Spineward Sectors 03 Admiral's Tribulation

by Luke Sky Wachter

  “Why then, my good minority owner-on-board of our very own conscripted Constructor ship, let’s take a look at the specifications for the construction of that ‘mythical’ substance known as Duralloy II.” Spalding tapped away furiously on a nearby data pad, causing technical specifications to populate the main view screen of the room. “After all, those specifications were found in the encrypted computer files of a certain former Imperial Cruiser, and retrieved by System Analysts, personally assigned to the task by me.”

  “Now, does this look like a mere mock decoy, designed to deceive computer hackers and conspiracy nuts like myself who just so happen to find themselves in possession of a top-of-the-line Imperial ship?” Spalding glared around the table, seeing eyes widening as they pored over the data streaming on the main viewer, causing him to smirk smugly at his fellows. “Or, is it in fact a true and real substance, which can be made twice as thick as a comparable strut constructed from Imperial mono-Locsium!”

  “But according to these figures,” protested Baldwin in a considerably subdued tone, as she hammered away on her personal data pad, “processing it takes ten times as long as standard Duralloy.”

  Spalding nodded knowingly. “Indeed, it does,” he agreed, impressed by Baldwin’s quick — not to mention accurate — calculations, “but like a fine wine,’tis worth the wait. The resulting substance is over 50% stronger than your standard Duralloy in every way, and suffers far less fatigue with prolonged use.”

  The Constructor’s owner stared at the old engineer, and then sat back in his own chair with a plop, much to Spalding’s satisfaction.

  “As for the various plans championed by the members of this bloated space committee,” the wild-eyed Spalding continued, “I’ve gone over each and every one of them while convalescing in sick bay these last two days, and incorporated those that weren’t pure space malarkey into my own figures and calculations.”

  Then with a final wink of his eye at the fancy, grey haired lady who had done her best to bedevil him throughout the meeting, the Chief Engineer marched out of the conference room. The whine of the servos in his legs caused a scowl to break through his general feeling of satisfaction at a job well done.

  She deserved that wink, he assured himself with a harrumph, or worse! The audacity… calling me an old space goat!

  Chapter 66: On The Frontlines

  The Lancer thrust had run into increasing difficulties, and now Wainwright, at the front of the 2nd Regiment (or at least all of its companies and detachments could be found) had managed to push his way to the front.

  “These pirates fight like a disorganized rabble, even the ones in these scrapped battlesuits. The ones in armor are actually worse at working as a unit than the rest of them, Colonel,” barked Sergeant Kopenhagen.

  “There’s too many of them,” he grumbled, unloading with the ion cannon he had decided to keep, since storming Main Engineering back on the Armor Prince.

  “We’re slaughtering them three or four to one, Sir,” she said excitedly.

  “Do the math, Sergeant,” Wainwright said sourly.

  “What?” she shouted, going hand to hand with a pirate whose suit sported sharpened bone horns on its helmet and strings of teeth (possibly human) glued to his suit.

  Taking aim with his normally crew-served weapon, Wainwright lined up on the pirate’s head and depressed the trigger.

  A blue ball of ionic force shot from the end of his cannon and met the helmet of the Pirate’s suit, causing an electrical explosion. The pirate immediately began jerking and writhing before he fell to the floor, with smoke billowing out of a crack in his visor.

  “I said, about one in ten of these pirates we’re facing comes in a battle suit,” he shouted back.

  “So?” she demanded, aiming her rifle in support of another member of the squad and firing.

  “So?! There must be close to a quarter of a million sentients on this station. Run the numbers,” he said grimly.

  “You’re saying they could have as many as twenty five thousand of these jerks in power armor?” she scoffed in surprise, “that’s as many battlesuits as are in the entire Caprian Marine Corps!”

  “We start out with somewhere around five thousand combined Lancers and Marines and we kill three or, for the sake of argument, let’s say four to one,” Wainwright grunted as he brought his ion cannon in line with another charging foe. “And that’s not counting losses against these unarmored fools that keep showing up to get their heads blown off.”

