Admiral's War Part One

by Wachter, Luke Sky

  “It’s worse than I thought,” Spalding declared, ignoring the look of shock, surprise and then anguish that crossed over the face of the younger man, “the quacks have done a real number on you. I just hope it’s not too late to reverse the damage!”

  He stepped over to the younger man and grabbed him by the shoulder.

  “Let me-ee die! No more thee-arapy,” swore the battle-damaged officer, jerking away and trying to fend Spalding off.

  The Chief Engineer’s face hardened. “I hear you, boy, I really do…but I can’t let you do it,” the old Engineer declared righteously. “Can’t let you go out in this wretched hive of scum and villainy. No, we’ll find you a well-maintained airlock and send you off good and proper with nice load of mead and ice ale in your belly, surrounded by friends and shipmates ‘til the very end!”

  The young bridge officer who’d been shot in the head and put in stasis—until he could be brought back to Gambit’s advanced medical center, where pre-surgery odds had put his survival at less than 60%--struggled against the old cyborged engineer with growling strength, if still rather poor coordination.

  “No more ther-apy,” cursed the Navigator.

  Spalding stopped temporarily and cocking his head to the side he released the lad’s rumpled hospital gown. “This isn’t a therapy session, Mr. Shepherd,” he said, eying the lad strangely and wondering if the lad had been permanently addled by the head shot he’d taken during the Battle for Elysium, “this is a jailbreak. We’ve got to get you out of here—out of this infernal hospital gown and back into real clothes. A proper uniform, no less! After that we can sauce you up and send you off to see the stars without a spacesuit in fine fashion if that’s what you wish. It’s clear that all this time in medical has begun to rot what little’s left of your brain.”

  “Blast you-u,” Navigator Shepherd raged as he took a swing at Spalding’s head.

  “There’s the fightin’ spirit,” Spalding encouraged lowering his chin to let the fist glance off the metal portion of his head. Then, in one swift grab and jerk, he pulled the fiery young officer out of his bed and started for the door.

  “No—I wo-on’t go,” cried Shepherd, “pu-t me back down!”

  “And leave you stranded here in this pit o’ torment?” Spalding shook his head decisively. “Can’t do it Lieutenant. But don’t worry: Papa Spalding’ll take care of everything.”

  Under the worried eyes of the medical officers Spalding carried the punching and spastically kicking Navigator out of the medical department.

  Dropping him into the grav-cart he’d placed outside the entrance Spalding jumped onto the cart and started up the controls.

  “Now then,” he said, feeling rather pleased with himself, “I know you’re all set on ending things quick like.”

  “Yo-u are the o-only one try-ing to ki-ill me…bli-ghter!” Shepherd slurred angrily.

  “Anyway, before you decide to go too far down that road,” Spalding continued on blithely, ignoring the boy’s confusion and apparent short-term memory loss. Mr. Shepherd had been quite clear that he wanted to die, though hopefully that had been the medical environment talking and now that he was sprung from that jail he’d have a change of heart, “I have something of a proposition for you.”

  “G-et st-ok-ed,” Shepherd stuttered.

  “Is that anyway to speak to a superior officer and one who just saved you from a fate worse than death?” Spalding rebuked.

  The Lieutenant stared at him mutinously, and Spalding leaned in close and looking around to make sure they weren’t being observed before finally deciding it was probably safe enough.

  “How would you like to get back behind the nav-console of a real ship again?” Spalding asked in a voice so low it was almost a whisper.

  “I ca-an’t walk…ca-an’t stand…ca-an’t use a key-pa-ad and can-n’t talk proper. I’ve go-ot a metal plate in my he-ad and a chip in my bra-ain! I can’t nav a shi-p,” Shepherd slurred angrily.

  “I got me a metal plate in my head too—pretty useful when it comes to head-butts, truth be told. As for the chip, I’ve got more than a chip in my head, boy,” Spalding snapped, “that won’t slow you down.”

