Admiral's War Part One

by Wachter, Luke Sky

  Then my eyes narrowed as my thoughts turned to those blasted Tracto-ans. After this ceremony was over, I decided it was going to be time to start shaking things up. Enough with Mister Nice Montagne. The possibilities of having a small group of armsmen who, while a part of this fleet, owed their loyalty totally and entirely to me were slowly starting to sink in.

  It was time to make some changes around here, and I had a few ideas where to start.

  Chapter Eight: Task Force Charlie

  Admiral Wessex leaned back in his chair. While his initiative in chasing down those Promethean stragglers—and failing to catch them—had resulted in a few touch and go moments, the fact that he had bagged a battleship with the assistance of Captain Goddard and the Admiral’s flagship had counterbalanced things nicely.

  So well, in fact, that when the previous brevet commander, Rear Admiral Norfolk, had come down with a case of the Feruvian Blue Flu when new fleet assignments had been issued, Wessex had been able to secure a transfer from support command and the leadership of Task Force Charlie.

  “Rear Admiral,” Captain Jenner said, turning from where he’d been huddled with the Comm. Officer, Lieutenant Commander Turner, and hurrying over to Wessex.

  “What is it, Captain?” Wessex asked, suppressing a sigh. Leading a fleet was exactly what he wanted; what he had trained for and he didn’t even mind the politicking of it. But the constant updates and interruptions involved in a battle fleet moving through enemy or at least contested territory was wearing on him. It seemed every little thing needed his time or his attention—not that this was much different from running a stationary or supportive command, but it wasn’t what he was used to, which made it harder to fall back into a routine.

  “Several of our destroyer commanders are reporting intermittent contacts on the edge of sensor range,” reported the Captain.

  “Sensor ghosts or something more, Captain?” Rear Admiral Wessex asked dismissively.

  The Captain unleashed a feral smile. “Not unless they’re sensor ghosts that match the profiles of warships made with old Confederation tech, Sir,” replied Jenner.

  “Scouts from the local powers in the region no doubt,” Wessex said with slightly more interest. “What does the destroyer flotilla commander estimate the potential number of our shadows to be?” the Rear Admiral asked perfunctorily.

  The locals were much like trash in that they needed cleaning out periodically, and in that if one lets trash sit in one location for too long without a routine cleaning, all sorts of disgusting and even potentially harmful things could start growing in the trash’s receptacle.

  That said, locals—much like garbage before the advent of waste recyclers—were easily dealt with so long as one observed the proper protocols and precautions for dealing with them. Thankfully, Admiral Janeski and the Reclamation fleet had already taken such precautions.

  “Either a pair of ships or a short squadron,” Jenner said promptly, “the flotilla commander estimates no more than four and no less than two, Admiral.”

  Wessex shook his head with a sigh. The local response had been entirely underwhelming to this point. Not that he was complaining; he was perfectly happy to roger the provincials while they were still trying to get their acts together.

  That was the nature of provincials, after all. They wouldn’t be bloody provincials if they had two pairs of functional brain cells to rub together at the same time. They were short-sighted, weak-livered, and almost completely unable to think more than two steps ahead at any given moment—unlike the blessed Empire of Man and the Senate, it was their very nature to be and remain the second class citizens of known space.

  “Inform Commodore Bruneswitch that he is to assume these sensor ghosts are in fact provincial nipping at our heels; take his forces and treat them as he would any dog looking to take a bite at his ankles,” instructed Rear Admiral Wessex.

  “Do you want me to pass that on…word for word, sir?” Jenner asked, looking confused. “I’m afraid I don’t quite follow the metaphor.”

  “He is to bring them to heel, Captain!” Wessex exclaimed and then seeing the guarded look on the other man’s face rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Killed or captured, man. Is that clear enough for you to understand and relay, or must I pass the message along myself?”

  “Quite clear, Admiral,” Jenner said stiffly. “With your permission, I’ll pass the word on directly to the Commodore.”

