Admiral's Nemesis Part II

by Luke Sky Wachter

  Total: 1,190 active-duty warships sympathetic to the Empire of Man as of the Battle of Black Purgatory

  vs.

  Grand Fleet of the Spine – Black Purgatory Totals

  CO: Grand Admiral Montagne

  25 Battleships

  76 Cruisers

  100 Destroyers

  64 Corvettes

  Total: 265 active-duty warships sympathetic to Admiral Montagne's coalition

  “Point transfer!” exclaimed the Navigator as soon as the fuzz on our screens disappeared and our sensors started reaching outside the ship.

  “Gravity sump within expected limits for a jump of our level,” reported the Science Officer.

  “Baffling extended. Preparing for sump slide,” said the Helmsman.

  “Sensor returns. I am reading multiple starships jumping into the region of cold space immediately around us,” said the Sensor Officer updating the screen to show two dozen new contacts, one of which appeared alarmingly close to our own.

  “Find out the name of that ship and its captain. If they survive the battle I’ll want to review what, if anything, went wrong. Everything else is as expected,” I said, because if anything I was expecting a few more warships to appear on our scopes during the first sweep, even if not quite at close range.

  “Engaging engines,” reported the Helm. “25% thrust from both secondary’s,” and then seconds later, “Engaging primary engine.”

  I ignored the drum-roll of order, counter order and report that was the usual post point transfer procedure as the ship completed its inertial sump breakout and scanned the star system.

  Meanwhile, all around us the rest of the more than two hundred and fifty warships of the fleet completed their transitions through hyperspace and started checking in with the flagship.

  “All twenty five Battleships have successfully jumped into Black Purgatory Star System and checked in, Sir,” reported Lieutenant Commander Steiner.

  I nodded. “What’s the current tally of identified ships in the enemy fleet, Lisa?” I asked, my eyes focused on the screen and the ever increasing number of small white dots that represented enemy warships.

  “So far we’ve positively identified more than six hundred warships and another two hundred civilian starships. With another dozen positively identified in the time we’ve just been speaking, Grand Admiral Montagne,” Lisa Steiner reported crisply.

  “Keep an eye on the Sensor section, Lieutenant Commander. I have faith in its new leader—but then again I had faith in the old one too,” I said.

  “Understood,” she replied.

  Over the course of the next several minutes, an angry Imperial counterattack failed to materialize and the Spineward Sectors Fleet began to link up into formation.

  I was just starting to relax, unable to keep up a state continual tension, when our gravimetric sensors went wild and five squadrons of Destroyers point transferred on the outermost port side of our scattered formation.

  “I’m reading twenty plus contacts, most likely designation Destroyers, and they just went active with every sensor on their ships!” reported Tactical.

  “Inform the ships nearest on the port side of our formation that those new contacts are most likely the enemy. They are to proceed with extreme prejudice,” I ordered.

  “Aye aye, Sir!” said my Chief of Staff after deciding to personally transmit my orders.

  “Who’ve we got in command over on that wing?” I asked turning to the ship’s First Officer.

  “Due to scattering Rear Admiral Gretta Van Obenhiem is the closest senior commander in that area,” said Lieutenant Commander Snyder.

  “Rear Admiral? I thought she was a Vice Admiral,” I said, brow wrinkling, “and the last I heard she was still back on Freya’s World. Did the Valkyrie show up when I wasn’t looking and we got another Battleship while I wasn’t looking?” I asked pulling up the current Battleship totals and seeing that it was still listed at 25.

  “I’m afraid that after the Valkyrie III returned from Easy Haven for assessment at the Freya World Yards the yard dogs there marked down the Battleship as combat disabled and decommissioned her,” she reported.

  “It’s unknown at this time whether the ship really was too badly damaged too repair and hazardous for a crew to operate or if Freya’s World down checked Valkyrie III in order to keep VonObenheim’s flagship at home, secretly buff up their SDF, and keep the Spineward Sectors Assembly from pressuring them to commit their most powerful combat unit a second time,” she continued.

