Spineward Sectors 6: Admiral's Spine

by Luke Sky Wachter

  “Look,” he said sternly, “I’m here to do a job. Let’s agree to that and forget about this—”

  “No, you look,” she cut in, dropping her dress and allowing it to pool down at her feet.

  The Intelligence Lieutenant gulped, unable to look away.

  “To succeed, we need to be working on the same page,” she said huskily. “And I refuse to allow Flat Nose the satisfaction of seeing me fail or die,” she made a little moue with her mouth.

  “W-we are,” Tremblay stammered, taking an instinctive step back before tripping and falling back onto his cot. He made a strangled voice but before he could stand up again, she had closed the distance between them making any move to get up an invasion of her space—space he had very much hoped would remain sovereign. He silently reminded himself of this as his eyes locked onto the swelling portions of her chest.

  “We must become inseparable,” the Princess-Cadet proposed, leaning forward and not incidentally giving the fallen parliamentary officer a view of everything.

  “Must we?” Tremblay muttered in faint protest, feeling his resolve weakening—despite the fact that he knew it was better than even odds she meant to kill him.

  “That’s why I propose a…team-building exercise,” she murmured. placing a hand on his cot and leaning forward, “to break down the barriers that lay between us, giving our mission the best chance of success.”

  He made a strangled sound. His eyes locked on a target no right thinking male could easily look away from. “What…what did you have in mind?” he asked weakly, watching the pendulous motion of two, small, perfect lumps—

  “I thought you’d never ask,” she said, swooping down like a bird of prey and taking what she wanted before plundering his mouth.

  Before he knew it Tremblay found himself pinned to the bed and even though he knew that it was even odds she meant to kill him. He knew that he was probably a dead man anyway—and he also knew that most men, if asked how they wanted to go out of this universe, would say in the arms of a woman—so he stopped resisting.

  “Oh, and Lieutenant,” she blew into his ear after coming back up for air.

  “Yes,” he panted.

  “When I said I liked to be on top,” she ran a tongue over his ear and then whispered, “I lied.”

  After that, things happened very quickly and a half hour later, when the ship’s crew opened their door to tell them that they’d arrived at the designated transfer point to make the transfer, they found the two of them still lying on his cot wearing their birthday suits.

  Chapter 35: The Battle for Aqua Nova

  “I have three cruisers and two hundred boats coming up on us from the port bow,” the Tactical Officer reported in a rising voice.

  “Steady as she goes, Tactical,” Laurent said.

  “Another cruiser and a little under than a hundred gunboats just came around the dark side of the moon,” cried the Sensor Officer, “they’re in a slingshot maneuver and they’re coming in fast.”

  “Eastwood, you can inform the Chief Gunner that his Department may fire at will,” Laurent snapped. “As soon as they have targets I want them lighting them up.”

  “Message to the Fleet,” I said my voice cracking like a whip as I spoke to the Comm. Section, “form up in the new anti-boat formation we’ve been practicing and prepare to clear the skies around us. The Phoenix will deal with the long range threats with whatever help the Light Cruiser can muster up.”

  “Message going out now, Admiral,” Lisa Steiner said crisply.

  “Also send a message to the two SDF Destroyers that are currently fleeing the main enemy force,” I instructed, “tell them they are to move under us at their soonest convenience, both in preparation to join our formation later and more immediately to place our Fleet between themselves and the droids.” “Aye, Admiral,” she said.

  “Mr. Kong,” I spun my chair around to face him, “how likely are the Aqua Nova Destroyers to take orders and save their lives?”

  “Aqua Nova is a signatory member world of the Mutual Defense Pact,” Representative and Sector Judge Kong Pao said after a short pause, “I feel certain they will listen to you and bend their course to place your forces between them and pursuit.”

  “A diplomatic answer,” I scowled, “which I take to mean that after shoving off and leaving me to deal with this flotilla of droids that they’re liable do any blasted thing they feel like." The answer was far from pleasing, but less than surprising as well.

