Admiral's Nemesis Part II

by Luke Sky Wachter

  “Targets….Sweet Demon take them, there are more than a hundred Battleships! Target…acquired. Target locked. Taking aim…firing!” cried the Weaponeer.

  The Super Battleship thrummed, rocking back and forth in a steady motion as the now abundantly-powered Super Battleship was able to fully charge the grav-plates, reducing the previously jerking motion to a fraction of its previous intensities.

  “And tell those Cutters, Corvettes and Cruisers attached to the Jump Spindles to drag them out of here—get them below the plane of the elliptic and headed for the limit before they start taking enemy fire and are destroyed. We can’t risk ’em!” Spalding said.

  “I have one hundred and fifty enemy warships now moving on an intercept course,” reported Sensors.

  “Gunboats away. I say again: boats away. Three hundred and sixty four boats deployed, ready for action and waiting to receive targeting assignments,” reported the Combat Boat Controller on the bridge of the Lucky Clover.

  “What are those Fighters doing?” asked Captain Spalding.

  There was a pause as Tactical fervently attempted to make sense of a chaotic situation with more than two thousand contacts in a relatively tiny portion of space.

  “They appear to be continuing on their attack run, Sir Spalding,” reported an Ensign in the Tactical department after a short pause to gather data.

  “I’m not a Knight, son,” Spalding informed the other before a pause, “tell the boats to hold position for now. I’ll have a job for them soon.”

  He immediately moved to check on the weapons system. With the enemy so close, any problem with the Hyper Plasma Cannon would be fatal. It had to work, that was just all there was to it.

  Behind him a small planetoid and a number of derelict ships—Bug ships—Bug Motherships—began to stir as their chemically-induced torpor abated.

  Chapter 55: Imperial Sensor Readings

  “The other shoe has dropped,” Cornwallis snorted as the enemy flashed into existence right in front of the Imperial Flotilla.

  “It’s hard to tell with all the jamming, but it looks like seven Battleships and that oversized Battleship we were told about. Well, two of the Battleships appear to be converted carriers, but even so. Make it eight of the wall and another dozen smaller warships. There are also some large contacts that are obscured by the haze; it’s hard to tell if they’re real or simply a mirage created by their jamming technology,” observed the grey bearded Commodore.

  “So call it twenty ships against one hundred and fifty…that being the case, this matter is a foregone conclusion,” said Cornwallis, “which means either we are idiots or young Montagne thinks he has something to help even the odds. The only question left: is it with this group or somewhere else?”

  “Don’t underestimate that oversized Battleship, it’s 1800 meters long—half again the size of the Mighty Punisher,” warned the Commodore.

  Right after he spoke, the main cannon of the Super Battleship fired. All eyes locked on the little Spineward Sectors force, and then the Imperial Battleship New Essex took a hit right in her armored prow.

  The hull seemed to ripple out away from the impact site and then fire, gas, and molten metal came exploding back out the hole in the bow of the New Essex. As the Senator on the Mighty Punisher watched, hands clasped behind him, the Battleship’s keel snapped from the force of the attack.

  Seconds later, the emergency communication pod ejected from the Battleship, alongside two of her fusion generators as the New Essex declared herself combat killed. Within minutes the survivors of her crew hit the escape pods and began to escape the ship.

  “Flaming atoms!” swore the Chief of Staff, ashen-faced.

  Cornwallis narrowed his eyes. “That ship hits like it has the main weapon of a grade one battlestation...but it’s still not enough to turn the tables,” the Senator observed clinically. He pursed his lips, “Send in the recon drones; I want a closer look at whatever they’re hiding.”

  “That cannon is totally comparable to our main beam,” said the Commodore, referring to the Mighty Punisher's main weapon, while behind them the flag staff passed the orders to send out a spread of recon drones.

  Cornwallis shrugged. “We already knew the strength of the weapon from back when it was still only half-built. What’s noteworthy isn’t the power of the weapon but that its strength hasn’t grown,” said the Senator idly.

