Admiral's Gambit (A Spineward Sectors Novel:)

by Luke Sky Wachter

  “Dispatch the shuttles,” I said, my face hardening as I came to grips with the decision. “The Lancers know what is asked of them, and this is right up their alley. If we can get this system's people back their industry and a few of their own warships to protect it after we leave, we have to at least make the attempt.”

  The First Officer frowned and the Tactical officer turned his palms up and spread his fingers before turning back to their duties.

  It took a while to notify the Lancers and then load the companies that were to be dispatched into their shuttles. Away went the shuttles, carrying about five hundred men in all. Decked out in battle armor and sporting blasters and plasma rifles, they were a force to be reckoned with. Even the Imperial Marine Jacks had found them a tough opponent to crack.

  We had numbers on the Jacks during our last engagement, but they just as clearly had superior battle suits and the technological edge, to say nothing of better training and tactics. We won, but it had been a bloody and costly victory. We lost almost three to one but emerged triumphant, and I was really hoping for a better showing this time around.

  The Lancer Colonel had once again decided to deploy himself at the first sign of danger and ride alongside his men in the shuttles. Last time we’d seen such an engagement he’d drawn the easier of the two tasks. It looked like this time he’d be seeing the worst of the action, as far as the Lancer contingent was concerned.

  Then there was nothing to do but sit and wait.

  The first three shuttles full of Lancers arrived at their Corvette target before Lucky Clover was anywhere near the inhabited planet and its orbital industry.

  At first, reports were all positive. The Corvette only had a pair of working heavy laser turrets, and although the shuttles took some serious damage getting in close, none were destroyed and losses among the Lancers were reported as minimal. So far, so good.

  I was intently watching the view screen when the Ex-Com became agitated. “Come again, Lancer Command,” said the Ex-Com technician, pressing his ear bud firmly into his ear. “You’re breaking up. Please repeat your last transmission,” said the Ex-Com.

  “Trouble?” I asked calmly. I felt tense but needed to maintain an unworried front. 'Sweat goes before blood' had been one of the mottos at Royal finishing school, and I'd never been fond of bleeding, so I didn't want anyone to see me sweat.

  “I was just starting to get reports of resistance inside the ship when communications started breaking up,” the man reported.

  My blood chilled. I tried to remind myself that increased resistance and a sudden communications blackout didn’t have to be related, but even I wasn’t buying that line.

  “Monitor the frequencies and inform me as soon as you have anything. Meanwhile, we’ll continue on course as planned,” I said in my command tone. A hundred and fifty power armored lancers should have been more than enough to deal with a fully crewed Corvette, let alone one that had experienced so much battle damage recently.

  What could my men have run into that was tough enough to give a reinforced company of Lancers trouble?

  The External Communications Technician started bouncing in his chair. “I’ve got something for you, Admiral,” he said with a grin. Static blared over the intercom before the technician got the sound fixed. “Sorry, Sir,” he said sheepishly. Then a transmission started coming through.

  “--- say again, this is Hold Mistress Akantha,” her voice broke up again.

  My heart jumped up to my throat and then plummeted so fast and far that I'm pretty sure it was no longer inside my body.

  “Oh, curse this stupid long-talker,” Akantha’s voice came back over the intercom. There was the sound of a piece of metal being struck repeatedly against a hard surface.

  I placed a hand on my forehead and looked at the ceiling, unwilling to meet the gaze of anyone on the Flag Bridge right at that moment.

  “If you can hear me, they are big and well armored, almost strong enough to fight a man in power armor,” there was a pause and the sound of a blaster being fired repeatedly. “Ugly beast,” she snarled and there was a sharp series of clangs. Akantha grunted and was breathing heavily, followed by the shriek of tortured metal. Servos whined in the background. Whatever she was doing had both her and her battle suit working full-out.

  What was that foolish woman thinking! I swear, her innate savagery was going to get her killed someday. If I’d had any inkling she was going to hop on the first shuttle over to the captured SDF warships, I would have found some way to stop her.