  “Sector 24 has been the least hit of our two Sectors and thus the immediacy of the threat has bee—” he began, but I cut him off.

  “Enough of the mealy mouth—a threat doesn’t get much more immediate than what we’re facing right now,” I slashed my hand down and frowned at him, “I suppose it’s enough for now that we learn just how likely it is that even members of this MDL you’ve created will cooperate with us.”

  “I’ve sent out copies of the diplomatic arrangements we have come to but that gives this particular member world little time to absorb it, while they no doubt have more important things to worry about,” Kong Pao said quickly.

  “I don’t have time to debate you,” I said flatly, “either Aqua Nova can use the eyes Murphy and the Space Gods bestowed upon them, see us as fellow humans, and recognize the need to coordinate their defense with our actions…or they’re too influenced by paranoia and/or stupidity to live. We have neither the time, nor I the inclination, to hold their hands right at this particular moment.”

  The Representative looked decidedly unhappy, but as this had been his default expression since being summoned to the bridge and finding us in the middle of a shooting war, it meant less than it might have at another time.

  “Where is the officer from the Pride of Prometheus?” I snapped, jerking around to see that the Lieutenant I was looking for was actually an Ensign, “Ensign, get over here!”

  “Yes, Sir, Admiral!” he replied loudly, running over to me and eagerly coming to full attention.

  “What do you know about Aqua Nova from your part in Middleton’s crusade through this Sector?” I demanded abruptly.

  “Not much at all really, Sir. We never came through here; we avoided the Core Worlds for the most part, and the Old Man—“ he colored, “I mean the, Captain, sir—”

  “Thank you; that’ll be all, man,” I said waving him away with disappointment.

  “Yes, sir,” he replied faintly, sounding bewildered.

  Unfortunately—as I had just told the Representative—I didn’t have time for hand holding right now.

  “What are the current enemy and friendly ship totals? And break it down for me by classifications,” I ordered.

  “Here they come!” cried the Tactical Officer as the SDF Destroyers swerved around and behind us in a high speed maneuver.

  Closely behind them came a wave of almost two hundred gunboats in a tight packed swarm, boats that had been chasing the SDF destroyers that had just ducked out behind us.

  “Tell the Chief Gunner that Gunnery is to continue targeting those cruiser-sized mother-ships with the turbos,” shouted Laurent to Tactical, “and prepare the short range weaponry for close-in defense!" I nodded in support of this decision when I heard the Flag Captain mutter, “I sure hope those plasma cannons are everything Lesner says they are.”

  I looked over at him with alarm. “What are you talking about?” I hissed at him.

  Laurent looked over at me in surprise. “We replaced every laser under the power of a turbo with plasma cannons,” he said as though it was a well-known fact.

  “What?!” I exclaimed, only belatedly lowering my voice, “I understood we had a weapons upgrade on the lasers and a few new weapons installed into the broadside, but I didn’t know every single laser was jerked,” I said, feeling more than a little upset.

  “Captain’s prerogative,” Laurent said in a professionally unperturbed voice, “we crammed in as many turbo-lasers are we could and replaced everything else with the new, shorter
-ranged, but much more rapidly-firing plasma cannons.”

  “Installing untested weaponry when we’re going into the middle of a shooting war isn’t—,” I said angrily, although this time working to keep my voice down.

  “The Chief Gunner and Chief Engineer both agreed to it, and Commander Spalding signed off on it when I spoke to him privately,” Laurent said with stiff patience. “And, as I said, it’s a Captain’s prerogative on what upgrades to take when offered the choice.”

  “This is my Flagship and I specifically instructed that I be kept in the loop on every major upgrade, which this qualifies as—” I was cut off mid-tirade as the ship rocked.

  “Shields down to 60% on the forward facings,” cried Mr. Longbottom at the Shields.

  “We’re taking heavy fire from the three mother-ships, and at her speed the fourth is about to get into position for a firing run,” shouted the Tactical Officer.

