by Chris Hechtl
He finally authorized the Admiralty to release additional resources to fortify Dead Drop and Garth and to reinforce Admiral De Gaulte.
:::{)(}:::
Praetor Cartwright turned Friar Tuck around for a return trip to Dead Drop. She wouldn't be going alone however. The conversation the minister of war and some discussions with the emperor had gained him the permission to send more ships to Garth and Dead Drop to back up the Retribution Fleet. Since it was quite possible that Admiral De Gaulte would send back damaged ships to the yard in Dead Drop, he managed to scrape together a complement of personnel from the yards to help man and run them properly.
He knew that he wasn't sending the best yard dogs available, far from it. Most likely they were getting the ones that the directors and supervisors thought they could well do without: the layabouts, the misfits. That was fine; they'd work their tails off in this second chance he knew.
One thing that he and his staff did after a couple of skull sessions was dust off the GOTH plan for the star system. The Go To Hell plan hadn't been gone over in centuries. There had never seemed to be much of a need; the closest threats were from within, not from outside the solar system. For centuries the plan had existed in case the Xenos ever returned or a civil war forced the administration to flee. Now though, now it seemed prudent to keep that contingency plan in mind.
The admirals began long-term preparations for a possible evacuation of the star system. Only key personnel would go of course; there wouldn't be room for everyone. Instantly the plan was picked up by Imperial Intelligence. It was met with harsh resistance from the emperor and some of the ruling families. A few scoffed openly at the idea, sparking the emperor to call his generals and admirals in to his throne room to “discuss” their priorities.
“It's just a contingency plan of course, Sire. But it is one that has been written for centuries. We're just dusting it off and updating it,” the praetor soothed.
“Very well. But I do not want to hear any more talk of the empire falling. We shall. Not. Fall,” the emperor snarled.
“From your lips to the gods of space ears, Sire,” the praetor said, bobbing a nod in agreement.
:::{)(}:::
One by one the men and women who ran the military industrial complex of the Horathian Empire filed into the safe room. The room had been built with a faraday cage around it to prevent any sort of electronic eavesdropping. There were no windows, and guards watched the doors. It was swept regularly for bugs as well.
The minister of war shook his head as he unbuttoned his collar and the front of his shirt. His wife liked to wax poetic about how she loved to see him in his formal uniform with all his gold braid and medals, but he hated the damn monkey suit more and more every year. Especially since she'd started to be absent from his side when he had to put the damn thing on for lengthy periods of time.
“He's foolish if he doesn't want to see it. He clearly doesn't want to know the truth and that willful blindness is a serious problem. He's surrounding himself with yes men. We need straight answers, even if we don't like to hear them. This … this obsession of his with killing aliens isn't helping.”
Malwin grimaced. He knew the room was safe from recording, that none of the men and women in the room would run to the emperor, but it still bothered him sometimes to vent so openly. “I know. It is a distraction. I think things were kicked off too early. But we're here now; hindsight is twenty-twenty. Now we have to adapt.”
“We may have backed the wrong man for emperor. And unfortunately, should we try to change it now, it could cause a civil war and cost us dearly. We cannot afford to be divided at this time,” General Levot replied. He too had unbuttoned his collar. He tossed his cover down onto the table in front of him.
Things were moving in decidedly dangerous waters, but that was why they had been chosen to do what they do, to handle such dangers. Malwin frowned and then nodded in reluctant agreement. “No, no we can't,” he said carefully.
“That leaves the question of what to do about him?” Admiral Grant demanded.
Countess Newberry scowled. “We gut his power base. Turn the emperor into a ceremonial position if we have to.” she said. She shook her head. “We've seen leaders before that are great charismatic orators but fall apart behind the scenes. This is turning into that sort of situation.”
“If necessary he might need to be eased into retirement early. One way or another we need to get past this,” General Levot stated.
“If you're suggesting we assassinate him, you really are playing with plasma. I doubt any in this room want to be your juggling partner there, Rob,” Malwin stated.
