Federation Reborn 2: Pirate Rage (86 page)

The ceremony had been broadcast through video and audio channels to all naval and yard hands. It had been immediately picked up by media. Knox News had done a nice piece on the newly minted Commodore's history in the service and his work in Pyrax. That had been a nice treat.

Of course the media in the other star systems had treated it lightly, but he knew the promotion would be a bit of a kick for morale for the navy. The other promotions should be filtering in shortly.

But, he'd had one other small bit of good news. He'd heard that Sprite had got even, all on her own initiative.

When she hadn't said anything, had stopped trying to fight it and had gotten quiet, he'd gotten suspicious. He'd quietly ran a check on what she'd been up to. She had found through her own check of the IG's office that none of them had kept up with their training or quals. She had issued orders through BUPERS to all officers and enlisted and had taken great pleasure in maliciously forwarding the same email he had received to the IG office to complete their quals. Needless to say there had been a bit of a protest over that.

Tough. He hadn't liked the time it had taken to get them done, but it had reminded him that no one was above the law. He needed to lead and to show others that he was just as capable doing it. Showing them, and himself, he thought.

The quals had been the bane of some officer's existence during his absence. Apparently Horatio had been reminded of them by a certain Neopanther. He frowned thoughtfully. He'd have to check on their progress later.

For tonight though … tonight he was going to bask in the glory of a relatively uneventful week capped by the good news and do his best not to worry about what tomorrow might bring.

---<>))))

“And we have transition! We are in Bek space!” the navigator said triumphantly. The bridge watch erupted into cheers.

Less than a minute later, the CIC rating yelped. “IFF challenge! We're being pinged and hit by active sensors! They've got us locked up!” she said over the tumult.

“Frack, all hands, battle stations. Comm, broadcast our IFF. Nav, prep for an emergency jump,” the captain barked.

“Broadcast a hail on all frequencies,” the XO said. “We'll try to buy some time,” he said, turning to the skipper for support.

The captain nodded. “Do it.”

“Sir, we're getting a return hail. “Long live the Federation. It is followed by Admiral Iron's challenge.”

“Give them the counter sign,” the captain said, exhaling a long held breath. His ship wasn't quite set for a fight, not with everything stacked to the deckheads with snivel gear and gifts to the Bekian people. He surveyed the bridge under coveted eyes. The tension was still there but … with any luck …

CIC was still populating the plot when he glanced at it. From what he could see, Bek was teaming with life. Dozens of sublight ships and instillations were all over the star system. Dozens of ships were around the jump point. There were also shoals of dense mine fields around the jump point, along with massive asteroid and artificial fortresses, OWP's missile packs, and all sorts of nasty toys to make anyone piss themselves silly he thought.

"I think I should have gotten into my skin suit and hooked my catheter up. I'm glad we're the good guys," he said wryly.

"
Definitely
, sir," Angie echoed with a lot of feeling in her tone of voice.

As the data flowed in, he noted that the ships and facilities were crude and not familiar Federation designs. Were they Federation at all he wondered?

“We're getting a second hail, sir,” the comm rating said just as the CIC rating clacked for attention.

“The fortresses are standing down active sensors,”

“Very well. I think we've had enough surprises …,” the captain said with a shake of his head.

“I think we've got more to come, sir. Audio transmission coming in,” the XO said, looking at his board.

“Oh?” The captain squared his shoulders. “Put it through.”

“We've been expecting you. It has been a long, long time. We'd almost given up hope,” a rough voice said over the PA speakers. Everyone looked up to them.

“Better late than never I suppose,” the captain said sheepishly. “This is Captain Perth of the Federation starship
Caroline
. We've got a lot to talk about. I'm in awe of what you've got here.”

“I'm looking forward to this discussion,” Admiral Toronto said as the main viewer blinked and an image of a silverback gorilla appeared on the screen. He had a cybernetic left arm, but it appeared to be crude. So did the background behind him. “Let's meet up,” he said.

Captain Perth noted the uniform was similar to his own, but not quite perfect. Still he nodded. “Yes, sir,” he replied.

Chapter
48

The battle scared force jumped to Nuevo Madrid without incident. The next battle was one where missiles and energy weapons weren't going to fly, but the consequences were just as dangerous for all participants as well as those caught in the crossfire.

Rear Admiral Von Berk's force had refueled in B95a3 from the battle cruiser's on-board supplies but their supply had been severely limited. They refueled as much as possible from the stockpile in Nuevo Madrid while the crews rushed to make what repairs that were possible.

It had become obvious through the various surveys that the ships of Fourth Fleet wouldn't be able to make it to Dead Drop. The frantic run had damaged them too much, and Nuevo Madrid's limited facilities were not up to the task of rebuilding their hyperdrives, grav pods, or frame stress damage.

The news that Admiral De Gaulte was en route to them with a relief force was a powerful uplift to their morale. No longer were they trying to fight the Federation alone with battered ships. Now the mission became to hold out until help arrived.

