Retribution (The Federation Reborn Book 3) (107 page)

Catherine nodded.

“Myron, good work,” the admiral said, coming over to the tactical officer. Myron looked up and nodded, then went back to what he was doing. The admiral looked over the other man's shoulder curiously. Blurrily he noted that the TAC officer was downloading weapon SITREPS from the other ships. He snorted, patted the other man on the shoulder. “Keep at it but get some rest this century,” he ordered.

“Aye aye, sir,” the tactical officer said hoarsely. When the admiral left, he shook his head. He wasn't certain if he could. He was exhausted, but every time he closed his eyes he saw ships exploding. He saw missiles flying. Before he'd loved it. Now … now though … the danger had been turned around, made threatening real. All too real. He'd lost a lot of friends in the previous day.

The only way he was going to get some sleep was if he collapsed, was drugged, or blind drunk.

When he finished his report, he rose slowly and shakily. The only officer left on duty was Jeremy. He nodded to the navigator. “I don't know about you, but I'm going to go find a bottle of the ship's finest, tuck into a corner, then drink the world away,” he said.

Jeremy smiled tiredly. “I'd join you but …,” he waved to indicate the bridge. Myron nodded. “Poor sod,” he said. “I'll hoist one in your honor then,” he said.

“Gee, thanks,” Jeremy said dryly as the tactical officer departed the flag bridge. From the way he was walking, it was like he was already drunk the navigator thought. He shook his head and went back to monitoring the fleet as reports came in.

It was going to be a while he realized before someone came back to relieve him.

:::{)(}:::

Lieutenant Mason Ramichov shook his head as he questioned his good fortune. He was in a life pod, but he wasn't certain for how long. He had no idea how long his air would last. He also didn't know what the enemy would do with him once they found him.

He'd been tempted to vent the capsule right off, but something inside him forced him to hold off, to wait. To hope and pray it was all a bad dream. He closed his eyes, and then opened them when his fellow survivors began to murmur about a ship approaching them. They felt a jolt and then heard a clank as something latched onto their pod.

It'll either be quick or he was going to regret living. Either way, he was getting an adventure. Just not the one he'd imagined, he thought bitterly as the hatch began to cycle open.

:::{)(}:::

Amadeus shook his head as he looked at the breakage.
Justice
had been destroyed, rather bitter irony there.
Maine
would ordinarily be a write-off, but since they needed every capital ship, she'd be salvaged.
Texas
and
Alaska
had taken heavy damage as had four of their sister ships. Those six BCs alone were less than 40 percent each. Every dreadnaught, cruiser, and battlecruiser was damaged to various degrees.

Quirinus
hadn't gotten out of the engagement unscathed either. Both dreadnaughts had taken damage, but the newest ship had taken the brunt of
Star Mauler's
final act. He had already planned to leave any ship less than 60 percent behind. Now he had to rethink that.

The only healthy ships he had were four of his light cruisers, six of his tin cans, and the carriers. But the carriers didn't have the speed or fire power to chase the enemy down. If the enemy ships turned and got them into their own engagement zones … he shuddered at the thought.

There was no telling what was waiting for them in B-97A either. According to Captain Song's report, the fleet train had retreated there. That meant they ran to Dead Drop and back, likely, given the location, but also that they may have picked up reinforcements along the way. He, therefore, had no idea what was waiting for them in the star system. Given what had happened to him the last time, he was leery about sailing into it without scouting first. He dispatched a pair of light cruisers to do so.

He had another concern. According to Garfield's numbers, his ships had fired half their ordinance in the brief savage engagement. He wasn't comfortable getting too deep into enemy territory with half his fire power. And the lack of intelligence … no, it was best to wait, he reminded himself. He had time.

Once he'd dispatched a courier with the news to Protodon, he settled in to let his engineers deal with the damage.

“Sir, you're going to love this,” Kyle said, looking up with a grin.

“Oh?”

“SAR just reported in. They picked up someone they think ONI and you need to meet …

:::{)(}:::

Catherine closed her eyes as she tried to sleep. Eventually she rolled over and stared at the ceiling above her. Adam was dead. Ordinarily she'd be doing cartwheels but now … not so much. It wasn't just his loss that bothered her; it was the loss of his ship too.

Mason … Mason was most likely dead. Dead or captured, she wasn't sure. Either way it didn't matter.

So, she was next in line for the throne, but that bitch of a sister-in-law might be gunning for her. She wasn't certain if she'd need to take steps yet. She'd have to decide on the long road home, she thought as her eyes fluttered and closed. Fatigue toxins finally got the best of her.

After a moment she began to snore.

:::{)(}:::

Eleven long agonizing weeks later, the remnants of the Retribution Fleet exited hyperspace warily in the outer edge of the B-97A star system. They were in a tattered mess. The couriers that had raced ahead had alerted the convoy. A second convoy had arrived in their absence, but the captain on the spot had ordered the entire gaggle of support ships along with his own reinforcements to fall back on the B-97C jump point.

“We're out of comm range of the fleet train, sir. But we've gotten their IFF, and we've sent a return response,” Catherine reported.

“Good,” the admiral replied. He'd just taken another tour of the improvised sickbay in one of the ship's three mess decks, and the visions there still haunted him. He didn't know why he'd done it; it wasn't like he was a masochist. But he'd felt duty had required it and so had morale, so he'd checked in. Now he wished he hadn't.

“They don't have enough to hold the star system though, sir,” Myron said, turning to look at the admiral.

“And there was no sign of enemy ships?” he asked.

“No, sir.”

“He's still licking his wounds and expects to catch-up with us on the long road home. Well, let's get a move on. Jeremy, least-time course to the B-97C jump point if you please,” the admiral ordered.

“Aye aye, sir.”

