Admiral's War Part One

by Wachter, Luke Sky

  I gave myself a shake to clear the absurd sentiment from between my ears. “Your concern is noted. However, the goal isn’t so much to keep them from realizing where we are, or where we’re going, as it is to obfuscate who is going where,” I said, keeping my face from reflecting my inner feelings. Maybe it was part of being a professional spacer? Or maybe it had more to do with the Confederation not being actively involved in any major wars lately? I didn’t know and I didn’t have time to wonder.

  It was time to let Janeski and his forces start working for their victory in this star system. At three to one odds, I might not be able to defeat the fleet Arnold Janeski had assembled against me. But if I could slip away and fall back on some serious fortification…

  I wanted that chance. I wanted it badly.

  My jaw clenched of its own accord. I had to save this fleet, this Grand Fleet made up of the men and women under my command. I would succeed, or I would die trying.

  “Accelerating to full military power,” reported DuPont.

  “Have two Destroyers waiting just outside the jamming field, Mr. Hart. I’d like to have a little surprise waiting for those Strike Fighters that have been shadowing us,” I instructed with a cold smile.

  “Yes, Sir,” acknowledged the Tactical Officer hungrily.

  “Field density is lowering,” warned Sensors, and shortly afterwards the Grand Fleet shot out of the jammer field like a rocket. Although, thanks to the jammer buoys towed behind our ships, to an outside observer it would probably look at first like the jammer field had bulged out, enlarging the battle field.

  That bulge was only temporary, and it soon separated from the main field and…well, it just kept going. Soon the large, static bulge split into five very unequal portions, and then those bulges separated from the main field and shot off in five different directions.

  For a long moment I glared at the screen, in particular at the jammer field and the secret Imperials hidden inside her, then slumping back in my chair I gave my head a weary shake. The Reclamationists had been knocking out jammers inside the field ever since they stormed in there, but it would hold long enough.

  “Well, that’s that,” I said with finality, swiveling my chair fractionally. The fate of the Grand Fleet was out of my hands, and the ball was firmly in the court of the closet Imperials we were currently running away from as fast as our ships could manage.

  “Deploy a Destroyer to the edge of our own jammer field for sensor overwatch,” I instructed Lieutenant Hart, and then several minutes later I watched with satisfaction as a squadron of imperial fighters poked their heads outside the jammer field—and promptly got them cut off by the Destroyer’s pinpoint light and medium lasers.

  Turning my attention back to the sketchy sensor information—sketchy precisely because we were dragging jammer buoys—I straightened my posture. The Imperials could appear behind us at any time, and we needed to be on the lookout.

  “Instruct Admiral Silverback that he is to transfer all non-essential personnel from his Battleships to other ships in this group,” I said, and then waited until Steiner had transferred the orders.

  “Moving at half speed isn’t going to get us to the hyper limit before the enemy can catch us, Admiral,” Captain Hammer pointed out in a neutral voice, “assuming they don’t get lost searching for us in that sensor morass.”

  I turned to look down at her screen. “Considering we were shadowed out of that ‘morass’ by Imperial Strike Fighters, I highly doubt they’re going to stay confused about our current location for long,” I said dryly.

  She just looked at me.

  “What?” I asked defensively. My entire plan, such as it was, consisted of what was essentially a shell game. To take us down, the Imperials were going to have to guess right. Sadly, no matter how fast our Battleships could move, the Imperials were going to be able to send their smaller warships out to catch us. That said nothing of if their battleships got on our trail fast enough with their faster drives.

  “Look,” I said plainly, “it’s going to be rough, no question. But I think this gives us the best possible chance of getting this fleet—or at least a large part of it—out of this star system somewhat intact.”

  “I know. I just hope this works out better than I’m expecting,” Hammer admitted, “however…those Aegis battleships are slowing us down.”

  “No matter what we do, the Reclamationists are probably going to catch up with us. And when their lighter units come in on attack runs, I fully intend to have an answer waiting for them. Since we can’t outrun them, it’s going to come down to blood and guts,” I said firmly. I silently added that I couldn’t think of anyone I’d rather have for the job than Admiral Silverback. Then I decided to throw out a fig leaf, “At least the jammers we’re towing should make it harder for long-range targeting. They’re going to have to get in close, and as soon as they start to catch up with the other four groups those groups will be able to light off their engines and prove there are no Battleships in their groups. That should help take the pressure off them somewhat.”

  “And put it squarely back on us,” Hammer said resignedly.

  “No one said being a Battleship Captain was going to be easy,” I pointed out with a crooked grin. Then I straightened up seriously, “I think it’s time to recall that pair of Destroyers we left behind. Relay orders for them to rejoin the formation.”

  Chapter Sixty-three: Speed and Determination

  “Admiral, we’ve just received word from our fighters that the locals have abandoned the jammer field,” the fighter commander reported.

  “The fighters are sure it’s their main force?” demanded the High Admiral.

  “As sure as they can be, Sir,” the Commander said.

  “Very well. Get us out of here and send word via fighters to Task Force 3 and, for that matter, any other units you come across,” Janeski said tersely.

