by Chris Hechtl
“Aye aye, sir,” Chief Riker replied as he stood at attention. He saw the dark look from his skipper one last time before the man stalked out of the compartment. After a moment the XO followed in his wake.
“Well, boys and girls,” he said as he exhaled. “You heard the man. It looks like we've got our work cut out for us, doesn't it?” he asked with a whimsical smile. “Engineers aren't known for miracle workers for nothing. Let's get these fractures under control. Bob, check each and every damn crack we know about. Check the welds to make sure they aren't cracked. Do that personally,” he ordered, eying the other man. His assistant nodded.
He turned to his other assistant. “Majory, that leaves you to mind the store here while I take work parties to check everywhere else,” The woman grimaced but then nodded. “You know shit rolls downhill, and it's going to get muddy and up to our necks at the bottom so let's get this done,” he said. The other engineers nodded and swung into action.
:::{)(}:::
In order for the Retribution Fleet to stay within the jump zone, they had to perform their own flip and hard braking maneuver, which further stressed the damaged ships, not to mention the nerves of the engineers charged with handling them. Admiral De Gaulte was not happy about how some ships were slow on the helm; it didn't bode well for the immediate future. The reports of additional structural damage due to the speed and maneuvers during their run as well as damage put a crimp in his plan for an immediate jump to follow the enemy. Not that he'd wanted to do so, at least not without resupplying, but it definitely put a crimp in that plan and extended the timeline to a big question mark.
Which didn't sit well with some of the officers under his command. Hell, with him either.
“Sir, the DCC reports are in. The crews are doing what they can with the damage now. We've reduced speed to safe parameters and are ready to reorient,” Lieutenant Herod stated.
“Then do so. How is the resupply mission going?” he asked, looking over to Catherine.
“As well as to be expected, sir. Some of the ships have boat bay damage, but the crews are routing the loads around them,” the princess reported. “Do you intend to jump as soon as we're ready, sir?”
“Yes,” he said with a nod.
He, like just about every Horathian in the fleet, was not happy about getting so tantalizingly close to enemy range only to have the opportunity snatched out of his fingers when the enemy jumped. He knew it wouldn't play well with the court in the empire, nor the public.
And it didn't play with him well either. He felt the intense frustration and did his best to dampen it down. He didn't need the reminder that now he had to chase the enemy down … a wounded enemy who would be doing a much better job than he was at repairing and resupplying itself. Their next encounter could go very differently.
Damage assessments from the fleet flowed through the datanet. It was grim reading for the admiral. Every warship except Nimitz had taken some degree of damage. He grimaced as he read the reports. The rotating doctrine had helped spread the damage and prevent him from losing any of his capital ships but that didn't help now. Perhaps it was just as well his people had more time to get a handle on their damage control.
He had passed orders right off to get things in motion. But if some of the damage reports were to be believed, they'd still need more time. He exhaled noisily at the thought, letting his frustration ebb. So be it he thought. He might as well make the best of a bad situation and prepare for the next engagement the best he could while he was at it.
“I want a rough estimate when every ship will be up to a minimum of 70 percent. Have you hit the resupply of fighters and bombers?” he asked.
Catherine nodded. “Nimitz now has them, sir; they were offloaded an hour ago. Commander Zakhan has scrounged the necessary crews to man them. His deck crews are still going over his other birds. From what I understand of the plan he forwarded me, he's planning to strip some of the most damaged birds in order to get the least damaged flyable again.”
The admiral nodded. “Keep me posted,” he ordered. She returned the nod as she turned away.
:::{)(}:::
Princess Catherine Ramichov rubbed the small of her back as she came onto the bridge. She'd finally gotten five precious hours of sleep. She had started to regret her chosen role as a staff officer and definitely that of carrying the OPS department in the past four days. But, she was quite proud of herself for handling it.
She just wished she could keep a step ahead of the admiral's thought process. He'd started to become opaque, harder to read, and reluctant about sharing his thoughts with the staff. She was concerned. It hampered their ability to function, but she understood it. She knew that he knew that the conversations and orders he had would be recorded. Any correspondence was; a few slips from Sedrick a year ago had proven that to them all! She shook her head.
“Something?” Berney asked. He yawned. “Sorry.”
“No, just wool gathering. Not enough sleep and I'm actually scared of caffeine,” she said with a grimace.
“Too much of a good thing I know,” the chief of staff said as he poured himself a cup. “Think we'll jump soon?”
“I don't know, and that's also bothering me,” she admitted. He looked up to her. She shrugged. “Sorry, it is how it is I suppose. I know the loading is going well.”
“Good,” the commander replied with a nod as he stirred artificial cream and sweetener into his cup. “Good.” he said again as he poured a second cup. She frowned but then when she heard a familiar rumble in the wardroom she nodded in understanding. “Right on time,” Berney said as he took both cups and led her out to the waiting admiral.
:::{)(}:::
Prince Adam Ramichov shook his head and then rolled his shoulders. Unlike the skipper he wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty, something that endeared himself with the crew. It wasn't just to help out though; he had other reasons.
