by Chris Hechtl
“I know. File it away for later. For the moment, I'll pass on his request. Bounce it off John; see what he says.”
“Yes, sir,” Saul said as he made a note. “About the Eastern Front …”
“What now?” the vice admiral asked with an exasperated growl.
“Well, Rear Admiral V'r'z'll has been butting heads with Commodore X'll'rr again. Apparently, the admiral wanted additional resources not in her TOE for her command. She's trying to get them out of First and Second Squadron.”
And I take it that the good commodore isn't willing to play nice and give them to her?”
“No, sir. She's still a bit put out over being passed over for the command, especially by an officer younger than her but who outranks her. I heard a bit of muttering in the scuttlebutt grapevine to that effect.”
“I see.”
“Sir, I know the commodore has plenty of combat experience. Why did Admiral Irons …” He immediately stopped when Admiral Subert held up a restraining hand.
“Hold it right there, Saul. I have to agree with you in theory, but we are talking about a fellow officer. We are also questioning the decision of our senior officer, so let's not. The decision was made. It's our job to make sure the mission goes off without a hitch.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Has the rear admiral filed paperwork to adjust her TOE?”
“No, sir.”
“Funny, she has a staff for that, not to mention A.I. And why did she go through Commodore X'll'rr?”
“I believe that the rear admiral still believes that the commodore is in her chain of command. Or she thought she could bully what she wants out of her since you were recently, ahem,” he pretended to cough into his hand. “Promoted above her.”
The admiral smiled thinly. “Yeah, and I bet she hates it. Tough.” He settled himself after a brief moment of gloating. “Okay. Tell her to file the proper paperwork and she can draw what she wants through stores, our stores, when the paperwork has been approved.”
“Slap her hand gently or politely but firmly?”
“Use your best judgment. Remind her that is what staff is for and remind her that the commodore won't be going with her.”
“Yes, sir. What about Captain Firefly?”
“What about him?”
“He might be a good officer to go with the Eastern Front, sir. They have dumb A.I. in the carriers and ships, but none of his rank or caliber. Having him assigned to the mission would enhance it. It would also increase the odds of success.”
“Possible, but given that the admiral hates A.I., I don't want to inflict a conflict in her chain of command. Though I admit she deserves it, we have a duty to make certain the mission goes off successfully as I mentioned before.”
“Yes, sir. And we owe it to the captain to not put him in such a situation,” the commander replied with a dutiful nod.
“Now, I never said that,” the admiral replied with as sour smile that made the commander freeze in his tracks. “Do log the suggestion and flag it for Admiral Irons' attention. Mention that they are having trouble with managing the fleet without proper A.I. support. Perhaps he'll take the idea under advisement.”
“Cruel and evil, sir,” Saul replied with a shake of his head. He couldn't get around the admiral's double and triple thinking. He'd switched positions several times in the conversation, playing devil's advocate several times. But, he realized that the admiral was bucking the decision up to the fleet admiral. It would be on him to make the final call.
“I know,” Admiral Subert replied with a Cheshire grin. He sat back comfortably and twisted his chair from side to side as Saul made the necessary notes. When Saul looked up, he cocked his head. “Okay, so what else do you have for me?”
Chapter 14
B-95a3
Second Fleet
Vice Admiral White looked on as the tin can picket flashed the IFF of the returning minelayers from Protodon. The four minelayers settled onto a course and crossed the star system to the B-97a jump point.
They had already cleaned up the minefield battle space from the damage the enemy fleet had inflicted. They had re-positioned the remaining mines and decoys for a defensive operation. Once they were finished, the four ships had turned to the Protodon jump point to pick up a fresh cargo.
Now they were back. He was of two minds about the mission, they were necessary in some ways, but it was far too easy for the enemy to get around the mines now that they knew they were there. Just jumping short or wide would do it. There was no way he would authorize a shell of mines around the entire star system; that was a stupid waste of resources.
Which was why this would be the last run of mines he thought. Leave them in Protodon, or, stockpile them there and move them forward if he needed them he thought as he turned his attention to the other arrivals.
Admiral Irons had sent a mobile shipyard and two Dora class factory ships to Second Fleet to help facilitate repairs. He had also sent ships and a draft of personnel to swap out with damaged ships and holes in the chains of command. Several of the ships were from Home Fleet. That was good; he had sent some of the older ships who had been given plenty of time to shake down.
The problem was the new ships would need to train with the existing fleet to get up to speed on how they functioned. He also had to keep them as units if he wanted to ease the transition. That meant the new division pairs that Jojo and his staff had worked out were going to have to remain. The delay in waiting for their arrival had slowed the offensive. He planned to give them a week to shake out any kinks before they began to move once more. They could always train as they crossed the B-97a star system.
He had dispatched his last prowler to scout ahead of the fleet. One light cruiser had returned with news that the enemy had withdrawn from B-97a. Now that he had most of his fleet restored to him, it was time to move on.
The three prevailing reasons for remaining in B-95a3 was to keep the territory that they'd paid for in blood, sweat, and tears, to keep the lines of supply short while he rebuilt, and to keep the door open to Nuevo Madrid. Those reasons remained valid, but it was time to bring the fight to the enemy once more before they got their own reinforcements.