  “Well that explains why she’s not here in a Battleship, but unless I’m remembering it wrong didn't she receive a demotion since the last time we met?” I asked.

  “It says in her file, forwarded to us from Freya’s World SDF courtesy of the New Confederation Fleet Admiralty, that according to her SDF regulations because her ship was designated combat destroyed the same protocols are used as if the ship was considered lost in combat,” interjected Lisa Steiner.

  “Which means?” I asked.

  “That apparently the Vice Admiral had to stand for a mandatory court-martial and a jury of her peers found her to have endangered her ship, her crew and her home world with her reckless actions,” she reported.

  “What reckless actions?” I demanded angrily. “She was one of the most hesitant and least reckless commanders we had on scene!”

  “Hitting the highlights,” there was an extended pause as her eyes flickered back and forth across her screen before looking up, “there were a number of charges that apparently didn’t stick but were probably the onus for her being reduced in rank.”

  “Let me guess. They didn’t like me or the fact she followed my legal orders,” I sneered.

  “In a nutshell,” she nodded her agreement, “there was also apparently quite a bit of rancor at her not at least attempting to relieve you of duty over the death of Admiral Veraxian.”

  “That had nothing to do with me! That was all Nuttal’s idea,” I snapped angrily, “I would have put him on trial and spaced him with all due process out the airlock like a normal person! I mean who just shoots a fellow admiral in the head during a Flag meeting, especially when you’re just another member not the fleet commander?”

  I was practically beside myself with the injustice of it.

  “Well apparently they didn’t recognize the difference between your actions and those of Rear Admiral Grantor Nuttal and thought she was in a position to lead a legal mutiny against your command and failed to do so,” she said. “There is the fact that apparently they feel your defense plan for Easy Haven was full of holes and if she’d only worked harder to reign you in and provide a modicum of adult supervision we wouldn’t have taken as many losses, Praxis wouldn’t have tried to mutiny and as a result the Valkyrie III wouldn’t have been so badly damaged,” she reported tonelessly.

  “Well isn’t that just rich? They used the legal loophole of her badly damaged ship not being repairable, something that for all we know is a complete and utter lie, to put her on trial before a court martial and then proceed to, in effect, try me in absentia by punishing her for everything they decided I did wrong?” I demanded, feeling my temper rise.

  “That looks like about how it went down from a cursory glance. There might be something we’re missing. I’m just going off reading the thumbnail overview at the top,” she replied neutrally.

  “Well they can Monday-morning-primeback the 3rd Battle for Easy Haven all they like and burn one of their own on the altar of my supposed incompetence if they like, but the fact remains that I was there and we got the job done, they weren’t and didn’t,” I said taking a breath.

  Lieutenant Commander Steiner nodded.

  “What’s the status on the Imperial strike force?” I demanded, “and do I need to issue an order so that those fools on the port flank understand that Van Obenheim is in command over there?”

  She stopped and gave me a reproving look.

  “Sensors and Tactical confirm the number of the ene
my warships at twenty eight Destroyers and one Light Cruiser. They are currently moving to attack our nearest warships and…” she frowned at me, “no. To answer your question, Van Obenheim has already taken command of the area without any trouble or dispute,” she gave me a wounded look, “I would have informed you if there had been a problem, Sir. So you don’t need for you to inform any ‘fools’ over there.”

  I could feel myself color with embarrassment but I forcibly pushed it down by dint of training. I knew better than to speak about my people that way, calling them fools, but facing a superior force that not only outnumbered us but also had the tech edge had got the better of me and I’d shot off my mouth without thinking.

  “As you say. My apologies for doubting you,” I said stiffly. I couldn’t admit to more openly, but she was right.

  Since I had already confirmed that Gretta Van Obenheim was in command of the port wing all I could do was keep an eye on what was happening and rally the rest of the fleet into a defensible formation.