  “Slippery little blighter, isn’t he?” the Flag Captain said with a hint of admiration. “We’ll get him, Sir.”

  “Of course we’ll get him,” Janeski said, irritation flavoring his voice. “We have the legs and the numbers to settle his hash with finality, and I aim to do so. He can run, but not as fast as us, and now that he’s given up hiding…”

  “He’s just lucky we didn’t run across him inside the jammer field,” said Goddard.

  “He’s obviously too stupid to know when he’s been licked. That will only make this victory all the sweeter after he’s crushed,” said Janeski.

  As soon as the Invictus Rising and the rest of Task Force 1 cleared the sensor interdicting field, the High Admiral ordered an immediate sensor scan.

  “Find them and relay the coordinates to the helm and navigation, Sensors,” Janeski ordered.

  “Not a problem, Sir,” the Commander over the Sensor Section said with confidence. A minute passed and the officer turned back to Admiral Janeski with a sour face. “The enemy fleet has split into five formations with all on different headings, Sir. I wish I could be more specific, but they appear to be using a slightly inferior jammer field to the one we just exited, but this one’s mobile. I’m also getting some sensor shadows and strange mass readings,” he reported with a frown. “Given time, I can give a hull breakdown but for now this is the best intel I can give you, Sir.”

  The High Admiral’s eyes were flinty. “Understood,” he said calmly, “report back when you have more information.”

  “Of course, High Admiral,” said the Sensor Commander.

  “Tactical, plot course and speed on all five enemy groups and tell me which ones will reach the hyper limit first if unimpeded…and which one will get there last,” he instructed as his eyes snapped back and forth in a long-practiced series of mental calculations involving relative velocities and possible intercept points with the enemy formations.

  “I hear and obey,” said the Tactical Officer.

  “Begin calling back in the combat space patrol. I want those fighters on the deck, rearmed, and ready for a
fast turnabout,” Janeski ordered.

  Then he sat back and pondered the information as it started coming in.

  Of the five sensor blobs fleeing the star system—each at a pitiful half-military power of a sluggish Battleship—on the face of it there was no way the locals could honestly think they were going to escape. If there was one thing the boy seemed to have learned out in the cold, ruthless dark between the stars since their last acquaintance, it was how to tuck tail and run when his life was on the line. So why wasn’t he running now and fleeing just as fast as his little legs could carry him?

  “What are you plotting now, my running little jack rabbit?” he mused, looking at the screen and the lethargically fleeing enemy warships. Hidden though they were, the locals were within those sensor resistant blobs on the screen.

  Then it hit him. He needed to adjust his thinking. He continued to think of the Governor as the coward he knew the little twerp was. Sure, the little blighter was willing to fight when his back was against the wall—mainly to secure his escape, of course—or when striking from ambush when his enemy was off-balance and all the odds favored him. But what if the boy had started to believe in his own pathetic ‘legend?’

  “The arrogant little sot wants to save them all,” the High Admiral mused humorously, “that’s the only explanation that fits.”

  “Sir?” asked Goddard.

  There was a pause. “It’s a shell game, of course. Either he’s a fool and has split everything equally between the five sensor blobs, or the little twit’s actually trying to save his Battleships from destruction,” Janeski replied after a moment. “Moreover, he seems to think he actually has a chance to do so.”

  “That makes sense,” Goddard agreed quickly.

  “He’s wrong, of course, but I may have genuinely misjudged him,” Admiral Janeski admitted grudgingly.

  “How so?” the Flag Captain asked with surprise.

  “It would appear that the little prince might actually have a brain between his ears after all,” Janeski said slowly as he worked through the problem in his head, fitting the pieces back together into a new, workable whole.

  “He walked into your trap…but after that he has indeed proven decidedly unpredictable,” Goddard agreed. “I can see it.”

  Janeski frowned with displeasure, not at Goddard or what he was saying but at himself.

  “The boy was always afraid of confrontation; one look in his eye and you could see he was constantly worried and willing to do just about anything to avoid confrontation,” the High Admiral shrugged. “I figured that running around in Sector 25, bullying any ship smaller than ‘his’ Battleship was a simple case of the strong oppressing the weak with the coward finally empowered and determined to get some revenge. Joining a larger fleet as a subordinate officer in Sector 23 put responsibility on others…and striking from ambush, with overwhelming numbers or when your back is against the wall, all seemed to play into it,” Janeski mulled. “While I stand by my initial conclusion about the boy, I do see two possible ways I may be wrong. Like many, he may simply be a physical coward but has little problem with violence in concept—from the safety of a bridge with shields and multiple metal bulkheads between him and the vacuum of space, of course. But that is belied by several confidential reports.”

  “Which leaves what? That we were wrong in our initial impression? That he’s become a bully used to ambushes and superior numbers, and maybe doesn’t yet realize what he’s facing despite the evidence of his own eyes?” asked Goddard with a shrug. “I think that in practice it really doesn’t matter what we thought about Governor Montagne in the past, so long as we can crush him here and now.”

  “A practical approach,” Janeski allowed sourly, “I just dislike misjudging an opponent. Still…you are right. Let’s end this farce.”

