Admiral's War Part Two (A Spineward Sectors Novel: Book 10)

by Luke Sky Wachter

  “Why are you still alive?” demanded Oleander, reaching up with the one hand that responded and forcibly opening his right eye—which promptly glared at the senior chief.

  “Is that anyway to talk to your superior officer?” asked the Chief PO.

  “And here I thought you worked for a living,” scoffed Oleander. Then, looking over to the side, he saw his data slate with the intel intercept laying on the floor. He reached for it.

  “Now what have we got here?” the Senior Chief chortled as he reached down and snatched up the data slate before Oleander could grab hold of it.

  “Hey, that’s mine,” snapped Oleander, “private property!”

  “Private smuggler property, Bush,” sneered the Senior Chief.

  Oleander glared death at the old royalist.

  “You think you can just run off during the middle of combat, and then when I find you locked into an office with your slate hooked into an Imperial computer, that an old salt like me can’t figure out what’s going on here?” said the Petty Officer.

  Waving the data slate back and forth in his hand, he turned away still snickering.

  “I’m sure that, being the patriotic sort you are, you’ll have no problem sharing whatever it is on this data slate that you thought was so space-gods-awful important you couldn’t share it with your old CPO,” said the Chief. “Of course, whatever it is, you can have it back just after ship intelligence has a chance to make a copy.”

  “I’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this, Chief. Why is it that Royalists always make so much fuss over the smallest of things,” Oleander sighed, pulling out a hold out blaster pistol and firing it into the back of CPO. “Well, that was a lie,” he admitted, “I’ve actually been…”

  He trailed off as the CPO whirled around, his back still smoking, and kicked Oleander’s blaster pistol out of his hand.

  “I knew I smelled the stink of Parliament on you the moment I laid my eyes on you!” barked the CPO, bringing his foot up and then down on Oleander’s hand with crushing force, pausing only to grind the heel once it was on his hand. “Confederation Security—you have the right to resist arrest and get a right proper beating for it!”

  “Agh!” Oleander cried, involuntarily curling up around his mashed hand.

  “Typical Parliamentary backstabber,” the CPO roared, stomping his foot up and down repeatedly until he heard the sharp crack of a bone breaking, “ever since I was shot in the back during the reconstruction by a spineless little ass-weasel like you, I’ve carried a metal plate specially inserted into my skin suit. Six months in traction and on a heart bypass while they regrew my spine and rebuilt my ticker—and here I thought you were just a smuggler? Time to say ‘good night, old Tove’!”

  “Get stoked!” Oleander roared, stomping his foot on the floor and then stabbing the other man right in the thigh with his foot knife.

  “Son of a—” the CPO bellowed like a stuck pig and, using his other leg, drew back his foot and kicked Oleander right square in the head.

  Everything went dark, and that was the last thing Oleander saw or heard.

  His mission was a failure.

  Chapter One hundred twenty-two: Counting the Cost and Tallying the Gains

  “How are the interrogations going?” I asked a week later. Hard as it had been to believe initially we had won the 3rd Battle for Easy Haven, I intended to squeeze every advantage we could out of it.

  “Most of the crew are Spineward locals and most of them will tell us anything we want to know. Not that that helps us very much. There’s a limit to how much a junior deckhand can tell you; even a Chief Petty Officer only knows so much,” Duncan shrugged.

  “And the Imperials?” I asked, leaning forward with a hunting gaze.

  “Name, rank, and serial number for the most part,” the Armsman-my-mother-was-going-out-with grimaced.

  “I want answers, Duncan,” I said flatly.

  “Torture, Jason?” he asked, going completely still.

  “Use chemical interrogation, blast death metal at them 24/7, or water-board them for all I care. I don’t want you chopping off limbs but, if the Empire’s really gunning for us and this wasn’t just some rogue operation headed up by one Arnold Janeski, I want to know about it and for that I need to get them talking.”

  “You can’t trust what a man will say under duress,” warned Duncan.

  “We’re running out of time,” I said heartlessly, “and we didn’t start this. They did. They invaded us. Rim Fleet swore to defend the Spine and then turned around and invaded it under their top Imperial Admiral. Blast it, Duncan, they were a part of the Confederated Empire! They had a sworn duty to defend us, and if this isn’t very definition of treason then that’s only because they were technically pirates and didn’t actually work for the Empire!”

  “We can corroborate some things via the willing enlisted personnel, but as for the rest all I can promise you is that we’ll find out what they think we’ll believe when they lie to us,” Duncan said grimly.

  “I heard they orbitally bombarded a few worlds as examples to break the will of the remainder. If it will make you feel better, limit the enhanced interrogation to war criminals,” I said after a moment.

  “Are you sure you want to go down this route?” asked Duncan.

  I looked at him evenly. “Let’s table the discussion over just how far I’m willing to go with people that are either self-admitted pirates—pirates who seized and plundered three Sectors’ worth of worlds, which has to be some kind of ‘pirate’ record—or secret traitors in the pay of the Empire,” I said finally.

  “I know that, in spirit, you’re right. It was treason. But technically the Confederated Empire was dissolved in the Spine. Technically speaking, it was an invasion by rogue Imperial forces,” Duncan said.

