Federation Reborn 2: Pirate Rage (14 page)

Fortunately, they had plenty of material to use to make those repairs and the tools to make them. The derelict ships and debris from both sides would be feedstock for the replicators to create the necessary replacement parts that the surviving engineers had the keys to replicate. They were also using the rapidly dwindling and finite supply of material to make good on the loss of the orbital warehouses and other defenses.

He nodded once. Much the same had been done after the battles in Antigua, Pyrax, B101a1, and other places. The practice was a good one and would continue despite the protests from the intelligence community that such material should be enshrined for them to examine at length for months or years to come. He shook his head. They had a short week or so to get what they could, and they were allowed to take samples. But not everything need be set aside, nor should it be.

He checked the internal star plot and shipping schedule.
Freedom
and
Lady Liberty
had been dispatched for Protodon as quickly as they could take on stores. Both had green rather junior crew on board; he hoped they could handle a ship fresh out of the yard. A pair of battle cruisers on their first rushed deployment was nothing to sneeze at. They had jumped in and out of Agnosta however without a hitch, so that was good he thought as he got up and headed for the hatch door.

Sprite watched him go from the terminal on his desk. She knew the momentary distraction would be what the admiral wanted. Not what they needed, but what the admiral desperately wanted, to get back to being an admiral. She let it slide for the moment but made a note to push the promotions list. Perhaps if she came at it from another angle? Enlisted someone else as an ally? She started to make a list before she was pinged by a dozen different people, some reporters, others politicians. “Just a minute,” she said testily as she winked out and went back to work.

Chapter 7

Captain Mueller eyed her partner, mentor, and fellow captain before she kept moving on with their planned argument. But Captain Post knew it was futile. Rear Admiral Frost was scared shitless.

In some ways he had every right to be. The two ships and their supports had been shot full of holes by a squadron of destroyers. Such things were not supposed to be possible … and yet they'd happened anyway. It was contrary to all logic, but it stared them down defiantly, ready to take on anything they tried to do to hide from it or think otherwise.

The two battle cruisers had fallen back to Nuevo Madrid after retreating from Protodon. Their supports were in tatters; their ships were broken and battered. They'd barely made it to the star system, their last vestige of hope.

That hope seemed to be fading as panic from their news was starting to settle in. Shantell noted it in the admiral's pig-like eyes as the fat man kept darting them around trying to find a way out. He was sweating, and his Adam’s apple kept bobbing in fear. But she continued on with her carefully laid-out argument, laying the foundation for their counter attack.

She also wondered why Captain Post wasn't doing the fighting right alongside her. Was he setting her up? Letting her do the dirty work before he came in as the voice of reason? Or did he have something else on his mind? She shot him a look out of the corner of her mind before she refocused on the flag officer.

She wasn't sure to expect miracles. She knew better. The admiral had only so much to work with. He had a couple dozen techs and native volunteer's manning the still leaking and incredibly deplorable orbital repair facility. She snorted mentally. Such as it was she thought in disgust. A habitat filled with holes from passing meteors, leaky fuel and water tanks that had also been holed, a small communications array, an antenna farm set up to receive power from the elderly solar farm close to the star, a small sad group of orbital warehouses and dilapidated satellites, and a truss dock that had little more than light fixtures and mooring arms and cables in it.

That was it. The industrial centers, computers, and a lot of the additional hardware had been scavenged by the natives over the centuries to keep their factories and farm equipment online. At least until their last shuttle had blown up in reentry.

Frost had used his one tiny civilian replicator to get the place back up and running. It was a remarkable achievement for the man to accomplish so much with so little. But she, like Arnold, hungered for more. They
needed
more.

Captain Post was thoroughly annoyed and frustrated with the situation but hid his other emotion, disgust, carefully. To say your nominal superior was a craven gutless coward afraid of sticking his neck out wasn't a wise thing to do after all, he reminded himself. He'd heard a few rumors on the way in about the
Prinz Zir
and the questionable decision to send them off like the good admiral had. He didn't want to end up splattered, or worse, dead. He was a master tactician and strategist; he knew when it was safe to open his mouth.

Or at least thought he did. It was rather difficult to keep it shut and getting harder by the minute however. He counted under his breath silently as Shantell made her case.

