Admiral's Nemesis Part II

by Luke Sky Wachter

  “I hope not,” I replied as it increasingly looked like Laurent intended to do just that, take them head on. All he needed to do was slow them down long enough for the main body to get there. If he could cripple a few of them while he was at it that was gravy.

  “Sensors what’s up with that static on my screen?” Snyder demanded hotly, “I thought you promised it was gone for good.”

  “Men plan and the gods correct, Captain,” the Sensor Officer apologized, “I swear we’ve got a handle on it but the enemy is trying to keep us on our toes.”

  Then, almost as if he were listening to my internal concerns, like the head of a snake Laurent’s forces, starting with the Cruisers at the very front of his formation, activated their engines and started shifting to starboard. It was clear he now intended to avoid a head-on engagement with the enemy Battleships if at all possible. Or if not that then possibly reduce the engagement time to the bare minimum.

  But even as the smaller and lighter Corvettes and Destroyers in the coin formations shifted to the far side of the formation, and the heavy Destroyers and Cruisers rotated toward the Glorious Fleet, the enemy moved to follow. Showing their determination to make every minute they weren’t escaping count, the enemy Admiral sent his Battleships to intercept Laurent’s forces, setting their engines to maximum military power and adjusting their course until they were moving for an intercept—or as close to one as they were going to get.

  It looked like it was going to be a near run thing but after several seconds it was clear the enemy had reacted fast enough they were going to get their licks in.

  “Come on,” muttered Commander Snyder.

  I just shook my head and silently urged our Battleships faster. As if by sheer force of will I could overcome physics and push us closer to the enemy just because I wanted to.

  Then the Battleships opened fire and no amount of mental wishing was going to shield Laurent or his forces from attack.

  The screen fought back, hard, but Cruisers facing Battleships was a losing proposition. With the enemy focusing their fire on half a dozen of our larger ships, while their smaller warships piled on for good measure, the outcome was inevitable.

  “Power Shield is falling out of formation. Redistributed Strike reports major damage to their power relay system. Black Stallion has lost all power and Night of Living Death is launching escape pods with its captain calling for all hands to abandon ship over a general hailing frequency,” reported Communications.

  With sixteen Battleship’s worth of firepower, we could count ourselves lucky we hadn’t lost more than that but no sooner had they fired their broadsides in unison than individual lasers took up the fight. First Corvettes and then Destroyers took hits and started going down. A Corvette was lost with all hands when its fusion generator went critical and its auto-eject sequence failed and it blew up. Then a turbo-laser punched through the nose of a Destroyer setting of a chain reaction that totally destroyed the forward third of the warship.

  After that fire raked through our forward fleet each hit enough to punch through shields and breach hulls. Atmosphere vented into cold space along with space suited figures, escape pods and the broken and destroyed remains of warships, from now dead Corvettes and Destroyers. Almost fifty of our lightest warships broke and ran directly away from the enemy as fast as their engines would carry them.

  “Cowards,” glared the First Officer.

  I nodded.

  “But…it could have been worse. I was expecting more laser weight to their broadside there at first. They must have taken damage subduing the Star System before we got here,” remarked Snyder, looking at the main screen like she wanted to kill someone—most likely someone on the other side of the battle. At least that’s what I hoped.

  “It seemed heavy enough to me,” I replied.

  “We might have lost more if they’d had more time to make emergency repairs,” she replied.

  Then Laurent’s formation was past the Battleships and out of range of anything but the most desperate, diffused and thus half or less power to them, shots and the entire bridge seemed to heave a big sigh of relief.

  On the other hand, with nothing to show for their brush with our screening forces except reduced shields and a few hull scratches, the enemy had to believe they’d got the better of that engagement.

  Curse them.

  As if to say their work here was done, the enemy Battleships turned to port with military precision and then, as if one unit, turned and began to move in pursuit of their troop transports. Then the screen flickered again.

