Admiral's War Part One

by Wachter, Luke Sky

  “Good woman,” I nodded, turning back to stare at the screen portraying the battlefield. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the Captain stiffen and bestow me a thin-lipped look before turning away and returning to her duties.

  I frowned. I’d said ‘good man’ to Spalding, as well as my former flagship commander, Captain Laurent and both had reacted well. Was saying ‘good woman’ really so very different? Shaking my head, I decided to ignore the Captain’s peccadillo by reminding myself that it took all kinds of cultures to make this galaxy of ours, and that just because hers might be biased when it came to gendered statements didn’t mean I had to stoop to that level.

  Besides, equal opportunity was a founding principle of my people—and that included the equal opportunity to make a fool out of yourself over outdated and outmoded social models. Often people mistook Capria for a misogynistic backwater when they first encountered it, but the truth was actually something else entirely. We enjoyed the trappings of anachronistic culture, not the actual patriarchal or matriarchal suppression experienced in history. Sure, highborn women might preferred to act the graceful Lady and dress up in the finest and most expensive attire they could get their hands on. And our men act the proper gentlemen toying with swords, duels and the proper appropriate cognac and cigars for our station. But we did this out of a desire for sophistication and high society, not to suppress one gender or another.

  All one had to look to for proof was the fact that our monarch was a Queen, or had been until deposed by ‘King’ James and our Sector had sent cousin Bethany as its most murderous representative. On Capria it was a commonly acknowledged fact in certain circles that, while men were the most lethal during times of war, during times of peace we didn’t hold a candle to the women of our Houses.

  The number of bodies that had dropped after attending tea parties alone was rumored to exceed the total lost to duels. It was said that only the fact the highborn women refused to disclose their complete guest lists that…

  I snapped back to the present. None of that had anything to do with our current situation and, in retrospect, perhaps gender inequality had something going for it after all. But regardless, this was neither the time nor the place to contemplate the merits of such trivialities.

  Refocusing and looking back at the screen showing the twin lines of battleships neatly arranged side by side, I wondered just how bad this butcher’s bill was going to be.

  I also wondered just how it was that the of all the groups of warships from Destroyers and Cruisers all the way up that it was only the battleships that had come into this system in formation.

  Chapter Fourteen: Fat and Happy

  15 minutes prior

  “Is everything ready?” Admiral Wessex demanded of his flag captain.

  Jenner closed his eyes as if in frustration, but when he opened them again there was nothing but calm and professionalism in his gaze.

  “Navigation reports that every ship in both squadrons has complied with your orders and is ready for a short jump into the Star System,” Captain Jenner said evenly.

  “Excellent work, Captain,” Wessex said, feeling magnanimous, “I also hope you settled the grumbling among the other Captains?”

  Jenner looked at him levelly.

  “We follow orders, Sir, it’s as simple as that,” he said.

  “Oh come now, Captain,” Wessex frowned, “I realize that deciding to deliberately jump short so that we can then make a micro-jump in formation wasn’t a popular choice. However, while other officers like Commodore Bruneswitch may prefer speed over formation,” he stopped, forcing himself not to allow his frustration with the Commodore to leak into his voice before continuing, “and, in his case dealing with the Destroyers that are the fleet’s screening force even, with some justification to such a stance, in my opinion recklessly charging forward at top speed hardly suits the dignity of the battleship class.”

  “Wars are not about dignity, Sir. They are about achieving victory, if I may be so bold,” Jenner said, his voice neutral even if his words were not.

  Wessex frowned in frustration. “Ignoring dignity and the beneficial effect that arriving in formation—to showcase the power and unstoppable force this fleet possesses—has on fleet morale factors into the equation, Captain. If, say, there was a problem upon our arrival wouldn’t you say that arriving with our power concentrated the most effective method?” Wessex said with irritation.