  Shepherd stared at him in disbelief.

  “As for the rest of it we can deal with that,” he said blithely, “the problem you’ve got isn’t too much metal in your head, but rather your problem is you’ve not got enough. The Sundered have a nice setup that’ll let you remote control anything set up with the right wireless access ports. I’ll have to show it to you before we install it…assuming you’d like your old job back, o’ course, and aren’t still all set in your ways for dyin’?”

  “You’re craz-y,” Shepherd said disbelief warring with something else in his gaze.

  “Ship’s in about the same state as you are right at the moment,” Spalding said frankly, causing Shepherd to glare at him, “but, just like you, I figure she’ll do as long as we can install the proper hardware before taking her out.”

  Shepherd shook his head but stopped thrashing around on the cart. To Spalding’s eyes it was clear the lad wanted to hear more.

  “Now, as I was saying…” he began to fill the injured Nav officer on those parts of his plan the other man actually needed to know.

  Chapter Six: The Armsmen

  We had stopped in an uninhabited system for a few hours to coordinate some material transfers and arrange for a new round of fleet-wide status updates. I was sitting in my cabin, reviewing those reports while the rest of the ships in the fleet were readying them. Many of the ships took the time to perform basic maintenance and routine repairs. Some of those repairs had been more routine than others, but that was to be expected on the first run out of dry dock—or so I’d been told on several aggravating occasions.

  The com-panel built into my work desk buzzed. “What is it?” I asked after pressing the screen to accept the call request from the bridge.

  “Sensors just detected a hyper footprint, Admiral,” Lieutenant Steiner said crisply, “we’re still waiting for further information, but the Captain wanted me to inform you immediately.”

  I straightened in my chair. “How many and how far away are they, Comm.?” I asked tightly.

  There was a pause. “They’re on the other side of the star systems, sir. Sensors say it’s a small footprint and guarantees there are no more than a small handful of ships, and possibly just one. He says there’s nothing bigger than Medium Cruiser unless they’ve somehow managed to mask their emergence signature with a new tech breakthrough he’s never heard of,” Steiner said confidently.

  “Instruct our Corvettes and Destroyers to start charging up their hyper drives in case it turns out they’re hostile and then link the tactical feed to my console here in the ready room. I’ll continue to monitor the situation remotely for now, Lieutenant,” I ordered.

  “Yes, Sir,” said Lieutenant Steiner.

  Several tense minutes passed after I accessed the tactical plot, and I finally realized that I’d been trying to read the same e-form for the past two minutes. Closing the page in disgust, I focused my full attention on the irritatingly obtuse sensor returns.

  Drumming my fingers on the desk and glaring at the tactical evaluation, the tension finally reached the point that I threw a stylus onto the desk and stood up. Enough was enough. I was a bundle of nerves sitting in the ready room trying to act as if nothing was wrong. I’d felt less tension sitting on the bridge staring down superior numbers of Battleships.

  It was time for a change of scenery, and I knew I would feel better sitting on my thrown on the bridge.

  Then the com-panel chimed again. “What is it?” I asked, smashing my hand down on the panel to activate the link.

  “It’s Duncan; let me in,” said the voice of my childhood sword instructor, current paramour of my mother, and temporary head of my personal protective detail.

  “Alright,” I released the lock on the door.

  “Your Highness,” Duncan greeted, steppin
g into the room and scanning for possible threats before finally turning to me with a deferential nod.

  “What can I do for you, Duncan? We have a developing situation on the bridge,” I said brusquely.

  “Yes, the fuzzy contact on the other side of the system,” Duncan said.

  “Right,” I gave him a slanted look, wondering how he’d picked up that little piece of intel before shrugging it off. As the equivalent of the head of my security team and personal guard, he was directly linked into more information onboard this ship than most, and indirectly I was sure he had cultivated even more sources of information.

  I splayed my hands and waited. “You have something to say?” I prompted.

