Admiral’s Tribulation - A Spineward Sectors Novel: Book Three
by Luke Sky Wachter
Copyright © 2013 by Joshua Wachter
All rights reserved.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. All resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental. Respect my electronic rights because the money you save today will be the book I can't afford to write for you tomorrow.
For my son Luke, who always believes.
First thanks go out to my brother, without whom this book could have taken much longer to see Amazon e-print. Thanks are also in order for Paynesgrey, superpsycho and all the rest of the Beta Readers who helped make this story as good as it is. You've been wonderful, guys.
But most importantly, I would like to thank my fans. It’s weird actually saying that possessively: my fans, but without you, I couldn’t do what I love. I can confidently say that you truly have no idea how much your continued support means to me, and I want you to know that I do my best to satisfy your insatiable appetites. I hope you all continue to enjoy reading these stories as much as I enjoy writing them! With Murphy as my witness, we’re just gettin’ warmed up…
Table of Contents
Prologue: Escaping Easy Haven
Chapter 1: New Beginnings are Old Beginnings, done all over again
Chapter 2: Point Transfer out of Easy Haven
Chapter 3: A Cunning Plan vs. The Slippery Slope
Chapter 4: Go gently into that foul night
Chapter 5: Matters Come to A Head
Chapter 6: Miscommunication in the Admiral’s Quarters
Chapter 7: Spalding in Medical
Chapter 8: Spotted!
Chapter 9: Secret Plans vs. An Enemy Revealed
Chapter 10: A Surprise Maneuver
Chapter 11: The Weight of Fire
Chapter 12: A Hug and a Snuggle
Chapter 13: In The Gun Pits
Chapter 14: A Desperate Maneuver
Chapter 15: Close Encounters, as observed from the Flag Bridge
Chapter 16: Counter Fire
Chapter 17: In the Pirate Ships
Chapter 18: Tis a Capture!
Chapter 19: The Great Surrender
Chapter 20: On The Bridge
Chapter 21: In Transit and the Long March
Chapter 22: Updated Instructions
Chapter 23: On the Gun Deck
Chapter 24: A Deadly Game of Finger Pointing
Chapter 25: Treason on Deck
Chapter 26: It ‘tis, it ‘tis, a Glorious Thing… To Be a Pirate King!
Chapter 27: Tremblay-ing at the Sight
Chapter 28: Cleaning a Royal Mess
Chapter 29: On the Gun Deck, Again
Chapter 30: A Little Diplomacy… with a Boarding Axe
Chapter 31: Grease Monkey!
Chapter 32: The Armor Prince!
Chapter 33: Mopping up?
Chapter 34: The Aftermath, and Tries against Our Interests
Chapter 35: Command Changes, or Changes in Command?
Chapter 36: A Ride to Remember
Chapter 37: Cleaning House
Chapter 38: The Gun Deck is Ours
Chapter 39: Those Traitorous Marines!
Chapter 40: Going Down
Chapter 41: Guarding the Murphy Gate
Chapter 42: Armor Prince - Engineering
Chapter 43: Lucky Clover – Raging from the Gun Deck
Chapter 44: From One Bridge to Another
Chapter 45: The Last Charge of the Grease Monkeys
Chapter 46: Lieutenant Colonel Kyle Riggs
Chapter 47: Broken Dreams
Chapter 48: Akantha or Jason?
Chapter 49: Akantha: Queen of Woe
Chapter 50: Wainwright in Command
Chapter 51: Recovering from Cupid’s Arrow
Chapter 52: Blood of my Blood, Steel of my Steel!
Chapter 53: Jean Luc and Environs
Chapter 54: Discovered!... But what was discovered?
Chapter 55: Tremblay-ing in The Brig
Chapter 56: In the Sick Bay
Chapter 57: Stretcher Rolling into the Brig
Chapter 58: Flashes in The Brig
Chapter 59: This Will Never Work; We Need Gulliver!
Chapter 60: ROS!