One was, yes, there was a lot of work. And yeah, it looked good to the peons to see the boss and prince lower himself to their level once in a while. A bonding which would serve him well when he eventually rose to the throne as the man “of the people.” He smirked slightly and then let the expression fade.
There were two other reasons he knew. One was that he had no intention of letting his ship be sent back home. So, every hand counted. The second was a bit more … complex to explain, but simple enough.
He liked to do things with his hands, especially when he was frustrated or annoyed. Just simple things, things to get himself out of his head and broken record, things to refocus and orient him and lower his blood pressure. But things that were productive.
He wasn't a sadistic deviant who took it out on some poor sap's hide. It was tempting sometimes, but he was proud of his iron control of his sexual urges and only gave them leave to vent when he was with his wife or under her supervision.
He shivered ever so slightly. Marina had spelled out the consequences in exquisite and painful detail if he didn't keep his dick in his pants when she wasn't in the room. He could still feel the phantom grip of her long but surprising strong fingers and sharp black nails on his … he shook his head like a horse trying to shake a fly but then shivered again.
And after that … educational experience he'd made certain to toe the line. He needed her. She was a Stuart, and he needed her family's powerful support. And more importantly, he actually did desire and love her. She was the sadist of their partnership, and he knew it and had accepted it. He smiled ever so slightly. A wicked queen indeed he thought.
They made a good team. Most people underestimated her; they thought the surface innocence, sympathetic air, wicked teasing eyes, and sweet red-lipped smile were all there were to the woman. They should know better, especially some of the players in the high political circles, but they fell for her innocence each time. That allowed the two of them to tag team opponents. She was also ambitious but patient. He knew that from years of being married to her, and he treasured it. He shook his head and
then ducked his head as he smiled again.
For the moment, none of that mattered. For the moment his entire focus had to be on dealing with the damage, overseeing the crew, and getting the ship as squared away as possible … which wasn't easy since he was swamped with work since Arkangel had taken a fair amount of damage during the engagement.
The chief engineer was doing a good job of overseeing the repairs, but it was the XO's job to make sure it was on track and on schedule. Along the way he also had to deal with the usual day-to-day running of the ship while also overseeing the crew transfers and resupply. Having it all going on at once was a challenge for the prince. It reminded him of juggling a lot of balls in the air, all at the same time and trying to keep track of each of them.
Fortunately, he'd learned to multitask, something his wife had perfected in him during their honeymoon he thought before he stretched again.
“Sir, we've got the replacement bank ready. It's all plug and play. I've got two sailors stripping the burned wires now. We've ran the tests—no signs of damage or dead lines in-between.”
“Hopefully, they are labeling everything before they strip it,” the XO stated to the PO. The PO nodded. “They have enough slack?”
“On some wires, yes. Some others will be … tight,” the Petty Officer warned.
The XO grimaced. “I don't like tight. We may need to move it again, and you know what can happen trying to get the bank back in place once it's wired. Things can get tugged, ripped, or what have you. See if you can find some slack somewhere. If not,” he grimaced. “We'll either have to add a jumper or run new wire.”
“A jumper we can handle easily, sir. Rewiring would take days,” the PO said hastily.
“Then get someone to check on that. Start making patch extension wires.”
The PO nodded as he made a note. “Aye aye, sir.”
“Get on it,” the XO ordered as he returned to the work in front of him. “I'll check on their progress then go walk about to the other DCC parties in a few minutes,” he said.
“Aye aye, sir,” the PO said as he went back to his work party.
:::{)(}:::
Prince Mason Ramichov was too tired to be exhausted. He'd been slotted in various work parties to oversee grunts dealing with the damage. Some of their tasks he barely understood, but he did his best to look knowledgeable as he'd been taught. Whenever he needed to do so, he “borrowed” a petty officer and picked their brain on the sly, just to be certain he had his facts right.
Commander Yashanaka had emailed him a few hours ago with a “suggestion” that he take a transfer to the flagship or to Star Mauler. He knew what the chief of staff was implying, that he needed to be kept safe.
Problem was he had no intention of being on the same ship as his backstabbing bitch of a sister. She outranked him too, so that would be a humiliation he wasn't certain he'd be able to put up with for long.
Star Mauler was … tempting though. She was close enough to the flagship and big enough to be theoretically safe. But he'd learned that term might be relative after his experience with the DCC parties and the chatter he'd overheard. The capital ships had a lot of overlooked problems, problems that could doom them under the wrong circumstances.
And being safe wasn't quite what he had in mind. It didn't look good to the public; he knew that, nor did his agreement to play it safe. And then there was a third factor.
They were going to go after the enemy; of that everyone was certain. They might run them to ground … or eventually, they might run into something too big to chew. Big enough to chew them right back. And the first targets of the return fire would naturally be the flagship and her division mate.
So, no, he didn't want to be on a target he thought, coming to a decision. Being on the unarmed transports though … that he wasn't certain of either. He'd do a bit of checking to see if he could slip into one of the other ship's companies.
“Is your work party finished clearing the wreckage, Lieutenant?” an engineer asked over the comm, startling him.