  To emphasize his point, he depressed his weapon’s trigger, sending another pirate to the floor with a well-placed head shot.

  “You’re saying using simple math we could kill as many as 20k of these scum of the spaceways, and they’d still have 5k in armor, and another hundred thousand softies?” She sounded outraged at this simple bit of arithmetic.

  Wainwright had to hold his consternation at his subordinates’ use of a derogatory term like ‘softies’ when speaking about unarmored targets. He came to a four-way intersection and a fresh flood of armored pirates streamed from three of the four corridors. His cannon flared hot and heavy, the barrel turning red as he almost single-handedly turned the charge on the right side with a series of perfectly placed ion bolts.

  The pirates wavered and were about to break entirely when the cannon’s power cell ran dry and popped out the side of his weapon, falling to the floor.

  Wainwright stared at the pirates as he considered his next move, and his temporarily motionless foes returned his stare.

  “ROS!” he screamed, activating his suit speakers and slapping the side of his weapon closed as if he had just replaced the power cell. He leveled the cannon at them and charged.

  At this, the last of their will broke and the pirates turned en masse, nearly trampling those in the back in an effort to escape the terrible marines of which they’d just run afoul.

  Seeing a downed pirate floundering about on the floor, Wainwright slowed. Pulling a vibro-knife, he released his ion cannon and fell on the pirate. A brief scuffle saw his boarding knife go up under the pirate’s chin, putting an end to his short-lived struggles.

  Taking suit-filtered air in deep, ragged breaths, he fumbled through the pirate’s carry sack.

  “That was a very brave, but incredibly stupid thing to do,” Sergeant Kopenhagen said disapprovingly.

  “I was out of power cells,” he grunted, as his fingers found what he sought, “and this pirate rig uses a non-standard cell that all these pirates seem to carry.” He grinned triumphantly, producing three fresh cells, which he proudly displayed to the Buck Sergeant.

  She muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like ‘stupid’.

  “So why did Suffic and the Lady order us into the station without more than a moment’s notice if we’re just going to lose,” Kopenhagen asked hotly.

  “Oh, that,” Wainwright grunted with displeasure, “a pirate is not a soldier, and he’s definitely not a Marine. He fights for himself, or in terror of his superiors; he doesn’t fight for a higher purpose like we do,” he said shortly.

  “So....” she prompted, dragging out the word.

  “So, if we shove our way in hard and fast, taking their control center and slaughtering them in job lots, maybe we can send them running home to mama so terrified of the big bad Lancers and Marine Jacks that they give up the fight and surrender before they realize they can just swamp us with numbers,” he explained sourly.

  “I see one major flaw with that logic,” Kopenhagen sounded concerned.

  “Yes,” sighed Wainwright, wishing they could avoid the entire subject.

  “The pirates know we don’t take prisoners, so they have no cause to surrender,” she said with concern.

  “And now you know why I had my objection to the plan at the outset,” Wainwright quipped.

  “And now,” she demanded.

  “We’re in too deep to back out now, Marine,” he laughed. “It’s time to Larry One this thing!”

>   “Larry Onward,” she replied, giving the Marine’s traditional battlefield cry before rushing an impossible force. However, her lack of enthusiasm carried through despite the rousing battle cry.

  “Larry Onward, Marines,” he shouted over the main channel. “We’ll take Station Control before these overfed native Lancer boys get there!”

  “Larry-Larry-Larry Onward, Colonel,” they shout-chanted back at him, over the general push.

  “A thousand credits per man to the first squad to breach the pirate Command and Control center,” he shouted to raise their morale. After all, it was easy to motivate his boys and girls with promises it was unlikely he would ever have to fulfill.

  Then he frowned as he realized it was the kind of thing Colonel Suffic would do, leading his troops on like this. Although, now that he thought about it, he grudgingly allowed that Suffic probably felt the same way.

  With one final push where they ground a fortified pirate position to dust using plasma grenades and volley blaster fire, the Colonel could feel himself dragging.