  “You mean completing the ship didn’t affect the weapon?” said the Commodore.

  “Correct. Either the weapon isn’t energy based or, despite its half-built status in the previous engagement, it was already fully-powered and fully-charged during last battle,” said the Senator.

  “That shouldn’t be the case, considering the reports of an antimatter explosion. Something like that was almost certainly from either raw antimatter fuel or core parts of an antimatter generator,” said the Commodore.

  “High capacity power banks could compensate for that initially,” mused the Senator before waving it off dismissively.

  “Sir?” asked his military Chief of Staff.

  “Right now what’s important isn’t that small monitor,” said the Senator, gesturing toward the Lucky Clover II.

  “Intelligence reports say they’re calling it a Super Battleship,” interjected the commodore.

  “Besides the point,” sneered Cornwallis.

  “What, Sir?” the Commodore asked dutifully.

  The Senator silently pointed toward the main screen. “Those initial anomalous sensor contacts,” said the Senator. He then turned to the Master Chief Petty Officer manning the EW console for the flag bridge, “What’s the status on those recon drones?”

  The Master Chief stiffened. “One moment, Praetor,” he said, pulling up the relevant data and then forwarding it to the Senator.

  “I’m sorry, the recon drones are still too far away,” the Master Chief said regretfully.

  The Senator’s eyes flashed and, for the first time in a long time, he felt an unwelcome twinge he had never expected to feel again for as long as he lived.

  Chapter 56: Lucky Clover and Mighty Punisher Head to Head

  “Fire!” shouted Spalding an instant before the Tactical Officer causing the other man’s voice to sound like an echo of his own.

  “Aye aye!” exclaimed the Weaponeer, taking aim at the Command Carrier and pulling the trigger.

  There was a slight vibration and then, like a small rocket of flame, the next round of flaming semi-liquid metal burst forth from the barrel of the Lucky Clover like a shot fired from the infernal workshop of the Demon Murphy himself.

  “She’s true! She’s fired true,” the old Engineer chortled as the second shot from the Hyper Plasma Cannon bore down on the Imperial flagship like it was the wrath of the Spineward Sectors themselves, intent on teaching the Imperials a lesson they’d not soon forget!

  There was a slight motion on the screen, and a split second before the round was due to hit the nose of Cornwallis' flagship, an Imperial Battleship passed between the Command Carrier and the Lucky Clover.

  The round punched through shields, shattering the front fourth of the Battleship, and the residual energy splattered against the incredibly powerful shields of the Imperial Command Carrier behind them with all the force of an egg hitting a rock.

  “Oh, bad cess,” howled Spalding, pounding a fist against the side of his own leg in his enthusiasm.

  “We’ll get them next time, Commander,” the Tactical Officer assured the old Engineer.

  “Sir ,do you want to maneuver the ship?” asked the Helmsman, eyeing the Imperial fleet that was now nearly in attack range.

  Spalding’s eyes shot back to the screen, ignoring the helmsman.

  Through the use of sensors it was obvious the Command Carrier’s shields had dropped precipitously, but once again all the old cyborg could see was what looked like still-dripping-egg-yolk sliding down the sides of the Command Carrier’s shields where it streamed into the void of cold space and slowly harde
ned.

  “Reload! Reload! We’ll fire again—just make sure to aim better this next time,” he shouted, clapping the weaponeer on the shoulder happily.

  “Aim better?” the Weaponeer paused long enough to look back at him in disbelief, but a stiff look from the ornery old cyborg had him turned back around urgently working his console.

  “Don’t worry, Sir, we’ll get them,” said the First Officer.

  “Yes we will!” Spalding chortled with happiness. “And if we don’t? Why, we’ll still bag a Battleship each and every time, bahahaha!” he laughed with satisfaction and then glared down at the weaponeer. “That’s assuming the young man here doesn’t miss the Command Carrier. That last round might have glanced off her bow. But as long as he aims true,” he clouted the weaponeer on the shoulder hard enough to rock him in the chair, “they’ll have no choice but to put some serious weight of metal between the Clover and her,” he finished with a finger thrust right at the Imperial flagship.