  “The modern battlefield is a complex thing. Arriving with our forces concentrated would generally be the best move,” the Captain paused, the corner of his mouth turning up, “unless our arriving earlier would have the effect of allowing us to avoid defeat in detail because instead of arriving first we took nearly six hours to dress our ranks and make a micro jump.”

  Wessex looked at the other officer coldly. He knew backside covering when he heard it. “Frankly, I expected more of you—a supposedly hardened professional—Captain,” he sniffed.

  “I try to learn from all the officers I serve with as well as every branch in the Fleet, including the services branch, sir,” Jenner said, his voice respectful but the implication clear.

  “Tell the Navigator to jump when ready,” Wessex commanded shortly.

  “Your wish is my command,” Jenner said.

  Several minutes later, when all ships signaled readiness, the Battleships of Task Force 3 jumped.

  ****************************************************

  “Point emergence,” remarked the Sensor Officer.

  “Inertial sump estimated to be at less than 15 gravities,” reported the Navigator.

  “Preparing for a hot transit,” the Helmsman said with excitement.

  Wessex winced and then scowled.

  “Belay the hot transit protocol, Helm,” he grunted leaning forward in his chair, “easy in and easy out. Same as we’ve been doing for the rest of the journey.”

  “For the record, I must again point out that standard fleet protocol for emergence in an uncontrolled star system is a hot transit,” the Helmsman objected, his enthusiasm notably waning.

  “All screening elements should have arrived in this vicinity well before we arrived,” Wessex pointedly out patiently. In all honesty he wouldn’t have minded the hot transit to exit the sump as fast as possible, except that he had spent far too much of his career in the service and supply service repairing ships that had spent too much time hot-rodding around.

  If it had been battle damage that would have been one thing, but constantly dealing with simple stress fractures that could have been easily avoided if only the ship’s captain had reined in the Helmsman. All Helmsmen preferred to put out the baffling and immediately go to full thrust and torc the engine housing as much as they could get away with—it was to be expected, but it was also unnecessary in most situations.

  “Easy does it, Helmsman,” he muttered again.

  “Aye, Sir,” the officer sighed as he slowly, smoothly, and steadily stepped the engine power up from five to fifteen percent.

  “I’m reading multiple warships all around us,” reported the Sensor Officer.

  Captain Jenner looked up like a hunting dog catching a scent.

  “Which is exactly what we expected,” Wessex pointed out before turning back to work on the electronic paper work that kept this fleet running. It’s not that he thought that arriving in a new system wasn’t without its own share of dangers, even if the rest of the fleet should have transferred in before them. Rather, he was certain the officers whose job it was to detect such things were better at doing his job than he was.

  Although, who in their right mind would not only be aware of his fleet’s route and be both in a position to intercept them and have the stones and ships to do it…He shook his head as the improbability of it.

  “Are we receiving Fleet IFF signals?” Jenner asked.

  The Comm. Officer paused as if hesitantly.

  “Even though they don’t know we are here yet, we are receiving a number of Dest
royer and Cruiser friend or foe signals,” the Comm. Officer finally replied.

  “First ship contacts are starting to appear on the screen now, Captain,” the Sensor Officer reported.

  Jenner frowned. “Why is there so much yellow on my screen, Sensors?” the Captain demanded. Yellow indicated a potentially hostile contact unlike the green or blue of fleet or allied forces. “Link up the IFF signals from the com-section.”

  So gently that one wouldn’t have noticed it if he hadn’t been paying attention, the Flagship of Task Force 3 broke free of the inertial sump as the bridge crew went about their tasks.

  “We have, sir,” the Sensor Officer said sounding stressed.

  “Message to Squadron 1 and 2,” Wessex interrupted, knowing that appearance was everything. That said, on the off-chance there was trouble, it was better to have everything set up correctly. “All battleships are to dress ranks and form up on the flagship. My compliments to the battleship captains and their navigators on the spacing of their ships following our short-jump. That said, I think we can do better.”