His eyes scanned the list of ships. Along with the minelayers, dozens of other ships had arrived. His eyes flicked to the Argus carrier battle group. With Argus on scene, it meant he had to finally give up on Quirinus. Even with the mobile shipyard on hand, the dreadnought couldn't get above 75 percent. She would monopolize the repair facilities too much. No, he had to send her home as much as he hated it. That meant he had to be cautious with his remaining force.
Argus had a single tin can squadron, most of them Fletcher and the new Shield Maiden class destroyers as a screen. She had a mixed squadron of light and heavy cruisers riding in an eight-point inner sphere around her and her three support ships.
He had spent a lot of time on the ansible discussing just what to do with the battle group. The Marines wanted a carrier to help to pacify Nuevo Madrid. Most of the craft on board were not atmo capable however, so that was a problem. Only the Cobra class fighters could handle atmospheric entry, and only without carrying ordinance under their wings. That strictly limited their utility in a combat environment, so did their fuel. They would need to burn a lot of fuel to get back into orbit.
No, that would be a waste of the ship's wing. Besides, he needed her to fill in the massive void that Quirinus was opening up by her departure.
One of the best reasons to keep her with the main fleet was her ordinance. Tucked away in her magazines were the first antimatter torpedoes for her bomber squadrons. They didn't have a lot of them, but he knew they'd go a long way to even the odds if the enemy sent in heavier capital ship reinforcements.
But, the Nuevo Madrid mission needed carrier support he reminded himself as he stared at his ship list. Finally, he flicked his fingers down the line to a CEV. Kittyhawk had a Marine fighter squadron on board; she would do well in Nuevo Madrid he thought as he
pulled up her stats. He nodded.
He glanced at the Marine transports and their escorts. He nodded. They had six transports, one Dora class hospital ship, and three medium-sized tenders along with a pair of tin cans as shepherds. The tin cans would also act as eyes in the sky and on-call fire support if necessary. He'd hated seeing them tied up in what amounted to a side mission, but it was for a good cause. The ansible transport ship would be joining them briefly to set up an ansible there before it returned to him. That would free them from needing a set of courier vessels.
His long fingers flicked out to cut orders to Kittyhawk to join them. With any luck, they'd have the pirates on the planet suppressed within a month, and Kittyhawk would be able to rejoin him once more in time for the next offensive. With a bit of luck and some haste, they might catch up to him before he lit off the Dead Drop offensive. It wouldn't give them a lot of time to rearm and get some downtime, but he knew many of the pilots wanted in on that mission.
Ah, to be young and full of visions of glory, he thought with a rueful shake of his head. Young and dumb, filled with the zest of life but oblivious to the dangers involved and how much work really went in to seeing the job through to the end.
Amadeus scanned the reports and then did his best to game out everything from Admiral De Gaulte's point of view. It was obvious the other officer was falling back to Dead Drop. His ships were broken. He was far from home, and his logistics were drained. His morale had taken as big a beating as his ships, even more so when word got around of the death and capture of the princes. Would he continue on? He hadn't stopped long in B-97a, just long enough to make some repairs before he sailed on. The prowler would find out if he had stopped to make a stand in B-97c. Most likely not, or at least not yet.
It was tempting to allow him the time to refit and move back into B-97c. If he fought forward, it would divorce him from the infrastructure two star systems away as well as any fixed defenses there. Any fighters would have been stripped to restock his single carrier Undoubtedly. He frowned and then made a note for someone to check on that. The intelligence would be out-of-date, but any information would give them a starting point.
Would De Gaulte fall back further than Dead Drop? He doubted it. Dead Drop had a repair yard to utilize. It also allowed him to fight forward. But, would he abandon it? He grimaced. He was going in with less force than he liked. Argus might hold some game-changing weapons in her arsenal, but she was one ship and her supply was limited. As much as he'd love to break Executioner and send the rest of the Sword of Retribution Fleet into the furnace, he had to keep those weapons in reserve in case the Horathians sortied more of their capital ships.
He picked at his lower lip as he went over the stats once more.
Bismark was his flagship. He had attached her to the sixteen battle cruisers he had in his inventory. Ten of those battle cruisers were new; most were from First Fleet. He was pretty much starting with a fresh combat force.
Dwight would be his second-in-command, though he would have preferred the steadiness of Trajan.
He had attached a pair of destroyer squadrons to act as a screening flotilla. They were all defensive destroyers, either Nelsons, Fletchers, or the new Shield Maiden class. He was dubious about having so many different designs of what was essentially the same class of ship.
The capital ships and their screen made up TF 2.1. They were his hammer. TF 2.2 was made up of the cruiser squadrons and one destroyer squadron. He had two light squadrons of those, six light cruisers, six heavy cruisers, and a single squadron of Arboth class destroyers. They were his anvil.
TF 2.3 was his carrier task force led by Argus. Illustrious and seven CEVs, not including the detached Kittyhawk, were among their number. TF 2.3 retained Argus' original screening and supporting elements of Fletcher and Shield Maiden destroyers, but he'd kicked the eight cruisers over to TF2.2 and the support ships over to the fleet train. Trajan was in command of the task force on Argus. TF 2.3 was his rapier and battle-ax rolled into one. They were nimble and flexible enough to deal with a lot of situations.