  “Don’t worry, Commander. I’ll have the third shot ready in another five minutes,” said the Weaponeer.

  Spalding, who had started to drift back toward the Engineering console, stopped mid-motion. His eye twitched once as he mentally replayed what the youngster had just said. Then it twitched again when he realized he had, indeed, heard him correctly the first time.

  “What did you say, lad?” he asked with outrage.

  “I said five minut—” began the Weaponeer.

  “What are you on about, man? Didn’t you hear the helmsman? Time's about up and we’ve only got another two minutes,” he shouted furiously.

  “Sir, the book on the HPC clearly says five minutes,” protested the Weaponeer.

  “We fired as soon as we got here, and that last round only took three minutes to load and fire—besides, the enemy will range on us in another two minutes. Five minutes is simply three minutes too late!”

  “Uh…” the Weaponeer froze.

  “Don’t be a fool and load the lighter rounds. They take less time to load and fire. Can’t you see the Battleships crossing back and forth in front of her like moths to the flame now? We’re not going to get another clear shot like that last one,” ordered the old engineer.

  “But you just said to reload the heavy rounds and try again!” cried the Weaponeer in protest.

  “And now I’m telling you different. Sweet Murphy, I’m not a weapons specialist—I just build the blasted things!” Spalding bellowed in frustration.

  “Right on it, Sir,” said the Weaponeer, turning back to his console.

  “The enemy Carrier is entering attack range,” reported Tacitcal.

  “We’ve just been painted!” cried Sensors.

  “Full power to the forward shields. Kick those fancy antimatter generators into high gear,” shouted Captain Spalding.

  “Super charging forward shields,” the Shield Ensign piped out in a high pitched voice.

  “Round loaded; going through initial load balance tests. Capacitors at 75% and rising,” reported Weapons.

  “Pre-firing matrix detected. That Command Carrier is about to fire. Do you want to order evasive maneuvers, Sir?” asked Tactical.

  “It’s going to take more than a measly little twelve hundred meter Command Carrier to scratch the paintjob on this ship,” Spalding boasted shamelessly.

  “Do you want me to close the firing port for the HPC, Sir?” asked the Weaponeer.

  “And risk the chance it gets welded closed? Not on your life,” Spalding said fiercely.

  “Sir, they’ve got a bead on us—if we’re going to move the time is now!” urged the First Officer.

  “Steady as she goes, Helm,” Spalding bawled loud enough to drown out anything further his XO was about to say. He then turned to his First Officer irately, “Are you deliberately trying to make us miss our next shot? Our chances of dodging are low and if we dance 'round like a monkey on fire then we won’t hit anything,” he hissed.

  The First Officer’s first response was drowned out by the inbound fire.

  Like a flash in the pan, the Empire’s main beam fired and the Clover’s forward facing shields popped like a soap bubble immediately as that the powerful, white beam dug deep into the forward face of the Super Battleship with an upward, slashing arc.

  “Forward sensor capabilities degraded by 30%. Forward armor compromised, secondary systems in the forward hull have been affected, unable to reroute,” reported Damage Control.

  “What’s the status of the HPC?” Spalding demanded. Everything else was immaterial at best if their main gun had been compromised.

  “Hatch doors are not responding and appear to have been welded open. All other systems related to the HPC are reading five-by-five. However the forward facing visual cameras have all been burned out; I can’t get a look at the opening. Minimum time for a repair team to get out there and take a look…four minutes,” reported the Weaponeer.

  “Too long. Prepare to fire as soon as the HPC is ready,” ordered Spalding.

  The Weaponeer just looked at him with horror. Realizing the junior officer wasn’t going to risk the old tyrant’s ire, the First Officer stepped up to bite the bullet.

  “Sir, you are aware that if there’s anything obstructing the firing port, so much as a jagged edge of duralloy, the HPC could misfire,” he advised quickly.

  “Of course I’m aware. Who do you think designed and then installed the bloody thing?” Spalding scoffed.