  “I can’t say with one hundred percent certainty, however the current sensor profile of that new arrival matches one of the three transport vessel signatures your security detachment would use to meet you,” Duncan explained, placing his hands behind his back and widening his stance into an ‘at ease’ position.

  “My security detachment?” I said, nonplussed.

  Duncan nodded. “I believe your personal armsmen have just entered the system and will be swearing their oaths as soon as they can rendezvous with the flagship,” said the former Caprian Royal Armsman.

  “I see,” I said with narrowing eyes.

  Forty five minutes later, the strange contact short-jumped across the system and our sensors got a good look at the heavily modified courier ship squawking a Caprian civilian IFF signal.

  It looked like this could be a very interesting development.

  Chapter Seven: Changing of the Guard

  After Duncan verified the identity of the courier vessel’s crew, the other star ship matched course and speed prior to docking with the Royal Rage. Meanwhile, I waited in my office until the new arrivals were brought onto the flagship and escorted up to my ready room.

  The door chimed and I beckoned, “Come in.”

  With a swish, the door opened and nine figures dressed in cargo pants and civilian stevedore jackets—with a full body skin suits peeking out from underneath—walked in.

  Despite their attire, all of them walked with the upright posture of current or former military as they formed up into a line before the desk.

  They ranged from grey and grizzled to a pair of fresh-faced, beardless men who looked younger than I was. Except for those two, they tended toward middle aged or older. This was a group that leaned toward the well-experienced side of the strip, but with their sharp eyes and straight, well-muscled backs they gave off an aura of competence that I hadn’t seen since leaving the Winter Palace on Capria.

  “Lead Armsman, Sean D’Argent, along with a detachment of six former Royal Armsmen presenting for service, your Highness,” said the man at the far left side of the formation, stepping forward and giving me a penetrating look as if he could weigh and measure me by somehow peering directly into my soul.

  “Jason Montagne, Armsman D’Argent,” I said with a nod to introduce myself, “and maybe my math is off somewhere, but I count nine in your party.”

  “The detachment currently numbers seven armsmen and two aspirants that have completed their training but never held an oath bond, or tendered direct service to a member of the royal bloodline,” said senior armsman Sean D’Argent.

  I pursed my lips, “I see.”

  “Now that D’Argent and the armsmen with him are here, they will take over control of your protective detail and general security arrangements as soon as I can read them in, Jason,” Duncan interjected. “That is assuming, of course, that you accept them and they, in turn, find you worthy of service.”

  “Find me worthy…” I said contemplatively.

  “A problem, my Prince?” asked D’Argent, cocking an eyebrow in a manner not the least bit servile—quite the opposite, in fact, as it looked like he was measuring whether or not I was worthy of him.

  Not that I was surprised. You didn’t get to be a Royal Armsman if you were a wishy-washy ‘yes man.’ They were hardened professionals through and through.

  “Look. Out here I’m not a ‘Prince’ or a ‘Highness;’ I’m the Admiral of this fleet,” I said seriously and then decided there was no point in obfuscating. Even though Duncan had recommended them, I wasn’t going to try and rope them in under false or hidden pretenses, “Frankly, while I really need a group just like yours in charge of my personal security, royal armsmen are famous for their loyalty, competence, and dedication. The fact is that the ‘Prince’ business comes last if at all.”

  The armsmen shifted and shared a few glances, but D’Argent looked at me steadily.

  “Armsmen have had to deal with primaries serving on warships, including Captains and Fleet Commanders, in the past,” D’Argent said. “We are all familiar with the various security protocols, though only John Geary has direct experience with guarding a primary who had prolonged space-based duties.” He pointed to the oldest looking member of the bunch as he spoke.

  “While I appreciate the information, I’m not concerned with the level of experience in your unit. I have every confidence in your abilities as armsmen,” I assured the other man. “I just wanted to make perfectly clear that despite the various troubles back home, I have no intention of returning to the home world anytime soon. My duties now are to the Sector as a whole and Spine in general.”

