Federation Reborn 1: Battle Lines (40 page)

“I don't have emotions like a smart AI, sir,” Marshall replied. “But it was different.”

“Right,” the chimp drawled as he stretched. “The problem this time is they are fresh out of wreckage.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Which means they have to look to other sources for material to supply their project. And there aren't any available. The odd rock in the Oort cloud or in the Atens or outer belt area aren't going to cut it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I suppose we could trade for material from the ground. If we had something to trade with, which we don't,” the admiral said rubbing his brow as he closed his eyes and yawned. “I think they are stumped so they are bucking it up to me. What does the captain think of this?”

“Captain Ssri’allth considers the satellites a worthy endeavor. High command should have put them in orbit already; they would do a great deal of good for the ground forces. Their surveillance and communications capabilities alone would be invaluable.”

“True.”

“So …”

“So? So, they need to figure it out. I see Lovejoy is playing with trading in the fleet. I don't see him getting far with that approach. Trash recycling will also only get him so far. And the plastics from the gas refinery is also problematical. And again, it doesn't solve his problem.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I think they are stymied. At least until something breaks.”

“Yes, sir. It looks that way.”

“Pity.”

Chapter 22

The
Moldy Crow
jumped out of hyperspace and into the DD01NS star system. As their systems settled and the space around them returned to normal, the freighter’s active sensors probed outward to find the
Massachusetts
force there waiting near the jump point.

“They're ours!” a bridge rating said in exultation.

“Thank the stars,” Captain Media said, slumping into his seat. The ratings hadn't been the only ones nearly shitting themselves in panic when the ships had come up on their lidar.

“Had you worried didn't it, Skipper?” the helmsman asked, turning to him.

“Just a bit. Just a tiny bit,” the captain replied as Earl Gumel strode onto the bridge.

“Who invited him?” a rating muttered.

“What do we have?” the earl demanded, ignoring the lesser beings. He surveyed the bridge, and then turned his eyes on the captain.

“We're getting their IFFs now, sir. There are the two BCs, four tin cans, four frigates, and assorted support vessels, all squawking transponders. The battle cruisers are the
Nevada
and
Massachusetts
. Then there is the
Arboth
; um, her signal was occluded by another ship. I'll get it in a moment. The
Yamagato
class missile frigate
Agincourt
….”

A handwave cut the rating off midstream. “Save the introductions,” the earl said, turning to glower at the communication's rating. “Have you made contact yet?” he asked, turning his eyes on the captain.

“We were about to do so,” the captain said. He nodded to the rating. “Send our IFF and give them a heads-up that we have news.”

“Why are they just sitting there on the jump point?”

“The courier is there with them. Niner niner one three,” the sensor rating said.

“Why didn't someone point that out earlier?” the earl demanded. Captain Media fought to sigh and shake his head. It was all he could do to wake up in the morning and not throttle the pompous ass lately. Hopefully, he'd be rid of him soon.

They got the full story a moment later and were elated. The courier vessel HMCV 9913 had caught up with
Nevada
/Massachusetts
division and alerted them of their arrival.

The earl and captain transmitted their report. Both officers were nervous about the reception for different reasons.

“Captain Post,” Captain Media said when the senior officer called in for a conference. His pleasant smile congealed slightly when he noted the split screen. “Captain Mueller,” he said with a nod and frosty tone. “It's been a while,” he said.

“I remember Media.
Reprisal
. You career has gone up since then. A freighter though?” She tisked tisked. “Well, at least it's a command. And you haven't lost it unlike
some
people,” she said, her eyes falling on the earl.

The earl clenched his fists and jaw but remained silent.

“Do you have anything to add to the download?” Captain Post asked, getting straight to the point. “I still find it hard to believe that you lost your forces, Gumel,” he said, eying the earl.

“Just as Admiral Cartwright and Admiral Rico did. He underestimated the opposition,” the freighter captain said with a shrug. “What's done is done. We can't change that now.” He glanced at the earl and was fairly certain he had made a mortal enemy. He kicked himself mentally. He also noted the dig at the admiral's losses hadn't gone over well with the battle cruiser skippers either. Both were taking it raw. What was that line about shooting the messenger? He thought to himself with a suppressed shiver.

“We now know what we're up against. Or at least some of it … if your reports are accurate,” Captain Mueller said when the silence got a little long. She glanced at the image of Captain Post and then the earl.

“We have tactical recordings of the engagement, at least partial ones.”

“You took them off the
Jean
Bart
as you fled your command?” Captain Post demanded.

“I didn't; I was unconscious and wounded at the time,” the earl replied with astringent malice. His accusing eyes cut to the woman in their midst and then away. “I can bring them over,” he said grudgingly.

The battle cruiser captains looked at Captain Media. He nodded and then shrugged slightly in confirmation. “He's back on his feet. Unfortunately, my nurse couldn't do much beyond set the arm.”

Captain Mueller looked at Captain Post. One sculpted eyebrow rose in inquiry. He slowly nodded.

“We could use the recordings. But you must return home. At the very least, to check your condition and to speak with the admiralty about the battle. No doubt they will want a …
thorough
interview,” Captain Post stated.

Captain Media winced. It was clear that Gaston was not happy about being sent home in disgrace. Captain Media wasn't happy about having to put up with him for the rest of the trip but resigned to it.

