Federation Reborn 2: Pirate Rage (66 page)

Chapter
36

For three and a half long days they kept the fighters and bombers off of them the best they could. Each time they detected a flight inbound they maneuvered further out and away, drawing the fighters out and lengthening their flight time. That forced them to limit their engagement.

It wasn't enough though. They were husbanding their limited counter missiles and fighters to the best of their ability, but it wasn't enough. He had one exhausted fighter left to send out by the third day. Captain Post shook his head. He'd gotten some sleep but not a lot, never enough. He knew Shantell and her people were going through the same hell he was.

The cat and mouse game had forced the enemy commander to send in the fighters with just their on-board munitions and light missiles, no torpedoes. That was the good news. They'd also severely limited the range of the bombers.

The point defense had kept the flies off of his ships; the fighters hadn't been stupid enough to enter their firing basket while he had them up. He'd reserved the counter missiles for the torpedoes, and he'd been surprised that they'd done well to keep the first torpedoes at bay initially. Rotating the ships to keep the damage even on their shields had also helped, but it had spread the load on their gravitational emitters.

The fighters and bombers couldn't linger more than a few minutes. Just enough to spit their wads then stick around to allow their telemetry to settle—when the tactical teams didn't get a chance to employ their ECM to scramble it. They usually tried to maneuver to hit a weak or blind spot but each time his people had them covered.

The drawn-out campaign had given his engineering crews time to work on the damage while also giving them time to vent excess heat from the overstressed radiators. A few minutes in the shadow of the ship and it was enough to cool the radiator fluids, but it also began to create micro fractures from the sudden heat and cooling cycle they had induced.

This latest report was the most damning of all. They'd shot off a total of 91 percent of their inventory of counter missiles. They had enough for one more possible torpedo run and that was it. Couple that with the 64 percent fuel they'd burned through trying to stay out of the
Newman's
missile envelope and things were just not working out. Not as he'd planned at any rate.

Apparently he was going to have to withdraw. Their damage was mounting up too much; it was getting ahead of the scratch-together engineering teams. If they could withdraw was now looming in his thoughts gloomily.

He wasn't sure why they'd stuck it out for so long. Stubborn pride? Hope wasn't it; he'd just about given up hope of some sort of miracle.

But the universe and the spirits of space had a very questionable sense of humor as well as timing. He was about to order navigation to begin plotting their jump when the long-range plot changed.

---<>))))

The remnants of Admiral Von Berk's Fourth Fleet exited hyper with six of his support ships instead of the nine he had started the jump with. Captain Wutzle had lost his tanker somewhere along the way to Protodon he noted. Two of the freighters had also gone missing in hyper. He was pretty sure the other two ships had translated down; CIC had reported one crash translation off their port stern halfway through the jump. But the tanker … she'd been there lagging behind the group and then … just … gone. Like she'd never existed.

To have gotten so far and yet still fail …

He shook his head slightly, fists clenching in suppressed rage.

Blast it to hell and gone, they could have
really
used that fuel, he thought darkly. They were running low; he'd underestimated how much the skips and jumps would suck them down. They were good for one or two more jumps and that was it. They'd be adrift, he thought darkly.

Those thoughts were abruptly cut off when the plot stabilized and he saw what was waiting for them. He swore again, this time under his breath as CIC started to interpret what their sensors were telling them. It didn't look good.

“Sir, we're getting mass readings all over the star system. None of the IFFs are friendly. Some are within thirty million kilometers of us and now are under power on a direct course for us. There are grav readings across the star system, and what looks like neutrino pulses near the B-95a3 jump point as well as within the inner star system. Quite possibly from nuclear detonations,” CIC reported.

“A battle going on?” the admiral mused. It was too much to hope for he thought. He studied the readings with intensity of a drowning man looking at a distant life preserver.

“It looks like we're missing a party,” Captain Bordou murmured from beside him. He turned to her and then back to the plot.

“Just as glad right now we are missing it, Captain,” Rick said. Both senior officers turned to look at the chief of staff. “Have you seen the numbers? They've got battle cruisers!” he said waving a hand.

“Steady, Commander. We apparently do too, though I'm unsure who we are seeing at this distance,” the captain said turning to the normally unflappable chief of staff. The stress of their journey had taken a toll on everyone. Frayed nerves and tempers were the least of their concerns now. Seeing all the ships was like ice water on all of them. Some she could tell were taking it hard, their morale crumbling. She turned to the admiral. “Orders, sir?”

The admiral stared at the plot, drinking it in. Finally, he grunted. “So, Lady Luck hasn't completely turned a blind eye to us and cast us out to Murphy's mercy.”

“No, sir, I suppose she hasn't.”

“We'll take advantage of this,” the admiral said.

“Sir! Fighters coming in at twenty-nine million kilometers out!” A rating said, voice rising in pitch.

“Damn it …,” the XO muttered.

“More fighters launching from the destroyers and what looks like an escort carrier, sir!” CIC warned as the captain looked up at the plot with hard eyes.

“They don't have a lot. They are scattered since they didn't know where we'd be coming in. Now they are concentrating,” Captain Bordou murmured. “If they come in as singletons, we can pick them off with our point defense.”

“Remember who you are talking about, Captain. That is the Federation; those fighters are most likely top of the line,” the admiral reminded her. “We'll have to …,” he whirled. “Put the formation into Defensive Baker. Tell engineering and nav to expedite,” he snapped out.

“Defensive Baker, aye, sir. Expedite, aye,” the chief of staff echoed, passing on the orders.

