The Lost Command (Lost Starship Series Book 2) (40 page)

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Second Lieutenant Maker inched
Victory
toward what was left of the Fifth Fleet.

“This isn’t anything like the records of the fleet leaving the Solar System,” Valerie said, as she scanned the ships. “Together with the Lord High Admiral, I watched the Fifth leave. I can hardly believe what I’m seeing, sir.”

Maddox nodded as he viewed the main screen, the beaten ships passing before him. He’d read up on the Fifth Fleet and studied the various classes: the armaments, armor and shields. There were not gleaming warships here. This fleet had taken a pounding. The worst was a battleship with jagged wounds in its flank. A ribbon of atmosphere still leaked from the great rent. One of the destroyers lacked an exhaust port. Crumpled metal had pinched it off. A cruiser with a tractor beam pulled the destroyer along. Whatever repairs the damage control teams had managed to muster these past months, couldn’t hide the major damage to each vessel.

Valerie pointed out individual warships, naming the vessel and class—mothership, cruiser, destroyer or missile boat. There were ten battleships, mammoth vessels, although smaller than
Victory
. The damage to some of the hull armor made Maddox wince. Clearly, the New Men had knocked out more than one laser cannon per warship. The one bit of good news was there were more
Gettysburg
-class battleships left than the older
Bismarck
-class: seven to three.

“Seventeen heavy cruisers,” Valerie said.

Some of those cruisers left a lot to be desired. The
Quebec
looked like half a ship, with open levels showing in space. An enemy beam hitting there would shred the
Quebec
in seconds, as the ray would already be past the nonexistent armor. A few of the cruisers seemed undamaged. Seventeen of them, together with the ten battleships, made twenty-seven capital ships.

“Those look ready to fight,” Keith said, indicting nine big motherships. In old parlance, they were carriers with strikefighters and bombers to launch. “That’s some heavy striking power, sir,” the ace said. “Nine of those mothers and their broods can do wicked damage.”

“How many strikefighters do the motherships have left?” Valerie asked. “The number of their attack craft is what counts. I’m betting not all nine carriers have their full loads.”

After crossing the void from Caria 323, thirty-six capital ships moved at high speed toward the Tannish System. Maddox knew the vessels represented a critical Commonwealth investment in labor, materials, money and time. It also represented a good portion of the remaining Star Watch fighting power. It was easier to repair a beat-up warship than build a new one from scratch. Some battleships-in-construction took four years to build. A heavy cruiser usually took two years.

The key industrial planets in the Commonwealth presently churned overtime to produce more warships. Those vessels-under-construction would still take several years before they were ready to fight. It would also take time to train new crews. That meant for the next two years, Star Watch had what it had to fight the interstellar war against the New Men.

So, even though some of the ships out there were little better than junkyard hulks, Star Watch needed them back home for refitting. If the New Men could finish off Fifth Fleet, High Command would be forced into an entirely defensive strategy. That would likely mean the enemy could eat up enough star systems in two years so the war would be lost by the time the new warships came out of the dockyards.

There were smaller destroyers, missile boats and escorts out there as well. Maddox wondered how many missiles the medium-sized boats had left—probably not too many.

“Seems like we’re going to need more than just
Victory
to save them, sir,” Keith said.

“Which is why we need the disrupter ray,” Maddox said, turning toward Galyan.

The holoimage disappeared, presumably to find Ludendorff to help with the repairs.

Keith continued to ease the giant starship among the lesser vessels. Soon, Fletcher came online again, requesting a face-to-face meeting.

Maddox agreed.

An hour later, the captain left in a shuttle with Keith. They headed toward Fletcher’s
Gettysburg
-class flagship, Battleship
Antietam
. Big blast marks showed where enemy star cruisers had shot through the wave harmonics shield to made direct hits on the hull armor. In two places, Maddox could see inside
Antietam
. Those holes needed new armor plates.

Docking procedures went well enough. Maddox wore his dress uniform as he exited the shuttle’s hatch. Keith remained aboard the craft.

An
Antietam
aide approached Maddox in the hangar bay. It was smaller than
Victory’s
hangar bays. The captain noticed the woman’s uniform. It was scruffy, and she looked worn with hollowed-out eyes.

When they left the hangar bay and entered a main corridor, the smell shocked Maddox. It was stuffy with a hint of burnt electrical. In places, litter lay to the side. He could hardly believe it. No one saluted him either. A few people stared wide-eyed, amazed as he passed them.

Maddox kept his opinions internal. If he had to guess, he’d say the crew’s morale had sunk to its lowest point. They must have all been realizing for months now that the fleet didn’t have a chance at surviving the New Men. Maybe none of them had believed, or hadn’t believed for quite some time, that Star Watch could do anything to help the Fifth in the Tannish System.

These people have faced the star cruisers and were shown in the most direct way possible that the enemy has superior ships. They fled into the void because they couldn’t stand against the star cruisers and survive. All these months in the stellar emptiness, with no word from Star Watch, they must have come to accept that they were the walking dead, written off by High Command
.

As good as
Victory
was, Maddox didn’t think the ancient vessel could defeat twenty or more star cruisers even with the disruptor ray. He doubted
Victory
could take on ten. It would be more like four, possibly five if the disruptor ray worked after six thousand years of idleness.

What if it turns out I can’t save the Fifth Fleet? Do I leave with
Victory
to fight again another day? It would be folly to let the ancient starship die with the Fifth.

Something in Maddox hardened. He didn’t want to leave the defeated fleet to the enemy. There had to be a way to save these vessels. Yet, for that to be true, he needed the means. Could Ludendorff do it again?

The woman walking with Maddox cleared her throat.

The captain realized his mind had been wandering. “Yes?” he asked.

