Admiral's War Part Two (A Spineward Sectors Novel: Book 10) Page 7

  Akantha slowly clapped. “Welcome to the reality of every warrior. Only an idiot or a fool is convinced that he will win every time. Uncertainty is in everyone’s heart, but when you stop believing in yourself it doesn’t matter how long it takes. Eventually you will fall,” she opined.

  “Well excuse me for living,” I muttered while I scowled angrily. She didn’t understand. Oh sure, she thought she did but…

  She let me stew in my own internal juices as I imagined every possible way the upcoming battle could go, and in only a few of them did I see a path to victory. In most of them things turned for the worse and went decidedly wrong.

  She was…okay maybe there was something to what she was saying, but what I needed now were ideas. Something to hang my hat on other than more of the nearly obsolete light warships that kept arriving daily—no small number of which were in need of a refit and repair in Wolf-9’s already over-taxed yards. What I needed was a winning strategy. And right now, I didn’t have one.

  All I had was ‘dig in, wait until he arrived, and then do my darnedest to sink my teeth into his fleet’s throat and not let go until I was dead.’ And hopefully by that time the MSP and our Sector Allies would have done enough damage to give the rest of the Sector a fighting chance at survival.

  Where was the Rim Fleet, where was the old Confederation? I kept telling everyone who would listen that I was part of the Confederation, here to save them but at the end of the day I was just the older version of a kid with an honorary commission that no one had expected to amount to a hill of beans.

  In short, I was tired. I was tired of holding the line out here all alone. The Empire was at war down on the Gorgon Front, but the Confederation wasn’t. Where were they? Where were they!

  “Why are you here, Akantha?” I asked with a sigh at all those unanswerable questions.

  “I am here to spend time with you and the little ones,” she said. cocking her head at me.

  “No I mean why are you here with me, right now, instead of back home safe on Tracto with the kids? I get that you don’t run from a fight, but this is a little bit more than that isn’t it,” I said.

  Akantha put the baby on one hip and her hand on the other. “Our fates are entwined. I know you think I haven’t been a good Sword Bearer—or ‘wife’ as you think of it—and there is some truth to that. But ignoring the fact that they would probably come to Tracto sooner or later?”

  “Yes,” I snorted, “let’s ignore that part.

  “Okay,” she smiled, “so, ignoring that someone probably moved those Sky Demon Bugs over to our world so that they would strip everything I cherish down to the bedrock, and that even if it wasn’t Admiral Janeski and his Imperials he’s certain to want the same thing Jean Luc Montagne did, the mineral resources in our skies—the trillium-”

  “That was never proven,” I said quickly, “that the Bugs were moved or planted there.”

  “I am not a fool, Jason. I don’t need proof to see a hand in that design. So,” she, said giving herself a shake, “despite that they have to come to my world eventually—and that I am probably better off with helping you here, even if the little ones are not—there is another big reason that I’m not there instead of here by your side like I am.”

  “And that is?”

  “I gave my word,” she said simply, “until you reclaim it or I give it back. I have sworn to cleave to your side. And besides,” she smirked, “you know how little I like to miss a fight.”

  “You are a battle junky,” I snickered.

  “Satisfied that you have divined my true purpose yet?” she said with a ghost of a smile on her lips.

  “Never. You’re a woman so the answer to that can only be ‘never’,” I vowed fervently.

  “You just don’t know when to quit while you’re ahead do you, Montagne,” Akantha glared at me.

  I smirked, “Nope!”

  “Any other probing questions during our limited daily family time?” she asked grumpily.

  I paused and then shot her a glance. “So tell me, how are the new guards working out?” I asked lightly.

  “You are seeking death today!” she cried, handing her baby off to a nursemaid and then pouncing on me.

  “Hey, watch out for the baby!” I cried as she grabbed me and we started to roll around on the floor.

  Chapter Ten: The Imperial Side!

  “What’s the status of the fleet, Flag Captain?” Janeski demanded, striding into the captain’s office unannounced.

