by Chris Hechtl
Admiral Cartwright looked over to him and nodded once. He could see out of the corner of his eye that his flowing language was having some sort of mollifying effect on the ruler. How much he wasn't certain.
“So, what is your plan?”
“Well, we need to send them more carriers. And we need to do so quickly,” Admiral Cartwright stated, stressing that time was of the essence. “Along with that, they'll need a resupply of course and …”
~~~^~~~
None of the flag officers felt safe about talking about that recent experience until they met up at the Admiralty house and the room was swept twice for bugs. They men and women in the room each got a drink and then settled in. “That was close,” Admiral Cartwright stated, looking at his drink.
“Yes, he was in a fine mood, wasn't he?” Vice Admiral Lewis Post asked whimsically. “He's right though; our people did screwup. Cyrano got caught up in the works now what, twice? Three times? I don't know how much more we can cover for him, if at all.”
“Yes, I know. And our necks are on the chopping block right along with his,” Admiral Cartwright said sourly.
Admiral Post shook his head. “I very much doubt it. He needs us. Besides, the families would never stand for it. It'd open up an internal war we can least avoid now.”
Admiral Cartwright shot the other officer a look of disbelief while the others conspicuously looked anywhere but at either of them. “Never think you are the indispensable man, even if it might be true. He may see us as a threat or incompetent or both. He may not even care at this point about consequences or the families might be looking for a scapegoat too. Or one family might see an advantage in our loss. You and I both know 'accidents' happen all the time.”
Admiral Post grimaced. “Sorry.”
Admiral Cartwright downed his drink and then grimaced at the bite to it. “You should be. That was remarkably stupid.”
Duke Rico shook himself and intervened. “Okay, change of subject, what did you think of the princess's suggestions?”
None of them had suggested the princess join them in the Admiralty of course. The optics weren't good. Nor could any of them feel remotely safe that she was really on their side.
Admiral Cartwright grimaced afresh but then nodded grudgingly. “She has a valid point. The problem is she didn't point out the losses in the fighter wing we sustained. And those are our premier units.”
The duke blinked in confusion. “How bad? I saw the numbers but I'm not seeing them now.”
“Bad. Some of my people are still in shock over them,” Admiral Post said darkly. It was his turn to grimace. “We lost a lot of fighters and not just in Skull Squadron,” he said.
“Seriously?” the duke asked, clearly aghast at the idea. Skull Squadron was one of their premier fighter units in the empire. They won virtually every fleet exercise they participated in. Or, at least they had won the last two in a row he corrected himself. They had some of the best equipment available. The pilots were well trained; they had the best tech and an air of invulnerability that said nothing could touch them let alone keep up with them. That someone had was unthinkable. It shook him almost as badly as the idea of the Federation being on their doorstep did.
“Again, it seems you aren't the only one who is wrapped up in their own invulnerability. Skull Squadron got its asses chewed. They might have kicked some in return, but they lost 40 percent of their fighters in the process. In one engagement, 40 percent losses! That's not sustainable,” Admiral Post rolled on.
“Frack,” the duke said, mouth tasting bitter.
Admiral Cartwright snorted. “Yeah. They also used up a hell of a lot of our stockpile of antimatter and lost fighters we can't make in the process. We don't have many in the empire to begin with; the Class E fighters were scarce as hen teeth!” He shook his head. “We scoured the galaxy for centuries bringing them in, only for them to get blown to dust!”
“Yeah, I can see that sucks,” Admiral Grant said. “And we spent those same centuries scavenging for fuel to run them or converting them to fusion. And now the emperor wants us to make our own antimatter weapons?” He should know, the Gather Fleet had been the one to find the equipment.
“Heh. There is no way to make more. We've got a few in reserve and that's it. We can forward them but when we let him know that's it and no more are in the pipeline he might nix that,” Admiral Post said. “But, if we don't have them on the front line, the enemy will just keep chewing our asses.”
“Catch twenty-two,” the duke murmured.
“I almost wish he would let us invest in more. But we need those weapons on the front line if only to force the Feds to stall and buy us more time.”
“So, there is no way to make more, even at El Dorado. The only hyper platforms we've picked up have been pieces. Some of it our ancestors tore apart for parts,” Admiral Grant mused.
“Yes, but the Feds can apparently make more. How much though?” Countess Newberry asked thoughtfully, clearly resenting the implications but working the problem. “Was that their best Sunday punch?”
“You really didn't see this coming? Not at all Sabina?” the duke asked her directly, staring at her.
“Unfortunately, Imperial Intelligence isn't omniscient. We don't have assets in Pyrax and few in Antigua.”
“Few in Antigua?”
“We have picked up some of their news that at least one of our fifth column operatives is still active. But he's not feeding us any intelligence just attempting to disrupt them.”
“Good for him.”
“Yes, well, the problem is, we don't know where this antimatter production facility is. Irons threw the Antigua yards and infrastructure together recently, using that space city he found as a base.”
“That's another thing! We've had how many assets through that star system over the years and no one found that?” Admiral Post demanded.
