Federation Reborn 1: Battle Lines (21 page)

“Captain Gaston, we've got a hyper-translation at the B-458 jump point, a massive one,” Lieutenant Shanty reported before CIC could get a word in edgewise. “Can you come to the bridge?” she asked. The fingers of her right hand danced on her keyboard, texting the XO and other senior officers to get ready to go on alert.

“Be right there,” he stated over the intercom. “Get the other ships to form up on us. Pass on the order now,” the captain said, getting dressed. He cursed the interruption; he had just gotten to sleep. But he blessed the empire's techs for outfitting at least his ship with a neutrino detector.

He watched as
Corsair
and
McRae
immediately reported their status. He nodded in approval when the two ships formed up on his, leaving their slower freighters behind. The freighters were acting like sheep, forming up into a knot in polar orbit. As he watched
Moldy Crow
was already changing her orbit to rendezvous with the others. He frowned as he pulled his jacket on and buckled the waist belt.

“Bridge, get engineering up. I want our engines warmed up. Status check on all shields and critical systems.” He frowned as he tried to think. He remembered something, something about AI. He snapped his fingers as adrenalin drove the cobwebs out of his mind. “Get us a count on the enemy ships soonest. In the meantime I want an extra firewall on our comm lines. In fact, sever the lines to the computers. I want them isolated.”

“Sir?”

“You heard me. Do it. They can play games with our computers.”

“Aye aye, sir,” the tactical officer replied.

“Get
Buccaneer's Breath
in line. If that bitch Esslin gives you any shit, refer her to me. I'll gladly space her ass,” he growled, flicking his ponytail out from the confines of the jacket collar. He adjusted his sleeves and then took a moment to check his appearance in his full-length mirror. He set his jaw, nodded once in approval, and then took off at a trot. “I'll see you on the bridge.”

“Aye, sir.”

---<>---<>---

“What the hell are we going to do?” Captain Esslin demanded over the radio net. “There are more of them than us!”

“Calm down,” Brom replied, waving a hand. “So we're outnumbered. That doesn't necessarily mean anything. They could have a bunch of corvettes you know. It just means more targets,” he said with a feral grin in his tone.

Gaston glanced at Dutch. The XO was grinning in approval.

“The first thing we're not going to do is panic,” Gaston intoned. “Calm down. We have time. Make certain every ship is prepped. The fighters as well.”

He was referring to the two fighter squadrons on
Corsair
and the four fighters
Jean Bart
and
Buccaneer's Breath
carried.

“Do you think it is our own people? That the crap that
Prinz Zir
and
Barnacle Bill
told us was bogus?” Captain Queux asked carefully. “I mean, their spooks, they could be wrong.”

“True,” Gaston replied, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully. “We still have several more hours before our other sensors can get a look at what came through. Prep the sheep to bug out.
Moldy Crow
will lead.”

“Aye, sir,” a voice said.

The captain scowled; it wasn't one of the warship captains. How presumptuous of the little twit! He opened his mouth to scold the man for daring to interject himself into the conversation, but Dutch waved a tablet to get his attention. “Yes? What is it?”

“We're getting something, sir. The neutrino detection is being processed by CIC. There are two distinct groups, sir; they are putting some distance between themselves.”

“So they do have a warship component. That means the other ships must be transports. Are they intending to invade?” Brom demanded. “Are they serious?”

“It appears so,” Gaston was forced to admit. He turned to his communication's rating. “You there, call the planet. Warn the general about what is happening. Send her a SITREP and then get off the line. Tell her we'll give her updates when we can,” he stated. The rating nodded and went to work.

“They are pretty confident to come in like that,” Lieutenant Shanty murmured thoughtfully. Gaston looked over to her and then away.

“We're going to meet them head on. Form up on me. We'll go with attack plan Alpha.”

“Aye, sir,” the other captains said eagerly.

“We move out in two hours.”

“Why two, sir?” Captain Queux demanded. They could hear the clicks of his fingers on his keyboard. “If we move out right away, we can intercept them ….”

“I know that. I want to see what we're up against before we get drawn into a fight,” Gaston replied. He wasn't known for being cautious, but he was calculating. He didn't like the odds; he
hated
a fair fight. He grudgingly agreed with the lieutenant. The enemy was pretty confident, and that made him cautious.

“I'll pass on further orders when I have them.
Jean Bart
out,” he said, cutting the channel with a dismissive flick of a finger on the control.

---<>---<>---

“They've formed the freighters up in a polar orbit, Admiral. The warships are gathered together and are forming up on the
Arboth
class,” CIC reported.

Amadeus nodded; he'd seen it on the plot. “I see that. Anything on communications?”

“No, sir. It is all encrypted.”

The admiral grunted. Per his alpha plan, he'd left his supply train on the jump point. But instead of leaving a frigate with them, he had left a corvette. Then his forces had moved out on the planet. He wanted to put the pressure on the enemy commander right away.

“Sir, Lieutenant Meia has reiterated her request to do a shipping strike,” Jojo stated, turning to the admiral.

He looked over to her and noted the image of the pilot on the screen beyond her form. He shook his head. “No. We don't want to scare them into retreating. I want them all in the bag,” the admiral stated, “which means drawing them in.”

“Aye aye, sir,” the flag lieutenant stated. She turned back to the screen. “You heard the admiral, Meia. You'll just have to keep you and your bloodthirsty hawks in check a little longer,” she said.

The admiral couldn't help but snort as he overheard that. He didn't catch Meia's reply; it most likely went directly to the lieutenant's implants.