  “On it, Admiral,” said the Comm. Officer.

  “Sensors, why is my screen still covered in yellow contacts?” Captain Jenner growled.

  “Captain, we have already linked in the data from the Comm. section and double-checked the data-stream. This is all there is,” the Sensor Officer said tightly, “as such, I have to recommend we go to alert status one while Sensors runs a diagnostic.”

  “Set flagship to Alert Status One from Alert Status Two,” Jenner barked, and all around Admiral Wessex the bridge tensed as everything went to war footing.

  “Captain Jenner, report,” Wessex barked as the battleships of the two squadrons that made up the heart of his Task Force started falling in on one another to get into formation.

  “Possible hostile contacts, Sir,” Jenner replied.

  Wessex opened his mouth.

  “Weapons fire detected in sector 43!” the Sensor Officer exclaimed.

  “Sir, we’re being hailed by the Destroyer, Rapid Shot! They report they are currently engaged by enemy forces and are heavily pressed. They are requesting immediate support, Sir,” interrupted the Comm. Officer.

  “Nearby formation of unknown warships has diverted from previous course and heading; unknown formation is now on a direct intercept with this squadron!” reported the Sensor Officer.

  “Data dump from Rapid Shot being forwarded to the sensor section,” reported Comm.

  “Unidentified formation has now been confirmed hostile and they’re almost on top of us, Admiral!” the Sensor Officer said in a rising voice.

  “Code Omega detected!” cried the Comm. Officer in shock, prompting Wessex’s ears to pin back and his hackles to rise. An Omega was the destruction of a fleet warship.

  For a moment that almost seemed to stretch on forever, nothing happened as everyone on the bridge suddenly realized with unshakable finality that they were in a fight.

  Adrenaline flooded the Admiral, and everything seemed to come into sudden and sharp focus. It seemed that the enemy had finally shown their hand, and after days and even weeks of running away like scared little schoolgirls they had finally decided to make their move.

  Taking a moment to look at the list of lost and damaged warships forwarded to them by the Destroyer, Wessex took a moment to be appalled before steeling himself for what was to come. This was the moment he had been waiting for all his life.

  While he had been contemplating, the battle-seasoned Captain had not been idle.

  “Shields, I want our shield power at 100% or I’ll know why—and I’ll get someone else to do your job,” Jenner barked before turning to another officer. “Tactical, get gunnery on the horn and tell them to be ready; I’ll be sending them targeting information. Helm, be ready to go to full burn on my mark. Damage control, tell your teams their moment to shine may come sooner than they expect. Comm., ready for an announcement to the lower deck.” He turned to encompass the bridge, fixing each of his department heads with a hard gaze in turn before saying, “We are at war, gentlemen.”

  Wessex stood. “Message to the fleet, general hail,” he said sharply, “all units that can disengage are to fall back on the Flag. All units that cannot are to fight their ships. As far as those Captains who can fall back but feel that they need to stay and support another member of their squadron, they are to do so at their individual discretion unless specifically ordered to do otherwise,” Wessex declared.

  The Comm. Officer nodded worked his console and then gave the Admiral a thumbs up to indicate the message had been sent.

  “New message for Squadrons 1 and 2,” the Admiral continued implacably as he glared at the nearly two squadrons of enemy ships barreling down at them. It looked to be a mixed group of battleships and cruisers, “Stay on the Flag and prepare to receive the enemy.”

  “Messages sent,” Com’s said after a short pause.

  “Good,” Wessex said shortly and then eyed the Helm before turning to his flag captain, “Jenner, prepare to take this ship to maximum burn.”

  “Destination, Sir?” the combat officer asked tightly.

  “Those enemy battleships,” he replied.

  “With pleasure, Admiral,” said the Captain.

  The enemy appeared to have caught him out of position, not only his battleship squadrons but his forces in general. Well as they say every dog has his day and the local dogs appeared determined to snap at his heels. There was nothing he could do about that right at the moment. But soon he would show them the error of attempting to address the Reclamation Fleet from any position but on their knees.