“We're not getting much for reinforcements, sir, a couple tin cans,” Berney said, shaking his head. “I'm still waiting on the download on what they've got in the tenders. I don't have my hopes up.”

“Obviously not. I'd settle for a couple fighter squadrons for
Nimitz
along with parts,” Catherine said, shaking her head.

“I doubt it. Once we've resupplied and repaired what we can, we're going to jump. We can't linger here; we're in no shape to take on Fed forces.”

“Falling back further is going to crush morale, sir,” Catherine said quietly.

“We have no choice,” the admiral rumbled. “There is no changing facts. We have to stay ahead of them. We need to get to Dead Drop and plug that gap.”

“Aye aye, sir,” Catherine said quietly.

“Comm, I'm sending you some files to upload to the courier. I want whoever has the most fuel and is the fastest to be off for Dead Drop with word to the empire soonest,” the admiral growled.

“Aye aye, sir,” the comm rating replied dutifully.

“That way they'll get word even if we're run down and destroyed,” the admiral murmured, just loud enough for Catherine and Berney to hear. “And they can put a stop to reinforcements coming here,” he said.

The junior officers nodded soberly.

:::{)(}:::

“Sorry we're late, we ran into a problem on the way here,” Captain Monica Okonkwo said in lieu of an introduction to Captain Mayweather.

“Can that shit. What happened?”

“Well, we ran into an engineering problem and were forced to drop our speed,” the courier captain said. “Oh, you're asking about the battle?” she blinked.

“Damn right I am!”

“I'm afraid I'm under orders not to reveal that information, ma'am. It's encrypted,” Monica replied in a sober voice. Renee's eyes narrowed. “I'm sorry, ma'am,” Monica said apologetically, but after I got my ass reamed and reprimanded for talking out of turn, I'm not taking any chances,” she said.

“Damn it,” Renee muttered.

“I'll just set that ansible link up,” Corgi stated.

“Good,” the captain said with a nod to his avatar. She returned her attention to the fuming battle cruiser captain. “Ma'am, I do have orders here for ships to move to B-95a3. As senior officer I suppose I'm supposed to send the orders to you first?” she asked politely.

“Yes,” Renee said, nodding. She realized the young woman was playing it cool and professional in part to yank her chain. “That'll work just fine I suppose,” she said.

“Aye aye, Captain. Corgi, the other packet you can handle,” Monica said. “
UFDV-010S
out, ma'am,” she said with a nod to Renee.

:::{)(}:::

Admiral Irons rose out of bed and scratched his back before he rolled his shoulders and dropped down for his usual pushups. He didn't need to do it. His heart was artificial, but it was habit. When he finished he padded to the shower, dropping clothes as he went until he was naked. He turned the shower on, let the water warm up while he did his business in the toilet, then stepped in. He rinsed down and then picked up a bar of soap to lather up.

It wasn't like he needed to shower either; his nanites could handle his maintenance. But again, some habits die hard. And besides, they were worth keeping up. They made him feel human. He frowned at Protector's image on his HUD. Normally the A.I. allowed him some modicum of privacy during moments like his shower. Apparently something was up.

“What?” he finally asked as he rinsed the soap off.

“We've received an ansible report, sir. Iab is beside himself. It's encrypted, military. But the sender is Admiral White,” he said.

Admiral Irons paused what he was doing and looked up sharply. He grunted, then quickly shampooed his hair and then shut the shower off. “Decrypt it,” he growled as he snagged the large towel and began to dry off.

“It needs your signature too, sir,” Protector stated. ONI has requested you do so,” he said.

“Right. Why he sent it eyes only …”

“Perhaps because the last one went astray?” the A.I. pointed out.

The admiral paused and frowned. “Yes, well, there is that. But it's a courier, not the whole fleet. Okay, I …,” he frowned as curiosity got the better of him. “This better be worth it. I haven't even had my coffee yet,” he grumbled. He accessed the file and then applied his key. After a moment it began to decrypt.

“Thank you, sir. It is a report of the battle of B-95a3,” Protector stated as he started to digest the report. As an A.I. he could process and absorb data far faster and more efficient than a human. Admiral Irons focused on getting dressed as Protector started dropping an outline onto his HUD. He slowed to read each line though.

“Call the cabinet in. We need to let them know,” the admiral said when he finished getting dressed.

“Aye aye, sir. A lot of people are going to ask why. And they are going to notice an emergency meeting,” Protector warned.

“Let them. They'll know soon enough,” the admiral said. “Make sure Monty, Yorgi, and the senior staff are briefed. I'll brief the cabinet personally so we won't have to worry about leaks,” he said.

“Aye aye, sir,” Protector stated.

“Now, I've got a date with coffee,” he growled.

“Yes sir,” the A.I. replied with a tinge of amusement from his emotional modulators.

:::{)(}:::

Admiral Irons nodded to his cabinet as they filed in or appeared as holographic avatars. Only Yorgi knew what he was about to say. He could tell people were curious. He waited for them to be seated before he began to paraphrase Amadeus' report for them. When he got to the part about the enemy fleet being routed, they began to murmur and clap in appreciation.

“We've got them on the run!” Lawrence Martindale exalted with an upraised fist as he rose to his feet. The Neochimp Energy Secretary's antics went so far as to ook in celebration, making a few of the other secretary's chuckle or signal amusement.

“Don't jinx it. We're still early here,” Admiral Sienkov said, shaking his head.

“Oh.”

“So many lives lost … for what benefit?” Moira asked carefully. She looked from one officer to the other. “We just got back the space we'd just lost.”

“So people on Protodon, and by extension here, can maintain their lives and freedom for another day,” Yorgi replied stiffly. “The lives lost were heavy but not as heavy as it could have been.”