The Captain arched an eyebrow and paused. “Put him through to the main screen,” she said evenly.
The image of the Admiral in his command chair on the Little Gift appeared on the bridge of her ship.
“Admiral Montagne, it’s good to see you, Sir,” the Captain said, straightening in her chair.
“It’s good to be here, Captain,” the Admiral said with a regal nod, “I wanted to call over and thank you for the assist.”
“Of course, Sir,” the Captain said with a faint smile, “it’s our duty after all, and for a moment there you looked like you needed the hand.”
In response to this, the Admiral smiled. “We could have managed, but I wouldn’t have wanted to,” he said in reply.
The Captain just looked at him for a moment and then shrugged. “Is there anything me and mine can do to assist?” she asked finally.
“I’ll have the Captain check with his department heads and get back to you,” Admiral Montagne said easily and then flipped a hand, “in the meantime, if you could push out a few scout ships to make sure we don’t get snuck up on while we’re consolidating?”
“Of course, Admiral, I’ll get right on it,” McCruise answered in a professional voice.
“Thank you, Captain McCruise,” the Admiral said, raising his hand as if to cut off the transmission before pausing. “One more thing,” he added, “as soon as we get things squared away over here—and always assuming we don’t have another Bug attack in the meantime—I plan to call a meeting to which you’re invited. There are a few tough decisions that need to be made, and I’d very much like your input.”
“I wouldn’t miss it,” Synthia McCruise said truthfully.
“Until then,” the Admiral said with a pleasant expression on his face, “I’ll have my staff forward the details.”
The Captain raised a hand in farewell and held it until the transmission was cut from the other end.
“Alright team,” she informed the bridge without delay, “you heard our orders; let’s contact the other ships and push out some scouts. The Corvettes are going to form up into a protective defense formation until the Flagship gets back on its feet.” The Captain glanced at Com’s before turning fully to her Tactical Team, “I want recommendations on the least damaged Cutters to push forward from the main body before I start issuing the orders, Tactical Officer.”
“Right away, Sir,” the grizzled old retiree said baring his teeth.
Chapter 27: Tough Decisions
“Our Tracto scouts are sure,” I said with a frown, “they can confirm two merchant freighters docked at the main trillium processing station?” I wished I could have put this meeting off longer, but with the damage our Flagship kept taking in every encounter, if I put off breaking up the fleet any longer then pretty soon the decision would have been made for me through simple attrition.
“Yes, Admiral Montagne, they can confirm,” said First Officer Eastwood, “independent analysis by our own team backs up their sensor readings.”
I leaned back in the conference room chair, outwardly presenting the cool and confident Admiral determined to ponder this new development fully before deciding on a course of action. On the inside, however, I was hesitating like mad and more than anything else, upset with myself for doing it. We had been on the outskirts of Tracto for two weeks, and I still couldn’t pull the trigger on the decision. What was I, gun shy after being put in prison, that I couldn’t make the tough decisions anymore?
I knew what had to be done: we had to interdict that shipment of trillium, if at all possible. On the other hand, we also had to intercept any and all Bug raiders. If we could do this, we could keep Jean Luc complacent about the Bug threat, and that would be the end of him…if we could do it; if we could stop Bugs without our Cutter force. If, if, if and if.
Those former pirate ships were ideal for taking on unarmed or poorly escorted Freighters. With enough numbers, we could…I paused. What was the likelihood that Jean Luc would send out freighters full of trillium without an escort?
The light-bulb went off, and I realized that this was why I had been malingering over making the decision—my subconscious had picked up on something that my conscious brain had been too thick to spot. However, that just made my current predicament all the more poignant.
How many ships could I afford to detach, and still be able to stop the Bug Harvester groups? That was the question that plagued mankind, or at least the Admiral nominally in command of the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet, whose job was saving Tracto from a Bug invasion fleet.
“Admiral?” Captain Laurent asked, breaking my introspective train of thought.
“Right,” I sighed wearily, “I wanted to send the Cutters out on a roving Patrol, but we need to cover at least three star systems to have any chance of capturing the Freighters. With only five fully functional Herrings, and the need for at least two Cutters to have any chance of dealing with whatever we run across, I’m going to have to make a few changes to the Capture Force’s order of battle,” I said unhappily.
“What’s your decision, Sir?” Captain McCruise asked from her place. She was again appearing via a holo-screen set into one of the conference room chairs, and her illusory image leaned forward as she continued, “In addition to the two big attack groups we’ve dealt with—those Harvester Groups—we’ve also come across three singleton Scouts or Scout Marauder class Bug ships. We dealt with the singles easily, but I’m afraid that if we draw down our forces too hard we risk a defeat in detail.”
“We’re going to have to take a few chances if we even hope to win this thing,” I said, my face hardening at what I perceived as criticism. After half a moment to reflect, I could see that her words might even be genuinely meant as supportive and constructive, but even still I couldn’t help but feel stung by them. Is the woman slowly building a case against me, I wondered. “That’s why I’ve decided to detach Captain McCruise and her Heavy Destroyer along with one of the Corvettes,” I said, pushing aside such considerations and forging ahead into the sudden silence, “as well as a pair of the Herring Cutters. They can escort the damaged Cutter as far as their target systems, which are to be chosen by McCruise,” I said with a nod to the hatchet-faced Captain, “once she’s on the scene. After that, the damaged Cutter will be free from escort detail and is to proceed to Gambit for a rendezvous with Spalding and his repair yard.”