“Just about, sir. We've got one or two more loads, and then your people can move in. Do you want us to start grinding the cuts smooth in prep for your people?”
“No, I've got people for that. We've got more wreckage to move. The next compartment over took some damage as well. We've got a temporary seal so there is atmo now. Your people can get in and out. I want the wreckage triaged, then anything we can't use goes to the boat bay to be shipped out.”
“Sir?”
“To the factory ship. It needs the material to make replacements,” the engineer said patiently.
The prince nodded. “Aye, sir. Thank you for explaining it to me,” he said.
“Good. Compartment Baker two hatches over.”
“We'll get it done, sir,” the lieutenant replied dutifully. He heard a click and grimaced. Not as much as a thank you he noted. Well, he didn't sign-up for the Marines to have his ass kissed by the navy pukes.
That would come later, he thought.
:::{)(}:::
Captain Red O'Shanasae, captain of Daring, shook his head as his engineers continued their work. He turned when he heard a noise. He noted Commodore Eichmann enter the compartment, one hand up on the hatch combing for support as he climbed into the space. “How goes it,” the commodore asked.
“We're getting there,” the captain replied, crossing his beefy arms. The commodore frowned at the Viking. “We'll get it done, sir.”
“Do you think it will pass muster?” the commodore asked carefully.
“We'll get it done, sir. We'll continue to work on it in hyper of course. Gives the engineers plenty to do,” he said. He went over to a video screen and tapped at it. After a moment the image changed to that of an exterior camera. He frowned until he saw a work party float into frame and then out of it. He nodded. “It looks like the XO has the worst of the wreckage cleared from the exterior. Engineering reported they've gotten one of our engines back online. The other three are … iffy,” he stated. “But I know we'll get them squared away by the time we jump.”
He turned to the commodore, wondering what the man was thinking. More importantly, what the man was going to report. One of the engines had been totaled; that much was obvious to anyone with an exterior camera feed of the ship. But as long as they could keep up and fight …
The commodore nodded slowly at the silent inquiry. “I take it the … reports will reflect that?” he asked carefully. He didn't want to shift his flag; he knew and respected Red. He had enough headaches dealing with Evan's Eighth Squadron orphans such as they were.
“Aye, sir,” the captain rumbled. “Numbers and all,” he said. He stopped himself from saying numbers don't lie. He knew better. He also now knew his boss was willing to back him.
“No way am I going to go home with my tail tucked between my ass cheeks. We've got them on the run, let's finish the job,” Captain O'Shanasae growled.
Commodore Eichmann studied him and then nodded. “Agreed,” he said, clasping the captain on the shoulder briefly. He gave a squeeze then turned about. “I'll leave you to it, I'm supposed to be going over to the fleet flagship for an all-hands meeting shortly. Make sure your engineers are … careful in what they request from stores. You don't want to raise too many eyebrows,” he warned.
“Aye aye, sir,” the captain said thoughtfully. They had to find a way around that. He frowned as his eyes were drawn to the work party outside. They had scrap; everything was being pulled in with the hopes of repairing it despite the radiation danger.
His frown deepened. Could they use that in trade? A little side dealing with the foundry? Get them some parts on the down low? It might help. A little liquor might grease some wheels too. He nodded slowly. “We'll get it done, sir.”
“Good. Good,” the commodore said as he paused in the hatchway. He looked back to the captain then left without a further word.
:::{)(}:::
“I'm going to lay it out to you now while we've got the time,
” he said eying his flag staff as well as the two subordinate flag officers. Rear Admiral Adkins was a firebrand while Commodore Eichmann was a walking tactical computer, cold and calculating. He grimaced. “First off, we'll have the service later,” he said.
Berney nodded. “But that's for later,” he said, eying Berney. “I think the dead can forgive our preoccupation with what needs to be done,” he said. Berney nodded.
“That being said,” Admiral De Gaulte said, “We're going to strip out all of the munitions from the fleet train. Even with everything they are carrying, it only brings us up to 94 percent load out on all the ships,” he said.
He left out that he meant all the ships that he intended to take with him. “I'm going to be sending a courier back to Dead Drop with a full report by the end of the day. They can get running updates from us as we progress with repairs,” he said. Again his chief of staff nodded visibly. “They'll have orders to translate at their best speed to Dead Drop and from there dump it into their system and to the next courier to get it back to the empire in a timely manner,” he said.
Catherine hid a grimace. There was no guarantee there would be a courier in Dead Drop … or Garth for that matter. “If there isn't a courier,” the admiral said, making her twitch at the idea of his reading her thoughts, “they'll have supplemental orders to go on to Garth and then back. I'm giving them a window to hit B-95a3,” he said.
Admiral Adkin straightened up. “So we are going in,” he said, eyes gleaming.
“Yes,” the admiral stated, looking over to Vale. “But not until we've settled a few things here,” he said. Vale stiffened.
“The courier will also carry orders to forward any ships to me in good condition with fresh supplies of men, ordinance, fighters, bombers, and material,” he stated. “If they know what is good for them, they'll do it fast,” he growled.