by Chris Hechtl
“We're getting some readings on the ships, sir. At least a half dozen is around the gas giant based on the neutrino readings. CIC is still picking out the mess around the jump point,” Myron stated. “There are very few in orbit of the planet,” the Tactical officer stated. “But we're picking up squadrons of smaller ships here and here,” he said indicating a couple of spots near the planet.
“They are situated to intercept missiles or KEW strikes no doubt,” the admiral murmured thoughtfully.
“What bothers me are these two, sir. They are showing up as orbital fortresses, but something about them bugs me,” the tactical officer noted, pointing to two large icons near the fortresses.
“What's put the bug in your ear?” Jeremy asked.
“I don't know. I can't put my finger on it exactly. They just don't seem right. They aren't located properly either. At least, I wouldn't have placed them there. Normally you put them in a shell between the planet and the target zone. These …,” his frown deepened.
The admiral nodded. “Nav, plan Baker one. Execute once you've got it loaded and up-to-date,” He ordered. Jeremy acknowledged the order, but he was only half listening. The prearranged maneuver would buy his people time.
The maneuver had the fleet tack to port and starboard in a random zig zag while skirting the outer system instead of diving straight in. He was buying time while drawing the time it would take for parasite craft to get to him out. If he was right, it would throw a monkey wrench into the enemy's calculations, forcing them to adjust their timelines and cut loiter time for combat OPS to the bone. He ordered additional speed while CIC probed the inner system. Ships could hide in stealth if they were good enough, but unless they had a cloaking device, they were still vulnerable to the good old-fashioned mark one eyeball.
Black smart paint would make it hard to pick them out of course, but if they moved too fast, changed course too often, his people, and more importantly their computers, would pick them out.
:::{)(}:::
Admiral White shook his head thoughtfully as he noted the enemy's approach. It was good. He'd considered high or low, but since he hadn't had enough forces to cover both, he'd kept them in on the plane so they could react either way. Now they were doing so. The stealthed ships were plotting courses to intercept the enemy.
But they didn't just need to intercept them. They needed to lure them inward. Get behind them. That was a problem, he thought. The enemy was playing it safe. “Pass on the Zulu warning,” he rumbled.
“Aye aye, sir,” a comm rating replied. After a moment the warning was passed on to the ansible and planet via the ship's tachyon transceiver.
“And so it begins. But it's our turn now, you bastards,” Jojo murmured softly.
She glanced over when she heard a soft feline growl. She saw Garfield, ears half back as he growled in agreement.
They had traded their comfortable surroundings on Lady Liberty's flag bridge for the much larger flag bridge and accommodations on Bismark. She looked around the room. Bismark's bridge was massive and split in two levels. The holo table took center stage on the upper deck with a railing allowing a view of the ratings seated in chairs below. Steps on either side of the holo table allowed people to come up and down.
The flag staff had their own chairs but frequently moved about the room to have personal conversations with the ratings or other officers. She thought the view was first rate. She looked up and around briefly. The front of the compartment was a half dome with a series of “windows” looking out to space around them. She could see some of the fleet arrayed around the flagship.
Of course the “windows” were nothing of the sort. They were LCDs made to mimic the look of windows in order to provide them some sense of, she wasn't sure, grandeur? she shrugged mentally. It didn't matter. They were actually buried in the bowls of the ship, well protected from a hit.
“How long do you think it will take them to lock onto us?” Kyle asked, eying Garfield.
The staff tactical officer flicked his ears in a Neocat shrug. “I'm not sure. I wish you'd let me play with the ECM. We could have tried to look like a BC,” he said, eying the admiral with scant favor.
“We've been over this,” Admiral White said mildly as he looked on into the holo table plot. “If we had they would have been suspicious of what else we were hiding. Besides, the DNs don't have the necessary shielding around their power rooms like a BC does. That alone would make them stick out like a sore thumb.”
“As you say, sir,” Garfield said stiffly, returning his attention to his station.
Kyle looked at him, then to Jojo. She shrugged it off and went back to her own duties.
:::{)(}:::
Commodore Dwight Harris ran his hands over the armrests. He should have known Admiral White would boot his ass out of Bismark's flag bridge upon arrival. He'd thought he'd be given Lady Liberty but apparently not. The admiral kept her and her squadron under his thumb while he'd given Harris command of First Fleet's First Squadron on Maine. Maine and her division mate had been swapped into the squadron a few days ago when the admiral finished his plan. Trajan Vargess had also been promoted to commodore and booted off his own ship and over to the carriers. He shook his head. At least he had a flag bridge. He'd seen what Admiral White had gone through on Yris'ka'th. He also had some staff; Trajan had a couple people on Kittyhawk at best and was borrowing others and relying heavily on the A.I. Orville. He still wasn't certain as to why Trajan had chosen a CEV over Illustrious. The CLV didn't have a flag bridge or accommodations either, but she was bigger. He grimaced, then set the thought aside. It wasn't his problem after all.
It was a lot of shuffling right when they really didn't need the distraction. But it was too late now to complain or try to do something about it. As long as they got the job done, that was all that mattered really, he thought.