“The Admiral’s quarters,” she said, stopping before a hatch. Taking out a small pipe, she blew into it, making a high-pitched sound.

The hatch opened, and Admiral Fletcher stood there. He looked gaunter than Maddox remembered. Worse, the fire had gone out of his eyes. At least, the big man had shaved since he’d seen the admiral on the screen. Fletcher had a bloody nick on his chin. His uniform hung loosely, but it was clean.

“Captain Maddox,” Fletcher said, holding out a big hand. “You have no idea how glad I am to see someone from Star Watch. I knew Cook wouldn’t let us down.”

The captain saluted first and then shook hands. At first, the admiral’s grip was flaccid, but it tightened as Maddox applied pressure, forcing the other to respond.

“Come in, come in,” Fletcher said. “Thank you, Ensign,” he told the woman.

She turned more smartly than before, marching away. Afterward, Maddox entered the admiral’s chamber.

Various items, including dinner plates, were piled against the sides, as if Fletcher had hurriedly shoved them out of the way. A smell of dust pervaded, as if someone had just finished cleaning up.

“Please,” Fletcher said, “have a seat.”

Maddox obliged, sitting at a small table with several chairs.

“Would you like a drink?” Fletcher asked, pressing a button. A small portion of the wall slid up, revealing a cabinet with bottles.

“Please,” Maddox said.

Fletcher chose a green bottle, prying out a cork.

Aged brandy gurgled into Maddox’s snifter. The captain swirled the glass under his nose, enjoying the aroma. He nodded in appreciation before sipping.

Fletcher sat down, took a gulp and let his glass
clunk
onto the table. “Haven’t let myself drink for some time,” he said. “I haven’t dared.”

Maddox nodded.

Fletcher’s fingers tightened around the glass on the table. With an effort, he released it. He stared at Maddox with haunted eyes, and something seemed to bubble out of the man.

“I-I failed in the Caria System,” the admiral said. “It’s a galling admission. Maybe you wonder why I say this to you. It’s because you’re the Lord High Admiral’s representative, and I know I have to give an accounting of my decisions. That’s the hardest part of being in charge.” Fletcher shook his head, and his eyes became staring and unfocused. “You have no idea how many times I’ve replayed the battle in my mind. The people who died— No one buried them. They’re adrift in space, their spirits wandering the void. They come to me during the night cycle, plaguing my sleep. They ask me why I let the New Men fool me so easily.”

“You killed enemy soldiers, Admiral,” Maddox said. “Few people have managed to do that.”

Fletcher’s head turned as if rusted. He regarded Maddox. “You’re like them, aren’t you?”

The captain nodded. He was who he was. He couldn’t change it and he didn’t plan on trying or pretending.

“It’s probably why you made it through to us,” Fletcher said. He stared at his fingers. It was clear he was thinking hard. The old man looked up. “Is the human race doomed?”

“Not if you’re ready to fight again, sir,” Maddox said.

Fletcher scowled. “I’m confessing my mistakes. That doesn’t mean you can throw a question like that at me.”

“Admiral, if the rest of the fleet is like your ship, you’ve let your command go soft. These people have lost confidence in themselves.”

Fletcher made a sour sound. “The New Men kicked our asses, son. They almost demolished my command. I thought I had them. I
did
have them. But they tricked me. The New Men are impossibly clever. We’re doomed. You know that, don’t you?”

“No.”

“No, he says.” Fletcher picked up the bottle and poured more brandy into his glass.

Before the admiral could grab the glass, Maddox swept his hand across the table, sweeping the snifter away. Brandy spilled on the table and floor as the glass bounced across the small room.

Fletcher stared at the table in shock. Then, his head whipped up. Anger flared in his eyes. With a grunt, he pushed back, standing.

“I could throw you into the brig for that,” Fletcher said.

Maddox hadn’t stood. He leaned back in his chair, tilting his head to look up at the bigger man.

Color appeared on Fletcher’s cheeks. He balled his big fingers into fists.

“You…” Fletcher said, but the steam seemed to dissipate. Without a word, the admiral sank onto his chair. He shook his head. When he raised it, he asked, “Do you think we have a chance?”

“Yes.”

“Because of your freakish vessel?” Fletcher asked.

“Yes.”

The admiral’s eyes narrowed. Then, he snorted. “Maybe you’re right. By all that’s holy, you have to be right. Otherwise—”

“Otherwise, the New Men will practice selective culling,” Maddox said.

“What’s that mean?”

Maddox told the admiral about Per Lomax and the enemy’s plan for humanity.

“They’re demons,” Fletcher whispered.

Maddox said nothing.

“Why would they conceive such a plan?” the admiral asked.

“It’s an interesting question,” Maddox said. “The better one at the moment, though, is what we’re going to do about the waiting drones and star cruisers in the Tannish System?”

“You’ve been there?”

Maddox told the admiral what they had seen.

“That’s an amazing vessel, you’re using,” Fletcher said afterward. “You have an independent star drive. It’s too bad we didn’t all have that. The Fifth could just jump home.”

“Admiral, how can I help you raise the morale of your people? Whatever we do, we’re going to need your crews wanting to fight again.
Victory
can’t win alone. We need the Fighting Fifth to help us.”

Fletcher glanced at the glass on the floor before examining Maddox. “A good start is to tell me how we have a chance. If I believe we can win, I might be able to convince my senior officers. If they believe, they might be able to stir their crews.”

“The trickle-down theory,” Maddox said.

“Jokes won’t help us. What can you do?”

Maddox leaned back, thinking. “Do you have a holo-imager?”

Without answering, Fletcher rose stiffly, moving near his bed, opening a small access hatch. He withdrew a holopad and control board, bringing them to the table and setting them before Maddox.