Admiral's Nemesis Part II Page 31

  System Defense Forces

  1 Battleship

  8 Heavy Cruisers

  4 Light Cruisers

  37 Assorted Destroyers, Corvettes and Armed Freighters

  Total: 50 Warships

  Confederation/Imperial Fleet

  vs.

  Task Force Puma

  CO: Front Admiral Willard Featherby Commanding

  Chief of Staff: Commodore ‘Bob’ Fritters

  Flagship Puma: CO Flag Captain Weathers

  21 Battleships

  35 Cruisers

  34 Destroyers

  Task Force Puma Total = 90

  Independent Imperial Contingent

  8 Cruisers

  12 Destroyers

  IIC Total: 20

  8 Troop Transports (4000 marine Capacity)

  27,000 Marines

  Fleet Total: 118 warships

  Upon arriving in the Star System, Task Force Puma consolidated its forces and moved in system.

  Comprising of two main groups, the more than 90 warships and Battleships of the Glorious Fleet and twenty lighter units based around two squadrons of Cruisers that belonged to the Empire.

  Officially the Imperial forces said they were there in an advisory capacity, but while they agreed to work in conjunction with the Task Force Puma of the Glorious Fleet they stoutly maintained that although they had the same general orders, they weren’t under the direct command of Front Admiral Featherby.

  “What a way to run a war,” muttered Commodore Fritters, Front Admiral Featherby’s Chief of Staff.

  “Just be glad they put someone like the Front Admiral, who actually has experience both in combat and fleet operations, in charge of this Task Force,” replied Flag Captain Weathers, “Imagine what a cock up we’d have had if Praetor Cornwallis had selected any one of a dozen other officers?”

  Commodore Fritters shuddered.

  “Enough standing around gossiping like two housewives at the supermarket, you rapscallions,” snarked the Front Admiral stepping up between the men. He took a moment to glance back at the main-plot for any recent updates and then turned a stern look on the other men.

  “Sorry, sir, it won’t happen again,” Captain Weathers said face immediately blanking.

  “Not that I don’t appreciate the vote of confidence but even if asking for a little humility is too much to ask in the Glorious Fleet, I do expect my officers to maintain a professional demeanor,” I warned a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

  “The Flag Captain was just having a little excessive burst of esprit de corps,” Fritters said with a straight face.

  The Front Admiral shot him a penetrating look.

  “So if that’s his position then what’s your excuse?” he asked with an arched brow.

  The Commodore coughed covering his mouth with a balled up fist to hide his expression from his old friend and commanding officer.

  “That’s what I thought,” said the Front Admiral and then he nodded toward the screen and all the levity seemed to fade away from him. “What’s the status of our long lost friends?” he asked, nodding his chin toward the Spineward Sector forces.

  “The local SDF has holed up surrounding that giant space complex they call their seat of government orbiting around Central System’s main planet. No sign of movement or any new warships hidden behind large asteroids or any of the other planets in the system, Front Admiral,” the Chief of Staff reported immediately.

  “Current estimates are still at fifty warships, that one Battleship and three squadrons of Cruisers, two heavy, one light and a variety of odds and sods all transmitting on different worlds SDF signals,” reported the Flag Captain.

  “So still nothing to stand up to our twenty of the wall and another thirty five Cruisers of the line,” Featherby said wryly.

  “Nothing other than those three massive battlestations and large number of orbital defenses they built to protect their Sector Capitol,” the Flag Captain said heavily.

  “In other words, nothing that can stand up to Task Force Puma so long as we’re willing to take the time to reduce those defenses to space rubble,” the Front Admiral sighed. “Steady on, Captain. Hopefully it won’t come to that; we’re just here to do a job that’s all.”

  “It’s a dirty business, sir. That’s all I’m saying,” replied Captain Weathers.

  Featherby’s face turned cold. “Perhaps you’ve said too much,” he said evenly.

  “Sorry, Admiral,” the Flag Captain paled, bracing to attention.

