by Chris Hechtl
“Have you looked out a window? Or your own status boards, Captain? Shizouka is a yard job. She's been pretty savaged. We need healthy ships.”
“While I admit she's not 100 percent, she's getting there. We're pulling out all the stops to see that. If you send us to Protodon, it will be a waste. And it will be critical for us to be here when the enemy arrives. You and I both know this.”
“How combat worthy are you?”
“As of this morning, 75 percent.”
“Seventy-five. Seventy … how? You lost your dorsal turrets; you've got shield nodes out …”
“So do other ships. We didn't lose any of our missile tubes however. We took some hits on the nose, but we're still here. Others can't say the same.”
“True.”
“We're getting it done. We're halfway finished with internal repairs,” Renee reported.
“Shoddy repairs that break in battle are no help at all, Captain,” Kyle said warily.
“They aren't,” Renee said. “We've been doing it right. We've been stripping nonessentials for material, plus recycling the broken parts of course. It's gotten us this far,” she stated with pride. “I've got a hell of a team over here, I'm proud of them.”
Kyle eyed her. “Robbing Peter and Paul to get the job done isn't smart, Captain,” Kyle stated flatly. “You are liable to get into a world of hurt if you need something and don't have it.”
“We're keeping good records so logistics won't be all over our ass—anymore than they already will be anyway,” she retorted with a diffident shrug. “They are there to be used, Commander. We're using them. Albeit not for their intended purpose in some cases, but once we've settled down, we can do something about restocking our inventory. But that's for later.”
“If there is a later. Still …”
“But it has gotten us back up to 75 percent,” Renee retorted. “And if you give us additional support, or hell, a lot more raw material, I think I can push that up to 80.”
“Eighty,” the OPS officer mused.
“Eighty percent. It's better than Independence. Structurally, Shizouka is fine. We've gotten that and the hull buttoned up. It's the fine details that are sticking us.”
“And the crew losses, Captain,” Kyle reminded her. “Just how are you making up so much?” he asked suspiciously.
Renee smiled. “When we were in hyper, I remembered the emergency authorization technique that Captain Firefly and I used to enact Firefly's repairs a few times,” she explained. “We did use it in ET, but Firefly had been too battered and had lacked the raw material there to get her completely sorted out,” she admitted.
“You do tend to take on the ships that get thrown into the fire the most,” Kyle said.
“Experience,” Renee retorted. “I've got this,” she said soberly, locking eyes with him.
He slowly nodded. “All right, I'll run it past the admiral. No promises though,” he warned with an upraised finger.
“Okay,” she said nodding. “I can take that. If you can get me that raw material I know we can bump it up some more.”
“Okay.”
“But I admit, not much further. We can fix what we can, but I can't replace the turrets and the lost shield nodes,” Renee admitted with a shake of her head. “Those are dock yard jobs.”
Kyle snorted. “You're not helping your case any,” he teased.
“I'm being honest,” Renee retorted. “Hell, if you could get someone to pull the good turrets from Independence before they get sent packing, I'd love it.”
“I doubt it,” Kyle replied. “I'll take your request for more materials in mind. I want daily SITREPS on your progress,” he warned. “And a copy of your OPS feed.”
“You'll have them,” she said.
“Fine then. Lady Liberty out,” Kyle stated, cutting the channel.
Renee sighed and then straightened. “Okay people, I bought us a reprieve, but I don't know for how long,” she said, surveying her bridge. “Let's not disappoint the man,” she ordered.
:::{)(}:::
Second Fleet quickly began to clear out the stocks of supplies within the fleet train's ships. Some of their ponderous holds echoed empty sooner than they'd like, but not for long. Each time a tender ship was picked clean, it was sent back to Protodon at their best speed for resupply. Admiral White passed on the order to resupply as quickly as possible but for the ship to hold in that star system unless he called for them. He had no intention of losing one or more ships to enemy action if he was forced to abandon the star system.