  “Aye aye, Admiral,” said the Captain.

  “Commander of Fighters, you are to split your remaining fighters into four wings and send them out to the four targets I will specify in a minute,” Janeski said.

  “If I were to hazard a guess, I’d assume that we are to be sent after the enemy?” he asked.

  “You would assume correctly,” said the High Admiral with a deathly smile.

  Chapter Sixty-four: On the Run

  “Sir, you’re going to want to see this,” interjected Lieutenant Hart.

  “Show me,” I said after a moment.

  An image popped up on my screen and I sucked in a breath.

  “Well that was fast,” Captain Hammer remarked calmly.

  “Fast?” I asked wearily. “This is a little bit worse than simply fast; it’s trouble, that’s what it is. Still,” I forced my heart rate to slow down, “we all knew they were going to respond, and here it is.”

  I silently watched as the Imperial Command Carrier and its accompanying fleet started moving toward the middle of our five jammer formations at full burn. Fortunately for Sub-Formation Three, the enemy was limited to the speed of the Command Carrier—at least for the moment while they continued to move in formation. How long that lasted was anyone’s guess.

  What was churning my gut were four groups of Imperial strike fighters, at almost one hundred and fifty strong each, that had suddenly broken away from the Carrier and was blasting toward four of our sensor jammed formations at top speed.

  “With the E-Con 1 taking our middle formation and the strike fighters the other four, including our own, things are about to get dicey,” I said emotionlessly.

  “Those strike fighters are going to be coming a bit faster than their warships would have, that’s a fact,” Hammer said helplessly.

  On the outside I might have appeared unaffected, but on the inside I was feeling the pressure. Before the Imperials launched the strike fighters, things had been looking up. But now I just wasn’t sure.

  I had consolidated all of our Battleships under one roof, and after attaching a pair of undamaged Destroyers, the single Droid Mothership, and the remainder of our engine-crippled ships I’d split the rest of the Grand Fleet’s warships between the other formations. I’d set up a group of only Cruisers, another of half Cruisers and half Destroyers, and the remaining two were Destroyers only.

  The original plan had been for the other groups to pretend to be limited to half Battleship speed and then run for it as soon as the Imperials got close enough to scan them and determine their composition. Unfortunately for our side, I hadn’t counted on the fighters being detached from the Carrier all by themselves—nor had I anticipated their speed, which was equivalent although slightly faster than a Corvette, and I knew that might prove to be a decisive failure on my part.

  Not that it’s likely I would have done anything different, but…

  “We’re committed now and the other groups are just going to have to stick to the plan,” I said bleakly, still mentally kicking myself for not remembering those fighters and factoring them into my plan. I had just assumed that either they’d keep the fighters close to the Carrier or that they wouldn’t send so many of them. More’s the fool me, “Trying to change things around right now, midstream as it were, will only cause confusion unless we have a firm plan in place—which we don’t.”

  Hammer nodded.

  Over the next twenty five minutes, we watched as the fighters leapt towards four of the five formations—including us. Only one of the all-Destroyer formations was free from pursuit by the fighters. That was ironic, as it was naturally one of the fastest we had.

  Time wound past, and a half hour later the Imperial fighters came shrieking up behind each of our formations.

  “Ready the Destroyers for anti-fighter duty,” I instructed, “and tell Silverback he and his Battleships are to prepare their light guns and point defense.”

  I looked back at the pair of heavily-damaged Aegis Battleships being towed behind our two fully-functional squadrons of the wall. They had been positioned so that they’d have a full broadside pointed toward anyone attempting to make a straight run at the engines of the rest of
our wallers.

  Counting the lighter warships we would be using to try and drive off the fighters, it wasn’t the best solution to the problem—it was the only one. Well, that and a certain rage-filled Battleship that came pre-equipped with short-range, low-powered plasma cannons—the exact sort of cannons ideal for use against gunboats…and, as it just so happened, Imperial Strike Fighters.

  I unveiled a toothy smile. As strokes of good luck went, it was far from epic, but I was going to make the most of it.

  Chapter Sixty-five: Final Run

  “Ready to begin final approach on the sensor distortion, Squadron Leader,” reported the lead Reclamation Fleet Fighter Pilot. “Requesting ‘go, no go’ permission for the attack run.”

  “Permission granted, Red 5. You are ‘go’ for the attack run,” replied the Squadron Leader, “reinforcements will be following us shortly. Beware the pair of chimney sweeps they have guarding their backwash. Threat estimate from High Command is that they are Destroyer-level in strength, over.”

  “Clear, squadron leader. Beginning final approach now,” said the Pilot Red 5 sending his engine into sprint mode and surging into the sensor miasma.

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

  Back on the Invictus Rising, the fleet command team watched the time delayed returns with bated breath after the first of the fighter wings entered the small clouds of sensor-occluding fuzz.

  In three of the four cases, as soon as the fighters penetrated the target’s sensor bubble the incredibly powerful sensors of the Command Carrier detected light and medium laser fire. Immediately after detecting that fire, the target bubble suddenly increased its acceleration.

  “Target Four has just tripled its acceleration,” the Sensor Officer reported, sitting bolt upright.