  “I believe you have other business to attend to, Captain. I know it’s been a while since my last ship command, but as I recall a captain’s job is never done,” he rebuked.

  “Yes, sir. Right away, sir,” the Captain said saluting before turning and quick stepping away.

  “That was a little harsh wasn’t it, sir?” inquired Commodore Fritters.

  “This fleet runs on discipline, Commodore,” the Front Admiral said pointedly, reminding his old friend of their differences in rank, “today it’s the Captain, tomorrow it’s the dishwashers down in the mess hall, and next thing you know the gun crews won’t fire and I’ll have to space good men for mutiny. Best to nip this sort of talk in the bud before it has time to bloom.”

  “Even if the Captain might have a point,” the Commodore asked lowering his voice, “you and I both know there’s nothing in the Confederation charter about using the eminent domain clause to repossess entire sectors, let alone entire star systems. Planets yes, after several hundred years of deficit spending and decades of back taxes, entire continents even taken away and given to large corporations to settle a system’s debt but this sort of action has no precedent. Sweet Murphy, Sir, we’re talking about seven Sectors, an entire region just taken and sold to the highest bidder. This after we were the one’s who pulled out!”

  The Front Admiral looked as if the weight of mountains were on his shoulders but there was not an ounce of give in his face.

  “Especially if the Captain has a point, Fritters. That makes it even more important than ever to shut exactly this sort of talk down double hard. Frankly any man who can’t get behind this mission, even you my old friend, had best ask for separation from service and expect to be set down on the next closest life sustaining planet along our route. The only other option is fall in line or an airlock. We are not here to practice democracy, Commodore. We’re here to defend it,” said the Front Admiral.

  “Yes but at what cost?” the Commodore said before drawing himself up to attention and then saluting. “But regardless, I’m with you to Hades and back, Sir. We can share a room in the pit after it’s all done and over with.”

  The Front Admiral nodded, “Glad to hear it. What’s the status on ongoing negotiations?”

  “Our diplomats are talking with their diplomats,” the chief of staff shrugged, “not to belabor the point but the expected sticking points have cropped up. The civilian channels are in an uproar but the local government is holding firm…for now.”

  “Which one, the star system, sector or this new regional government they’ve set up illegally?” he asked.

  “Try all of the above,” the Commodore shrugged, “I just hope we can wrap this up without having to reduce their defenses. That could get ugly. We’d win but it would cost.”

  “This might take a while but we’ll wear them down, Bob. A man can only stare down the barrel of a turbo-laser for so long before his courage starts wavering. In my experience that goes double for civilians. Remember this doesn’t have to end in a blood bath, not unless the other side is completely unreasonable,” the Front Admiral consoled.

  The Commodore drew a steadying breath and nodded sharply.

  “Now we just need to keep some fool from getting a bright idea and try to give us a sucker punch. Because no matter how intimidating our 110 warships we’re still nothing compared to the thousand ship main fleet we left behind,” said the Front Admiral.

  “I hope the Spineward Sectors don’t force P
raetor Cornwallis or us for that matter to teach them the full weight and firepower inherent in the Glorious Fleet,” the Commodore said sadly.

  “With that in mind, what’s the status of our screening units?” asked Front Admiral Featherby. “I want to make sure they’re pushed out well ahead of Puma’s main body. We need to sweep every inch of space in front of us two and three times.”

  “We’re already on it. Our best light ships are on the wings with the the Imperial Task Group and their cutting edge sensors right out front. Nothing will get through, Front Admiral,” reported the Commodore.

  “Excellent,” Featherby approved, “however, just to be on the safe side, make sure the main body sweeps in front of it with active sensors too. Second generation Confederation might not be up to cutting edge Imperial standards but they’re still nothing to sneer at.”

  “The Battleships are already planning to scan ahead of themselves but I’ll tell the captains to plan to double their active scans,” said Fritters.