Captain McGuyver and Mayweather were smart enough to use their own initiative and emergency authorization to get some of the parts made that their ships needed. Since Renee had some experience with mining, Admiral White dispatched Shizouka, Bounty, and an empty tender to a nearby rocky dwarf moon.
Together the warships battered it with their energy weapons and then used their Bussard ramscoops to siphon off the geysers of molten and fine material that had erupted into space. There was not a lot of metals and useable material, but what they did find was valuable. Every little bit helped, he judged. They ran some of it through their small molecular furnaces and replicators until they were saturated. The rest they brought back to fleet to be properly processed by Ikenga.
While they were doing that, the tankers resupplied the fleet until they were drained dry. Once they were, Amadeus sent them back to Protodon since there were no local supplies to be had in the star system.
Two days after his arrival, Kyle hit on the idea to strip one or two of the carriers of their wing, supports, and material, then send them back to Protodon to get more fighters from the fortresses there. It was a risk, but in exchange for the temporary loss of one or more of his carrier platforms, it brought the remaining two others up to full strength, perhaps even a little more so. They would lose some platform redundancy, but Amadeus judged the risk might be worth it if the carriers could get turned around in Protodon in time. It took him a shift to weight the odds and risks involved before he reluctantly signed off on the plan.
He was amused to see Kyle took his authorization to heart. Orders flashed out from the flag to strip Crystal Cold. The following morning her engines lit and she made off to the Protodon jump point across the star system.
Chapter 19
To play it safe and prevent any of the cracks that had been plaguing them to be a problem, Admiral De Gaulte ordered them to stay below the Gamma band. Traveling in the sweet spot of beta, the eighth octave for the 8.9 light years drew out their transit time out to eight weeks instead of the originally planned 4.5. The staff and bridge officers of each ship did their best to use that extra time to their advantage. They worked to train and learn from their last engagement as much as possible.
Engineers like Chief Riker also did their best to utilize the time for internal repairs. They were stuck with only what they had in stock and couldn't make external repairs or calibrations while the ship was under way in hyperspace. Few of the ships had access to a replicator. The two dreadnaughts Star Mauler and Executioner each had a small class one industrial replicator to go with the three food replicators they had on board.
It meant the two ships had a slight edge on repairs over the other ships … not that they needed it since neither had suffered battle damage during the last engagement.
Chief Riker did his best to keep his people moving. Work parties diligently stripped paint from structural members and checked for cracks with ultrasonic and x ray equipment. Existing patched cracks were checked regularly and carefully measured down to nanometers to look for signs of movement or spreading.
:::{)(}:::
Ma Deuce brought Admiral von Berk's captives to Dead Drop in an explosion of light and soundless thunder. Her arrival startled the picket force situated around the B-97C jump point. Ma Deuce's skipper immediately ordered their IFF to be broadcast in order to allay their fears.
It took two days to cross the star system to arrive in orbit over Dead Drop itself. During th
at time Admiral von Berk and his staff spent a great deal of time catching up on current events they had missed … and negotiating to get another ship.
“I'm still in awe that the emperor launched a fleet to oppose this federation,” Commander Rick Roshou, the admiral's chief of staff stated.
“Well, someone has to damn it. The question is, do they have enough to do the job?” Major Eichmann asked.
“I'm not sure,” Admiral von Berk drawled slowly. He hadn't reacted well to the news of the passing of the Retribution Fleet. Such a plum assignment going to someone else—and after his own Fourth Fleet getting torn apart in their rush across the federation as they tried to escape their nets—it burned. He'd wanted that; he'd wanted to extract some measure of revenge.
But he had more important duties, like shepherding the sea dwellers in to the empire proper and all the data that his ships and people had collected along the way. Those two things might be his saving grace in the disaster of his first true fleet command.
It might not save his career, but it would hopefully spare his life. It he was eased out into retirement, perhaps given holdings and a minor title, he wasn't certain if he'd go for it or not. It would be tempting … but if he could get across his earnest yearning to pay back the federation for the humiliations he'd suffered at their hands …
Maybe, just maybe he wasn't out of the fight just yet he thought in the privacy of his own mind.