  Looking up, I saw dozens of enemy gunboats withering and dying under the weight of the laser defense of the many lighter ships in the MSP. One of the larger cruiser/mother-ships was experiencing severe spotting from the Phoenix’s overpowered turbo-laser barrage.

  But for every gunboat we killed, another two seemed to fill its place. We were slaughtering them in job lots but still they came on, and what’s more, I didn’t think we were going to have the time to thin more than half to two thirds of them before the other sixty plus gunboats came to grips with us.

  “New orders to the fleet,” I said, my orders coming out rapid fire, “every ship can maneuver for advantage until the remaining gunboats have been destroyed or moved beyond engagement range and started swinging back around for another pass.”

  In the background I could hear the com-techs scurrying to relay my commands.

  Lines of light streaked from all three cruisers straight at the Furious Phoenix, soon joined by the fourth.

  “Port shield strength down to 38% and falling, we are experiencing extreme spotting,” Ensign Longbottom reported.

  “Adjust shield power to compensate, man,” ordered Captain Laurent.

  “I already am, sir,” cried the Ensign, “but even with these Imperial shields there’s only so much we can do against these siege weapons.”

  “Steady on, Bridge Crew,” I said, standing up and stepping forward so that everyone had the chance to hear and see me from close range, “we’ve been in worse scrapes that this one and we’ll be in worse after this one." All around me, the ship shuddered as enemy shots slammed through our shields striking home, “We’ll tune these droids up and leave them spinning dead in cold space before we’re through with them, just wait and see if we don’t!”

  “Yes, Admiral!” replied an enthusiastic sensor operator.

  “Damage control reports nothing has penetrated the outer hull; damage to the ship was minimal, sir,” called out the Engineering watch stander.

  “Roll the ship,” shouted Laurent.

  “But, sir, the turbo-lasers aren’t yet overheated,” objected Tactical, even as the Strike Cruiser we were in started taking hits from the gunboats and our plasma cannons almost instantly went from silent to rapid fire.

  For a second I was taken aback by the multiple weapons’ tracks spewing from out hull. There were fewer lines than I expected, but each was spitting out a little ball of blazing energy and when they hit, gunboats started disappearing.

  “Do as you are ordered, Helm,” Laurent repeated right before one of the three slow moving cruisers exploded into a raging ball of nuclear fury, “we’ve got to get some relief on those shields before we go from spotting to outright collapse. We don’t’ have time to reboot our shields in the middle of a running space battle.”

  The crew cheered and the ship started to turn but not before the Furious Phoenix was rocked again as blasts from the capital ships slipped through our shields yet again.

  “We just lost half of our forward sensors on the port side,” reported the Sensor Operators.

  “Maneuvering jets are not responding on the port side,” DuPont said slewing the ship over and around as rapidly as he could, “it’s slowing the roll.”

  “Complete the turn, Mr. DuPont; I don’t want my new paint scratched this early,” Laurent growled.

  “Aye, Captain,” the Helmsman said shifting around in his seat as he struggled to turn the ship faster than was possible.

  As the turn started to carry us through the arc, first one and then several of the turbo-lasers on the starboard side came into play.

  The ship shuddered slightly. “A glancing blow just opened up the shuttle bay to vacuum,” reported the Damage Control technician, “initial reports say no sign of damage to the shuttles themselves, but they can’t do a full survey until they suit up and inspect them personally.”

  I lifted an eyebrow in surprise at this but quickly shook it off—I had a battle to fight.

  “Squadron One is to spin and continue harassing the remaining gunboats,” I instructed. “Have them take up a position directly behind the rest of the Fleet to reduce the risk of engine damage, while Squadron’s Two and Three are to redirect all fire to the oncoming gunboats around the fourth mother-ship, after which they are to assist with anti-mother-ship attacks,” I said, knowing the second, smaller wave of gunboats was only seconds away.

  Seconds later a flurry of orders flew from the Phoenix’s Comm. Section.

  “Starboard Shield currently at 70% and falling,” reported Ensign Longbottom as the ship completed its roll.