“No one was looking for it. Our shipping avoided lingering in the system because the planet is protected by guns on the ground. They bypassed it, so it was overlooked,” Admiral Grant stated.
“Oh.”
“It is what it is now. We just have to deal with it,” the countess stated, bringing them back to the subject. “If he started the antimatter plant in Antigua, he needed a massive power source to power it. That takes time. My people believe that it started in Pyrax years ago.”
“Which means they've been stockpiling the damn stuff,” the duke muttered, clearly disgusted.
“It's a pity we can't steal it,” Admiral Grant said, eyes gleaming as he rubbed his chin. “But that place is a military reservation. We can't get in.”
“No, we can't. I was hoping we could get more ships in their backyard. From the Fourth Fleet reports we've digested, they are running convoys between Antigua and Pyrax,” the countess stated. She could see the marquis' eyes gleam even more with avarice. “But they've got escorts to protect them, and then there is the problem of getting behind the lines to get at them,” she said with a shake of her head.
“Yeah. I can see where that is a problem. I might know a couple daring captains. Logistics would be an issue, but they might find a way … if the price is right,” Admiral Grant stated as he dropped his hand and clenched and unclenched it around his glass. After a moment, he made a conscious decision to grip the glass and knock it back.
“See what you can do on that front. I bet they've drawn down the pickets and escorts to the minimum since they believe they are secure. You'll only get one shot at hitting the rich and inviting target so make it a good one,” the duke said.
The marquis nodded and made a note.
“In the meantime, we need to get with R&D to find out what it will take to make our own antimatter. I'll need numbers for cost, plus a schedule. That's long term. We also need to work on implementing the emperor's orders as well as finding ways to supplement our forces. I think we need to step up production of our fighter lines and get more advanced craft into the right hands soon.”
“I've
got someone working on that,” Admiral Cartwright stated with a nod.
“How? We can barely make the miniaturized components!” Admiral Grant asked.
“Some we can, some we are working on the means, and some we'll have to improvise around or get shipped in from El Dorado,” Admiral Cartwright stated. “I'll see if they can step up things on their end.”
“You do that,” the duke stated. “In the meantime, we have Cyrano's report as well as his requests for resupply and reinforcements. I doubt we'll be able to provide him everything he wants, but we can expedite the easy stuff right off. I want that done by tomorrow so the ships will be loading and moving out within a week. After that …”
~~~^~~~
The following morning Catherine looked into Cyrano's logistics concerns. She was grateful that the brass was taking them seriously as well and even expediting the orders rather than drawing them out and arguing over them.
Since those seemed to be in good hands, she turned her attention to the broader picture. She was concerned about the long-term logistics and engineering problems of fighting a protracted naval war. Since she was in limbo, she managed to pull some strings to take a self-appointed tour of navy R&D.
One of the things she had noted from Cyrano's report of the battle was that Skull Squadron losses were mainly in units unsuited for interceptor combat. In other words, they had specialists designed to take on ships in a fighter furball. Fighters armed with ship-grade grasers were hard pressed to keep up with another fighter. They were slower and far less maneuverable. Their weapons might destroy any fighter they hit but they were a pain to aim at something dodging and they were slow to recharge. They also had only so many shots.
She shook her head. No wonder they'd taken losses. What a waste, she thought in annoyance.
Such waste and mistakes weren't something her people could afford anymore. They had to learn to fight smarter as well as harder. She frowned as she looked into the calculus of change. Something had to shit, several somethings if they were ever going to move beyond a stalemate.
She used her clearance to book a shuttle flight and then pulled up what she could on R&D with her clearances to be better prepared.
Chapter 19
Horath
Elvira felt that the freewheeling approach to her work week was getting out of hand as she was assigned to work on yet another new project. She sometimes felt overwhelmed by her schedule and workload. Not only did she have her duties in the yard, but she was also involved in so many R&D projects! And she had earned something of a reputation as a crap cutter and ear in court. Not only did that mean getting asked to sit in to a meeting or carry a request through back channels, but it also came with the expectation from the brass that she would drop everything to answer a call to solve some problem before it grew out of proportion and threatened a project she wasn't even involved in.
More and more she was serving the role as an administrator rather than a participating engineer. Sometimes she resented it, though she did like the heady feeling of being trusted so much. Along with that came a higher security classification which was also nice.
But with that trust came responsibility and a fear of failure. Failures tended to be far more than just a simple career ender in the Empire. Sometimes it kept her up at nights even more than a thorny engineering or logistical problem did. She was peripherally aware of some of the talk behind her back. Her relationship with Admiral Cartwright was being gossiped about. Her family had called her to get the straight version. She was aware that the admiral's wife was also taking an interest in her.
So far there had been nothing sexual at all; it had been straight forward. She sometimes wondered if the admiral was grooming her or setting her up or what. He seemed genuinely interested in her opinion, and she had seen some of the strategic engineering and logistics goals coming out of the Admiralty shift after a discussion.