  “No sudden changes, Supreme Admiral,” Goddard said, jumping to his feet.

  “Keep your seat, Captain,” Janeski waved him down.

  “To what do I owe the honor?” Captain Goddard asked cautiously. “Or is this just a routine status check?”

  Arnold Janeski snorted, his nostrils flaring as he stomped over and dropped himself down in one of the chairs in front of the desk.

  “You can have my seat if you need,” the Flag Captain said starting to stand up and step to the side of his chair.

  “Stow it, Jeremiah,” Admiral Janeski said shortly.

  Captain Goddard sunk back down in his chair. “What’s on your mind, Sir,” he asked, putting his hands together on top of the desk.

  “There is still no sign that the locals are getting squeamish,” the Supreme Admiral grunted, “our shadow forces show that they’re repairing what they can as more and more ships from all over the Sector are gathering at Easy Haven.

  “And this is a problem somehow? Or are you worried about the decision to allow the enemy to consolidate in a fixed position with the kind of fortifications that Wolf-9 has?” guessed Goddard.

  “Flaming atoms, no! Gathering them together so we can crush them all in one go will cut months off our time table. I’m not worried about them consolidating as much of the old, outdated military junk they’re still using out here as they possibly can before we hammer them,” the Supreme Admiral denied immediately. “Not even if the fortifications were still as strong as they were the day the Confederation decided to ‘consolidate’ the military budget in order to pay their universal health care deficit back in their Core Sectors.”

  “Then…” Goddard trailed off leadingly.

  “The strategy is a sound one: allow them to gather together. Any military officer worth their salt would jump at the chance, as they appear to be doing here. Only…” Janeski trailed off and then slammed a hand down on the table, “only the man nominally at the top of the consolidation effort on their side is as squirrely as a Magellan Willow Dog.”

  “And by that, you mean…” nodded Goddard.

  “Of course it’s that yellow-bellied, green for guts, Governor—a man who will drop everything and run from combat at the drop of a hat! With the boy prince at the top of their organization, anything is possible! For all I know, by the time they finally start getting near their projected largest size he’ll suddenly get cold and flee Easy Haven, disappearing like fart in the air scrubbers out of pure unmitigated fear. I don’t have time to spend the next six months chasing that coward down.”

  Goddard cocked his head and swallowed. “I know you don’t think too highly of him. But I’ll remind you that it was his forces—with him present—that tore apart Task Force 3, Admiral Wessex’s old command,” he pointed out.

  “Damn that man!” swore Janeski. “Commanding a one-man supply dump on the south pole of a heavy gravity world without a breathable atmosphere is too good for him. Why, if his family wasn’t such strong supporters of the Reclamation Initiative I would have had him spaced over that debacle the day after receiving his report. That battle wasn’t the pimple showing his talents—that was cowardice in the face of the enemy by Wessex, who showed his complete and utter lack of competence.”

  “Still…they fought against a superior foe and took losses,” Goddard said playing demon’s advocate. “It was our side that pulled out, not his—Wessex or no Wessex.”

  “He’s like a thug in a bar. Turn out the lights and he’ll start desperat
ely laying about, clubbing anyone he can reach in the back of the head, but shine the light on and he scurries away like a cockroach. First with the ambush and then when he used those old style jammer buoys,” Janeski said curtly. “He doesn’t have the stomach to face me unless he feels he has some kind of edge.”

  “You know him better than me,” Goddard said.

  Janeski leaned back and then released a pent-up breath. “You know what really bothers me? And it’s not the pimple or even that coward Wessex. It’s sitting here waiting for the support units to arrive. I want this fleet to be as fully repaired, rearmed and resupplied as completely as possible outside of returning to our shipyards before we move. Because you can rest assured, Captain, that when we go in we will go in hard and put the finish on this Sector once and forever. We’ll just do it after getting the reinforcements.”

  “The Spineward Sectors Province has a nice ring to it, Sir,” mused the Flag Captain.