“Not necessarily assassinate. Incapacitate works just as well,” the countess mused. No one doubted how utterly ruthless the woman could be. “But that would leave his mother and wife in play. Both would be natural regents of the children.”
“You're assuming the eldest three won't make it back,” Admiral Grant stated.
“Aren't you?” the countess demanded. “Mason is as good as dead. He's young and reckless enough to go charging into battle. Look at the path he chose!” she said, waving a hand. “The other two … I don't know. But they aren't here. This might be the right time to act,” she said suggestively.
“The Skull Squadron, Emperor's Guard, Red Skulls, Reapers, Praetorians, Death's Head Brigade, and the rest of the elite answer personally to him. It's not as easy as it sounds, Sabina,” Duke Tucket warned. “We so do not want to be on the wrong end of a night of a thousand knives,” he growled.
“We do anything without prior approval of the ruling families and we might as well cut our own throats,” General Levot growled.
The praetor wasn't the only one to wince at that idea and ignoring the threat of the families. They all knew that if they acted and succeeded the families might retroactively approve of the action as long as the aftermath was handled right. But if it fell into infighting, all bets would be off. “And the elite are the best of us, at least in theory,” Admiral Grant agreed. “They have the most up-to-date equipment and training. They are chosen from the veterans for their loyalty to the empire though. I don't know if it will be a factor.”
“Gutting his power base could very well spark the civil war we're trying to avoid or spark a purge, which would amount to the very same thing in the end. We need to tread carefully. Very damned carefully. Examine all our options.”
Duke Tucket nodded. “You mean the ruling families. Call a conclave if we must. You know if we do, word will get back to him.”
“Yes, it is a chance we'll have to take,” the praetor stated.
“That will be hard to get them to commit. To get them to agree at all …,” Admiral Grant murmured.
Duke Tucket winced in agreement. “The wrangling alone will cause a ruckus. But we have to do something. We just can't sit idly by while we're led to ruin at what should be our moment of triumph!”
“We do what we can. But we stick to the contingency plans. We'll just have to be a bit quieter about it, and tighter about the security involved.”
“Understood.”
“We're not there yet,” the praetor mused. “Some would think of us as old women jumping at shadows. But it is right for us to be cautious. The question is, how cautious.”
“True. But you have to admit, we have to consider it as a possibility. Not blindly think our sterling resolve will win the day,” the countess said with a snort.
“Agreed.”
“In the meantime, he needs to learn that we can't afford to gloss over reports. We can't afford cover your ass thinking and let the empire go down in flames while he plans parades and monuments to his ego,” General Levot said, giving the intelligence minister a meaningful look.
“If he is doing that, he'll be distracted. Distracted enough for us to act unimpeded I wonder?” Admiral Grant asked. The duke looked thoughtful. “And we can gut his questionable decisions and policies. Drag our feet; divert resources and funding, that sort of thing. Just reducing t
he cleansing program would save us millions of credits. Credits we can pour into the war effort. We can do something about tidying those loose ends up when we want to later … if, no when we have things back in hand.”
The others slowly nodded. “We can try the strategy. I don't know how well it will work though,” Malwin warned.
“While we're doing that, I suggest we each go back to our families and start laying the ground work for the emperor's eventual retirement. Contingency planning we'll call it. Some feelers, nothing overt. Just listen,” the duke suggested. “Let them do the talking.”
“Understood,” the countess replied. The others nodded in mute agreement.
:::{)(}:::
Just as the second resupply convoy was about to jump out an unexpected arrival at the jump point made the picket forces there scramble and go on red alert. However, they were stood down as quickly as they came online as the IFFs from the Retribution Fleet Train was received. The fleet train sent their orders to the picket commander as well as a download to Captain Lovejoy.
“Great, so we just got those supplies and now they take them?” Captain Abernly demanded.
“Them and more,” the lieutenant said, handing his boss the tablet. “They are going to strip us to bedrock at this rate, sir,” he warned.