Her mother had warned her about getting too involved and making a spectacle. Her siblings had been a bit jealous, but her father had sat her down and warned her about making herself a target. That conversation had forced her to take a look at her security and change some personal habits. She couldn't take his advice and be more taciturn with the admiral or people who wanted to talk however. She tried for several days but then she'd get excited when someone showed an inkling of interest or knowledge and her nature got the better of her.
Some seemed amused by that. She was smart enough not to do it around certain senior officers, but there were times when she let it go. Talking a situation out was one way to work out a problem. Sometimes you needed to frame a problem to understand it and begin to solve it. Sometimes a second point of view helped you see what was right there under your nose. That tended to be embarrassing however.
The one good thing about her involvement, her finger in so many pies as her dad would say, was that she could cross-pollinate ideas across projects. She was breaking down the jealous compartmentalization rules and forcing the various engineers to stop competing and spying on each other and actively working to help get their projects working. It was a novel approach, as close to open source as they could get. Apparently, enough people were going along with the idea that there weren't any problems with the approach.
At least, not yet at any rate.
She was fairly certain the emergency fighters and current generation of Raptors were going to be the last built. Her recent project successes and patrons had allowed her enough political power to bring things together to allow her to push a replica Cutlass class through to prototype stage. The prototype had flown well and was in the final stages of testing as they ramped up logistics for it.
And better still, it was a modular platform allowing them to plug in better components when they became available, unlike the Raptor. She had her eyes on the E class now. If they could build a basic platform, they could always gradually update and upgrade it later. That was the plan at any rate she thought as her stomach roiled again. “Okay, okay,” she muttered to herself.
She was about to go out to lunch instead of having it catered when she literally bumped into a captain coming around a corner. The woman had a security detail on either side of her who immediately pushed Elvira aside.
“I'm sorry,” Elvira said, annoyed with herself for being distracted. But then her eyes widened when a soft contralto voice said it was okay. “Princess!” she said, eyes wide in horror at her faux pass.
“It's okay. Accidents happen and at least you didn't spill a drink on me,” Catherine said as she started to walk pass her.
Elvira watched her go, aware of the woman's guards watching her. As she started to reluctantly leave the area, she noted the princess had stopped at her office door. “Um, Your Majesty? Is there something I can help you with?” Elvira asked as the lead guard tried the door and noted it was locked.
Catherine turned with a frown. “I suppose I came at lunch or a meeting?” she asked.
“Actually, I'm going to lunch now,” Elvira admitted, her stomach growled right on cue. She grimaced. “Are you looking for me, ma'am?” She self-consciously ran her fingers through her hair, brushing it past her ear. The woman had a magnetic personality about her; it was powerful.
“I guess I am,” Catherine said as she put two and two together. “Captain Varbossa?”
“Yes, ma’am, that's me,” Elvira said, straightening up.
“When I was looking into someone who could step up our small craft production and improve on things, I was told you were the person to see,” the princess stated as she studied the woman. The raven-haired woman was obviously a techno nerd from her self-conscious look and the tablet she had tucked under one arm.
“Yes, ma’am. I sent the recent patches and updates … um …,” she cut herself off because she didn't know how much she should reveal. Obviously, the princess had clearance for such matters, but she wasn't certain of the woman's guard detail nor of anyone who might walk in earshot of them.
“I'm getting the runaround in othe
r circles. Someone said you get results but it's all long term,” the princess said as she indicated the door.
Elvira nodded; her meal forgotten as she dutifully went over to it and opened the door. She stepped aside to let the princess through, but a guard put a hand out and stepped in and swept the room before he stepped out and nodded once.
Catherine rolled her eyes to Elvira but then stepped through. Elvira pursed her lips and then followed.
Catherine looked around the room and was quite amused by it. It was an engineer's treasure trove of gadgets, blueprints, and a magpie of printouts and models. It felt homey, and she was amused by the woman's sudden gasp of dismay.
“I'm so sorry. Honestly, if I'd known you were coming …”
“I didn't know myself. I was more or less given the brush-off and decided to drop in. Don't worry, I'm not judging you,” Catherine said as the woman cleared a guest chair of parts. She gracefully took it with a smile as the pile was relocated to a more or less empty spot on the floor behind the door.
“You mentioned you were looking into fighters, ma'am?”
“Yes. Our current generation of production fighters, the Raptors, are hopelessly outclassed based on the recent data I've seen. Significantly outclassed in almost all areas with no hope of finding redress in upgrades. The best we can do is get them a point or two ahead, not even into shouting distance of the enemy.” Catherine said with a grimace.
“I know Ma'am. The enemy is using Cobra, Cutlass, and other class fighters with shields. They have all the bells and whistles.” Elvira said with a shake of her head. “We need a way to level the playing field. That's why I pushed for the Cutlass and why the navy has agreed to it. We can't build shields for them yet, but we can add them later. I'm looking into adapting shuttle grav nodes actually.”
Elvira paused. She had heard rumors of Skull Squadron mixing it up with the Feds. She wondered if this was why the princess was there with her, though she couldn't see how the Skulls could have been beaten. They should have been an even match or one tilted in their favor.