  “Firing before we can confirm the port’s cleared could destroy the ship, Captain!” shouted the First Officer.

  “Steady as she goes, Number One. As they say in the book: faint hearts never won fair lady—and son, there ain't no lady half as fair as the Clover,” advised the old Engineer.

  “You could blow the front of the ship clear off!” the First Officer said in a low urgent voice.

  “We’re not going to win this battle without taking risks. The die is cast. Will we be sinners or will we be damned?” Spalding declared and then turned to the weaponeer, “Fire when ready.”

  The old engineer turned back to look at the battle plot and narrowed his eyes. In addition to the one hundred and fifty members of the Imperial flotilla, major contingents from both wings of the Glorious Fleet were converging right on his position.

  “The fly is definitely in the ointment but, as they say, the more the merrier, aye Saint Murphy?” he mumbled to himself.

  “Sorry, Sir. I was just trying to keep us in the fight as long as possible,” said the First Officer, his voice breaking the old engineer out of his ruminations.

  “Eh?” Spalding looked up in surprise and then frowned. “Pay it never no mind; we’re going to have a lot more to worry about than whether we lose the front of the ship before this day is over with,” said the old Engineer.

  “As you say, Sir,” muttered the First Officer mutinously.

  Spalding could tell that he wasn’t so sanguine as the Chief Engineer about the fate of the ship when the HPC fired again, but old Spalding wasn’t worried.

  After all, he’d installed more than just a set of visual cameras in the opening of the HPC’s firing port and the odds of his pressure sensors being compromised in such a way that they didn’t automatically shut down the main cannon before it fired was…well, it was non-zero, but...definitely infinitesimal at best.

  Chuckling to himself at the antics of the bridge crew, he turned back to see what the blasted Empire o' MAN was about to do next.

  “Remember, Helm: as soon as the gun fires you are to pull us back behind the planetoid,” he warned.

  “Yes, Sir,” said the Helmsman.

  “You know what…on second thought I've a better idea,” Spalding said, because while he wasn’t afraid of getting her paint scratched that didn’t mean he wanted to see her torn up by five hundred warship all working against the Clover together.

  No, on second thought this latest burst lightbulb was a much better idea.

  “What? It didn’t cut through her hull?” t
he Commodore’s eyes bulged in disbelief.

  Charles Cornwallis blinked. “Our main cannon should have been able to cut through duralloy twice as thick as that,” said the Senator.

  On the screen was a close-up view of the locals’ oversized, 1800 meter long so-called Battleship. Most notably, the view wasn’t fuzzy at all.

  “Why do we have such a clear image?” he asked.

  “I tasked the recon drones with getting a good image of the ship,” said the EW officer.

  The Senator nodded and then frowned. “I hope you didn’t re-task all of the drones just to take a look at the Super Battleship.”

  There was a sudden but telling silence from the Electronics Warfare Officer.

  “Re-task all but two of the drones immediately. Do I have to do everything myself? I want to find out what’s behind that ship!” he barked.

  “Aye aye, Sir,” the EW Commander jumped to carry out the order.

  There was a stir at the sensor consoles.

  “The Super Battleship and her escorts are beginning to fall back,” reported Sensors.

  “Is she trying to hide behind something in that jamming field or just avoid another strike from our laser?” Cornwallis' eyes narrowed.

  “That shouldn’t be at issue. The Spineward Sectors has fought a Command Carrier before. They even captured the last one we sent here,” said the Commodore.

  The Senator gave the other man such a look that his Chief of Staff’s eyes widened and he took a step backwards.

  “Super Battleship has fired,” urgently reported Commander at the Tactical Station, breaking the tension.

  “All hands, brace for impact,” the steady voice of the ship’s Captain came over the intercom.

  “Imperial Justice is maneuvering to intercept,” advised an Assistant Tactical Officer as the nearest Imperial Battleship in the defensive pattern moved to place its hull between the Command Carrier and the enemy attack. Unfortunately, it was a tick too fast.