Then the Navigator spoke up. “Course plotted and forwarded to the Helm, Admiral,” said the Navigator, sounding entirely too grim.
I looked over to the man. I knew my own face was too grave-looking to project the kind of confidence the men on the Bridge needed to see, but I couldn’t help bracing myself for the bad news.
The Navigator took a deep breath, even as the subtle sensation that said the Helm had just taken the ship to its maximum acceleration was felt on the Flag Bridge.
“Unfortunately, Sir, it looks like the Bugs will reach mining operation before we can intercept them,” said the Navigator.
I could feel the rage, toward both the Bugs and myself for letting political considerations pull the Hammerhead away from this system, sweep across my face before I could control myself.
I closed my eyes and said through gritted teeth. “Cut loose the Corvettes on our hull and detach a pair of shuttles with bucking cables to keep them out of harm’s way. If they can do so, they are to tow the Corvettes over to Tracto VI and the Constructor. I don’t want anything to slow us down, ether on the way to blast the Bugs out of cold space, or once we’re in combat with them."
I opened my eyes and looked first to the damage control section and then at the Ex-Com tech. “Let the Constructor know to expect them,” I said through still gritted teeth. Through sheer force of will, I cleared my face and restrained myself from slamming my fist down on the still bent arm of my command chair.
“And someone get a repair team up here to fix this Command Chair while I go down to speak with gunnery,” I said harshly. “Mr. Tremblay, you have the Con,” I barked. I knew I should stay up on the Flag Bridge, but right at that moment I was so furious I didn’t trust myself not to take it out on the crew who were doing their jobs there.
This wasn’t their fault. If anyone other than the Bugs was to blame, then it was me. The man who could have left the Belters with a stronger defensive presence, but decided the risk was worth the reward. Well, it was clear just how good my decision-making process was, as evidenced by the current FUBAR situation. I thought a trip to the gun deck might help calm me down.
Pushing through the blast doors I saw the last person I’d want to encounter in my current mood. Akantha and her pair of power armored guards took up most of the corridor leading to the Flag Bridge.
My face twisted. I really didn’t have the moral fortitude to deal with Akantha and her odd way of looking at things right at the moment.
She stopped when she caught sight me. Shaking my head I kept trudging forward. She opened her mouth and then must have caught my mood because her eyes narrowed and her mouth closed.
I glared at her guards. My eyes must have been pretty hot because even her normally disapproving female guard hastily moved to the side of the corridor to get out of my way.
I pushed past them and headed straight for the nearest lift. For security reasons, it wasn’t immediately adjacent to the Flag Bridge, so it was a bit of a walk.
At that moment I didn’t care, as it was nice to be up and about stretching my legs and getting the blood pumping in a more productive fashion.
Behind me I could hear the whine of servos and the clumping of metal boots. Just what I needed, to be chased down by the same Lady who demolished the door to my quarters last night.
For the first time, a glimpse of humor shone through the haze of anger that had been threatening to cloud my vision. Maybe I’d made a mistake leaving the Flag Bridge without my sword.
I couldn’t help it, even counting the flash of anger when Akantha and her Guard followed me into the lift, nothing could extinguish the chuckle threatening to emerge. In retrospect I could see the humor of the situation last night. My wife, certain I was cheating around because I wasn’t sleeping in the Admiral’s Quarters, had broken into my room and trashed the place looking for my non-existent sideline squeeze.
I had woken from a dead sleep and was convinced she was part of some sort of a shipboard revolutionary movement, had pulled my sword and sought vengeance, or at least been determined to go down swinging.
What a pair we made. I was ugly as sin, covered with scars ever since I’d saved her from the Bugs and she was a native without the advantage of a civilized education who’d been ripped from her home planet and everything she thought she knew, and for all of that, here she was. She was still here and clumping around in power armor along with her bodyguards, when she felt like it.