  “Long live the Empire, Captain,” the High Admiral, said quirking his brow.

  Chapter Eleven: Repairs and concerns

  “Well, the moot council seems to have supported your decision to stay with their massive reinforcements—even though they haven’t had a chance to speak with you or read a report,” said Leesa, his new mate, stretching her arms to their max as she sprawled over top of Glue’s. She contentedly dug her bony back into his large belly as she squirmed around contentedly.

  “Does Glue make a good full-body pillow?” he asked with a laugh rumbling deep inside his belly.

  She punched her elbow into his side. “Don’t secretly laugh at me, you overgrown excuse for a Sundered male,” she warned him, “besides, I like it up here. It’s nice and soft.”

  “Ouch,” Glue wince, “maybe this Sundered male needs to go down to the mats more often and get some exercise?”

  “And get all sweaty and stinky rolling around with all those other big sweaty males in what you all like to pretend is combat training?” she asked rolling over and giving him a hug. “I think I’d like to see it,” she whispered in his ear.

  He reached his arms up to grab her back when she rolled off him with a laugh and, landing with her feet on the floor, she quickly flounced away.

  “Time to get up, big boy,” she joked, grabbing her work harness and putting it on. With a grunt, she reached up and grabbed his much bigger and much heavier one.

  “Let me help,” said Glue, reaching down and taking it from her.

  “I like it when you help,” she said, going around back to help him adjust his harness before giving him a tap on the back just above his rear, “just not too much. A female has to have something to do while her male is off saving the universe.” Glue laughed. “Just remember not to get too full of yourself,” she warned.

  “No chance of that with you around,” Glue shook his head.

  “You got lucky with me,” she told him seriously, “just like you got lucky with the other Shipmasters staying and the Moot Council deciding to send more gunboats and landing forces.”

  “That’s not luck, it’s skill,” Glue declared with all the force and majesty of a Primarch in his prime. “Besides,” he added less pompously, “it’s not like the Moot is having much choice. We fight here or we run away again and leave everything we can’t transport behind.”

  “Or maybe they just have us delay things here while they pack up more stuff,” Leesa told him.

  Glue paused. “Probably you are right,” he muttered eventually.

  “I’m always right when we’re at home—and you’d better remember it buddy bear! Primarch or no Primarch, I’m the female here and don’t you forget it,” she said, pointing a finger at him and then wagging it.

  “Am not a bear,” Glue said, drawing himself up.

  “Don’t pout or it’ll affect your shoulder line,” she warned him as she headed for the door, “I don’t want any other females on this ship getting even so much as a whiff of any ideas. You need to be a perfectly happy, healthy and, most of all, confident male when you are walking out of this door. And it’s just an expression I heard on the holo-; don’t take it to heart, it just means you’re nice and fluffy.”

  “Fluffy?” he huffed with outrage, but straightened out his shoulder line and stomped out the door. Even though there were still a few rough edges, it was nice to be taken care of again after so long alone.

  Chapter Twelve: The Delaying Force

  “Get me Commodore Kling,” I said, stomping into the flag bridge and leaning over Lieutenant Steiner’s console.

  She blinked, “All right.”

  I stood there waiting while she made the connection.

  “You want to take it here or at your throne?” she asked turning to glance at me.

  “Here’s fine,” I said leaning over her shoulder.

  A moment later the Commodore blinked into life on her screen. “Admiral Montagne,” the Commodore said, no doubt busy observing me leaning over the shoulder of the Comm. Officer and somewhat surprised, “is there a problem or something I can help you with?”

  “Yes,” I said curtly, “it’s been over a week now and the Imperials haven’t hit us yet. Something is off, but since they’re willing to give us the time for whatever reason I’m going to grab onto it with both hands. But just because they haven’t come yet doesn’t mean we need to stand around with our hands in our pockets doing nothing.”

  “I can see that,” Kling said, leaning forward.