  “That was expected,” D’Argent nodded.

  “Also, I do not consider myself or this organization to be under the authority of King James, but I don’t want any confusion on this next point: I’ll not be seeking the throne. Capria’s going to have to muddle along without me. I say this just in case anyone here, despite the well-known fact that I’m a member of House Montagne, was under the impression that service with me would sooner or later lead to a return to the Palace,” I said with firm finality. The last thing I wanted was a potential group of closet Royalists thinking I was the answer my home worlds woes in charge of my security, and then later feeling betrayed when I didn’t go home and try to fix things. There was a frown or two and a bit of shifting after this last statement, but no one broke ranks or immediately declared their disgust or disapproval, so I took that as a provisionally good sign.

  It never paid out in the long run to deceive the men and women who held your life in their quite capable hands.

  “It is as Duncan previously relayed to us. You have a love for your country, but no current desire to return home or claim the throne,” D’Argent said.

  “That’s correct,” I said, easing fractionally.

  “Those of us who are here are the ones who feel the work you do among the stars is of great importance—vital, even, to the long term survival of the Capria. The fact that the blood of the rightful Kings of Capria flows through your veins just makes our decision to swear service easier. Even if some of us wouldn’t particularly mind if you were to return home to claim the throne, we feel that the best good we can do for our people and our world is to place our lives between you and danger,” said the Lead Armsman.

  “Even though I’m a Montagne?” I said with disbelief.

  Sean D’Argent smiled. “For those of us gathered here, it is especially because you are a Montagne,” he replied. “To our minds, a Prince without his armsmen is like a king without his crown.”

  “Well how about that,” I said neutrally.

  D’Argent and the men behind him took a knee one after the other, like a wave crashing on the shore.

  “If your Highness is prepared to take our oaths as his personal armsmen, then we’ll sooner be able to begin to take up our duties,” said D’Argent.

  Since a personal armsman historically swore his or her duties and loyalty first to his oath-holder, second to the King or Queen, third to the people of Capria, and fourth to the home world, I had no problem with this at all. The Royal Guard was hard enough to get into, but the Royal Armsmen took things to a whole new level. While the armsmen did recruit from the Guard, most of the successful aspirants spent time in special forces units
before joining due to the rigorous requirements.

  As long as I could secure their true service and loyalty, I would finally have a group security team that would let me sleep safely at night. Historically, an armsman couldn’t be sent to harm anyone or anything he’d been sworn to defend, but on the flip side he or she was constrained to defend them in descending order. It was one of the reasons the armsmen as a body had survived the numerous regime changes which had rocked Capria in the past.

  “You may need to remind me of the particulars. But by all means, let’s begin,” I said. I didn’t believe that just by having them swear an oath that I won their hearts and minds completely to my cause, but if there was one thing Uncle Jean Luc had shown it was that once sworn into service, an armsman would follow their Prince even into piracy and rebellion. If I had even the chance to acquire that kind of loyalty, I had to try for it.

  “Then if you will step over to me first, my Prince, we can get started,” said D’Argent.

  “One final thing,” I said, pausing briefly, “out here I am an Admiral first, husband and Protector—which is like Commander-in-Chief of the military—second, and a Caprian Prince-Cadet last if at all. If you’re to take service with me, you’ll need to get used to calling me Admiral.”

  D’Argent pursed his lips and cocked his head before he said, “Of course, my Prince.”

  I heaved a sigh. Maybe asking a group of people—people who had joined me out of a sense of duty to the Royal House, no less—to put aside the minor detail that I was, technically speaking, a Prince was asking too much. I didn’t think so, but this was a battle I probably wouldn’t win.

  “Proceed,” I said, feeling disgruntled. Capria, her internal politics and my ties back home were things I was trying to put behind me and not bring back to the fore. Unfortunately, thanks to my wife and those traitors who’d backed Nikomedes, I was forced to take these sorts of countermeasures to ensure such things never happened again.