But the news didn't stave off the inevitable clash between flag officers. They could put it off behind politely worded communications between their staff. All they were doing was feeling each other's positions out and laying the groundwork for their own logical strategy.

Admiral Frost wanted to fall back on the defensive since he didn't have the resources to repair the ships or resupply them. Admiral Von Berk was okay with that, but he wanted to go further. He needed to get his precious cargo out of the cul-de-sac star system before the enemy arrived, just in case.

He also didn't like how Frost was dragging his feet. The man had been exiled from the court for a reason. The lard ass tended to coast when he thought all was well. The news of the incoming ships had him thinking the danger was over.

To Linnaeus that was when they were the most vulnerable, when they let their guard down and took their safety as a given. He was not going to stand for it.

Once he was certain Captain Post had the repairs under control, he took a shuttle to the planet to have a face-to-face with his fellow flag officer. He technically outranked Frost by date of rank, but they were in a gray area. He had no standing in the other flag officer's AO.

He shook hands with the various staff members, some grinning at the sight of him. One commander, Dutch, looked familiar. The man was short and stocky with muttonchops but seemed capable. He apparently wanted to say something to him, but Admiral Frost guided him to his office to have their much needed private face-to-face meeting.

When they were alone Linnaeus geared himself for a different form of war. A battle he had to win on logic as much as presence.

“You seem to be missing some ships,” Admiral Frost said, taking a seat behind his desk. Linnaeus's eyes narrowed slightly as the other admiral indicated the guest chair. So, it was going to be like that he thought. Confrontational and a subtle psychological trick of setting Frost up as the senior by retreating behind his desk.

“I'm not counting on the ships lost as much as the ships I managed to save actually,” he finally said with a shrug when he finished studying the man. “We were in a hell of a fix, and my report will stand that out.”

“I've read it,” Frost said with a nod. “You did seem to be very lucky to have gotten out. But still, I don't think the admiralty nor the emperor will be happy,” he said tisk tisking.

“Let me worry about that when I see them,” Linnaeus replied evenly.

“You're leaving?” Admiral Frost demanded, eyes wide. “You can't!”

“
You
have to stay. This is
your
duty station. Mine is to get my cargo back to the empire in one piece.”

“You've been doing so well at that so far,” Admiral Frost growled.

Admiral Von Berk's eyes flashed dangerously. “Have a care, Troy,” he said ever so softly. That tone of warning brought the other rear admiral up short.

“Unfortunately, due to the gravity of the situation I'm going to need to requisition the transport the
Massachusetts
' division escorted here to get my cargo to the Empire. I'll take a minimum escort with me. You will have to contend yourself with
Apache
,
Calico Jack,
Jean Lafitte
and
Lingchi
to help supplement
Massachusetts
,
Nevada
, and your other ships in defending this star system.”

“You're not afraid of what the admiralty will say about leaving your command behind?” Admiral Frost asked, eyes wide.

“Let's just say I think it will be worth it in the end,” Admiral Von Berk said quietly. “At least, it damn well better be,” he growled.

“For your sake and future I should hope so,” Admiral Frost replied doubtfully. “Still, I can't argue with the trade.”

“Nor should you.”

“Did you have to get them all shot up though? And nearly shoot them dry though?” the fat admiral grumbled.

“Some people tend to look gift horses in the mouth even after they've been given to them,” Admiral Von Berk said, shaking his head.

“I'll scare up as much help as I can along the way to Dead Drop.”

“You are aware that the Retribution Fleet is coming in,” Admiral Frost stated.

“Something tells me they may not be enough for the job,” Admiral Von Berk replied. “I know Cyrano's reputation of course, but he's only got what he's got on hand to deal with the situation. The bastards are reinforcing far faster than we'd like.”

“Far faster than any of us expected,” Admiral Frost said with a nod. “You said two
Newman's
?”

“And two squadrons of tin cans, most of them
Arboths
, a couple CEVs two squadrons of frigates, and a pair of LCs,” Admiral Von Berk replied. “There is no telling what they've gotten now. But if they reinforce exponentially, it could get ugly when we go back in.”

“Let's hope they stay on the defensive then,” Admiral Frost said fervently.

His fellow flag officer eyed him but didn't say a word in reply.

Admiral Frost saw the look, took it as a pitying look and hunched his shoulders slightly in a nettled put-out expression.

---<>))))

Admiral Von Berk took the opportunity to shake hands with Captain Post and Captain Bordou before he boarded his ship. “It has been an honor serving with the both of you, and I hope to do so again. Should you see the enemy again, I hope you kick their ass good and thoroughly,” he said as he broke the handshake with Post and then turned to shake hands with Captain Bordou.

“Consider it done, sir,” the woman replied. “I'm just sorry we can't get
Apache
patched up to bring you the rest of the way home,” she said.

“I'll manage. It sucks, but we'll get there. I'm glad Admiral Frost was kind enough to lend me the services of
Ma Deuce
.” The
Cutlass
was going to be able to keep up with the transport … at least he
hoped
so.

