by Chris Hechtl
“Plan for victory and defeat,” the praetor said after a long moment of silence. “I know we don't like it, but we need to cover every eventuality, including the latter however distasteful it is. And be ready to adapt when the time comes.”
“Something tells me that is going to be easier said than done with some of the families,” the minister growled. “Especially the one currently in charge. When … if it ever crumbles …,” he shook his head.
“We leave him holding the bag and run like hell,” the countess said, ever so softly.
The others looked at her horrified. She shrugged off such looks as she picked up her glass and took a sip.
Chapter 42
Warily the Retribution Fleet jumped into B-95a3 space once more. Admiral De Gaulte had ordered Jeremy to plot an emergence location away from any expected ambush so the fleet jumped short, low on the Z axis instead of high, and a few million kilometers off on the X axis for good measure. But no ambush presented itself. Only the crackle of distant stars and the void met them.
It took nearly a half hour for the battered ships to secure from hyperspace. The admiral had ordered them to come in with their shields and weapons fully online. The power demand had drained every ship's energy reserve, even to the point of losing their ability to warm up their sublight engines.
It had been a risky maneuver, but one that had apparently paid off. Or not, for no enemy ships presented themselves on their active sensors as they probed the depths of space around them.
Slowly CIC and the crews of the various ships lowered guard. “Keep CIC on careful watch. I want a two-hour rotation. They know the drill—scan, and don't stare at one point of space. Make certain they are running updates with the other ships to compare sensory data,” the admiral ordered.
Catherine nodded. He turned away before she could say something more. “Let the engineers lose. We've got two days; I want to be underway by the end of that. Get them cracking on every exterior repair they can. Hold the internals until we're moving,” he ordered.
“Aye aye, sir,” Catherine replied. She immediately passed the order. Within minutes, space around the ships sprouted shuttles and work parties as their mother ships dropped their shields to radiation deflection levels.
“Sir, Star Warrior hasn't managed to repair her starboard missile tubes. They are a complete write-off. The skipper is asking if we can take on some of the extra missiles they've got. Their flank magazines were holed as well, and Captain Baker isn't comfortable with having them there,” Myron stated. “I can't blame her; one good hit and it'll destroy the ship. She's lucky Star Warrior didn't blow as it is.”
The admiral frowned thoughtfully. If Fiona was actually offering them up, she was genuinely worried about her ship. He knew the woman; she wasn't that altruistic. “Are they any good?” the admiral rumbled. “The missiles I mean?”
Myron frowned thoughtfully. “I'm betting some spawling damaged a few. They haven't had time to do anything about it though.” The admiral nodded. Every hand was busy with repairs and running the ships. “Work parties will have to weed them out and then tear them apart to see what they can scavenge. Apparently they are storing missiles in the companionways and boat bays on the port side.”
“Okay, yeah, that's not good,” Sedrick said. “Even I know that,” he stated as the tactical officer looked at him.
The admiral did so as well, then turned back to Myron. “If they want to unload their excess missiles, so be it. Find out who has room in their magazines and arrange the transfer.”
“Aye aye, sir,” the tactical officer replied with a nod.
“Fuel is a problem. Several of the ships lost fuel in Protodon. They transferred the fuel to other tanks but they lost a lot,” Berney warned.
“And we don't have the tanker. Do they have enough to get to B-97A?” Catherine asked as she checked the status board. Her lips pursed thoughtfully as she noted the three ships with red fuel indicators.
“Their captains are a bit … dubious let's say,” the chief of staff stated, eying the admiral. “We may need to vampire some fuel from some of the other ships in order to get them out of this star system safely, sir.”
“Tell them to patch the holes in their tanks and get Catherine those numbers. Don't fudge them,” the admiral ordered.
The chief of staff nodded. “On it, sir.”
“Good.”
“We've got requests for parts as well, sir. Our supply ships aren't here and those you brought with us don't have enough for everyone. Priorities you set are for the capital ships first. What do we do, sir?” a rating asked.
“Set up an electronic swap meet. It's an old trick we've used before. Have whoever has excess of certain parts put them up. Manage it though,” the admiral said.
“Me, sir?” the rating squeaked.
“Yes. Get with the commander for help if you need it,” the admiral said, nodding to Berney. The rating nodded dumbly then went back to work.
Berney grimaced. The resupply effort was underway in parallel to the repair efforts. But there was only so much they had available to use. The factory ship was quickly saturated with requests and raw material from the wreckage that the work crews had cut out.
He was already aware of the low stocks. Electronics were important, but the shield nodes were critical and they didn't grow on trees. They couldn't build them either, which was a serious problem. Then there was the drive damage, the plasma conduit damage … the factory ship could only do simple repairs.
Fortunately, there might be a fix, if they could get to it in time. Their last courier had alerted them that a second convoy would be waiting for them in B-97A by the time they returned or sent a ship to order them forward. “Sir, are we going to get underway soon?” Berney asked, eying the admiral.
“I want to get what we can fixed now. I don't want to get caught with our pants around our ankle. Again,” the admiral said with a grimace.