He had let Shantell run point for him while he regrouped his thoughts and strategy. Captain Mueller was concerned about the Horathian ships in the area that would trot into Protodon expecting it to be secured. She couldn't help but voice that concern. “They are going to sail in fat, dumb, and happy thinking we, or I should say Gumel, has control. The enemy will pick them apart, sir. We have to do something about that.”

“We have in that we've warned the commands downstream to beware of the situation,” the admiral stated. “And I understand you did so yourself?” He frowned at the duo as they nodded. “That was before you went charging off to battle without taking into consideration what you were getting into or, say, checking in with me first?”

“We had accurate intelligence at the time, sir,” Captain Mueller stated. “It was unfortunately out-of-date.”

“Some would say woefully out-of-date,” the admiral stated sarcastically.

“Yes, sir. The enemy reinforced quickly. Surprisingly, and I'd say
alarmingly
quickly. The good news is, it was with light forces.” He hid a grimace. Those light forces had torn his beloved ship up pretty thoroughly.

“Good, yes. But there is no telling when they'll have more heavy forces available to send in. And with the carrier making such an effective defense against you as you say …”

“We hurt them, sir. Hurt them badly. We destroyed three of their tin cans, a frigate, and all those gunships. We also crippled several of their other tin cans and the carrier's fighters shot themselves dry.”

“Shooting your precious ships up, and losing four of our own tin cans and four frigates in the process, Captain,” the admiral riposted. The captain grunted but nodded grudgingly. The admiral frowned, sitting back and rocking his chair as he considered the situation from all angles.

No matter how he looked at it, he'd have to do something. He wasn't sure what, but something. But which way to jump, and how to handle it without getting splattered with fallout if things went south as they had so far, was an interesting question. A tricky one he wasn't ready to answer right away. He needed time, time to think about it, to check his options.

There wasn't much he had available however. One elderly
Cutlass
and his four frigates weren't going to do much. Post had lost more than that going in the first time.

He was also aware that the two captains were pressuring him to act. Well, he refused. He would act, but only when
he
said so.

“What is Admiral Von Berk's schedule again?” the admiral asked, turning away to call his chief of staff.

“We have some time, sir—about five months before he was due to head back if I'm right. Possibly longer,” Captain Mueller said immediately, answer in hand. She was glad she'd remembered to look that detail up in advance.

“So, if we can make good on what repairs we can, we can get in there, push the enemy back, and then hold the star system hopefully long enough for the good admiral to come through. He might even have forces to help reinforce us and …,” Captain Post frowned at the admiral's black scowl. “Sir?”

The admiral shook his head. “I don't want Nuevo Madrid uncovered. That leaves us vulnerable.”

“But, sir, if you notice, we would be on the initiative not the defense. We would be pushing them back, not waiting for their attack here,” Captain Post reasoned, doing his best to sound logical. “If we do get bounced out again,” he winced internally at that qualifier. “We'll fall back here while fighting a retreat along the way. We'll bleed them. They will fight cautiously.”

“They didn't have anything bigger than a tin can. Other than that damned escort carrier,” Captain Mueller added sourly. “And we're fresh out of fighters to oppose them.”

“True,” Admiral Frost said looking away.

“Think about it, sir. We'll be saving Von Berk's bacon as well as the mission. It will reflect well at home. His family and others will owe us,” Captain Post wheedled, throwing a bit more incentive into the pile.

“Yes and you'll undoubtedly garner all the glory.”

“You could come along, sir,” Captain Mueller suggested slyly. She winced at Captain Post's dirty look. “Or not. We'll certainly make it clear to everyone that it was
your
idea and that you worked your people tirelessly to get our repairs sorted out and us back into action as quickly as possible,” she said with a honey voice.

“So …,” the admiral sighed. “Damn it. Let me think about it. I'm not ready to commit either way. I will however order the repairs to begin once the surveys are finished.”

“Thank you, sir. At least we can get the ball rolling,” Captain Post said.

“I said I'm not ready to commit, Captain; don't push it,” the admiral said, holding up a fat finger. “Get your after action report into my chief of staff's hands if you haven't already. Also the list of repairs.” Both officers nodded. “Dismissed.”

They came to attention, saluted, and then left.