  “Send out flankers and push some blasted scouts ahead of this formation, Lieutenant Colonel Beardly,” he ordered the Second Regiment Commander over the Regiment Officer channel.

  There was an extended silence.

  “This is Major Harvey Cloggs, 1st Battalion, Second Regiment, Sir. The Lieutenant Colonel didn’t make it, Sir,” the Major reported briskly.

  Wainwright pulled up his HUD and glanced at the Table of Organization and sure enough, the top slot in the Regiment was flashing red and black for KIA.

  “Blast it, Beardly was a good woman,” he cursed. She had also been a stout royalist; one he had served with back when they had routine combat commands. Admittedly, he had been a Senior Captain and she just Junior Lieutenant, but she had been steady enough back then and more than steady now.

  “Yes, Sir,” replied the Major.

  “You’ve got the regiment now, Major Cloggs. Make her proud,” he ordered, shaking his head. If Beardly had been willing to place her faith in this man as her 1st Battalion commander, Wainwright was just going to have to follow suit.

  Double blast it, Beardly was one of the few officers he had been able to get assigned to this Brigade, and only because she had been assigned to the same supply dump as himself when the orders came through for Brigade command.

  The paper shufflers had resisted, but she was without assignment just like him, and he was the blasted new Commander of a Royal Expeditionary Brigade! There was no way they could refuse him bringing along an old comrade.

  After Riggs’s mutiny, Gaspard’s assassination attempt and Major Cucini’s mysterious loss (another steady, if apolitical man Wainwright had served with in the past) he was starting to wonder if that had been the point. To make Wainwright (a royalist) the nominal Brigade Colonel and then abruptly take him out of the picture, placing Riggs (a parliamentarian) in command of the Brigade far away from sight of the Force.

  Even his normal protective marine detachment, which was standard fare for a Colonel, had already been assigned and in place the moment he assumed command. Had Wainwright been fortunate, or unfortunate, when outdistancing his protective detail in what he could now admit was a foolish stunt of a maneuver, leading his men through the defensive shielding on grav sleds?

  His blood ran cold at the thought of leading so many of his fellow inactive duty and retired non-com’s and officers. Those thoughts led to mutiny and treason, something an old Marine like himself despised more than just about anything else he could name. Deliberately, he pushed the thought out of his head. He did, however, make a note to keep Kopenhagen and her Marines assigned as his permanent protective detail, owing to her efficacy in the role, regardless of her abrasive (some might say insubordinate) personality.

  Feeling much better, and yet still oddly upset somewhere deep inside himself, it was with a feeling of relief that he heard a Lancer Company clomping up on his position from behind.

  Seeing Colonel Suffic with this advance lancer force, he welcomed the feeling of satisfaction that swept through him, driving out the treasonous thoughts which had befuddled his brain just moments earlier.

  “Seems you and your men are slowing down, Suffic,” he gloated over the com-link. “I warned you to pace yourselves, and this is the result: the Marines are back in front where they belong.”

  “Get specked, Wainwright,” the Lancer Colonel gritted over the comm.

  “Is that any way to treat another Colonel and fellow C.O.,” Wainwright asked sternly, advancing on Suffic’s icon.

  When he got close enough to see the other Officer, he grunted as if it were he, not Suffic, who had taken a blow.

  “You’ve got a rent in your armor more than a foot wide, and you’re leaking vitals all over your torso plate, man,” he scolded Suffic. “Not to mention you’ve taken a shot clean through your visor!”

  “Blighter came at me with a vibro-knife, I didn’t see it coming until it was too late,” Suffic grudged, staggering to a halt and leaning against the wall.

  “Pop that visor and let me take a look at it,” Wainwright instructed sternly, “at the very least, you need a new one for a working HUD.”

  “The HUD is pretty primitive in these old suits,” Suffic waved him away dismissively, but Wainwright would not be deterred.