  I started issuing orders and twenty of our twenty five Battleships began to fall in around the Rage. Fourteen of them were close enough to reach us within minutes thanks to our coordinated point transfer but jump scatter and spread the other six too far away to reach the center of the fleet quickly.

  As for the other five Battleships they were spread all throughout the port side of the fleet and there was no way they’d be able to fall back to join the main force before the enemy Destroyers that were already attacking one of our ships tore into even more of our warships. That being the case, it looked like Van Obenheim had given them new orders and they were moving toward the Destroyers.

  It was obvious as soon as anyone with a half trained eye took a look that there was no way these Battleship were going to intercept a small fleet of Destroyers. They were out of position and slower movers to boot. Fortunately that didn’t appear that was what Rear Admiral was intending to use them for, an intercept. Instead of the Battleships chasing after the enemy Destroyers, dozens of warships of all shapes and sizes were rallying around the five independently placed Battleships, taking cover behind their large hulls and under the reach of their long ranging turbo-lasers.

  Battleships significantly out-ranged anything a Destroyer had to offer. What the smaller lighter warships had that a Battleship didn’t was speed and maneuverability. They also cost significantly less to produce but that was another matter entirely.

  “There they go,” muttered the Tactical Officer just loudly enough for the rest of us to hear.

  I shook my head and then grit my teeth as the Imperial Destroyers came in from all sides, attacking their first beleaguered target, a Border Alliance Corvette, with overwhelming force. Its power plants exploded in short order, completely destroying the little warship.

  Then, like rabid poodles, the high class Imperial warships turned on a formation of three ships: a Destroyer and two Corvettes.

  “The Rear Admiral has ordered a pick-up squadron of Light and Medium Cruisers to intercept the Imperial attack,” reported Lieutenant Commander Steiner from the Comm. department.

  “I have half a dozen Corvettes and half again as many Destroyers moving to form up with the Cruiser squadron for support. They should be able to reach supporting range of the cruisers before the Imperial Destroyers can get to them,” reported Tactical.

  On the screen I could see the mass of Imperial warships moving around in a constantly shifting pattern that allowed them to support one another, attack our warships, and at the same time shift out those damaged Destroyers before they could become heavily damaged or completely destroyed Destroyers.

  I also saw that the Imperial squadrons had reached the trio of warships before our reinforcements could.

  Lasers slashed out from the Imperials and were answered in turn by our Destroyer and then belatedly by our even shorter ranged Corvettes. The ships on our side twisted and turned, rotating their hulls to spread the damage over the full length of their shields while their helmsmen and pilots showed the Imperials their best most desperate evasive maneuvers…but to no effect.

  Outnumbered nine-to-one, within moments our warships had lost their shields and medium and light lasers were raking their hulls.

  After losing their shields and taking serious hull damage, the Corvettes broke and ran while the Heavy Destroyer they left behind did its level best to block the Imperial Destroyers from getting up-the-kilt shots at the Corvettes engines. But a lucky shot by the Imperials left one Corvette dead in space while one Imperial squadron after another raked the now shield-less Heavy Destroyer from stem to stern, leaving behind a battered and bleeding wreck.

  For a minute it looked like the last Corvette might make the great escape when eight Destroyers, two squadrons of Imperial ships, decided it was time to show everyone the tech edge their ships had over our locally built Confederation models. Within moments they were moving as fast as our fleeing Corvette, and within half a minute they had ever so slightly edged her out in speed.

  The captain of that Corvette, presumably desperate to escape, red-lined her engines so hard the Corvette began to visibly pull away. Then disaster struck in the form of an explosion that started in engineering, and the next thing anyone outside of her could tell she seemed to disintegrate. One moment she was there, pulling ahead of the Imperials, and then next she was just gone. All that remained to tell she’d once been there shards and large sections of duralloy.

  “I didn’t see an explosion. What happened?” I demanded of our bridge standing engineering officer.

  “It looks like a critical grav-plate malfunction,” reported Adrienne Blythe after a moment.

