by Chris Hechtl
All eyes fell to the princess in their midst. She seemed to take it in stride.
“I make the call,” Admiral De Gaulte said quietly. The eyes returned to him. “It's my decision. I won't waste this fleet. But I agree; I can't just fall back out of fear.”
The compartment was quiet. Finally, Admiral Adkin cleared his throat. “So sir, what should we do?”
“I'm still considering my options. You are correct to point out that we need to get in fast before they can reinforce. Right now I am leaning to scouting Protodon, though. We need to go in eyes open, not blind.” That earned a grudging nod from many in the room. “I intend to get my toe wet in B-95a3, see what is there, then decide if I want to go further. Most likely we'll chase White out of Protodon if he doesn't have the fixed defenses in B-95a3 to back his damaged ships up. I wouldn't be too surprised if he falls back to Protodon right off, but he might not.” He grimaced. “I already sent a courier with the latest news to Dead Drop. They are to pass it on and get back to us in B-95a3.”
“And if we're not there, sir?” Sedrick asked.
“We'll leave a buoy telling them where to go,” the admiral said mildly. “In the meantime, I think we need a small task force to explore Nuevo Madrid. We need to know. I'm thinking a division to scout it. They are to make contact if possible, avoid any combat, and get the word back to us.”
“Aye, sir.”
“In the meantime, we're going to make as many repairs as we can. You already know that I've split the fleet train. I'm giving you an extra three days to get your ships turned around. Make the most of it,” Admiral De Gaulte growled.
“All this is going to take time, sir. We'll be sitting here while they are rushing reinforcements to Protodon,” Admiral Adkin warned.
“I'm aware of that,” the admiral said mildly. “I'll consider my options in more detail tonight. For the moment, I'm not going off half-cocked.”
“Aye aye, sir,” Commodore Eichmann said.
“Dismissed then gentlemen, ladies,” the admiral said quietly as he took his seat once more. Quietly the men and women in the compartment filed out until only he and the two flag officers remained.
“Sir?”
“What is it, Vale?” he asked.
“For the record, I back your scouting option, especially since we now know how powerful a fighting force they can build. But we need to stop them. Bottle them up, break them. We need to … to stop them before they make something we can't handle.”
“Agreed,” Harold murmured.
“I know. That's what scares me, that urge to go in knowing that and letting it guide me instead of listening to the senses and training I usually rely on,” Admiral De Gaulte said, looking into the plot as if to gather his thoughts. “And yes, I know about the political ramifications. I'm not retreating. I'm hoping that my couriers will light a fire under someone's ass, and they'll send us more reinforcements. Hopefully fast, but I know how glacial some things can take.”
Harold grimaced. “You're worried that they'll react in panic?”
Admiral Adkin grunted. “If you are thinking stand shoulder to shoulder in Home Fleet, I doubt it. I doubt it very much.”
“But it is a possibility, to turtle. I'm actually hoping the Feds do that. That they pull back into Protodon or all the way back to Antigua and Pyrax. Bottle them up while home ships us some more forces to finish the job,” Admiral De Gaulte growled.
“But you don't think it's likely any time soon,” Commodore Eichmann pressed.
Admiral De Gaulte snorted. “You saw what was in Garth and Dead Drop, what do you think? They are in the middle of refitting the Home Fleet while also splitting it to send forces to secure El Dorado and also sending out forces for the grand conquest,” the admiral said in disgust. “We've built up this strength only to fritter it away when it seems it is most needed,” he said.
“And now we're at the whim of politics and politicians?” Vale asked.
“And time. Always time. An ancient wise Terran said to ask for anything but time. He was right,” Admiral De Gaulte said gruffly.
:::{)(}:::
“He's lost his nerve,” O'Shanasae said in a soft aside as the meeting concluded. “Scouting Protodon first? Come on,” the man said, shaking his head.
“He has done no such thing,” Captain Knoll replied, equally tactful but with just a trace of heat in his tone of voice. “He's playing it smart. You don't get to flag rank by charging in recklessly and getting your ass shot off. He's right; we've done that too often. Now is the time to fight smart,” he finished.
Catherine was near enough to hear their exchange. When Captain O'Shanasae noticed , he looked up into her eyes in sudden fear. She nodded once but didn't say anything as she waited patiently for the admiral. Both men nodded and ducked away. Captain O'Shanasae gulped; clearly aware he'd stuck his foot in his mouth, which he had. Catherine wasn't ready to call him on it though. Covering for him might prove valuable leverage for her later.
When the flag officers left, she went back in to the compartment and started gathering up the tablets she'd distributed.
:::{)(}:::
Admiral De Gaulte stood near the window, one arm up on the casing to support his weight as he stared out into the void. When Catherine came in, she silently gauged his mood then placed her tablet on his desk. He noted her through the reflection in the glass.
When she went to retreat, he turned slightly. “Stay,” he said, turning his head slightly to see her out of the corner of his eye.
She stopped and turned. “Sir?”
“You think I've turned yellow?” he asked. “I know some are thinking it.”