  Which was probably why she didn’t say anything to me before she went, and that’s only if she actually thought she needed my permission as Admiral to do any blasted thing she felt like.

  There was another patch of static. When the sound cut back in Akantha was speaking. “---creatures may be demon ugly, but they have the heart of true warriors,” she crowed.

  “Can you get through to her and ask if they need reinforcements,” I asked, unable to contain myself any longer.

  Before the Ex-Com could answer, Akantha unknowingly interrupted.

  “Either we come home holding our shields high, or we’ll be carried back on them. Such foes! For Argos, and the Clover!” Akantha cried and the transmission ended.

  If I had kept the habit of appearing on the Flag Bridge in power-armor, another repair team would have been needed to fix the arms of my command chair. As it was, my fingers pressed so hard that afterward I realized I had bruised them.

  While my face was a well-trained mask of unconcern, my body language may have given away the game. A number of the bridge staff cast me worried looks.

  I looked straight at the main screen with my jaw set, ignoring all of them. I couldn’t give voice to my worries or otherwise vent my anger. The actions of this woman seemed to be entirely outside of my ability to control. However, we were long overdue for a heart to heart on the subject of her leaving the ship to participate in boarding actions.

  If I went and got myself killed, someone else could always replace me. I wasn’t a trained military officer. However, the lives of the Belters in orbit and the settlers on the Messene peninsula were directly linked to her willingness to let them live on her land.

  If she died before the status of the settlers was regularized with the Confederation, I shuddered to think what might happen. They could still be prosecuted for planetary piracy and executed, if things took a wrong turn in the high courts.

  But there was literally nothing to do but sit and stew over it. I managed to concoct an effective mixture of anger, frustration and fear regarding Akantha that I quickly became numb. I would have to wait until word arrived with her fate.

  The battle on the Corvette eventually wound down into another bloody success as the last pockets of opposition were swept up. Unlike in the battle with the Imperial Marine Jacks where no quarter was asked for or given, it seemed in this case our Lancers had some prisoners.

  MPF Lucky Clover bore down on the still motionless piratical merchant ships. Soon we’d be close enough that even if they broke orbit immediately, there was no way they could escape our ponderous might.

  Then the Pterodactyl fired up its engines and pointed its nose in our direction. Amazing as it seemed, the little warship was now heading straight for us.

  “Must be a bluff of some kind,” First Officer Tremblay scoffed.

  I quirked my lips but refrained from saying anything.

  One of the pirate merchantmen retracted its airlock and hightailed it toward the nearest point transfer area. The second merchantman was still docked with an orbital factory.

  “I don’t know what could possibly be going through the minds of those pirates,” the grey bearded tactical officer said with a frown. “There’s no way that merchantman still tied up to the factory can escape us now.”

  “We have you now,” Tremblay said triumphantly.

  “Let's not count our chickens before they’re hatched, Lieutenant,” I cautioned. I figured they were probably right an
d no one would remember my words of warning, unless something went wrong and Primarch Glue and his merry band of looters managed to pull a trick or two we weren’t expecting. In which case I’d look prescient instead of overly concerned.

  The Pterodactyl maneuvered to stay just outside our weapons envelope and then proceeded to the system’s single inhabited planet and the orbital industry.

  Far too late to escape its fate, the second merchant man pulled away from the orbital factory. Burning for everything it was worth, the lumbering merchant vessel struggled to put on enough speed to escape.

  Our tactical section was focused on that Pterodactyl with hot and hungry eyes. I was certain there were a lot of frustrated gunners locked on the little warship with their scopes, just waiting for it to make a mistake.

  If Primarch Glue had hoped to get us to slow down by waving the tail end of his much faster ship in front of us, he was sadly mistaken. The pirate Corvette made several attempts to change course, beckoning for us to follow.

  We weren’t taking that bait. Following a Corvette we couldn’t hope to catch or going after a much slower merchantman we could, well the choice was obvious.