  “Now all we have to do is wait for the locals to cave and avoid a blood bath that we’d win but they’d definitely regret for the rest of their very short lives,” said the Front Admiral.

  Slowly and majestically, moving at the pace of half the drive speed of Task Force Puma’s slowest Battleship the contingent of the Glorious Fleet and its accompanying Imperial contingent moved in system.

  At a faster pace the screen elements pushed forward ahead of the main body, while the local’s light warship squadrons kept pace ahead of them as they slowly fell back on the Central Space Complex.

  Finally Featherby frowned at the main screen.

  “Is it just my imagination or have our Imperial screening elements sped up?” he asked.

  “Not your imagination, Sir,” his Flag Navigator replied not a beat later, “they’ve been slowly increasing their speed.”

  “While I appreciate the enthusiasm, they’re too far forward to protect the fleet from stealth missiles and they're risking a confrontation with the system defenders. One I’ve no doubt they’ll win but which might very well kick off the very confrontation we’ve been working so hard to avoid,” said the Front Admiral.

  “Will do,” said the Commodore and then after relaying his admiral’s directions to the Imperial screen he remarked, “it’s nice to see that even the vaunted Imperial navy can chomp at the bit at times, not just our Glorious Fleet.”

  The Front Admiral smirked but didn’t comment.

  However, minutes later when they finally got a reply from the Imperial screening force, his expression changed radically.

  “What do you mean they’re refusing to follow orders?” Front Admiral Featherby asked in a brittle voice.

  “They claim that they are not subject to your orders or under your authority as fleet commander, Front Admiral,” the Commodore quickly replied.

  “Apparently,” Featherby said strictly and then his brows lowered, “was that all they had to say? I’m to sod off and let them do whatever the blazes they want in a Confederation star system while they uncover the rest of the fleet from a potential sneak attack?”

  Fritters looked like he’d just tasted something foul before discretely swallowing and saying. “They just repeated how they have the same orders we do: to liberate this star system by any means necessary.”

  “Uptight Imperial jackboots are going to get a lot of good people killed, those arrogant blighters,” swore the Front Admiral before stepping up to the com-console. “I’ll take it from here,” he growled at the tech manning the console.

  “Of course, Sir,” said the technician.

  “This is Front Admiral Willard Featherby, commanding officer, Puma Task Force: you are hereby directed and ordered to return to your agreed upon position screening this task force from a stealth attack. This is a combat situation and I will expect your instant and immediate compliance or I will fire a warning shot across your bows. I will brook no mutiny or no mix ups in the chain of command. Featherby out,” he snapped putting down the microphone.

  Several minutes passed.

  “Any answer from the Imperial screen?” the Front Admiral finally asked.

  “Nothing, Sir. They’re talking to each other on an encrypted channel but all we’re getting is message fragments. There’s nothing directed at us,” said the Com-Tech.

  The Front Admiral shook his head dourly.

  “The Imperials have increased drive speed. They’re now moving faster than the war book says should be possible. At this rate they’ll overtake the local forces momentarily,” reported the Tactical Officer.

  The Front Admiral slammed his fist down on the hand rail. “Are they trying to start a war? All we need is enough time and they’ll surrender. We’ll have them eating out of the palm of our hands before the week is out and the entire Sector surrendered before the month is out, mark my words,” glared Featherby.

  “I’m afraid that they, or perhaps Praetor Cornwallis, disagree with you, Sir. They show no signs of stopping and…there they go,” on the main screen the Imperials finally overtook the hapless tax evaders and opened fire, “combat has just been initiated, sir.”

  “Yes. I’m well aware of that; I have eyes, Fritter,” Featherby said in disgust.

  Over the next several minutes the Imperial screening force overwhelmed and then annihilated the system defenders. Even going so far as too shoot down an armed shuttle and a captain's cutter that refused to cut all power and surrender fast enough.

  Shortly after the cutter was shot down, the diplomats aboard the Puma who had been in negotiation with the locals placed an angry call to the flag bridge.