“Sir, the destroyers are moving in behind the frigates, on the course they are setting …,” the CIC rating paused. “Sir, it looks at first glance as a head-to-head, but on that vector they could alter course to attack our fleet train,” he stated.

“And we would have to brake and turn around to follow. They'd have a head start. Not good.”

“Should we pull them further back, Admiral?” the captain asked.

“No. Let them be bait. Keep the screen as is. No, wait,” he frowned thoughtfully and then nodded. “All fighters go into stealth. I say again, go into stealth. Cease all active transmissions and drive.”

“Sir, we'll pass them by,” the captain warned as Jojo turned to look at him.

“I know that. I want them to fall back and stay in stealth. If the enemy sees them, he might be spooked. I want them as an ace. Keep the alert fighters up though.”

“We're tapped out on our ship, Admiral. There is one squadron remaining on
Cutlass
,” Jojo reminded him. The admiral nodded.

“Sir, are you going to make the call?” the captain asked pointedly.

The admiral looked at the Naga and then shrugged. “I suppose I could. I had been tempted to wait, to make them sweat it out some more. But I think we need to gauge how they think. Very well. Lieutenant,” he turned back to Jojo.

“Yes, sir?”

“Prepare to record,” the admiral ordered, straightening his shoulders. “I don't have any stains, do I?” he asked, looking down at his lapel.

“You're fine, sir,” she said, giving him a quick critical look. She tapped at her controls and then pointed to the camera. “On your order, sir.”

“Then record,” he stated, looking into the camera.

“This is Rear Admiral Amadeus White, Federation Navy. In the name of the Federation, I order you to stand down your commands and surrender,” he stated. “All those who wish to live will heed my warning, cut their drives, and heave to for boarding. Any resistance to my lawful order will be met with lethal force,” he growled.

“Good recording, sir,” Jojo stated after listening to the playback and then trimming it. “That should have them quivering in their boots, sir.”

“Then by all means send it,” he stated.

---<>---<>---

Gaston blanched at the Neochimp's image as the order repeated itself. That cold professional delivery probably had a few of the other Horathian officers quivering in rage or fear. Not him though he thought. “Smug furball, isn't he? I think I'll turn him into a fur coat for the ladies,” he growled to Lefou.

“Sir, shouldn't we retreat?”

The captain's eyes practically bugged out in anger. They'd finally gotten enough of a reading to note that the enemy had only three destroyers and a handful of smaller ships. “What? It's four against three! Sure they have a few smaller ships, but if we retreated my career would be
over
! No, we're going to show these bastards how the empire fights,” he growled.

“Will there be a response?”

“Yes,” the captain stated with a nod of his cleft chin. “Yes, there will. First in words, and then in missiles and grazers. Prepare to record,” he intoned, voice deepening.

The ensign nodded to him and then pointed to the camera.

“This is on? Fine. This is Captain Gaston Gumel, Earl of Ponduck, to so-called Admiral White. In the name of the empire, I order you to surrender your forces, heave to and prepare to be boarded. I promise I won't take my time killing and skinning you if you do.” His lip curled. “If you don't, I'll take great pleasure in it. This star system and sector are under the command of Emperor Ramichov. You and your kind are not wanted here. Your ships are a joke and will not stand a chance against the firepower of my squadron. But if you wish to match forces, we will slaughter you as the scum you are,” he said, voice rising with power.” He signaled the ensign to end the recording.

“That was awesome, sir!” Dutch said, wide eyed.

“I think I performed rather handsomely if I do say so myself.” The ensign had his ear to his earwig. “Well?” the captain demanded, scowling at the young man. “Send it!”

“Yes, sir. Sending now,” the ensign replied, transmitting the file.

“Sir, we're not seeing any fighters,” Lieutenant Shanty stated.

“Either they don't have any or they are holding them back. No matter. We'll launch ours for a shipping strike to soften them up.”

“Our fighters may take losses, sir. They'll be going in against a prepared enemy.”

“You don't know that. I don't know that. I want information. Pass along the orders,
Lieutenant
,” he ordered, glaring at her.

“Aye aye, sir,” she said with a nod.

---<>---<>---

“Feisty isn't he?” the admiral stated. “He's got more firepower on his size, but he's outnumbered and outgunned,” he stated.

“But he doesn't know that,” Marshall replied. He was already logging the conversation for later review. Just on word choice alone, he had noted the nobility rank. A name check in their Horathian intel files didn't come up with a match. Ponduck, however, did. That meant the planet had most likely been conquered. An additional datum for the intelligence officers to look into he noted.

“No, and I'm not ready to let him know that. Pass on orders to Lieutenant Meia. I want her two squadrons, no, Squadron 1 under her command to go after the enemy freighters. Their orders are to disable them. Destroy them only as a last resort,” he stated.

“Aye aye, sir. That will thin our coverage though, sir.”

“We'll handle it.”

“Sir,
Cutlass
is requesting to launch gunships,” Jojo stated.

“Denied. We'll keep them close for now. I know they might get a look at them, but I doubt it. Gravitational lensing with the shields and our speed may distort the image. No, we're going to keep them as our ace in the hole for the moment. The same for the fighters. Time to …,” he cut himself off as he noted the countdown clock on the plot. “Good,” he stated. They had two hours before the forces interpenetrated. Another twenty-eight minutes before the window closed for Gumel's forces to maneuver away and out of his engagement window and turned it into a stern chase.

---<>---<>---

Lieutenant Meia saw the incoming fighters and scowled. She could practically spit on them they were so close. She felt the itch to engage but followed her orders. White knew what he was doing; she had to keep telling herself that. He had opened himself up with no fighter cover on the ships, but Squadron 2 would launch hopefully soon, if they saw the incoming ships.