“We can make repairs at the B-97A jump point, sir,” Berney pointed out, trying hard to force his voice into neutral not anxious tones. The admiral cocked his head then shook it once. “Sir?”
“We'll undoubtedly spend some time there but not a lot.”
“Are we going to call the supply forward? I can order a courier to move out now, sir,” he said.
None of the couriers had been targeted by the enemy's torpedo strike so they were not damaged.
The admiral shook his head. “With what they've got in Protodon I'm not confident we can hold this star system, though I'm tempted to try. The more we fight forward, the better in some ways, since we can give ground grudgingly. But our logistics tail is too long. No, we'll keep them there for now and meet them.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
While they sat there, the fleet kept their defenses up and their hyperdrives charged. The admiral even had them maneuver to come about so that they would appear as if they were planning to return to Protodon. Should the enemy put in an appearance in the star system, his initial plan was to jump into hyperspace and then wait for a week or more before returning to B-95a3 to try again to escape. It was just one of several contingency plans he and the staff had created in the transit to B-95a3.
But there was no need. No enemy fleet appeared on their screens. Once the limited resupply and repairs were complete they would move out on a prearranged course.
:::{)(}:::
Chief Riker shook his head. He had no idea what was going on, but he was antsy to get underway again. He didn't like making repairs on the exterior while the ship was moving; in fact, he like most engineers was dead set against it. But they could make additional repairs at the B-97A jump point, not just sitting there waiting for the enemy to arrive.
:::{)(}:::
Admiral De Gaulte grimaced as he read the report. Star Mauler was down to 82 percent efficiency. Chief Riker was working wonders, but he only had so much to use to work his miracles it seemed.
Potemkin had managed to patch her keel strike, but she had structural da
mage. The engineers had reworked her shield nodes to cover the gap, but it meant her shields were at half strength. That wasn't good.
Just about every ship was damaged, even Nimitz. The carrier had taken a torpedo strike on her stern, which had crumpled one of her main engines and destroyed two of her secondaries. Not good. Star Warrior was his second-most injured capital ship. He worked on simulations with Myron while he waited for the initial repairs to be complete. Potemkin needed another shift to finish buttoning up her nodes; her engineer believed that he could salvage an additional node from three of the ones that had ruptured. Personally he had his doubts, and putting too much stress on already damaged and overstressed components was ripe for a cascade failure, but he had no choice except to back them and hope for the best. He shook his head. He knew everyone was nervous, but he had to get this right. There would be no second chance, so they had to get it right.
He frowned as Myron set up another scenario. The contingency planning was whiling away the time but making him nervous as well.
:::{)(}:::
Catherine shook her head. She wasn't certain what the admiral was thinking. That was bad; they were out of sync. His plan to go back to Protodon … it didn't bode well for their future relationship she knew. He should have brought the staff on board. But he hadn't and now they had to deal with it.
If he was thinking they could ambush the enemy as they came out of hyper, why didn't he say something? She was aware that the other flag officers and even some of the ship captains were muttering.
She was also aware that he was pushing CIC hard to check the star system. Every nook and cranny was being probed for hidden ships. It was making a lot of people nervous and jumpy.
:::{)(}:::
After four days of being in the star system with nary a peep, Admiral De Gaulte was certain that no ambushes lurked in the star system. He ordered Jeremy to set the fleet on a least-time course to the B-97A jump point. It was risky. He knew the enemy would anticipate it, but the sooner they got out of the star system, the better. For all he knew, the ambush could come at any moment, either in the current star system or B-97A, or any one of the systems between here and Dead Drop the admiral mused darkly. The enemy's speed advantage in hyper as well as sublight could not be underestimated, he reminded himself darkly.
He'd been tempted to follow protocol and take a random zig zag course to avoid easy interception. He judged time and fuel was not on his side however, so he took the risk to get out of the star system as quickly as possible.
He considered sending a courier or scout ahead but decided it would be a waste of effort. Once the course was plotted, he made certain Jeremy's contingency courses were also loaded and kept up-to-date so they had plenty of avenues to retreat if necessary. Each of them were programmed as contingency plans and kept up-to-date every hour as they came about and got under way.
The first two were evasion plans in case the enemy was in stealth in front of them or on a flank. They would pitch high or low to evade depending on the given situation. Nimitz had Eyes craft out on point and on the fleet's flanks, ever watchful of the enemy.
The third evasive course was a slingshot to Nuevo Madrid. It was the third least-optimal course of action. The last two were a reciprocation course back to Protodon via a slingshot or a slingshot that sent them to be B94e1 star system. That line would eventually lead them to either Senka or to the Pi sector. Both avenues of escape were risky in those cases. He didn't like either one, but he had to keep them open however unviable they were. Jumping to Senka or Protodon would be something of a GOTH plan in his estimation now that he knew how damaged his fleet truly was. It would be a case of fighting and ultimately dying. But if it came to that, he'd do his best to drive his fleet as deep as he could into the enemy's territory to do as much damage as possible before he went down.