  Wessex waved him away irritably. “Just do it—and cut the orders for a trio of cruiser squadrons in rotation to act as a rapid reaction force for the destroyers. If they get into trouble along the way, I want that trouble crushed.”

  “That will slow them—the cruisers—down, sir,” Jenner pointed out neutrally, “they’ll have trouble keeping up with the rest of the fleet.

  “Better to be slow and sure than to explain to Admiral Janeski why I lost warships needlessly, Captain,” Wessex said coolly. “You have your orders.”

  “I’ll have the cruiser orders ready for your signature, sir,” Captain Jenner turned away with a nod.

  The Rear Admiral started to bridle at the man’s tone before taking a deep calming breath. Line officers in the battle fleet were a lot more forthcoming to their superiors with their opinions than staff officers of the same rank or even the type of line officers generally assigned to the rear support echelons, like Wessex himself. It was almost a different culture and he needed to remember that. It was also important to keep in mind that Jenner had been assigned to his task force as flag captain by high command—meaning Admiral Janeski himself.

  Jenner was an experienced under-officer with the ear of the High Admiral. It wouldn’t do to needlessly antagonize the man. Besides, they were all here for the same reason: the greater glory of the Empire.

  “All hail the Empire,” he muttered before turning back to the never ending stream of paperwork sitting in his personal data space just waiting to be filled out.

  So far everything was working out exactly as planned; in a way he almost hoped for some unexpected action. It wasn’t that he desired anything to go wrong per se, but this would be his moment to shine.

  He would not let it pass.

  Chapter Nine: Lying in Ambush

  “The fleet is in place, Admiral,” Lieutenant Hart said with satisfaction clear in his voice. It had been eight days of furious movement, followed by another day setting up our ambush spot, and his sense of satisfaction seemed to be shared by the rest of the crew.

  I nodded. It was true that there was no way to gauge exactly where a ship would come out of hyperspace unless you had access to their nav-computer before they jumped. That said we didn’t need to know exactly where they would arrive. We just needed enough smaller warships set up as relays around the system. As soon as one of the pair picked up sign of the enemy fleet, the other would jump to the main fleet and we in turn would jump over there as fast as our ships could carry us.

  “Now we need to wait until the smaller forces are separated from those battleships—then we pounce,” Captain Leonora Hammer said a hint of a growl in her voice.

  “I’m not opposed to hitting the escorts while their heavies are away, if that’s all we manage to catch in our net,” I said pointedly, just to be clear.

  “It’s all the same to me,” Lesner said with a gleam in his eye, “what gunner doesn’t relish the thought of a target rich environment, where even a stray bolt has a strong chance to land?”

  “Better to strip the heavies of their support ships first and do this by the numbers, Chief,” Hammer said seriously.

  Chief Lesner settled back irritably but made no further reply.

  Lieutenant Hart, the ship’s Tactical Officer nodded in agreement. “Preliminary reports are that they have at least two squadrons of the wall and another four of the line. A direct confrontation might not go as smoothly as we would hope. We need to whittle them down first, if that’s at all possible,” he said.

  “What’s the latest enemy fleet estimate?�
� I asked.

  “Ninety,” Hammer interjected.

  “We still don’t have a new tally? It’s been the better part of a week since our last update,” I said, thinking dark thoughts toward the local Sector Assembly and its recently appointed Governor.

  “Everything was fine and we were getting twice daily updates until suddenly we weren’t,” Tactical Officer Hart explained. “Frankly, I’m amazed they were able to accurately predict where the enemy invasion fleet was going and tail them as well as they did. It seems rather improbable on the face of it, but I suppose if you know where they are going—or at least have a pretty darned good guess—and are willing to follow it down the rabbit hole it’s not as far out as all that.”

  “Hmm,” I said, not nearly as sanguine about the ‘serendipitous’ and fortuitous circumstances that allowed the local Sector Guard to find themselves in position to shadow the enemy fleet only to suddenly and suspiciously fall silent. It might be my paranoia talking here, but that looked highly doubtful.