The battle-scarred, miserable imitation of a real Admiral, and the bloodthirsty barbarian Land-Bride who still had the pluck to throw herself into the mix and do her best to save her planet.
In that context, it soon became obvious who was the more righteous of the two. An imitation Admiral didn’t hold a candle to that kind of dedication. For all my fears and worries, I could walk away at anytime I really put my mind to it. If she tried to walk away, all she’d be ensuring was certain death for her people.
She let us ride down the lift in silence, but once we started walking through the ship’s corridors the silence was broken.
“Where are we going,” she asked mildly. The normal cool or frosty tone to her voice was missing this evening.
“I’m going to Gunnery. Don’t know where you’re going,” I grunted, increasing my pace.
I soon learned one of the more annoying parts of having a wife who was not only taller, but also had longer legs: she easily kept up. Behind us, servos whined as her guards clumped faster to keep up with the pair of us.
There were a couple minutes of blessed silence, and then I caught her smiling out of the corner of my eye.
“I wouldn’t trust that Oleander from the Armory, were I you,” said Akantha, my beloved Sword-Bearer.
“Don’t like him either, do you?” I asked as mildly as I could.
“Oh, I find him quite personable,” she hastened to assure me. “There’s just something about him,” she paused.
“He’s an incompetent, clumsy oaf. Maybe stupid too, I’m not sure but that’s the extent of it,” I said dismissively.
“That’s not it,” she said with frustration. “Oh I give up, you’ll do what you want, like you always do,” and she threw her hands in the air.
“If anyone gets their way on this ship, it's not me,” I said with a pointed look in her direction.
She barked a laugh. “Hardly. I am bound to duty more tightly, even here, than perhaps you understand,” she said quietly. “I’m not the one who can walk around this ship, causing respect to spring into the eyes of some and fear into others.”
“Fear,” I scoffed, “If anyone's presence causes fear, it’s more likely to be someone with a little larger physical stature.”
“I think you misjudge yourself,” she said frankly and smiled before giving me with a kind of appraising look. “Perhaps that’s part of the problem,” she said, a light dawning in her eyes. “No one knows what you’ll do, and because of this many fear to cross you. By now, I’ve heard how none of the common people on this ship thought you would last two days as Admiral, let alone hold this ship for so long and succeed in accomplishing so much.”
I glanced at her and didn’t like the emotion I saw in her face, because behind the obvious calculation was a softer emotion. I refused to determine what it was, because if I saw pity from a woman who grew up on a savage, barbaric world where the local sport consisted of hunting down something called a Stone Rhino, I might just have to kill someone.
“Since we’re being honest, you probably don’t realize how tenuous my position on this ship really is,” I said shortly.
“I think I understand more than you want to allow,” she countered, a hint of her usual cool tone returning.
“One word from the Parliament on my home world and it's all over. Just like this,” I said, snapping my fingers for emphasis. “The original crew of this ship would take over and turn this ship straight for Capria.”
“I think you hold yourself in such little regard that you can’t see yourself as others do. Whether or not t
he crew would actually try to take this warship back to your world on the orders of this Parliament, I have no doubt they would think twice before crossing you. Especially since they have more regard than you seem to, for what my people would do if they tried to take your ship by force," she remarked, more than a hint of steel in her voice. "And that ignores what the people you saved on this ship, the Prometheans and Royalist Caprians, would do if they tried to take your ship from you.”
“Perhaps, and perhaps not,” I said, thinking about what she’d said. Perhaps I was giving the Lancers and others within the crew who weren’t wedded to Capria too little credit. “Even if I accept your premise, the Confederation could still pull the plug anytime it desired. If both Capria specifically, and the Confederation at large decide to pull my authority, who's going to listen to a person whose greatest claim to authority is that he’s a Prince-Cadet of a nearly irrelevant provincial dynasty?”
She nodded, more than a little condescendingly. “Grave problems, I’m sure. However, like I said before: you cannot see yourself as others do, and as such I think you miscalculate your options,” she repeated, speaking obliquely.