  Normal space mechanics, if nothing else, dictated that at their current speeds they’d only have time for a short engagement window before pulling away. After they pulled away, the battle would be on a more even footing. Then the discipline, training and superior technology of even these refitted, locally-built ships would seal the battle if mere numbers alone wouldn’t do the trick.

  These locals were about to die—but not before they suffered for what they had done to his fleet.

  Chapter Fifteen: A Smashing Success

  “Sir, if you want to slow down in order to extend the engagement window, now would be the time, sir,” Hammer said, repeating herself in more ways than one.

  “I thought you didn’t particularly want to risk a prolonged engagement with the enemy heavies, Captain,” I replied without censure.

  Hammer flushed. It appeared that while I may have spoken without censure, my words might not have been taken that way.

  “I am doing the best I know how to support you, Sir,” Hammer said, turning squarely to look at me. “That means that I give my advice before you make a decision and then I do my best to back you up and make that decision a success.”

  I cocked my head. “An unusually enlightened opinion,” I said, genuinely impressed.

  Hammer glared at me. “As your Flag Captain I, by design, play the Demon’s advocate. If something comes up later that would, in my opinion, significantly alter the situation it is my duty to inform you,” she continued hotly. “However, my duty and honor as an officer—”

  I cut her off with a chop of my hand. “I’m not used to such unwavering support and was surprised by it, Captain. I was not attempting to question your professionalism; I was merely surprised,” I said forcefully.

  “Of course, Sir,” she said neutrally while eyeing me before settling back watchfully. I could tell that she had a particularly fine trigger, but then I figured this was only to be expected.

  I nodded, happy that this had been settled but was interrupted a moment later.

  “Do you want to slow the ships and prolong the engagement, Admiral?” she finally asked after a prolonged moment.

  I cocked a smile. “The battleships of this fleet have the means to prolong our engagement without a gradual slow-down that, at this point,” I paused to confirm by looking at the main screen and then nodded sharply, “would gain us mere seconds.
Its time these Reclamationists felt our royal rage, Captain.”

  “I am unfamiliar with a method that would allow us to prolong weapons contact with the enemy that does not involve slowing this ship,” she said.

  “Then you’ve never heard of the Maneuver before,” I joked.

  “Which maneuver is that? There is quite a list of them compiled in the database. Or is this something you’ve thought up on the spot all by yourself, Sir?” Hammer sounded irritated.

  “It’s called the…” my mouth made a moue of distaste at the full stop maneuver’s official name, as coined by one Terrance Spalding, “Montagne Maneuver, and it doesn’t merely slow down a ship—it brings it to the next best thing to a full and complete stop in the matter of moments.”

  Hammer took several moments to consider what I had just said and, at the end of it, looked like she’d swallowed something sour.

  “I now recall reading something about your Maneuver in the after action report of the Second Battle for Tracto. I have to strongly advise against using untested technology that might backfire catastrophically, Admiral,” Captain Hammer warned.

  “It’s not my maneuver; it was the creation of our former Chief Engineer and my Uncle. And it’s hardly untested, Leonora,” I grinned. “Besides, it’s part of the winning combination that’s been used by this fleet in the past.”

  Lieutenant Commander Leonora Hammer shook her head. “I want to go on the record as opposed to this action in the strongest terms,” she replied after a moment of brow-wrinkled, furious thought.

  “Noted for the record,” I said congenially, “that said, have Navigator…Brightenbauc, I believe it is, plot a course that will bring us smack dab between the two squadrons of enemy ships and have Lieutenant Steiner open a channel. Oh and Warrant Officer Blythe, if you can get ready to do the honors?” I asked, looking over at Damage Control pointedly.

  “On it, Sir,” the Damage Control watch stander said with a nod as she turned back to her console.