“They've been busy here,” Major Eichmann observed. “Building up?”
“Dead Drop is the wall in case the Retribution Fleet fails or is forced to retreat,” Commander Roshou stated.
“You really are worried they'll get torn up?” the major asked, turning to Commander Roshou.
“Aren't you?” Rick sniffed in disdain. “We saw what ships and defenses were in Protodon. And remember, that was nearly a half a year ago. The numbers have no doubt gone up from there.”
“Numbers across the board. I noted the difference in Captain Post's earlier report of no battle cruisers to facing the ones we saw there dueling with him as we escaped,” Admiral von Berk rumbled thoughtfully. “Fortunately, we did send our data forward in that courier. I received word that Admiral De Gaulte got it along with our other reports,” he said.
The major nodded, seemingly relieved at the news. “So, he has a better idea of what he's getting into. He'll stop at Nuevo Madrid no doubt, if only for resupply and to relieve them. Do you think they are building up forces here to send a convoy in to resupply him?” he asked.
“If they are it is going to make my plan to swap ships a bit trickier I suppose,” the admiral replied.
“You still wish to transfer to another ship, sir?”
“I think a faster ship is in order. A transport can handle the numbers we have easier, and Ma Deuce would be better suited here,” Admiral von Berk stated.
“Yes, but if they are building up for a resupply convoy, they aren't going to be willing to spring a transport loose for us,” Rick reminded him.
“That's the tricky part. I know I promised Frost I'd send Ma Deuce back, but I bet Captain Pickett is in no hurry. And I bet he wouldn't mind a refit cycle here. And since Dead Drop has those yard modules online now …,” the admiral smiled suggestively.
“Nice,” the major snorted. “Though I doubt Admiral Frost will agree,” he said chuckling.
The admiral shrugged. “His problem. I think I can pull rank and get what I want. At the least they'll want to get rid of me and get back to normal.”
“Aye aye, sir,” Rick said dubiously. That was one of the big things holding up the admiral's plan. Ma Deuce's time delay as she entered the star system had allowed the picket Commander Abernly to put him off as well as his plan to swap ships.
“We'll need some face time since talking about it over the radio hasn't been working, which means I'll need to go groundside.”
“And the doctor's request that his charges get some down side liberty as well, Admiral?”
“That … I'm not sure about. On the ground …,” he grimaced. “I know he is confident in their conditioning and the tracking devices he's wired them up with, but I'm not. I don't want them too tempted by the call of the sea to forget their duty to us,” he said.
“That is … a problem. A lake? Or pool?” Rick suggested.
“They aren't set up for fresh water,” Major Eichmann reminded the chief of staff with a shake of his head. The commander grimaced in distaste. “I think we could arrange a salt water pool. Transporting them will be tricky though. The water dwellers aren't the only ones who are conditioned. If the population sees them it could get ugly,” he warned.
“We'll figure it out.”
The admiral nodded. Switching the ship would be the smart move; there was no way Ma Deuce's dunce group of engineers could squeeze any additional speed out of the elderly Cutlass class destroyer's hyperdrive. Mara and her people squeezed a modicum of extra efficiency and sliced some of their transit time down, but it wasn't enough, not in his book. He had seen better and wanted it.
More importantly, he needed to show that ability to the powers that be before they got to the empire. With a proper ship, one most recently refitted in the empire, they'd get that chance he thought.
:::{)(}:::
“Okay, so the plan is to leave Ma Deuce behind to help protect this star system in favor of a faster ship, a personnel transport or liner,” Commander Magnus Abernly stated, sitting back in his chair and letting his ample abdomen spill over his belt. He frowned thoughtfully at the admiral.
It still bothered him that he, an Abernly, was a lowly commander. He'd been stuck as a commander for two decades while others had passed him by. But that was the problem with taking a staff or base duty; you got shuffled off into a thankless job he reminded himself.