:::{)(}:::
Prince Adam Ramichov shook his head as he watched the skipper fume. As an XO of a warship, he had to deal with managing the day-to-day running of the ship including overseeing the engineers attempts to make good on Arkangel's battle damage.
His routine inquiry had sparked a conversation with Chief Krueger, one that had immediately set him on edge. That had meant a word to the skipper. The engineer and XO had taken the conversation to the privacy of the captain's ready room for the moment.
“You're worried about more cracks?” the captain demanded. “I thought you had them fixed!”
“We did, sir. We've scanned every beam on this ship. They just appeared! I don't get it!”
“Something is flexing where it shouldn't,” the XO said.
“Yeah. I'm not sure where though. Obviously it has something to do with the dorsal area, port side. I'm trying to model it now.”
“You think something in the shield struts are off?” the XO asked.
“I don't know,” the chief replied, spreading his hands in supplication. “Honest. It could be a matter of a beam being put back a centimeter off and it's throwing the load the wrong way and causing the flexing. I've got a team trying to check for the load now and going over the specs to see what is right and what isn't. But we need a ship's architect for that sort of work,” he admitted. Ted Krueger aka “Freddie” for some reason was good at running the day-to-day maintenance and upkeep on the ship. But the battle damage was something he wasn't used to handling obviously.
The captain scowled as the XO and chief looked at him expectantly.
“Slap a patch on them as you did and then weld them. Don't tack weld, do a full weld and damn it, gusset and drill holes if you have to! But fix it! And soon, we've got a battle to fight.” Captain Lovejoy growled. “Run support cables like before; do whatever it is you do to get this fixed.”
“Aye aye, sir,” the engineer replied. The captain cut the channel.
“Of all the times …,” the captain cursed, shaking his head. He glanced at his XO.
“I know. Murphy putting in an appearance, sir.” He shrugged.
&
nbsp; “We don't need the distraction. I certainly don't. Not now. Definitely not when we're about to enter combat!”
“No, sir.”
:::{)(}:::
“He's taking his time. Feeling us out. Definitely staying clear of the fort’s engagement envelope,” Garfield reported. “I don't like fighting someone this smart,” the orange tabby growled.
“I don't either,” Kyle said. “The fighters and bombers will need to fall back soon, sir. They can't catch them in a stern chase.”
“I knew he'd do that,” the admiral replied softly. “The carriers?”
“Illustrious is moving into position. The others are following plan Baker per your instructions, sir,” Kyle reported.
“Good.” Amadeus frowned thoughtfully as he rubbed his chin. He needed to entice the enemy in deeper. Masquerading the DNs as forts had been one idea. Having most of his BCs hide in stealth had been another. But they had to not only appear weak but draw the enemy in on the right heading that also didn't engage the planet in the process.
Tricky, tricky.
“Have the fortress fighters and bombers fall back on the carriers. It'll be tight, but they can stage from them.”
“Aye, sir.”
:::{)(}:::
The maneuver time bought allowed Admiral De Gaulte to get a rough assessment of the star system, then a more refined one as the various CICs picked up traces with their active sensors. It took time for the light speed limited sensors to get their take back to the various officers and enlisted and then more time for the computers and organic personnel to interpret the data.
From what they were reporting, he didn't like the odds. But there was a way to shift them in his favor and leave egg all over his opponent's face.
What clinched it was when the telescope locking onto the two new “fortresses.” They were nothing of the sort and Myron's instincts had proven invaluable. The odds had shifted in the enemy's favor. He knew now that Protodon was a trap of epic proportions. There was no way Alpha or even Baker plan would work. In fact, none of the plans he'd worked out with his staff had a chance in hell of getting in and getting the job done while allowing his forces to survive and win the day.
So, he had to think fast. Find a way to turn the tables, he thought. Think, Cyrano, think!
“Commander. It looks like we're going to go with a variant of …,” he frowned then waved the thought aside as the harried commander looked up and over to him. “Never mind. I'll explain at a later time,” he said.
Catherine frowned. “Sir?”
“Have a fallback plan in mind just in case. I don't want to go toe to toe with these people; if they have enough firepower, I'm not going to let us get chewed up for an equal return so make sure of that. We'll go with firing passes and avoid the orbital fortress's engagement zones all together.”
“Aye aye, sir. That will still leave their parasite craft to sortie against us, sir,” Catherine warned.
He noted the seven escort carriers as well as what looked like a light carrier. The fortress fighters and bombers had changed course when he'd extended the range enough to the point where their commanders had realized there wasn't a chance for them to intercept his fleet. But instead of falling back on their own forts, they were headed for the mobile platforms. He nodded once. “Then we'll have to have our own fighters to stay close and play defense. Pass the word to Commander Zakhan,” he ordered.
She nodded. They both knew the fighters weren't up to the Fed level. Even on defense they were still going to take horrible losses with so many carriers arrayed against them.
He pursed his lips and then outlined his strategy as his staff worked on the tasking that he'd already outlined.