Chapter 61: Akantha in a Hot Mix
Chapter 62: The Binding Glue
Chapter 63: Holding Fast
Chapter 64: In the Ready Room
Chapter 65: It’s Just Not Big Enough!
Chapter 66: On The Frontlines
Chapter 67: Trouble on the Armor Prince
Chapter 68: Assignment: Tanks… the Septic Tanks
Chapter 69: The Scramble
Chapter 70: Suffic in a Bind
Chapter 71: Suffic on The Rocks
Chapter 72: Akantha in Command
Chapter 73: Glue Will Fight
Chapter 74: In Line Abreast
Chapter 75: Down The Rabbit Hole
Chapter 76: Remind me why…
Chapter 77: Wainwright Under Siege
Chapter 78: Quagmired
Chapter 79: Up on the Armored Bridge
Chapter 80: Suffic’s Last Run L
Chapter 81: Station Command
Chapter 82: The Final Push
Chapter 83: The Straight Razor vs. The Boil
Chapter 84: Picking up the Pieces
Epilogue: Trouble in the Yards
Sneak Peak: Chapter 1: In the Brig
Prologue: Escaping Easy Haven
“You have your government’s deepest appreciation as you embark on your patrol, Admiral,” Rear Admiral Yagar said through the main screen, before terminating the feed with a smug nod.
As the star field replaced the pompous man’s features, I felt my shoulders relax slightly before I slumped back in the Admiral’s Throne. That man was utterly insufferable.
The last of the perishables had been loaded hours earlier, along with some badly needed ordinance. The cargo had been stowed within the holds, but we were still taking on shuttle loads of new crew.
As my crew made preparations to point transfer out of the system, Rear Admiral Yagar and his pair of squadrons continued to stalk us like a pack of eagle-eyed scavengers, eager to pounce at the first sign of weakness.
“Maintain a steady course, Helmsman DuPont,” I said severely. “I want no deviations, just a straight line drive towards the hyper limit.”
“Of course, Sir,” DuPont responded with a tense nod and no sign of irritation at what must have been my second reminder in as many minutes. He was a good man, despite our earlier… disagreements. I looked around the Flag Bridge at my loyal officers and crew, and I knew that they all were.
“Notify me the moment there are any significant changes in either the speed or formation of the 25th Sector Guard!” I barked at the Sensor Pit, grabbing the arms of my Throne and adjusting myself deeper into the back of the seat.
We still had a dozen shuttles moving back and forth between our ships, as well as two armed freighters ‘gifted’ to us by King James, which bestowed their cargo and fresh crew on us like a leper does his plague. So while I was fairly confident they wouldn’t attack us until that transfer was complete, my confidence was based on an assumption that all involved parties were sane and intelligent. To date, I was unconvinced that Rear Admiral Yagar displayed those particular attributes, which kept me on my toes.
Grimly, I stared at the main screen.
All around me the bridge felt on edge, all the officers and crew — even Tremblay — stared at either their consoles or the main screen with increasing attention.
“Leaving supportive range of
the Easy Haven defensive network in thirty seconds,” Warrant Officer Laurent, my chief Tactical officer reported in crisp and carrying voice.
I nodded but refrained from saying anything. I feared that if I did, it would only be because of my own nerves and not because it was what a real Admiral would do. So instead, I sat on my Command Throne and did my best to look like a stone-faced senior officer.
“The two Corvettes sent to escort us to the edge of Wolf-9’s extended firing envelop have finished decelerating and are beginning to come about,” reported one of the Sensor Operators.
Around the Bridge, the men and women of the crew exchanged significant looks and shoulders tightened, as if expecting a blow.
“We are now outside weapons range of the Wolf-9 defensive complex,” Laurent reported stiffly, his arms and hands behind his back as he strode up and down the line of trainee Tactical operators.
“Steady as she goes, Helm,” I ordered, deliberately injecting a smoothness into my voice.
“Yes, Admiral,” DuPont said from where he was hunched over his console, fingers poised for the slightest twitch from our potential adversaries.