“Damn it,” the captain said, eying the file. The news that the damaged ships that the admiral had sent back would be coming in at their own best speed didn't do him much good; they'd be in need of repair, supplies, and crew—all of which he wouldn't have if the damn convoys stripped him! He shook his head.
“Gods be damned it,” he said in exasperation.
“We're supposed to do a quick turnaround, sir,” the lieutenant warned.
“We move at our best speed. Best is what I say it is,” the captain growled. “Me,” he said, pointing his thumb at his ample chest.
“Aye aye, sir.”
“The good news is they routed the damn Feds I suppose,” the captain said. “That was easier than I thought it'd be,” he said.
“Yes, sir,” the lieutenant said with a nod.
“Now we need to keep them running, so I suppose De Gaulte will need his resupply, not that we can send him much,” he sighed.
“Ah, sir, just to let you know, the picket monitored a conversation between the convoys. Captain Lovejoy must have passed on to them how much he dropped off here. The convoy skipper is already asking for it,” he reported.
“Frack,” the captain snarled. He shook his head. He was too used to the empire sucking everything up and dolling stuff out sparingly. Apparently that was going to change. It damn well better if they were going to survive he thought acidly.
Chapter 33
Caroline returned to B102c space and alerted the ansible, downloaded a brief report for it to slowly transmit, then crossed the star system. Four days later the ship jumped into the rapids once more.
Admiral Irons received the report and was gratified by the progress. They were seeing small progress across all fronts. Some progress seemed to leap though, case in point, Protodon. He was fairly confident that baring any major damage Amadeus was going to hang onto the two dreadnaughts, hell, most likely everything he'd sent. It amused and annoyed him.
But there was a way to fix that, he thought. He checked his schedule and then nodded. “Are we still on?” he demanded, eying Protector. “No last minute backing out?”
“No, sir. All parties have sent back their RSVPs. We're still on, sir. Admiral Sienkov, Commander Turner, and Captain Sprite will handle things while you are busy, sir,” he stated.
“Good. I'm going to need a nap and big meal before we do this and a refuel. Let Captain Burrows know we're going to be very damn busy shortly,” he warned.
“Aye aye, sir,” the A.I. replied.
“And get some downtime when you can. You're going to be put to work too,” the admiral warned.
“Um, aye, sir?” the A.I. replied dubiously. The admiral chuckled.
After a moment the levity ended. He waved a hand. “Second Fleet SITREP is up-to-date?”
“Yes, sir. All of the ships that were damaged have a handle on their repairs. First BC Squadron has gone into stealth as have half of the forces in the star system. The remaining ships have either stepped down their power plants to try to avoid detection or are engaged in repairs. Most of the repairs are now being staged around the gas giant instead of the picket force or planet. It's making it tricky to maintain the logistics though,” the A.I. warned. “And slowing repairs down,” he stated.
“I thought as much. Amadeus wants to keep them out of easy pounce range. If they are taking their drives and shields down, it's vital. And doing it at the gas giant means they won't have a habitable planet at their pack that could act as a missile sponge if the enemy throws things their way in hopes of getting easy kills. It's smart,” he said.
“Yes, sir.”
“Okay, keep me posted if anything changes. Next problem,” the admiral said, making a show of cracking his knuckles.
:::{)(}:::
Commander Vestri Sindri was in his element despite things moving faster than he'd like. He was getting used to the pace, but having ships yanked out of his care bothered him. He knew he could have and should have gotten more done on the dreadnaughts. If he'd only had more time! He shook his head. What was that thing the admiral said about asking for anything but time?
He scowled as he stroked his beard. He started to think about knocking off for a beer when his Yeoman gasped. That got his attention. As he was riding out of his chair, a familiar face and form came through the door.
“Admiral?” he asked, blinking in surprise. “This is an unexpected pleasure. Come by for a beer?” he asked.
“Nope, I've got something else in mind, Vestri,” the admiral said as other officers came in behind him.
