I, on the other hand was not, and that was just the problem. My other hand, that is. Even in my reinforced armor, my recently reattached hand just wasn’t up to all this activity, and right now I needed it desperately. Because the Jacks had more than twice the skill, and were encased in twice the battle-suit I was.
For his part, Oleander pulled the pins on a string of plasma grenades before he (and a couple Prometheans who had stuck close by) dove behind us to get away from the blast. I was lucky to avoid the worst of the explosion, as the body of a Jack I had impaled was positioned perfectly between myself and the super-heated cloud of plasma. The concussive force knocked me against the wall, but I was able to keep my feet and stay in the fight.
While I would never admit it out loud, I think Oleander’s danger-close thinking when he tossed a string of plasma grenades practically at our feet, actually paid off. Surprisingly enough, for the klutz that he is.
The Marine Jacks, having pushed us back and neatly decapitated two of my men, were thrown off their feet and coated in white hot plasma when the string of grenades exploded.
Their suits might be resistant, but the burning plasma sure slowed them down.
I used this to my advantage to put all of my two-handed, servo-assisted power behind the Minos Sword and thrust it into the visor of a fallen Imperial Marine Jack.
You can say it was unsportsmanlike, and as dishonorable an action as you care to throw around, but I was fighting for survival here. This was another Victory or Death scenario and so far, there had been a lot more death on my side than there had been victory. The sickening screech as my sword penetrated his suit and sank into the Jack’s head set off a string of uncontrolled twitching in the man under my boot.
I looked away and moved on, too busy to be sick to my stomach.
We pushed forward, my men and I, heading deep into the ship in search of the Bridge or Engine Room.
I suspect the reason the Jacks eventually decided to come at us in force wasn’t because we were in a terrible position. Oh, it certainly wasn’t good, but it wasn’t as bad as some of the series of corridors we had passed through recently. It must have been because we were getting close to something important.
This time was different, though. This time, they came in serious numbers, not the little raiding teams that had been so devastatingly effective so far, and the Jacks were supported by a number of heavily armed members of the crew.
Whatever else you want to say about the Imperials, you have to give them this. They were tough sons-of-guns. However, while my Caprian and Promethean men were probably willing to concede them the honor as the toughest men in the galaxy, the Tracto-ans felt a little differently.
The Caprian and Promethean reaction to an unexpected attack that decimated your numbers was to turtle up and try to hold. The Tracto-ans had a whole other way of thinking. When they were pressed, they pushed back. Hard. Where I and the men around me from the Armory team crouched down to return fire, the Tracto-ans charged.
Taking a page from the Marine Jacks, my natives in provincial armor bounced off walls, they dove and rolled, anything to close to grips with the enemy. When that didn’t work, they’d get together and two of them would cut through a wall almost as fast as a single Jack working by himself could, then they’d try to go around.
They even came up with the idea of using grenades to blow a hole in the ceiling, and then two men would launch a steady stream of their fellows up onto the next floor. At least, they would do so until the Jacks cut the throwers down. All of this was in an attempt to get over the Jacks so they could cut a new hole and land on top of, beside, or behind them.
It was all out, it was brutal and it was carnage. I think the Tracto-ans had less preconceived notions of what was and was not possible using power armor, and when they saw a Jack do something impossible, their response was to try to duplicate it. They didn’t stop to wonder if their old suit was up to the job or built for the task. There were some colossal failures, but unexpected successes as well.
However, the thing that held most in our favor was numbers. We were outnumbered by the unarmored crew. But they were nearly helpless against us unless they were sporting heavy weaponry. The Jacks had us outclassed, but there were fewer of them than I had expected.
So, despite brutal losses, my Lancers carried the day all the way to the Bridge of the Imperial Strike Cruiser.
We managed to blow open the doors to the Bridge using all the explosives we carried, along with whatever we could scrounge from the fallen Jacks. Marching into the Bridge in my armor, I was hit by a blaster bolt from a hand held weapon. I pretended to ignore it and planted my feet on the deck plating.