“May I ask why the Admiral has decided to detach me from the main fleet at this time,” McCruise asked tightly, and there was complete silence from the rest of the conference room.
Glancing from side to side, I saw that the rest of the Officers were unconvinced at the wisdom of my proposed plan of action. That was fine; I was always prepared to explain my reasoning and had absolutely no illusions about being a military professional, so if they could convince me of a better allocation of ships, I was more than willing to be swayed.
“Certainly,” I said, flipping a languid hand and activating the holo-screen at the front of the room which started streaming the various potential systems the navigation team had come up with as potential Pirate stopover points. “My reasons are twofold,” I lifted a finger for emphasis. “Firstly, we need a sufficiently powerful ship to overcome any reasonable escort that might accompany the trillium-laden freighters—merchant ships filled to the gunwales with our trillium,” I added, my face tightening with sudden fury, “gained by the Belters at considerable risk to their persons and equipment.”
I took a deep breath to steady myself before continuing in a more reasonable tone, “Secondly, while the Cutter and Corvette Captains have my every confidence, even they would have to admit to only limited Tactical training—and what little training they do have is more appropriate for a Battleship department team than an independent command. You, on the other hand…” I swiveling my gaze over as my words trailed off, to pin the Wolf-9 Captain with my eye.
“I have training that your officers lack,” McCruise said, her face flickering for a moment before it
passed. If I hadn’t been watching her like a hawk, I would have completely missed the slight expression of surprise.
“Captain Laurent, being a trained Tactical Officer, might,” I said, stressing the word and hiding a satisfied expression behind my cup of tea, “be able to do nearly as well.” I continued after taking a sip and then nodding a head in McCruise’s direction, “Then again, nothing against you Captain,” I turned to look Laurent in the eye and give him a nod, which he returned, “he’s never had an independent command, either. I know for a fact, however, that you’ve led a two warship, convoy protection detail as well as run an independent command on an intelligence mission deep within enemy territory.”
I suppressed an assessing look. I knew she would catch the reference to the two Corvettes I had found protecting the Settler ships we’d rescued at the very beginning of this crazy tiger ride they called being an Admiral in Command. The only question was would she recognize the ‘intelligence mission’ as her duty as Captain of the Dungeon ship? Whether she did or didn’t, either way would tell me something important, so I watched her as closely as I could without appearing to be watching her like the hawk I very much wanted to be at that particular moment.
“A surprisingly logical allocation of resources, all things considered,” McCruise deadpanned.
“Oh?” I said with a deceptively negligently wave as I fanned my fingers in her direction, acting as if unaware of the dig. “What consideration would that be?”
“How long do you plan to sit out here fighting Bugs, Admiral?” McCruise asked.
“I wasn’t aware that the Bugs and the pirate interdiction efforts necessarily had anything to do with each other. Do explain,” I bared my teeth and gave her an easy grin in response. Almost like a wolf might bare its teeth at the competition, I thought.
“Please answer the question, Sir,” McCruise said flatly.
“As long as is necessary to consolidate our forces for a crippling surprise attack,” I replied smoothly, carefully placing the tea cup on its holder and then deliberately setting both of my hands on the table. I looked up to meet her flinty, Captain’s eyes with the raw iron of my own. If the molten desire for revenge against my uncle crept out of my control and color crept onto my face, I didn’t particularly care, “But be assured, I have no intention of dying out here in the dark of cold space far away from the lights of the living stars.”
“We are not your enemies here, Admiral Montagne,” the Easy Haven Captain said, her face tightening in response to whatever it was she saw in my expression. “It’s just that we thought we came out here to deal with pirates, or patrol the Border worlds, not blast Bugs while our ships slowly soak up damage.”
“Of course,” I spoke the words, but put no particular force of meaning behind them, “although, I still don’t understand how Bugs and pirate interdiction duties intersect, exactly.” I stopped to let the tension build in the room—I was almost hoping for a challenge to my authority.
“Pardon the curiosity,” McCruise said finally, “I am ready willing and able to lead the pirate interdiction squadron. Just give the word…” she paused, deliberately locking eyes with me before adding, “Sir.”
“I never thought anything else,” I said agreeably, matching her stare for stare, and while she’d had a good one, I was a man who had been in battle more times than I could easily count in the past year, and then faced his worst fear (imprisonment and scheduled, public execution) and survived. It would take more than this woman to rock me, it would take…family. “After the way the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet has been there for Easy Haven, Wolf-9, and her growing defensive fleet at each and every turn without stint or fail, I honestly cannot understand how any honorable ally could do anything less.”
If I’d been hoping to see her flinch or give way in the slightest, I would have been very disappointed. But since the Omicron betrayal, my Palace-taught understanding of deception had been honed to a razor’s edge and I was anything but disappointed. At this point I trusted the men and women of the MSP both because they deserved it, and because to do anything less was to start down the path to becoming my Uncle—a man I refused to become, even if I had to take my life with my own hand. But as far as supposed allies were concerned, I now expected betrayal—it was anything less that would be surprising to me.