  I met his eyes frostily. “Many of the Imperials we have captured were nominally under my command back when I was a mere figurehead. The databanks cloned from the Lucky Clover…the original Clover,” I clarified, “confirm this. So pirates, traitors, invaders, rogue actors or whatever you want to call it—I’m not going to take it lying down.”

  “No one’s asking you to,” Duncan said with a wince.

  I stopped to allow enough moments to pass to cool the tension before continuing. “I’m not foolish enough to ignore a trusted advisor,” I said finally, “so I’ll think on this. We want to be better than the enemy, yes…but it could be argued that even if we went with the enhanced interrogation route, we’d still be head and shoulders over these invaders.”

  I held up a hand when he went to speak.

  “Enough. I know we don’t have much time before the deadline, so go and see to the prisoners. Get what you can in the meantime,” I said.

  “Yes, Highness,” he said, stiffening to attention and walking out the room.

  I eyed the door for a long moment, remembering how Dr. Presbyter hadn’t protested enhanced interrogations until I was the one ordering it—and I remembered just how far Dr. Torgeson, a former Special Forces or black ops doctor, had shown himself willing to go.

  “Too bad we don’t have telepaths who can just listen in to their thoughts as we ask questions,” I muttered, sending the signal to let the next group scheduled to meet me inside.

  The door swished open and my favorite cyborg came in.

  “Spalding,” I said with real pleasure, “it’s so good to see you again.”

  “We had a right rough patch there, didn’t we, Sir? But all’s well that ends well, as they say,” the old reprobate said with a toothy grin.

  “I don’t know how we’d have managed without you,” I lied, very much sure about just exactly how things would have gone if he hadn’t rode into the fray against direct orders—yet again.

  “Oh, I’m sure you’d have got along somehow,” he replied.

  “Somehow I doubt it, Terrence,” I demurred, “thanks again. You and the…2.0 really saved our bacon. I don’t know if I can say it enough. That plasma cannon of yours…�
�� I trailed off in appreciation.

  Spalding coughed and looked away before meeting my eyes. “Well, now…I couldn’t just leave the Fleet’s ‘Little Admiral’ in the lurch, now could I?” he asked and then continued brusquely. “And, as you know, the Clover’s a fightin’ ship. It would have been a right shame to leave her in space dock simply because a few parts and pieces were missing. The old girl might have gotten a wee bit persnickety,” he said with real appreciation in his voice.

  I eyed him. “Right,” I said, not wanting to get into the old man’s apparent ship confusion over how a ship that wasn’t even fully built could be an ‘old girl.’ And, well, even if he was a little…blurred on the issue, I had to say he’d earned every bit of latitude he’d been given—or, in some cases, that he’d taken without permission.

  “How is the Lady?” asked Spalding.

  I winced. “She was trapped in a compartment and pinned under a falling structural support beam. It’s a miracle she’s still alive,” I explained, “she’s back in our quarters and finally healing. I really need to put my foot down on the boarding action business. I don’t want our children to grow up without a mother.”

  “You’ve got a real firecracker with that one. Best of luck with that,” Spalding chortled.

  “So…do you happen to have the final count?” I asked sourly changing the subject.

  “Sure thing, Admiral,” Spalding said with a wink before finally then turned serious, “we picked up half a dozen Battleship from the defections. The Praxis flagship is a total loss, those traitors…” he added with a growl. “But the other two are engine down and weapons disabled, less than 10% of their broadside has been brought back online. If we want them and they won’t surrender, they’re ripe for the taking.”

  “I’m not sure just how much of a smack in the face we want to give the Praxis Provincial Government,” I said with a frown. “After all, we did kill the Admiral they sent before the battle got underway. And even though it wasn’t any of our people that did the deed, I don’t expect them to believe it.”

  “Cowards and traitors, the lot of them,” Spalding growled, “I’d expect a government as quisling as that lot to believe whatever’s in their best interest to believe. Cut and run without orders during the middle of a battle? I don’t care if you’re ‘at will’—it’s out the airlock as far as I’m concerned.”

  “It’s something to keep in mind,” I said contemplatively.

  “Of the two Battleships that they had to leave behind thanks to engine damage, one of the crews has taken over from their officers and just wants to go home. There might be an angle in there, as they aren’t too clear about just how they’re to get transported back,” Spalding said with a wink, “as for the other one, the Imps and about half the crew are under arrest in place. They’re just waiting for us to arrange transport back to their fleet,” at this he scowled but continued on, “we have Lancers onboard to keep an eye on things but we’re pretty stretched right now.”

  I nodded.

  “My advice, Admiral? Claim both the Imperial Battleships that surrendered and try to convince as many of that half-dozen as can be persuaded to swing our way,” said Spalding.

  “I’ve got feelers out, but it’s a process,” I said. It was a process made harder because a couple of the ships seemed to be run by committee—and getting a committee to do anything in unison was like riding a three legged horse. Even if you did get anywhere, it wouldn’t be fast or smooth.