“Commander Marcus Cornwallis, in the name of the Confederation Fleet and its Government, I demand you surrender this ship and your person to my forces. You and your men will be taken before a High Justice, where you will be charged with the crime of cold space piracy and violating the sovereignty of Easy Haven, as well as the government of the Confederation in the Spine.” That was as far as I got before the commander decided to make his final stand.
“Charge,” screamed Commander Cornwallis, “let's get these provincial rubes,” he roared, unleashing a stream of blaster fire at my helmet.
I raised my bad hand to cover my face, and the next thing I knew the Imperial Commander had run himself through on my sword. I’m still not quite sure to this day if he did it on purpose, or if he was so caught up in putting down us 'provincial rubes' that he forgot to look where he was going.
Either way, he had some starch, this Imperial Commander. He dropped his blaster pistol and pulled himself up the Minos Sword using his hands, until he was close enough to spit in my visor. Which he promptly did before slumping wearily to the floor.
His First Officer, one Lieutenant Commander George Franklin, was much more amenable to my suggestion that enough blood had been spilled already and accepted my offer.
“I formally surrender the Imperial Strike Cruiser, Victorious Solar Flare, to…” he paused and looked at me, clearly wanting to know who I was.
“Admiral Jason Montagne of the Confederation Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet,” I said helpfully, then added. “And of the Tracto System Defense Force, of course,” I added, motioning toward some of the Tracto-an natives, who pumped their fists in the air in reply.
“I hereby surrender this Imperial ship to you, Admiral Montagne,” he said stiffly.
“Excellent. I accept your surrender,” I replied formally. “Now,” I said with a quirk of the lips, “let's get on the speaker and let everyone know it's time to stop killing each other. Your Jacks and my Lancers, especially. Don’t you agree?”
Not surprisingly, he agreed and we gave the necessary instructions over every com channel we could reach.
Then I, being no fool, called for a medic. The Commander was still breathing, and the last thing I needed was a dead Cornwallis on my hands.
The Confederation, or at least that part of it which was located in the Spine, was not at war with the Empire, and I was dead certain that any government replacing the Empire out here wouldn’t be very happy with an Admiral who decided to start such a conflict.
Seizing an Imperial ship for piracy was bad enough, even if the evidence seemed to be in our favor. But killing its Captain and a member of an influential senatorial family?
Far better to send him home in disgrace for over-reaching his authority, and in doing so losing his ship to a bunch of ‘provincial rubes,’ like myself.
“Who are you,” asked the Officer Franklin, “and where did you people come from? Most provincials turn and run at their first taste of real combat. I’ve never met anyone, Gorgon or Provincial, who’d board an Imperial ship with anything less than overwhelming force.”
I just gave him an enigmatic smile. I was tired of sounding my own horn and telling people exactly who I was. It was time for them to start finding that out for themselves.
“I’m just a Confederation Officer doing his duty,” I
said.
Exactly what I thought that duty entailed, I didn’t say, because at that moment, I honestly wasn’t sure. I did know that whatever it turned out to be, it definitely involved stopping piracy wherever I found it. If that meant I got to stick it to the Empire and put a finger in the eye of a few certain Imperials along the way… well, that was more than just alright with me.
Chapter 9: Easy Haven and Environs
After the boarding action was completed and the Strike Cruiser secured, I had a thought that just wouldn't go away; it appeared that I was officially in command of an entire Solar System! My ship had just engaged in a knock-down, drag-out slugfest with a top of the line Imperial ship. Granted, we’d won only because we were bigger and got lucky. Skill and the technological edge had most definitely been against us, but size and an inability to realize when we were licked had pushed us over the hump of victory.
Right then, it didn’t matter what I was or was not in charge of. Everything seemed like I was looking at it through a window.
I was still in my bloody battle-suit when I marched onto the Flag Bridge. With a weary sigh, I plopped down in the Admiral’s Throne. The command chair. My chair.