:::{)(}:::
Prince Mason Ramichov shook his head as he jogged down the corridor in his skin suit. He maneuvered his tool kit as he went to keep it from bumping into people or the odd thing that jutted out here and there in his way. As a Marine officer, he was commander of a contingent of Marines on Star Mauler. He was proud of his job and proud to be the one in the family to actually see the chance of real combat. His brother and sisters could play at managing the fleet if they wished; he knew where the real glory would be.
Or at least he'd thought that. Now he wasn't sure. Wasn't sure about a lot of things.
He did his best to get himself and the people under his command ready for damage control work. Part of the whole process was projecting an air of confidence, an air of invulnerability and rejecting the fear in the compartment. But that was easier said than done now that they were really in danger.
He had realized the job wasn't beneath his station as his grandmother had acidly insisted, but it was in fact necessary if he wanted to stay alive. The last thing he wanted was for the ship to be shot out from under him, or worse, blow up with him still on board.
Suddenly the excitement of combat, the thrill was different. It wasn't fun anymore. Not like he'd thought at any rate. The thrill, the anticipation of the hunt, of glory was noticeably absent. The hunted had become the hunter, and that wasn't something he had ever anticipated. Now the thrill had been replaced with a stink of fear, fear of dying. He didn't like it.
And like a lot of things, there was precious little he could do about it.
Perhaps, just perhaps Adam and Catherine had had the right of it with going in the navy after all he thought.
:::{)(}:::
Admiral De Gaulte shook his head. “Jeremy, reverse course. Get us back to the jump point,” he said.
“Sir? Aye, sir,” the navigator said. He frowned and then began to issue orders to his crew.
“I'm not happy about it, but I'm not stupid enough to stick my head in the noose,” the admiral stated. “Myron,” he turned to the tactical officer as the man came out of the head. “General issue to the fleet. I want KEW strikes on their platforms. Just KEW. Hit the platforms in orbit of the planet, moon, and the fortresses,” he stated.
“We're retreating, sir?” the tactical officer asked in disbelief.
“Yes. Now get on that firing plan,” the admiral stated, turning his back on the other man. Catherine saw the commander's expression. It was a mixture of relief and disbelief before he schooled his expression into a professional dispassionate one. “Aye aye, sir,” he said, taking his seat at his station.
:::{)(}:::
“Sir, they are coming about. We're not going to be able to entice them into the star system,” CIC reported.
“I see that,” Admiral White stated. “I think the DNs have been made. Pass the order to Commodore Harris. My compliments and have him move them and his forces out to intercept the enemy,” he stated.
“Aye aye, sir,” a comm rating replied.
“Sir, Horathian Fleet has fired something. We're seeing mass shifts and some spots on the radar and LIDAR,” CIC reported.
“Is it some sort of decoy, sir?” Commodore Vargess asked. The acting commodore had transferred his flag to Maine.
“I'm not … it's a KEW strike,” Garfield swore. “Use our tachyon link. Alert the fixed platforms and planet of incoming fire. Get them to move and do it now!” he growled.
“Aye aye, sir,” a rating replied.
“It may not be soon enough for some. Our LIDAR and radar are limited in speed of course. They'll get only a few seconds of warning before the damn things are on top of them,” Kyle stated.
“Hope and pray it is enough. Order the carriers to flank speed. We need to get them in there, start drawing blood.”
“The tables have turned,” Commodore Vargess said with relish.
“That they have,” the admiral said. “That they have,” the admiral growled.
:::{)(}:::
Commander Nambi saw the warning and turned instantly. “Engineering, I want a 10-second emergency OMS burn. We need to jink now!” she snarled.
“Aye aye, ma’am!” the startled engineer replied. It took a second for the OMS pods built into the fortress to kick off a burst of power.
“That sh
ould do it,” a rating said. “Fortresses two, three, and four have successfully maneuvered out of the basket. We're in the clear. We're getting reports in from the tachyon link. The gas giant ships and platforms jinked as well.
“And the planet?”
“They are deeper in so the shots are still coming in. They've got the warning, hopefully in time. Moving the ansible platform is tricky, but the inner system defenses said they are working on it. The good thing is the KEW strike can't maneuver,” the CPO stated.
“Thank the gods for small favors,” the commander murmured. “What about the planet?”
“The frigates and corvettes are moving in to engage.”
“I don't want so much as a pebble to get through. We'll handle this; it's our job.”
“Aye aye, ma’am,” the chief replied.
:::{)(}:::
Admiral De Gaulte grimaced when he noted the fortresses and platforms move on the plot. Not a lot, just enough to get out of the way of the KEW shot Myron had sent their way. Their blasted tachyon link, he mentally groused before he shook the annoyance off.
At least it was keeping some of the ships occupied. Several squadrons of frigates, corvettes, and even destroyers and cruisers had lit up to maneuver and engage them. He hadn't known about the tin cans and cruisers; they'd been on their way to him in stealth. It made him wonder what else was coming his way.
“Sir, the DNs are coming out to intercept,” CIC reported.
The admiral grunted. The cameras had gotten enough of a look at them to identify one of the warships as having Tauren origins. That meant INTEL was right; it was the Bismark. But the other ship bothered him. The computers and experts hadn't nailed down the class other than that it was the same size as Bismark.