  “Most likely, the enemy caught scent of them—sensor ghosts or an outright sighting by a random patrol screen—and set a trap for them. Then when the point transferred into the next system the enemy short jumped on them and that’s all she wrote,” Hart continued, explaining and expounding on the ‘most likely’ scenario.

  Personally, I was taking everything with a grain of salt.

  “Regardless of the particulars, the fact remains that they’re not scouting for us right now,” I said abruptly. “As such, I want our operators on the ball and our sensors peeled for intruders. We’re only going to get this chance once and then it’s gone, people; we need to make this operation as damaging as possible for the enemy fleet. In the meantime we’re going to hang out near the most likely jump point until the enemy is either caught in our trap or slips through our fingers. Remember: we have the advantage in numbers.”

  “A slight advantage only,” said Lieutenant Hart. “We also haven’t seen anything smaller than a destroyer among their fleet so far.”

  I eyed the new Tactical Officer for a moment before clarifying, “That’s according to Sector Central.”

  “A lack of anything smaller than a Destroyer would fit with the idea that this group is run by current or former Imperial Officers,” Captain Hammer pointed out. “Imperial doctrine relegates anything smaller than a destroyer to system defense duties with only a few exceptions, such as in special operations groups which wouldn’t normally travel with a fleet.”

  “All indications are that if they have lighter units, they aren’t using them here,” Lieutenant Hart said, pulling the conversation back toward the enemy fleet. “So we may outnumber them, assuming our current information is correct, but they’ll still bring a lot more to the table when it comes to larger ships.”

  “Your best estimate?” I asked.

  “Tonnage-wise, I’d say we’ll see at least a fifty percent increase when it comes to battleships and cruisers,” Hart said a touch heavily. “Although they might weigh in at as much as double our strength—which is something we’ll need to keep in mind.”

  “You mean I’ll have to keep that in mind,” I corrected; this wasn’t anything new but it was just as unpalatable as the first time I’d heard it.

  “This is a team effort, Mr. Hart,” Hammer cut in adroitly, “we’re all here to support you, Admiral Montagne. This is your call.”

  “Glad to hear it,” I agreed, keeping the irritation at Hammer’s continued attempts at reframing my statements out of my voice.

  “But that’s the question, isn’t it,” Navigator Brightenbauc said nervously, “is this the right call to make? Should we really be considering an attack on a larger force—one that also holds the tech advantage over us?”

  “Presumed tech advantage,” Chief Gunner Lesner bristled before slinking back into his chair. It seemed that even though he felt the need to protest the enemy’s superiority over our Fleet, his heart wasn’t really in it as much as it could have been. Say…if the enemy hadn’t held a very likely, and very real advantage over our force.

  I cleared my throat loudly. We were getting too far afield and I needed to bring things back to the center.

  “The purpose of this conference is to discuss the best way to hurt the enemy using the most advantageous distribution of our forces to ensure we can hit them hard and fast. We are not here to take heed of our fears and allow these Imperial Reclamationists to run rampant,” I said firmly. “They can attempt to return this Sector of the Spine to their secret Imperial masters over my dead body.”

  “Are we even sure that these former Imperials still work for their former masters?” Brightenbauc wondered aloud.

  I glowered at him, wishing once again that Navigator Shepherd hadn’t been shot in the head. Shepherd’s chances of a successful revival from stasis had been low; the doctors had wanted more time to study the matter before making what looked like a futile attempt to save his life.

  “If there’s not some hidden force secretly behind this invasion fleet then it’ll be a first for this fleet,” DuPont cut in witheringly, his disdain aimed at our faint hearted navigator.

  Brightenbauc flushed.

  “I wasn’t aware the MSP had extensive enough experience with massive invasion fleets to start making such generalizations,” Captain Hammer retorted, giving DuPont a level look.