  Even when the Pterodactyl diverted to start firing at the remaining orbital structures, I refused to give the order to divert. After a couple minutes, the Pterodactyl rushed up and around us, until it was once again in front.

  The first merchant ship was going to escape, but the second was just outside our weapons range at this point.

  “Instruct all gunners to lock their weapons on the pirate merchantman and prepare to disable her engines,” said the Tactical Officer. “I want her dead in the water. Maybe the Corvette will be stupid enough to try distracting us from her, and we might get in a few lucky hits and knock her out in the process.”

  The grey bearded Tactical Officer looked fierce enough to chew nails and spit screws. I wouldn’t want to be a pirate ship in his crosshairs.

  Just about every sensor and targeting array was focused on the little pirate Corvette and her larger freight hauler. If the opportunity presented itself, we were determined to take down both ships. If we could only bag the merchantman, that would have to be enough but I knew that everyone on the bridge wanted to see a few well placed shots up the stern of Primarch Glue and his taunting little Pterodactyl.

  When it came, the pirate's little trick took us all by surprise. In retrospect, it shouldn’t have.

  “Multiple new contacts, appearing all around us, Admiral,” yelled a sensor operator. He must have been the only man with a sensor array not pointed at the two pirate starships.

  Automated alarms started screaming from every console in the tactical section. On the main screen, a dozen little gunships popped to life and unleashed a hail storm of fire.

  “Multiple missile locks! Activating countermeasures, Officer Trendelanberg,” shrilled one of the tactical trainees. No wonder I couldn't remember the Tactical Officer's name.

  “We’re taking fire from both sides. Shields down to 84% and falling,” barked the shield operator. “Adjusting the main forward array and diverting power from the rear to compensate.”

  I was slightly shocked they’d been able to do so much damage in so little time. They might be small, but those little gunships sure packed a punch!

  First Officer Tremblay’s lips were drawn back, baring his teeth in a silent snarl. “Get me a count on those little parasites,” he seethed.

  The shield operator continued to call out our decreasing shield strength.

  One of the little boat class gunships was simultaneously struck by multiple heavy laser beams and the impacts sent it spinning. A moment later its constituent parts were scattered by a fairly satisfying, if somewhat asymmetrical explosion.

  “I can confirm thirteen Boat Class Gunships. Twelve, now,” reported a member of the Tactical Section, taking obvious satisfaction in our first successful retaliation.

  Then their little missiles struck our shields. They erupted with silent fury all across our shield array.

  “Shields down to 60% and falling,” said the Shield Operator, speaking tightly.

  “How is that even possible,” snapped Tremblay. “These things are tiny!”

  “Each boat flushed four missiles at us-” the Tactical Officer began, but was cut off by a collision warning.

  “ALL HANDS, BRACE FOR IMPACT,” boomed a computerized voice over the intercom.

  I watched in horror as a pair of little gunships somehow found their way in through our Dreadnaught class shields.

  “REPEAT: ALL HANDS, BRA-” the mechanical voice never got a chance to finish its speech.

  The ship lurched and a crash could be heard all the way to the bridge. A few crewmen were thrown from their stations, but most of us managed to keep our positions. Power flickered momentarily before coming back full force.

  “Starboard main trunk line was just cut. Rerouting power and data relays through redundant port line,” a damage control crewman reported tightly.

  “Where’s the other one,” barked the First Officer, running to the tactical section.

  “I’ve lost eyes,” yelled one of the sensor operators.

  “Me too, I’ve gone blind,” another sensor operator said her voice cutting through the hubbub. “My array was physically located on the port side of the ship!”

  “Get me a close-in view of the ship,” I commanded. I hated interjecting my under-informed opinion into a battle situation like this, but I couldn’t stand to not know if another gunship was going to ram into us at any time.