On the main screen, the little icon representing the Lucky Clover moved outside the blue region representing the firing arcs and overlapping weapon coverage of the various defensive turrets and battle platforms of those Confederation Forces stationed at Easy Haven.
“Good luck, Commodore LeGodat,” I whispered under my breath and then stiffened my back, correcting my posture until it was once again something that would do my tutors and royal trainers proud.
The next tension-filled half hour passed in relative silence. The Guard Squadrons slid smoothly into position behind us, one slightly to the left and the other slightly to the right, as if they were an escort rather than a pack of jackals looking for an easy kill. They deliberately left enough room between us that they were outside of my Battleship’s turbo-laser range, as well as the heavy lasers of the Merchant Conversions.
“What are they waiting for,” Tremblay muttered loud enough to be heard by half the Flag Bridge. No doubt from his expression, he had intended a less carrying voice.
I turned to glare at him, my eyes delivering a silent rebuke.
Tremblay flushed and gave an embarrassed nod before turning away. Arguing at this juncture would be counterproductive to the best interests and general welfare of this ship, so I quietly let the moment pass. Even though I wanted nothing more than to yell at the First Officer and blow off some steam of my own, I knew that it would only distract the crew and hurt morale.
Another tension filled forty-five minutes ticked by until many people (including myself) had begun to relax. Nothing had happened so far, and hopefully nothing would happen for the rest of the trip to the hyper limit.
“The 2nd Squadron has increased its speed, and is now moving from a sphere into a diamond formation,” Laurent’s voice shattered the relative calm like a sonic grenade tossed into an otherwise quiet room.
“Their most likely objective?” Tremblay demanded hurriedly.
“They are bearing down on us, and are now starting to pass between the Caprian Freighters,” Tactical Officer Laurent replied urgently.
“Make sure our weapons are hot and ready to fire,” I ordered firmly. Looking at the main screen, it soon became clear that only the 2nd Squadron of the Guard was making a bee-line for our battleship. The other Squadron, the one with the Light Destroyer personally commanded by one Rear Admiral Yagar, was still in relatively the same position as before the 2nd Squadron rapidly increased its speed.
“Our gunners have been primed and ready for the past hour and a half,” Laurent assured me in a firm, professional voice.
I nodded slowly, my eyes darting between the icons on the main screen representing the various warships before reaching a decision.
“Hail the approaching squadron of Guard warships,” I instructed the Communication Tech, “and kindly request to know just what they think they are doing.”
“Aye aye, Admiral,” acknowledged the Tech, looking relieved that there was something she could do before turning to speak urgently into her microphone.
After half a minute of back and forth, the Tech looked back at me with an odd expression on her face.
“What is it, Comm Tech,” I said mildly, when all I wanted to do was beat the information out of her as quickly as possible.
“I am informed that Commodore Druid and the 2nd Squadron of the 25th Sector Guard intend a close in flyby, which they’re calling ‘a gesture of respect and admiration,’ as we prepare to embark on what could be a grueling anti-piracy mission for the good of the entire Sector,” she said in the sing song voice of someone simply repeating what she’d just been told.
“Grueling!” snapped Tremblay, “what an insult.”
“A gesture of respect and admiration,” Laurent scoffed in agreement.
“Warn them off,” I hotly ordered the Comm Tech.
The technician proceeded to speak urgently into her speaker.
“The 2nd Squadron is about to enter our firing range, Sir,” the Tactical Officer said tightly, “targeting them now.”
“Fire only when fired upon,” I instructed, hating myself even as I gave the order because the simple math of the situation hadn’t changed one bit. If we got into a fight with the forces belonging to Rear Admiral Yagar, we would lose.
“We can knock any number of them out, if they’re not expecting it,” Laurent fired back.
“And just how likely is it that they aren’t ready for us,” I asked dryly as the Squadron of Corvettes inched ever closer.
“Not likely,” he admitted, “but if we wait we lose whatever advantage we might have!”