“What’s been going on,” I sighed, slumping down in my chair. I knew I needed to focus on events outside the ship but all I could think about was when that Marine Jack had stood over me with a force blade and I knew I was about to meet my end. I wasn’t a military officer trained to deal with life and death. I’d been classically trained, and it's true that included swordplay, but even in that particular arena I wasn’t on the level of the Jacks. After surviving such a horrific engagement, I hoped I would never get the chance to be on their level.
I clenched my fist. I was supposed to be going to university this year, not commanding a Fleet in the name of a Confederacy that might not even exist at the moment, fighting hand-to-hand against Imperials.
“Do you want casualty estimates, or what’s been going on with System Command first,” asked First Officer Tremblay, looking a little pale at the sight of my bloody power armor.
For a second I was surprised that he was taken aback. This wasn’t the first time I’d come back to the ship covered in blood, but then I remembered that when I’d faced down the Bugs and the natives down on Tracto VI, I had arrived back to the ship unconscious and been taken directly to medical. He must not have seen me when I was still in battle-worn power armor.
“Casualties,” I said impatiently.
The First Officer nodded slowly. “The operation against the Promethean Hammerheads, the two old Medium Cruisers, was successful. Both ships were successfully taken by our ‘inspection’ forces. In the case of Prometheus Fire, other than an attempt to flee, they made no resistance to our inspection. The Pride of Prometheus, as you know, fired on our boarding shuttles and we sustained a number of casualties,” said Lieutenant Tremblay. Then he paused.
“Spit it out, man,” I urged, closing my eyes. Now that I was out of combat, my left hand was starting to ache and burn. The hand had recently been reattached and now it was damaged again, during the capturing of the Imperial Medium Cruiser. Needless to say, the pain was making me irritable.
“We lost one hundred and three men when the Pride’s point defense opened up on our shuttles, and another fifty when Promethean Marines attempted to resist the inspection team.
“Only fifty during the boarding,” I asked, my eyes opening.
“They had a small crew and their marine contingent was low. On top of that only half of them made it into their power armor before our Lancers reached them,” Tremblay made an expression of distaste at giving our men and women the antiquated title of Lancer.
For myself, I didn’t care any more. The men I’d been with on the Imperial ship could call themselves anything they wanted. I hadn’t been with the men and women taking the two cruisers belonging to our former fleet mates, the Promethean SDF, but they’d been the first to volunteer, so I couldn’t hold their light casualties against them.
“Our losses taking the Imperial Strike-Class Cruiser?” I asked when the pause had grown uncomfortable.
“Around two hundred were taken out by point defense lasers or when they missed their target and floated around to the other side of the ship. The rest successfully landed. Another three hundred and seventy five were killed or disabled in the fighting. Total losses were well over five hundred and fifty,” the First Officer said quietly.
“From an initial force of around twelve hundred men, just over half survived my suicide jump from vessel to vessel and successfully stormed the ship,” I said, leaning back in my chair and covering my face with my gauntleted hands, careful not to crush the still tender skin underneath.
“The Imperials,” I asked through metal fingers after I thought I had processed the losses I had incurred.
“The normal compliment of Marine Jacks for an Strike Class Medium Cruiser is around three hundred and fifty. However, there are twenty Jacks on each of the five Constructor ships. Of the two hundred and fifty Jacks inside the Imperial Ship at the time you boarded them, you killed or disabled over one hundred and fifty. Another hundred surrendered, and an estimated three to four hundred regular imperial crewmen were killed during the operation as well,” reported Tremblay, who actually sounded quite professional, for the moment. “It is estimated that nearly another hundred of our own crew died during the ship to ship engagement when we were slugging it out prior to the boarding. Leaving the list of surrendered personnel at two hundred marines, with half on the ship and half off. Plus an estimated fifteen hundred Imperial ship officers and regular crew."