  “The grav-plates?” I asked, feeling sick to my stomach. Lots of people joked about being turned into a paste or a blood splatter at the back of the wall, but you very rarely encountered a serious grav-plate failure—let alone one as spectacular as what we had just witnessed.

  “Yes, Grand Admiral. There was a fluctuation in their power core, one that caused power fluctuation all throughout the ship, right before the Corvette literally…fell apart,” reported Watch Stander Blythe in a no nonsense voice, “no doubt they pushed their engines too hard. The Chief Engineer probably over drew on their drive core, failed to properly load balance the system, or the system suffered a critical failure in both the primary and backup systems that caused the power fluctuations throughout the ship. Even a temporary loss of power at high speeds could be catastrophic. That’s why we have backup power lines and power supplies, as well as load balancing systems and a distributed intelligence system all to keep the plates and the engines in sync but it looks like despite all that the precautions on that Corvette failed her.”

  “Their families will be notified of their ultimate sacrifice in defense of the Spine and this Sector,” I said, pulling out my slate and making a note to handle at least a few of the consolation letters for the family members of the officers and crew of that Corvette personally.

  “Any chance of enemy action on the inside?” asked our resident intelligence officer for the first time in a while.

  “It’s unlikely. Everything so far is consistent with a mechanical failure. But you’re the expert on that area not me. All I can say is that with those plates failing like they did, any chance of retrieving the Corvette’s black box is unlikely at best,” said Blythe.

  While we were chatting, a force of our warships nineteen strong and lead by the mixed Light and Medium Cruiser squadron, had intercepted—or been intercepted, depending on how you looked at it—the almost thirty Imperial Destroyers.

  “They have the edge in numbers and total weight of metal,” reported Tactical, “but while we’ve got a mixed bag of Destroyers and Corvettes with those Cruisers in the front to blunt their attack, this might not be as bad as it the numbers alone would suggest.”

  “It’s still going to hurt no matter how you look at it,” said Commander Snyder.

  I heard a female sounding snort behind me. The source I was almost certai
n I recognized. Then the person herself confirmed it.

  “We’re already deeply outnumbered. If we can’t figure out how to win with odds at only 1 to 1.5 how are we going to defeat the enemy and win this battle?” asked Akantha, who wasn’t fully up to date on the entire battle plan.

  Most people only knew the disposition and size of First Fleet. Captains and higher knew I had a plan to even the odds, but not much more than the fact that my former Chief Engineer was on the case. Others, like Akantha, knew that Spalding was involved and since it wasn’t already here that meant whatever plan I had cooked up involved the Lucky Clover 2.0 somehow.

  No one but myself, Spalding and the Droids had the whole plan…well, not even the Droids. They knew most of it of course but the exact details were between Spalding and me.

  At any rate, I needed to head off my wife before she put it too strongly, our light units lost, and a defeatist attitude spread throughout the fleet. I knew the Imperials had to have a few cards hidden close to their vest but I was banking on my own surprise trumping anything they could throw at us. I was betting my life on it.

  With that thought causing a surge of bone-chilling cold to ripple through my chest, I frowned and turned to my wife.

  “The goal is to concentrate our forces so that anytime we actually engage the enemy, we outnumber their local forces to the point we can crush and destroy them. Our goal is not to send our ships out piecemeal to be chopped up,” I reproved.

  “I understand your intent. You want to defeat them in detail,” Akantha said impatiently, “but considering they are faster on average, as well as longer ranged, I don’t see how you intend to do that.”

  “I thought I’d explained everything to you…privately,” I said, giving her a glare to emphasize the need not to undercut me in public.

  Akantha rolled her eyes before nodding politely. “You did,” she admitted, “however, theory can only take us so far,” she appeared to realize she was still being too confrontational, because she blew a puff of air that moved a bang of hair on her forehead out of her eyes and smiled in what I had to presume was an attempt at sweetly, “which is why I can’t wait to see the surprise you’ve promised us all.”