  “That was costly,” Lieutenant Commander Snyder said to me and then glared at Sensors, “what seems to be the problem now, Sensors? Lock it down!”

  “I think Laurent is going to make them pay for that,” I mused.

  “I don’t see how,” replied the First Officer before she was interrupted by a defensive Sensor officer.

  “We seem to have misidentified one of the ships in the enemy’s third Battleships squadron: it’s a Heavy Cruiser, not a Battleship, and the computer was just updating the holo-screen, Captain,” the Sensor Officer said stiffly.

  I waited while the Captain chewed out the Sensor Officer for making an error like that and then when I had her attention again nodded toward those troop transports.

  “If they slow down, those Battleships should be able to get to them before our forces,” she replied seeming to physically shake off her conversation with the Sensor Officer as she turned back to me.

  “From your mouth to the Sweet Saint’s ears,” I said and then hesitated because I didn’t want to jog her elbows for now but enough was enough, “speaking of, Sensors, this isn’t the first time we’ve had trouble in that department. Perhaps it’s time you have the Sensor Section ping the enemy fleet and run a focused scan on their wallers.”

  “That was a different shift and shift leader but…you heard the man, Sensors. I want a hard scan. Cut through the confusion,” she ordered.

  While she was talking, all but a handful of the fleet-footed Corvettes and light Destroyers that had fled the battle in fear during the last engagement, continued to arc a looping course around the enemy fleet both right, left, top and bottom. They might not be in anything even resembling a formation but all of them on a course for the troop transports, out of range of the Battleships and they were putting on speed. Or most of them where.

  “Mark down the ships that are not joining their brothers in a strike on the enemy transports,” I instructed because if Laurent didn’t survive to handle it or send a report up the chain of command to me after he did, I’d deal with the matter personally.

  “Will do, Sir,” reported Tactical.

  With the gap noticeably closed between the Spineward Battleships and our enemies wall of battle, I was once again considering ordering our heavies to exceed their maximum safe speed when the main-screen started flashing red and a warning chime went off

  “What was that,” I demanded, not familiar with what was happening, “is there a problem with our holo-program?”

  “Get me a system analyst on the horn. Now.” Ordered Captain Snyder.

  A white-faced sensor officer turned back from his section.

  “That won’t be necessary, Sir. I’m afraid that was no error with the holo-system itself,” said the Sensor Officer.

  “Well man spit it out. What is it?” ordered the Captain.

  “The Admiral was right. When we ran a new scan we discovered that half of the enemy Battleships in the main body weren’t Battleships at all, but Medium and Heavy Cruisers instead,” the Officer reported.

  The Captain lunged out of her chair as the screen flashed red once again and another warning chime went off.

  The Sensor Officer whirled around and after checking his data-slate turned round again.

  “It looks like the Cruisers escorting the enemy transports aren’t Cruisers either, they’re actually Battleships,” reported the Sensor Officer with alarm, “and as for the transports…they’r
e not there.”

  I hate it when I’m right.

  “Blast it, Sensors, what do you mean they’re not there?! Is there anything else you’ve managed to get wrong? Like I don’t know, oh, say that all of the in their Destroyers are really Heavy Cruisers—or maybe even Battleships in disguise?” Snyder demanded.

  “I don’t know how they did it, Captain. But somehow theyir ECM suites are able to mimic a class of ship higher or lower than the one it actually is. We didn’t know until we ran the focused scan and only a hard scan or visual identification will let us tell if we’ve been snookered. Right now we’re still looking for the transports,” he reported like a man about to lose his job right before getting a bunch of his fellow crewmates killed.

  Snyder looked like she was about to go ballistic but we didn’t have time for histrionics.

  “Captain!” I barked when she looked like she was about to cycle off the bulkhead.

  Her head whipped around. “Yes, Admiral?” she asked with alarm.