“So they lost a hundred and fifty and we had nearly six hundred casualties,” I said bitterly. “With that kind of loss ratio, it’s a wonder we took the ship in the first place.”
“Imperial losses were closer to five hundred,” the First Officer said sternly.
“The additional losses were unarmored crew,” I grimaced, objecting to the correction.
The First Officer shrugged. “A third of our losses were incurred getting to the ship. Plus,” he said, raising a finger when I frowned at him, “it’s important to remember the Imperials are not known for losing ship engagements. This is quite an accomplishment,” he finished. I couldn't tell if he was being sincere or his usual sarcastic self.
“Tell that to the Gorgons,” I muttered, but after that I held my peace. It didn’t feel like it, but I knew capturing an Imperial warship was quite an accomplishment. Especially considering our men were relatively untrained in the use of their power armor, and the suits they did have were old and outdated.
“If I ever get the chance, I’m upgrading these piece of junk battle suits,” I said grimly after lowering my hands. “The Jacks took us apart.”
“You are the Admiral,” the First Officer Tremblay said pointedly. “Now about System Command,” he said by way of changing the subject.
“What about them,” I groaned.
“Lieutenant Commander LeGodat would like a word with you at your earliest convenience,” the First Officer said.
“I see,” I said, when nothing was further from the truth. “And what does the good Commodore desire of my august personage?” I was intrigued. “I thought he intended to shoot us down, at least up until his Corvettes tore into the Strike Cruiser and helped turn the tide of battle.”
“He’s a Lieutenant Commander, and I’m sure only he could tell you,” corrected Lieutenant Tremblay. “On the other hand, I don’t think it’s wise to keep System Command waiting any longer than necessary.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” I said, straightening my shoulders. “However, when I say Commodore, that’s what I mean. Have Legal draw up the necessary commission.”
Tremblay looked like he wanted to argue but swallowed his tongue instead and simply nodded.
I took a deep breath and unconsciously straightened up my posture in the chair. “Put him on screen please.”
In less than a minute Fleet Officer Colin LeG
odat showed up. Clearly he considered the call of prime importance.
LeGodat opened his mouth and then slowly closed it. His eyes searched my figure, taking in the bloody exterior of my armor. Fresh damage and scratches were obvious against the old, worn metal look of the power armor.
“I see you’ve been busy,” he said simply. “I had wondered why you weren’t taking my calls.”
I looked down at my own blood-splattered appearance. Outside of the armor, I was a brown-skinned young man on the short side of average height, with a flat nose and black hair, but right now my most notable feature was my scarred and healing face. In short, I was a typical Caprian. In comparison, the Fleet Reserve Officer looked neatly pressed in his new-style Confederation Uniform. He was quite the opposite at middle-aged, with white skin and a sharply pointed nose. He still looked the consummate professional.
“Yes, I’ve been busy,” I said flatly. Just looking at the other man made me feel inadequate, and I was in no mood for more banter.
Officer LeGodat nodded slowly.
“Anyway,” I said, giving myself a shake. “I heard you wanted to speak with me.”
“System Command,” he gave a hint of a self-mocking grin, “and by that I mean myself, since I’m the Commander, wants to know your intentions in this system now that you’ve apprehended the suspects and stopped the… piracy,” he said, his grin slowly fading until he looked grim and serious. I noted that the delay in our communication was significantly less now, praise Murphy.
I gave him a quizzical look and raised my hands to my sides, palms up. “Is there anything specific you’re worried about or would like to know?”
It was LeGodat’s turn to hesitate. His eyes narrowed and he looked straight at me. “I’d like to know your intentions towards the prisoners and their ship.”
I blinked twice before replying. “That ship now belongs to the Confederacy in the Spine, and the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet,” I said matter-of-factly. “As for the Prisoners, I intend to have them shipped off to the nearest Sector Judge for trial,” I finished.
Admiral's Gambit (A Spineward Sectors Novel:) Page 7