Admiral's Nemesis Part II

by Luke Sky Wachter

  “Thank you, Sir,” Fritters said quietly.

  The Front Admiral shook his head. “In the meantime we have a war to win, and unless the entire Spineward Sectors Fleet shows up before we’re done, there’s nothing they can do to stop us,” said the Front Admiral.

  “Aye, Front Admiral,” sighed the Commodore.

  Minutes later when the Imperial Screen simultaneously released a dozen kinetic rounds, it was just icing on the cake; Task Force Puma was no longer at the negotiating table.

  Having set events into motion, the Imperial screening force slowed down and waited for the rest of the fleet to catch up and resumed its screening duties without bother to give so much as an explanation.

  They also didn’t comment when two squadrons of Destroyers silently pulled up behind them, positioned between the main body of the Task Force and the Imperial screening force.

  Picking up speed, the Task Force followed in behind the slow moving kinetic rounds as they struck the shields protecting the station fortresses and then impacted on the hull.

  The orbital fortresses fired their lasers, missiles, rockets and chain gun and the small fifty warship fleet sallied out to repulse Task Force Puma and together they destroyed the majority of the kinetic rounds but enough punched through to drop the shields and then it was down to an old fashioned slugfest.

  Outnumbered more than two to one, and with only one Battleship and three squadrons of Cruisers on the Spineward Sectors' side—facing a full twenty of the wall and nearly another forty Cruisers of the line from the Glorious Fleet side—it didn’t matter how many orbital fortresses the defenders had. After exchanging one broadside, the Sector defenders turned and ran for the hyper limit like their engines were on fire.

  “Well that didn’t take long,” snorted Commodore Fritters.

  “I expected more,” admitted the Front Admiral, “but that’s of no matter. Our…” he trailed off as the Imperial screening forces moved to follow the locals.

  The Front Admiral’s face went stiff.

  “Detach our Destroyers and one squadron of five Cruisers to shadow and ‘assist’ our Imperial brethren. Mark my words: I’ll be speaking with the Praetor after this affair,” the Admiral said grimly.

  “Is that wise?” asked Fritters.

  “Put it on my schedule,” he said flatly and then turned back to the screen. “New orders to the fleet,” he continued in a clipped voice, “Battleships to the front, standard wall formation, Cruisers to assume staggered formation by squadrons above and behind the Battleships. Troop transports are to maintain their distance behind the Battleship formation and well out of range of the orbital defenses,” he paused, “detach a four Cruiser squadron to hang back and cover the transports.”

  “Will do,” said his Chief of Staff.

  Willard Featherby nodded.

  “The transports are to prepare to sally their soldiers, Marines and commandos at any time. Tell them to keep a third of their force in their internal shuttles ready for deployment and cycle their men in and out every hour or two in order to keep them fresh,” he said.

  Fritters nodded. “Message relayed,” he reported minutes later.

  “Advance the Fleet. We’ll rotate any damaged Cruisers back to escort duty. Meanwhile it’s time to start reducing Central’s fortifications. We’ll start with the port-most orbital fortress. That should only bring us under the guns two of the three main fortresses,” said the Admiral.

  “This is going to be expensive,” sighed Fritters.

  The skin around the corner of Featherby’s eyes tightened forming wrinkles. “I’ll make sure and send the bill to the Empire,” he replied flatly.

  “I’m seeing a number of couriers and fast Destroyers skittering toward the hyper limit now that we’re focusing on the orbital fortresses, and the screen is chasing the local fleet out of the star system. Do you want to pursue?” Commodore Fritters asked carefully.

  The Front Admiral started to answer and then stopped and a sneer crossed his face. “My initial response is to detach a couple squadrons of Destroyers and run them down but,” at this he smiled angrily, “our Imperial screen seems to have a mind of its own, which means that sadly I can’t risk detaching the Destroyers.”

  “Some might argue that we should have done more in a post battle review,” warned the Chief of Staff.

  “Let them. I’m not going to risk an incident where our Imperial ‘brothers’,” he sniffed derisively, “are defeated in detail while the Glorious Fleet pulled out most of its forces to go chasing after ghosts.”

  “The Imperials with the main fleet might not be happy when we get back,” said Fritters.

  “Then they shouldn’t have forced my hand with their duplicate orders,” retorted the Front Admiral, “my decision stands. Better a few rats escape a leaky boat than we’re all up for a spacewalk because we didn’t support our friends and allies from the Empire. The last thing we need is to kill our careers by letting our ‘friends’ in the Imperial navy overextend and get themselves killed,” he said bitterly.

  “Aye aye, Sir,” said Fritters.

  So while the Battleships of Puma, along with the Task Force’s Cruisers, pounded the first space fortress into scrap metal the rest of the force either guarded the troop transports or moved to assist the Imperial forces in harrying the local defense fleet.

  “Battleship Red Dawn is requesting to pull out of the wall,” reported Fritters.

  “What? Why? I don’t see any sign of battle damage,” asked Featherby.

  “Apparently they’re experiencing electrical problems with their shield systems and request the chance to move back effect repairs before it impacts their combat effectiveness,” reported the Chief of Staff.