“What's this about, sir?” the dwarf asked, nonplused as the officers set up folding chairs, portable holo emitters, and then pulled out tablets. He felt them access the lists of ships under construction as well as the logistics and priorities of every industrial plant in the complex. “What's going on, sir?” he asked dubiously. His eyes narrowed. “Am I being relieved?” he demanded. “Just say it …”
The admiral snorted. “Nothing of the sort, Vestri, calm down,” he said waving a hand.
“Then what … sir?”
“I thought we'd have a bit of a party. A bust your ass sort of one, an intervention if you will. It's time to roll up our sleeves and get some work done, Vestri. I'm here for a half shift possibly a full shift at most. That's the most time Protector and Chief Quigon could clear out of my schedule without someone noticing. So, we're going to do what we can when we can.”
The dwarf nodded in understanding. He knew Irons; the man didn't really need much sleep. Doing this little blitz near knock-off time for the day shift meant he could get away with it for a while. “Sir, it would have been nice to have been given some sort of notice. I could have lined up the right resources,” the commander said, thinking furiously as he rearranged his schedule.
The admiral shrugged as Yao cocked his head back and forth, then got back to what he was working on. “Bitch bitch. Take what help you can get.”
“Aye aye, sir. Well, since you are here …,” he nodded to Commander Bloodhound, Commander Gray, and Commander Wong. All three of the commanders were familiar faces he knew well. So was Lieutenant Protector, whose avatar seemed, bemused by the proceedings as much as he felt. He couldn't tell a damn thing about what the silver blob Proteus was feeling, if anything at all. “All of you, I suppose I can throw you at the capital ship line, if that's where you want to start?” He sent out a silent command through his implants to pull in his capital ship supervisors and managers ASAP. Hell, he sent a signal to retain everyone and for an all-hands-on-deck rotation. Some wouldn't like it, but it was Friday. They could sleep in tomorrow or hell Sunday.
The admiral nodded. “Definitely. We'll get the keys going now while you shift thin
gs around. Let me know when and where to go next.”
“Aye aye, sir,” the diminutive engineering officer said with a nod. He stroked his beard, shrugged, and then nodded once more. “We'll make it work. I'll throw everything we can't do without to you right now. It'll take a bit to get the materials queued up right though, sir.”
“Good. Get on it,” the admiral ordered as the managers and supervisors filed in behind him. “Folks, we're here for a blitz. We're going to throw everything we've got at the capital ship line, specifically the ships currently under construction. I want to see as much progress as we can get in that time,” he said by way of introduction to the uninitiated. “We've got a bunch of people who will come in on their time off over the weekend. I intend to do a hell of a lot of work in that short amount of time. So, without further ado, let's get on it,” the admiral said.
That had just about everyone stunned.
“But, sir, to do this we're going to be throwing the schedules to hell in a hand basket!” a Veraxin ensign moaned in despair. “It'll take weeks to sort out! And it'll put us behind on several of the ships …”
“He means aye aye, sir.” The dwarf turned to an assistant. “Well, Ensign? Don't just stand there gaping and wringing your truehands, get on it! Don't look a gift horse in the mouth!”
“Aye aye, sir!” the ensign said, stiffening before he shot into the work. Yeomen and other ratings scattered to dive into the project.
Irons was certain someone somewhere would talk; it was inevitable. But he was here to do a job. He glanced over to Yao and Portia. They were here to do the job. He nodded once. “Let's be about it folks,” he growled, settling himself in and keying up his implants.
Diving in to the SD line for a shift wouldn't make up for Bismark and Quirinus' absence they all knew. Admiral Irons jacked in and started uploading key codes as Protector passed the requests on to him. He knew he wasn't the only one feeling a bit bare ass without those two major capital ships to ride shepherd on Home Fleet. The media was starting to twig on the rising public anxiety level. It would also throw the carefully crafted schedules all to hell for the smaller ships. That was fine if it meant they got a jolt of morale and more importantly, a sudden jump in capital ship production.