The fleet crossed the star system warily. He was well aware that the retreat was hammering the morale, but he didn't have a fix for it other than by keeping everyone so busy they couldn't dwell on things. Some were running scared, that he knew all too well. He couldn't help that attitude. Kicking his people when they were down to vent his spleen over the situation and to get them motivated wasn't going to help. It'd make him feel better … for a while.
“Sir, we've got drives detected,” a rating said, breaking through his woolgathering. That announcement made everyone on the flag bridge come to alert.
The admiral looked from the rating to the plot. Icons had appeared on the plot. As he stared at them, they doubled and then doubled again into four signals. “Course and speed are accurate?” he asked, glancing to the rating.
“Yes, sir, but they are tentative. They just got moving now, sir. Their drives and neutrinos just came up to the point where we could detect them.”
“How did we miss them for so long?” Myron demanded. “Did they just jump in?” the tactical officer demanded.
The rating shook her head vehemently no. “No, sir. They were just sitting there with their drives and power plants down,” the rating said helplessly. She tried to look him in the eye but thought better of it when her section chief glared in her direction. She returned her attention to her screens.
“And they are too far out to get a good fix?” the tactical officer demanded. He went across the compartment and stood behind the rating, staring over her shoulder. “You're seriously telling me not one person saw them until now?” From the searing red skin of the tactical officer, it looked like he was ready to bite someone's head off it seemed.
“No, sir. Their stealth is that good,” the rating said.
“So it would appear,” the admiral said dryly. “Or our sensors aren't up to full par,” he said under his breath. Or a bit of both he thought.
“They are definitely unknown ships, sir. We can't get a read on them. They are blacked out; mass readings put them near a cruiser or capital ship range,” the CIC CPO said, clearly frustrated. “They knew we were here, sir. They are using ECM to scramble out long-range sensors. That we got them at all was luck I suppose,” he said.
“We should run them down,” Myron growled. “Split the fastest ships off. Pin them so the rest of the fleet can catch up, then tear them apart.”
“We don't know what they are. Cruisers, battle cruisers?” Berney said dubiously.
“If they are BCs, why are they running? That would have to mean the rest of the enemy fleet is here. But why expose just them?” the tactical officer demanded.
“Decoys? Get us to chase them into a trap?”
“No, mass and drive is consistent,” the CPO stated.
“No. We're not going after them,” Admiral De Gaulte said. He saw the disappointment. He shook his head. “No.”
“Sir, we can do this. We can tear them apart. The battle cruisers have the fire power and speed …”
Admiral De Gaulte grimaced. “I thought it over. The answer is still no,” he said flatly.
“Sir, it's something. To come back with a minor win …,” Myron pleaded. “Captures …”
“Why the hell did he have them do that? Go on a course like that …. Is there another fleet in Senka?” Berney asked.
“I don't know. The way Lady Luck's blessings are blowing, I wouldn't put it past them at this point,” the Admiral said in disgust.
“More likely they are avoiding us,” Catherine stated.
“We can't intercept them, can we?” Myron asked hopefully. Jeremy shook his head. Myron looked disgusted. “Thought not.”
“The bombers might if we launched them now,” Jeremy said. “But we'd have to come about to recover them or it would be a one-way trip,” he said.
“We don't know what we're chasing. They aren't … are they warships?” the admiral demanded, turning to Catherine and then to Myron. “Check with CIC. I want an ID on them.”
“Sir?” Catherine asked, clearly unsure of what he was thinking.
“I'm hoping there isn't another damn fleet ahead of us,” the admiral growled.
Th
e tactical officer sucked in a surprised breath and then let it out slowly. “Oh, that'd suck,” Myron said as Sedrick sucked in a protesting breath of his own. “Damn, that'd so suck. If he comes up our ass while they block us, we'd be like a bug between glass panes, sir. A classic pincer,” he said.
“Hammer and Anvil,” Catherine replied with a nod. She grimaced as she read the report from CIC. “Sir, CIC isn't confident of the ship type other than mass and speed. They are running at the wrong angle for us to get a good enough look with our lateral sensors,” she stated.
“Damn it,” Myron muttered.
“So, they could be anything from a couple divisions of warships returning from a raid to a quartet of tenders supplying someone … it's not civilian traffic,” the admiral said questioningly. Catherine shook her head. “How does CIC know? And how confident are they?” he demanded, eying her before he turned his attention to the rating who filtered the reports from CIC.
“The speed and drive quality is military grade,” Catherine reported. “They are confident of that and that they aren't ours, sir,” she said.
“I didn't think they were ours. Not with that speed and not avoiding us,” the admiral drawled. “Ping them anyway,” he ordered. “See if they are ours. I doubt it though.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
“But we're not going to go after them?” Myron asked.
“No. The answer is no. I don't know when White will be coming in behind us. He's going to do so eventually, especially now that he's been reinforced. Once he gets word we're here, he'll jump for here to follow. We don't have the time to burn chasing them. They can evade too easily. No.”
“How …,” Berney scowled. “Sir, how do you know he'll know?”
“Remember the pickets we tangled with earlier? Undoubtedly they are still here,” he said in dust dry tones. He's got at least one spy picketing this star system. He has to. It's what I'd do,” he said.