  “Get a hold of yourself, Colonel,” he ordered the other man harshly. “You do no one any good if you collapse on your feet. Now pop that visor!” he barked.

  When Suffic reluctantly lifted it and the Marine Colonel could see inside, he slammed his fist into the wall.

  “You’ve lost your eye, man!” Wainwright cried, grabbing the other man to offer support.

  “It’s just a flesh wound,” Suffic declared, shaking him off.

  “Not it’s not, your eye’s gone and you’re bleeding through a great bloody big gash in your torso armor as well!” Wainwright snarled.

  “I’ve had worse. Worry about your men, and let me worry about mine,” Suffic growled in return, not giving an inch of ground.

  “It’s not you I’m worried about, you fool,” Wainwright seethed, seeing the other man arch at his attempted sympathy, “just your chain of command, and that Lady of yours back there. What’ll happen to all of them when you drop dead on us? I doubt any of them are going to listen to me, and even if they did, the middle of combat is one Hades of time to be sorting things out!”

  Suffic hesitated.

  Sensing victory, Wainwright pushed forward, “You need to get those wounds seen to.”

  “I can hop in a tank when this is over,” Suffic shook his head defiantly.

  “Did these pirates have healing tanks back on the Prince, and even if they did, have any of your doctors survived?” Wainwright pushed, conveniently failing to mention that his Brigade came staffed with a full crew of doctors and combat medics.

  “I can make it,” Suffic said flatly, “now back off,”

  Wainwright decided it was time to change tact.

  “We lost contact with the Armor Prince and your Lady when the Pirates broke our lines, and we have a number of serious cases we’ve been dragging with us,” Wainwright said instead.

  “When was this,” cried Suffic.

  “Don’t push this off on me; I warned you our lines were overextended,” Wainwright said gruffly, pointing an accusing finger. “Why don’t you take a Company of walking wounded, and convoy the more serious cases back to the Prince. You can get your wounds looked to and make sure Lady Akantha is still holding out.”

  Suffic looked genuinely torn.

  “We have to keep going, we’ve got drive a knife right through the heart of this station and break their will to fight, or we’re finished,” Suffic grudged, placing a new hand on the wall for support. “Done.”

  “Trust me, I know the score,” Wainwright nodded grimly.

  Nothing was said for several moments as they considered their respective courses of action.

  “Go get yourself looked at, make sure
the Prince is holding, and pick up whatever reinforcements may have trickled in since we were cut off,” Wainwright urged.

  “We already got most of whatever was coming,” Suffic admitted, then sighed in defeat. “Alright, I’ll get the wounded back and pick up any reinforcements that might or might not be there, and then head back here.”

  “And get yourself seen,” Wainwright added.

  “And get myself looked at,” Suffic agreed wearily.

  “Well, what are you waiting for, Colonel,” Wainwright growled. “I’ve got Marines dying out here because we’ve no place to stop and treat them. Get your rear into gear!”

  Suffic glared at him for moment before passing orders — on a separate channel — to his Lancer Captains.

  “I’m a-getting, I’m a-getting,” he grumbled, and after the orders had been confirmed, he turned and staggered back the way he had come.

  “The man thinks he’s young enough to run around at the tip of the spear like some kind of hotshot platoon leader suddenly given command of the company,” Wainwright said to Sergeant Kopenhagen, shaking his head.

  She stared at him in disbelief before looking around pointedly at their current position.

  Wainwright felt his face redden. “At least I sent out scouts,” he protested.

  “Uh-huh,” she replied, sounding unconvinced.

  “You’re the leader of a protective detail, Sergeant,” he said irritably, “get busy worrying about protecting, and let me deal with the rest.”

  “As you order, Colonel,” Kopenhagen acknowledged.

  He turned away muttering to himself before switching his comm. Frequency. “Major Cloggs,” he called on a direct link to the Major.

  “Yes, Sir,” Cloggs replied promptly.

  He glared at Kopenhagen out of the corner of his eye. “Assign one of your best Captains to spearhead the next big push inward,” he ordered.