---<>))))

“Think he'll go for it, sir?” Shantell Mueller, captain of the
Nevada
asked quietly as they strode out past the yeoman guarding the admiral's door. The young woman looked up to them and then back to the terminal she was typing at when they didn't stop.

“Not here. Not now,” Captain Post replied equally quiet as they passed through the admiral's outer office and through his staff area. His eyes cut about as he noted the curious, some frightful looks in the bullpen. He did his best to ignore them and put a brave face on as he held onto the cover tucked under his right arm. “Carry on, people,” he growled, sending some scurrying back into their cubicles or to duck down like prairie dogs.

The butcher bill had been heavy, he thought with an impassive face as they boarded the shuttle. He didn't need to see
Nevada
or his beloved
Massachusetts
to see it. He knew his career was hanging by a thread and most likely done for. The same for Shantell's he thought, looking at her briefly than away when she looked expectantly at him.

They'd lost four frigates, four destroyers, ninety fighters, and a hell of a lot of ammunition and people to get what? Exactly nowhere he thought in self-disgust. The enemy had reinforced with two additional destroyers, four corvettes, and an assortment of gunships and fresh fighters before they'd jumped out of the star system. If they followed that pattern, then there would be two squadrons of DDs by the time they got back in. Since it had only taken one over strength one to tear his force up, he wasn't exactly thrilled about the idea of going toe-to-toe against them in a battered ship.

But he had no choice.

The one positive was that he'd hit them, and hard. Several of the Federation destroyers had been badly damaged, and he'd wrecked their orbital infrastructure. He doubted the hit on the fuel farm, but he counted his blessings on everything else.

Still, fighting their way back in was going to be a stone-cold bitch he thought. When he heard Shantell clear her throat, he looked her way.

“Speaking of the devil …”

“Oh?”

“Never mind. What?”

“Is it safe to talk now?” she demanded.

He snorted. “I suppose so. I don't think the admiral bugged the cabin or stuck a spy on board,” he said.

She raised her thin eyebrow up at him. He shrugged such considerations off. “What's on your mind?”

“Do you think he'll go for it?”

“I think he'll dither for a while. Probably a week or more. Fortunately, we've got some time, and we need that time badly to get our ships sorted out.”

“Still, Arnold, we went in there with …”

“I know what we went in there with!” he snarled, cutting her off with a glare and a downward swipe of his hand. “Don't remind me. I see it every damn time I try to sleep. I fracked up. I went in fat, dumb, and happy, and it cost us the engagement.”

“I admit; I didn't think they had the firepower to take us on.”

“They definitely had the balls, let's put it that way. As to firepower … not quite enough. I'm imagining now they are doing their best to rectify that though.”

“So …”

“So, as I said, we've got time. We've got a couple ships we can draw on for support and parts if necessary. Crew …,” he frowned. There was no way the skippers of the other warships were going to willingly turn over their people. Not when it opened vast holes in their own command chains, and as for the frigates, they didn't have a lot of manpower to start off with.

And he knew they wouldn't send him their best and brightest—far from it. “The warships are out for obvious reasons. That leaves the support ships,” he said.

“Crews on a support ship aren't usually the best or the brightest,” Shantell said dryly.

“Speaking from experience?” he asked dryly. She glowered at him. He snorted. “Relax, I'm thinking the same thing. We'll just have to deal with it. Yank ‘em up by the scruff of their necks if we have to. Train them hard.”

“Half-ass trained in a short time period won't amount to spit, and you know it,” she warned.

“Then we draw sailors from other sources. The admiral seems to have some on his ships. And then there is always conscription if we have to resort to that.”

“And the army forces?”

“Not worth a pot to piss in right now. Really, Shantell? Taking soldiers to a naval fight? Come on,” he drawled.

“I was thinking as a source of warm bodies, but if you want to get snippy with me …”

He held his hands up. “Peace. Any more work done on
Nevada
?”

“Not a whole hell of a lot. You and I both know both ships are a dockyard job. The drive and frame damage alone …,” she shook her head.

“We just need the minimum.”

She eyed him. “Why? What are you planning?”

“I'm thinking we stooge around the outside of Protodon,” the captain said, scratching at his goatee. “We do it in stealth if possible. We wait until our own people show up, then intervene to help them extract themselves.”