  “Just what are you playing at, Admiral Featherby,” demanded the furious Confederation Representative, “I practically had them ready to sign a peace treaty and surrender the system, on the condition that no one was killed and their political leaders be given safe passage off world, when you and your ham-handed military decided to blow three squadrons worth of Destroyers and Corvettes!”

  “As the representative is no doubt aware, while this may be a primarily Confederation fleet operation, I am only in command of the Confederation elements of Task Force Puma,” said the Front Admiral.

  “Which means what exactly, Featherby?” snarled the Representative. “A few weeks of negotiation would have seen this system and possibly even the entire Sector surrendered without a shot fired!”

  “As you’re aware, we have a number of Imperial warships attached to Task Force Puma. Unfortunately the Imperials insist they have a separate set of orders and are refusing my orders at this time,” the Front Admiral said crossly.

  “Great Gaia, Featherby! Get control of your fleet. I don’t care how you do it. Take charge of your forces, Front Admiral, or I’ll find someone who will!” commanded the Representative furiously.

  “Your purview is the diplomatic side. You have no control over the military or this fleet. That’s up to our Admirals and Praetor Cornwallis, Sir,” warned the Front Admiral.

  “It doesn’t matter how much confidence the Senator has in your incompetence, Featherby. One call back to the Grand Assembly and I can have all local aid and subsidies to your world halted pending your early retirement! Don’t try to play your military games with me, Willard. I assure you I’ll have you handed your walking papers as shortly as one round trip FTL message from here to the Assembly and back,” threatened the Diplomat.

  “I can only do so much when forces in my Task Force aren’t even in my chain of command. This isn’t me playing games, this is the work of Praetor Cornwallis—I’d bet my retirement on it. For some reason he wants us to fight them here,” Featherby said through teeth gritted with impotent fury.

  The Diplomat hesitated and then his face hardened.

  “I don’t have the authority to deal with the Senator. You on the other hand are on your last life-line. There will be no more extra lives, rests or get out of jail free cards, Willard,” the Diplomat said finally, “I’d better start seeing the sort of confidence our
hard-earned tax money have been paying for—or else.”

  The Front Admiral looked at him in disbelief. “Tax dollars? Our budget was cut almost entirely five years ago to pay for mandatory healthcare electives or so we were told. What are you—” started the Front Admiral.

  “Results, Featherby, or you’re fired!” said the harried diplomat as he abruptly cut the channel.

  There was a deathly silence on the flag bridge as no one dared to say anything, meanwhile the Front Admiral sat there and stewed.

  “Your orders, Admiral?” Commodore Fritter finally asked.

  The Front Admiral glared at his chief of staff. “I was shoved into the reserves, my contract canceled without so much as a 'by your leave,' and my understanding is Fleet’s been selling off old hulls and mobile space stations just to make payroll for our retirees and reservists. What kind of all fired…” He trailed off into angry mumblings.

  “Uh, Sir?” the Chief of Staff prompted again.

  The Front Admiral looked up under lowered brow. “The Imperials have gone and torn it already so there’s nothing to be done but pull back or finish the job,” glowered Featherby.

  “The diplomats could still pull one out, Sir,” pointed out Commodore Fritters, “maybe a show of force will cause the locals to cave. Just like we were told by the Grand Assembly when we set off.”

  Front Admiral Featherby gave him a pitying look.

  “And maybe once the bloated defense budget is finally gone we’ll be able to pay for affordable…oh, wait, we already did that and the politicians are still complaining about budget short falls, it’s almost as if cutting the defense budget wasn’t the answer. But wait, I’m not going to sit around for space horses and unicorns, Fritters. Just like I’m not going to hold my hands hoping the Spine will wake up and realize that they should have just surrendered and thrown themselves on the mercy of the Empire. But you feel free to keep right on hoping for the both of us, Commodore. After all it’s every spacers gods given right to complain, believe the words of our elected leaders when they make high and wide promises, and then get right back to their duty,” said the Front Admiral.