  The main view screen shrank and I could see a gunship running nape of the hull. A hail of blaster fire came from both ends of the little attack craft. A pair of our heavy laser turrets exploded, and another sensor array was destroyed.

  Then a hit from one of our heavy laser crews sent the little gunship careening away. It recovered almost instantly (which seemed impossible to me) and pointed its nose back at the hull of our Battleship, but it was too late.

  The miniature gunship was just far enough over the horizon that a turbolaser smashed through its pitiful shields. I think it tried to ram us then, but a pair of heavy lasers finished the job and the craft caught fire briefly before exploding.

  I reassessed my opinion of these gunships and decided that they didn’t just pack a punch. When working in concert, they could be absolutely devastating.

  We all watched another gunship slipped through our firing pattern and found another hole in our shields.

  “How the blazes are they doing that,” Tremblay demanded. “Do they have some kind of shield penetrating technology?”

  “No.” The Tactical Officer said flatly. “The gunships on either side of our Battleship are concentrating their fire into a relatively small area and then trying to sneak a ship or two through whenever the shields start spotting.”

  “That’s suicidal. They’ll be killed on the bounce, or disabled to the point our weapons will get them. Effectively, it's the same thing,” Tremblay said in disbelief.

  The First Officer’s observation soon played itself out right before our eyes. One of the gunships made another impossibly quick maneuver, angling for an apparent gap in our shields, but it didn't make it. It bounced off our shields and was quickly cut to pieces by our many heavy laser arrays.

  The Lucky Clover rocked again as the gunship that had successfully snuck through our shields came directly at us full speed.

  “All hands, brace for impact,” said the First Officer in a loud voice.

  On the screen a pair of heavy lasers lanced out and the gunship lost its shields and propulsion systems. However, it was too fast and too close, and you know what they say about bodies in motion. There was a shudder felt through the deck plates, but this one wasn't as severe as the first.

  “Minor damage to one of our secondaries,” snapped the Helmsman.

  “It was aiming for the engines,” the Tactical Officer reported grimly.

  On the main screen, the little gunships suddenly mo
ved from attacking the forward shields on either side, to rapidly circling around behind to attack our rear shields.

  “Gunships at your rear, Shields,” snapped the Tactical Officer.

  “Transferring power to compensate,” the shields officer grunted, fingers moving over his console. A second later he exclaimed, “I’ve got some spotting in the rear!”

  “Already?” the Tactical Officer said in disbelief, before turning and speaking rapidly into the microphone that connected him to the gunnery deck.

  “I’ve been transferring from the rear to compensate for the forward losses. It takes a few moments to reverse the process,” said an irritated shield operator.

  Another Gunship bounced off the shields following a miscalculated approach, and our eager gunnery crew quickly put it out of its misery.

  By this time, the gunship force was down to about half its original strength, but whoever was in those cockpits wasn’t deterred in the least. They re-concentrated and instead of trying to burn holes through two different sides simultaneously, focused all their remaining efforts on punching through in one place so they could make another suicide run on our cold space engines.

  “How much damage are we looking at if one of those gunships hits us in the engines,” I demanded.

  The Tactical Officer took a moment to meet my eyes. “It’d be pretty grim, Sir,” he said.

  I took a deep breath and then let it out with a nod. I turned to DuPont. “Helmsman, slew us around, we can’t afford a major hit to our engines and it should make it harder for the gunships to slip through any holes in our shield,” I instructed in a cold voice.

  “But the Merchant ship could get away,” argued DuPont.

  “Just like it’ll get away if we lose most of our ability to accelerate in normal space. Now follow the order!” I snapped, acutely aware that a blood vessel in my forehead might burst at any moment.

  “Yes, Admiral,” DuPont said with a nod.

  “By all the dark Space Gods, these little buggers are fearless,” remarked Tremblay, a hint of admiration in his voice.

  “They sure are,” I agreed darkly.

  Another gunship bounced and immediately exploded, but this time the explosion had the effect of dropping our shield strength yet again. The shield operator moved to compensate.