“Steady on, Tactical Officer,” I spoke firmly before turning to the Comm Tech. “Open a channel to this Commodore,” I said urgently.
“They say to not accept the honor would be an insult!” cried the Tech, not yet even having the chance to relay my message.
I ground my teeth, my resolve not to fire the first shot wavering in the face of this blatant aggression. Then my eyes widened as an idea came to me.
“Mr. Laurent!” I said quickly.
“Yes, Admiral,” he replied, speaking fast as the Corvettes entered our firing arc, “just give the word, Sir!”
“Doesn’t the SDF have a tradition of offering salutes to passing ships of other Navies, Fleets and SDF’s,” I asked urgently, ignoring his offer to blow the interlopers into atomized particles, or at least give it the honest Confederation try.
For a moment Laurent looked nonplussed before understanding dawned. He bared his teeth in my direction
“Are you thinking a 12 gun, a 24 gun or a full broadside salute, Admiral,” my Tactical Officer asked with a rapidly widening smile.
“I think it would be a major failing if the MSP failed to give this new Sector Guard organization every respect and honor possible,” I replied, clenching my right fist eagerly as I turned to the Comm Tech.
“Inform Commodore Druid that we are honored by the presence of his Squadron and are prepared to do them a signal honor in return!” I ordered, snapping my elbow to my hip with the fist still clenched.
“Yes, Sir,” I heard her say faintly behind me and in the foreground I could see Officer Laurent speaking rapidly into his hard line microphone down to the Gun Deck.
The Tactical Officer gave me a thumbs up signal and before I had a chance to reply, Commodore Druid’s squadrons split into two rows of three corvettes each, the formation of three corvettes behind and to our right, ever so slightly ahead of the other line of three as they each zoomed in on our Battleship from either side.
“They’re lining up to cross from left to right and right to left over the bow of our ship!” Laurent informed us in a loud barking voice.
Then, just as the Comm Tech finished relaying our message to the Sector Guard Commodore, the first little warship came zooming along the side of our much larger battleship at close range.
/> “Salute!” yelled Laurent into the speaker to Gunnery, just as the first Corvette was about to begin its close in pass, and every beam weapon on the right side of the ship activated.
Whether the Guard intended a series of quick firing passes, or just to get as close to our hull as possible for a series of rapid deep scans, we might never know because no sooner had the order left Laurent’s mouth than our trigger happy young gunners down on the gun deck ripple-fired every weapon on the starboard side.
In a few cases the beams passed within meters of the first Corvette’s shields as the Lucky Clover blazed away. It was an official gesture, and I figured that if I had been on the receiving end of a battleship’s broadside in nothing larger than a little corvette, an officially terrifying display of firepower.
The first corvette was so honored that it broke off from its intended course, pulling a sharp ninety degree course change as it bobbed and weaved in an evasive course away from our battleship.
Meanwhile the next Corvette in line on the left flank of our ship also turned away.
“Commodore Druid is protesting this aggressive action as a flagrant violation of the code of peaceful space conduct!” reported the Comm Tech.
“Inform the Commodore we are simply returning the great honor he has insisted on bestowing upon us by offering his Squadron a full broadside salute in return,” I drawled easily, working to suppress a hard-edged grin from crossing my face, I’ll admit that although I tried, its true I didn’t try very hard.
By this time, four of his ships had shot away from our ship at full burn, the little corvettes taking evasive actions for all they were worth. By now, I was no longer attempting to hold back my smile.
The last two corvettes, one on either side of our ship, wavered before their course steadied.
“I read two corvettes continuing with a close pass firing run,” Laurent relayed with rising concern. Then an alarm sounded from the tactical section, “we’re being pinged!”
My smile withered and disappeared entirely as the pair of corvettes came screaming across our bow, first one with its sensors pinging for all it was worth, and then the second.
Only after the two suicidal corvettes had passed within meters of our shields and crossed our bow did I realize I’d been unconsciously holding my breath and clutching the arms of my Throne in a death grip.
Spineward Sectors 03 Admiral's Tribulation Page 1