Admiral's War Part One

by Wachter, Luke Sky

  I was not a prisoner stuck inside his cell, and I was most certainly not a victim. Those tribulations were behind me and it was time to act like it.

  “Bring us out of formation and tell the gun deck to fire up the plasma cannons,” I said, feeling a bar of iron stiffen in the center of my being.

  “Admiral Montagne?” my Flag Captain asked uncertainly.

  “You heard me, Captain. It may be a futile gesture, but alone among all our Battleships the Royal Rage is uniquely suited to deal with these fighters,” I said.

  Hammer hesitated and then cocked her head. “Duty requires me to point out that if we break formation we not only endanger the other Battleships by creating a gap in the formation, but we also place our engines at risk,” she said.

  “Don’t think I misunderstand your point when I tell you that this is a risk we’re just going to have to take,” I informed her. Right, wrong, or indifferent, I was unwilling to sit here within the relative safety of the Battleship formation and wait until all the Cruisers and Destroyers had been picked off. There was simply no way I was going to do that. “Signal the other ships and update them with our status. We are sallying out.”

  “It’s unlikely we can save them, Sir.” Hammer said. I gave her a level look and it was clear that she was ambivalent about her objections. “Aye aye, Admiral,” Leonora Hammer said and then turned to her crew, “prepare the sally the ship. Gunners are to prepare the plasma cannons.”

  “Prepare the plasma cannons, aye,” said Hart.

  “Ship is ready to break formation upon your command, Sir,” said DuPont.

  “The command is given,” Hammer said.

  “Taking the ship out now,” replied the Helmsman.

  With a flare of her engines, the Royal Rage smoothly exited the tight, staggered circle of the Grand Fleet’s battleships squadrons. It was a line of seven Battleships in the front and two more—the battered remnants of Admiral Silverback’s proud Aegis squadron—in the rear. Being towed behind us like the Reclamationist Medium Cruiser squadron, which had been part of the task force we’d ambushed and inspired the move, the Aegis warships were able to stay interposed between our engines and the enemy fighters for the most part. That had caused the fighters to focus on the weaker members of our force., bringing us back to our reason for going on the attack.

  “Here we go,” said DuPont.

  “Look lively, Gunnery; don’t wait for orders to smoke some fighters,” Hart instructed.

  Like the relatively slow and ponderous juggernaut of doom that she was, the Rage separated from the pack moving toward a nearby Light Cruiser that was surrounded by a swirl of enemy fighter squadrons.

  “Going to full burn!” barked DuPont.

  Like an overweight man going from a walk to a slow jog, the Rage pushed forward until at last her short-range weaponry came to bear on the enemy.

  “Fuego!” snarled Lieutenant Hart, and dozens of plasma balls shot out, followed by dozens more, until more than a hundred short ranged balls of doom slammed into and all around the enemy fighters.

  My brows jumped and my head snapped around as I stared at my Tactical Officer following the unusual choice of words. Then, rolling my eyes, I turned back to the screen.

  “Enemy fighters are scattering,” reported Hart.

  “Get us in there, Mr. DuPont!” ordered the Captain.

  “With pleasure,” said the Helm, and for five glorious minutes we gave those fighters more trouble than they were expecting—and certainly more than they could handle.

  But all good things must come to an end, and the fighters, moving faster than our Battleship could handle, moved on to other targets. And with their speed it was almost impossible for us to catch them.

  However, behind us we left the better part of twenty fighters broken, blasted and powerless. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

  Chapter Sixty-eight: Send in the Torpedoes

  Shortly after the first engine-crippled Destroyers started to fall out of the enemy sub-groups, the fighters found and eliminated the irritating little jammer technology the provincials had used to such surprising effect.