  “We know both the Empire and the Old Confederation have better tech than we do when it comes to electronic counter measures, and I’m afraid the middle of a battle isn’t the time to point fingers and try to find out if it was better tech or rank incompetence that let them slip this one through,” I said firmly. “Get your head back in the game. I need you focused on fighting your ship. And we both need Sensors to find those transports.”

  She shot me a surprised look and then nodded. “Of course, Sir. I’ve only ever been focused on my ship,” she said.

  I decided to let that one pass as there was really no point in splitting hairs. As long as she was on task and focused on the enemy that’s all that mattered.

  “So the question now isn’t how they did it. We can only go forward with the best information we have available to us, what we need to know is why? And just as important: what are they planning?” I asked, thinking aloud.

  “It’s either a diversion or an escape attempt,” Lieutenant Commander Snyder, “and considering that they’ve been determined to escape at every turn to date…”

  “Even a rat is dangerous when its back is against the wall. Chief of Staff, message the fleet and tell them to keep a sharp look out,” I ordered.

  “Aye-aye, Admiral,” said Lisa Steiner quick stepping over to the communications section.

  She was still leaned over the desk, hand pressed to her earbud and speaking into the microphone, when the entire screen fuzzed.

  Only this time the holo-screen didn’t clear up right away, it stayed fuzzed.

  “Get me a clear picture,” I commanded.

  “I’m trying, Admiral,” reported the Sensor Officer, “but massive signals are flooding every wavelength. We’re trying to cut through it or find a frequency or sensor type it’s not blocking but right now it looks a lot like one of our jammers that floods everything within a certain radius and makes it impossible to see what’s going on inside of it. Similar to the jammers we used during the second battle against the Reclamation Fleet, only more advanced and possibly from multiple point sources, although on that it's too soon to tell.”

  “Then use optics, find the other ships, and point-to-point communications with laser-based com-arrays if you have to but I want communications reestablished as of half a minute ago,” I ordered.

  “I’ll get right on it, Sir,” said the Sensor Officer who then hurried back to his station.

  “Jammer drones deployed around the local fleet, Front Admiral. They’re blind, deaf and dumb,” reported Fritters.

  “Excellent news, Commodore. I was afraid that they might have countermeasures for our drones or a new kind of sensor that can see through our jamming, but while we’ll have to wait on the second it’s clear we caught them with their pants down. How is the point-to-point communication system?” he asked.

  “Working like a charm. We had the com-lasers working before we deployed the jammer drones and so far we’re maintaining good signal. That will probably change if we have to engage in any combat maneuvers, but for now you can issue any orders you care to give and your captains will be able to hear them, Sir,” Fritters said with an edge to his smile.

  “Operation Storm Warden is a go. Signal all ships and inform the troop transports they are to launch their shuttles now. They are to follow Battleship squadrons Two and Four into the jamming field and prepare to unleash the storm,” said Featherby.

  Unseen by anyone in the opposing fleet, as soon as the jammer drones went active, the until-then fleeing warships of the Glorious Fleet slowly rotated 180 degrees and dove back into the jammer field. Every ship, that is, except for the eight Battleships escorting the Destroyers masquerading as troop transports.

  They were more than happy to reveal themselves for the Battleship they were and open fire at longer than expected range on the Corvettes and light Destroyers Laurent had sent to harass the missing troop transports.

  Of the ships in the Spineward Confederation’s First Fleet, only a handful of warships were even capable of seeing through the static caused by the old Confederation’s drones and of those they were mainly captured Imperial Destroyers pressed into MSP service that were too far away from the enemy Battleships to see where they were going.

  One ship, however, did have top of the line sensors and was in position to see where they were going. And when Commodore Laurent of the Furious Phoenix saw the fuzzy images of at least a squadron of Battleships escorting a large number of shuttles passing to the side of his flagship, headed for the last projected course of the Royal Rage on an obvious intercept with the Rage and the rest of the Spine’s Battleships, he signaled every ship within range of his point-to-point com-arrays and then changed course.