His fleet train was composed of the mobile shipyard the Bogdan, three Dora class factory ships, one Liberty class factory ship the Ikega, seven Liberty class and two Dora class colliers, three oilers, four munition colliers, his single prowler, one personnel transport, six couriers, one tiny Dora class hospital ship, and two divisions of Fletcher class destroyers to ride escort on them.
He was light on fuel and munitions. He would have to watch that carefully. He might have to fight, then stop and wait for a complete resupply before he moved on to the next target. Giving the enemy that much time to react wasn't a pleasant thought. He'd given them enough time already.
Then again, if he could get into Dead Drop lightly he could let his fleet train set up shop and build what he needed to resupply the fleet. Given enough time they could refuel, resupply, and repair his fleet for the next assault, and so on and so forth. He made a note to look into what resources Dead Drop had and to have his fleet train start planning ahead.
TF 2.4 would be the forces he left in Protodon for repair or working up. Since that number and mix was subject to change, he didn't bother examining them. Besides, they weren't of much use to him where they were for the moment.
According to the latest ansible report, he had nothing in the pipeline from Pyrax since the Eastern Front had sucked everything there and only a couple divisions of ships plus supporting material from Antigua. So, he had to be careful with the units he had, at least until the damaged ships he was sending back could be returned to him with fresh reinforcements.
Some of the ships that he had allowed to remain had managed to make good on their repairs, but not all. He knew some ships were barely at 90 percent. A few might have fudged their reports to stay in the game. He wasn't thrilled about it, but they'd have plenty of time to get those numbers up as they moved on B-97a. If the ships he sent back for repair did manage to get back to 90 percent in Protodon and thus could return to him without having to go back to the capital, that was fine with him. The more the merrier.
He was depressingly certain he'd need them soon enough.
There was an old saying, strike while the iron was hot, but also where it was hot. You didn't want to hit cold metal; it did nasty things to the crystal structure of the metal. Well, he planned on heating things up in Dead Drop soon enough.
:::{)(}:::
Captain Senior Grade Ch'ch'tt chittered in annoyance as she checked the plot. She was the first Bekian to arrive on the war front. She was also a starship captain; she rather appreciated her Newmann mark II class battle cruiser. Gorgeous Dealer of Destruction might be a mouthful to other species, but since the original name was in Veraxin, it suited her perfectly. Besides, she was a step up from her previous heavy cruiser command in Bek.
She had to privately admit that it had taken a bit of work to transition to starship command, more than she'd thought. The mindset was a bit different. She still was dubious about having implants, but she had become more or less resigned to them over the past two years since she had received them.
She had wondered about the Caroline mission but no longer. She'd seethed at being left in First Fleet while others went off to glory. Now it was her turn. With the right series of actions, her career would quickly jump from list to flag rank. Oh, she could die in the process, everyone did eventually, but she doubted it. She had eyes for stars and now no one in Bek could stop her from getting them.
She had heard about Childress's return to power in Bek. She was heartily glad she wasn't there. Most likely the Republic was a seething mess of political infighting, both in the navy and in the civilian administration. She wanted no part of it. She preferred to see her opponents and fight with proper weapons than ones of innuendo, paperwork, and nasty tricks.
She checked the status board and then signaled first-degree relaxation to her bridge crew. She had been senior officer of the squadron in Antigua and on the ride out. She had expected to remain in
command but had found at her first meeting with Admiral White that her expectation was not going to come true, at least for a while. The admiral would retain command with Bismark tied to the two squadrons of battle cruisers. Commodore Harris would command the second squadron if it was detached for independent command. That made sense. Hopefully, the personnel back in the capital could kick additional forces loose to fill in their ranks soon. Once they did and once she had proven her worth, she was certain she would be given command of the squadron once more, and from there it was a short hop to commodore rank.
Her antennas touched and stroked each other, the only sign of her anticipation of the future.
:::{)(}:::
Jojo realized the fleet was sailing high on morale. Their morale had sunk into despair after the crushing initial exchange between the fleets. It had haunted everyone, hung like a miasma around them. The stink of fear had been there, clogging her sinuses and fogging more than one brain. To finally get some payback, it did wonders for everyone's point of view. It was like seeing the world lift off their shoulders, like the sun breaking through the morning fog to a brand-new day.
Now, the trick was to keep it up, to keep on winning. Oh, they might take it on the chin here and there, but as long as it wasn't a full KO she knew that they'd come back swinging once they had their feet back under them. And, she was pretty certain the fleet and public knew it too.
Unfortunately, she wasn't certain she would be there to see it through. As much as she liked Admiral White, she was long overdue for a transfer. He had managed to keep her on until now, but she was certain he would have enough time during their transit to Dead Drop to break in a replacement. But, she didn't want to betray him by putting in a request for transfer either. That was just wrong.
She shook her head, unsure what to do. Eventually, she was certain BUPERS would take it out of both of their hands. When was the question.
:::{)(}:::