  “High Admiral, the fighters around enemy Retreat Group One report that the enemy flagship has engaged them with a short-range plasma attack. It’s not powerful enough to deal with proper warships, but against fighters and in the numbers they are using…” the fighter commander shook his head, “three squadrons were overwhelmed before they could retreat out of range. And far from returning to the protection of the other Battleships, the flaming flagship is continuing to harry our fighters. They’re driving them off before they can do a proper job of crippling the enemy Cruisers and Destroyers. That won’t stop us long-term, but it’s slowing us down and cramping my people’s style.”

  “Recommendations?” Janeski asked, looking at the Commander with flinty eyes.

  “Rearm with torpedoes,” the Commander said instantly, “we don’t have any bombers, so they’ll be even more unwieldy than they should be. But we can crack open even Battleship shields with enough torpedoes, then we swarm her,” he snapped his fingers emphatically, “as quick as that, we’ll be on her and after her engines.”

  “You’re advising a close-in attack with fighters against a plasma cannon-armed opponent? Gutsy,” Janeski mulled on it for a moment, “and costly, even though I’m sure it would work…” he stared off into space in contemplation.

  “Just give us the word, Sir, and we’ll start the process of arming fighters to take the fight to the enemy,” said the Commander with an eager glint in his eye.

  “What kind of turnaround are we talking about here?” Janeski demanded.

  “The fighters already have the hard points on the belly. It’s mostly just a matter of hand-mounting the torpedoes and uploading the new targeting and fire control software,” the Commander stopped long enough to run the numbers before looking back up. “We’ll easily be able to send out a full strike before the enemy reach the hyper limit.”

  “Only one strike?” Janeski asked with unmuted displeasure.

  “We can send them out in dribs and drabs as the individual fighters are armed and ready, if you’d prefer, Sir,” said the commander stiffly.

  The High Admiral shot the fighter commander a hard look, but the other officer only returned his own look unflinchingly.

  “Harry the groups of lighter ships, but I want a full strike package assembled and driven home against the Battleships,” instructed the Admiral.

  “With pleasure,” nodded the Commander.

  Chapter Sixty-nine: The Tide Turns Against

  “The fighters are withdrawing—they’re pulling back!” Lieutenant Hart said with satisfaction.

  “Looks like it was too hot for them to handle,” Navigator Brightenbauc said entirely too smugly.

  I gritted my teeth. That man set me on edge but not in the usual life threatening way that such things struck me. No, Brightenbauc had a quality all his own.

  I watched as the enemy fighters streamed back and away from our formation falling back…toward their Carrier, as it turned out.

  “It’s nice to see them turning back,” said the Flag Captain.

  “So they can get up to even more no good doing the Demon’s work for him, no doubt…” I said dourly.

  “A rather superstitious position—even for a spacer,” Hammer remarked dryly.

  “Is it superstitious or a hard dose of jaded realism?” I riposted archly.

  “Superstitious, without a doubt,” Hammer said with a straight face.

  “And if those superstitions play out?” I cocked my head. “What would I be then? Prophet, seer and revelator?”

  “Hardly,” she snorted, “more like dime store, soapbox-standing mountebank.”

  “If even accurately predicting an enemy’s movements beforehand—assuming a person could—isn’t enough to claim more than card sharping mountebanks status, then where stands everyone else, Captain? How do merely mortal men appear in your eye?” I asked wi
th genuine curiosity.

  “You think quite highly of yourself, don’t you, Admiral?” Hammer snickered. “Very high and mighty of you.”

  I lifted a brow. “There’s an ancient Slavic saying: if shoe fits…wear it!” I said, and then couldn’t help but break down, covering my mouth and snorting to avoid out-and-out laughter.

  “I guess all that remains to be seen is which pair of shoes you’ll be wearing,” she said.

  “Hmm?” I cocked my head.

  “The fallible clodhoppers of the working man or the delicate, polished slippers of the card hustler,” she elucidated.

  I rolled my eyes. Moments later, my eyes had stopped rolling and snagged on the tactical display. It seemed the Imperial fighters had learned a new trick: Group Three had finally lost its jammers, and several more warships took engine damage, slowed down, and fell out of formation in the other groups.