  “How many readiness reports and Task Force-wide maintenance checks have I ordered?” fumed the Front Admiral. “Them pulling back when they could have held if they’d just taken care of their ship is going to get a lot of good men and women killed.”

  “What do you want me to tell them, Sir? They’re already drifting back on maneuvering thrusters,” prompted the Commodore.

  “Demon Murphy avert,” snapped the Front Admiral, his face twisted in disgust, “never give an order you know won’t be followed,” he said finally, “tell them they can fall back for emergency repairs only. I expect them back in the wall inside a half hour or they’ll face charges for failing not just themselves and me, but their brothers and sisters of the Glorious Fleet from their own ineptness.”

  “Relaying now,” said Fritters.

  In coordinated but somewhat off-time broadsides, the Battleships and Cruisers of the Glorious Fleet slammed into the sides of the second battle-station, bringing down her shields and punching deep into her hull.

  In reply the two remaining fortresses focused fire all their fire on one Battleship and then a second, forcing down their shields and causing serious hull damage and causing them to withdraw from the line. But by the time those two Battleships had fallen back, the Red Dawn had repaired her shields and rejoined the wall.

  After that the orbital fortresses switched targets each of them attacking a Light Cruiser. Despite being at long range more than half of the fortresses lasers found their targets and, as the Fortresses continued their defensive spin, within the rotation of two if its five facings both Cruisers were destroyed.

  “Blast those battlestations. The Far-Bright and Hex99 didn’t stand a chance,” Commodore Fritters said angrily.

  The Front Admiral took a shuddering breath.

  “It’s been nearly fifty years since I’ve even seen a ship lost in action and more than that since I lost one personally,” muttered the Front Admiral for a moment his face twisted with pain and then his face steadied and he glared at the holo-display built into his chair.

  Officers around the flag bridge turned to look at their commander for direction.

  Front Admiral Willard Fritters looked up and around the bridge.

  “We may all have a few years of rust on us, but undernea
th that is the same steel that forged the Confederation star-spanning super power. And boy and girls, let me tell you one thing here today,” the Front Admiral said seeming to swell as he spoke gaining presence and even height a sort of energy filling him that had been lacking previously, “they picked the wrong Task Force to mess with. They will be repaid several times over for every loss the Glorious Fleet takes today,” he vowed.

  “Too blasted right,” Fritters said in a loud voice.

  “Hear hear!” agreed a number of now satisfied Confederation officers.

  “Agreeable in peacetime and determined in battle, the Confederation shall overcome this trial just like she has every other one before now and emerge all the stronger for it. It’s time to put these rebel Sectors in their place and bring them back into the welcoming arms of the rest of civilized space!” swore the Front Admiral.

  The previously firm but low-voiced support finally morphed into loud cheers and the flag bridge gave voice in support of their admiral.

  “New orders to our Battleships and Cruisers: they are to advance until they have closed half the distance between us and the orbital fortresses. We may take more losses in the short term but if we break their will here and now it will save us from having to pacify the rest of the system,” said the Front Admiral.

  “Aye aye, Admiral. Advancing the fleet,” said the Commodore who then instructed the communications officer send the new order to the rest of the fleet.

  When the main body of the task force, the Cruisers and Battleships advanced on the faltering the battlestations it came in range of a large number orbital turrets, pop up missile launchers and floating chain guns. The amount of firepower that was unleashed was staggering and another two Battleships were sent reeling from the wall of battle, with a third so badly damaged it was forced to eject two fusion cores and a host of escape pods.

  For the next several minutes an intense battle raged back and the second orbital fortress exploded but not before taking two squadrons of Cruisers down with her.

  Down to one battlestation and a host of lesser satellite defenses, many of which, particularly the popup missile launchers, had already expended their ordnance, the defense fleet which had been making for the hyper limit at the speed of their slowest most powerful warship finally abandoned the single Spineward Sectors Battleship inside the star system and it was every ship for itself.

  Over the next half hour lasers flashed back and forth as the defenders were slowly but surely beaten down and defeated.

  When just under half of the host of smaller orbital defenses had been destroyed and the last remaining battlestation was on its last legs and the previously fleeing Battleship had struck its fusion generators and was spewing escape pods the flagship of Task Force Puma received a hail.

  “I’m receiving a message from the system government, Front Admiral. They say they are seeking terms,” reported the Commodore.

  “Notify the troop transports it is time to launch their shuttles,” said the Front Admiral stiffly, this 'victory' tasting none too sweet for his palate—but a victory was a victory, and he had a job to do.

  Chapter 31: Late to the Party

  Grand Fleet of the Spine

  CO: Grand Admiral Jason Montagne

  25 Battleships

  64 Cruisers

  112 Destroyers

  48 Corvettes

  Total: 249

  The First Fleet of the New Confederation jumped into Central in all its might and power.

  We’d been moving at our fastest pace and a number of slower vessels had fallen behind, an acceptable price to protect a star system, plus they should catch up to us in less than 24 hours unless intercepted.

  Unfortunately, we arrived too late.

  “Scanning the system, Admiral,” sensors reported as soon as we were clear from the jump.