  Like a bat fleeing the underworld, the Furious Phoenix and his scratch squadron, eight ships, and all that the Phoenix could find and signal before she risked losing sensor lock, engaged their drives and glided into position behind the Battleships.

  “Sirs, I think I’m spotting some kind of disturbance up again of us. If I had to guess it looks like weapons discharge,” reported the Sensor Officer.

  “Since you’re the shift supervisor your guess is what we’re going with,” I said evenly and then turned to tactical, “prepare to deploy a jammer buoy and inform Gunnery we could be in for a bit of excitement.”

  “With increased jamming, ours as well as theirs, we won’t be able to see much of anything until it's right on top of us,” Tactical pointed out.

  “Noted. Carry out your orders,” I instructed.

  “Discharges are getting closer,” reported Sensors sounding tense, “our sensors upgraded a while ago but during last refit we had access to the original Imperial programming that goes along with the physical hardware. It looks like there’s some kind of problem with the interface between the DI and the newly installed programming. We thought we got the bugs out but—”

  “Com-tech, signal everyone on our point to point network and notify them we are about to engage the enemy,” I said cutting him off, we could deal with the faulty programming interface later right now we had a battle to survive. “Helm, prepare to turn the ship as soon as we’ve had confirmation from our escorts. Com’s, relay our intentions.”

  “Yes, Sir,” said the Helm.

  “Aye-aye,” said the Com-tech rounding back to his console and immediately started relaying information and orders via whisker-lasers.

  “Jammer buoy deployed. Going active in five-four-three…” he said holding up five fingers and slowly removing one each time he spoke until finally his fist clenched and the entire screen turned into a murky haze.

  It was a risk, but I figured there was a good chance the Old Confederation had a workaround that let them see through their own jamming with at least partial effectiveness. To my mind this just helped even the odds by ensuring both sides couldn’t see a blasted thing.

  “Turn the ship to present our broadside,” I said, figuring I’d given everyone in the fleet enough time to receive my message…if they wer
e going to. Now it was time to wait and see if I was right.

  Time would tell if I was more right than wrong in my assessment. Time and lives lost. Which was something I tried not to think about, I mean I was as willing to expend lives as the next guy, at least I presumed I was as I wasn’t consumed with fear and worry about others dying on my orders, maybe because I’d been born to a family where everyone expected me to do so with wild abandon if ever given the chance, but it wasn’t something I liked to dwell on. Just because I was willing to make the hard calls, didn’t mean I liked watching people die.

  Well…outside of a few particularly nasty customers like Arnold Janeski and just about every member of the Deep Fleet I’d run across. Anyone who got their jollies whole roasting intelligent creatures like Glue and the Sundered on the barbecue pit didn’t deserve my mental anguish and I easily gave myself a free, get out of psychotic Montagne family heritage, pass not to worry about their fates.

  The first thing we knew of the enemy was when they suddenly appeared out of the electronic jammer fog and entered medium heavy laser range.

  “Danger close! We have multiple enemy Battleships at medium range!” shouted Tactical.

  I opened my mouth to order our ship to fire when Gunnery took matters into its own hands and cut loose with a full broadside.

  As if taken by surprise the, leading enemy Battleship started to turn to one side before correcting and continuing straight toward the gap between the Royal Rage and her nearest sister ship on our stern.

  “Captain, get our stern away from the broadside of that Glorious Fleet Battleship!” I snapped.

  “Helmsman, engage maneuvering jets,” cried Lieutenant Commander Snyder.

  The enemy Battleship was followed by two of her sister ships and then a fourth followed behind in a diamond formation as the lead ship entered close attack range.

  “Enemy’s forward lasers are starting to range on us,” reported Tactical as the first heavy laser shots slammed into the Rage’s shields.

  “I’m getting anomalous readings from inside the middle of the enemy formation.