  “Now that all jammers are down across all groups, we’ve been receiving reports,” said Captain Hammer.

  “I’m well aware of this,” I replied.

  Her mouth tightened. “It’s concerning the warships we’re losing in the other formations.”

  “Sorry. You were saying?” I asked.

  “They’re using some kind of missile, one that’s almost the same size as the fighters that are launching them, and from all reports they pack a wallop,” she said.

  “Any threat to Battleship shields?” I asked, well aware that the other groups were mainly comprised of Destroyers.

  “Individually, no,” she said with certainty, “even in small groups. But in large groups…” she trailed off pointedly.

  I felt a chill. The Imperials had lots of fighters, and now they had these heavy anti-ship missiles to arm them with. The only question now was whether they had enough of these large missiles. I didn’t know for sure, but I didn’t like any of the answers I came up with.

  Chapter Seventy: Launch Fighters

  “You do realize that at least a few of the all-Destroyer groups are likely to get away at this rate, Sir?” Goddard asked dryly, referencing two of the fleeing Grand Fleet formations even now scurrying for the hyper limit. He paused before adding, “And I wouldn’t be willing to put money down that we’ll get all of the mixed Cruiser/Destroyer groups, either.”

  “Not unless we are willing to expend more of our fighters than I’m currently comfortable with,” the High Admiral agreed.

  “I understand that you don’t want to send the fighters, but why, Sir? If you know you can crush the enemy fully and completely, why not do it?” the Captain asked.

  “The reasons are twofold, Captain,” the High Admiral explained. “One, this fleet will probably not be the only one we have to deal with here in the Spine and although we can eventually replace the fighters, there are only so many trained pilots. I like to keep my options for a long range strike open for the future. Two, letting a few of the enemy escape to tell the tales of their defeat can only help our cause.”

  “Understood,” Captain Goddard said.

  “And finally,” Janeski continued, his gaze sharpening, “the heart of Sector 25’s Fleet is its Battleships—and I fully intend to crush that heart.”

  The High Admiral turned away from the Flag Captain to the Space Wing Commander.

  “Launch Fighters—I want those battleships, Commander,” Janeski said severely.

  “Torpedo-armed fighters are launching now, Admiral,” said the Commander with a professional nod.

  Chapter Seventy-one: The Shield Breakers

  “Enemy fighters are making an attack run, Sir!” reported Lieutenant Hart.

  I glared at the main screen, as if somehow by wishing it the screen would simply change to reflect the reality I wanted instead of the one I had to deal with.

  “Even if we stop those fighters from gutting us, the enemy’s main fleet is going to catch us before we reach the hyper limit,” said Captain Hammer.

  “Even if?” I rounded on her fiercely, like a wolf scenting prey. “Of course we’re going to stop those fighters—and I don’t care if we have to tow them, the rest of the ships in this formation are coming with us,” by now I was almost shouting, “OVER the hyper-limit, Captain. All we’ll lose if the fighters hit them is engine speed. Even with those torpedoes, it’s going to take more than a couple fighters to keep me from saving these warships!”

  “Of course….and as you say,” Hammer said, looking away to defuse the suddenly tense situation.

  I took a calming breath and, realizing I wasn’t portraying the most fitting image of a Confederation Admiral, I forced myself to sit back in my seat and get a handle on my nerves. The better part of a day sitting in this chair, battling through life and death situations, had taken its toll. What I needed was a few long minutes to decompress, followed by several hours of sleep—with maybe a good massage or backrub thrown in for good measure. But what I had were the handful of seconds before all the blazes broke loose.

  “Our remaining Destroyer escorts are moving to intercept,” reported Tactical Officer Hart.

  Our crippled and battle-damaged Destroyers did their heroic best, but nearly two hundred fighters—many of them armed with the new anti-ship missiles—proved too much for the embattled warships.