  Rocked by too many turbo-laser hits, the mother-ship—labeled ‘#3’ on the tactical display—experienced a series of explosions along the length of the ship that broke its backbone, which elicited a cheer from the bridge.

  “All ships on anti-mother-ship duties are to redirect fire to mother-ship #1,” I cried, pumping my fist.

  Another wave of fighters came close on the heels of the destruction of the enemy cruiser, and along with it came the fourth mother-ship. As soon as it came into its firing arc, its six-pronged, forward facing laser beams drilled into our shields.

  “Shields falling to 58% and spotting on the Starboard side!” exclaimed Longbottom.

  The rapidly moving mother-ship not only wasn’t able to turn away from our fleet formation in time, to gain some distance and hold out the range, it apparently had no intention of doing so, charging straight into us. An interesting aside which I noted for later review was the fact that not all of these droid mother-ships were firing the antimatter-fueled siege weapons—if they had, even with the modifications we had made to the Phoenix’s shields, we would have been forced to guard our diminished shield facings already.

  “All lasers are ordered to redirect toward mother-ship #4 on an emergency basis,” my Flag Captain roared. “Plasma cannons that can bear on gunboats are to stay on those targets—and tell them to watch out for the rest of the Fleet; we don’t need any friendly fire incidents.”

  “Here it comes!” cried the Tactical Officer.

  “Fire, blast your eyes!” Eastwood raged into his microphone down to the Gun Deck.

  The enemy mother-ship’s spinal mount was joined by at least fifty of the light lasers scattered all over its outer hull all of them blazing away at the Phoenix.

  “She’s coming straight for us!” shouted Shepherd from his position at the Navigation console. “I think she might be trying to ram.”

  “Evasive maneuvers, Mr. DuPont,” I snapped, grabbing onto the arm rest of the command chair for dear life.

  “Hold onto your backsides!” cried the Helmsman, and a moment later you could tell he’d slammed the throttle fully open by the slight, fluttery sensation in the belly as I was gently pressed back into my chair. An instant later the grav-plates stabilized—one of the perks of a top of the line Imperial grav-system—and I could only tell how fast we were going by looking at the main-screen.

  “This is going to be close,” said the Warrant in charge of Sensors.

  “I have every faith in the competence of our Helm
and Gunnery Departments,” Captain Laurent said into the tension-filled bridge as the mother-ship, which had just slingshot around the nearest Jovian’s moon, rapidly grew in our screen and I had to suppress a sarcastic thought.

  Not having any better ideas and—even knowing that if they rammed us at this speed I was more likely to be crushed into a small blood spatter splat between two walls—I still surreptitiously secured the safety strap built into the chair around my waist and held on for dear life.

  Chapter 36: On the Gun Deck

  “I want you to make every shot count,” the Chief Gunner screamed hoarsely.

  “Aye, Chief!” screamed the nearest Gunners on their gun mounts, the sound reverberating through the deck.

  “Starboard side, fire everything you’ve got until your crystals overheat if you have to, but we’ve got to keep that droid ship off us!” he raged into the handheld com-unit that linked into the overhead speakers built into this Imperial-style gun deck. He then spun the switch, changing his channel from one connecting to the starboard deck to one connecting to port, “And you lazy lot on the port side, if that ship makes it past these slackers on the starboard without being blown up or ramming us I want you to target their engines and give ’em what for!”

  A wordless roar came back over the com-unit.

  Lasers screamed and the new plasma cannon spat great balls of fire the noise filling the deck until the Chief Gunners bones were practically vibrating with it.

  “Space Balls!” shouted a Gunner, waving his hands and jumping out of his chair as a pall of smoke started pouring out the front of his gun several feet behind him. “It’s the focusing array,” he yelled, jumping off the gun.

  Grabbing the nearest grease-monkey Lesner pointed toward the nearest repair shop.

  “I’ll get another focusing crystal,” the Chief Gunner shouted and swung his finger back to the abandoned gun-mount, “you get the Assistant Gunner to pull out the old one.”