“Sir, I think you are doing what you've taught us. To not jump in blindly. That's what the enemy wants. I for one am sick and tired of playing their game.”
“I too,” the admiral rumbled. He looked out into the void once more, and then turned slowly. “White is good. I'm trying to get a handle on him. He seemed reckless, but he backed off in our clash. I hadn't expected it to be honest.”
“We caught him off guard. He backed off to assess the situation.”
“That and he didn't have a lot of toys to call on. His toy box was back with his fleet train,” the admiral said with a snort. “He had a lot more firepower than I'd expected though. A lot more.”
“So did you, sir. I bet that figured into his calculations. No one wants to tangle with a dreadnaught, let alone a pair of them,” the princess stated with a feral smile. “The BCs would have been mincemeat, and he knew it. So he got clear.”
“Yes. And I let him. I should have pressed in then when he was off balance,” the admiral growled, clenching and unclenching his fist.
“We'll get another chance, sir. We can't dwell on the shoulda, oughta, couldas, and focus on what is in front of us now. Where we go from here,” Catherine emphasized.
“You think we should attack.”
“I think we need to let the empire know as you ordered, check Nuevo Madrid, and then scout Protodon without going in half-cocked. Beyond that, sir, it's up to you.”
“I'm curious,” the older man said, turning and then taking a seat behind the desk. “What would you do in my shoes?” he asked mildly.
“I'd do exactly what you've done so far, sir. I'd also scout. It might be … harsh politically to seem … less than willing to throw it all in and run a wounded inferior numbered enemy down right away, but that is armchair quarterbacking. We're the people on the spot; we are going to call them as we see them. I'll back your call, sir.”
“Thank you, Commander. Thank you,” the admiral murmured.
Act II
Chapter 16
Admiral Irons sat back and twisted his chair from side to side with his foot as he read a minor progress report. It might be minor he thought, but it was important. He smiled as he noted one of the few people involved, the name positively leapt off the page.
Warrant Officer Jethro McClintock and the newly-formed Cadre initiative. He shook his hea
d as the weekly SITREP unfolded before him. He was fairly confident the black panther was well on his way to become a legend in both the Marines and Special OPS community.
He finished reading the basic report and then filed it under highly classified as usual. There were rumors swirling around about them in the net forums and media, but that was actually a good thing in his estimation. Sometimes it was good to have a boogeyman tucked away in his closet; one people knew was out there giving the enemy nightmares.
He'd been tempted to jump the gun and ship the small platoon off to Protodon once they'd passed their initial training and stood the first two squads up. But he'd listened to Major Joshua Lyon and held them back for more training.
After reading their weekly reports, he'd come to the conclusion that he was glad he had. Keeping them on Antigua had allowed them to train a new crop of potential Special OPS operators, while also allowing them to be loaned out to Marine Recon and the other training centers being stood up on the islands.
And keeping Jethro, now a Warrant Officer acting as a Drill Instructor, to train the next generation while also doing side work at the college and growing Marine training center was also important. Very few other non-sleeper Marines could attest to his combat experience.
The admiral shook his head. Eventually they'd have to go on; he knew that. Those involved also undoubtedly knew that. He'd planned to send them to Protodon, stage them there, maybe do some light work with the militia and Marines there, and then blood them in Nuevo Madrid as their baptism by fire.
Now that plan was in flux. The latest ONI report the analysts had generated pointed to a repair yard in Dead Drop and a minor yard in Garth. Most likely they'd shifted workers and priorities around to man El Dorado … but once word got back to the empire that he was in Antigua and when they got word of Second Fleet going on the offense in Nuevo Madrid, they'd fort up in both star systems, if Amadeus didn't stop them first.
He was of two minds about the idea. On the one hand, he agreed with Amadeus that hitting them hard and fast before they forted up would save lives. True. But also true was the strategy of bleeding them. Of drawing out the concentrated force they had in the home star system, this Home Fleet. In forcing them to redeploy penny packets that he could attrition or break. Defeat in detail.
And while they were doing that, they'd also call in every ship in the sector and perhaps neighboring sectors. That would make the job of hunting them down after Horath was broken much easier.
But there was a problem with that strategy; it rested on a few too many assumptions. Assumptions like that they'd send only a token force to defend Dead Drop, one he could break. They were going to redeploy; that matter was a given. And based on prior past acts they weren't shy about deploying a task force. Would they be foolish enough to underestimate the federation again? He wasn't sure.
If it worked out, Amadeus could attrition their fleet instead of having to face it in concentrated form. He could gather INTEL and use it and their tech to his advantage. They were adding new ships every day; he knew which side would win the war on production. Defeat in detail came to mind once more.
He did know that eventually they'd find out one way or another, like it or not.
But those thoughts brought him back to the Cadre and Amadeus. If Amadeus succeeded, all good. But if he failed … he grimaced. It was bad enough losing the investment in men and material when a ship was lost. But it was all part of the job.
However, the Cadre … they were a major investment. An investment in expensive equipment, limited personnel supply, and training. They weren't pawns; they were major pieces not to be taken lightly. Having a ship blown out from under them would suck. Losing them as a concentrated lot … He'd almost lost Jethro that way once. Twice. He grimaced and rubbed his jaw.