  “Since the ComStat network is still down—and even if it miraculously came back up, I still wouldn’t trust it at this point—I want you and the boys of the Corvette flotilla to head out there and give us advance warning,” I explained.

  “Just to clarify, what would be our operational orders, Sir?” Kling asked, leaning back.

  “I’ve already got a picket one star system within a Cruiser’s jump range of Easy Haven. What I want from you is to, following back along our route only, extend that by two more star systems if possible. And more importantly, I want the Corvettes to operate in squadrons on a hunter killer mission,” I said.

  “Hunter Killer?” asked Kling.

  “I believe you’ve seen the same number of strange sensor ghosts that I have. Anything you can do to reduce those numbers and ensure that our picket ships are actually in a position to run their report back home when the time comes would be deeply appreciated,” I replied.

  “That’s normally a job for Destroyers,” Kling pointed out neutrally, “not Corvettes.”

  “So take some with you,” I shrugged, “I’ll cut orders for two squadrons worth of singleton Destroyers that haven’t yet been merged into any squadrons to be attached to your command.”

  “And I get the fun task of working them up? Oh joy,” deadpanned Kling.

  “The life of a man with a pennant or a flag is fraught with humiliation and hard work. You should have read the fine print. Go get ’em, tiger,” I ordered.

  “I never should have taken the promotion,” Kling sighed and then grinned. “We’ll do you proud, Sir.”

  “Montagne out,” I nodded, and a second later Steiner cut the channel.

  “Is there anything else, Admiral?” she asked.

  “That will be all, Lieutenant.”

  “Happy to be of assistance,” she replied, turning back to her duties.

  “D’Argent,” I said, capturing the attention of the head of my security detail as motion toward the blast doors. This was more of a hit-and-run operation than anything else. I had to hurry or I was going to be late for another meeting.

  Falling in around me, my new armsmen escorted me off the flag bridge.

  I grimaced. Sometimes being the Admiral wasn’t as fun as it was supposed to be—especially when you had security agents surrounding you 24/7. But as a Montagne, and now Confederation Admiral and reputed Tyrant of Cold Space, you either learned to roll with the punches or you went crazy and eventually started slaughtering your enemies—and anyone who happened to be standing around them at the time yo
u caught up with them—in job lots.

  Sadly, I knew what that meant for me: I was stuck with a protective detail for the foreseeable future. Personally—and history proved that I didn’t just say it because it sounded good—I actually allowed assassination attempts on a semi-regular basis in exchange for increased freedom. But this wasn’t just about me anymore.

  I didn’t have to like the trade-off, though.

  ****************************************************

  “Alright, boys, the Admiral needs us. We’ve got the ‘go’ signal to head out there and find those blighters who’ve been giving us sensors ghosts for the last four days and do something permanent about it,” said Commodore Kling.

  “Who let the dogs out? Who?!” exclaimed-slash-barked a Corvette captain from one of the Sector’s minor worlds.

  “A modicum of decorum, Captain. If you please,” Bob Kling said curtly.

  “Awww,” protested the Captain before falling mercifully silent.

  “In other news, we’ll also be extending the picket around this star system by as much as two Cruiser jumps,” he held up his hands at the loud sounds of protests, “but only on the line our people followed getting here.”

  “That’s a job for Destroyers,” protested one of his captains. “Send out the tin cans. If we’re stuck out there on routine patrol duty with nowhere to go but dink insides of our Corvettes our crews are going to go stir crazy.”

  “I think it’s safe to say that the Imperials aren’t going to give us the time for your people to slowly go space crazy. But if by some miracle they do, I’ll be sure to rotate our ships and crews on a regular basis,” Commodore Kling said dryly. “Now, in other news, no doubt divining your very complaints with his crystal orb the Admiral, in his wisdom, is kicking loose two squadrons worth of Destroyers. Now that’s the good news. The bad news is they’re all singletons not yet used to working in squadron formation. So it’ll be our job to help speed that along.”