This wasn’t too surprising, since my ice maiden couldn’t say a straight word on a subject you wanted the answer to if her life depended on it. There was something hard-headed inside her that just flat balked at plain speech when she wasn’t interested in doing so.
Thankfully, we arrived at the port gunnery deck and I was soon swept into the domain of the phlegmatic gunnery master for the ship.
Grey haired, grizzled and still tough as nails, it was a relief just to be in his presence. Something about the man seemed to inspire confidence.
Almost despite myself, I felt my anger drain away and a renewed sense of purpose take its place. Maybe I’d made a mistake that was going to get some people killed very soon, but I was doing my best to rectify my mistake.
************
"And these right here are the crown jewels of the gun deck, Admiral," Chief Gunner Curtis Bogart said proudly, indicating four of the largest, heaviest guns on the port side gun deck, "a full battery of turbo-lasers."
"Thank you, Chief," Admiral Montagne said, shaking his hand, "I'm sure I've taken up more than my fair share of your busy time."
"Not a problem, Sir," assured Bogart, returning the Admiral's grip measure for measure.
The young scar-faced admiral turned to face the rest of the gun deck's hastily assembled crew. "That goes for the rest of you here on the gun deck, as well. Each and every one of you has my deep and personal thanks for the outstanding jobs you do. I've never seen a better gun deck run by a more dedicated crew," he said, raising his arms in thanks before giving the crew a deep bow.
"Sadly, duty calls me away, but rest assured that you are never far from my thoughts," the admiral added before giving a final bow and starting for the door.
"Thank you for the kind words, Sir, I'm sure the men appreciate them," Bogart said with a beatific smile on his face as he escorted the Little Admiral to the blast doors leading off the gun deck.
That same smile stayed plastered on his face until the final moment before the doors close behind the admiral with a clank, at which point it disappeared as the Chief Gunner rounded on the assembled crew of the gun deck, his face transforming into a purple mask of rage.
"In his benevolent mercy, the Admiral might have overlooked your disgraceful behavior here on this gun deck during his tour, but Murphy take me for a faulty focusing array before I'll do the same!" he roared.
Marching up to the nearest turret gunner, he got within two inches of his face before continued, locking the man's eyes but clearly addressing everyone present. "From the way you acted, one would think this entire department had never stood for an inspection before, but the entire lot of you have been on this ship for the past nine months!" He rounded on the next gunner in line. "I know for a fact you've stood countless inspections in that time frame, and yet all of that seemed to ooze out of your brain the second the Little Admiral came on deck!"
"But sir," protested one of the assistant gunners, "the Little Admiral's proud of us!"
"Lining up to shake his hand and ask for autographs!" screamed the Chief, marching over to the backtalking crewman. "Are you fighting men with backbone, or are you a gaggle of little school girls gushing over the latest star in their local boy band!?"
The crew of the gun deck looked crestfallen, and in a few cases they stubbed their toes on the deck.
Satisfied with the glum looks that were creeping across the faces of his deck crew, Chief Bogart stomped away from his latest victim, "Well, what are you all waiting for, you bunch of useless grease monkeys?" he demanded. "Get back to work!"
He watched with grudging satisfaction as the crew slowly morphed back into a working deck crew and stopped resembling a band of undisciplined groupies.
**************
After letting the gunnery officer tour me through several turbo laser batteries and independent heavy laser mounts, it was time to return to the Flag Bridge.
My little side trip had done what I’d set out to accomplish. I was back on an even keel, and had done so without acting like a complete idiot along the way.
I swept back past Akantha and her guards on my way to the nearest turbo-lift, and made my way back to the Flag Bridge.
Back on the Bridge and safely ensconced in my command chair, not much had changed. We were closer to the Bugs, who were in turn closer still to the Belters.
The Belters, thankfully aware of their own hazardous situation were pulling as much equipment off the asteroid they were mining for trillium.