“But, Sir,” McCruise said quietly, “you are mistaken in one particular.”
“That would be?” I said evenly.
“I am not an ally,” she said speaking as normally as if we were chatting over tea, “and I cannot be an ally because we are both part of the same organization: the Confederation Fleet. As you yourself say, we are both Confederation Officers. Being the same thing makes it impossible to be an ally, does it not?”
“I stand corrected,” I said tightly, “we are all one, big, happy Fleet, united together under the Confederation way. No man left behind and all that,” I said, my last line directed at her like a blaster bolt off the starboard bow.
McCruise shook her head sadly. “I’m afraid you’ve got your motto’s mixed up; no man left behind is a Marine motto. In the Fleet, we simply try to be all we can be,” she said without an ounce of give in her voice, “our motto: Not for self, but country.”
“Good to know,” I said, failing to add that not too long ago in Caprian history, a Prince was considered the same as his country. He represented and embodied it to such a degree that an insult or act against him was the same as against his entire country.
It was still that way, at least as far as I could tell, with Tracto’s whole ‘Hold Mistress/Protector’ nonsense. It was probably hard for a person steeped in direct democracy, like her, to understand such thinking. Or maybe she merely considered any single planet so hopelessly subordinated to the Confederation as a whole that treading an entire world or country under her boot heel by allowing its leader to be tortured and die in prison to be nothing more than a regrettable, yet necessary, sacrifice? Perhaps even desirable, if it served the needs of the overarching government she served? ‘For the common good,’ as it were, and all that rot.
Either way such ‘big government’ thinking was beyond me and I was glad of it. If leadership wasn’t personalized, if the individual—through their chosen leaders—was reduced to a meaningless statistic, to something undeserving of special respect or consideration, then what was to stop an intelligent man like me from doing whatever the Hades he wanted! No, I rejected such thinking and the pitfalls that accompanied it.
If the people themselves betrayed me, then I’d rain pain down upon their heads such as they’d never experienced. Let the punishment fit the crime—measure for measure—and their leaders would suffer right along with them. Otherwise, as a leader of men, it was up to me to rise above the common herd. It was my job to follow the ideals, to act with intelligence and honor. To be courageous were I was able, and to stand tall as an example to those around me. The fact that I’d already proven I was little more than a failure by losing the Clover didn’t mean I could excuse myself from my responsibilities. Quite the opposite, since I was only human and therefore bound to fail. Picking myself up, shaking off and doing my best until I was put out of my misery was all I had left—and all that mattered.
“Was there anything else, Admiral Montagne?” McCruise asked quietly.
That, however, I thought, turning away from my inner thoughts to scowl at McCruise, doesn’t mean rolling over for a good curb-stomping in the name of Confederation necessity. If the Confederation let its Officers, Admirals and other leaders be treated in this manner—if those at the top didn’t have respect for themselves, or at least for what they represented—then how could anyone else have respect for them or their office?
“No. You have my leave to go and see to your new command, Captain,” I said coldly. “Prepare your squadron for departure within twenty four hours; you are to do so unless you find some reason to delay, in which case I expect you to notify me and seek my permission.”
“As you say, Admiral,�
�� McCruise replied, snapping off a salute.
“Oh, and Captain,” I said, a thought occurring to me when she went to cut the connection.
“Yes,” she asked warily.
“Good hunting,” I said with a nod before savagely cutting the connection that allowed her presence in my ready room. ‘Not for self, but country’ was no excuse when a person’s self was the embodiment of country. I needed to think on this longer, but if the Old Confederation’s official charter was to be believed and held up to a high standard, then ‘it is our firm belief that no one world should be considered more important than any other, for the purposes of these Articles of Confederation,’ meant that I needed to come up with an appropriate, yet measured response, for the callous way a Hold Mistress of Tracto and her Protector had been treated—and betrayed. Either Tracto deserved to be treated the same as any other world in the Confederacy, or it stood free, alone, and entirely able to pursue her own galactic polices…to the detriment of other worlds, empires and yes, even confederacies if need be. The thought of the Tracto-ans raging out of control along a Border gone mad made my blood run cold, and I steeled myself know that such an outcome had to be avoided at all costs.
“A handful of rotten eggs does not define a Star Government,” I closed my eyes and whispered. A long moment later, I snapped my hands together with renewed purpose and swept Laurent, Eastwood and Junior Lieutenant Archibald—who I’d appointed provisional representative and acting squadron leader of the Red Herring Cutters—with my eyes. “What we’re doing out here is vitally important. Saving one world and its millions of inhabitants from being eating in a stomach-filling glut of genocidal action is a worthy mission. I have a plan; we will succeed. The pirates must be cast down, and I plan to be the man to do it. Never give up, never surrender!”
“Yes, Sir,” the other three echoed, and I could see that my speech was having some kind of effect. Defining precisely what that was, I couldn’t tell, and I didn’t care. The words were as much for me as for anyone else.
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