“He had no choice, sir,” Captain Post said mildly. “And he is still trading up even if the cruisers and
Lingchi
are a bit worse for the wear.”

“We'll do what we can,” Captain Bordou said. “Like you, sir,” she said, eying the senior captain.

“See that you do,” Admiral Von Berk replied, cutting them off. “Remember, the enemy is out there. Focus your fighting skills on that.”

“Yes, sir,” they replied in unison.

He nodded once. “Then I'll be going. Give ‘em hell,” he said.

“Aye aye, sir,” they replied again; Squaring their shoulders they came to attention and then saluted. He hesitated in surprise then returned the salute. Then he turned and was gone up the boarding ramp.

---<>))))

Admiral Frost watched the transport and destroyer leave with mixed feelings. They had hurriedly emptied the remaining passengers on the ship out and then converted one of her habitation compartments to better handle the life support needs of the water dwellers. He didn't like coddling to the genies, but apparently Admiral Von Berk had other ideas.

He had tried to find some excuse to go with them as well but knew he couldn't afford the political fallout such a move would cause. He was already in the dog house in court; such a retreat would be seen as cowardice and would undoubtedly cost him the remains of his career and possibly his life. Besides, even damaged, the additional ships might make the difference in holding out until the Sword Fleet arrived.

At least he hoped so, he thought, watching the two ships lumber to the jump point.

---<>))))

When Admiral De Gaulte had arrived in Garth, he'd been confronted by a dilemma. He needed additional ships, but he had to cherry-pick the ones with the best crews that could keep up with his force. His instinct said to go for fire power, but none of the cruisers stationed in the star system's task force had been recently upgraded or refitted to his ship's standards.

He had dropped anything smaller than a frigate off the list as well. There was no point, none had the legs to keep up with his ships, nor the speed. He had no intention of slowing down.

He had considered forming a separate fleet train. If he took his faster ships ahead, he would be able to pin the enemy down quicker and quite possibly stave off an invasion of Nuevo Madrid. But he'd reluctantly settled on keeping his force concentrated. That meant traveling at the best speed of his slowest ships, however. However, he had no intention of slowing down; all of the ship captains knew that there would be severe consequences if their ships couldn't keep up.

The reaction of the Garth forces had been … interesting. Pride of course—some saw the fleet movement as a parade, a show of force. Others were eager for war, and many ship captains had not been happy about losing out on a chance for glory despite what they'd heard about fighting the Federation.

They hadn't spent long in the star system, just long enough to resupply from the star system and grab the division. He'd been impressed that Catherine and Berney had even arranged to have the two tin cans receive shipments of upgraded parts and equipment to help them keep up with the pace of the fleet. He'd praised both of them for their initiative.

He had written a missive to the admiralty to get the forces refitted faster. If he failed they would be the only shield between the enemy and the empire's home star system. He didn't like the idea of throwing the assets against better ships for no gain.

And if he had to fall back and draw on them for reserves, he would end up with crap. That wasn't something he liked to think about.

He'd settled on taking a division of destroyers and another courier. Then they had jumped for Dead Drop.

They were averaging the third octave of Gamma band, which should have made him happy, but he knew the importance of time. His instincts told him to squeeze still more speed out of the force, but his logical mind tempered it with the realization that if they suffered an engineering casualty, it wouldn't benefit him, his time, or the mission at all.

In fact, suffering an engineering casualty was one of the biggest worries on his mind, second only to their lack of intelligence about what was going in. But the closer they got to the war zone the more up-to-date intelligence they should gather he reminded himself.

He checked the clock. They were transiting to the Dead Drop jump point. It had been a long near ten weeks in hyperspace. They still had months to go to get to where they could make a difference. But they were going to get there, and when they did nothing was going to stand in their way he thought with a mental growl.

---<>))))

Admiral Frost watched angrily as Admiral Von Berk took one of his ships—one of
his
ships, not one of his own—and went off to deliver his precious “cargo.” He shook his head. The bastard was leaving him high and dry and knew it.

Worse, there was little he could do to stop it. On paper it was all for his benefit. But he now knew the truth about those ships. They were toothless, lacking missiles and parts, their crews battered and exhausted. They might talk a good game, but he was fairly sure that they wouldn't be able to fight their way out of a wet paper bag.

So, if the Federation did come calling in sufficient force, his ass was grass. He scowled.

He spent some time trying to think of a way, any way to get around it, but drew a blank.

Which meant he had to go into damage control mode. He had to cover his ass and find a way to hide until the Sword Fleet arrived to save him.

Post … Post and Mueller would be best served by fighting the battle. He was tempted to take the space command, but if he did he would be trapped on board a ship. The only safe place to hide was on the ground.

His scowl deepened as he rubbed his knuckles under his chin to try to stimulate ideas. Nothing was coming to him. He would just have to push more equipment and people, even draft them from the ground if he had to, to try to stave off the inevitable.

That would give him the excuse of remaining behind on the ground he thought, emotions brightening ever so slightly. Slowly he nodded.