“Thinking deep thoughts, sir?” Protector asked, noting the brain patterns.
“Yes. I'm falling into the trap of making someone so important you are scared of risking them. Of potentially losing them,” the admiral rumbled.
“Not good. Eventually though you have to delegate. You have to trust them and their training to see it through to the end,” the A.I. replied.
“Yes, yes you do,” the admiral said, straightening his shoulders.
:::{)(}:::
Admiral Irons frowned at his inbox. Most of the critical issues were either being handled or being processed by others. There was always something though, he could never get to them all.
But just once in a while he did. Oh, not solved them all, but actually managed to hit everything in his inbox in a single shift. It was a game he played with himself; one he occasionally won which made the victory sweet if fleeting. He knew it wouldn't last … and it would get harder the deeper they got into rebuilding the federation, not to mention the Horathian offensive.
Some things were ticking away or at least getting on their feet. One thing grabbed his attention right off since it was labeled as an engineering issue. He frowned as he scanned the document again.
Finally, he got through the background. It had been a bit winding, but he understood it. A CNC machine maker in Epsilon Triangula had expanded its business and tools to welding and cutting equipment. They worked with a robotics manufacturer to create universal tool heads for factories. He nodded and continued to read.
They had started a sideline in plastics after buying out a couple failing businesses and pumping capital and new/old federation ideas into them. The plastics had worked on cross pollination and had started a rather successful line of 3D printers. The printers were built in part by the CNC machines the parent company produced and could print in a variety of material. He pursed his lips at the thought and then nodded. Good so far he thought.
They had begun to expand the market, exporting their products to their off-world neighbors just before their invasion of Epsilon Triangula. The email went on to mention that they had approached Sandra'kall's office to make civilian or military grade replicators. He frowned. Now things were getting tricky, he thought. He'd noted they'd picked up a couple local food processing plants and minor pharmaceutical companies, most likely to use them to jump-start the process. Replicators though? Even if they just built the parts … it was far more complex than just making the shell. It meant manufacturing nanites, but apparently that didn't faze them.
He couldn't blame them for wanting to try. Someone had to eventually; they wanted to get their foot in a growing market. Good for them in theory. What bothered him was the control aspect. He didn't like losing oversight and control of the final product. Which would be the problem. They had gone direct to his administration over trying to go through the star system industrial board and governor. That he wasn't sure about either.
Either there was some politics going on that he didn't know about, some bad blood, or something else was at work. He needed to know. He sighed heavily, rubbing his temples as he considered the situation.
“Problem, sir?” Protector asked, monitoring his vitals.
“You could say that.”
“I've been monitoring the situation. Can I make a recommendation, sir?” The A.I. asked.
“Shoot,” the admiral said, eyes still closed.
“Pass the idea off to a couple people who you trust. Lay out the parameters you want, or better yet, leave it open ended and vague. Give them an intern or two, and have them do research on how the old federation and local governments handled the situation. Have them lay out both sides of the argument. Give them a deadline and then let them get on it.”
“Delegating what is essentially a thesis project,” the admiral said sitting back as he opened his eyes both literally and figuratively to the plan.
“Yes, sir, in a manner of speaking.”
“I want to know why this company is going direct to me and not through their planet's industrial board and why me and not Sandra'kall.”
“Considering it is Epsilon Triangula and given their historic problems with corruption in government, sir, …”
&nbs
p; The admiral waved a hand. “Granted, granted. I get that. But there is more going on here than meets the eye. I'm not sure about making precedent.”
“Well, technically that was done ages ago. You are making new precedent if you go a different path,” the A.I. retorted.
“True,” the admiral admitted. He frowned thoughtfully and then nodded. “Okay, write up your initial proposal with my thoughts I just outlined. Throw it over to Sprite and Sandra'kall, and see what the ladies say.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
“Lay an email in to Yorgi as well. See if he knows anything. Maybe toss the question at our local office? We need a reason why they are short circuiting the process.”
“It could be the local government is asking too much. Going over their head won't make them friends I suppose. Or they could be looking at the bigger picture.”
“Either way we need to find out,” the admiral stated.
“Aye aye, sir,” the A.I. replied, documenting the conversation and then assigning a script bot to fill in the blanks. Sprite had taught him that trick recently. It wasn't perfect, but it did help with his workload. “Email away, sir,” he said once the email was ready.
“Good.”
:::{)(}:::
Commander Sprite scanned the forwarded report into her active memory. As usual it came with an appendix with the admiral's thoughts, as well as links Protector's spiders had dredged up in the time he'd given them to do so. She appreciated seeing John's thoughts, even his inflection, it fulfilled something in her core.
But after scanning it she instantly recognized that, yes, keeping her informed was important, but her opinion wasn't the one that mattered. Diplomacy was important, and by not drawing the Centaurian into the process, he'd stepped on her hooves. Consequently, she put an appointment in with Sandra'kall to get her opinion and that of the industrial board.