  “Let me know as soon as you have something,” I said curtly.

  A tense minute passed and the sensor officer jerked.

  “Multiple contacts both in the inner system, around central and scattered around the outer system in strategic locations, there’s more than eighty of them, Sir,” reported the Officer.

  “Coms get me ship ID’s,” I ordered.

  “I’m reading multiple old Confederation ship ID’s, Admiral,” said the Com-Tech.

  My face tightened.

  “What about the Orbital Fortresses? Any signs of weapons fire?” asked the Tactical Officer who then immediately turned back to his console, most likely to hunt up the information himself.

  “No weapons discharge detected at this time, Grand Admiral,” reported the Tactical Officer turning back around a moment later.

  “Noted, Tactical,” I replied tight lipped.

  “There’s no weapons fire,” agreed the Sensor Officer, “but we’re missing a number of defensive platforms, including two of the orbital fortresses, from our initial returns, Admiral.”

  “Could they be hiding behind the planet?” asked my new XO, a former Cruiser captain I was eyeing as a replacement for Captain Hammer, who was even now en route to the Old Confederation in an old converted freight hauler alongside thousands of other officers and crew—former allies all of them who now felt the rest of us were on the wrong side of history or at least our oaths of office.

  “It’s possible, Sir, but no I don’t believe they are, as we are also able to detect several debris fields of equivalent size to the missing space fortresses and the single remaining intact fortress looks damaged and its currently squawking an Old Confederation fleet IFF,” he replied.

  “Is there any sign of active Spineward Fleet or Central SDF signals?” asked the XO.

  Both the Sensor and Tactical Officer took one last check and then turned and one after the other shook their heads.

  “Then we arrived too late,” I said, clenching my fist.

  “Not too late to avenge their loss, Sir,” Lieutenant Commander Snyder the new XO of the Royal Rage said loyally.

  “General order to the Fleet,” I said drawing myself up, “all ships are to form on the flagship and assemble in battle formation one. Meanwhile, the Royal Rage is to set course for Central Station at standard military speed.” Standard military was another name for 80% of our Battleship’s maximum thrusts.

  “Not everyone has completed their jumps, not to mention those ships strung out behind us, Sir,” warned the First Officer.

  “They’ll just have to follow along at their best speed and catch up when and as they can,” I replied grimly.

  “Of course, Sir. But as we still don’t know how many enemy are in the Sector Capitol’s space if enough of them do get behind us they may be able to catch our stragglers strung out and vulnerable. Defeat in detail is a possibility as it regards those ships, Admiral,” she warned.

  “What would you have us do, sit here impotently while the enemy ravages the system unopposed?” I demanded my temper rising.

  The Lieutenant Commander’s face started to close.

  “I wasn’t suggesting we do nothing, Grand Admiral Montagne,” she said stiffly, “but it’s my duty as this ship’s Executive Officer to point out potential problems.”

  I took a firm hold of my temper.

  “Pointing out issues is your duty and you’re doing it well. I would just appreciate, if time allows, suggestions to go along with the problems you will no doubt spot now and in the future,” I said finally.

  “Yes, Sir,” she said with a firm nod, “then in my opinion First Fleet should detach at least two squadrons of Destroyers or one of Cruisers to guard the area and leave orders that they are not too allow any stragglers to leave the area until there are at least 8-10 warships. Strong enough to protect each other from a small raiding force and yet enough hulls that, if they are faced with overwhelming firepower, they can flee in enough directions that most of them should have a decent chance of escape.”

  I smiled but my true feelings must have leaked through because I could see people hesitate when they looked at me. I sighed.
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  “Good work, Snyder,” I said shaking my head, “we’ll go with your plan. Detach a squadron of Cruisers to patrol the area. They can round up any stragglers and send them out in convoys. Anyone who can’t get started following the main fleet within the next ten minutes is to first gather into a ten ship convoy under the direction of the cruiser squadron leader and follow at the best speed of their convoy’s slowest ship.”

  After the orders were passed and the fleet was on its way detailed sensor returns started to come in followed by several minutes later by a flash report transmitted by a covert listening station that had gone dark during the initial invasion. Attached to the transmission from the listening post was a recording of the conquest of the Sector Capitol along with current estimates of enemy fleet numbers and positions throughout the star system.

  After looking through the various reports I convened a short council of war in the captain’s ready room. My wife, the Rage’s First Officer and a number of other stalwarts who happened to be aboard the ship, such as Chief Gunner Lesner were summoned.

  “So this part of the enemy fleet seems to be primarily Confederation, units of the Glorious Fleet of Liberation as they style themselves?” Lesner asked squinting at the screen suspiciously.

  “And they have 80 some warships, seventeen of them functional Battleships although five show various states of battle damage and repair, with another four dead in orbit,” reported the ship’s Tactical Officer.

  “I saw there were another twenty Cruisers spread out through the system, and wasn’t one of their working Battleships one of ours?” Akantha asked pointedly.

  “Twenty two,” corrected the First Officer who then paused, “although perhaps that was an unnecessary correction,” she said shooting me a sideways glance.