“Do you think you can do what the admirals could not? They have full Federation hardware to back them up,” the freighter captain warned.

“Oh, we'll do just fine. They are, after all, just tin cans. They'll be little more than target practice for our forces,” Captain Post replied with a feral smile. “Send the full recordings over on a shuttle. We'll go over them,” the captain ordered.

“We could use some fuel. We are low,” Captain Media stated.

“I understand you have just enough to get to Dead Drop according to your earlier report. Is that no longer accurate?” All of the officers knew that things changed. That engineering could suffer maintenance issues that could mess up any carefully planned movement. That was why they had reserve.

“Our reserve is tighter than I'd like,” Captain Media stated.

“But you do have one. You're fine then. Send that recording over soonest.”

“Yes, sir,” Captain Media replied. He saluted. Captain Post returned the salute and then cut the connection.

“To have given her …,” Gaston snarled, clenching his fists.

“We'll need another copy of that tactical recording. Shane, take care of it.”

“We're low on flash sticks, sir. Can't we transmit it?” Shane asked. The Captain glared at him. He gulped. “On it, sir,” he said, bobbing a nod.

---<>---<>---

Captain Post stared at his plot. He had his division: four destroyers (two of which were
Arboths
, the other two were older
Nelsons
), four frigates of various classes, one medium tanker, and the two transports of fresh troops. He hardly counted the courier, though it was there. He frowned, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. He remembered he needed to shave. He'd have to get his steward to give him a nice soothing shave when he had the time. For the moment he had work to do.

He still couldn't understand what had happened to Admiral Rico and Cartwright. Both had been good officers. But then, even good officers sometimes got caught up in the works, right? He reminded himself of that several times before he exhaled slowly.

Still,
Queen Adrienne
had been a formidable ship. “How the devil did they take her out?” he murmured. He shook his head. It was maddening; they had only sketchy details about both battles—more so about the battle in Antigua then in B101a1.

He checked the status board. Other than Frost's tiny forces in Nuevo Madrid, there was a small picket in SNHH, another in OTBP, another south in Destria, and the last in Konohagakure. Those were the forces that were working through the sector conquering it. They had troop transports and enough fire power to suppress any local opposition.

He couldn't count on the picket in Dead Drop or the fleets in Garth or Finegale. Both were locked down, and there was no way the local commanders would authorize a detachment be sliced off to handle the problem.

What to do, he thought. If he sent the courier off to Dead Drop, it would alert the empire. But so would
Moldy Crow
when she eventually got there.

“Captain, a word?” a familiar voice asked. He turned in surprise to find Captain Mueller there in his cabin.

“Shantell, how the hell … what the hell?” he demanded, half rising out of his chair.

She smiled politely and waved a hand. “Some master tactician you are. I just proved to the both of us that even the best of us can be taken by surprise,” she said, suddenly thoughtful.

He nodded as he slowly sat. Apparently he hadn't been the only one in denial over the destruction of Rico and Cartwright's forces.

“They will be avenged,” the captain vowed. Shantell eyed him and then nodded grimly. Both officers had blood in their eye, but they weren't stupid.

“How are your people taking it?”

Shantell shrugged. “I would be lying if I said they were nervous about which way you are going to jump. I am too. You know we don't have any orders from the emperor ….”

“Stop,” the captain said, raising a hand. “Stop right there. We do have orders to reinforce. We're going to assess the situation and then deal with it.”

“But …”

“No, Shantell,” Arnold said, shaking his head. “There is no time. Every day we delay means the enemy grows stronger. No, we must root this weed out fully and quickly before it spreads. We're going in and taking care of this threat to the empire for once and for all.”

“Okay, I get that in theory,” she said carefully. “But you know we're going out on a limb here, right?” she cautioned. “Not just with high command but also against an unknown force?”

“That has indeed occurred to me. It's my ass.”

“My ass will be riding right along with yours, you know,” she warned. He eyed her. She shrugged. “I wouldn't want to be anywhere else. What's the plan?” she asked.

“I'm still working on that.
Moldy Crow
will return with the news. I'm sure the earl can try to wiggle his way out of the trouble he's in,” the captain said with a wintery grin. It was returned by the captain. No love was lost for the earl apparently.

“Esenly and Kzinsterg are working on various contingency plans with Roznine. Do you think we should bring them in on this?”

Captain Post frowned thoughtfully. Slowly he nodded. He respected Esenly's tactical mind. Lieutenant Saul Roznine, captain of
Agincourt
, was also pretty good, but like his ship he was a shoot-first kind of guy. The trio did well bouncing various plans off each other. “Get Sascha into this too. He can play devil's advocate. We'll need to game this out carefully basing what the earl has for enemy forces.”

The female captain winced. Lieutenant Commander Sascha Manchez was the captain of
Arboth
Starfish
. He was okay but not one of her favorite people. He was also well-known for softballing scenarios. “I'd rather go worst case scenario. We know they had those forces then, but it's been months,” Captain Mueller cautioned.

“I don't want to panic our people,” Captain Post protested. She looked mulish so he sighed. “Okay, we'll double their forces and see where that leads. I still think we can take them.”

“We're going to get hurt in the process,” Shantell warned. “I don't want to be a repeat of Rico or Cartwright. Please tell me we'll plug as many holes as we can beforehand,” she said.