“Com, lay in a signal to the ships at the B95a3 jump point. Charlie Echo encryption key. Let them know we are on our way and intend to skip,” the admiral ordered over his shoulder.

He caught the rating unaware. The young woman blinked in shock and then bobbed a nod. “Aye, sir.”

“Get it right the first time. We may not get a second shot,” the captain growled. The young woman nodded desperately, flipping her fingers with near blinding speed to execute the orders.

“Message away. It will take three days to cross the star system at this distance however, sir, ma'am,” she said, looking up.

The admiral turned to his flag captain. “Captain Bordou, we've got less time than I'd like I'm afraid. Fight your ship. Try to get us some distance and keep out of their weapons range but don't waste too much fuel doing so. Get that hyperdrive recharged and back online. We're going to need it,” the admiral said, eying the ships on his plot. The sparkle of dots was slowly becoming coherent icons as CIC's active and passive scans ran the raw data through the computers. What he saw he didn't like. Everyone in the area was now marching on his ships.

And every single one of them within range was bearing the icon of a hostile ship.

“Sir, engineers pride themselves on being miracle workers, but even they need more time than … well this,” the chief of staff said.

The admiral pointed to the plot with the incoming red angry dots. “Tell
them
that. I don't think they will be willing to take a time out.”

“No, sir.”

“Helm, get us underway. The fleet will pitch up ten degrees and accelerate at 10 percent power. Let's see if we can buy our engineers some time,” Captain Bordou said. “Nav, plot a dogleg with random intervals and timing. Feed it to the helm. Keep them guessing.”

“Aye aye, ma’am.”

She turned to the admiral. “We're going to burn through a hell of a lot more fuel than we can afford to use this way, sir.”

“Shut everything down that's not essential. Focus on getting us back into hyper as quickly as we can,” the admiral said, eyes still locked on the plot.

“Yes, sir.”

---<>))))

“Sir, ships have arrived at the Kathy's World jump point. They jumped high and short of the jump point as predicted. They are thirty-two million kilometers away from the nearest forces. A squadron of fighters is forming up in an attempt to slow them down.”

“They are running?” Admiral White asked.

“According to
Admiral Spruance
, yes, sir they are. Captain Z'll's compliments. He wishes to know if you have any supplementary orders.” the Neo yellow Labrador retriever com rating looked expectantly at him.

The admiral frowned, turning the situation over in his mind. The ships would need time to reset their ship's systems and power their hyperdrives back up for another jump. That was their window to engage them. “No. Follow as previously specified,” the admiral ordered. “Remind him that we may not get another shot, so make it good.”

The dog flicked his ears once as he nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Amadeus had set up a welcome reception near the Kathy's World jump point. But the sudden imminent attack from Nuevo Madrid had forced his hand. He'd put his BCs and half his destroyers on course for the jump point, as tradition dictated he marched to the sounds of the guns. They'd arrived near enough to make an attempt on pouncing on the bastards, but they'd kept frustratingly out of reach.

Only the fighters and bombers could keep up with them, since a stern chase was nigh on impossible to win. They occasionally made up ground, but the random course changes the enemy took on made it hard for both the fighters and the warships to keep up from time to time. Even a few minutes of missed timing meant the enemy clawed right back out of reach.

His plan to stack the frigates and small ships in strategic places in line with planet and orbital works had paid off. Their firepower wouldn't have been of much use against the enemy. Instead he'd used their fuel and life support, which translated into endurance on station and ability to receive tachyon transmissions to vector them in against the KEW strike the battle cruisers had launched. So far they'd gotten lucky and intercepted every attack or moved an orbital platform out of reach beforehand which amounted to the same thing.

Apparently the enemy had found out they were just wasting their ammunition after the second wave of shots so they'd stopped. Either that or they were out.

He'd half expected the engagement to turn into a long-range slugging match between BCs. That hadn't happened. He could appreciate why; his tin cans gave him additional throw weight while also giving him extra defense. Up until they'd started the cat and mouse game he'd been looking forward to the rematch.

What he couldn't admire was their timing. He grudgingly accepted it; it was after all, happening. He just didn't have to
like
it. Nor did he.

If he was right, then the BC commanders had guessed on the window of when the ships were supposed to return. Undoubtedly they'd planned on staying on station far longer, but Meia's fighters and the fighters he'd released to her from the fortress and ship squadrons and staged through
Halsey
had changed their plans. By forcing them to shoot themselves dangerously dry while also constantly maneuvering, they'd burned through a lot of fuel. That had significantly shortened their time in the star system.

It was just bad luck that things hadn't worked out as he'd hoped. He was fairly certain the returning force from ET had sent a signal winging across the void announcing their arrival.

Would the BC skippers stick around? Try to buy time, distract him with their presence in order to escort Fourth Fleet out?

He wasn't sure. He was afraid to find out. But, if there was one thing he was determined to do, if they did dangle themselves out further, he planned on being there to take advantage of any stumble and hammer them.

---<>))))

“Sir, it's Fourth Fleet. It has to be. The enemy ships around the Kathy's World jump point are all converging on them,” Shantell said. “The question is, what can we do about it from here?”

“Not as much as I'd like. We need to keep the enemy off balance. To keep their focus on us as the greater threat and hopefully Admiral Von Berk will be able to pull himself out of the trap he's in,” Captain Post said.

“A tall order, sir. Did you notice he's short a few ships?” Shantell asked, quirking an eyebrow upwards. “I'm counting at least one missing cruiser, his tanker, and two of his freighters,” she said.

“Don't read into it too much. For one the distance is long, Shantell. Second, he might have detached them for another duty,” Captain Post stated.