  “As for the Cruisers and Destroyers, it’s still too early to tell. Frankly, we’re still pulling people off ships that went Dutchman and are headed for interstellar space without a jump drive,” Spalding said, a hint of concern for hapless spacers—both ours and theirs—bleeding through for the moment. He loudly cleared his throat and then picked up a glass of water for a drink. “Anyways, both Messene’s Shield and Metal Titan are complete losses. Better we strip anything valuable off them that we can and then feed them into an industrial furnace…I mean, as soon as the Multiplex gets here and we can build a furnace that can break them down,” he sighed.

  “ComStat jamming hasn’t changed, so we’re back to moving at the speed of courier. But the message has been sent,” I assured him, “as for the Shield and the Titan, blast it all…those were good ships.” The Titan was a bigger loss than the Shield, but still. I was going to miss them in our wall of battle.

  “The Jumbles can use them, strip the fusions off them and—” started Spalding, and when you let him wax poetic about ship repair everything else ground to a halt.

  “Do as you see fit there; I don’t need to know about it. Just don’t ruffle any feathers among the survivors,” I said hastily.

  “I’ll do it,” he said with satisfaction.

  “Anything else?” I asked.

  “I’ve got shuttles and tugs out and about, hauling everything they can back to the Starbase…former Starbase,” clarified the Chief Engineer.

  “Former…and she will be again if we have the time and I have anything to say about it,” I said, thumping my desk. We had lost too much to surrender Wolf-9 and the Easy Haven Star System just because of a little thing like ‘everything was currently wrecked.’ Besides, it was looking more and more like we were going to have to worry about external factors like the Empire—or possibly the old Confederation. It would be nice to have a speed bump like Wolf-9 still around to give them indigestion when they came back our way. “Well, everything depends on getting our manufacturing capacity get back up and running. Speaking of which, how about the factories?”

  “A total loss without a Constructor,” Spalding said with finality, “those fighters made sure to take it all out. Maybe if I had a year, undivided attention, and no interruptions I could do something with it. But…”

  I sighed. The preliminary reports had been grim, but I’d hoped that after the Commander had taken a look at them personally something might have changed. It had apparently been a false hope, because if Spalding said there was no hope then there wasn’t.

  “On the bright side, they managed to evacuate everyone so we’ll have the workers for when it does get back into action,” said the Commander.

  “Yeah, but they were shorthanded before the battle. So while that’s good news, I’m not sure how much it helps,” I said feeling depressed.

  “It’s worth quite a bit, Sir,” Spalding slapped the table, “first, those crews are alive. And second, they’ll be ready to go as soon as they have something to go on. If the numbers are short then it’s up to us to launch another recruiting drive.”

  I held my hands up in surrender. “I am appropriately chastised,” I said with a smile to take any sting out of the words and show my sincerity.

  “Good then,” he replied gruffly.

  I took a deep breath, knowing I really wasn’t going to enjoy this next part.

  “Let’s take a look at the casualty list,” I said, releasing the breath in one big whoosh.

  Spalding’s face turned a bit dour as he pulled out his slate.

  “Do you want to start ship-by-ship, or look at the overall numbers and work your way down by rank?” he asked.

  “Let’s take it from the top. Totals and then the holes in our chain of command,” I said unhappily, “we can worry about individual ship rosters later.”

  “Alright then, starting off we’ve lost…” Spalding started to go over the most painful part of any operation.

  The lives lost.

  Unfortunately, it was up to me to make those losses matter. Me, and no one else. Certainly not the Sector Governor, who hadn’t even bothered to show up for the battle, and who I was all but certain would take as much credit for our victory as he could.

  Well, he would just have to watch out. The whole galaxy had better watch out.

  If they thought they could just cut off the fringes of the galaxy, send fleets to oppress us any time they felt, and eat popcorn while they watched the results on the holo-vid, then they had a rude awakening in store.

&
nbsp; War had come to the Spine. And if they didn’t wise up soon and learn to leave us alone, war would come right back out of the Spine.

  An Admiral’s War.

  The End

  Read on for a sneak peek at Christopher G. Nuttall’s novel: Fear God and Dread Naught!

  Fear God and Dread Naught Product Description

  Out Now From Christopher G. Nuttall!

  On her last cruise, HMS Vanguard - the most powerful battleship in the Royal Navy - barely survived her encounter with a deadly new enemy. Now, with her commanding officer accused of everything from mutiny to dereliction of duty and her crew under a cloud, the Royal Navy doesn't quite know what to do with her.

  But there’s still a war on. And Vanguard must return to the front lines.

  Assigned to a task force heading to assist humanity’s alien allies, Vanguard and her crew find themselves caught in a deadly alien trap. Can they survive to turn the tables on their enigmatic foe ...

  ... Or will their next encounter with the new enemies be their last?

  Prologue

  Published In British Space Review, 2216

  Sir.

  In their recent letters, the Honourable Gordon Cameron and General Sir David Anilines (ret) both asserted that Britain - and humanity - has no legal obligation to go to the aid of the Tadpoles, even though human ships were attacked and destroyed during the Battle of UXS-469. They claim that we can pull back and allow the Tadpoles to face the newcomers on their own.