  “You’d be surprised what this fleet has had to deal with,” I cut in to cover for DuPont. There was no point in letting the man suffer for assisting his Admiral. As a leader, I had to stand up for my men, “this isn’t our first rodeo: pirates, Bugs, more pirates—droids,” I said, offhandedly listing the various invasion forces we’d had to deal with using the fingers of my right hand. “It seems like everyone and everything we’ve stumbled across has been in the invading business of late and, more often than not, there’s been someone or something pulling strings behind the curtain.”

  “Amen to that,” DuPont said fervently.

  Captain Hammer settled back into her chair with a frown.

  “Moving along,” I said, forcing the conference back where it needed to be, “I’m thinking that we should be moving these squadrons into grids four and five. And while I can see the utility in splitting up our battleships into pairs and spreading them out to either side of the prospective battlefield, I feel the advantages of concentrating our firepower outweigh the potential advantage in quick response time.”

  “With our enemies as numerous as they’re estimated to be, that’s probably wise,” Hammer said after a moment.

  “Yes, but it cuts down the potential damage we can do before we have to pull out of this system,” Lieutenant Hart protested.

  My brows lowered thunderously. “It seems that the lukewarm attitude possessed by some of your fellow officers toward this ambush has infected you as well, Mr. Hart,” I said in a low voice.

  Lieutenant Hart looked uncertain before wiping his face clean of all expression. “I’m sorry if I spoke out of turn, Admiral, but as this ship’s Tactical Officer it is part of my duty to prepare for all eventualities,” he said firmly. “I wouldn’t be doing my job if you were caught out because of some unforeseen eventuality.”

  “That may be the case,” I said, silently doubting his motives, “however any talk of running away from an enemy that we outnumber is premature at best. I want men and women,” I nodded toward the women in the room, “with fighting spirit on my ship. We fight hard in the MSP and this constant talk of running away, or not even engaging in battle unless all things seem favorable to us, will not win us this war.”

  “That is no doubt true, Sir, including our numerical superiority,” Tactical Officer Hart said stubbornly. “And yet, for all that, we do outnumber them in hulls…according to our latest incomplete estimate, at least. The issue remains that when it comes to tonnage and number of laser mounts, not simply the number of independent ship, they’re larger and they heavily out-throw us.”

  “Which is why we will keep our heavier for
ces concentrated so that we can counter that edge in larger ships,” I said with a closed lip smile to hide my suddenly clenched teeth.

  “It’s true that dispersing our ships will allow for a more vicious series of wolf pack attacks on the enemy formation, Sir,” Lieutenant Commander Leonora Hammer—the captain of my flagship—broke in, diverting attention from her junior officer. “Despite the concerns raised by some members of this staff, this ship and its crew, including its officers, are more than ready to face the enemy, Sir.”

  “I appreciate that Captain,” I nodded to her, “and your concerns as well, Lieutenant Hart,” I added, willing to throw a sop to the Tactical Officer’s pride if necessary. “But while I am in this for the long haul, I’m not seeking to win a war of attrition,” I held up a hand, “I’ll make the final decision when confronted with the enemy fleet, of course. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned over these past several years of near constant conflict it’s that you go for the head and, when you go to battle, you fight to win. That’s something I don’t think will be possible if we spread out our strongest assets.”

  “We follow your orders, Sir,” Captain Hammer said.

  “Aye-aye, Sir,” agreed the other Confederation sleepers.

  “Alright here’s what I want to do,” I said, leaning forward and pointing at the tactical plot. Maybe it was my early experiences as a Battleship Captain coming into play here—even somewhat against the advice of the more seasoned professionals in the room—but I knew it in my gut that, as long as we kept our biggest hammers ready for action, this enemy fleet could be stopped before it did any more damage.

  The battleships were, obviously, our biggest hammers.

  I firmly believed that we could achieve victory by leveraging them properly. Otherwise, what was I out here for? To try and slowly bleed the enemy until both sides were so exhausted and enough worlds destroyed that a strong wind from a surviving local SDF—or one of Sir Isaak’s Sector fleets—could deal with them?