  The fighters deftly maneuvered around the laser-spewing Destroyers, and a handful of anti-ship missiles slammed into the three of the Destroyers’ shields. Their shields were destabilized long enough for several squadrons to penetrate their shields, which they did, and my smaller ships’ relatively light PD complement did little to deter the pesky small craft. The fighters then homed in on their engines and poured continuous fire into them until the engines flamed out—or exploded outright.

  Then, like a beacon emerging from the exploding wreckage of her sister ships, came a blunt-nosed valkyrie. While the other Destroyers were bathed in laser strikes from the enemy fighters and wracked with explosions, the captain of this Destroyer had sent his ship into what at first glance appeared to be a totally uncontrolled spin.

  However, it was anything but uncontrolled. Rotating from side to side and front to back in a beautiful, figure eight maneuver—which, from my perspective, looked like it would be worse than death to experience for the crew inside—the Destroyer’s commander made it nearly impossible for the fighters to accurately target his engines, let alone hit his ship enough times to destroy her engines.

  The weight of fire now spewing from the Destroyer’s lasers was also a sight to behold. They weren’t getting many confirmed hits, but with its gutsy moves that single Destroyer had just completely discommoded the entire enemy’s fighter wing.

  “Now’s our chance! Mr. DuPont, break formation immediately and take the Rage toward those fighters,” I barked, jumping out of my chair and thrusting a finger at the formation in question. “Lisa, tell the rest of the ships what we’re doing so the Battleships can move to cover our hole in the formation. Captain, fire up the plasma cannons and fight your ship!”

  “Sir—” Captain Hammer began to protest.

  “Aye, Admiral,” DuPont interrupted, putting the ship in motion before he bothered to confirm his orders.

  “Message is being transmitted,” reported Steiner.

  “And somebody find me the names of that Destroyer and her CO!” I commanded.

  Engines flaring, the Royal Rage once again exited the battleship formation. With ponderous might, the Caprian-built Dreadnaught class Battleship turned to face the enemy formation. Then, her engines going to a full military roar, the Rage powered forward.

  “Approaching at a fifteen degree angle to the enemy fighters; we’ll sweep across their bows unless they scatter and turn away,” said DuPont. “Take us in, Helm,” Captain Hammer ordered with feeling. The words were a bit redundant but you could tell from her tone of voice that, not only was she supporting her Admiral’s call, she was eager to bring the fight to the enemy.

  “I have a confirmation on that Destroyer, Admiral Montagne,” said the Sensor Officer, “it�
�s the Crazy Ivan, captained by one…Senior Lieutenant Dmitri…erm, Ivan,” he added in obvious bewilderment.

  Because of the distraction caused by the crazy Destroyer, and their resulting evasive maneuvers, it took the fighters precious time to spot the Battleship. After all, what Battleship would be crazy enough to attack a formation whose sole intent and purpose was to knock out the Grand Fleet’s Battleships with shield busters and engine attacks?

  Like a flock of pigeons only belatedly realizing their peril, the nearest enemy fighter squadrons instinctively jerked back away from the Rage before discipline reasserted itself and they once again started forming up into squadrons.

  “Shields holding at 100%,” reported Longbottom.

  “Are we under fire, Shields?” the Captain asked archly. Obviously there was no need to report the shield strength unless there was a problem.

  “We’ve started taking random occasional strikes from Crazy Ivan, Captain,” Longbottom reported with a shrug, “it’s not getting past our shield recharge rate.”

  I coughed abruptly, covering my mouth with a hand to keep from either laughing or snorting. It was one of those cases where a person’s body couldn’t quite decide which it wanted to do, but in our present situation it was better if I did neither.

  “Gunnery is firing ranging shots,” reported Hart as several of our forward plasma cannons fired.

  In response to the attack, several Imperial fighters swerved to the side and only one Strike Fighter was hit.

  “Enemy fighters are turning to attack!” reported Lieutenant Hart as dozens of fighters surged forward. Squadron by squadron, they shook out and came pouring toward the Royal Rage.

  “Turn-turn-turn and present the broadside!” shouted Hammer.