as soon as the bottle clears the hull.”

  I opened my mouth to ask a question.

  “Good thinking; we don’t want something as dumb as an ionization charge to set off the bottle ‘before’ it clears the shields,” approved Manblaster, and I closed my mouth.

  I would have figured that out eventually, but it was better all around if my people took care of it without my jumping in.

  On screen, as I watched the high velocity ball of plasma just barely scraped the bottom of a Reclamation Fleet hull, sending the warship into a violent spin spewing atmosphere from its still mostly intact hull. Maneuvering thrusters had the Battleship trying to stabilizing itself, but it looked like the maneuver had given us just enough of an edge that it hadn’t been able to avoid enough of the attack.

  “We must have taken down a trunk line and sent a surge through a major grav-plate power nexus before it shut down...because that ship may look intact but she’s crippled,” reported Lieutenant Hart moments before the Battleship we’d just hit started spewing fusion cores.

  “She’s striking her generators and signaling surrender,” reported my Chief of Staff.

  “Close and engage,” I said, not at all disappointed with the results of our first shot.

  “What’s the status on that generator?” snapped the First Officer.

  “I don’t have anything, Sir,” reported the Watch Stander.

  “Well bloody well find out! That bottle should have cleared the hull by now.”

  Blythe shot him a level look. “Everyone down there’s too busy right now dealing with a real crisis to spend a lot of time holding my hand, Sir,” she replied.

  “Listen, I’m not some rube; I spent two years in engineering. At least find out if the ejection sequence malfunctioned and we need to start abandoning ship,” growled Joe Manblaster.

  Blythe nodded and turned back to her console with renewed purpose. “Will do,” she said, but the idea that my worst fear, the loss of my Super Battleship, to a Maneuver Spalding himself had warned me about, sent me into immediate action.

  I opened a priority override channel and an upside down image of the Chief Engineer appeared but, before I could speak, he was already shouting

  “Parkiney, I need you to get your ass over to Fusion 3, I’ve already got that moron Tucker stationed at Fusion 6. He may not be good for much but at least he knows his grav-plates,” Spalding shouted, the sound of metal clanking as the old engineer kicked something hard enough to dent duralloy.

  “Spalding,” I said.

  “Parkiney? Who the blazes is this? You’re not Parkiney!” Spalding roared, and then the screen righted as his furious mug appeared in the screen.

  “I need a report. Do we need to abandon ship, Commander?” I barked.

  “Abandon ship? What kind of sweet idea is it to interrupt the man keeping us from blowing to kingdom come?” Spalding appeared incensed. “Get off the channel!”

  “I just need to know—” I started.

  “I know what you need: to focus on fighting this ship,” Spalding thrust a finger at me so hard it cracked the screen of the console he was working on. “Look, the feed was cut to starve the bottle as soon a pair of monitors saw the first plate go down. There’s nothing you can do at this point. Just leave this job to the professionals, Admiral.”

  “But if it could save even one life with an early warning—” I started.

  “The fly is in the ointment. I warned you but no one wanted to listen to old Spalding. They think he’s past his prime, ready to be put out to pasture, well here we are again!” he said with a withering and truly disappointed look.

  I couldn’t help a pang.

  “Either we’ll have that thing fixed before the crew could get to the pod or we’re all destined to die anyway because there’s no way the crew could get off the ship before we went critical,” Spalding roared, “so get off this channel—and stay off!”

  A moment later the screen blanked as the channel was cut on the other end.

  I didn’t have time to reflect on the good and proper scolding I’d just received, because on the outside of the ship we were still engaged in a serious battle.

  While I had been talking with the Chief Engineer, the enemy had already reacted. As if stung by hornets the two squadrons of Reclamation Fleet Battleships flared engines and began to run. Unfortunately for them, except for the Lucky Clover, a full squadron worth of our Battleships had overshot.

  We had them bracketed, and now they had to run the gauntlet.

  “I can see what they meant about taking measures but it did them no good in the end,” I reflected aloud as the Battleship we’d hit continued to drift rolling in space.

  Then my face hardened.

  “Tell those Battleships they are to open fire and engage the enemy,” I said.

  “Aye aye, Sir,” said Hart echoed by the com-tech managing inter-fleet communications.

  First, two MSP Battleships beside us turned to present their broadsides and opened fire, each laser firing as quickly as its gunner could aim.

  “The Chief Engineer reports their efforts were successful. Anti-Matter 5 has been bled dry and shut down,” reported Blythe, breaking into the tense situation on the bridge.

  There was a cheer as everyone began to realize they were going to stay alive.

  Three more warships, this time in front of the Reclamation Battleships, added to the mix with full-fledged thundering broadsides as they opened fire.

  One of the ships ahead of us failed to turn and open fire. A closer look showed its main engines inactive while its maneuvering thrusters flared full force.

  “Damage report! What’s going on with our ships?” I demanded.

  “The New Messene’s Shield reports that several grav-plates failed. They have casualties and their power system overloaded immediately after the Maneuver. Right now they’re trying to reroute using tertiary networks to power up their engines while damage control replaces critical relays and sections of burnt out lines.”

  After the original Messene’s Shield was sent to the scrapyard, a newly-captured Battleship had been repaired and eventually renamed to replace her. But app
arently her new name had done her just as much good as the last ship to bear it.

  “Reclamation Battleships appear to be on a course set to avoid our squadron blocking the way,” reported Sensors.

  “Instruct our forward squadron to continue to focus all their efforts on just that one ship,” I said.

  “Relaying now,” replied my Chief of Staff.

  “How’s that recharge coming, Weapons?” asked Manblaster.

  “Two minutes to full recharge,” reported the Weaponeer.

  “Will we have time to fire again before they round the horizon?” I asked.

  “We’ll get off another shot with time to spare, Sir,” said Lieutenant Hart as MSP Battleships both in front of and behind hammered away at the seven remaining ships of the two enemy squadrons.

  As the Reclamation Warships passed our forward squadron, they each rolled to present a broadside and all seven ships took aim at our crippled and nearly powerless Battleship and opened fire.

  “Blighters!” swore the ship’s First Officer.

  “Steady on, Joe. This is just the beginning,” I observed, eyes narrowing.

  “Main cannon is charged and ready to fire,” Weapons reported with anticipation, “the helm has been keeping us lined up for the next shot using micro-adjustments.”

  “Then by all means, Mr. Smith,” said Joe Manblaster after looking over and receiving a nod from me.

  “Take them out as fast as you can, people. I’ll tell you if I have any specific targets in mind. In the meantime, feel free to use your discretion,” I said, looking first at the Weaponeer and then our Tactical Officer.

  “Aye aye!” exclaimed the Weaponeer, slapping his hand on the console with a loud crack and the Clover fired a deep thrum once again starting up.

  “Sir,” Hart said with a gleam in his eye.

  “Messene’s Shield just suffered critical damage. Her engines aren’t just down any longer, they’ve been holed. Engineering is taking a look but Captain Eastwood has just ordered all non-essential personnel to the shuttles and escape pods,” reported Blythe.