It was going to be close for the Belters' shuttles to get away in time, and however this went if the Bugs decided to smoke whatever was left behind on the asteroid, it was as good as lost.
For my part, I thought the Belters were idiots. Equipment could be replaced, your life couldn’t.
On the bright side, the system’s light squadron was finally there to cover the shuttles.
The Bridge crew of the Lucky Clover could only sit and watch as the drama played out in front of us. We were helpless to do anything until they got into range.
I looked up the classification of the Bug ships and saw they were listed as two scouts, a Scout Marauder and a Harvester class. The Harvester was the biggest of the three ships and listed as approximately Medium Cruiser-sized, coming in at 350 meters in length.
The Harvester was part troop transport, part warship and one hundred percent interested in stripping small outposts of every living thing it came across. Where the Scout Marauders liked to take on biomass for the return trip to the mother ship, the Harvester class was listed as just as likely to set down and clear everything on the surface for a square kilometer before packing up business.
If the Harvester landed on Tracto VI it would cause a lot of damage before it left. In the meantime, it was only interested in clearing out all space-born opposition.
As we watched, the Bugs spotted the little squadron of two Corvettes and two Cutters that would have been our system’s entire defensive force if the Lucky Clover hadn’t returned for an unscheduled offload.
The three lighter Bug ships took off in pursuit of the fleeing shuttles while the large Harvester changed course to intercept the miniature system defense forces.
A storm of fire erupted from the Harvester as first the Corvettes, and then the Cutters came within weapon range. Like with the Scout Marauder I’d encountered before, some of the Bug weapons seemed to be firing at nothing in particular. However, the vast majority seemed to be aimed at one of the four constituent vessels of the Tracto Light Squadron.
The plucky little system defenders threw everything they had at the Harvester. First one Cutter, and then a Corvette started to take hits through their shields. Then as one, the Light Squadron broke off its attack.
With a significantly reduced drive signature, the damaged Cutter first started to follow its brethren in avoiding the Harvester and pursui
ng the little Bug scouts. Then it wavered before turning around and making a bee-line for the Constructor still in orbit around Tacto VI.
Seeing the Cutter coming back towards it, the Harvester diverted to give chase and with its reduced cold space drive speed, the little Cutter was only able to pull slowly away.
As I watched with growing anger, the fast little Bug scouts slowly overtook first one fleeing shuttle, then another. A hail of misdirected fire erupted from the Bug ships as they came in range. One of the shuttles exploded, and then another careened off to the side, dead in cold space.
Before the Bugs could get within range, the shuttles diverted off on a new course and the three light warships coming to their rescue also changed their course to intercept.
You didn't have to have a degree in games & theory to see that the Bugs were certain to overtake the remaining shuttles before the little warships could reach them, but as soon as the Bug scout ships spotted the inbound human warships, they changed course.
This time, when the Light Squadron met the Bugs, the difference was telling.
One little Bug scout was quickly torn apart as all three human ships concentrated their fire. There is a pretty big visual difference between a human ship and a Bug ship being destroyed. A human ship vents gases in what is usually a fiery display, and the rapidly expanding debris cloud glitters as bits of shrapnel are thrown outward, making the site possible to detect with the naked eye if the magnification is right. A Bug ship on the other hand is made of semi-organic matter, and there is usually very little in the way of burning gases erupting from the hull. Instead, you can see little bits of green, yellow or blue fluid spewing out like miniature geysers from the damaged surface of the ship, but after that you really can't see any remains since the vessel goes dark rather quickly. This seemed odd to me, since there is plenty of atmosphere on a Bug ship, but that was something to consider later.
While the human crews had concentrated fire on one target, the Bugs spread out their fire between all three of their opponents, and continued to fire off in random directions as well. It was almost like as soon as they received the signal telling them there was an enemy within range, every Bug gunner wanted to fire his weapon, whether or not there was anything to actually shoot at.
Admiral's Gambit (A Spineward Sectors Novel:) Page 18