The picket commander frowned thoughtfully as he considered the issue from all angles. Now that the admiral had forced his hand and confronted him in his own office, he had to think it through … and the more he thought about it, the more he was certain he was getting the better part of the deal. The admiral didn't care as long as he got what he wanted it seemed.
Which was one of the reasons Magnus was hesitating. He didn't like it when the other guy wasn't left shaking his hand and head and wondering if he'd been taken for a ride.
Magnus frowned as he glanced at the admiral's silent chief of staff waiting in the background, then out to a window. He knew that the empire would eventually order a resupply of the Retribution Fleet. He'd seen it coming. He'd also seen ships beginning to stack up in his star system. With any luck, the transport the admiral wanted to “borrow” would return with some additional personnel and some goodies he could use to keep things running smoothly in Dead Drop.
When he'd accepted the posting from Baron Cartwright, he'd taken it as a sign of good things to come for his career. That he was given charge of a star system with a shipyard, granted a single slip and civilian grade repair facility, it meant he was on his way up.
Then El Dorado had been found, and the personnel running the yard had been poached for it. He'd seen his career stall and then go into a tail spin as Sigma sector suddenly grew in importance. One by one his picket ships and traffic had been pulled and never returned. The graft he'd expected from ships passing through the star system had also withered and dried up.
Then the federation had come to pass right in their own backyard. He knew that burned, as did the consternation and humiliation that they'd beaten several Gather Fleets that had been sent to gather the sector up and tuck them into the arms of the empire.
Other officers had burned and sulked. He'd seen it as an opportunity initially, a reawakening of his purpose and career. A potential stop to the free fall. But when the federation had taken Protodon, it had alarmed him. Seeing Post's two battle cruisers passing through had allied that fear, right up until they'd gotten word from Frost's courier that Nevada and Massachusetts had been beaten not once, but twice. Then the fear had returned and grown ever hig
her—right up until Admiral De Gaulte had shown up. That had sparkled elation—right up until the admiral had poached two of his destroyers for his force.
At least he'd left the two cruisers Drake and Chasseur as well as his four other tin cans and five frigates alone, Magnus thought acidly. He knew it was because he'd had the foresight to delay their refits to the point where they weren't ready to go with the fleet. He'd had a devil of a time dealing with their bridge crews, but they'd eventually thank him if the Retribution Fleet got tore up as he expected.
It was a see-saw of emotions going back and forth like that. It wasn't good for him; according to his doctor the stress was starting to affect him. He was determined to do something about it and to hell with the woman's insistence that he lay off the fatty foods and exercise more. So, keeping the destroyer would help a little bit.
Not that he intended to tell the admiral that, he reflected as he drummed his fat fingers on the desk top.
Linnaeus saw the indecision on the other man's face and decided to sweeten the pot a little, no matter how much the idea disgusted him. And he could always “forget” the promise later he reasoned.
“I understand you are a commander still,” Admiral von Berk said, eying the big man. “And I sympathize. You've been forgotten here. I think I can rectify that. A nice gold star in my report and some whispers in the right ears could get you bumped.”
“A promotion?” the commander asked, eying the admiral thoughtfully. He licked his lips. He'd heard such promises before, but each time he knew he had to take a chance on it. He yearned for the stars that he knew he more than richly deserved.
“Long overdue. Very long overdue given your station and importance of Dead Drop in the greater schemes of the empire,” the chief of staff said, backing his boss up.
It was definitely true. The commander was in charge of a pair of cruisers, tin cans, frigates, and the new reinforcements that had arrived a week prior to their arrival. That included two additional couriers; two medium personnel transports; three freighters, one of which was outfitted as a munitions ship; four home-built Apollo class corvettes; two home-built Manta class frigates; an entire shipment of gunships; and two escorting Nelson class destroyers. They were supposed to wait for approval from Admiral De Gaulte before moving forward. The commander, by virtue of being senior officer by time-in-grade, had taken control of the force in order to reinforce his own picket.